#once my schedule is more free I want to make a whole character sheet for her I’ve already done the ref page

[swordmaid]

should def make an expression sheet for her some day but I also like the idea of her having specific smiles and eye squints. shri’iia’s smile when she’s lying is different to her carefree smile, and is different to her smile when she’s being particularly cruel and cutting. the lack of eyebrows are intentional from her matriarch so her face doesn’t give much emotions away but I think overtime she’d learn how to be more expressive. I also like this idea that she does this particular eye squint when she’s calculating or noticing something, but it’s very subtle.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Remembrance

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Kayla, Apollo, Michael Human memories fade, and details get forgotten. Godly memories don't, and Apollo will always help his children, if they ask. TOApril Day 30 - Fading Memories. Longest fic of the month to round this TOApril up! Once again it took me a while to work out what I wanted to do with this one, but I definitely need more Apollo&Kayla and also more Kayla&Michael content in my life, so that's where this ended up. There's also a few easter eggs in here for some of my other fics, for the observant/readers with good memories!

Kayla huffed, dragging the box out from underneath the bench.  Damn musicians, shoving all their stuff in the area that was supposed to be her nook, and especially damn the musicians that were also head counsellors that had enabled it.

Also Will, because Will hadn’t been a musician but he’d still let it happen (and Michael, but Kayla would always forgive Michael anything).  No more.  Kayla was head counsellor now, and even if it was only for her final year in camp, this nook at the back of the cabin was going to at least have space for her to stuff all the annoying things like chore schedules.

She wasn’t Austin, or Alice, or Will (or Michael).  She wasn’t having that stuff in her personal part of the cabin, stressing her out with duty­-based things in her safe, stress-free bunk.  Not a chance.  It could get banished to the back of the cabin like she knew other cabins did, for her to pick up when she had to and ignore when she didn’t.

Well, Kayla was realistic.  She wasn’t going to get all of the instruments out of there; there was an entire orchestra’s worth, at least, and several of them were large and heavy, or otherwise not easily moveable – she sent the harp and the full sized drum kits a half-hearted glare, knowing full well that she was never going to win a fight with those particular sisters over the placement of their main instruments.  Still, she could at least clear the flutes that hadn’t been used in years – Kayla didn’t think she’d ever seen any of them come out – off of the desk and find a different cranny to stow them in.

The same went for the crates worth of sheet music stowed under the desk, which was what she was currently trying to wrangle.  For being simple sheets of music, they got heavy when there was a lot of them, rather like a whole pile of target faces all at once, and it took more than a bit of pulling and shoving before she got them moved over enough that she could pull a chair up and sit in it without her legs being crammed against crates.

Well, almost.  She growled as her feet kicked against another one, and ducked back down under the desk to see if she could push that one further back, outside of accidental kicking range.

It refused to, so with another grumble she started to yank it forwards instead, not quite sure where she was going to move it to but determined that it wasn’t going to stay in too-close kicking reach.  Kayla wasn’t tall like Austin or Jerry but she also wasn’t short like Yan and needed some leg room while she was doing head counsellor things.

When it finally came out, it was covered in dust, enough to make her nose itch.  It also wasn’t sheet music, like she’d expected.  Nor was it spare archery targets, which she would’ve been delighted to find – they were forever running out of those.

It was full of photographs.

Curious, she picked one up, puffing until the dust shifted.  There were two boys in the photo – one young and gap-toothed, and the other… well, still young, but maybe at least a teenager.  He had a lot of beads for someone Kayla guessed might be thirteen or so, but the younger kid – and he was really young, definitely nowhere near double digits – didn’t have a camp necklace at all.  He had familiar blond waves and blue eyes, though, and Kayla realised it had to be Will, back when he’d been the baby of the cabin.  The older boy must have been one of their siblings, with his own blond hair and darker blue-green eyes, but Kayla didn’t recognise him.

She set that one down and picked up another, wiping the dust off against her sleeve.  This time, the faces were more familiar, more blond kids, but ones she knew she’d seen before.  Their names didn’t come to her, but she was pretty certain that if she read through the names on the first bead of her necklace, she’d make the connections again.  Unlike baby Will and the unnamed boy, these two were more rough and tumble, with the girl having the boy in a headlock while he clearly fought to get out of it.  Both of them were laughing, though, and the camera was held at an angle, as if the photographer had been laughing too hard to keep it steady, too.

The third photograph made her freeze when the dust came off.

It was her, from behind.  Her hair had been freshly dyed, with no sign of her natural colour at all, and Kayla had only dyed her hair like that for a short time before deciding she preferred to keep the crown of her head visibly ginger.  She was at the archery range, bow in one hand and  gesturing wildly with the other.  Next to her, also with their back to the camera, was someone with black hair in a short pony tail, more or less the same height as eleven year old Kayla – gods, this had been taken six years ago – and gesturing back at her.

She didn’t recognise them.  Not really.  She knew who it was – of course she did, it was Michael, and she was sure she’d always remember the way he kept his hair tied back like that – but what she recognised was his bow, the beautiful horn horse bow that now lived in the attic of the Big House.

Staring at the photograph, she was suddenly hit with the realisation that she didn’t remember his face.  She didn’t remember his voice, either.  She remembered him being her big brother, that he’d spent hours and hours with her at the range, better than any of the Olympic archers Da had coached but completely disinterested in competition shooting, but she couldn’t remember his face.

Kayla had no idea what colour his eyes had been.  If he’d had bangs or if his hair was all swept back into the ponytail.  Details that felt like they should never be forgotten, but she couldn’t remember them.

Logically, she knew she’d only known Michael for a few months, which was basically no time at all compared to the length of time she’d since spent at camp, but with how often his name still flittered through her thoughts, it felt like she ought to remember him better than that.

It hurt, to realise that she didn’t.

Kayla dived back into the box, trying to find more photographs of him.  There were a lot where there was a blur of black hair in the corner, or turning away, or with his back to the camera.  She even found one with a younger-looking Alice braiding his hair, but Michael hadn’t been looking at the camera then, either.  He’d been looking back at Alice as best he could without turning his head.

Still, it was the clearest one she’d found so far, and she cleared away more streaks of dust with her fingers until it was clean.

Seeing Michael with Alice reminded her that she was the only camper left in their cabin, now that Austin had left, that had met Michael.  Raphael and Emma had arrived the next summer, and everyone else was even later than that.  There was no-one else to show the photograph to and reminisce with, or try to remember with.

Okay, maybe she could go to Chiron, but as great as Chiron was, it didn’t feel right.  Chiron hadn’t been any closer to Michael than he was to any other camper, she didn’t think.  She didn’t know how he could have been.  It wasn’t like he was family, really, although she was pretty sure he and Apollo-

Apollo.  Dad.

Her dad, Michael’s dad.

She didn’t even finish thinking it through before she called him, startled when her voice sounded thick, like she’d been crying.  She didn’t think she’d been crying.

The instant appearance of her dad, and the way he immediately wiped tears from her face, told her that she had been.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her, sitting cross-legged in the small patch of floor that wasn’t covered in photographs or musician things.  It put him right in her personal space, but Kayla never minded that with her dad.  Either of them, actually.

“I found these,” she said, waving photographs in his face.  One of them was the first one she’d found, with her and Michael.  Another was the one with Alice.  “And I don’t… I don’t remember him, Dad.”  A sob erupted from her throat.  “I’ve always said he was my favourite brother, but I don’t… I don’t remember him!”

Part of her waited for him to poke her in the chest and tell her that actually, she did remember him.  That he was in her heart, her favourite brother, and it didn’t matter if she couldn’t remember the exact shade of his eyes, or whether he usually had bangs.  That was the sort of sappy thing people usually said, after all.

But he didn’t.  He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his side, tucked under his arm like she was younger than she was, like she wasn’t now the most senior Apollo kid in camp.

“Do you want me to talk about him?” he offered, and her head snapped to look at him.

“Yes,” she said, latching onto the offer like it was a lifeboat.  “Yes, Dad.”

He chuckled, quietly enough that it didn’t feel like he was laughing at her.  “Okay,” he said, and plucked the photo of her and Michael from her fingers.  She barely felt it go.  “Michael was a fighter.  And I don’t just mean because of the war, or his arguments with Clarisse – and he got into a lot of those with her.  He was a fighter because he had something to fight for.”  Kayla felt Apollo squeeze her shoulders.  “You.”

The noise that escaped her was both unladylike – not that she cared – and very startled.  “Me?”

Apollo gave a one shouldered shrug.  “Well, his siblings.  All of you,” he admitted.  “Michael was always one for loving deeply, when he let someone in.  He had a reputation for being harsh and prickly, especially with other campers, but beneath the thorns was a massive heart with so much love to give out, if they could make him believe they were worth it.”

“I don’t remember him being prickly,” Kayla admitted.  “Except for the arguments with Clarisse.”

Apollo gave another chuckle.  “He was always arguing with Clarisse,” he said, sounding fond.  “That started his first day at camp and never stopped.  Then again, I probably didn’t help matters,” he added, and that sounded sheepish.

Kayla twisted in his grip to look at him, astonished.  “What did you do?” she demanded.  Apollo’s smile definitely twisted into something sheepish.

“I claimed him,” he said, and Kayla frowned, because of course he did.

“How-?”

“I claimed him because he shot her in the thigh,” he clarified, and she felt her jaw drop.  “It was the first time they’d met, and both of them were very volatile back when they were that age, more so than by the time you got here.  They got into a fight, and well.  It was the first time Michael had ever held a bow, and it was a beautiful shot.  How could I not claim him for it?”

“You claimed him… because he shot Clarisse?” Kayla repeated slowly, trying to wrap her head around that.  In some ways, it made sense.  In other ways, it really didn’t.  Then she registered the other thing he’d said.  “Wait.  He’d never held a bow before camp?  Really?”

The one thing she definitely did remember was how amazing an archer Michael had been.  It was the sort of skill that came from being an archer from the moment he was old enough to hold a bow – Kayla should know, she had the same skill – not from being a preteen, or maybe even a teenager, before ever touching one.  Actually… “how old was he?”

“He was nine, at the time.”  There was a story there, Kayla could tell, but Apollo didn’t show any signs of expanding on it, and she decided it wasn’t worth asking.

Demigods didn’t turn up at camp that young without a reason, and the reason was never a good one.  Kayla didn’t need to know what Michael’s was.  She didn’t want to know.

“He was amazing at archery,” she said, instead, and Apollo smiled fondly.

“That he was,” he agreed.  “He could out shoot some of my sister’s Hunters.  They hated him for it.”  Kayla could imagine that – Thalia and Reyna were chill, but some of the Hunters were definitely snobbish over their perceived archer superiority.  It was one of the reasons Kayla kept rejecting their recruitment pitches; they didn’t like being challenged by an archer who didn’t wear Artemis’ silver colours.  She bet it was even worse with a boy.

“Serves them right,” she muttered, and leant back against her dad’s side again, reclaiming the photo of Michael and Alice.  “I remember him being an amazing archer,” she admitted.  “And his arguments with Clarisse.  I just…  I wish his face hadn’t faded.”  She tapped at the photograph with a chipped nail.  “The photographs aren’t clear enough.”

“I can make them clearer, if you want,” Apollo offered, and Kayla didn’t know how but she wasn’t going to turn down a chance to re-memorise Michael’s face.  Properly, this time.  She nodded.

Apollo held up a hand in front of them, palm up and loosely cupped, and hummed lightly.

Whatever Kayla had expected, it wasn’t for a ball of light to convalesce in front of them, swirling and shifting until Michael appeared in front of them, perching on the box full of dusty and abandoned photographs.

Kayla had forgotten how short he was.

She’d seen it in the photograph, how a sixteen year old Michael had been the same height as an eleven year old Kayla, but being seventeen herself now – gods, she was older than Michael when he’d died – and more or less fully grown it was stark, seeing him in front of her and realising that he really had been tiny.

He didn’t say anything, probably because he wasn’t real, just Apollo manipulating the light until it showed her her big brother again.  Still, there was life in the way he looked like he was sitting, one leg straight down and the other knee raised up, foot on the edge of the box he was perched on, with one elbow resting on the knee.  He wasn’t looking directly at them, but he was focused on something that only the apparition could see, and it was good enough for Kayla to finally, finally, remember the exact shade of brown his eyes had been.

He didn’t have bangs, either.  There were some loose hairs that didn’t quite reach back into his ponytail that stuck out a little, but no bangs.  He did have earrings, though, a single golden stud in the ear lobe.

Kayla had forgotten he’d had those.  She wasn’t sure if she’d ever noticed them when he was alive and she’d taken his presence for granted, unlike the way she was drinking every detail in now, because this felt like a last chance.

Mortals weren’t supposed to dwell in the past.

Something warm dripped onto her cheek and she glanced up on instinct to see silent tears rolling slowly down her father’s face as he looked at the apparition he’d created.  It was a comfort, to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by it.

Still, her eyes were drawn back to Michael, the ephemeral sight that wouldn’t last forever.  His mouth was twisted into a slight smirk, confidence pouring off of him from his expression to his pose, and even though he looked small and young in a way Kayla knew he hadn’t when he’d still been alive and she’d been five years younger than him, rather than a year older, it felt right.  Familiar.  She was sure she’d seen that expression on that face many times before.

Apollo gave a shuddering breath, and raised his hand towards Michael again.  His fingertips dipped into the illusion, and it rippled slightly.  Kayla knew what was coming, and refused to look away as, slowly, Michael faded from sight again.

“It’s good to remember,” Apollo said hoarsely as her brother disappeared.  Kayla wondered if she was supposed to feel worse, losing him again, but instead she thought it felt more like closure.  “But don’t get trapped in the past.  Keep looking forwards.”  He squeezed her arm.  “You’ve got a future ahead of you, and if he was still with us, Michael would be the first to tell you that you’ve got that Olympic gold in the bag next summer.”

Kayla remembered archery lessons with him, being pushed past anything Da had ever tried with her, because he’d known she could keep up, even back then.  “He would,” she agreed.  “I miss him, Dad.  I know I only knew him for a few months, but… I miss him.”

“I know,” Apollo said.  “So do I.”  He reached out and picked up some of the other photos, of familiar and semi-familiar and unfamiliar faces.  “I miss all of them.”

Kayla plucked another one from the floor – the one with the two blonds wrestling.  Both of them had died in Manhattan, she was more certain of that, now.  Siblings she’d known but not for long enough, although with her mind in reminiscing mode she found names finally climbing to the front of her memory.  Nathan and Robyn.  She didn’t think she’d ever seen one without the other.

Looking at them, with their semi-familiar faces, and the other photos still strewn around from her frantic hunt for pictures of Michael’s face, she found an idea forming in the back of her mind, and she barely let it finish before she spoke.

“Dad?”

He hummed, turning his head towards her.

“Help me put these up on the walls?”  She gestured to the box.  It wasn’t like it was doing anything except getting in her way under the desk, and photographs deserved to be looked at.  Her siblings deserved to be remembered, not stashed away and forgotten.

He stared at her for a moment, clearly not expecting the request, before his whole body softened.

“I’d love to.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Kitten Heel

Fandom: DC Comics

Summary: Roy meets Jade in college and she offers to help him study chemistry in exchange for help in her music class. They develop feelings for each other, but Jade disappears after the semester ends. Nearly a year later, Roy catches a glimpse of a woman with a baby getting on the train. And she's wearing his bracelet...

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Roy Harper, Jade Nguyen, Dick Grayson, Koriand'r, Ryand'r, Karras

Relationships: CheshRoy, DickKory, KoryKarras

Additional Tags: College AU, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Falling in Love, Complicated Relationships, Arranged Marriage, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Single Parents, Good Friend Roy Harper, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Breaking Up & Making Up, Trust Issues, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter One: Chemistry

Roy scratched his head as he checked the answer to the homework question. He did his best, but Chemistry wasn't his subject. She knew that. Jade sat three tables down, watching her classmate grow more frustrated as time passed. Roy sighed and put his head down, locking his fingers behind his neck. He'd been at it for hours. Reading the chapters, rewriting his notes, going over the quizzes. He'd finally given up for the afternoon when he heard the click-clacking of heels against the floor. "Do you mind if I sit here?" Jade asked.

He looked up, helpless but afraid to swallow his pride. "Sure, I'm almost-." She took his homework and looked it over.

"You're in luck, you know," Jade smiled, "Chemistry's my best subject. Do you see this big number? The coefficient? You multiply it by the subscript, and you've got six. Right?" Roy nodded. "Okay, now what was the subscript for Nitrogen?" "Two," Roy replied. Jade smiled at him, raising an eyebrow as she waited for him to come to a conclusion. "Like this?"

"Exactly," Jade replied. Roy broke eye contact and thanked her. "I didn't just come over here to tutor you in Chemistry... I wanted to ask you a question because I've seen you play gigs at the college. Can you read sheet music?"

"Sure can... Why?" Roy questioned.

She unzipped her bag and took out a neatly folded piece of paper. "I'm taking a music class... But I don't understand the whole sheet music thing in practice. I think I get it, but the quizzes don't make sense." Roy looked at the paper and pulled out his iPod.

"Do you have headphones? I forgot mine at home," Roy whispered, "I'm Roy, by the way."

"Jade." She pulled a pair of headphones out of her bag and removed the zip tie. Roy grinned.

She plugged them into his iPod, and he opened an app. "You're taking Joyner's class? He'll only test you on this once... But the thing is a lot of the songs a simple if you learn to recognize the music. He usually doesn't grade too hard because he learned sheet music later in life. He plays by ear."

"Plays what?" Jade asked.

"Piano. I only know because he likes to do the open mic nights. He'll come in once a month and play a song, and if he sees his students there, he gives them extra credit," Roy replied as he played the notes for her on the app.

"ABCs," Jade replied.

"Or Twinkle Twinkle, but yeah... Exactly," Roy smiled. Jade looked over the second problem on Roy's homework.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Jade questioned. "Maybe we can finish this over lunch?"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Roy asked.

"Nope. I'm asking you to be my study buddy... Besides, I think better after I've had something to eat," Jade replied. Roy nodded.

"Okay," Roy replied as he packed his backpack. Jade stood up, and Roy followed her out of the library.

"What do you eat?" Jade asked.

"I'm not picky," Roy replied.

Jade decided on smoothies and sat at the park until they finished their homework. "When are you usually free?" Jade questioned.

Roy ripped a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote down his number, schedule, and dorm room number. "My roommate's a cool dude, so if you stop by my dorm to study or something and I'm not there, he'll let you in," Roy replied, "Well... I'm giving him too much credit. He'll be an asshole about it... But he'll let you in." Jade laughed.

"I'm probably not gonna stop by your dorm, but I appreciate you being extra available. Here, let me see your notebook," Jade replied. She wrote her number down and gave him her cell with her schedule. "It was nice meeting you, Roy-."

"Harper. Roy Harper," Roy interrupted as he shook her hand.

"Jade Nguyen. Nice to meet you, Harper Roy Harper. I'll see you Saturday morning?" Jade asked. Roy's eyes widened.

"Huh?" Roy asked.

"I'll call you with the details," Jade replied.

Roy waited until she was out of sight to bite his knuckle. "Fuck," Roy whispered. He texted his roommate and received a call a few minutes later. "Dick-."

"It's literally a random Thursday in September, Roy. Are you telling me you've fallen head over heels for a girl at first sight in a library?" Dick questioned.

"It wasn't first sight. You didn't see her-."

"You're thinking with your Johnson, Harper," Dick interrupted.

"Come on, I felt something-."

"Roy, please. I'm eating," Dick joked. Roy laughed.

"Are we hanging out tonight? Or are you busy?" Roy asked.

"Depends. Are you gonna talk about this girl you just met the whole time, or are you gonna hang out?" Dick asked.

"I'm gonna hang out," Roy answered half-sarcastic, "Are we still skyping Wally, or did he cancel?"

"He's gonna be late. Garth got dehydrated again, so he's picking him up from the E.R.," Dick replied. Roy laughed. "You can't laugh at Garth being in the E.R., Roy... Roy-." Dick fell into a fit of laughter.

"And he wonders why everyone called him Fish in middle school," Roy joked.

"I thought they called him that because he drank pool water on a dare," Dick responded.

"What are you doing right now?" Roy asked, walking backward toward his dorm.

"Watching you from the window," Dick answered.

"You missed me or somethin'?" Roy teased as he turned to look at their dorm window. Dick flipped him off. "Aww! I love you too, buddy." Roy returned the gesture.

"Are you wearing my sweatshirt?" Dick asked.

Roy looked down at the shirt and pulled the collar to check. "Nope, all mine, birdbrain. I've got the chewed-up collar to prove it," Roy replied, "Oh, and I think I might've found a Chemistry tutor."

"Don't tell me-."

"Yeah," Roy interrupted.

"That's gonna end well," Dick sarcastically replied as Roy made his way up the stairs. "I know you're gonna go for her anyway, but I want it on the record that I warned you."

"You don't even know her," Roy replied.

"But I know you," Dick answered as he opened the door. Roy hung up and dropped his bag. "You always fall too hard."

"You don't fall hard enough," Roy replied. He dug through his dresser and put his pajamas in his shower caddy. "Have you called Kory yet?"

"I'm still thinking," Dick answered. He flopped back on his bed, eating a slice of pizza. Roy grabbed a slice from the box and sat on the floor.

"You love her, don't you?" Roy asked. Dick sat up.

"Of course, I love her... But, it's complicated. She's engaged to somebody else," Dick replied.

"It's an arranged marriage..."

"A marriage is a marriage, Roy. She's committing herself to somebody else," Dick replied, "Do you know how serious that is?"

"No, but I know you've been irritable since she left. You should've gone with her. Kory asked you to go with her," Roy answered.

