#peep the four swords

[peepthatbish]

IASKLHVGFSDIFGNSGD WAS NO ONE GONNA TELL ME?!!!

ABOUT THIS FUCKIN PANEL?!!! WITH VIO AND SHADOW??!!!!

LIKE, I DON'T EVEN WANNA SHOW IT-

VIO BABES-

JUST-

AHHHHHHHHHHH

AND WHY WAS SHADOW SO SMOOTH??!!!

THE HESISTANCE IN VIO'S EYES BRO

[amanitacurses]

@sister-dear: Can I request FS Blue/Red/Green Links? Or any of the downfall timeline together?

I very much so enjoy Red/Green/Blue as their own ship :) I also couldn't resist the idea of Vio being the smartass "I told you so" person to Blue

[not-freyja]

freyja.... how'm i supposed to come back to society after reading that manga... my heart hurtsss /pos

You can’t. You’ll never be the same again. These boys have fully bewitched you body and soul, and you believe with every fiber of your being that Shadow deserved better. Right?

Welcome to the club!

[james-p-sullivan]

got a custom made splint today at the hand specialist, i cant wait to start writing again soon!!!

[the-moon-files]

The Chain being Down Bad🐕‍🦺™️ for Your Voice lol (Masc!Reader)

(Content under ✄----- )

@peepthatbish once again, our lovely muse peep (name twins!!) Has come to bless me, and hopefully i did that gorgeous idea justice, and dw im not done writing them all out yet :)

<333

Sun: Masculine Reader (he/him)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: a dash of everybody <3

(except rare ones like Fierce/Koridai/Courage/Sage/etc.)

☆

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: fluff & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if i missed any. /gen

Ok but like

Ur voice is absolutely iconic to them

(Like the fairy fountain theme or the appearance of the Master sword, its unimaginable to them for your to not sound like that)

And its not only the heroes of Hyrule, but anyone else who could hear you

Well it helps that it used to be ur only sort of external sign of presence to outsiders

(the Links could also somewhat "feel" you in their own chests sometimes, like when u were stressed over a boss, or sad over a cutscene)

The only others who usually hear you are mostly things like the Great Fairies, the Deku Tree, other weird ass beings that know way too much (Fierce Deity)

So needless to say, when u first crash landed thru a portal into Wild's Hyrule (ur latest Zelda game you've played u guess thats why)

And the Chain had seen u in the distance, met up with you to try and help what they thought was some poor guy who accidentally fell thru Hylia's portals

But as they heard u stutter thru an introduction, instead they knew immediately it was you

Sky and Twi seriously teared up, Hyrule/Wild/Four/Wind all attacked you with a hug and excited shrieking, Legend and Wars were just gaping in shock, and Time was just staring at you

It took you a minute to pinpoint who was from what game, but as soon as you figured it out u literally jaw dropped at Time/Wild/Twi/etc.

(The ones that look different from their in game model or way better irl than graphics could ever capture)

U also may have screamed. A very manly scream. Not high pitched at all. You didnt make Legend cover his ears or the four that tackled u scramble off in fear, what- haha

(U cant blame urself, u were in literal shock, bc that's ALL the LINKS??!! Like u needed a shock blanket like rescue/ambulances gives ppl)

After calming down, it wasnt even an outright discussion or decision u could rlly choose,

They were basically kidnapping u along for the ride, also u were there for them (in pretty voice alone but still) for all their adventures,

So u even suggesting leaving u behind bc u couldnt keep up as well as them had them looking at you like they never even considered it

(And also making them individually go thru the 5 stages of grief: 😨😟😡😭🥺🙏🙏 they were all outright begging u, in their own ways, deadass by the end of it)

So as u travel, you get to understand the full impact of Your Voice, or the Guide's Voice™️.

If anyone has a nightmare, what would normally take another hero poking them with a stick and dodging the reflex punch, or them waking up unable to go back to sleep after having the nightmare, etc.

U quickly realized only took you talking to comfort them, with no reflex punch when they woke up, if they woke up, sometimes u were so good at it the nightmare just cleared ended according to their face

In your first battle against the shadow, along with lots of black-blooded monsters, u realized how much more confidently every Link fought as soon as you were speaking from behind them

They got even better and less stressed abt fighting when u managed to crack a few jokes or go toe to toe verbally with the Shadow lol

Legend outright guffawed when you pulled a dumb "sigh... well i guess... maybe... ur mom." joke in response to his villain monologue, like wiping a tear and everything, saying "u used to say that all the time after dumb long evil speeches, its a fucking classic" 💀

Literally will have them asking you to make more jokes bc it makes them feel better in tense situations/battles (most to least frequently: Sky, Wild, Hyrule, Wind, Twi, Time, Wars, Legend, Four) but they love it equally

Okay but,

U have Definitely. Sent chills down their spines when u get into lower ranges lol

U dont understand why everyone needs to talk to you so bad first thing in the morning,

or alternatively why they keep wanting you to go on a rant abt ur fav book/tv show/thing either???

U are always the last for story time at the campfire every night, and unlike the others, they refuse to let you take a night off, u have to say smth every night??

It amazes u they like ur voice so much, huh, Wild/Twi/Wars/Four/Hyrule must all be getting a little too close to the fire, theyre faces are looking a little red/pink

(Legend and Time just look rlly pleased/happy to be here, they only ever look a little overheated when u specifically look at them while ur talking/or tell a story abt them, and they usually are always the ones asking u another question to prompt u to keep going forever)

Wars may or may not have a life changing moment he told u abt ur voice on his adventures where Cia was like, "Ah Link... let me get a good look at you..."

Link: 😰🤢🥲

You: "... and girl, I am only looking at your tiddies right now."

If Wars had smth to drink right then he wouldve spit-taked.

It was like the one time he was caught so genuinely off-guard, and u just made him suddenly feel 10x more comfortable facing her, he literally couldnt keep his knight trained composure together, he had to lean on his knees he was crying with laughter

That was the first Cia heard of you too and she literally audibly gasped lmao

It was like all of a sudden Wars and Cia had been in on a joke no one else could hear around them (Shiek/Zelda is confused to this day by that)

And there are countless moments like this from each of their adventures where u did this, u cant help but feel mildly embarassed when u hear it at first

But then seeing how much ur voice and comments meant to them and how happy it made them u can help but want to talk more and more and more

Youve never felt more comfortable talking to this many people in ur entire life,

Bc u can literally see their elf ears twitching cutely when they pick up ur voice

BEST BELIEEEVVEEEE

u arent getting out of singing to them.

Yeah, sorry, theyve heard u sing ur fav songs while gaming too many times, they need to hear u sing irl, Now.

Most of them ignore or sort of passively enjoy bards/musicians on their journeys, but as soon as u so much as hum-

Its like they're all clambering to get closer to hear u, but also not make u aware thats what theyre doing, so they end up just:

Four/Legend/Hyrule trying to hide behind various (upside down) books, behind plants that're not that bushy, or one memorable time, when u sang "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" quietly to urself, a bard's tune got close and reminded u of it,

and Four fully threw his hammer on his toes bc he was so shocked/lovestruck, he completely missed the anvil and just threw it at the ground/his feet LMAO

Time and Wars, cheeky strategists they are, immediately fall back behind u wherever u are, so u cant see them, but they can still hear u lol

(Theyre the only ones youve not caught actively listening/straining to come closer to hear u... bc theyre behind u lol)

Wild/Sky/Twi all fully whip their heads around fast enough to crack it, then clumsily try to recover so u wont stop

Wild/Sky just fully accidentally like fall into lakes/ponds trying to stay just out of range or even (they both tried it once, and never again after u got onto them) got on a rooftop

And fell. When u got quieter they tried to get closer and- yep.

(Idiots were fine and smiling when u came to check on them)

Twilight.

Twilight's the worst ngl.

Just fully stares in awe at you until u stop out of embarassment, and has had the audacity multiple times to pop up as Wolfie and just happily listen like you havent also been thru the adventure that literally made him a werewolf

Wind is a cutie, he always joins in, esp when he recognizes the song, and since they can somehow remember the songs u sang while gaming, it will never not be a core memory for you to sing "Drunken Sailor" back to back with "I LOVE YOU HOE" by ODETARI (ft.9lives)

with Wind Waker Link.

You nearly died when you heard him singing the chorus, like literally right after drunken sailor 💀

(Its catchy u got it stuck in ur head from tiktok audios)

(Wind absolutely makes fun of the others for being in love with ur voice, like he'll trick u into ranting abt smth late at night when ur voice is husky or ur just low energy atm, and then from behind you just mouth at the rest of them, sitting looking up at you like ur an angel,

G A Y Y Y Y 🫵🫵🫵 )

☆

Sorry to anyone whose sent in stuff to my mailbox! I promise ill answer u tomorrow!!