"I don't know anything about her world... And I'm not gonna go watch her marry somebody else-."

"Don't be such a big baby. It's an arranged marriage, Dick. And how much do you wanna bet her and Prince-Whoever-The-Fuck can't stand each other?" Roy grinned.

Dick groaned. "Okay... Fine, talk about your tutor. Anything but this right now," Dick replied. Roy took a bite of pizza and sat next to Dick.

"She's smart. Really smart," Roy replied, "And-."

"A brunette?" Dick interrupted.

"That's where you're wrong. Her hair is jet black," Roy half-joked.

[paintingdragonfeathers]

Hey there peeps—Do you like cryptids, dark humor, and urban fantasy? Then read on for some exciting news from Painting Dragon Feathers!

(It’s a slightly long read, so feel free to skip down to the cryptid part)

As some peeps may already be aware if you crossed paths with me at these last couple of summer conventions, I have decided to step back and take a sabbatical from conventions until summer 2024. I love doing shows, meeting new people inspired by their fandoms, and admiring all your cool cosplays—but with a full convention schedule, most of my creating time was dedicated to restocking my EXTERMELY popular Poke’Terrariums and other creature terrariums. While I do continue to enjoy honing my diorama skills making them, especially with highly creative commission requests, I was, frankly, getting burned out a bit with making almost solely Poke’Terrariums; as the best-sellers and the ones putting bread on my table, they were my highest priority for convention crafting.

THANK YOU ALL for some of the best cons I’ve had this past year—Katsucon, Scifi Valley Con, Otakon, and Momentocon all broke record sales for us! Your enthusiasm and encouragement of my works, whether by taking home pieces or just compliementing both my fanart and originals have given me the confidence and support to regroup and turn my focus on to some exciting new projects over the next few months:

1: I will continue tackling all commissions I received at the summer shows. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for your support by commissioning me to make you some amazing terrariums from your requests! I cannot express my gratitude enough as these commissions will help support the Painting Dragon Feathers studio during the break from conventions.

Poke’Terrarium commissions will reopen online to the public once I’ve wrapped up my queue from conventions, which at this point, will probably be very late in 2023 or early 2024. In the meantime, existing stock is still available at the Painting Dragon Feathers online shop—with some new tarot decks coming in soon—and a whole bunch of other types of commissions from tattoo design to book illustration to character cards/sheets are currently available.

2: Since I’ve gotten into 3D printing, I plan on learning digital sculpting so I can sculpt and 3D print some new original creatures for new kinds of art pieces, mythozoological speciemens, and terrariums.

3: Finish unpacking boxes and setting up my studio from moving, and finishing off a couple of other house projects—we’ve been living without ceiling trim LIKE HEATHENS. There has also been some stalling on unpacking thanks to some surprise water issues in the studio space recently, but it should hopefully be resolved soon.

4: I wanna make a new panel or two, specifically about how to write/create a great villain. Cause sometimes it’s good to be bad.

5: Revaluate and restructure my social media presence a bit. I want to have more of a work/life/social media balance with more focus on creating time, and with so many corners of the internet kind of on fire, and my darn instagram getting hacked and stolen, it’s been kindof a mess….I’m considering setting up a newsletter for direct, periodic updates, including—

Last but not least,

—THE CRYPTID PART—

I am currently finishing what should be the final draft for my young adult cryptid novel, CRYPTOZOO.

What is CRYPTOZOO about? Here’s the elevator pitch:

“The creatures of the X-FILES meets the 4th wall wit of DEADPOOL as a plucky Chupacabra searches for her missing Sasquatch father. Reluctantly teaming up with their mutual drinking buddy, the Jersey Devil, they must masquerade as humans in New York City, where troubling clues and prophecies from the Mothman hint the missing Sasquatch may have fallen into the clutches of cryptid hunters.”

I received some great professional feedback from freelance editor Lorin Oberweger, and after some extensive reworkings of the outline (which admittedly took a bit longer than anticipated since I have been moving house and dealing with other major life changes) I am sitting down to rewrite and polish the story. Once I get the story all wrapped up, line-edited, and print-worthy, my goal is to have physical books, ebooks, and audiobooks available by Scifi Valley Con 2024. Maybe even some CRYPTOZOO/Cryptid-themed merch as well. *fingers crossed* As potential book readers and cryptid lovers, let me know what kind of goodies you’d like to see.

I also intend to make some cool book trailers as I progress in the project, so this neat little animation above was me experimenting with Procreate and Videoleap. I can’t wait to share Cleo the Chupacabra’s story with ya’ll—so if you want keep up with updates and me navigating indie publishing, follow along Painting Dragon Feathers for the ride.

Cheers,

JD

[cassiebankscr]

3 Years Later...

THIS WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED MID-2022.

I found my book characters again. I found my way to write again. I'm writing every moment I can get. Sometimes real life obligations get in the way and I miss being able to write, but it's usually only for a few days and I'm able to get back into it.

When I first started writing again, it came out in bits and pieces I stored in my scenes list. I've already written the last chapter of my book even though there are MANY more chapters to be written before that time. Just like most writing, it came to me one day. I knew how the story would end and so I wrote the ending. After finally settling down I went back to the beginning and started writing in order. I've only had to switch over to a scene listing once.

In the last three years I actually played D&D for the first time in my life! It was a nice little campaign called Lost Mine of Phandelver, great for my first time (the digital adventure source material is now free on D&D Beyond). It was an online game I applied to so I was thrilled to be allowed to play as a newbie.

After the end of the campaign, one of the people in our group told me one of the guys had min/maxed his character. I didn't really understand it at the time because he was getting crappy rolls too, but I was told when he DID hit, it was higher than normal. We killed a lot of things, managed not to die, I accidentally figured out you can remove runes from something and cause it to no longer function as a magic item. It was a big deal for me to have had an original thought at the time not having ever played before (although I did have two Critical Role campaigns under my belt by that time). LOL!

The DM was going to do a homebrew mix and go into the Waterdeep campaign, but we needed to replace the min/maxer who had his fill of us by the end of the Lost Mine. We picked up one really nice guy, but I learned first-hand how it only takes one person in a group to completely up-end the group dynamics. Then energy turned bad and I had to leave. It convinced me that D&D, like anything else in life, can turn into an unhospitable place for women and sometimes you have to choose to go. I didn't play D&D for over a year after that.

Critical Role went into Campaign 3. To be honest, I felt the end of Campaign 2 seemed a little rushed, but COVID was making it hard for them to function in the studio and they were in the throes of getting The Legend of Vox Machina finalized. The TV show Ashley Johnson was working on that kept her away from Critical Role so often concluded and she came back home. It seemed like just when we were finally able to have the whole cast vaccinated and at the table, the campaign ended.

Campaign 3 of Critical Role started October 21, 2021 with some great, new characters. Two months later and through the Critical Role discord, I somehow wound up in another D&D Campaign online. It was a total shock to me. I was sure I'd never feel safe enough to play again. I dusted my Life Cleric off, reworked her story for the DM's homebrew world and had to figure out how to use the Roll20 character sheet. I found my dice rolls on Roll20 were mostly horrible. After being in the group for three months, I finally got my D&D Beyond character sheet together and was getting in stride. Then the game fell apart due to major life changes; one pregnancy, two college schedule changes. I was a bit sad not to be able to get my Life Cleric into double-digit levels, but with barely a blink of an eye the DM had a new campaign ready and we did several one-shots to build our new crew.

And now? The DM wanted something new from us (me and the one guy from the previous campaign that stayed). I said good-bye to my plate armor and chose an arcane cleric.

I'm on the precipice of some amazing life changes for the better. Along with working on my book, I seem to be drawn back to my tarot/oracle decks. I don't know if I'll end up doing readings for other people again (opportunity is everything), but I've managed to increase my deck collection to feel a bit more versatile. Trying to figure out where I'll store information for people to choose which decks they want to be a part of their reading will be a thing. It's a lot to think about and prepare for.

Will I write another post to Tumblr before another three years passes? I don't know. I forgot I even had a Tumblr account. I do need to start another avenue for the correspondence my new character will be writing in our new D&D campaign. There's so much to do and time is passing so quickly of late.

Be well blessed and well loved, always. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer, Issue #49: Wound Up

Alright! We’re on the final Issue of The Trial by Fire Arc and with this being Issue #49, we will be finally covering the infamous Issue #50!... is something I would say if I had been actually planning on doing that. Unfortunately, you will have to wait for a while longer, as next on my schedule is Sonic the Hedgehog - Free Comic Book Day 2022, followed by Imposter Syndrome (which is a miniseries I had been waiting for to cover for ages and I’m really looking forward to). Once that is done, I will move on to The Battle For The Empire Arc.

So, for now, enjoy this incredibly creepy image of Belle staring directly into your soul.

After we left off the last Issue with Team Chaotix wondering who had been causing chaos in Central City, we join in this Issue Belle, Tails and Sonic in an experiment with a couple of Badniks.

Sonic is covered in a sheet, with Tails hiding behind a bush, holding onto a rope waiting for Belle’s signal. She hooked Tails’ device to Motobud’s nonagression subroutine and is preparing for a wireless broadcasting to the other Badniks. Admittedly, she is a bit nervous, only to finally activate it after Sonic impatiently taps with his foot, reminding her that he’s still waiting. Tails then pulls off the sheet...

...revealing Sonic in all his glory as he monologues how he sure hopes he won’t get attacked by any Badniks. The Badniks stare at him, and while we’re at it, their eyes are all glowing blue, having a similar shade to Belle’s eyes. Then, to Sonic’s disappointment, they proceed to ignore him, leading to him cracking a smile and wondering if he’s really that boring if he’s losing to a rock. Tails, on the other hand, is happy that their attack response is completely negated. Honestly, I really love this scene, as it feels so innocent yet hilarious.

Belle is elated, noting how if they figure out how to make the programming stick, they can save all of Eggman’s robots. Tails notes how they shouldn’t get ahead of themselves, as Eggman might be up to something, referencing the campground fire and the power outage, but adds how it isn’t his style. Sonic replies how, if Eggman starts something, they’ll handle it and now all he wants is lunch (wait, tacos?). Tails asks Belle whether she wants to join them, but Belle replies how she wants to stay out for a while, hugging Motobud (who now has a cute flower as a replacement antenna.

Now, before I move on, it should be noted that these parts arcs have also been a subtle character development for Belle. Remember how she started out as a scared robot girl who was just trying to find her father and felt like no one cared about her, only to slowly gain more and more courage as she interacted with Sonic and his friends, deciding that her goal would be to save the Badniks from Eggman. Honestly, I think this is the happiest she has been since her life with Mr. Tinker.

On a side note, this and the next Issue is where we will also finally bury the whole Mr. Tinker debate.

Later that night, Sonic is sleeping on the couch, a book sprawled on his face, but wakes up as he hears scraping. He sees Motobud scratching the door, wondering if he wants to go out.

He taps Motobud, only for the little guy to swipe at him, now in full attack mode. Sonic dodges, landing on the couch as a sleepy Tails exists the room, wondering what is going on. Before Sonic can answer, they hear a crash and we see Belle, now creepily muttering how she has to get out, her eyes glowing purple.

Tails runs up to Belle, noting how she’s under control by some kind of signal and tells her to fight it back. Instead, Belle attacks him, but Sonic quickly protects his little brother.

He asks Tails whether he can fix this, with Tails replying that he should stall for time and that he might find something. Sonic kicks Belle back and dodges Motobud, noting how this has “mad doctor” written all over it. He then asks her to blink once for Eggman, twice for Starline, but Belle responds by turning her head around and pulling her tail, smashing the bookshelf into pieces. Sonic falls over, realizing she’s not in bantering mood.

Sonic asks Tails whether he’s got anything, dodging Belle as she smashes the TV into pieces and then gets tripped by Motobud, with Belle leaping at him, her finger turned into a scalpel, almost gouging his eye out. Sonic dodges her, only to gets pinned by Motobud, with Belle looming over him, her hands turned into tools.

Honestly, that is a really creepy sight.

Fortunately, he is saved by Tails, who tackles Belle and slaps a Zeti Zapper on her as he apologizes, basically frying her.

Tails then calls out for Belle, who gets up, telling them she’s okay. Tails explains to her how he had the prototype Zeti Zapper left over, which should stop any signals going in or out, asking her once again if she’s fine.

Belle suddenly gets up, explaining how this was a beacon. All the Badniks have been called, with Eggman basically summoning an army and Belle... Belle is pissed off. She’s shaking, she’s ugly crying, and she’s completely done with Eggman. She doesn’t want to search for him anymore to make him turn back into Mr. Tinker, but she will go find him to chew him out as she’s tired of being yanked around.

This is basically Belle reaching her breaking point and deciding to go for one final confrontation.

Tails asks her whether she knows the coordinates, with Belle notes how it is somewhere at the south, but it’s already fading. Sonic notes how they still have one more Badnik, carrying Motobud outside and letting him go, allowing him to lead the three towards where all of the Badniks are going.

They find a truck with some farmers down the hill, being surrounded by Badniks, but Sonic quickly saves them, telling them not to bother the Badniks and to get to safety.

Some time later, Tails remarks how they had been following the Badniks for hours, wondering if they’re getting close. Sonic has no clue, replying how there’s nothing but woods here. Tails decides to fly up to check on things and to his shock, finds an entire city created by Eggman.

He quickly rushes back to Sonic and Belle, telling them about it. Belle notes how they have to stop Motorbud, but Sonic replies how their new friend isn’t going to turn around and he knows only one way to stop him (namely, smashing him to pieces). Belle wants to put the Zeti Zapper on Motobud, but Tails notes how she’ll be vulnerable to the signal.

Having exhausted all of her options, Belle admits how she had been studying Motobud’s construction and believes that she would be able to cut his power, although she isn’t sure whether that would happen without scraping him. With grim determination, she takes out a screwdriver, noting how she’s not going to let Eggman have Motobud.

She searches through Motobud, finding the right cable. Sonic tells her to hurry up, as the Badniks have them surrounded. After Tails gives her a reassuring gaze, Belle pulls the cable out, completely devastated.

Motobud turns off, and the Badniks Tails and Sonic have fought stop attacking them. Both are relieved, turning to Belle, who has found a note inside Motobud. How she didn’t spot it before, I have no clue.

So, the note turns out to be a letter to Belle from Mr. Tinker himself (confirming that Motobud was the same Badnik Mr. Tinker had been working on when Starline held him hostage). The contents of the letter are... intriguing to say the least.

He writes how, despite being a captive, he doesn’t want any rescue, but he wants to confess to ease his conscience. He has lived a good life, bringing joy to everyone and watching Belle becoming a wonderful woman. He’s sickened by the thought of being Dr. Eggman, as told by Starline, and he admits that he cannot deny the logic of his evidence.

Mr. Tinker then proceeds to write how he isn’t Dr. Eggman, but if he does lose himself in this nightmare, he is truly sorry to her and the whole world, adding how he loves her and saying his final goodbyes.

Now, I have to pause here for a moment to set some things straight. We all know that Mr. Tinker is just Eggman with amnesia, meaning for the latter to turn fully good, he has to lose his memories of who he is. Eggman may have a shred of good inside him, or rather, a shred of decency to actually realize to help the heroes when the world he’s trying to conquer is in danger of being destroyed. He is not a good person by any means, and that is quite clear. Yes, he may have teamed up with Sonic a couple of times, but it is for his own reasons (and he certainly doesn’t want to be frenemies with Sonic like Boom!Eggman).

So, what Mr. Tinker has written is only from the perspective from an amnesiac with limited knowledge of who he truly is. I don’t really believe that we can take his confession as some serious evidence that Eggman is truly sorry for his actions since it was written at a time where he had no clue what he really had done. Sure, Eggman had a moment of reflection that one time, but he’s an egoistical megalomaniac hellbent on conquering the world. There is no way he would ever write something like this if he had his memories in-tact.

Belle breaks down crying, calling herself stupid for even thinking that she could make a difference. The letter flies out of her hands, with Sonic stopping it and giving it back to her, replying how she already made a difference by doing good, by making friends, and that nothing can take this away. They’ll keep moving forward together.

Honestly, Belle’s previous insistence on bringing Mr. Tinker back makes sense. She isn’t stupid for thinking that she could make him turn around, as the only thing she ever knew in her life was Mr. Tinker being a good man who liked helping people and fixing stuff. Even after she saw Eggman in action, she probably thought that it had to be some kind of mistake, but after their meeting during The Test Run! Arc, it was made clear to her that Mr. Tinker is there no more and this letter just confirmed it.

However, she can still carry on Mr. Tinker’s legacy by continuing to help people in her own way. Belle’s now with the Restoration and she had set a goal in her mind to reprogram the Badniks. All that she needs to do now is to get proper closure.

It appears that Belle has realized this too, deciding to go along with Sonic and Tails. Sonic grabs both of them, deciding to kick into sonic speed and dash towards the city.

The final showdown is about to begin, but first, we are going to cover who’s really behind this massive Badnik gathering.

Links:

#Previous Issue

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#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

[balioc]

Litform theater LARP is, pound-for-pound, an incredibly powerful artistic medium. It's got an unbelievable ability to evoke investment and engagement in the player -- it makes you care, it makes you obsess, and it has a really high "those four hours made me change the way I think about things forever" quotient. It's really very common for people to stumble out of their first LARPs going, "oh my god, I have to do that a lot more." Even people who don't really seem like they'd be into it; even people who have to be dragged into those games kicking and screaming.

There's a lot of value to be gained from having litform LARP explode in the way that various other hobbies and art forms have exploded recently.

...unfortunately, structural factors make litform LARP incredibly hard to monetize. I know several people who've tried, using a wide range of business models, and they've all faceplanted hard.

Issues include:

* Each litform LARP is a highly-spoilable one-and-done event. It's very difficult to put the product in front of potential customers without them being already committed.

* A litform LARP is an event that requires a bunch of people to be together in realtime. At best, this gets you the "wrangling everyone's schedule to assemble your weekly D&D group" problem...except that you can't make it a regular thing (because each LARP is a one-and-done), and more importantly, most of the big splashy attention-grabby games are much bigger than a tabletop group. There are 2-to-5-player litform LARPs out there, I've written quite a few, but -- for good reason -- they tend to be kind of artsy, and to rely on a high degree of roleplaying excellence from the players. The immersive spectacle games...the ones that seem like they should sell like hotcakes...require 10 players, or 15, or 30. However you slice it, getting that kind of group together for a few hours is hard, and getting players/customers to do the organization themselves is even harder.

* Litform LARP demands commitment from its players. Playing is less like being in the audience of a play and more like being in the cast: if you don't show, a lot of people are very screwed over, because their stories relied on your character. Hobbyist LARPers understand that commitment, it's part of the hobby's culture (even if LARPers are often very flaky). Getting MOPs to understand that commitment is very hard.

* Litform LARP gives you homework before you can play. You have to digest a substantial character sheet in order to understand your character and how to play him; that's kind of the whole point of the litform thing. Plus there are rules and lore documents etc. It can add up to a lot of reading, and you actually have to do it, there's no equivalent of just having your friend hold your hand through D&D chargen.

* Acting-in-public, and being un-self-conscious enough to fucking portray a character rather than being a wooden statue / giggling and making OOC jokes, is difficult and scary for many. Most people are better at it than they expect, once they jump the first psychological hurdle, but...they have to do that.

* LARPing often benefits a lot from good production values -- sets, costumes, that sort of thing. Good production values are expensive, and require a kind of expertise that's pretty different from the expertise involved in the rest of the stuff.

* Litform LARPing has an even worse version of the Infinitely Glutted TTRPG Market problem. The hobbyist core does not provide a huge base of consumers eager to exchange money for product. They're used to getting their games for free (or at-cost), and a staggering proportion of them are LARP authors themselves, or want to be. Which is great for having an engaged and participatory community, but not great in terms of monetization.

* Big Nerd Stigma, etc. This is much less a big deal than it was even a decade ago, for all the obvious reasons, but it's still a thing.

Trying to run games for the public runs into a bunch of these problems. Trying to sell game materials, so that people can run their own games, runs into a slightly different set. Trying to do a Patreon-style my-local-fanbase-supports-me deal is mostly rendered impossible by the Infinitely Glutted Market thing.

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

All this is leading up to --

-- the Disney Star Wars Galactic Starcruiser experience thing.

It's being helmed by someone who knows litform LARP. (A friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, as it turns out.) In many ways, it's very like a litform LARP. As far as I can tell, it's the newest iteration of Trying to Sell LARPing to the Public, and it's probably got a better shot than any of the previous ones. It's using Disney brand recognition, and jaw-dropping Disney-level production values, to bulldoze through a lot of the difficulties.

It's not litform, of course, even if it's plausibly a LARP of some other kind, even if it's using a lot of litform techniques for keeping players engaged. That's the other way that it's dealing with that list of difficulties. You don't get a character; you don't have to absorb any content pre-game, because there's nothing to absorb. You don't have to act. You don't have a specific role in the world of the game, so no one else is depending on you -- it's just you and a bunch of NPCs/staff who are catering to your private story. Certainly there's nothing literary about it.

And so, uh, I hope it's successful, but mostly I hope that other better game products find a way to bounce off that success.

[chimeracowgirl]

Eren Jaeger College Headcanon

modern!au / college!eren / stoner!eren

tw: drug use / mentions of alcohol

(Hi! This is my first headcanon. I’m open to feedback and recommendations! I really enjoyed making this and want to get better so by all means, let me know your thoughts and if there’s any other characters you would like me to do!)

✶ I’ve seen people head canon Eren as undecided and I completely agree! Though when he has to make a decision I see him gravitating towards Philosophy.