Im acc running another blog for a diff fandom and i got busy today :/

BUT THANK U SM AND I LOVE YOU TO ANYONE WHO SENT STUFF IN !! <3333

Like, i would write a fic for u tysm for showing me ur interest bc it feels like tumbleweeds are blowing thru LU fandom when i check the tags 💀

Which isnt awful! I just like hearing feedback from ppl or just talking abt LU and stuff :)

Peace out,

🌙

[hyde-nseek]

Fun fact for the Linked Universe peeps out there.

The Hero of Four has seen parts of the Hero of Legend's adventures as part of one of his games. Specifically, the Realm of Memories in Four Swords (Anniversary Edition) allows him to travel to ALttP Hyrule and Koholint Island!

So... What if Four knew a little bit about what Legend had to deal with?

[yyh4ever]

What did you think of the live-action yu yu hakusho I confess that when I finished watching the first episode I had good expectations for the next ones but from episode 3 onwards they lost their hand.

To be honest, I loved it! They skipped all the introductory parts and got right down to the point. It's a rough adaptation of the original, but the action scenes are amazing! I felt the love of everyone involved towards Togashi's work. There were more highs than lows.

*CONTAINS SPOILERS*

Togashi wanted to draw a battle shounen, but since it was his first battle series, his editor advised him to take it easy at first. The first chapters were stand-alone adventures of Yusuke's spirit helping others. They weren't even adapted into the anime. Although I love those early stories, I don't think they are crucial to the story. I missed the comedy aspects though, that's what makes Yu Yu Hakusho so appealing. Yusuke's resurrection was a bit rushed, but I loved that "Hohoemi no Bakudan" (anime opening song) was playing on the truck's radio. I also didn't mind a 17-year old Yusuke or Kurama.

Even though they gave a more actual look to the characters, like Botan wearing peep-toes heels and Kuwabara with a dyed blonde hair instead of his iconic pompadour, we can still feel an atmosphere from the 90s in the scenery.

The stealing of the Artifacts of Darkness was so well adapted. Yusuke VS Gouki was an impressive fight. Masaru finally got to thank Yusuke, something that I missed in the original. Kurama telling his story to Yusuke at the hospital was genial as well. I think the motive that driven Hiei to steal the kouma sword in the live action suited him better. Togashi only made Hiei a main character because his editor told him so. That evil Hiei who kidnapped Keiko is so different from the Hiei who showed up later. Making Elder Toguro do the dirty job was more interesting! I'm just curious what they are going to do about Shigure in case of a second or third season. They probably have something in mind already!

Genkai's Tournament/Training was there in a different way. I don't care that much about Rando, but I missed all the pain the original Yusuke went thought to master the reiko hadouken technique. It was a little disappointing to see him absorbing the spirit wave with just an "okay". But, I'm glad they included some iconic moments of his training, like when he's upside-down balancing himself up with only his index finger on a needle.

Probably, what I missed the most was The Saint Beasts Arc. It was during this arc that the four guys got to know each other better and form a bond. Keiko and Botan also worked together and became friends. Considering the budget, I'm aware the live action didn't have time and money to produce it, they had to focus on the first big villain of Yu Hakusho, Younger Toguro.

Filming a whole Dark Tournament would be too hard, expensive, and maybe a little tiring to watch. Although the Rescue Yukina Arc and the Dark Tournament Saga were re-written, all elements from the original series were there:

They showed both Tarukane's mansion and The Hanging Neck Island;

Sakyo needed money to open a big hole to the Demon World. Goro Inagaki also slayed as Sakyo;

Younger Toguro wanted the same thing, he became too strong for the Human World;

Elder Toguro was insanely crazy. Probably, the best villain of Kenichi Takito's career;

A bunch of rich old dudes from BBC gambling;

Tarukane making Yukina cry to sell her hiruseki stones;

The random guy trying to help Yukina. Instead of killing her bird friends, Elder Toguro killed him.

There wasn't Botan and Keiko helping each other, but instead Keiko and Yukina teaming up, and I really enjoyed it;

Kuwabara falling in love at first sight, and asking Yukina to not hate all humans;

Best scenes and lines from Hiei VS Zeru and Kurama VS Roto were incorporated in the fights against Bui and Karasu;

Youko Kurama appeared! Jun Shison nailed it!

In the original, only Kuwabara didn't know about Genkai's death, I liked that in the live action Koenma kept it a secret from Yusuke as well. Elder Toguro making a puppet of Genkai out of his body was amazing!

Younger Toguro "killing" Kuwabara;

The memorable 100% Toguro VS Yusuke's spirit gun;

Sakyo telling the original plan was to make Toguro lose on purpose, so he could collect money from the rich. Also, betting his own life in front of Koenma;

It was interesting that Sakyo told his story and how he had bet his own life a few times to Tarukane instead of Toguro. I felt the Tarukane from the live action was a little bit more human. The actor did a pretty good job. Genkai's dead by the hands of Younger Toguro happened too quick and was disappointing, but they made up for that by showing their amazing goodbye scene in the Spirit World. Young Meiko Kaji was dazzling.

In the first episode, Koenma had sadness in his voice when he mentioned the former spirit detective. There was also that post-credits scene with Elder Toguro. I really hope there will be a second season. I think the Black Chapter Saga is much easier and more interesting to adapt.

I think those who have already read the manga or watched the anime, felt the love all the cast and staff have for Togashi's work. The new generation will probably buy the manga and watch the anime. The live action will surely bring new fans to the Yu Yu Hakusho franchise!

Netflix announced a new One Piece anime by Wit, made in partnership with Toei Animation. I'm also hoping that with the huge success of the live action, some anime studio or even Studio Pierrot will produce a remake of the Yu Yu Hakusho anime too.

By the way, I recommend watching the "Making of Yu Yu Hakusho". The main cast talks about all the trial-and-error process during the shoot. Action Director Takahito Ouchi also shares behind-the-scenes stories. They gave their blood to shoot this series! RESPECT!

[midchelle]

how would you rank the different beatles couples wedding looks?

Now this looks like a job for me

9. John and Cyn (1962)

I feel a little bad ranking them this low because the four of them had about two shillings to rub together between themselves, but this was just not a great effort. John appears to be wearing A Suit. Perhaps with a tie of some sort. Paul and George's fits look kind of similar, which makes me think he got married in his Beatles suit. I guess that was an appropriate start to their marriage.

Cynthia's having a classic Cher Horowitz faux Chanel suit moment. It's not a bad look, but it's literally something you would see in Zara. There's a pneumatic drill in the background. Cyn nearly got married to George instead. What a world that would be.

8. Paul and Heather (2002)

Did you know this was one of the most expensive weddings in history? It cost 3.6 million. They rented a castle in Co. Monaghan. There were fireworks. Did you know that Heather Mills wore the most 1980s wedding dress known to man in 1989? These are the things I was forced to find out while researching this look.

I originally had this a bit higher. I didn't want to rank it low just Because Heather. But the more I look at this dress, the more I hate it. She's doing the Kate Midleton lace sleeves -- which, in fairness, was pretty forward-thinking in 2002 -- but then the lace just goes over the whole outfit, which has the effect of making everything look very same-y. Barbie in A Christmas Carol executed this idea way better.

I don't have many objections to Paul's outfit. He wore a vest. That's effort. And he matched his tie to the flowers. Like job done, basically. My only real issue here is the lack of vision. If I was Paul McCartney in 2002 and a knight of the British Empire or whatever, and I'm getting married in a castle -- I'd have a sassy little sword with me. Perhaps even just to cut the cake. Come on.

7. Paul and Linda (1969)

Don't let the cuteness of the pictures distract you from the fact that they're both dressed like they have a meeting with Harry from accounting in an hour. Paul appears to have shown the barber a picture of the guy from The Peep Show. She married him when his hair looked like that. That's love.

It's possible that Linda is wearing a non-business casual outfit under the trench. We'll never know. The problem is that these people refused to get married any time outside of the cold months. It's weird how this is the one Indian thing they all adopted.

The kid is a fun accessory. I enjoy how she and Linda appear to be matching trenches.

6. Maureen and Ringo (1965)

I enjoy how Cyn, John, and George seem to be haunting the proceedings in the second picture.

Originally, I had this lower, but you know what? I like Maureen's little Jackie O suit with the Peter Pan collar, and I love that hair accessory she has over her bun with the bow. Ringo is fine, even if he does look like he's wearing his Dad's jacket. I really don't think it's supposed to fit like that. You're Ringo Starr and this is your wedding, you couldn't get it tailored? Or just buy one that fits better?

And once again: she married him when his hair looked like that.