✶ Probably chose this major because it gives him the space to still explore and challenge his views at the same time. Also something he can apply to his everyday life/conversations 

✶ When people (Jean) tease him and ask what he’s gonna do with his degree he  responds with a “fuck off”. Like he’s literally just trying to spend his years learning about something he’s interested in??? Don’t stress him further

✶ Schedules his classes no earlier than 9:30 am. He’s not one to wake up super early to then sit in a lecture trying to focus on the material AND stay awake but he also doesn’t want his schedule to run so late into his day

✶ Doesn’t make time for breakfast but will usually snag a granola bar or something until he has a free period where he can actually eat

✶ Definitely smokes before classes. Not always but if there’s time and he’s feeling it, he’ll do so.

✶ Makes sure to always attend his classes with a water bottle. Helps with his cotton mouth

✶ He’ll try to air out or spray cologne to mask the scent but not too much since Armin once called him out for reeking like the whole bottle sfhghkk

✶ And no he doesn't use Axe body spray 🙄 Zeke put him on to some designer scents. His favorite is Bleu De Chanel (earthy and woody with sandalwood notes)  

✶ Genuinely enjoys debates (although they can get a little heated) 

✶ Only has like 2 pens and a highlighter which he usually ends up losing so he’ll have to ask someone for one

✶ Messy notes. His writing is kinda small and the lettering is inconsistent but it’s readable if you focus hard enough

✶ More of verbal and visual learner. He needs the material to be dissected to it’s core and has to see it so he can piece it all together

✶ HAS A NAP SPOT AND GETS UPSET IF HE EVER SEES SOMEONE ELSE THERE

✶ Wants to wake them up to reclaim “his” territorry but instead just goes to his study spot to rest

✶ Needs a quiet atmosphere to study. Likes to be tucked away in the corner of the library or cafe, where he’ll listen to lo-fi music alone or studying alongside Armin/Mikasa and sometimes Jean

✶ I don’t think he’d play a sport in college bc of the amount of stress that already comes with being a student and baby is just not with that mental overload

✶ Not too big on parties but will attend bc it’s apart of the experience. 

✶ When he is there though you won’t find him in the crowd (sometimes he’ll make a rare appearance) 

✶ Instead he’s either in the back playing drinking games or smoking 

✶ Has a competition with Jean on who has the most wins. Jean’s in the lead by ONE game and Eren is determined to take back the title

✶ Not a messy drunk, he can handle his liquor well but he’s also down for whatever adventures the night bring. 

✶ I see him being a flirt unintentionally. He just has this boyish charm and teasing personality but there’s no hidden motive behind it. Definitely doesn't realize how attractive he really is to people but that doesn't mean he’s blind to his looks

✶ Mix that with him being high and ugh. Droopy lids and that smirk!!! People are gonna be walking around campus with snail trails bc of how wet he makes them and he DOESNT EVEN KNOW IT!! (oblivious mf 🙄)

✶ As we all know his closet consists of hoodies and sweats but he does like to add some spice when he’s feeling it! So he’s one to lightly layer (otherwise he’d get too hot n sticky and no.) and has his fair share of vintage tees from thrifting with Armin. 

✶ Keeps his dorm fairly clean. Probably has solid color sheets with a couple posters hung up and a gaming system 

✶ Spends most of his time outside his dorm though. Feels it’s too small of a space and makes him a lil anxious if he’s there for too long

✶ Overall, he’s just here to do whatever he desires in the moment while trying to balance learning about himself and the world all while being graded for it :)

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Again, let me know how I did and if there’s other characters you’d like me to write for. Also if you want visuals of Eren’s (or others) dorm, style, etc :)

[undyingskies]

Just Fine

Request: yes; “hii, could you maybe write an owen imagine where fans take pictures of his gf kissing a guy on the street so there is rumors and of course owen's pissed, but she was actually filming a scene so everything was fake please”

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy, I have a decent amount of requests I am working through! As well as a two part fic for Owen, they are going to take some time so if you requested please be patient with me! I promise I am working on them!

Warning: None

——————————

Your show, Charmed, season 3 was renewed at the same time as season 2 of Julie and The Phantoms. Which means you and your boyfriend Owen were both incredibly busy filming in two different time zones. You guys tried your best to talk when you were free and keep each other updated with what was going on in your shows, but it got more difficult as time went on.

You loved your boyfriend and you missed him but between your two schedules you felt like you were putting more effort in talking to him than he was you. You guys actually haven’t talked in a few days and you were the last one to text and call him.

You get he was busy, you were too, but it still felt like he wasn’t putting even a little effort into trying to talk to you.

So here you are today, reading lines sitting in your makeup chair getting ready for today’s scenes. This season they introduced a new character to play your love interest and today was the big scene between the two of you.

You were nervous, really nervous. Charmed was your first ever show that you booked and so far you’ve had no love interest so you didn’t have scenes like the one today. You were a professional and you knew you could do it but still you were nervous. It would be nice to tell your boyfriend about it, Owen is usually really good at calming your nerves but he just seems to be ignoring you.

“Y/N it’s your time to shine, let’s go!” You hear Tami your director yell.

You sigh at her words, stand up and shake your hands at your side; before you walk onto the street for your scene.

You think to yourself, you’ve got this, it’s only one scene. You’ve done plenty of other scenes in the past that have made you nervous before so it’s okay. It’s just why did this one feel different?

“Alright, you guys ready?” You hear Tami yell again.

Both you and Jake, your love interest, nod yes and get in your places.

“Okay, awesome. We’re gonna take it from the spot where you guys are talking about how you feel and you’re walking to Lily’s apartment” Tami tells the two of you.

She walks back to the camera and sits in her chair. Everyone on set quiets down as the lights flash, and you see her hands counting down from three to one.

Then one hits, that’s your cue.

“You know Steven, you really didn’t have to walk me back to my apartment.” You tell him and turn to smile at him, placing a hand on his arm.

“I know Lily, you can totally handle yourself but it was an excuse to spend more time with you.” He tells you.

You respond with a smile. The two of your characters walking through the street making small talk with one another.

Until the two of you reach the destination of where your two characters were going. This is when it’s gonna happen, just take a deep breath and it’ll be okay.

You stop and turn to look at Jake, who’s character is Steven. You grab one of his hands and say,

“Well thanks again Steven, I appreciate it. I liked having the extra time with you too.”

He smiles back at you and takes a step towards you. He places a hand on your cheek and you lean into it slightly.

“Me too.” He whispers out. You both just look at each other smiling and that’s when he leans in. The two of yours lips meeting for a kiss.

You two stay standing with your lips interlocked for a few more seconds until you hear Tami yell, “Cut.” At her words the two of you step apart.

“That was great the two of you really, perfect! Could have not gone better!” She tells the both of you. You send her a small smile.

You think to yourself that really wasn’t that bad, your nerves no longer getting the best of you. You grab your things and make your way to your trailer; it was a long morning and a nap wouldn’t hurt.

Upon making it to your trailer, you fling yourself  onto the bed you have in there. Almost immediately falling asleep, face first in your pillows, letting slumber take over you.

You have no idea how long you had been asleep for but the constant buzzing of your phone on your bed besides you wakes you up.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eye, you reach over to grab your phone. You squint at the sudden bright light from your phone reading the few messages you have. One catches your attention first. It’s from Owen, it reads.

“You should really check twitter. Thanks.”

You think to yourself that’s a lot of periods and does not seem good. You can’t help but panic a little that’s not a normal text from Owen, especially after not talking for a few days.

You close the message app and quickly open the twitter app. It doesn’t take long in your scrolling for you to stumble upon what seems to have upset your boyfriend.

It was pictures of you and Jake kissing in front of the building. The photos don’t show the cast or crew filming the scene, it really is just the two of you. Your heart picks up at the sight of the photo, it doesn’t look good. How did someone get this photo and how did it blow up so fast? You think to yourself, right now that doesn’t matter though. Owen is what matters.

You quickly call Owen wanting to explain to him the reality behind it. Your phone rings twice then it gets sent to voicemail. You scrunch your eyebrows and call him again, voicemail again. You call again and again, and then finally you get an answer.

“What do you want Y/N?” You hear Owen snap at you.

“I wanted to call you to explain what that photo was as I can only assume that’s why you’re so upset.” You tell him, trying to stay as calm as possible.

“Oh what you could only assume is what I’m upset by?? I actually loved seeing photos of MY girlfriend kissing another guy. It was actually really great getting to see that and hear about it from Charlie.” Owen snaps again.

“You don’t have to be so rude about it Owen, it’s not what it looks like. That’s Jake, not some random guy! It was for-“ He cuts you off.

“Oh great to know it wasn’t some random guy. You know what I really don’t feel like talking to you right now. I’ve got to go.” He says quickly trying to get you off the phone fast.

“You better stop that Joyner and listen to me for one second.” The tone of your voice making him stop his movements to end the call. He doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue.

“First of all that’s Jake, my co-star, and that was a scene for our show. He is playing my character’s love interest actually.” Your frustration building as you take to him. “And you would know that if you took any time to actually talk to me instead of ignoring me for days on end. You don’t put any effort into this like I do, I know what’s going on in your scenes. I bet you could not tell me one thing that’s going on in mine!”

Your met with silence.

“Ya that’s what I thought Owen, so you know what goodbye, have fun learning about my show through the internet.” You tell him before you hang up, not letting him get another word in.

Tears slip from your eyes as you gather your things to go home. You checked the time and it was 6 PM. Your nap was a lot longer than you thought but you could go home now, they told you if they didn’t get you by 5, they wouldn’t need you for the rest of the day.

Tears continue to cloud your vision as you drive through the streets of LA to your apartment. You have music playing quietly during your drive hoping it would help calm you down but the tears still fall.

You feel bad, guilty even. If you were in Owen’s shoes and saw photos like that on the internet with no context you would be just as mad and hurt by it. You shouldn’t have reacted that way, you should have stayed calm but he didn’t give you the time to explain. Your hurt from not talking to him for days and feeling like he was ignoring you just built up and took over.

Once you reach your apartment you quickly shuffle into the building and into your unit. You didn’t want to be far from your bed much longer, the comfort of it calling you. You quickly strip from your clothes and into you pajamas, which was just underwear and one of Owen’s shirts.

You crawl into bed and check your phone one last time, nothing. No notifications, absolutely nothing. You lock it and put it on its charger. You settle into your pillows and pull the sheets over you, covering half of your face, letting sleep take over you and a few more tears slipping from your eyes.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for but a loud banging woke up you, déjà vu. The pounds don’t stop as you turn over and check the time on your phone. It read 6:02 AM. A lot earlier than you would have liked to be woken up.

You stretch and pull your shirt down to cover your thighs. You let your feet lead you to the door where the banging continued. You open the door not even thinking twice, getting ready to yell at whoever decided it was a good time to wake you up this early.

You stop dead in your tracks, the words lost in your throat, your mouth just hanging open slightly. Your face to face with Owen.

He doesn’t say a word, he just pushes past you to get into your apartment. Your left standing at your door alone, still shocked and confused.

“You know it’s probably a good idea to close the door Y/N, especially with the whole no pants thing going on.” Owen says facing you.

You blush slightly at his words, closing the door and tugging the shirt down hoping it would cover more of your skin. It’s not like it’s nothing he’s seen before but his gaze on you right now, left you feeling vulnerable.

“What are you doing here O?” You ask him, walking into the living room and going to sit on your couch. Owen follows your lead.

It’s so quiet, and the atmosphere around the two of you is awkward. It was never like this between you and Owen, neither of you liked it very much.

Owen sits next to you, leaving space between the two of you so he could turn to face you, putting one of his legs on the couch.

“Soooo...” You trail off hoping to start some type of conversation, anything was better than the silence.

“I didn’t like the way we left off on that conversation, both of us obviously hurt and it didn’t feel like something that should have been fixed over the phone.” He tells you, one of his hands grabbing onto yours. “I jumped on the first plane after that phone call, I needed to see you.”

“I-okay...” You say, taking your hand from his to rub your eyes and yawning. The mix of exhaustion and confusion not helping you put together words. You place your hand on his again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I should have given you a chance to explain or even say something before I got so frustrated. I should have let you talk before trying to hang up on you immediately. I just, it was really hard seeing those photos and knowing nothing.” He tells you, leaning forward a little more. He’s able to catch your gaze.

“No I know, I’m sorry too O. I know I overreacted a bit just yelling and hanging up on you. It was just you called and yelled without giving me a chance to really speak, and that was the first time we’ve spoken in days. I let my own frustration get to me.” You tell him.

“If it was the other way around, I would reacted similarly too. I don’t even want to think how I would feel seeing a photo of you kissing a girl with no context.”

Owen lets go of your hand to push some hair out of your face. He lets his hand cup your cheek after.

“I think we both were upset and instead of talking it out we just took it out on each other instead.” You nod your head agreeing with him.

“You know I’ve missed you love, it’s not easy being so far away.”

“I know Owen, that’s why I was so upset. I feel like whenever I have the chance I’m facetiming you or texting you just to give us some time to be together in some way, but it never felt reciprocated. I know you’re busy, you know out of anyone, I understand that. But baby, I stopped trying and we didn’t talk for 4 days before yesterday.” You’re able to get all of that out without tears falling and you feel proud of yourself.

Owen’s looking at you as you tell him those things. He sees you gulping a little harder and the glaze over your eyes, he knows you’re trying not to cry. He still has his hand cupping your cheek.

“I know Y/N, I want you to know how sorry I am about that. We’re both busy but it’s not okay that I but you on the back burner just because I know you understand. It just work has gotten extra busy it feels like lately and then I’m exhausted, I know that’s not a good excuse but it was never my intention to make you feel not important or like I don’t care about what you have going on.” The tears finally slip from your eyes. His fingers brushing them away as they fall.

He pulls you closer and into his chest to hold you. It breaks his heart seeing you like this and knowing it was because of him.

“I get it O; I miss you so much and sometimes it gets super hard. All I wanted to do was tell you about what was happening in my scenes this week, especially because I was so nervous to do it.”

“I miss you too and completely understand that. You know how much I love to hear about what you’ve got going on in your scenes, especially this week’s scene I would have liked to know that one.” He tells you with a small laugh as his hands rub your back. You lean back a little and leave a small slap on his chest, a small chuckle leaving you as well.

“Trust me I would have liked you knowing what was going on too. I would have liked that a lot more than you finding out over the internet.” You tell him.

“It did get you here though, so maybe it wasn’t so bad.” You offer him with a laugh, him reciprocating.

“Oh whatever Y/L/N.” He says before leaning in to give you a kiss. Your lips meeting his, you melt into the kiss. Oh how you’ve missed your boyfriend and the feeling of his lips on yours.

You smile as the two of you break apart.

“We good now?” He asks you.

“Yes, we’re good now.” You tell him with a smile.

“Also I promise no more ignoring and I will put more effort in. I wanna know what you’ve got going on, that way I can pretend I’m here with you and the distance doesn’t seem so bad.”

You lean into his chest at his words, his arms wrapping around you and squeezes your hips.

“As long as we’re both in this together O, it’ll all be just fine.”

His lips meet yours for another sweet kiss. You lay happily in each other’s arms for the next few hours until you had to go to set. You leave for set Owen in tow, hand in yours, as you update him on everything you’ve got going on and answering all his questions. Both of you happier than ever.

[griffinnorth]

I'm ready to talk about something I've been working on for a long time...

APOCALYPSE CHILD: A New Original Webcomic

I've been working on this project semi-secretly for awhile now, and I finally have enough work done on it that I feel confident and ready to share with you all what I'm working on.

What is Apocalypse Child?

It's a whole new original webcomic separate from Guild Wars 2 and Tora Steals Things ( @torasteals​ ). Almost every artist I know has a passion project or two that's been with them from their childhood and this one is mine. I've been world building and developing it for years, and I finally started the script for it roughly a year ago. It's near and dear to my heart and I'm both elated and terrified to even let you all know that it even exists.

Is it anything like Tora Steals Things?

No. Oh no this is a completely different beast...

Tora Steals Things is an episodic and mostly comedic series with a few darker stories here and there.

Apocalypse Child is an adventure story with an actual overarching plot, far less goofs and gags, and a generally more serious tone.

What's it about?

A nerdy archeologist, who wants to be a father, tries to raise a strange kid who might bring the world to ruin. That's its most basic premise.

In more detail...

Apocalypse Child is a story about Thunder, a mysterious and terrifyingly powerful boy who may be the most dangerous creature alive; Buzz Clarwin, the nerdy archeologist trying desperately to raise him as his own out of the kindness of his heart; and Roy Ilzura, a runaway Prince and the archeologist's best friend who is trying to save him from his newfound "son."

The three travel the world together - trying to piece together the mystery behind Thunder while exploring ancient magic ruins, fending off assailants from a secret society hellbent on murdering the boy, and discovering hidden truths about their world's long dead Gods.

If you like modern fantasy settings, ancient ruins, found family dynamics, fight scenes (lots of them), pretty boys (...look I'm not gonna deny it), elemental powers and races, and road trips (no I'm not kidding) - then this is probably your jam.

Cool so when can I read it?

There's no release date for this yet, but I can tell you where it is in development:

16 chapters of the first draft are finished

3 chapters are more or less ready for thumbnails

77% of the character designs are done for chapter 1

60% of the environment designs are done for chapter 1

Once the design work is done, I should be able to move into thumbnails and finally start the first chapter.

And from this day onwards, you'll actually get to see all this design work as I continue development!

What does this mean for Tora Steals Things?

It means a lot of things, but namely it means a change in its current update schedule. TST is now going to be updated every two weeks instead of every week, starting today. (It'll still be two weeks early for patrons on my patreon though)

This wasn't an easy decision to make, but it's one that had to be done. I've been trying to work on both Apocalypse Child and Tora Steals Things at the same time which simply wasn't working. TST eats up a lot of my time and doesn't leave a lot of room for other projects. In order for any of my other work to shine, it needs to take a backseat.

What can I expect to see in the future and where?

Changing TST's schedule to a bi-weekly one actually opens up possibilities for me on what I have time to work on. It means not only will I have more time for Apocalypse Child, but also other art. Here's what you can expect going forward:

Apocalypse Child Design Work:

This includes character design sheets, environment sketches, and concept art. I have a lot of this already so you can expect to see that here as early as next week.

New (and Old) Art:

Ever since starting Tora Steals Things, I've been hesitant to share any art not related to it which has resulted in me sitting on just a ton of art that no one beyond close friends have seen. Some of this art is a decade old! You can expect to see this art finally released for viewing here.

I'll also be making new illustrations going forward so you can expect to see those too.

You can find this design work and art being posted on my main blog here @griffinnorth​ , on my twitter (SoulBreather), on my instagram (griffinsdnorth), and two weeks earlier for patrons on my Patreon.

(Some of this art is NSFW btw, but those will only be posted to twitter just FYI)

Also there isn't a strict schedule for these like the comic, but you can expect to see something every week as usual - it just won't always be the comic like before.

Going Forward

As an artist I'm changing my direction and expanding what I create and share with you all. It's incredibly liberating to finally share with you some of the work I've been doing in secret for years, and I hope you're all as excited for it as I am.

There's a lot of cool stuff coming your way and this is just the start!

If you have questions, feel free to ask me!

[candychronicles]

catnip // h. shinsou

A/N: My take on the nsfw 7 minutes in heaven inspired server collab. Strap in folks, it’s a long one!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,043

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, choking, overstimulation, really just generally safe, kinky sex

SYNOPSIS: It seemed crazy, but against your better judgement, you signed up for a ‘steamy night with a local hottie.’ You weren’t expecting too much out of the whole situation but boy, were you wrong.

Want to enjoy another steamy story? Follow this link to the Masterlist !

your heartbeat pounded through your ears as you fully removed the lid. on top was a notecard with the address to what you assumed would be the meeting place with a date and time. just three days away and you’d be having the time of your life, or so the website said. 

a sick feeling crawled up your throat and you almost threw the box away in the trash can. what were you doing? were you really about to meet up with some stranger, at a random location, to eventually go back somewhere and fuck? what if he was a murderer? what if he had bad intentions? sure, there was a background check involved, and the initial meeting place was a neutral location where you could feel each other out, but still, were you that desperate for a good dicking down?

the answer was a very resounding yes, and with a firm shake of your head, you pushed the worried thoughts out of your mind and removed the note with the sheet of paper. underneath was a… cat toy? and was that catnip? you were extremely, extremely confused, the object not doing anything to quell your nerves but only heighten them. but still, you were intrigued, and you’d be damned if you let nerves get in the way of a potentially good night.

the next couple of days felt like a blur. you had gotten your eyebrows done, whole body painfully waxed, moisturized like there was no tomorrow, and overall felt like a soft goddess. you had spent hours attempting to pick out the perfect outfit and more importantly, the perfect lingerie. you had little to go on: he was in similar age, had generally the same sexual interests and kinks and was supposedly not a total creep. 

you had eventually settled on sexy yet simple: a lacy red one piece that clung to your body. overtop of your ensemble, you chose a simple black t-shirt dress with a cardigan. cute, appropriate for a normal bar, but easy to take off or push aside if it came down to it. very minimal makeup was applied: you didn’t want to sweat it all off and look like a gremlin. with a pair of kitten heels and a satin choker, you were out the door, palms sweaty.

the actual drive over went by in a blur, your mind too jumbled to even realize you had arrived. the instructions were to sit at the stool all the way to the left of the bar and order a whiskey, neat. typically, you weren’t a drinker, but tonight, you needed at least a pinch of liquid courage to follow through. a few tense minutes had passed, you swirling the thin plastic straw in the golden drink. a large, firm hand had gently placed itself on your right shoulder and you jumped, dropping the straw back in the drink.

“i’m sorry for startling you. are you (l/n) (y/n)?”

the first thing you noticed was his voice. it was deep, smooth, slow, much like the drink you were consuming. you were almost scared to look up, afraid his voice wouldn’t match his face, but you took one deep breath and looked up. 

holy fuck he is hot. like really, really, really hot.

“it’s fine! uh, yes i am though. you’re Shinsou Hitoshi, then?” you squeaked out, your voice and raging blush betraying your enamored feelings.

a gentle chuckle left his lips and he removed his hand from your shoulder, choosing instead to sit down next to you and order the same drink.

“i am. to be honest, i was a bit skeptical about joining the site, but with a schedule like mine, it seemed like a good way to meet someone and uh, enjoy my free time.”

“oh my gosh, me too! i mean, i know the site does a lot to keep everything safe, but you’re still running a risk. and what if you get matched up with someone that you don’t find attractive? oh no, you don’t find me too ugly, do you?”

suddenly, you were very self conscious about the way you looked, tugging on the sleeves of your cardigan.

“no, you’re not ugly at all. in fact, kitten, you’re quite cute,” he assured, giving you a heart stopping smirk. “what about me?”

in that moment, you had realized a few things. first, you had understood why he sent a cat toy. second, you wanted him to call you kitten for the rest of your life. and third, you were dripping through your lingerie already. he was attractive, painfully so. sharp jawline with an even sharper gaze. it felt like he could stare through straight to your soul and honestly, you would bare all for him at that moment. 

“cat got your tongue?” he teased, leaning forward and placing a warm palm on your thigh, rubbing small circles on your skin with his rough thumb. you could only imagine how that thumb would feel pressed against your clit and you let out an almost inaudible whine. 

“you’re really, really attractive,” you finally breathed out, enamored by the way he was looking at you. you felt like he was the cat and you were just his toy but at that moment, you didn’t care. 

“are you done with your drink? we can head back to my place. only if you want though,” he offered, knowing you weren’t going to refuse but being a gentleman anyways.

“yes, i’m done and i’d love to go back to your place.”

the car ride to his house was full of tension yet surprisingly comfortable. you had both chatted, talking about your mutual love of animals, how he was a pro hero and that’s why he turned to the website, how you were busy with your job but wanted to do something exciting for once, and other little topics that made you feel more at ease. his palm rested on your thigh again, so close to where you needed him but yet so far away. 

you finally made it to the rather impressive house. you shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, he was a pro hero, but your mouth still gaped open in surprise.

while you were gaping, Shinsou had gotten out of the car and opened your door, smiling down at you and patiently waiting for you to exit. you hastily stumbled out of the car, tripping into his arms.

“careful. wouldn’t want my kitty getting hurt before the real fun began.”

he was looking at you like you were something fragile and he wanted to absolutely devour in the most delicious way possible. you had never been bolder in your life, but something about the way he was looking at you, the way he smelled, the warmth of his body, made you forget every worry or care you had and you reached forward, ghosting your lips over his.

“trust me, i can handle it.”

a low growl eminanted from his throat, and he practically dragged you into his house, grip firm on your arm.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you.” 

the second the door closed, his lips was on yours, hot and inviting. his tongue slipped into your mouth with ease, finding no resistance from you. you were too caught up in his scent, that irresistible sandalwood and lavender smell that drove you mad, too caught up in the way his hands roamed all over your body, cupping your breasts, your ass, your throat, feeling the way you reacted just with a simple touch.

“while i’d gladly fuck you against this door right here and now, i would much rather take this to my room.”

“agreed,” you panted, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to make the next move. 

he had put a hand dangerously low on your waist, gently guiding you up the stairs and towards his room. you had no time to analyze your surroundings before his mouth was on you again, nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, no doubt leaving bruises. 

you kicked off your heels, removed your cardigan, and placed your hands firmly on his chest, attempting to gain a sense of your surroundings, too wobbly on your feet from all the pleasure he was creating just with his kisses.

you felt his hands softly snake up your dress, a low hitch in his breath as he rubbed his hands over the lace. he flicked on the light with his shoulder, not letting his hands leave your body. you were able to finally look up at him, look at his messy hair from where your hands were, from his swollen lips, from the absolutely feral look in his eyes, and you knew nothing would ever compare to the experience you were about to have. 

your dress came over your head and before you could register what was happening, he kissed you again with ferocity, his shirt now discarded in the pile of clothes on the floor. you placed your hands gently back onto his chest and moaned into his mouth, feeling the smooth muscle flex underneath your featherlight touch. 

he pulled away briefly, looking you up and down, rubbing his thumb softly over the satin black choker around your neck. he stepped forward, forcing you to take a step back, and then again, and again, until your knees hit his bed and you fell onto your back. he came to rest overtop of you, dwarfing his body with your own, one knee pressed into your clothed cunt.

“you’re so fucking wet already. i can feel it through my pants.”

“maybe you should take your pants off,” you countered cheekily, reaching down towards his clothes. 

“patience, kitten. we’ll get there soon enough. let me take care of you first.”

his hot lips peppered sloppy kisses all over your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders, chest, before he slowly slid one strap of your one piece down, then the other, exposing your breasts to him. the rough pads of his fingers played with one nipple, twisting and squeezing, eliciting breathy moans from you. his mouth came down to lick and suck on the other, flicking the nub with his wet, muscled tongue. your back arched off the bed, desperate for some sort of relief from the torture he was enacting upon your body. 

“patience, kitten. i’m going to have to punish you even more if you don’t wait for me.”

your back laid down flat on the bed again, a whine leaving your open mouth, but you relented. you were absolute putty in his hands and he knew it. Shinsou continued his ministrations down your body, over your navel, around your hip bones, all the while pulling the lacy garment off of you. 

finally, you were completely exposed for him save the satin choker, which he insisted you kept on. you were as still as a board, afraid that if you moved, you wouldn’t get what you desired.

“look at you. so fucking desperate for me to touch you. fucking slut. tell me what you want.”

“you, i want you,” you replied without question, wiggling your hips slightly, absolutely anguished.

“who do you want?” he asked again, blowing a cool stream of air on your pussy, watching as you whined and clenched around nothing.

“you, Shinsou, you, please fucking touch me!”

“you can call me Hitoshi next time,” he relented, dipping one finger experimentally in between your folds, coating it in juices. his finger rubbed soft patterns over your clit before finding purchase in your sopping cunt, curling slowly.

“please, Hitoshi, i need more, please,” you begged, frustration laced in your voice.

he complied, satisfied with how absolutely distressed you sounded, inserting two fingers, stretching you out just enough to satisfy you. the pad of his tongue came down on your clit, starting off with kitten licks, moving onto sucking and gentle biting. his whole face was buried in your pussy, squelching sounds emanating, you absolutely soaked from the combination of his fingers and tongue. 

you felt the familiar heat pool in your lower stomach and you chased your high with resolve, so aching for release, hips grinding against his face and fingers white from gripping the sheets so harshly. Shinsou pulled away at your peak, your essence coating his face and finger, dripping down his chin.

he had climbed back on top of you, catching you in a searing kiss, the taste of you on him electrifying, before standing up and reaching into the drawer to pull out a condom.

“i’m on birth control,” you stated, grabbing his hand and pulling the condom out of it. while he was caught off guard, wide eyed and glistening from your juices, you dropped to his knees, unbuckling his pants and pulling them, along with his boxes, down around his ankles.

he was long, on the thinner side, with a slight curve to the left, and you were absolutely enamored, mouth watering in anticipation. you started off by giving him a taste of his own medicine, running your thumb in circles around his head, spreading the precum over the tip, using your hands to slowly pump him, but you were honestly delirious off of pleasure and couldn’t wait, slowly easing your mouth over his cock.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he hissed, letting one hand grab a fistful of your hair, gently tugging.

you took your time, leisurely moving your mouth down his cock until it hit the back of your throat with a gag. Shinsou gently bucked his hips, your saliva dribbling onto your chin, mirroring his own face. 

without warning, Shinsou pulled you off his cock with a satisfying pop, pushing you back onto the bed, looming dangerously over top of you. you felt as if his entire presence was going to crush you whole, reduce you into a pile of mush, and you were completely, totally, one hundred percent okay with that.

“are you ready kitten?” he purred into your ear, softly fisting his cock and lining the tip with your entrance. 

you could only nod and squeak out a quiet yes, head too fuzzy from everything that was going on. he slowly pushed his way into you, bottoming out deliciously on your cervix, stretching you out in ways you never thought possible. 

he started his pace off slow and brutal, teasing you in the best way possible. you had attempted to move faster but his arms caged you down, making you suffer through his deliciously torturous stride. it seemed, however, that he too was frustrated and needed more, and so a faster and mind numbing pace was set. your legs were spread on either side of his head, pushed all the way back to your own head.

you were so pent up that the orgasm you had been chasing returned quickly with revenge. you began moaning and whining, clawing at his toned back, pulling on his soft purple locks, anything to ground yourself from the imminent feeling of pleasure. 

Shinsou was quiet for the most part, small pants and grunts leaving his mouth here and there, so you were a bit startled to hear his voice.

“do you trust me?” he asked huskily, slowing his pace back down, lowering your legs.

“i do,” you answered honestly. though you didn’t know him too well, he showed you nothing but respect both in and out of the bedroom and you were eager to see where he was going with this.

just as you were about to ask, though, your mind went blank. you could feel Shinsou’s presence surround you completely and wholly. you could think of nothing except him, feel nothing except him. you were aware of the heat in your core, you could feel the sheer pleasure of his now fast pace, you could feel his hand grasping your neck enough to just slightly restrict your airflow, but that’s all you could pay attention to, was him. you weren’t really sure what was going on, but you didn’t mind. you were delirious for relief.

“come for me kitten,” he commanded.

in an instant, your whole body spasmed. white, searing pleasure shot through your core, down to the tips of your toes and to the top of your head. it felt like the orgasm lasted for hours. you weren’t sure what had happened, but when you came out of your pleasurable yet painful stupor, Shinsou was gently cleaning you up with a warm cloth.

“how are you feeling? are you okay?” he asked, concern apparent in his voice.

“i-i think so. can i have some water?” you asked, voice hoarse from probably screaming.

he helped you sit up, propping your body with his own, letting you take small sips from a glass.

“i don’t know what happened, but that was the best sex i have ever had. i don’t know how anyone else will ever compare,” you admitted with a sigh, finally feeling strong enough to stand up and stretch.

“did you have a good time?” you asked a bit self consciously, choosing to not look at him and instead walking towards the pile of clothes by the door.

“i had a really good time. a really fucking good time.”

his hand came out to grasp your wrist gently, pulling you towards him, grabbing your chin and making you look up at his face.

“i’d like to do this again sometime. genuinely. that is, if you want to.” 

“are you serious? i mean, i’m not anything that special, i didn’t do too much and i…” you were cut off with a chaste kiss to your lips.

“i know we just met, but i really enjoyed our conversation just as much as what just went down. i’d really like to get to know you more,” he admitted, dropping his hands to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. 

“i’d really like to get to know you more, too, Hitoshi. really,” you assured, this time grabbing his face with your hands.

“but first, i want to sleep. mind if i crash here for the night? a couch will do just fine,” you asked hopefully.

“after what i did to you, you are definitely sleeping in the bed with me.”

“oh thank god. i’m really, really sore.”

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter One: Tired Of This Body

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn't going to go down without a fight. It's just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 7,883

Author’s Note: ugh... well, here it is. Don’t be afraid to send me hate mail or leave a comment. I love it when I make you guys sad (in a loving way of course) :)) good luck you little shits and may the odds be ever in your favor (FYI, they’re not)

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

I've grown tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy Tired of this body Fall apart without me

“I understand you’re here with concerns of a mass you found—”

He was shaving. The mirror fogged from his shower and the room heavy with steam. Leisurely, he’d wasted time getting ready. That particular morning, he’d gotten up before his alarm and he was happy for the distraction of the near-boiling water pouring over his back while the cold tile bites into his shoulder. An easy stress-reliever before the day fully starts.

Dragging a cool rag over his face he’d caught sight of a slightly swollen place on his chest. He’d dropped the rag in the sink and gently probed the area. He’d expected the sting of a bruise, not a knot of hard lumps.

It wasn’t a bruise.

“I regret to inform you—”

He hadn’t even known there were lymph nodes in the chest.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sir?”

There’s a whole staff of people fluttering and dodging his eyes. A blur of motion as they work around him. Of them all, Hotch has already developed a soft spot for. Dr. Fitz and the glasses that are too big for his face despite his attempts to make them fit his face. There are rubber bands wrapped around the earpieces to push them tighter around his head and a piece of tape holding one of the lenses in. It’s strangely endearing.

No matter how many times Hotch tells Dr. Fitz that Aaron works just fine, he still nervously throws in the courtesy. He’s just like Reid and it’s that thought that makes him both comfortable and so unbearably alone.

With a nod, Hotch tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. The cold air hits his bare chest and he holds his breath for a moment, shivering slightly before he takes control once again. Foyet’s scars are on broad display for the whole room but, to their credit, none of them blink. They’re not here to dissect the scars covering his body or take stock of the weight he’s put on.

He just goes where he’s pulled. If he flinches when they touch him, no one comments. It’s for the better, mostly.

“The tattoo is going to guide the external beam radiation at your tumor,” Dr. Fitz explains once again. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the little needle in his hands. “It’s just three dots.”

Hotch nods, his mouth a little too dry. This whole process a little too much. He nods his understanding, fists clenched at his side to force himself to show no outward reaction. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should those dots are going to be with him forever. His first and last tattoo.

Forcing a steadying breath, he glues his eyes to the ceiling. It stings but it’s not unbearable. The needle digs into his chest, pushing the ink in. It’s the second and third dot that get him. His skin is getting hot, sore enough to make him gunt as the last one is placed.

“Not nearly as fun as a normal tattoo,” one of the other doctor’s observes. Hotch, blinking back tears, looks over at his other doctor. A woman whom he’d never have figured the “tattoo” type. His brain is a little preoccupied, worn down. He’ll get over not profiling her very well, he just might not forgive himself for the slip-up.

Hotch just… grunts. Not a real answer but the easiest.

He’s offered a hand up but he doesn’t take it. Shoulders sore and arms weak, he pushes himself up. Leaning to the side when his head starts to pound, his mouth really, really dry.

“Alright—” a cold gloved finds his shoulder. “You’re just panicking,” he’s reassured. “You need to breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The hand squeezes his shoulder but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. It feels like he’s going to pass out. But… he doesn’t. He breathes as instructed and slowly, the room calms back down.

As he peels his eyes open, chest tight and hands trembling, he finds the room still every bit as busy as it was before his little fit. The world really doesn’t stop.

“Are you sure—,” Dr. Fitz twists and worries his hands. Obviously, he’s worked himself up too. Probably blaming himself for Hotch’s reaction. He should have let him take a break or warned him a little better. “Most people find it helpful to have someone here,” Dr. Fitz observes. “Do you— Do you want to call someone?”

His eyes drop to the floor, his mind-- Haley. She would be here. Cracking jokes and poking at his side. Things used to be so much easier with her around. There was this magic about her, a drug her presence doped him up. She would light the room up and hold his hand. She’s not here, though. She’s dead and he’s having a hard time convincing himself this isn’t some sort of penance.

Snuffing out a light like her, it was bound to have its consequences.

They’ve marked him and with his advanced stage, he’s got an aggressive treatment plan, and the radiation starts tomorrow. So, no. No, he doesn't want to call anyone. He just wants to serve his time. Besides, who would he call?

JJ? With two children of her own and a painfully busy schedule.

Reid? His mother occupies his mind as is.

Morgan? He’s grappling with a relationship with Savannah, attempting to salvage all of the complex things life has thrown at him.

Dave? Hasn’t he already lost a child? The last thing he needs is to sit here for any given amount of time and watch this.

And he’d never, never put Garcia through this.

“No,” he rasps, laying back down. “I’m okay.”

He closes his eyes and when a single hot tear runs down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m okay.

I’m okay.

There aren't immediate side effects and he’s not sure if that’s a relief or worse. He’s anxious, nearly sick with nerves. Would it not be simpler to just get sick already? To throw up or get sore or just— anything.

The machine hurts his ears. Fifteen minutes of lying perfectly still gets hard after about two minutes. The whole process exacerbated by the way the low hum of the machine makes his head feel like someone’s digging at his skull with an icepick through his ear.

He’s assured he shouldn’t start feeling any symptoms for a few days. Likely not until the second week of treatments.

It takes five days for a stitch in his side to take his breath for a moment, doubling over as he struggles to breathe for a moment. Chest tight and head fogged. They just add another pill bottle to the other whole collection he’s accumulated on his nightstand.

It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on his chest. A hand gripping a fist full of his hair and dunking his head back under the water. Ties binding his wrist to the bed. A knife buried in his side.

It feels like the ground he’s standing on is rumbling, shifting beneath his feet and at any given moment it’s going to pitch him forward. A free fall and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to land on his feet.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Fists gripping the sheets as his stomach twists and churns. Swallowing around the uncomfortable burn in his throat, he turns his head to the side. Watching the movements just outside his bedroom window. Jack’s outside, kicking his soccer ball, and waiting for Daddy to come to join him. Hotch, will have to join him sooner rather than later. Even with the yard fenced in, anything could happen out there.

Funny. Just a few weeks ago, anything could have been blown under the rug with “at least it’s not cancer”. Now he’s plotting his will out in his head, making sure he covers every little thing. Who will lead the team? Where will Jack go? Can Jessica handle arrangements and should he start preparing the comfort letters now?

In the face of it all, he’d thought he could accept this. Life goes on. Things happen. He doesn’t want to die. All of those poems, the books, and the lies. “Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.” Well, that’s right shit, in his opinion. What comes next? Not light. Not hope. His body will succumb to cancer leaving behind the carnage of his actions.

Hodgkin's Lymphoma…

He’d known, in that morbid way his thoughts tend to twist, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. That it would be silly for the doctor to smile, sympathetic to his plight, and advise him to talk to his therapist about this new progression of paranoia. For a pat on the back. Instead, he got the cold examination table under his back, and the nurse giving his trembling hand a squeeze as the needle had plunged into his chest.

It’s all been a haze since that phone call. Since the confirmation. Now he’s got more blood tests scheduled for Monday. That’s what his life is now. Radiation for fifteen minutes for four days a week. On the fifth day, he gets blood work drawn. They check for enzymes and cells. He doesn’t really care to understand.

He should. Don’t mistake the careless, numb ache thinking about all this gives him for complete inattention to detail. It’s just a little much for one person.

Hotch finds himself wondering what Reid would tell him about the whole process. Statics that would knock the wind from his lungs and odds that would make him feel just a little better. That he’s too old and too stressed out. That radiation aimed at his chest can harden his arteries and increase his already high chances of a heart attack. That he should have seen this coming-- his father died at 47. Lung cancer. A heart attack.

He should have seen it coming.

“Daddy?”

He has to lean into his nightstand as the ground warps beneath his feet. “I’m coming,” he manages, closing his eyes and blindly hoping that his door is shut and Jack can’t see him. He wishes he’d smoked more. Indulged in Dave’s cigars. Gone drinking with Derek. Danced like Penelope. Fuck, smiled more.

He didn’t even know there were lymph nodes in the chest. He’d gone to law school. Spent his early adulthood learning to read complex course material and how to cry softly in a room with another person less than five feet from him. Maybe he should have studied Biology… but then he’d just have to come to terms with the fact that this whole mess was bound to happen. Predisposed. Genetic and environmental.

His fault.

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

Six in the morning is not a typical time to be fielding calls from concerned police officials. “He—Hello?”  Which, now that phone is tucked under his chin, and the call answered, he realizes that he should have checked the caller ID. As stated, is it six in the morning and he doubts anyone too important is calling him at this hour.

Unless, of course, his luck has finally run out and yet another political disaster has occurred. Leaving him to clean the wreck.

The other end makes a strange noise before he’s greeted with, “--finally! I was almost worried you wouldn’t answer!”

Oh.

Emily.

“Morning,” he greets, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little too grumpy for this right now but she’s obviously called for a reason, her happiness seeping into tone, and he’s not going to purposely ruin that. How many hours ahead is London, again? Why is she awake?

“I was worried,” she admits. He can hear her working, the drag of her pen across paper, and the shift of the leather chair she’s sitting in. Even her keyboard clicking away as she multi-tasks. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Home. He smirks, she’s been overseas now for several years. Yet, she still refers to Virginia as home. The thought makes him shake his head. He’d never draw the conclusion out loud to her but he can imagine that little slip-up is one of the reasons that her on-again-off-again boyfriend Michael grows frustrated with her. It’s not her fault. It’s an understandable mistake but it certainly reflects a certain tone for her affections of London.

Her preferences.

“They’re fine,” he answers, evenly. “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” He pauses to splash water across his mouth, preparing to wash his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

He places his phone on speaker and sets it on the shelf above his sink. Ducking his head, he listens to her while he washes his face. Going about the habitual process of shaving. A comforting thing he’s always done. He’s got no preference when it comes to facial hair. A beard is just as easy as a clean face. It’s about shaving. It’s soothing. It’s one of the few things that’s remained constant in his life.

She’s talking-- he thinks about how the weather in London has hit a point in the season that she doesn’t particularly like. Raining and cold. That she wants to come home but she isn’t sure she should. Will she really be able to tear herself away from the Virginia weather? From them?

He’s half-way done shaving when his eyes drift to his shirtless chest.

He wonders how many times he shaved, how many mornings did he wake up before he realized-- before he saw the tumor or the lump or mass or whatever the hell the medical term is. He lowers his head, sighing in defeat but mostly anger. How’d he let it get to this?