5. [ERROR] (1978)

I saw a lot of sources saying the first pic is George and Olivia. It is not. The man looks a bit like George, but the woman looks nothing like Olivia. The second picture, I think, is from George and Olivia's wedding, and yes, that is the best quality I could find. I think George has the same '70s open-collar suit thing as the man in the fake picture, but that's about all I can tell. Olivia could literally be wearing a rug for all I can see about her outfit. Since this is Schroedinger's Beatle wedding look -- neither good nor bad since I Literally Can't See It -- it goes right in the middle.

I can't believe they wanted to have a small personal wedding. It's like they weren't even thinking about all the Tumblrinas.

4. Paul and Nancy (2011)

Nancy Shevall's royal wedding dress ft. Paul doing a classic Paul pose.

Nancy's wearing a Stella McCartney dress -- cute -- inspired by Wallis Simpson of all people, which is kind of wild as royal wedding inspiration goes, but I like it. It's tasteful while still being unconventional.

Paul also looks great. The longer hair suits him much better. Nancy Shevall is a businesswoman, and it shows. She did not marry a man with bad hair.

3. George and Pattie (1966)

Mary Quant herself personally designed George's coat. That's how serious this is.

It's a strange occurrence because this is one of the few times that `I feel more let down by the woman than the man. Don't get me wrong, Pattie looks great. Her hair's great. Makeup: great. The tights? The coat? Fantastic. But the dress itself does look like something I wore to my friend's birthday party when I was eight. Do better.

Not featured: Paul McCartney being out of his gourd during the proceedings. Sorry, Paul. This ain't about him.

2. Ringo and Barbara (1981)

Unghhh they look so good. Sorry there's no joke.

Barbara's dress is so lovely and romantic -- I think it might be a top and a skirt, actually? Anyway, love the neckline, love the sleeves, love the bell skirt. The flowers tucked in at the waist? The lace? That's how you do lace, Heather! And Ringo. He got his hair cut by someone who actually likes him this time, and he's wearing a jacket that fits! That's how you know he was serious about it, and it shows -- forty-two years later. Very fond of the star pin on his lapel.

What really puts this look over a lot of the others is I do feel like they coordinated, her in all white and him in all black. And they one-upped both John and Paul by having not just one, but two kids. Beat that, McLennon.

John and Yoko (1969)

You might've had a cute wedding look, a great wedding look, even, but did your wedding create enduring pop-cultural tropes? Don't think so.

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

Titans win au or smt

Warning: a 13 year old dies

Alabaster shifted from one foot to other, trying to relieve the ache, not that it did worked. His vision was getting blurry, his spine was on fire. He hadn't consumed anything for almost a day. Perhaps more? The council meeting had started somewhere around mid-noon yesterday and he hadn't left the side of Kronos's throne since, hadn't been allowed to. He had no idea what the time was. They were still arguing.

His mother sent him a brief sympathetic smile from upon her throne and went back to ripping apart Hyperion with her words. If he didn't know it would anger his lord, Alabaster would hold onto the throne's armrest to stop his legs from wobbling.

His head snapped up as the throne room's doors bursted open. A scrawny child with torn clothes and a thin jacket stood at the entrance, cursed loudly when they realised where they got in. Alabaster's throat constricted; the child couldn't be older than thirteen, might even be one that he had took captive, the faces had all started to blur together months ago, he wouldn't know. They probably found an opening to escape and took it, and gotten lost due to not knowing Othrys's layout.

'Run' he mouthed. Above him, as the top of his head barely reached the edge of the armrest, Kronos shifted. Alabaster stilled as he felt a hand placed on his head, standing at attention.

"What’s the saying, what the cat dragged in?" Kronos hummed, "An intruding rat."

The kid made a peeping sound, clearly terrified, eyes darting across the council members frantically. They held their dull blade between Kronos and them, chest raising and deflating rapidly as they breathed out loud.

"My lord," Prometheus raised his hand, "if I may?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"If we can not call mortals rat.. Of course some of them may be quite like them but I'd want to inform that I've worked hard on them and—"

Prometheus shut his mouth as Kronos raised his hand. Alabaster sighed quietly at the relief of the pressure on top of his head being gone. How nice of Prometheus to draw all the anger at him in his attempt to boast about his creations. Hopefully Kronos would remember that and take his frustrations out on Prometheus this week? Call him selfish but Alabaster didn't have a desire to inquire his lord's wrath.

"I am not a rat!" The kid cried out. "I will- I will get out of here and we will end your reign!" They pointed their blade straight towards the main throne.

An intense dread filled Alabaster up as Kronos tilted his head. "How cute... How naive. Demigods," he sighed, " always the same. Always acting like I didn't warn them: Pledge loyalty or die."

A few of the Titans chuckled. Alabaster's gut twisted as the kid inched on themselves, trying to back away, only for the doors to close with a crackling slam.

"You're a demigod!" The kid begged to him. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping him?"

The kid was young, as young as his littlest sister.

They wouldn't be the youngest person he had killed.

"Torrington!" Kronos bid, waving a hand as if bored.

Alabaster pulled his sword out of his scabbard, watching the kid's eyes grow wide with increasing terror. He took a step forward—

Alabaster stared at the dark marble floor mortified as he collapsed to all fours when his knees gave out. The low chattering cut off. He could feel the scrutinising eyes on him. Kronos broke through the silence.

"Up." He commanded, like you would to a pet.

Alabaster helped himself up with the intricate carvings alongside the throne, but shamefully swaying on his feet even after that. Kronos clicked his tongue, and pushed him down to his knees with his two fingers. Near the back, Atlas howled with laughter. Alabaster stayed put, bowing his head, averting his gaze to not see the pure unadulterated disgust in the kid's eyes.

A gust of power breezed through the room. After a loud thud, and the following silence, the argument over the sacrifices re-began. Alabaster lifted his head slightly to see the kid's crumpled body near the wall, laying in a pool of their own blood.

At the sound of finger snapping, Alabaster rose to attention once again.

They had won the war, both of the camps were gone. His mother finally had the throne she deserved. He was as miserable than he ever had been.

I'll elaborate if someone asks or maybe later but for now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sevencolorsatlast]

Creator Having Their Character’s Constellations, Symbols, etc. on Their Appearance

Hello, peeps! These had been on my mind for a while (and I even doodle these ideas last year and might revisit those soon.)

Also, this is my way to take a break from the “They Hear Your Music" post because it’s a long one and I want everyone to be in character as much as possible.

Content Warning(s): None

Other Notes: Any SAGAU Universe (Default, Imposter, Cult, etc.) / GN!Reader / Headcanons / 400 + Words

Your favored vessel’s symbol will be displayed upon the button holding your scarf together, located directly above your heart. It can be mistaken as a Vision due to how similar it is to your vessel’s, but you don’t mind. You often touch this with your thumb for comfort, and they will feel your faint, divine touch from afar.

You can also talk to them telepathically and use them as your second body. This usually happens when they need your help or get stuck in a sticky situation. It can be helpful in Imposter AU, but there’s a possibility of being toxic in Cult AU. It depends on how you want it to go!

Depending on who you use in your current party, all four members’ symbols (specifically their Burst Icon) will appear on your two-tailed scarf, similar to the Traveler. You can feel their pain whenever they are hurt and withdraw them to a safe place while you deal with the threat yourself.

As a follow-up from the previous headcanon, you can also use their abilities temporarily as it easily tires you. Your white clothes slightly change their color as you use their Visions interchangeably.

Their symbols emit glow when their Elemental Skill cools down and/or their Bursts are ready!

Speaking of constellations, they can also be displayed as small patterns on your clothes. Though they have a faint presence on the fabric, they glow very softly at night or in total darkness. If you do C6’d a character, the constellation will glow brighter.

Their constellations can appear in your eyes, especially when you're angry. Again, it depends on who is your favored follower and/or who’s on your party. This detail can be crucial for Imposter AU since it proves that one of your followers believes you are their real god.

All Archons can give you your preferred accessories to display them. And it depends on who you favor the most. 

For example: Venti gives you a feather with a small amount of Anemo, and you can clip it on your hair. Zhongli gives you a customized ring with the Geo symbol embedded in it. Ei gifting you an Electro necklace or probably commissioned a sword with traces of her power to make you look threatening. Nahida simply gives you a Dendro flower crown or a cute bracelet. Honestly, get creative!

Speaking of the region, your scarf (or anything similar to that) may change color depending on what region you grew fond of. Seven nations, seven colors - depending on what element they rule over!

[llaberration]

Coyne's Chronicles: Shadow over Yfiria - Chapter 1

[[Remember to read the prologue first!]]

“Keep your grubby mits to yourself, beggar,” the words were delivered harshly, and followed up by a stinging slap against his outstretched palm. Coyne withdrew it swiftly, sucking on the sore fingers and glaring after the three soldiers as they marched away, laughing, presumably at how strong and clever they were.

He had only asked them for one copper coin. If they had paid him, or just moved on as though he weren't there, he would have left them alone.