“Anyways,” she sighs. Sounding every bit as tired as he feels. “How is home? How are you?”

He looks at himself in the mirror. His head is absent of reason. No logic or forethought.

“I have cancer.”

-------------------------------- Everything about Aaron Hotchner is traditional and simplistic. It’s not a bad thing. In the years that she's known him, she’s grown fond of that. It makes him predictable and reliable. Something that happens infrequently in people the older that she gets. A part of her does feel wrong for clinging to that, to him, but she cherishes his friendship. Through the ups and downs.

Their means of communication are letters. Once a week she can expect to find two to three pages of neatly written updates on her family across the pond. He’ll ramble about anything in those letters and that’s what she enjoys about them the most. There is no hesitation to tell her what he thinks. In those letters, she can find Aaron. Incredible soft, thoughtful Aaron.

It’s been two weeks since he’s sent a letter. Not to sound clingy but she’s kind of hurt. More so, she’s nervous to find out what’s taking up so much of his time. He’s routine with his responses. Almost every Thursday night she can curl up with his newest letter and a glass of wine and read about the BAUs newest adventure. It’s always a bonus when throws in his subtle little “I” statements. I miss you’s come rare but when they do happen it’s nice.

Sighing, she caves. It’s Friday, she hasn’t heard from him in two weeks, and she misses him. By the time she has his contact picture pulled up and the ring tone dialing-- his goofy picture from his badge grinning at her-- she realizes that her eleven am is his six am. Just as she’s starting to think he won’t answer it goes through.

“H--Hello?” he sounds like shit. Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to forget what he sounds like. His voice is startlingly deep which does surprise her just a little.

“Finally!” she mumbles. “I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”

He yawns and it makes her smile. “Morning,” he grumbles and she can hear him scratching tiredly at his face. She feels guilty for waking him up for only a moment. That is until she remembers he gets up at six. So it’s likely she called right after his alarm clock went off.

Tucking her phone between chin and shoulder, she turns her computer on. Settling in behind her desk and getting to work. “I was worried,” she tells him. Not sure if she’s meaning to sound mad at him for not sending his “everyone’s alive and well” letter or mad that she doesn’t know how he is. He’s thrown her off her routine. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Her worry bleeds into the statement but he’s too tired to feed it or make fun of it.

She can hear him huff softly, an almost laugh.

“They’re fine,” he answers softly. His voice is drowsy, “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” She hears the tap run, he pauses, and she can hear him splashing water on his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

She smirks, it was raspberry. Although, she doubts Garcia liked it as much as he says. She’s not a huge raspberry fan. Besides, Emily had sent that tea with one specific tea drinker in mind: him. The thing about Hotch is, he’s traditional, but he’s also complicated. That’s just Hotch for “I enjoyed the tea you sent”.

Really, she’d just wanted him to be introduced to more teas than his just his simple black tea. Be more creative. Have some fun.

“I’m glad Garcia liked the tea,” she says with a smirk. “She’s been texting me all week.” Pictures, texts, and a few Snapchat. Emily doesn’t entirely know how to use Snapchat yet but she’s getting the hang of it. “You guys being grounded is relaxing, I’m sure, but that woman’s got way too much time on her hands.” Emily shakes her head at the thought. Lovingly, of course.

“Anyways,” she runs a hand over her face and she lets out a sigh. “How is home? How are you?”

There’s a long pause on his end. All his busy movements coming to a halt. It makes her heart pick up its pace, her gut twisting. Suddenly, that knee-jerk thought, that stupid thought that something might be wrong feels true. She’s just about to say his name when his voice cuts through.

“I have cancer.”

Her first reaction is oh. At least she was right.

That is immediately followed by-- oh fuck.

“Are you…” she swallows thickly, work forgotten. “Have--” Where does she even begin?

He clears his throat, “Hodgkin's Lymphoma.” He answers without her actually having to ask. It feels to get it off his chest, literally. To tell someone. “I guess--” he makes a choked sound like the shock of this news is setting in again. “They have to put, uhm, ink to locate the right place. So, I… I have a tattoo of sorts now.”

She laughs a half-pained sound. “I’m sure Morgan doesn’t consider it to be a tattoo,” she manages around the tightness of her throat. She cringes at the thought, ink and a needle just digging into his flesh. Cancer invading his body.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, she understands the silence.

“I haven’t told them.”

As much as she wants to be mad at him, she shouldn’t really expect anything different. He’s painfully shy and private. God knows if she hadn’t found him half-dead in the hospital after Foyet, he’d have gone as long as possible without telling them. He certainly wouldn’t have told them while still hospitalized.

It’s the same lack of forethought that goes through them, a moment of blindness. He’d felt the weight of restraints pulling his limbs down when the admissions had left his lips. She feels only conviction, “I’m coming home.”

It catches him entirely off guard.

She winces when he starts coughing. His first symptom since starting radiation. It’s a horrible sounding dry cough that makes her lungs ache just to hear.

The coughs fold him over, the force at which they leave his mouth is painful. What is it that makes coughing so painful? That’s never made much sense. It’s just air, right?

“Hotch?”

He rubs at his sternum, trying to externally soothe the muscles. “I’m okay,” he chokes. Shakily, his right-hand bears his weight as his left turns the faucet on. With his palm, he manages to sip a few mouthfuls of water. It just doesn’t stop the coughing. “I’m okay.”

She highly doubts that. There’s not a single thing about what she just heard that sounds “okay” by anyone standards-- certainly not his. “Are you going to work like this?” she asks. It’s hard to believe he’d allow himself to be seen in any state that isn’t tip-top shape. On that note, she also knows that way too good at putting on a show, and, for profilers, the team sucks at making that distinction.

The anger that evokes in him is undue. Admittedly, he overreacts. “I said I’m fine,” he barks. “I don’t need you checking in on me, Prentiss. I don’t need you here, too!” To watch. It’s bad enough, okay? That he’s going to have to tell his six-year-old son that he’s dying. Each morning a little more than the last and some days feel like he’s already half-lowered into the ground.

And the others. Reid and those sad eyes. The way Morgan won’t be able to look at him, just avert his gaze and storm out of the room. Dave’s crushing hug and JJ’s silent tears. Garcia… He can only imagine the raging in-betweens of what the news will do to her. Stress baking cookies he won’t be able to stomach. Knitting him hats, sweaters, and blankets with feverish vigor that he won’t be able to escape.

He could use one of Garcia’s love knitted blankets right about now.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he relaxes his tight grip on the sink. Knuckles paled and fingers aching.

“Sorry,” Emily finally manages after the long moments of silence.

Hotch hangs his head, biting his lip hard to stop the flow of emotions trying to work their way up. “No,” he rasps, thickly. He sniffles, scoffing when he rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, finding tears. “That was… inexcusable. I’m so sorry,” he leans down, body in half as he rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink.

This doesn’t even feel like his body anymore.

“Aaron?”

There are tears streaming down his face, he’s too tired to fight them off. “Hmm?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hums in agreeance, unable to trust his voice.

“Take it easy, okay? I love you.”

The line dies before he can hasten out a reply.

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

She’s been waiting on a reason to leave London for longer than she’s willing to admit.

Her dying friend proves to be reason enough.

Clyde has obvious mixed feelings but he can’t hold her back. He and Hotch had gotten set on the wrong foot. The rivalry between the two men is childish but endearing. Almost nothing has made her feel as loved as the proud smiles they both wear when she greets them. Clyde overwhelmingly pleased he’d won her back to London and Hotch smug she’ll travel hours to come to see him (she hadn’t done that for Clyde).

Almost nothing beats that.

“Emily!”

Her eyes are scanning the crowd before her, searching for her mismatched ragtag family. Sore thumbs, bobbing up and down in the crowd, they wave her to them. She notices he’s not there immediately.

“Princess,” Morgan sighs her name into her hair and she turns her face into his shoulder. Drawing in the strength she can feel wavering with a new wave of anxiety washing over her. It helps that they’re here. Derek’s arms wrapped around her after what feels like a lifetime away.

It’s only taken her three decades but she’s found her family and she’s not letting anything drag her away this time.

Garcia pushes at Morgan, causing a choked laugh out of them all. “Stop hogging all the Emily-lovings!”

Morgan smirks, trying to hide the relief swelling in his eyes like tears. He gets one more good look of her, eyes combing over her before parting with a sad smile. Relieved.

There’s a blur of motion. She’s pulled to each of them.

Garcia hugs like she’s trying to crush ribs and Emily lets her.

Hugging Dave brings tears to her eyes. Fuck, she’s missed them.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Emily threatens when she spots Reid near the edge. Pulling him close she rests her head against his shoulder, happy when he squeezes her back. “I’ve missed you, boy wonder.” Her genius. Just as scrawny as when she left him. She doesn’t want to do that again anytime soon.

Dave claps his hands together, grabbing one of the three bags she’d dropped. “Let’s get lunch, kiddos. We can talk about London.” He winks at Emily and she knows that this is going to spin into a conversation about potential love interests. She hasn’t had love on the brain in a while.

London… not everything she wishes it was. Cold and rainy. Relentlessly.

For the first month, she was over there, all she wanted was to come home. She just kept waiting for the rain to ease up. Then there should be that wet, hot humidity that clings to everything. She’d hated that before but now she’d just give anything to have it. For Reid to drag her out for coffee and the sun to bring out the chipper inflection in Garcia’s voice.

How the sun looked on Jack and Henry’s little head when she’d run around the park with them.

Fuck London, she’s just glad to be home.

“So,” she’s allowed them their fill of questions. Things about INTERPOL and if she’s still leaning heavily on take out food or if she’s managed even the faintest bit of finesse concerning cooking (she hasn’t). Leaning onto her elbows, she asks the question that’s been bugging her for hours. “Where’s Hotch?”

Dave leans back in his chair and JJ’s the first to crack. Of course, her poker face just isn’t that great. Her eyes move to Dave, concern written across her face. They might not know but it’s not that hard to figure out they know something isn’t right.

Reid shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes, and focus.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Dave informs her. He settles back in his chair, arms crossing on his chest. “He’s…” he sighs tiredly. For a moment he just shakes his head. Rubbing a hand over the coarse hair on his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “He’s Aaron,” Dave mumbles. “Complicated and… reserved.” He looks at her now, zeroed in on just her. Just them.

Her heart races at just the thought of them knowing.

JJ clears her throat. She distracts her worry with rubbing her nail at the glass. “He says he’s at meetings,” she tells Emily. “Says--” she shakes her head, flustered. Upset. Pulling in a breath, she shakes softly as it comes in. “Every day, he sends me an update email. Just a list of things he expects to get done for the day or places he might be.” JJ tucks a strand of her hair back from her face. “Our jobs circle around each other, a lot. It makes my life easier if I can find him without running all over the place.”

Morgan turns his head, away from the conversation. Wishing to be uninvolved but unable to escape.

“He’s lying,” JJ concludes. She worries her lip with her teeth. “His lists are…” her eyebrows furrow as she struggles to say exactly what she means. “Last week,” she says with a nod, having come up with her perfect example. “He said he’d be in a meeting. Didn’t tell me where, he always tells me where.” Her eyes scan over the table, looking for more. “Something’s wrong and he won’t tell us.”

Morgan huffs, shifted now so that his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. His legs crossed, even. Distant. “I don’t see why we don’t just let him be.” His tone betrays what he’s really feeling. That anger and the vulnerability. His words are reflexive. He’s always pushed away when things get tough.

Emily wants to rise to his defense or to say anything but she can’t.

“Reid went into his office yesterday--”

Reid flinches. The memory or the feeling, he draws himself in. Shielding himself from whatever is being said.

Garcia looks down at her lap.

“He was asleep at his desk,” Dave finishes, despite seeing just how uncomfortable Garcia and Reid look. “Out like a-- Asleep like he hadn’t rested in a while. It took-- I had to shake him awake. He was warm to the touch and shaking.” Dave looks down to the table. “Shaking. He was weak and I’d known,” he looks up, frowning sadly. “I’d known something was wrong before but whatever is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

The bottom of it… God, they’re going to be devastated.

Lunch brightens. It’s forced to when the conversation shifts to the children. To Henry starting fourth grade and Jack’s in middle school now. Since when did those babies grow up?

Sooner than maybe she’s ready for it, she has to leave them. She’s too tired, too jet-lagged.

And maybe… Maybe she’s ready to bother Hotch. To reacquaint herself with his grumpy, silent nature. Isn’t it silly to think she’d hated him once?

Now she knows where his house keys are hidden.

The key hits the lock and she realizes how this might not be as great of a plan as she had planned it to be. “Hotch,” she calls into the dark. She peaks around, hoping if he’s home he’s not on edge. She’s seen him hypervigilant, she knows this is an awful plan. Even calling ahead might not have been enough. So, it’s more than brave for her to just come barging in.

She puts her back near the coat rack, still hunched into herself in case he comes barreling around the corner. He doesn’t. “Aaron?” His car is out front, despite the darkness of the room suggesting the house is empty. The blinds are drawn shut, blocking all-natural light into the house. The air is cool. “Aaron if you’re here please, please don’t shoot me.”

Shutting the door behind her, she progresses into the living room. The creaking of floorboards draws her attention to the other side of the house and she spots him.

He comes around the corner of the hall, from the direction of his room. Tired eyes move up to find her, his lip quirks into half a smile. “Emily,” he greets under his breath. He’d heard the door open but the binds weighing his wrist and ankles to the bed had been too much for him to lift. Pained and slowed, he’d made his way to figure out who was home.

Certain it’s not Jack, he should have had a little more trepidation about coming out here to investigate.

She approaches him slowly, soaking in every line and angle of his body. The way he’s favoring his right side is a new thing but the crescent moons under his eyes are a comforting familiarity. Pulling in a breath, she drags her eyes all the way up to him. He’s lost some weight and it just makes his cheekbones that much more hauntingly sharp. It draws attention to the scars on his face, thin and aged.

With a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Just as ugly as when I left,” she informs him.

He smiles tiredly, sighing at her playful taunt. It makes the hug she pulls him into relieving. The aches and chills he’s felt all day lessen as she wraps her arms around him. Something about the way her hand cups the back of his neck while the other rubs his up along his spine.

She’s standing on the tips of her toes, stretching to get to him. He leans down into her, closing his eyes. She just holds him that much closer. Against her, she can feel the beating of his heart. The way his nerves had amped his heart rate up and now, as the beat slows, the way he calms under her touch.

“How are you?” she asks quietly. They pull apart and she feels the absence of his warmth immediately.

He pulls in a weak breath, one he lets out a strangled cough. Shakes his head and offers a shrug. “I’m okay,” he assures her.

She doesn’t fail to notice how his right hand shakily reaches out to steady him against the wall. They’ve never agreed on the definition of okay and, so, it’s not that surprising they wouldn’t now.

Burying a cough into the elbow of his arm, he starts to tremble. His breathing takes a heavy quality as he stands there. It takes only a moment for him to draw himself up to his full height,  swallowing down against the pain and forcing his body to bend to his will. If she didn’t know better, nothing would look wrong at all.

“Can I get you anything,” he asks, clenching his teeth to keep steady despite how exhausted he feels. “How long are you staying?” He knows she won’t actually answer that first question, so he steps by her and lets her follow him into the kitchen. Hyper-aware of the way he moves his body. Trying to look normal instead of stiff.

She follows him, watching for clues in the slips of his armor. One of the many benefits of having known him so long and knowing him well is that he can’t get much past her. “I’m staying for as long as I’m welcome,” she replies. It’s better than the truth, that she’s staying until he’s better.

He appreciates her choice of wording even if the truth is still there underneath it all. Leaving him the burden of the situation, which is considerably worse.

He sticks with a simple hum of understanding, knowing she’ll understand it as such. “Staying where,” he asks. Suspecting he already knows the answer. “Here?” He fills two glasses with water, desperate to soothe his dry mouth. Turning to her, he offers the first glass.

She accepts the glass without comment. “I didn’t think about where,” she lies, smirking over the glass rim at him. He shakes his head but doesn't comment. “Here would be good though.” She looks up at him and he shakes his head with a smile. “It would!” she defends. “I know you miss me and I could help around with Jack. If you won’t admit to it, I know he will.” Her smile twists mischievously, “besides, he’s my favorite Hotchner and I’ll make time to spend with him regardless of where I stay.”

He shakes his head but he’s already formulating how to move the guest room around to accommodate her. There’s not much in there. A bed with some regular looking sheets and two or three boxes of random things.

Putting her glass down on the counter she sighs. “We don’t need to worry about that right now.” Nodding her head back towards the hall she says, “you look miserable. Go to bed.”

He realizes that while she was talking he’s slowly started leaning more and more on the counter. Accumulating a lean to ease the aches wracking his body. She’s right. He looks miserable because he is. He’s exhausted.

“Do you need to take any medication?”

He shakes his head, not letting it bother him when she tucks herself against his side. Allowing him to lean into her. He doesn't but the warmth her body brings is pleasant enough to keep him going. 

He took everything he needed this morning. The medicine for the radiation rash he’s developed across his chest, the preventative pills for the fibrosis that might build in his lungs because of the radiation, and a whole other list of things he can’t really remember. He just has the bottles on his nightstand and knows that most require two dosages.

His bed is warm and soft, his eyes closing against his will. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t let her see him like this. This is his battle and he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it. There’s a comfort in sharing, though. Rather it be the brush of her fingers on his forehead, pushing back his crazy or the kiss she presses to his temple before whispering “get some sleep, Hotch”.

And, honestly, he’s tired of being alone.

“Emily?”

She turns in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

Someone has to be here. She wants to be here. “You’d do the same for me.”

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

Legs crossed, hair pulled into a half-assed knot atop her head she watches him curiously. He’s up an hour later than she’d expected. No coffee to go along with the egg he has for breakfast. Between them, they have an entire morning spent without nearly a word. Just a simple, “do you want an egg?”

He gets ready but not for work.

“What’re you doing?”

She gets ready too. For what, she’s not sure, but she’s interested none-the-less. Even if she thinks she knows the answer. It’s very interesting, she thinks, to step into the living room and find him staring dumbly back at her. No, not interesting. It’s fun.

Stepping around him, she pulls her coat off the rack. “Isn’t it obvious,” she asks, slipping her feet into the boots. “I’m coming with you.”

Flannel and jeans aren’t his typical go to but it’s a relaxed look. One she finds she doesn't hate.

He crosses his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed and a stern frown in place. Startlingly in control for a man she watched choke down half an egg before calling it quits. He hadn’t even had coffee. Now he shifts his weight, left to right. “Emily this isn’t--” he just stands with his mouth open. After a moment he shakes his head. “You don’t want to come.”

So it is treatment.

She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders and without comment pulls his down too, offering it to him.

He takes it with a sigh, shaking his head, but pulling the sleeves over his flannel. With a sigh, he grabs his keys off the counter. He points a finger at her, looking every bit the father scolding a troublemaking child. “You’re not coming inside the hospital. It’ll be an hour. You’ll drive someplace else. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

She smirks, pleased she’s won this round. Placing two fingers to her temple, she gives him a mocking salute. “Aye-aye captain!” Today, she won’t push. He’s come this far, weeks into his therapy. If he needs some time, then he needs time. Just so long as he knows she’s here now.

Leaving him is harder than she anticipated.

She takes his seat, half-listening as he stands at the door.

“There an outlet about five minutes North,” he says. He watches her move the seat around. Trying to drag the seat closer to the steering wheel so she can actually reach the pedals. “It’ll give you something to do. There’s a bookshop up there too. I-- I take Jack there.” He runs a hand over his hair. “A coffee shop and a smoothie stand and--”

She catches sight of the grey through his hair. Looking away, she clenches her jaw. Worry the edge of the steering wheel. “Aaron,” she finally stops him. “I can take care of myself for an hour. I’m a big girl.”

He shakes his head, ducking to so she can’t see the blush creep up his cheek. “Right,” he manages. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nods, “an hour.” She waits until she can’t see him. Those doors closing behind him. Swallowing him whole. It’s just an hour.

She was gone for an entire year. More than that really. Years. What are years to a single hour?

The coffee shop is quant. She can imagine him here. Tucked away within the stacks of books. Reid would like it here. The covers are old but, she thinks with a smile, he’d find something, not to date. Seeking a classic and turning away when it’s not in its original translation. That’s where Garcia has always been his balance. She’d pull him from a rant and sit him down with a cup of tea.

How had Emily ever left them?

Her hands tremble as she runs a finger over those old book backs. Mostly, she wonders what Hotch must be thinking. Heaven or hell. If all the work they’ve put into this job will account for anything at all in the end.

If it’ll hurt.

Her phone goes off. Done. Simple enough.

“I brought you a smoothie!” She’s got his sunglasses on when she pulls up. Not even offering to get out of the driver’s side.

He’s hurting more than he cares to admit. Tired and the rash on his chest burns. Seeing her pull up, he’s glad she doesn’t do more than hook her finger into the sunglasses and peer over their edge at him. Climbing into the car he takes one look at the smoothie and shakes his head. It’s dark green and even if he were hungry he’s sure that isn’t very good. “No thank you,” he mumbles, leaning back into the seat. He tilts his head against the rest.

She’s not really in the mood for arguments. More so, he’s just gotten out of treatment and all he’s had is an egg. “You’ll drink it,” she informs him, putting the car in drive. “Maybe not now but eventually.”

He grunts. Doubt that. If he’s going to manage to stomach anything, it’s not going to be that. Besides, he’d got plans: take a nap. That slowly goes down the drain.

Emily turns up the radio, humming along to a song he doesn’t recognize.

Turning his head, he watches her drive. He hasn’t told her yet but he’s very thankful she’s come back. Even if he’s slightly tainted the return with… She’s here taking over his life. Worming her way into his spare bedroom. Force-feeding him weird green smoothies. He doubts she’ll stop there.

“Hotch?” He doesn’t wake up when she shuts the car off. From there on, she’s gentle. Careful as she extracts herself from the car. “Aaron,” she rubs his shoulder.

He pulls in a small breath, turning slowly to her. Half-lidded eyes find her, confused.

When they left the house he’d looked better. Better than now. Not so exhausted.

“You fell asleep,” she informs him, backing up as he sits up. He has to use the seat to get there but he makes it happen. She waits back for him, letting him take his time getting out of the car. All while holding that damn smoothie she’s convinced she’s going to make him drink.

He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his phone goes off in his pocket. She turns at the door, waiting. He motions her on with a wave, taking the call. “Agent Hotchner speaking.”

She stops for a moment to watch him pull in the whole persona. Not Aaron who just fell asleep in the car but Hotch the rock. It’s sad, really, how quickly the one consumes the other.

She’s reading on the couch when he comes in.

He doesn’t say anything as he slips past, going back towards his room. He comes right back out. The loosely buttoned flannel is forgotten, replaced by a suit across his thin shoulders. Once, those suits had pronounced the sharpness of his body. The way his shoulders sit strong and straight. Now, that jacket doesn’t even look like it belongs to him.

“Where are you going?”

He only glances at her, ducking his head back to the task at hand-- putting on shoes.

She gets up off the couch, flipping the book text down. “Aaron,” she comes around the side. “You can’t go out there.” To work. It’s not healthy to go out there. He had fallen asleep on the ride home, not even twenty minutes ago. He won’t manage out there.

He turns to her as she steps into the room, scowl in place and a look of indifference pulled between them. All the protection he can garner for himself. “It’s not up for debate,” he replies. As if this is out of his control. He just can’t help but think it would be easier this way. It would hurt less, dying out there. A coherent death. He’d feel it. Quick and overwhelming.

But coherent. He’d know.

Not in a hospital. More machine than man. Unable to speak or too weak to think.

It would be better to die a hero.

“Aaron,” she calls, he’s just walking away. “You’re being unreasonable.” She wants to scream. To shout at him or grab him the collar of that oversized dress shirt and shake him. Force him to realize that he’s being stupid. Does he think she’s stupid? They both know this is self-destruction. Skipping treatment. Going into the field. All for this stupid image that he’s convinced himself is necessary. For who? Huh?

It’s better to suffer around people you love than to have them bury you. The only burden is the weight of your casket across their shoulders.

He turns, teeth clenched. Jaw set. “Am I?” he asks. His face has darkened, his cheekbones drawing his cheeks in. “I’m going,” he informs her, “regardless of whatever it is you have to say.”

He won’t look at her. That’s how she knows that no matter how illogical he’s being, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Back turned to her, he stops for just a moment. He knows this isn’t what he should. That this is neither his best option nor the right choice. Still, he opens the door. Stepping out he turns his head, eyes cast to the side. “I--” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know.

Before he can shut the door she calls his name out, fear overriding the anger. “Aaron,” she clenches her fists at her side. “Please be safe.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. Glancing at her, he nods his head. At least he has the decency not to lie to her. To pretend this is anything but foolish and a death wish. He shuts the door behind himself without another word.

Leaving her standing there.

Waiting.

She’ll still be waiting that night when Reid calls her. Incoherent.

“I-- I don’t know what’s wrong Emily! He won’t-- He’s bleeding and I--I… He said to call you.”

She shouldn’t have let him leave.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

[shinglescat]

ooga booga

Previous stories here. Kanarielle’s character page here.

It’s been quite a few months already since the power transit already, and to everyone’s surprise Esmir not only did not mind it at all, she even welcomed the change with her arms wide open. She did protest once, however, at the start of it all, when her grandchildren expressed their demands for her - the old lady surely expected her grandson to take the reign just out of spite, not the fragile granddaughter; she voiced her concern, but they did not listen. Still, she was suspiciously okay with the turn of the events, and Mark guessed it was because of more of the available free time in her schedule for… debauchery and other side projects. Other than that, Esmir’s been insisting on them both showing off at a soiree, just to keep the nobility talking about them, sort of a power display, and Livaen planned everything out from there herself as the new head of the family, as the new Lady Sorano.

It wasn’t in his plans to go alone, yet the circumstances thought differently. Livaen managed to talk him into this, promising an easy evening and a “free-to-go” card after. As soon as he opened his mouth to agree on the occasion, his luck decided to go south - later the same evening Aspen had to leave him due to some “unforeseen events” in a complete urgency. Mark knew better than to ask, as it was near impossible to get anything out of the man, so he was left on his own until he met with an old friend of his again. The luck wasn’t on his side this time either; he had to attend the soiree alone anyways, even though he and his friend arrived together and even agreed on playing out a couple for the public to spare the elf from unwanted attention and unsolicited affection; the girl had to take care of a sudden matter at hand, so he left her in the Void to her own devices and proceeded with the gathering alone.

- Hope it went well, - she greeted him as soon as he showed up, notes of worry in her voice. She was modestly sitting on his bed, in one of the smaller residences of the family, watching him as he got upstairs, walked up to the bed and crashed into the sheets with his face down right beside her. Kana patted him on the back lightly, feeling of guilt making her cheeks turn red for leaving him like this alone, - I’m sorry you had to be there on your own tonight, - she quietly apologized, - Won’t happen again.

- It’s okay, don’t sweat it, - he raised his hand to stop her from saying anything else, mumbling into the bed, eyes closed, - Could’ve figured the luck wasn’t on my side, - he snickered, drained and overwhelmed with the spotlight he had to endure with no way for him to retreat. So much for the promised easy evening.

Kanarielle rolled her eyes.

- Man, if you aren’t a diva, - she reached his head with her hand, her nails scratching the scalp. The elf tensed up a bit, but then relaxed into the feeling, pleasure from the touch tingling at the nape of his neck, - You can complain now, please do begin.

Mark sighed loudly.

- Nothing to complain, - he took a moment to breathe in and out, to calm down the heart that was beating way too fast in his chest, - It was a ginormous lie. She promised an easy evening, but… I dunno, if that’s an easy evening for her, I’m dreading of the harder ones, - he turned on the spot, his back against the bed sheets, facing the elf girl, - There was a woman… Has to be from Livaen’s retinue. Very insistent and utterly… handsy, kept touching me the whole evening, - Mark groaned, remembering the altmer lady - Niluer, the touch of her fingers still lingering on his skin, her nails on his jaw as she tried to get his attention, - And I’m not mentioning the other ones that were eyeing me like I’m a piece of a fresh delectable meat or something. Felt like they were about to devour me alive.

The girl raised her eyebrow, chuckling.

- Oh boy, are they in for a surprise tomorrow, - she said, whispering, - when I’ll be the only one groping your ass in public… - Kana cheerfully slapped her knees in anticipation, nudging him with her elbow, obviously joking. Mark had none of that; he tried to push her away, grunting disapprovingly at the mental image, - Alright, alright, no groping, - she gently stroked his shoulder, adding in a small voice, - Though you are the piece of a fresh delectable meat, - her hands went up into his hair, fingers combing through it, - Thought no one’s gonna notice you return into the family? You are one helluva promising bachelor, – he whined, attempting once more to shove her off the bed. She slapped his tummy lightly in retaliation, - Oh, and let’s not forget your grandma! Anyone in their right mind would want to bask in her power, - Mark tried to say something, but she covered his mouth with a palm of her hand before he would voice anything, - They gon be fighting for your body parts, heart and hands, all that. BUT!, they are the least of your problems.

- And the big problems? – Mark forcefully removed the hand off his mouth, snorting and rolling his eyes.

This time she casually smacked him on his forehead, clap rather loud than painful, the sound muffled by cushions and furniture.

- You have a huge profit sign on your forehead, - Kana pointed her index finger right in between his brows, pressing it into the skin rather painfully, - that’s what I’m saying; they will use and do anything to get to you. And since Livaen is… you know, I’m not talking about her even here, this seems to summon her out of thin air – this makes you a better target.

- Ugh, don’t lecture me, - he brushed off her warning, knocking the hand away from the face, - Like I don’t know it, there are always the people who would suck a dick or two to get some benefits, - Mark looked at her, then shifted his gaze at the window. He tried to ignore the thought, dismiss it as if it was of no concern, tried to act tough, but his mind still lingered on the concept. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes, set on steering the conversation away from him and the uncomfortable subject, - Was it the same in the Sanctuary? For you?

Kana shifted on the bed inelegantly, her entire spine stiffening up at the mention of the place. She looked nowhere.

-   No, not really, no, - she paused, reminiscing her own family, or rather those she used to call like that, - We’re far from nobility you saw there, though as far as I remember, - she hummed, biting her lip, memories resurfacing again after years of oblivion, - Mandil mentioned Bellaniel being a higher up member of the Falmeri society before the fall of the Snow Prince. We were more like a cult, I think, worshipping our blood and condemning the men, - Kanarielle snickered, - Imagine a club for old and bitter edgy elves – that’s us! It was similar for Ryl tho – Bellani intended on finding a party for her once she’s of age, marry her off to someone of their people, so they would “continue to carry on the legacy”, whatever that means, “of the last Snow Elves”, secluded in their own little world, of course, - something stirred inside her, and she paused, - Fuck, she’s probably married already, gotta have a kid, - her guts twisted unpleasantly, entire insides doing somersaults at once, a wave of nausea going up her throat. She tried to will it go away, but the awful feeling didn’t fade, - It’s been years since I last saw her. We were sixteen when I ran away, Mark, and Rylnir already had suitors courting her by that age, sucking up to Bellani, - the girl gasped for air loudly, as if suffocating, - They probably didn’t think of her anything but a hole in a piece of meat on the legs. We were just children, for fuck’s sake, but our fates were already decided for us.

Mark sat up straight.

- What about you? – he asked carefully, feeling uneasy, anxious of what she’s about to say, the memories likely distressing her.

- Dunno if I had it better, - she shrugged, leaning on his shoulder and hiding her face in the crook of his neck, - Ryl’s to become the next Matriarch once Bellaniel’s dead, and I was set to become the guardian to the realm. Bellani did everything to indoctrinate me, all that inspirational religious bullshit, and it honestly worked – I was bitter at men, at what they had done to us, - Mark hugged her by her shoulders, holding her tight against his side, feeling a faint shiver and a frequent, fast heartbeat, so strong it was reflecting in his own body, almost deafening. She was tense, her entire body stiff, ready to fight, - She played the “you’re the last of your kind” card, and I was dumb enough to fall to that. She poisoned me with hate, - the girl pulled back, looking into the elf’s eyes.

- You hate her too, - he whispered, cringing on the pain in his forearm, as she clung to it like to a lifeline, - No… You are afraid of her.

She sighed, releasing the arm from her grip, settling back on his shoulder. The fury, the anger she felt died out in a blink of an eye, replaced with an empty cold calm.

- I am, - her voice tranquil, - I used to hate her, now I’m just scared. She did everything to turn me into a willing vessel for Meridia, - she straightened her arm, reaching out into the air, green sparks swirling under her palm, - I was to become a purified, think you’re familiar what that means. She always talked about caring of all meri, but was only interested in the survival of her own kind, didn’t give a shit about anyone else. Leo was the last adult ayleid in the realm, and I was the only child of my “untimely deceased” ayleid parents. Isn’t it weird? – she glanced at him, puzzled, -  Guess she found it poetic.

Mark lowered them both onto the bed, still holding her in a hug, gently stroking her arm. Meridia again, huh, with a quest for an army of brain dead glowing vegetables.

- How did you escape?

- No clue, Mark, I swear. I was sitting in my chambers, talking to Mandil, then I blackout and later find myself swimming through a cave with a thing chasing me. Was scared shitless, but managed to get out, ended up at the western shore of Ilinalta, - she rose up above him, pointing at her silver eyes, - You know, I used to have blue eyes, but I guess she or… they tried to punish me for leaving, tried to make me blind. I thought I’m done for, but Jack found me, did some magic, restored my sight, - her voice sounded much more serene than a few minutes before, heartbeat no longer audible, - A few years later Bellani tried to bring me back, affecting me through dreams. Almost succeeded, too, but Jack intervened, pierced her through in one of the nightmares and sundered the connection to the Sanctuary. Hadn’t had them since.

- Shit, Rie, that’s….

- Now that’s the name I hadn’t heard in a while, - she laughed hopelessly, interrupting Mark before he would express his condolences, still towering above him. She looked sad, though the weak smile on her face tried to say something else, - Jack used to call me that, - the girl closed her eyes dreamy, as if she heard him call her again.

- What happened to him? You were so inseparable, - the elf inquired, pulling her back onto the bed.

- Yeah, were, but he grew distant, and I had to leave him, all that bubbly stuff, - she turned on her side, her head resting on Mark’s chest, - I loved him, otherwise I’d leave him sooner. It was hard to let go, but it was for the best. Him growing distant helped to sever the bond.

- Did he love you though? – Mark asked into the air, gently stroking her arm, eyes growing weary, fatigue steadily putting him to sleep.

- Don’t know. I think he was just attached, nothing more, we were never meant to be, - she laughed humorlessly, - He saved me though, and I’m grateful for it, would never make it to the adulthood without him. Would be lying if I said I don’t miss him sometimes too. He was my first real friend anyways, was foolish of me to fall for him, - Kanarielle paused, thinking about something for a moment, - But I have Scott now… Actually, - she rose up, looking at him as another thought crawled into her head, - Do you think there could be something between you and I if the circumstances were different?...

Mark gazed outside, genuinely thinking about her question for a good minute or two. He couldn’t tell if he liked her appearance or not, as it was the foremost to judge a potential partner, he never gave it much thought in this regard, and found himself unable to… check her out, no matter how hard he tried to do so. Then he tried thinking about the other girl he knew, tried to compare them – Braenn was one example, but something in his own head prevented him from doing so. He thought of Meltem – yes, that woman was the best of them all; he thought of Livaen’s Nilufer – the woman was quite alright in the looks department; but then he went back to Kana, then mother, then Visenya, and the block returned. As far as the personality went… he burst into laughter, giving the girl funny looks: they would be like an unconfined wild fire together in the middle of a field of a dead dry grass in winter, self-combusted from a rogue zombie-flame under the ground, with someone dumping the fuel to keep them roaring. He didn’t like her at first, she seemed to be too haughty; he guessed she didn’t like him at first either, must have been something about him as well. As the time went by, he figured her being too proud of herself was a defense mechanism, and as they grew closer he discovered a whole new side to her; it probably was the same with her opinion of him, otherwise they would never make it to good friends able to share some darkest, and dumbest, secrets.

- Honestly? – he looked at her, a single tear dancing in the corner of his eye, making the image blurry. She nodded, - Don’t think so. We’re too much alike, and that’s the recipe for a disaster, - the elf girl smirked, approvingly patting him on his chest.

- True, you were really annoying back in the days, - Mark raised his brow at that, looking playfully offended, - And the fake beard of yours?

- Ugh, - he groaned, smiling, - Remember yourself, you thought you are the all mighty ayleid, and it was in your destiny to make the world bow before you, you wanted to conquer the ruby throne, - the elf gestured wildly with his hands, making the girl pinch the skin on his sides and poke him somewhere under his rib.

- Oh, oh! Remember that huge eyeliner you had? Why did you paint it like that? Also, glad you dropped it, - she finger gunned at him.

- Meltem used to paint it, - he explained, - Helped with… identity at the time. She came up with the idea, really boosted my self-esteem. Can’t do it myself though, hands aren’t as steady, - Mark grunted, - Asked Aspen to help me put it on once Meltem left with Livaen, but he said I’m fine as I am and hid the pencil somewhere, still haven’t found it, - Kanarielle wheezed, giving thumbs up to the absent man for the idea; she was glad he made him ditch that horrendous face paint. They laughed for a little longer, remembering the vices and virtues of each other; it was a good distraction from the talk they had before, yet the thoughts in Mark’s head like cockroaches kept racing and bringing him back to the delicate subject, replacing the cheerful smile with a frown, - Shit, - he rubbed his eyes again, prompting Kana to yank his hand away from his face, - Shit, I didn’t know. You never told me the whole story.

- If that is of any comfort, I had no idea either, - she hugged him across his chest, - That is… until you brought me back yesterday. The Void is so different from what I remember, - Kana made a quiet laugh, - Catherine kept me from going out with you, had to tell this to me; couldn’t join you after the revelation, needed to process this through first, - it made him rise on his elbow, looking at the ayleid with eyes wide open. She knew Catherine? Or did she introduce herself while he was gone? - Don’t be so surprised now, - she rolled her eyes, pushing him back into the bed sheets, - I lived in a daedric realm for more than half of my life, don’t you think I know how to communicate with the entities? - Kanarielle giggled, adding in a low voice, - It must be awkward to have her watching over you all the time, especially during the..., - she hummed, - frisky moments, - red in the elf’s face started showing, making her add, - I missed the girly gossips.

- Oh my god, why, - Mark whined, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands, embarrassed, blood rushing to his head, turning him red, - Why you have to ruin everything.

- Well, that was intentionally awkward, - she grinned at him, pretty happy with her achievement, - Now let’s talk about you instead. How were you?

Mark groaned, still red as a pomegranate, but gladly changing the funny subject nevertheless.

- She prolly told you how I was as well, - he couldn’t help but reply in an annoyed and sarcastic tone, and she smacked him across his forehead for that, - Stop hitting me! – the elf grabbed her forearm before she’d descend another blow upon him, throwing daggers at her with his eyes, - I’d probably be dead as well, alright? Not brain dead like you or Cath, just dead-dead in my case, - he scratched the bridge of his nose, - Father told us, hadn’t I met Aspen, I’d be floating among the pillars with my throat slit open, no biggie, and you’d probably be the first one to find me, - he fell silent for a second, deciding to reroute the conversation one more time, - You have to teach me later how to interact with the whole place. But only basics, nothing in-depth – wanna leave the reigns in Cath’s hands.

- Sure thing, - she replied, readjusting herself on Mark’s chest, putting a hand under her head and enjoying the silence, - Don’t wanna turn into your daddy, do you? – it was Mark’s turn this time to smack her lightly on her back, - Ouch. That hurts, - the girl glanced at him, insulted. She wanted to make a comeback, but the elf already had his eyes closed, breathing quietly, chest calmly rising up and going down, exhaustion finally getting to him. She watched him for a second, musing whether to follow his lead and go to sleep, or to mess with him more, when a sudden thought emerged, - Mark? – she called him, drawing a dozy hum from him, - You ever thought about making it official?

- Official what? – it took a whole long moment for the elf to reply, mind already slipping away into slumber.

- You know… tying the knot, - she elaborated, gesturing vaguely, - getting the arrow to the knee, - Mark snorted, - Marriage, for fuck’s sake, you deep skull dingus, - the elf snickered, shoving the girl off him, turning his back on her, - Seriously, Mark. You need to.., - she couldn’t finish the sentence, as he bent around rather uncomfortably, putting his hand over her mouth.

- Sure, you’re gonna be my flower girl, - he unbent back into his place, tucking his hands under his head, sleep returning to him once more, - Now shut up, - she pinched the skin on his side yet again, mad at him for interrupting her, but the elf didn’t react, - Nah, you’re not getting the maid of honor, that’s gonna be Meltem.

________________________________________________________

- Where is he, you dipshit, - Kanarielle cornered a servant, holding him by his throat, green fumes shimmering in between her fingers, threatening the poor man with a slow and painful death. She’s been stalking him like a predator this whole evening, observing from a distance first to confirm her suspicions, them making a move, - Where is he?! – she repeated, her voice raw, uncharacteristic to her, as she slammed the servant into the wall. The man whined like an injured dog, - I saw him with you, you stupid cunt, what did you give him and where did you take him? – the man kept silence, anxiously shooting glances behind her as if someone were to save him from the enraged ayleid. She slapped him across his face, - Sunnabe, dead or alive, you’re telling me everything either way, - Kanarielle spat, piercing through the skin on the neck of the servant with the shards of ice condensed at the tips of her fingers, turning the them red as the blood leaked out of the wounds. She didn’t want to resort to puppeteering – it was hard, tiresome to hold the connection, she hated to control living beings like this, and most importantly at the moment – she was wearing an expensive evening dress; it was something Mandil taught her in secret from Bellaniel, figured she would need this knowledge should she be in a grave danger. It was different from the common known blood magic; hers was primordial and basic, relying on the blood flowing through the creatures of flesh. One way to use it was to draw blood of a target, allowing her to control it indefinitely; there could be multiple targets at once, up to a full army, with, possibly, no limitations, though she had no opportunity, or will, to test it. The other way was to manipulate a target though the power of her own blood, ideal for covert operations and perfect for remote control. Both had their drawbacks: first was messy, leaving wounds on the victims, having literal strings attached that get severed with a distance; the second required constant concentration, and she couldn’t hold it for a long period of time, draining her of her powers, - Now speak, - the flesh under her hand relaxed, and she removed herself from the body, - From the beginning, - she commanded the servant, smearing his warm blood in between her fingers.

… She made her way down a green cavern, voices becoming louder and louder. It was dank in here, moldy smells in the air; the cave floor was muddy, footprints barely visible in the wet dirt, occasional slide marks too – someone lost their footing and slipped on the slope. Luckily, she didn’t notice any signs of fight or struggle.

The servant, or rather his willing body, proved useful in tracking down the abductors. The people behind the kidnapping were some backwater nobles of the Reach, merchants by trade, criminals by fate, barely known to the world; the business became harder with the more frequent attacks of the foresworn and the vampires, and their town in the middle of nowhere quickly depopulated, turning into a shadow of its former self… Like it was blooming before, Kanarielle snorted. Apparently, they were helped by some families once or twice with soldiers, food and gold, but their inability at keeping it together turned away their former allies, leaving them alone. Fast forward few years later, and the family finally resorted to racketeering, trying their “best” to help their town to survive. They should’ve just left it altogether, there was nothing valuable in the area safe for a small field of crops and an iron mine.