Just for that slap, he was going to rob them.

Drawing himself to his feet once they were out of sight, the mimic dodged into the woods, and began taking a short cut through the trees, aiming to cut them off a mile along the path.

Just as his destination was coming into view, a harsh, unexpected sound from the bushes nearby caused him to abruptly dodge to one side and duck down in a bramble patch on the off chance that it was dangerous. There were hungry bears, territorial wolves, and victims of the plague roaming about after all, and he had no desire for an encounter with any of those things.

After a moment of quiet and nothing pursuing him, Coyne considered the sound. It had been a groan... but not like a human groan, this had been a huge sound, that rumbled through the ground below him and filled the air with almost tangible anguish.

Letting out a puzzled little snort, Coyne waited a moment longer, to ensure an attack was not to follow, then extracted himself from the brambles, trying not to tear his already ragged clothes, and went to peep through the thick shrubbery surrounding the source of the sound.

There, in a clearing among the trees, lay a huge, scaled form. Glittering black and gold scales coated a slender, elegant shape that was simultaneously bound with well toned muscle. A large, pointed head with glittering golden horns sat at the end of an almost serpentine neck, which was dotted with a ridge of sharp golden quills. Two long, delicate wings in black and purple lay heavily by the creature's sides, and it had four powerful legs, each one tipped with a deadly, clawed hand.

It had been years since Coyne had seen a dragon soaring the skies but he certainly recognised one when he saw it. Most had been killed for their scales, or ground up into medicine, but here was one, large as life. This one was not well though. The mimic could see a wound on its hip that looked painful and infected. Its scales had lost their lustre, and seemed to hang slightly baggy on its body.

This creature had been badly hurt, and was almost certainly facing death's door, if not quite ready to knock yet.

Hearing the soldiers on the path nearby, Coyne had a thought.

Dodging forwards, he leaned towards the dragon's head and whispered into one of its long ears. “If you can fight... I can bring you a meal.”

A bright purple eye shot open and swivelled to him, observing.

For a moment, a chill of icy cold terror swelled in his belly, and Coyne almost fled on instinct, but the creature gave a single nod.

Coyne understood, and gestured with a hand. “They will be coming from here,” he said, then darted off into the bushes towards the road.

He waited for the soldiers, letting their voices draw closer. He watched as they reached him and passed by, talking loudly about how much they hated patrols. As the third passed right beside his hiding spot, he reached out, using a deft grip to pluck the man's sword right from its scabbard.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, standing and waving it, “Catch me if you can scumbags!” and he dashed into the woods.

The undergrowth beat at him from all sides as he heard the three men crashing after him, their angry shouts and curses filling the air. He was a fool! What was he DOING?! His heart thudded thickly as he raced through the rough scrub, circling around the clearing, still shouting so they would follow him directly into the space rather than around it.

He did not even see what happened next.

The three men crashed through the bushes into the clearing, then there was a roar, a bit of shouting, and silence.

Coyne waited where he had stopped in the bushes, panting. He should wait a little. He didn't want to see the dragon eating... perhaps he would leave it a while, wanting to play it safe. He looked at the sword he had stolen, his only reward at this point, and saw it was made only of normal steel. There was a tiny ruby set into the base of the hilt, with a small amount of gold around it, and he quickly set to work picking that out with his teeth and nails before scouring the rest of the sword for anything of value before dropping it with a sigh, not much, but a start.

After catching his breath, he dusted himself off, wondering if enough time had passed, then silently crept up a tree to peer into the clearing from a relatively safe vantage point.

The dragon lay, stretched out, its slender middle looking a lot fuller than before. It looked as though the creature was sleeping.

Coyne looked around hopefully for a pile of discarded armour and weapons but quickly realised there was nothing.

Had the thing just horked them down, armour clad, armed to the teeth and fighting?

Coyne huffed. He had been expecting to gain at least a bit of coin for his troubles, but now it looked like his prize was nothing. If he did not do better than this, he would certainly run out of time.

Coyne leaned back in the branches of the tree with a tired sigh, letting his sore eyes close. He should move, there was no wisdom in staying so close to a large and dangerous predator. It was strange though, as his time slowly counted down and his body grew more tired, he began to feel almost like a human again.

Not properly, as he had no genuine memories of the life that he had lived before this one. The merger that had happened between the wizard and the mimic had left him as a new being, with the memories of neither, and abilities that did not really belong in any school of magic. He truly was a monster. And he was growing almost comfortable with the idea of his time running out.

Perhaps it was because he had been experiencing his body tiring and shutting itself down for so long, but he was starting to wonder if a long rest would be such a terrible thing.

“Are you going to come down here? Or are you just going to stay in that tree?”

Coyne's stringy form tensed up, so much so that he almost flopped off his branch. He caught himself though with his legs dangling, and hauled his body back up to peer down at the clearing.

The dragon remained still, it had barely moved, but its eyes were open now, glowing softly up at him, as though they could see straight through the dimness and the foliage.

“Depends...” said Coyne slowly, rolling the word, extending it. “Are you going to eat me if I do?”

“If I intended to eat you, I would have done so when you first appeared before me. Come down here. Tell me what you are.”

Coyne paused, considering this. It was true that he had been close enough to the dragon for it to kill him and it had not done so. It had eaten well now, so perhaps it would have no interest in a scraggly meal like him.

He scritched at his heavy iron wristbands for a moment before thoughtfully dropping down to the ground and sneaking forwards through the bushes, stopping on the edge of the clearing opposite the dragon in a crouch, and quietly watching it, ready to flee.

“You do not trust me,” observed the dragon, moving its head slightly on the leaf covered ground.

“You're a dragon,” replied Coyne with a shrug, as though his response should have been obvious, his eye roving along the black and gold body. He reckoned it was about thirty five feet long, perhaps a few more including the tail's full length, but its body was slender, much more so than the red or green dragons he had seen before. This one was more angular, with a pointed face, and a muzzle full of sharp, glittering teeth. As he watched, a long tongue flicked out, as gold in colour as the edging on the scales, and licked over the side of the dragon's mouth, where a smear of blood remained. A little instinct in him made Coyne's eyes dilate slightly at the sight of the gold, but he knew this was no precious metal, and held himself firmly in check. “I know not to trust dragons.”

“That is something a man would say.”

“It is something anyone with an edible liver would say. But I... am no man.”

“I can see that.”

Coyne let out a little huff, spotting a boot that must have been flung off in the fray, he reached out and delicately drew it to himself across the floor, not making any sudden movements. He lifted the thing and began to examine its buckles, disappointed to find them to be tin. He dropped the boot and looked back to the dragon, which was silently watching him, its eyes glowing with little swirls of steamy light. He was certain it was working some kind of magic to figure out what he was, and honestly, he wished it the best of luck. Many had tried.

“So what exactly are you?” it said after a time, the glow fading. “I can see what you are not. That leaves me wondering how something as old as I cannot have seen one of your kind before. Are you new? Born of the war? I can see you are not fae... nor are you a spirit...”

“No... no I was not born of the war. I am from long before that,” Coyne sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I... I know what I am made from, but I know not what I am.”

The dragon raised its head slightly at this, and gave a light tilt. “Explain?”

Coyne shrugged, pushing his hands about in the dirt, searching for any dropped change, a nervous habit. “A wizard cursed to everlasting life entered a dungeon in search of riches or knowledge, as they do. There, he encountered a mimic stronger than himself... and as they do, the mimic consumed him. The curse of undying however, was far more powerful than either of them... it consumed both and I was born. I came to be as you see me now. Lying on the floor of a dungeon, fully equipped with knowledge of the world as inherited from the wizard and mimic both, but the memories of neither. With magic created from the union that belongs in neither the human arts, nor the world of monsters.”

The dragon watched him, visibly intrigued. “And I see the world of man has not been kind to you.”

Coyne scoffed a little. “What remains of the world of man now after decades of war? Desperation and decay. That is all that remains. I scrape from the gutters and steal days of life from their purses, but there is no living to be done here any more.”

The dragon seemed to smile slightly, its eyes tilting at the corners, and its broad mouth twitching. “I see you do not align yourself with them.”

Coyne shook his head, “I need them to live. I need their coin. There is a price I must pay for each day that I live. The coin was plentiful once. I was... different then. More powerful, more capable...” he held up his arms sadly, prodding the wiry bicep and jabbing at his ribs, exposed by clothes that were barely hanging onto life. “These days of war have whittled away the time I can afford.”

“And is that why you led the soldiers to me? You were hoping I would leave their belonging for you to pick through like some kind of carrion beast?”

Coyne gave a half nod, but his eyes were narrow. “One of them struck me when I asked him for a copper, so there was also that. But yes. I was hoping to profit a coin or two for my trouble. I see now I chose the wrong creature for that, did I not?”

The dragon chuckled. “You did. Had you picked a Mire, Sea or Sky dragon... you would have had your pickings of their metals. However... I am different.” The dragon seemed pleased to have gotten onto the subject of itself. Coyne had always been told that dragons were vain. It looked to be true now as it seemed positively delighted by this subject change.

“I am a Cave dragon. I think humans call us... Black dragons? We digest metal. It strengthens our scales, tougher than any other variety of dragon,” to punctuate the proud claim, it flicked its long, whiplike tail, which caused the aforementioned metallic scales to scrape together, creating an almost musical tone.

“I... assumed as much,” sighed Coyne. “And I see the world of man has not been exactly forgiving to you either.” He shot a look towards the creature's injured hip, then immediately backed up a few paces as the dragon's face changed immediately to a look of hatred.

“Men,” it spat. “Men are fools. They have slaughtered and enslaved us freely since the start of this idiotic war. Stealing our breath for weapons, our scales for armour, our organs for medicine...” the voice had a hissing, threatening undertone now, and the eyes were glowing once more as it turned its head to glare at the open wound in its thigh. “They take things not owed to them to spill blood over pettiness and lies.”

“They didn't quite manage to take you though. Did they?” said Coyne, a sly smile crossing his face.

“They did not,” agreed the creature, calming slightly at the complimentary tone in his voice. “They shot me down as I attempted to fly past that idiotic wall they have built across the land. I escaped but....it has been an inconvenience.” The purple eyes slid slowly over to him, narrowing lazily. “Perhaps... we can be of use to each other here...”

Coyne leaned in slightly, interested. After all, he had nothing to lose. “In what way?”

“I need someone other than a dragon to remove the debris from this wound. It is forged from pressure hardened wood of a sacred oak. Dragons... or any fae may not touch such a thing. If I attempt to remove it myself, I will receive severe burns to any part I use to do so.” The creature fixed Coyne with a stare, “You however, would not be affected.”

Coyne chewed his tongue slightly as he took this information in. “And... what do I get?”

“In return I will pay you with the scraps of the meal you brought me. I estimate about five gold coins and a few trinkets.”

Coyne licked his lips. Five gold coins was the best part of a month. He could do a lot with that much time. But he still did not entirely trust this creature. It was a dragon after all. Dragons had agendas. That was the second thing he had learned about them. They were vain was the first, and they always had agendas was the second.

The mimic drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the ground. Help a dragon... gain a few gold. The dragon seemed tired and weak, even after a good meal... it was talking with confidence but had little strength to back it up. Perhaps this time was worth the risk. “Alright...” he said, after a few minutes, through which the dragon waited patiently and politely. “I will clean your wounds in exchange for the coin,” he said, nodding. “If...” he held up a finger. “You give me your word that you will not try to hurt me.”

“I have no reason to harm you. You are not a man.”

Coyne chewed his lip a little, “Your word then?”

“I give you my word,” said the dragon, lifting one gold-clawed hand into the air and waving a finger in a swirling motion, creating a little twirling pattern in the air made of smoky purple light.

Satisfied the dragon was bound to its word, Coyne stood up, and came forwards. He tried to stand straight, but as his body had tired as his time ran out, he had found it harder and harder to do so. He walked with something of a stoop, and his sore legs shuffled more than walked at this speed. “Alright let me see here...” he said, kneeling down beside the wound, and examining it, the dim light not helpful, but not impossible for him to see in.

The wound proved to be long and deep, a vast gash cut all along the creature's thigh and into the hip, splitting scales and ripping them out. The edges of the flesh were rounded and sore, showing it had been this way for some time, trying to heal.

He delicately slipped a hand to the sides of the cut and pressed it open to get a better look, careful of the sharp metallic edges of the broken scales. His touch was gentle, but he saw the creature's claws dig into the ground as he performed his examination. This wound was visibly causing the beast agony.

Inside the gash, he could easily see the shaft of an enormous spear... no... an arrow... one so huge it could only have been fired from a siege weapon, turned from a single piece of wood and snapped off where it protruded. The rest of the shaft, along with the tip remained buried deep. “I see it indeed...” he said softly, touching the wood with the lightest of fingers. “It is deep... I can draw it out... but it will hurt.” He warned.

“Do it. The swifter you can make it, the better.”

“Alright... I'm not the man I used to be but...” Coyne straightened up and reached into the opening to grasp the end of the weapon, a good, firm hold, not wanting to lose his grip halfway through. “Alright... here we go...” he took a breath, tensing himself up, and heaving evenly backwards, the way the arrow had entered, so that the only flesh it would tear was that which was already damaged.

As the mimic tugged, the dragon's claws gouged deeply into the earth, the huge head swung upwards in a terrible roar that shook the ground, and caused birds to scatter from the trees all around them.

Feeling the object come free, Coyne was quick to make himself scarce as well, darting off into the bushes as the dragon turned in angry circles, huffing furious, growling breaths. He waited in a thick berry bush, watching the creature, hoping that if he was patient, it would calm.

He was right, after a few moments of turning and panting like a dog, the dragon lay down again as though its legs had given up their last strength, and it let out a little groan. Coyne slowly emerged from the bushes again, cautious, “Do you need me to check for splinters now that the worst is gone?”

The dragon glanced at him, still grinding its sharp, metallic teeth in pain, then gave a nod.

The mimic returned, and resumed his task.

It was a lot more delicate now. The arrow had emerged with relative ease and not done too much damage to the flesh along the way, but the wood had been untreated, probably intentionally, so it had left little slivers of itself riddled into the flesh.

Coyne worked quickly to pluck them out, his slender fingers adept and his eyes sharp, he cleared the wound of shards and the odd chunk of broken scale as he did so. He realised, as he worked, that the blood oozing from the flesh was not simply red like that of a man, but tinted with oily little swirls of metal... gold and silver twisting through it, but as liquid as any of the blood.

When he was finally satisfied with his work, he stepped back, “How's that?” he asked.

“Much better...” the dragon gave a quiet sigh of relief. “I can feel the sacred oak is gone... now it can heal.”

Coyne nodded, moving off to wipe his bloodied hands on the leaves of a bush.

The dragon watched him, its head tilting again, as though studying him. “You are a strange creature.” It observed thoughtfully.

“Thanks, I try,” replied Coyne, a little sarcastic in his tone.

“You do not belong in the world of man...”

“I know that. But the world of monsters won't have me. Believe me, I tried that too. All they see is just another human who would destroy them... or who could potentially be lunch. At least in the world of man I can pass among them unseen and steal freely.”

The dragon gave a nod, “I see. I see.”

Coyne finished cleaning his hands, and settled in the bushes opposite the dragon once more, looking expectant.

“Of course. You want your payment.” The dragon sat up, “Very well.”

What followed was an unpleasant churning sound, and the huge creature regurgitating a pile of armour. Everything metal the knights had been carrying, washed clean of any sign they had been occupied. Any fur or leather strapping was gone, but the fittings remained.

“Your scraps.”

Coyne was not bothered by the slightly condescending tone the dragon used as it said that, and came forwards. He had scraped coins from dirt and gutter, dug precious stones from the rock in which they formed and stolen from the filthiest of people. Acid washed dragon puke was hardly the worst thing he had ever seen.

He worked quickly as the dragon moved away from the pile to lie down once more and watch him.

He shifted aside the armours, as those were made of nothing but normal alloys and held no value for him. The smaller pieces were what he was after. He quickly found the five gold coins and wiped them on his ragged trousers before flicking them into his mouth one by one, forcing them down despite their broadness. He was well practised at it now. Normally he would have taken time to enjoy them, the shape, the taste... but he felt self conscious with the dragon watching him so he made it fast.

Among the heap there was also two rings, a worn silver pendant, a few silver and copper coins, and a pair of copper dice. He choked these all down quickly, rummaged through the rest for anything else, then straightened up, ready to move on.

“You consume the treasures. Why?” The dragon was looking curious once more.

“That's how I add them to my total,” he said, “I'm a mimic... the gold is counted only once it is within me.”

“You carry the total of your wealth inside your body?”

“Sort of...” Coyne sighed, gesturing to his middle, “It doesn't stay in this form, it passes into my other form. This one is just better for running away if something happens...”

“You have another form? Will you show me?” there was a look of genuine curiosity on the massive creature's face.

Coyne looked around nervously. He did not like transforming. It was dangerous, left him vulnerable, but the dragon was arguably more dangerous than anything in these woods and still did not seem to want to harm him so perhaps he could humour it. “Alright... only for a moment though...”

He drew his breath and straightened up before folding himself down, wrapping his arms tight around himself as he curled into a neat little ball. Then his flesh changed. Creaking and shifting as it became hard, dark wood. His iron wristbands shifted outwards, moving to edge his shape as he became nothing but a chest. Not a particularly grandiose one either, just a normal, slightly tired wood chest, fitted at the edges with somewhat rusted and pockmarked iron bands, and a neat little lock in the front.