Kana warned him, told him to be careful around the nobility, to trust no one and be on a high alert, but he did not listen. He was careless around people, bothered by something so much he had lowered his guard down; she tried her best to keep him out of harm’s way, but failed, letting him slip from her constant surveillance. Now where was he? Kidnapped, held captive as a tool to regain someone else’s power; he was here somewhere, hopefully not dead or sick. The Soranos didn’t know, not yet, neither did know Meltem about what happened – she kept her discovery secret, preferring to keep it quiet to keep the collateral damage as low as it could be possible. An easy job, infiltrate and rescue, she’s done this a hundred times already with Jack. So far she did good, only once having to knock out a brute at the entrance; entering a combat would be a death sentence for her alone without anyone to back her up.

The servant uncovered their ploy. The merchants turned criminals joined together with a group of highway robbers: the first were to find an unsuspecting target and to gain their trust – they still were nobles despite the shady dealings; the second were to wait outside for the first to render the target unconscious to abduct them to a secluded retreat far into the forests; the nobles then would be free of any suspicions, and later can present the wounded party with their help, saying they… found the culprits through their connections in exchange for a favor and some fame points. And Mark just made their entire bank and more, Kanarielle shook her head disapprovingly, they probably didn’t expect to make it with a hostage of his size.

She climber up a ledge, observing the roaming bandits below: she counted five of them, all minding their own business; they did not seem to notice an intruder yet. Behind – she passed three more, and she had no idea how many of them were ahead. “How much you think we gonna get for he arse?” – she heard one of them asking the other. Kanarielle slowly exhaled, not knowing she had her breath held this whole time, relieved with the question - it meant these bandits were still on the same page with the merchants back at the party. “We’re better off selling him to someone else”, - another voice chimed in, low and worried, “The kid’s a Sorano, his granny won’t leave us alive once we do the deal”. Right, the girl thought, the merchants told them there’s going to be a negotiation, but failed to mention them slaughtering all the bandits to keep them quiet and away from their own affairs. “We have our orders! The boy is to be sold to his family. Our patrons shall cover us”, - another one spoke, flailing around with a rusty mace of his. A dangerous stuff, Kana noted, as she noticed a sick yellow aura radiating from it, the glow floating on the surface of the metal. “You so sure?” – the man from before replied, sarcastic tone of his voice, definitely having experience in this matter, “Our dear “patrons” might as well rescue the kid themselves! You know how they operate, we mustn’t trust them. Gotta sell the boy to someone else, get our gold, save our lives as well while we can…”

Kanarielle didn’t listen to them any longer, dropping down from the ledge, trying not to slip on the wet floor, and proceeded further. She sneaked behind the rocks and furniture, snippets of their conversation getting to her ears, none registering though. Her mind was still at the thoughts expressed by the last guy – little idea he had about how close to the truth he was; their “patrons” were to rescue the elf in a few hours, slaughtering each and every single one of them on sight so they wouldn’t tell the truth to Esmir.

Another bend of the tunnel, and she saw cages and a guard, so carelessly standing with his back wide open to the entrance, watching after the precious prisoner. Without wasting anymore time, she sneaked up on him, delivering a sharp blow with a dagger right under his ribs. His blood rushed to the wound, turning her hand red; the man did not utter a word, but tried to fight her and the feeling, yet the control over his body slipped away eventually, and she took over it herself, his blood like strings attached to her fingers.

- Guard the entrance, - she commanded quietly, blood shimmering in the weak light of the torches, - Do not let anyone in, tell them whatever you must. Do not pick a fight, try to stall them as long as you can, - the man nodded, turning on his heels.

She looked around herself; the elf was lying in front of her behind the bars, seemingly unconscious, thick metal cuffs around his wrists digging into his skin, a tight metal collar around the neck. The keys to the cages were lying flat on the wooden table across the room, covered in a layer of rust, all of the same shape and size, so it probably didn’t matter which one she used to open the locks.

Kanarielle entered the cell, kneeling before him and inspecting the shackles – runes were all over them, glowing lightly with violet, radiating something that made it harder for her to breathe, fatigue getting to her, probably enchanted with silence, draining the prisoner of his magic; they were prepared well, even predicted the possibility of a magic-capable hostage. She tried to open the locks with the keys from the cells, but none worked the key to the binds was probably in someone else’s hands, and she had no time to go back and look for it. The other way to rescue the elf was to disintegrate the metal altogether: the ayleid put her hands around the collar first, watching it start to age, rust flakes falling slowly until there was nothing left, all crumbled to dust, the enchantment gone as well. A wave of power washed over her as the barrier containing the magic was gone, and Mark gasped for air, his consciousness returning to him.

- What the…? – he tried to ask, but his throat was dry like a desert, preventing him from speaking more.

- Don’t talk, - Kana told him, cupping the cuffs with her hands, disintegrating those as well, the metal turning to rust and to dust, - Gonna tell you later. Can you walk? Gotta get out of here, - she got back on her feet, handing him a small flask of water she had stashed in a pocked. The elf finished the entire container in no time.

The kid tried to stand, shaking violently, muscles sore, but standing nonetheless. He was no fighter at the moment, more of a burden, and she had to get him out of here to the safety of his grandmother.

  ________________________________________________________

- Esmir was furious when I dragged your sorry ass to her, - the ayleid laughed lightly, applying a soothing balm to the irritation on the skin from the rusty metal cuffs on his wrists and his neck. There was some swelling here and there, bruises and scratches, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with the time, - Not gonna lie to you, it was scary, - Mark hissed quietly at the girl rubbing on his wounds. He was already sitting at the edge of the bed, ready to take off from the discomfort of the balm she was using, - Shit, sorry, but you gotta take it as it is, I’m no healer, - the elf silently nodded, turning his head to the side, - You know, your grandmother’s a terrifying woman. She was all fury for the first couple minutes, then calmed down, and next she was playing along with the guys who ‘napped you. Esmir, the helpless and innocent old lady, - she snickered. A crackling sound in the distance alerted her; she turned to look into the direction of the sound, but there was nothing. The Void was calm as well, so she paid no further attention to it, resuming the talk, - She sent Orlan after them, then went in herself. Dunno what happened there, but she was… ecstatic on their return, totally soaked in blood.

- Picked the wrong granny to mess with, - Mark laughed, coughing, still exhausted. It’s been a few days already, and he still hadn’t recovered from the incident, magic depleted. Esmir figured the shackles had some strong enchantment bound to them, and it would be for the best to let the kid rest in the Void, to let the place do its job; Kana brought him back here, staying at his side this whole time and tending to the bruises.

She added one last smear of the balm to the swelling on his neck and set the jar aside.

- Damn, you never told me she had a daedra for a lover. Disgusting. And what’s even more disgusting is that it said it’s your… I’m sorry, half-brother? – she had a mixed expression on her face, disgust with repulsion and confusion sprinkled on top.

Mark groaned.

- Don’t ask. Father’s side. Luckily they aren’t related. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were, she can do anything, - he brushed it off as if it was a no biggie. Really, it was a no big deal for the woman, she found interest in everyone and everything that moved and had some semblance of personality to them. Her main lover was her bodyguard and ex-general Orlan, whom she trusted with her life and everything she had. The other was the daedra, Walerian, and she praised him as a versatile worker bee, though Mark wished he didn’t know that; he was the usual resident of her beds, and she loved showing him off in the public. Another one was a woman she mentioned once, an old altmer mage, but he couldn’t remember her name, and an unknown dunmer with violet eyes. Esmir was a married woman though, not even a widow, yet that did not hold her back in her love affairs.

- That is gross. Anyways, - Kanarielle covered her face with the palms of her hands, trying to make her face relax after cringing so hard, - It? He then? said they had a fun time messing with them, - she paused, listening to the sudden footsteps sounds growing louder and louder, as if someone was getting closer, but the Void, Catherine, didn’t alert her to the intruder, so she tried to not mind it, - He went into the details, but I had to cut him short. Really disgusting, thank you very much, and I’d rather not hear about the guts hanging for the ceiling and eventual… you get the idea. Super gross. Apparently they had some fricky time in the pools of blood and right on top of the corpses, - she added quietly, gagging. Esmir did enjoy some blood and gore plays.

Someone walked into the room, their steps echoing against the stone.

- What happened here? – the silver-haired man inquired, looking at the elves on the bed, blood dripping from his hands and a huge serrated sword, leaving a red trail behind. He lowered the weapon with its jagged edges near the entrance, the blade making a clacking sound against the stone.

Mark shushed at Kanarielle, giving her the most intense looks she’s ever seen in her entire life. His face went from asking to threatening to murderous and to pleading, but she had none of it.

- No biggie, - she winked at the elf, - this dumbass got himself kidnapped, - the girl shrugged her shoulders as the dumbass in question hit her lightly into her thigh. Aspen cocked his eyebrow at them, - He oughtta know what kind of idiot you are, stop being pissy, - the elf rolled his eyes, giving the ayleid the middle finger, - I’m wounded! – she exclaimed, - Alright, cue taken, gonna leave you two, - Kana raised her hands into the air, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

Aspen took off his blood soaked coat at the entrance, disposing of it rather untidily. There was a hint of worry in his otherwise blank face, and it took the elf by surprise when the man approached him.

- You hurt? – his voice uncharacteristically concerned, - Let me see, - he reached his hand out to the elf, trying to catch him by his arm, but the elf pulled away, almost jumping, violently shaking his head.

- You ain’t touching me with those, - he pointed at the coagulated, almost dried out blood on his fingers. Face nonchalant, Aspen grabbed a fistful of clean purple bed sheets and wiped the hands with them, reaching to the elf once again. Mark groaned, giving him his hand at last, - Who’s blood is that?

The man gently touched the swollen bruise, his fingers finding the wet sticky balm Kanarielle applied a few minutes ago; he stroked the entire scar lengthwise, occasionally drawing huffs and puffs from the elf: it’s been less than a week since the incident, but the area under the binds still hurt as if covered in tiny invisible cuts.

- Not mine, - Aspen answered with a low and tired voice, letting go of the hand and switching over to the bruise on the neck, - Should be gone in a week, - the man concluded, pulling the elf’s black haired head closer, giving a quick peck under the jaw and letting go.

Aspen looked drained, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, the elf noted, watching him from below remove messy articles of clothing; he looked like he’s about to crash, and his gear did not want to cooperate with the fatigue. Mark had to stand up; he stopped him with a gesture of his hand, grabbing the apparel himself and pulling down, discarding near the bed – he’ll tidy it up later. The man thanked him faintly, clumsily climbing on the bed, crashing into the sheets with eyes already closed; the elf sat at the edge, looking all over him for a moment: he seemed uninjured, just deadly tired.

- So, when are you returning? – Mark asked after a long pause, having nothing else to ask. Aspen tilted his head at the elf, one eye barely open, sighing in exhaustion before closing it again, - Fine, gonna leave you alone then.

- Stay, - he muttered, catching the elf by his forearm before he would get up. With the residue of strength he had left, Aspen pulled him onto the bed, a tad higher than himself, - I have to get some sleep, - he told him as if explaining an obvious concept to a toddler, throwing his arm around elf’s waist to keep him grounded. The man was tense, muscles stiff and rigid, - Need to get going in a few hours, - his words carried a concealed plea, and if Mark didn’t know him any better, it would go unnoticed.

He nodded, awkwardly climbing higher onto the bed, almost curling around the man, around his head and the torso; his white hair smelled of iron and gunpowder, a hint of ash too as he combed through it, the scent becoming stronger as he planted gentle kisses. Aspen softened into the feeling, brows relaxing, breath steady. Mark smiled gingerly, his hand going lower, caressing man’s temples softly, thumb brushing the high cheekbones; eventually, both drifted to sleep.

  ________________________________________________________

Mark was woken up by a scent of marigolds with faint notes of lemon balm, thyme and sage, all carried with an overwhelmingly sweet and sour aroma of sea buckthorn. He cringed; he loved the tree, it was absolutely unique in its looks of silver needle-like leaves and amber fruit, yet the berries’ taste was disgusting in his book, and it made him want to get away from it as far as he could.

Something touched his neck, warm and oily, thick liquid slowly going down his skin, rerouted by a touch somewhere else. He opened his eyes; instead of seeing Kanarielle with the tingling, itchy balm Esmir’s healer gave them, he found Aspen bent over him with a smelly jar in his hand, amber of color, applying the oil to the bruise on his neck.

- Miss Aquilla brought me the ingredients I asked her, - he noticed the elf wake up. Mark winced, the smell of the berries too strong to bear. The man smiled; he put the jar aside to pet the elf on the head with his clean hand, leaning closer to kiss him on the forehead, - The one you used before caused irritations, had to make something different, - his fingers dipped into the oil again, smearing another portion of it on the other side of the neck, gently rubbing it in until it stopped dripping.

- Thanks, - the elf mumbled, trying to get up; Aspen pulled him up, switching his attention to the bruises on the wrists, - Thought you needed to get going, - Mark said, watching the man rub in the oil into his skin; he’s bound to be smelling funny the whole day. The man nodded.

- I have some time left, - he switched onto the other wrist, - Need to tend to your bruises first, - the jar was finally closed, and Mark exhaled in relieve; surprisingly, the new mixture didn’t sting at all like the fat-based balm before did, and he’ll probably get used to the smell later on, - Mark, why can’t I leave you alone? – Aspen suddenly asked, grabbing him by his hands, taking the elf by surprise. He sounded like a disappointed teacher, - You have to be more careful, - the man explained, drawing a wheezing laugh from him, - I’m being serious, Mark, - he paused, - I don’t want to come back one day and find you missing a limb, - Mark laughed nervously, staring at the weary man; the intense look in his eyes said more than he needed to know, filling the elf with guilt the more he kept staring. He muttered an “I’m sorry” under his breath, shifting his gaze somewhere to his feet, fidgeting with fingers, “I’ll be more careful”, - I know you are worried as well, - Aspen pulled the elf in a hug, feeling him rest his chin on his shoulder, - I will be back soon.

- Yeah, - Mark sighed, hiding his face in the crook of man’s neck, - Haven’t heard anything from you for almost two weeks, and last night you appeared soaked in blood. Can’t mind my own safety when I don’t know if you’re okay or not.

- I’ll be back soon, promise, - he repeated, pulling away, - I have some unfinished business, it won’t take long, - Aspen kissed him on the forehead, getting up from the bed, - Have to get going now, - he told him, collecting his gear lying around on the floor haphazardly, the blood dried out and flaking already, leaving red spots throughout the clothing; Mark rose up after, helping him put the apparel on him.

- You are disgustingly sweet, - Kanarielle took both by surprise, silently entering the room, almost sneaking up on them, - Might as well start selling all that sugar of yours… Here, the last piece of your order, - she came up to them, handing Aspen a leather pouch filled with something, hard edges prominent under the hide. The man thanked her with a nod, palpating the purse and the contents inside; happy with the thing delivered, he kissed the elf goodbye and bowed to the ayleid, - Boy, aren’t you two looking like a couple of mushy puppies, - she commented, watching the man leave them alone and disappear into the portal.

- Kana, - Mark suddenly called her, weirdly excited. Her comment was ignored, - tell me, why can’t I make shortcuts through the Void?

- Shortcuts? – she was taken aback by his question, expecting anything but this. She furrowed her brows, looking for a better answer. Unlike the Void that one could access from anywhere, the Sanctuary had a single door inside and out, connected through a disguised portal to a series of flooded long caverns for a more difficult access inside a mountain range in Skyrim. To travel from within the realm, Bellaniel had built a secret chamber with hundreds of doors, all connecting to the outside world, and she was the only one who had the keys to get in and out, - Well, the Void is closer to a pocket realm: you exit where you enter, - the girl explained, gathering her thoughts together, - It’s like a hub; to exit elsewhere you need to have a door or two with an anchor in the world outside. Something like that.

- Can we make them? – he inquired cautiously, thinking about the prospect, - And are there any security risks?

The elf girl laughed.

- You are bothered by the security? Oh boy, Mark, you can make it so no one gets there, ever. This whole place belongs to you, you are the master key; you give and revoke invitations to the place, it’s as secure as nothing will ever be, - she hugged him by his shoulders, ruffling his hair, - I have no idea how to open or make doors, but… - Kanarielle listened to the breeze, - but I think Catherine is more than happy to help us.

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt. 1]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Summary:  Struggling with the death of your husband, you find comfort in someone unexpected.

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death 

A/N:  It’s a military AU with the loss of a spouse. This was the only WIP of mine I was really upset to discontinue. Which is why it’s the only one I left up. After some love from my @moonbeambucky​,​ I’m posting the first chapter and we will see how it goes. No, I do not have a posting schedule nor do I know when the next part will be up. No Bucky yet but the next chapter is nothing but Bucky.  It’s still very heavy in the angst but hang tight. It gets better once Bucky comes home. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s breath warmed your skin, making you shiver. “It’s time to wake up, my sweetheart.” 

You pulled the cover over your head, hiding the grin on your face and blocking out the sun along with your husband. Steve’s chuckle made your smile widen enough to make your cheeks hurt. There was a gentle tug to the blanket, and you knew Steve was attempting to tenderly coax you out of bed. You slowly lowered the quilt down to your nose, only letting your eyes peek out, and you find your husband’s gorgeous smile beaming down at you, making your heart flutters from the sight. 

“It’s Saturday, Steven.” 

“Steven?” Steve chuckled and tried to pull the covers off your face yet again. “I’m in that much trouble?” 

You narrowed your eyes and tightened your grip on your blanket. 

“Yes, Steven, you are.” 

Steve settled himself on top of you, leaving the blanket wedged between you, but he pulled it down far enough to see your whole face. He placed a kiss to the tip of your crinkled up nose and smiled at the exaggerated pout you put on. 

“We have brunch with everyone, or did you forget that it was your idea?” 

“I did forget,” You whined quietly. “You know better than to let me plan things when I’m excited, and I’ve had more than two glasses of wine.” 

He only grinned wider at that. Didn’t say a word, and you started to fidget from your own self-consciousness. You hated and loved it when he looked at you like that. It made you fear the day he would stop. Eight years in, and it was still there despite fights over how to load the dishwasher, silly tiffs about money and arguments over what way the toilet paper goes on the holder. 

“What are you going to do when our kids come running in here to wake you up? Are you going to send our sweet babies away?” 

He just had to go there. Steve just had to go and mention sweet moments of babies and cuddles -- Your weakness.  

You relented and finally wrapped your arms around his neck, dipping your fingers into his longer than usual hair. He would have to cut it soon.  Couldn’t be a soldier and have hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. You liked when he let it get long, though. It made him your Steve again. Which sounded ridiculous. He didn’t have long hair and beard when you met, or the night he kissed you for the first time, but it didn’t matter how silly it was. This version was your Steve, and the short-haired, clean-shaven one belonged to the Army. 

“Well, if they are running up here to wake me up because their daddy made me breakfast, I could be convinced to get out bed for some kisses and cuddles.” 

Steve’s sweet laugh made your skin prickle. You wondered if he would let you record it before he left this time or if that was going too far. Probably not. Steve would do just about anything you asked of him, so you couldn’t imagine he would ever tell you no for something that would put your heart at ease while he was gone. 

“Maybe we skip brunch and get started on those babies, hm?” 

You grinned. 

Steve always knew exactly what to say.

“God, I love you, Rogers.” 

Steve’s right hand slipped under the sheet and under the white cotton shirt of his that you were currently using as a pajama, his fingers dug into your ribs making you squirm, and he dipped his head down, barely brushing over your parted lips, he whispered, “And, I love you, baby.” 

Your eyes opened, and you weren’t met with the sight of your husband. It was the same ugly white ceiling you’ve stared at for the past month, the past thirteen months, really.  It’s been a month since everything was finalized. By someone’s good fortune that was not your own, Steve had insisted you buy your house off base so at least you could keep the home you built together. It hadn’t made this last month any easier. Thirty-six days since you got the news and thirty days since you laid Steve to rest. You were supposed to be improving, or so the books and all your friends and family said. You didn’t know how anyone expected you to get better. You could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone think about moving on with what little bit of a life you had left. 

The sun was hitting the full-length mirror hanging on the far wall at the perfect angle, and you knew it was nearly seven, judging by the position of the glare coming off the glass. You could spend the rest of the day in bed, and you would have every right to. No one would let you get away with wallowing today you had a feeling. Besides, you had to stop by Sarah’s and make sure she was okay. It has been far too long since you checked in on her, and that wasn’t fair to her. She was grieving just as much as you were. So, you forced yourself out of bed, stood on shaky legs, and made the short, dreadfully long walk to your closet.

The red flannel you pulled out of black felt-lined hanger still smelled like Steve. All of his things did, and his scent hung heavy in your room. You pulled it on over your tank top and brought the collar up to your nose, taking in a deep breath. That earthy citrus smell still made your knees a little weak. Eventually, you were going to have to wash his things. You glanced at your bed, the pile of crumpled sheets you would typically insist on making before your day started. What was the point in making them now? No one would see them but you. No one would know if you made your bed or left it a wreck for days on end. 

You should wash them, a voice in your head nagged. 

No, you shouldn’t. 

His pillow is still his pillow, so long as you don’t wash it. Maybe next month. You haven’t been sleeping much as it is, and when you do, you usually fall asleep on the couch so the sheets could stand to go a while longer.