“There you go,” he said, the edge of the chest shifting slightly as he spoke. “Just a chest outside. Like any other mimic.”

“And... this is where you keep your treasure?”

“Yes. The form gets bigger and grander when I am wealthy, to hold the haul... but... as it is...” he opened up just slightly, so the dragon could see the glitter of the few coins and trinkets within, but not the rest of his mimic body. The new additions were not visible yet, and the dragon raised a claw, taking a breath as if to ask, but Coyne sensed the question before it came. “They're still in my other form. It'll be dawn before they pass over and the day's fee is deducted.”

“How interesting...” said the dragon, sitting back. “And are you done with the rest of that armour?”

Coyne shifted back to his human form, stretching his arms and legs as he did so, glad of the feeling of gold shifting in his belly. “I have no use for tin or steel,” he confirmed, moving back to settle once more in the bushes. It actually felt pleasant to have held a conversation with someone for once but he felt he'd have to move off soon. He had been granted precious additional time from that gold, maybe he could try and travel back towards the southern side of the continent? Things were supposed to be safer, if more militarised on the other side of the wall they had built, so maybe he could do better for himself over there.

The dragon leaned forwards to draw the metals back to himself, swallowing them down.

Coyne watched, interested to see how easily the slender form was able to stretch to fit the broad chest plates with no difficulty. He smiled a bit, spotting a couple of buckles the dragon had missed, and brushing them clean of dirt, “Catch,” he called, flicking them into the air, and blinking in awe as the creature's head shot out at incredible speed to snatch the metal right out of its flight.

They shared a chuckle as the dragon wiped its mouth awkwardly, and sensing a silence coming on, Coyne rubbed his head, scruffing his unkempt auburn hair to the side. “Is your leg feeling better now?”

The dragon nodded, “It is still sore. But the wound will heal...” he stretched the leg in question out, grimacing as the wound shifted, showing his teeth, which Coyne now spotted properly for the first time, looked as though they were made of all different metals, glittering in the dim light.

The mimic snapped his fingers as a thought struck him suddenly, drawing a glance from the dragon. “Wait. I'll be back,” he said, turning, and disappearing into the bushes.

He hurried through the woods, searching for something. In his walk to cut the soldiers off... he had definitely spotted some of...

There it was! He grinned as he saw the thin, upright shape of the Maiden's Touch plant, green with thick, purple edged leaves. He quickly gathered the plant, leaves, berries, everything, and found a nice smooth rock that fitted in his palm.

He hurried back through the woods to the dragon, carrying this, and set it down carefully on a flat stone in the clearing.

“What are you... doing?” the dragon looked puzzled.

Coyne did not answer at first, quickly stripping the leaves from the stems with deft hands, he tossed the stems aside and began to use the rock to grind the leaves and berries together into a paste. He paused after a moment, looking around until he spotted a more common Spindleweed that grew everywhere, and pulled some from the ground, extracting the roots and adding it to the mix after dusting the mud free.“Mankind is not a smart race,” he started to explain as he worked. “Really not. But one thing you have to give them credit for is using everything the land offers them.” He had learned a lot about keeping himself in one piece and relatively pain free in the dangerous, war torn world. This was one such trick.

Once he had mashed everything up thoroughly, he scraped it together into his hands and approached the dragon, “May I see the wound again? This will not hurt like the last time.”

The dragon eyed him and the purple mixture, but seemed more curious than worried, so it extended the leg for him, and Coyne moved forwards.

He opened the wound with delicate fingers once more, and pressed the mixture into it, carefully filling the gaping hole, ensuring it covered every surface, then moving back. “Give it a little time,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers, “You'll see.”

They sat for a short while, the dragon asking persistent questions about his forms. How the gold was passed between them, how tough they each were, how much each form could contain, what other powers did he possess if any... the creature seemed overly interested in him, but Coyne had to admit that something like him did not come along every day so even something as vain as a dragon might put talking about itself on hold to learn about him. He did not dare ask questions back, knowing nothing about this creature and not sure if he wanted to. Dragons made dangerous company, he knew that, and he was already testing his luck by being around one this long. He could feel his common sense tugging at him to make a move and vacate this area.

Probably some twenty minutes later, the dragon extended the injured leg, and did not grimace. The movement was easier, not as stiff. “You have worked some kind of magic on me,” it said, with a chuckle.

Coyne waved his still purple stained hands dismissively. “It was no magic. Maiden's Touch cleans a wound, keeps it clear of infection, and Spindleweed root is good for easing strained muscles.”

The dragon let out a little chuckle. “What an intriguing little creature you are. You cannot be killed and yet you know fear, and healing.”

Coyne shrugged, “I can still be hurt. Just because I can't die from anything doesn't mean I cannot experience pain and injury. I can still be maimed.”

“Indeed indeed,” the dragon said, still looking amused, then slowly standing, extending its wings.

Coyne looked up in awe at the beautiful wings, scaled and elegant, with delicate black and purple flesh stretched between the long fingers. “But I have rested too long. I must keep moving. I can ill afford to remain this close to man during the daytime.”

Coyne moved back a little, to allow the dragon some space as it stretched the huge wings. “Well... thank you for the coin,” he said, nodding a little.

The dragon finished stretching, and looked at him, a slightly sly glint in its purple eye as it spoke, “And thank you. However,” it paused to stretch out its long neck, twisting side to side with creaks as the tired muscles objected. “I am not yet done with you...”

Coyne was caught entirely off guard as the creature moved. That same lightening speed it had used to snatch the buckles out of the air was suddenly on full display to him as the head shot forwards, the jaws opening wide, showing off a powerful maw of wet, golden flesh, studded with what looked like hundreds of sharp, pointed teeth made from every metal he could imagine and then some.

His stunned brain only got a snapshot of that image before his face was pressed directly against the golden flesh.

Powerful dragony hands gripped his skinny body, holding his arms to his sides as he spluttered and squirmed in shock.

A thunderous swallow made his ears pop, and the ruthlessly efficient throat opened up before him, the flesh shining golden as far as he could see, shifting like liquid metal. He shouted, trying to kick or squirm backwards, but all of his words were cut off as the flesh was pushed against his face in another swallow.

He was disorientated as the huge head flipped upwards, using his own weight to flick him deeper more easily, and Coyne felt terror grip his heart as he recalled seeing those armour chest plates bulging down the throat. He doubted his skinny form was half as broad as those.

Another flick and powerful swallow, and the muscles had entirely gripped him, the flesh cool to the touch but not cold, and getting warmer as he moved down.

He let out a frightened shout, trying to free his arms to push back, his mind treating him to horrifying images of sitting in a pit of acid being constantly eaten away, unable to die but unable to help himself.

He tried to call out, wrenching his face from the flesh to shout, “You said you didn't wish to harm me! You gave your word!” He was rewarded with only a rumbling chuckle before another swallow shoved him deeper. He let out a despairing cry as he was squeezed firmly, and found himself sliding into a close, golden chamber.

He fumbled around, trying to stay upright as his legs were piled down ontop of him, shoving and pushing as he attempted to stay out of the acid.

But there was no acid.

Instead, his hands came into contact with many hard, round, somethings.

He blinked, pausing to grip one and lifting it up.

It was a gold coin.

He lifted another, identical to the first.

“What... is this...?”

He yelped, and dropped the coins as a force shifted against him from outside, a powerful touch from clawed fingers. “Well. It is not a belly, of that you can be certain.”

“But... I don't understand...” Coyne said, his voice quavering.

“You are in my crop, where I keep whatever I have hoarded between trips to my home. Do not be afraid, it is safe.”

Coyne shivered, pressing his hands against the golden flesh of the walls. “Why have you done this. You said you wouldn't harm me...”

“And I do not intend to. I am hiring you.”

“You're... what?”

“I am hiring you. As doctor, lurer of men, coinpurse and treasurer.”

Coyne took this in, rolling the job titles through his mouth, and wiping some of the slime from his face with an equally slimy sleeve. “Huh?” he finally said helplessly.

“You are coming with me. I could use an assistant. You've shown yourself to be capable. Dragons are frowned upon for taking ordinary men as assistants, but you are no man. And finding monsters as eloquent and skilled as you is rare.”

“But... what if I...”

“Don't want to?” asked the dragon with another chuckle. “Look around you. I am offering you free access to a dragon's hoard... consume all you wish... you can return it to me on request, and will always have more than enough for your next day's fee without my even noticing the loss...”

Coyne lifted one of the coins again, examining it, running his sharp little canine teeth over the edge. It was real gold alright. “But... I do not wish to be a prisoner...”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“Then why did you trap me here?!”

“Because you cannot fly, and certainly will not keep up with me on those skinny legs.”

Coyne paused. The dragon had a good point. “Can't I think on this?”

“Of course. Rest, have some gold, we will talk when I land to rest for the day. If you still wish to be freed. I will free you.”

“Oh... okay...” Coyne said weakly, a little overwhelmed.

He didn't have time to lament his situation though, as he was suddenly jostled by the dragon taking off, the gold in the crop shifting around him as the muscles all set to their task and the ground beneath them disappeared.

Soon enough, the powerful strokes of the wings settled into a regular pattern, and Coyne found himself cradled in a hammock of gold and powerful flesh. He touched here and there, exploring his surroundings. He found the flesh a lot warmer at the back of the crop, furthest from where he had arrived, and turned himself so that his upper body was facing that way as he settled among the coins. There was just room for him to lie, though it was cramped among the treasure, and he was certain the skinny creature must be finding him heavy.

Before too long, the intoxicating smell of the gold pierced his thoughts, and he lifted one coin, examining it with a a curious eye. It was certainly real gold, not from this region but worth the same. Being in debt to a dragon... one who had just recently eaten him seemed like a terrible idea but... he was so hungry. He sighed as his self control wavered, slipping the coin into his mouth, tasting it, exploring the shape of it with his tongue, then swallowing it quickly.

He followed with another, and a third. Before he knew it, he was gorging himself on the coins, a desperate instinct to gain as much time back as he could seizing him. He had been so close to the edge for so long that self control took second place to self preservation, and before he knew it, he had worked his way through a king's ransom.

For the first time in all but forever, his stomach was full. The coins could not click around as he moved, because they were too packed together.

He let out a regretful little groan and curled up against the soft flesh, closing his sore eyes and letting himself rest.

To Be Continued!

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So it begins. The first bit, originally uploaded to DA August 9th 202, I am playing catch up here because I have been trying to get my head around Tumbr for such a long time. Most of the currently posted parts of the story are on DA, but I'm uploading them all here to get caught up. It's a long story, so let me know what you think!

[peepthatbish]

… bitch why’re you winking?? That’s not a winkable sentence

Who thought that giving Red a fire rod was a good idea -_-

… aight then, slay lil dudes. Go off ig

How tf is Shadow so like, meh about everything. Like, that’s not even the right word to use. But homeboy has a sword to the throat and just casually moves it away

[h4wari]

Woods Masterpost

Hello everyone!!!

I welcome you my dear leaf, into my page. You might call me Woods!!

Please, make yourself at home!! We got tea, shit posts and drawings, most of them, of course, are Zelda related!!

Everyone is welcome in my woods, this is a complete safe place for every living being. If you're here, have in mind that you have became my little leaf and thus, I will love you forever :DDD

I truly hope you like your stay!! Please, be nice to everyone, and ofc, to me hihihihi

If not, no one will find your rotten and mutilated body.

Yeeehaaaa!! :DDD

🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃

I decided to do this Masterpost just so it would be easier to find the drawings I'm making, so I will be updating this with time!!

I'm going to make a design for each TLOZ Link, starting with the timeline!!

All this drawings are part of an project I'm doing, some type of book, with the documentation of every Zelda media I find, in a very stupid way, with jokes and my thoughts about the things that happen in the series. If you guys show interest in seeing it, I might post the link to the book here!!!

But now, tell me, little leaf... What do you think about turning into an Stalfos or perhaps an Skull Kid and stay here forever, huh?

Hihihihi just kidding!!

Or maybe not.

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Anyway!! This are my lovely Anons so far:

Popping Candy Anon, 💫 Anon.

Feel free to ask me anything, send me a message or send drawing requests!!

Drawing requests rules

Since Im obsessed, I will only do requests Zelda related!! After all, this is the theme of my woods hihihihi.

About Link, since I'm doing also doing Links designs, please be specific about if you want the LU Link design or my own!!

You can request lit any Zelda character you would like, it might take a while but I'll try my best to do all requests!!

If I don't feel comfortable doing your request, please do not insist. I won't change my mind.

If you request anything inappropriate involving any underage characters, I will report you. Do not try me. We protect the babies in this account.

I accept any types of ideas but I truly LOVE yandere LU NFKANFKWMFKKS its my hyperfixation NFKWNFKSNDJ so if you wanna request that, please do it.

And of course, the request ideas will be all credited!! ✨✨✨

🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃🌲🌱🍃

Drawings

Sky

Concept Art & Doodles

Four

Minish Cap

Concept Art & Doodles

Four Swords

Concept Art & Doodles

Memes

Four, put the knife down!! + tired Sky

Thank you Poppy!! + Mini devouring Popping Candy & Friends

Requests

Ganondorf & Skull Kid

OoT Link feat. Malon and Cow

Minish Woods (Me :D)

Gifts for Friens

Fungi's bday! | Hyrule

Moss's bday! | Warriors

Fungi & Woods collab for Moss's bday! | Warriors

Bea's bday! | Drac (Linksona)

Peep's bday! | Us as Minishes!!

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Hope you all like my content my lovely leafs!!

And remember: Don't go too far into those woods... You might get lost and never be able to go back :)

Also, if you would like, you can now suport me on ko-fi!!

Thats it!! Buh bye for nowww!! Kiss kiss kiss mwaaa!!

Toodles!!! 🍃🍃🍃

[nani-nonny]

Tiny snippets that didn’t make it to the current apaf or the other storyline for apaf :D

Well, there not exactly tiny snippets… one of them is 2k words long hehe

But I’ve been holding on to these long enough, especially since we’re finally getting into the “learning how to be a dad” phase of apaf in a few chapters :D

Have fun reading! vvvv

This dialogue is from the other storyline, aka apaf 2.0 (/hj) aka aka the plot line we avoided lol

”No, Dad, you should take it, I really shouldn’t—.”

“Hush, Big Blue, be kind to her.”

“Her? How do you know?”

“I raised four boys, I think I know a girl when I see one. Now, take her. She needs her father.”

“No, I’m not her dad. I can’t—I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“What if… what if I mess up? What if I’m not cut out for being a dad? No—I mean, I’m not ready.”

And this is 2k words of a snippet, also for plot 1 aka the plot where CJ dies :( and Leonardo tries to heal from that recent death that haunts him :D but anyways, this is a different opening to how Leonardo wakes up in the lair after stealing the key and passing out. This time, Leonardo isn’t immediately stressed by CJ’s disappearance, but he is stressed about CJ’s death.

“————! No!”

Leonardo turns, eyelids scrunching tightly closed.

“Come back!”

He reaches with heavy hands, desperate to grab onto the voice.

“Leo!”

His hands shake, fingertips burning as if he reached into the heart of a flame.

“I’m sorry…”

He can feel his throat closing in on itself, muting any sound he tries to make.

“I’m so sorry…”

—chirp! Peep peep! Chirp!

Leonardo was sleeping on his side when he heard the sharp, distressed chirps of a small creature. The chirps beckon him, cry for him to come and help. Scared. Scared. Help, it cries.

And without realizing it, he’s rising out of bed. Perhaps out of pure instinct or some kind of fatherhood that was pushed deep down surfaces in this moment as his body flips its switch to high alert. The only thing on his mind that manages to make itself known is to protect.

Protect Draxum’s treasure.

He chirps in response, weary eyes blindly searching for the small turtle.

Where? Protect. Come. Protect.

But the second he kicks his feet off the bed, he hears the small chirps from behind. He turns around, flops onto his stomach—wincing when a sharp pain erupts from his torso at the movement—to reach the other side of the bed and easily catches the small turtle just before it falls off the edge.

The turtle in his hand releases a small, surprised chirp. Safe.

He exhales a sigh of relief as he sits up, careful with the baby in his hand and holds her close to his plastron. He looks around as his heart begins to calm, slowing to its normal pace.

He’s in a room, unfurnished with all the unopened boxes and lack of decorations. It’s quite literally a bed-room as the bed is the only piece of furniture that is of use. But the room he recognizes to be an abandoned train car, cleaned out and left with nothing but its skeleton. The windows have been blocked out with newspapers to prevent any light from coming in, and the sliding door was replaced with a raggedy blue curtain.

He doesn’t recognize this place to be the lair, so he doesn’t have a clue where in the hell he is except for what could possibly be a subway station.

He looks down to see his torso is covered in bandages, clean and pristinely wrapped around his shell. His pants have been replaced with clean sweatpants, his utility belt with his pockets nowhere to be seen. Even his sword is out of sight, and whether the tied masks on the hilt were noticed or not, he wasn’t sure.

But more importantly, the small creature resting in the palm of his hand.

He looks down at the small turtle, stares at the sleeping face that distortedly mirrors his own. The rounded head, the familiar red crescents that signify a red-eared slider, the small beak—a turtle mutant. Although, he doesn’t have that skinny, stretched diamond-shaped stripe that rests barely above the middle of this mutant’s eyes.