The house was eerily quiet in the mornings. Steve was always the first one up and the last one down. The quiet made those times harder. It was the heavy reminder he was gone, and the weight of that on your chest left you unable to rest. Landing at the bottom of the stairs, you found Sam still fast asleep on the couch with no signs of waking any time soon. He had shown up last night claiming he needed to see you, but you knew Sam was there to check up on you. It had nothing to do with his own grief. Sam became your shadow the moment the funeral ended, and part of you wished he would just go away. 

You wanted everyone to go away and let you grieve in the only way you knew how. 

The coffee pot was empty, and it glared at you the moment you entered the kitchen. As it has been for the last year. Another reminder that Steve was gone and never coming back. When he was home, Steve would set the timer before his run, so by the time you woke up and made your way downstairs, there was always a fresh pot waiting for you. You’ve been making your own coffee since he deployed, and not one morning had it come out right. 

You should have known then something was wrong. 

A large, calloused hand slipped around your waist from behind, and gentle kisses landed on your neck. He shouldn’t be here, and yet, he was. He was late for PT and was surely going to get yelled at the second he arrived. Steve didn’t seem bothered by the thought, or maybe kissing you was really worth it like he claimed.

“I believe you're wearing my favorite shirt,” Steve’s voice rumbled against your skin, and you tried to suppress the shudder it sent through you. 

“What’s yours is mine, Husband.” 

Steve chuckled. 

“How many cups of coffee does that make for you, Wife?” 

“Two,” You said with shaky confidence and a scrunched nose that said you weren’t being entirely truthful.

Steve nuzzled his nose along your jaw, and he roughly whispered in your ear, “Liar. Wanna try that again?” 

“Fine,” you conceded with an eye roll. “This is cup three, but I’m not having any more for the day because you’re here stealing the rest.” Steve smiled fondly and took his travel mug from its spot next to yours. 

“No more until you have some water. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” Steve cupped your jaw with his free hand and tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to your lips and one to your nose. 

“I’ll see you tonight beautiful.” 

“Y/n… Hey…”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise, baby. When do I ever break my promises to you?” 

“Hey, Y/n.” Sam tried again, more forceful his time. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, finding Sam standing in front of you with a look of concern drawing his brows together. You looked down at the counter where two cups were resting, full of black steaming coffee. You had only meant to pour one cup. Or had you? Sam realized the mistake before you did. The cup was for Steve. He quickly leaned forward and slid the mug towards him. 

"Mind if I get a cup? Didn't sleep great last night." 

A breath of relief.

You nodded and slipped the carafe back where it rested, avoiding Sam’s watchful eyes. 

"...How are you sleeping?" 

"Fine." 

Sam raised a brow. 

"Decent." You reluctantly confessed. "Enough that I can make it through the day."

"And what are you doing... to make it through the day? Have you tried to play?" 

Your eyes shifted to the piano that sat in the den, and you quickly looked away. There was no point in beating around the bush with that one. Someone was coming to look at it at the end of the week, and you were hopeful by the weekend to have it sold. There were some things that you wouldn’t be able to pick back up again, and falling in love and playing the piano was on the top of the list.  There was no reason to pretend. 

"No. I don't--" You shook your head. "It's as if my fingers can't remember the keys. I don't know. Nothing feels right anymore." 

That was normal. Everything you were feeling was perfectly normal, and Sam wanted to tell you that. You knew he did, but he didn’t, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. This was hard enough without feeling like your closest friend was counseling you. 

“It’s not fair.” 

“No, it’s not--” 

“I haven’t washed his pillowcase yet.” You blurted without thinking. “I, uh, I’m scared if I do it will lose his scent, and it won’t be his anymore. Which is stupid. He hasn’t slept on it in over a year. I could easily spray more cologne on the cover like I have been since he left, and it would be the same. It feels different now. Final. Am I going crazy? Because it feels like I am losing it, Sam.” 

“That’s all normal. You’re grieving. It’s normal to not be rational--”

No. That was not what you wanted. 

“I don’t want therapy Sam right now,” You snapped. “I want Sam. My Sam.” 

Sam leaned back against the backing of the barstool and stared at you. Your gaze didn’t waver. You picked at your nails, and your bottom lip was trembling, but you held your gaze steady. Sam knew when to push and when not to. Right now, you were right. You didn’t need him to baby you, to walk on eggshells, and repeat well-rehearsed phrases meant to aid in your recovery like everyone else was doing. You just needed him to listen and tell you your life wasn’t over.” 

“Okay.” 

Sam reached across the counter and cupped a large hand over yours. There weren’t many people you would let see like this, or at all. Since the funeral, you haven’t been getting out much. You were sure Wanda called Sam and tattled on you after your meltdown in the market yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal. Yes, you cried over an apple pie. It was not the first time someone has gotten upset over baked goods. It happened every day, you were sure of that, and no one made a fuss until it happened to a widow. 

Widow. You really hated that word. It was a stupid word, and you refused to use it. However, the incident in the market didn’t help the way people were looking at you, widow, or not. You had thought things would be slightly easier once you talked to Bucky. He’s always had a way of calming you and putting your restless soul at ease. You waited on a call from Bucky, but none came. He hasn’t even sent a letter. That might have been part of the reason for pie-gate 2020. 

At first, you were angry. He was ignoring you? After everything? You lost your husband, the man’s best friend, and Bucky couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone and make sure you were okay? But you realized he was grieving, too. It was different from yours, but it didn’t make it any less real, and he had a right to do it in his own way. Besides, Bucky probably didn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t if it was you because there was nothing anyone could say or do to make this okay. That was when your anger turned to tears, and that moment just happened to be in the bakery, in front of twenty or so people. 

It wasn’t like there was some guidebook on how you should grieve and move on with your life. You wished there was, but there wasn’t a ‘right way’ to navigate this. You had to take one day at a time and handle each moment as it came along. 

“I’ve loved him for most of my life am I supposed to just stop now?”

“No one expects you to stop loving Steve.”  

“It feels that way sometimes,” You mumbled weakly. 

Sam gave your hand a gentle squeeze, but he didn’t say anything else. You needed to sort through what you were feeling on your own, so he was letting you decide what you needed; from him and yourself.  When you finally looked back up, he could tell by the murky waters in your eyes, you were still just as lost as the day Steve left you. Only now, there were expectations for improvement and time limits on how long you were allowed to stay floating in the dark. Even though it had only been thirty-six days, eight hours, and forty-three minutes, everyone was tired. Your friends and family wanted to move on. After all, they didn’t lose their other half. They were tired of being sad, and you were tired of pretending it was okay. 

“How am I supposed to move on without him, and what? Just start over?”

Sam gave you a small smile and tightened his grip on your hand. “I don’t know, but we are all here to help you figure it out.” 

“Not everyone is here,” you grumbled petulantly. 

Bucky didn’t have a choice, but he did. He could have been the one to come home, and while you were not upset with him for sending Sam in his stay, it still hurt. The three of you had been close, and once upon a time, you were closer to Bucky than you were Steve. He was the first person to talk to you when you moved to town, and if it wasn't for Bucky, you never would have met Steve. 

“He will be home at the end of the month and from what he said last night. I think he’s hoping it would be okay for him to stay here.” 

On the one hand, you were relieved to know Bucky was coming home. You needed to see him, to hear his voice tell you that Steve would want you to move on and be happy. On the other, Bucky hadn’t called you. He called Sam instead. That stung. 

“Why?” You slowly pulled your hand back and crossed your arms over your chest, shielding yourself from Bucky’s reasoning and maybe a little bit from Sam, too. “Why does he want to stay here?”

“Well, he didn’t re-enlist, so I think he’s trying to figure out what his next step is and what he’s going to do with the rest of his life and… I think he wants to be close to Steve and maybe to keep an eye on you. You could help each other, you know?”

“Right,” you snorted. 

As if anyone could help you, let alone the friend that left you in the lurch when you needed him most. You didn’t know what Sam was putting in his morning coffee, but Bucky didn’t want to help you do anything. He has made that very clear from the moment Steve died.  

“I doubt he wants to be here with me, and what exactly are we going to help each other do?” 

Sam sighed and shook his head, “Grieve, Y/n. Grieve and move forward.” 

That would be easier said than done.

Previous // Next 

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms Far Side #3: Kohaku

Today on Fate and Phantasms we have another bonus episode for you! We’re building Kohaku, the ever-energetic maid who comes packing with probably helpful medicine and the occasional robot. As usual for far sides, everything below this point come directly from Magical-Biche on Reddit!

Check out Kohaku’s build breakdown below, or her character sheet over here!

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Hey, it’s me, the guy who builds Tsukihime builds! Since the remake got announced uhh… already a month ago, I figured it’d be perfect time to free some time in my heavy schedule for a Tsukihime waifu once in a while. For the return of this highly anticipated series, we’ll take a look at a character which has plenty of tricks up her sleeves: Kohaku. A fan favorite for several reasons, she was quite easy to build due to how weirdly some of her core mechanics are already featured in Dungeons & Dragons. I’m mostly using her Melty Blood skill set for the build, but as soon as I can introduce skills we know from the Visual Novels. Needless to say, the whole build is a huge spoiler for what Kohaku does throughout the games, and you may not want to read it if you didn’t finish Tsukihime and Kagetsu Tohya.

Race and Background

Kohaku is a variant human. She technically has a bit of psychic powers, but they are passive and absolutely nothing any race can give comes close to it, so we’re going human here. The variant allows us to get + 1 in constitution and +1 in intelligence, and the chef feat, giving us another +1 in constitution, and the ability to cook delicious meals with or without suspicious substances, which adds a layer of healing and temporary hit points on our already impressive healing abilities. It gives us our first of many tool proficiencies, the cooking utensils. We also get a proficiency in insight, which helps us determine whether people are worth teasing/throwing into a bottomless trap. 

Next, we are going to be an Izzet engineer. Those folk, who come directly from Ravnica, fit our mad scientist personality perfectly. Being an Izzet engineer gives us access to the Urban Infrastructure ability, which helps building more complex traps (and find them, if we ever feel like being nice to our group), and proficiencies in Arcana and Investigation, two extremely useful intelligence skills. We also get our second tool proficiency. We’re taking carpenter’s tools, to create the most intricate traps there are. Bottomless pits won’t build themselves from the ground up. We also get one set of artisan’s tools of our choice, so we’ll take Alchemist supplies, since they’re the costliest of the bunch and extremely useful. Don’t worry, we’re getting the proficiency in a little bit. Finally, we get the pretty unique feature of having access to more spells: Izzet guild spells. The notable ones (the ones we don’t normally get from our class) are Chaos bolt, Create or destroy water, Unseen servant (level 1 spells), and Call lightning, and Otiluke’s resilient sphere (third level spells). Since it is a Ravnica background, the DM might ban the expanded spell list, but none of these spells are necessary to our build, anyway. 

Ability Scores

We are a genius, and a bit of a melee combatant. We’re pumping everything in intelligence. Next, we need high constitution and dexterity, which will also serve to multiclass into rogue. We are pretty average when it comes to wisdom and charisma (I do admit we are pretty cute, though). We’re dumping strength, even though it means we won’t be able to fight well with our broom, but it’s a necessary sacrifice. Our hidden katana (read: dagger) will work just as well. 

Class Levels

Artificer 1: We are a crafty inventor. Being an artificer only makes sense to us. The first level of artificer gives us proficiency with constitution saving throws, great to keep our concentration on spells and avoiding nasty poison effect, and intelligence saving throws: we’re the one who make fools of others, and not the other way around! We can also choose two new proficiencies, and we’re taking medicine, since we’re actually a pretty skilled doctor, and sleight of hand, as we will need to tinker complex traps and unlock a few locks from time to time. 

We also get proficiencies with light and medium armors, but we’re only ever going to use light armor. Kohaku doesn’t really wear armor, but she could be wearing several thick layers of kimono, which can probably stop a blade in a pinch. We’re also proficient with shields, and Kohaku definitely never wears a shield throughout the Tsukihime timeline, so we won’t be using them.  We’re also proficient with simple weapons, and those are the only weapons we’re having access to, so we have to do with them. We’ll be mainly using the dagger as our “secret blade”, and our quarterstaff as a substitute for our broom. Finally, we’re proficient with thieves’ tools, useful for disarming traps that may or may not have been installed by us, tinker’s tools, our bread-and-butter for repairing all sort of stuff, from traps to weapons, and alchemist supplies, to further our healing capabilities, and it blends well with our medicine proficiency. 

We finally get to our core features. First level of artificer gives us Magical tinkering, which lets us do pretty nice things. We can basically sleep on prestidigitation, light, message, and minor illusion thanks to this feature. It doesn’t do as much as each of these individual spells, but it does it differently, and it’s still great to have so much utility here. We also get our Spellcasting. We’re a half caster with druid/cleric like spell preparation. We can prepare a number of spells equal to our intelligence modifier + half our artificer level (rounded down), and we can choose those spells from our spell list each time we finish a long rest. Our spellcasting ability is of course intelligence, and we use our alchemist’s supplies as a spellcasting focus, because of our subclass we don’t have yet. 

We start with two artificer cantrips, and we’re taking Booming blade, to emulate bombs, and controlling people movement fits our character well: people will think twice before moving in our direction. Next, we take Acid splash, a pretty weak damaging cantrip, but it’s another kind of bomb we can add to our arsenal. It can also touch two targets at once, which mitigate the low damage of the spell. It is also a saving throw, so it will always be useful anyway. 

Since we have access to every artificer spell, plus the potential Izzet spells, there won’t be a definitive spell list here. It is recommended to get Tasha’s caustic brew, Snare, Cure wounds, Grease and Alarm, as they fit our game plan very well. 

Artificer 2: Our next artificer level is more complex than it seems. We get our infusions, 4 of them. We’re taking the Replicate magic item, to have ourselves a bag of holding to hold all our stuff, the Enhanced defense, that we’re infusing to our armor to help with defense, the Homunculus servant, so we can have our very own Not-exactly-a-mech-Hisui once we get enough money, and Mind sharpener, which will help maintaining concentration on though fight. So far, we can only use 2 of these infusions at the time, so we’ll focus on the replicate magic item and enhanced defense for now. 

Artificer 3: We get our speciality! We are now an Alchemist. We gain proficiency with Glassblower’s tools, as we already have a proficiency with the alchemist supplies, and those tools can be used to create vials to hold our various mixtures. We get an expanded spell list, again, which gives us interesting spells like Melf’s acid arrow, Healing word, Ray of sickness, Gaseous form and Mass healing word. Flaming sphere is not bad, but it doesn’t really fit our concept as a whole. We also get our Experimental elixir, which is one random potion every long rest. All the effects are helpful, even though some are more than others. We also get the Right tool for the job, which lets us create artisan tools, which is neat. 

Rogue 1: Of course, we’re going rogue. We’re a sneaky trickster, after all, and we’re pretty skilled at it. Our first rogue level gives us the famous Thieves cant, which we will quickly forget. More interesting, we get a skill proficiency, and we’re taking Deception. It’s less useful than persuasion, but we need to lie more than we need to persuade. We also get Expertise in 2 skills of our choice, which will be Deception and Medicine, two of our most important skills. With expertise in medicine, we mitigate our low wisdom, and we’re able to pretty much always stabilize our fallen allies, especially when we get past level 5. What’s more, we get the rogue’s main feature, the Sneak attack! Sneak attack can be used with booming blade for pretty huge damage, in the right conditions, and it’s getting even better starting next level. 

Rogue 2: Speaking of next level, here it is. The second rogue level gives us cunning action, and we now always have some use for our bonus action. We can hit with booming blade + Sneak attack, then retreat. We can add some movement to our turn, and we can try to hide in the shadows, not that we’re particularly good at it. 

Rogue 3: We get our second archetype. We’re now both an alchemist and a Mastermind, which gives us yet another round of proficiencies: Disguise kit, Forgery kit and a Gaming set. Those three are not the most useful tools we have access to, but they can always be used creatively. We can also Mimic speech, but that’s not exactly a meta redefining feature. More importantly, we are also a Master of tactics, giving us yet another use for our bonus action in the form of Help. We can help our ranged allies to hit close-ish targets with that feature, too. 

Artificer 4: Our first ability score increase comes at level 7, and luckily, we’re not too dependent on feats. We’re simply increasing our intelligence by 2 and call it a day. 

Artificer 5: This level is very interesting, because we get a neat little feature that tremendously increases our distance damage. We are now an Alchemical savant, and provided that we use our alchemist supplies as a spellcasting focus, we can add our intelligence modifier to the damage rolls of any fire, necrotic, poison and acid damage, and to every one of our healing rolls. Sadly, this doesn’t buff our melee damage, but we can’t have everything. Also, the ability is weirdly worded: as it is written in the book, it looks like you must use your spellcasting focus to cast the spell for the damage and healing to be buffed. However, if it does work like that, we'd have a total of 5 spells of level 0-3 that are affected by the feature, so I’d say it works with every one of your spells that is cast with intelligence. 

We also get our new level 2 spells. The ones that are interesting for our build are Enlarge/reduce, Heat metal, protection from poison, pyrotechnics, rope trick, Spider climb and Web. The first is based on one of our actual feats of enlarging our mistress, one time. Heat metal is an overall tricky and useful spell to have. Protection from poison is useful to protect our allies from friendly fire, and the last 4 spells are all great traps and terrain manipulation, which is what we want to do. 

Artificer 6: This level is more straightforward, as it only really adds the Tool expertise feature, which allows us to double our proficiency bonus on all tools we’re proficient with. That is, a LOT of tools. We also get new infusions, and we’re getting the Spell refueling ring, a great tool to mitigate our too few spell slots per day, and Resistant armor, which is situational but very useful. We can also have 3 infusions active at the time, which is the maximum number of attunement we can have anyway. We can also now create two experimental elixirs per long rest, hurray!

Artificer 7: The seventh artificer level gives us Flashes of genius, which is a great tool to help the party. It can also be used to mitigate our own AOE damage on them, proving the party that we’re not here to kill them, we swear!

Artificer 8: Artificer 8 gets us a simple ability score increase, which we gladly take to increase our already high intelligence to new levels. We increase it by 2 points, to reach a total of 20. 

Artificer 9: Our final level in artificer grants us a final subclass feature, the Restorative reagents. It makes it that our experimental elixir gives 2d6 + 5 temporary hit points to whoever drinks it. Also, we can now cast lesser restoration 5 times per long rest without having the spell prepared, which is a great way to remove harmful status ailments from allies for pretty much free. 

We also gain our level 3 spells. The interesting spells from the list are Haste, which emulates the drugs you use on your poor party members,  Catnap, to represent the sleeping medicine you give them,  Protection from energy, for the same reason as protection from poison a bit earlier, and finally, the trappiest spell of them all, the one that really let us do crazy shenanigans,  Glyph of warding. This amazing spell is a literal modular trap which does pretty nice damage, doesn’t require concentration and it’s just so flexible. This is the only obligatory spell on the list. 

Rogue 4: The fourth rogue level gives us our third ability score increase, and we’re getting a bit tankier and stabbier now. We increase our dexterity score by 2, this time, putting us at a nice 16. 

Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues get uncanny dodge, a very powerful tool for survival. Nothing much to say, it’s great! (Editor’s note: might as well just say it anyway- use your reaction to take half damage from an attack- very useful!)

Rogue 6: We get 2 brand new expertises, which will be in Arcana, for being even better at understanding the mechanics behind the spells we use, and Sleight of hand, so we’re also a lot better at setting non-magical traps and disarming them. 

Rogue 7: Now that we can mitigate damage with uncanny dodge, it’s time to get better at saving throws and get Evasion. Another extremely good ability we’ll never use too much. (EN: dex saves cause half damage on failure, 0 damage on success!)

Rogue 8: Our next ability score, and we’re getting yet another 2 points in dexterity, so we now have a more than decent armor class and solid melee attacks. 

Rogue 9: Rogue’s ninth level gives us our second subclass ability, and we are now an Insightful manipulator. We can now assess our current target’s strength, but at this point, we’ve probably fought most of the bestiary and know everything there is to know about most threats. It can still be used against bosses, but it’s not exactly great since we’re not that good at sneaking. 

Rogue 10: Our tenth level in the rogue class gives us yet another ability score increase. We are actually a pretty crafty person, and poison is just another tool in our arsenal. We get the Poisoner feat, which lets us ignore resistance to poison damage and craft poison for our weapons. At that point, we should be filthy rich and can certainly afford the cost to do so and poison basically every single one of our strikes. With Booming Blade, sneak attack and the poison damage, our damage output is actually pretty crazy. 

Rogue 11: Our final level gives us a very, very nice little boost: thanks to Reliable Talent, we basically can’t score under 16 + ability modifier, or 22 + ability modifier with expertise, for skills and tools we are proficient with. We now have a passive Arcana of 27, Sleight of hand of 26 (whatever a passive sleight of hand score means), Deception and Medicine of 22, a passive investigation and insight of 21 and passive abilities with our numerous tools that are just as high (since you can use most tools with most abilities, the scores won’t be listed here, obviously). We can now pretty much recognize spells on sight, pickpocket on the go, lie as we breathe and treat injuries in a few moments, among other things. 

Pros: We’re a tool monkey, and we use all of them like a pro when we reach level 20. We can craft a bunch of crazy stuff with all that. We’re also quite bulky, with decent hit dice and the rogue survivability, plus our artificer infusions. We are also good at dealing big bursts of damage thanks to booming blade, sneak attack and poisoner. What’s more, we’re quite good at healing and dispensing temporary hit points. 

Cons: If we can’t trigger our sneak attack, our booming blade damage is not exactly huge. We don’t have many spells slots, and we quite like to use them. Also, we’re good at dealing damage, healing and controlling the battlefield, but we’re obviously not great at any of these things.