That, in itself, is enough to relieve Leonardo that this isn’t his child.

It’s not possible. After all, he never got close to anyone like that. And with the war against the krang, he would never dare to bring a kid into that world. Especially not after… that situation.

And yet Draxum did. It must have been Draxum, he was the one to hand the child over with the order to protect it. He died passing the child over to Leonardo without warning.

Protect Draxum’s treasure…

And here he is, a mutant from the future with a child in his hand. But the slider specifically remembers handing the small child off to Splinter.

Leonardo looks down at the small turtle, surprised it can be sleeping so soundly after almost falling off the bed and making those distressed sounds. And what the hell was that? When was the last time he actually made turtle noises? He thought he had forgotten how to do it.

If Mikey were here, he’d hear no end to it.

“If he was here…,” Leonardo mumbles aloud only to finish the thought, He would know what to do with this.

The child makes a strange sound, snapping Leonardo from his thoughts. In the palm of his hand, the child is shivering and he realizes the noise must have been a sneeze.

“How are you catching a col-oh…,” he questions the child before he realizes mid-sentence that he did dive into the ocean at night. In his defense, he didn’t know he had been carrying a child in his arms. He thought it was some priceless artifact that Draxum didn’t want destroyed or taken by the krang. Hell, he thought it was going to be something to help him in retrieving the key—better yet—destroying it.

But where did Draxum get this child? Did he rob someone?

Feeling the small child shiver in his hand, he pushes the ceaseless questions aside and exits the subway car. Slipping through the curtains, he’s immediately blinded by the bright lights of the subway station.

“That’s right… the new lair,” Leonardo realizes as he takes note of the unopened boxes scattered everywhere.

Down the pathway, he sees more train cars lined up on both ends of the platform. Four cars in particular are color-coded with the familiar colors of himself and his brothers, and he recognizes the lobby room-changed-to-living room. It still has a few unopened boxes, some are opened and barely cleared of a handful of items. The skate ramps and the game table is lit up from a recent game of air hockey.

There’s a wet caution sign set up in the middle of the room on top of a recently mopped part of the floor. Was that because of him?

A few steps closer and Leonardo notices a note taped onto the other side of the caution sign, “Leo did it”.

Under that note, he sees another that says, “Days without a Leo incident: 0”.

Leonardo playfully glares at the second note and laughs dryly, “Haha, funny.”

“No, stop, don’t touch that! We don’t know how long that’s been there,” a younger Donnie’s voice yells from a nearby room.

In response, a symphony of Ewwws and Grosssss erupted from the same room, and Leonardo followed it to find himself walking into the kitchen.

Inside, four turtles are standing in the midst of an unpacked kitchen only filled with a fridge, a stove, a few uncleaned kitchen counters, and a large rectangular dining table. Three turtles are gagging and holding their hands over their mouths, clutching utensils like a wooden spoon and a rubber spatula as the stove continues to burn whatever sits on the skillet.

Crouching on the floor is a smaller Raphael than Leonardo remembers, hands over his mouth as he chews slowly. The snapper’s eyes seem to scan nothing as all thoughts are focused on whatever is in his mouth.

Donnie looks so much more like Leonardo’s photo of April’s first day of college. The purple tech shell, the uneven goggles, the purple stripes on his upper arms and thighs—even the ridiculously drawn eyebrows. The softshell has yet to grow into the same build as Leonardo, and only has the lanky, toned muscle that Leonardo doesn’t remember being so funny to look at. Had they always been so oddly shaped in their teens?

The softshell turns away holding his mouth closed to keep from gagging anymore, but freezes when he makes eye contact with Leonardo. Donnie swallows nothing and stares at the elder slider.

Leonardo blinks, a little uncomfortable with Donnie’s eyes locking on him in what could only be shock or possible amazement? He’s a little uncertain because Donnie hasn’t blinked. Or moved. The teen just keeps staring. He feels like they’re the perfect reenactment of a car and a deer in headlights—frozen and too afraid to make any sudden movements.

Suddenly, the small child sneezes, breaking the staring contest between the two and Leonardo sets the child onto the dining table. Donnie nudges the closest brother, which happens to be Mikey, who was too focused on the “all kinds of bad” that could come from eating an old, soggy piece of unknown meat from an abandoned subway station.

The box turtles pivots on his heel until his eyes meet Leonardo’s, his draw dropping immediately. His eyes flicker between the small child that searches for Leonardo’s hand, and the huge, towering mutant slider that is Leonardo. He nudges the smaller slider at his side, whispering a sharp psst!

The younger slider points at Raph’s mouth, “Spit it out Raph! That’s gross and you’ll get sick.”

The snapper shakes his head vigorously as he continues to chew—how much longer does he need to chew?

Mikey pushes Leo, making the young slider stumble forward. The young slider pushes the tails of his mask off his face as he looks over his shoulder, “Mikey! What the hel—llll…. oh.”

The slider’s annoyance dies in seconds as he, too, has locked his eyes on the elder slider standing near the dining table.

And there it is. It’s almost like staring at a reflection of the boy he used to be. The red and yellow stripes that distortedly mirror his own, the blue mask—his youth. The kid should be—what?—sixteen? Seventeen? Somewhere in the teens if the little guy looks the same as his photo.

“Hey… uh, morning?” Leonardo finally greets, making the snapper flinch.

The snapper looks over his shoulder, mouth full of the unknown meat and swallows. He rises to fully stand, wiping his mouth as he does, and smiles sheepishly. “Oh, morning Leo,” he greets cheerily.

The snapper’s eyes trail to the small child laying on the table in the fetus position. He glances at his brothers for a response, and Leo is the first to respond.

Immediately striking up a confident smile and a step forward to match, Leo sweeps his mask’s tails off his shoulder. “G’morning ‘Older Me’, I see we haven’t lost our devilish good looks,” he greets with what Leonardo can describe is an expression too confident for how ridiculous he actually looks.

The smaller Leo walks up to Leonardo to rest his arm uncomfortably on the elder’s shoulder, he motions between them with his free hand. He marvels at his nails as he says, “So, what do we call you Big Man? Winter Soldier? The Mutant Watchmen? Turtle Titan? Terrapin Warrior?”

Just as the smaller Leo is about to come up with yet another horrible nickname, Leonardo’s hand envelopes the entirety of the younger’s face. “Let’s just go with something simple, save you the thinking. Leo, Leonardo, Nardo, Leon, pick your favorite.”

The younger Leo pries Leonardo’s hand off his face and slaps the large hand away. “Get off, get off, Grandpa,” Leo hisses as he bats away the calloused hand.

Donnie steps forward with excitement flurrying in his eyes, his hands are folded together but pointer fingers extended at Leonardo. He can’t hide his giddy smile as he asks, “So… are you a clone? Or another mutant that looks exactly like what Leo might look like when he’s older? Or are you from the future? If you’re from the future, how did you get here? I thought Leo’s portals only work with destination and—.”

Leonardo lowers Donnie’s hands and interrupts, “I’m from the future, and I didn’t make the portal to the present.”

Donnie’s hands fall to point at the small child now shivering on the dining table, “And that…?”

Leonardo doesn’t look back at the child and answers a little too sharply for the softshell’s liking, “It’s Dad’s.”

“‘It’?” Raph questions, his eyes glancing back at his brothers again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Leonardo interrupts and quickly adds, “Where is he? Does he have the key?”

“You mean Dad? He went to the surface to pick up some things with April for the… for his kid?” Raph answers for the turtles. He points to the stove, “Are you hungry? Pops said we should make you some food.”

Leonardo looks at the stove that is starting to release an alarming amount of smoke from the skillet. He points to the stove and asks, “Would the charcoal happen to be my breakfast?”

Mikey pushes past his brothers in a panic and cries out, “My omelet surprise!”

Wasn’t that fun? Anyways, another tiny dialogue snippet from plot 1 that I ended up not liking, which didn’t matter in the end since we didn’t choose plot 1 lol

“What’s more important the key or your daughter?”

“The key, of course!”

F!Leonardo didn’t mean this inherently, but he was very stressed at that point when the lair was attacked by the Foot and the baby was injured in the attack :(

Let’s continue the stress and angst! Here’s another plot 1 snippet :D

“I can’t, Dad… I shouldn’t,” Leonardo admits in defeat.

Splinter sets the baby in his lap, accepting Leonardo’s defeat but he questions, “Why not?”

Leonardo swallows. “Because what if I fail her too? What if I’m the reason she… —I can’t. I don’t know if my heart can take it. I’ve already lost so much. And you might be here, but not like how you were—are?”

The slider shakes his head and looks away from Splinter and the baby. “I lost my kid, Dad. I can’t take her in, it wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserves a father that will love her and protect her, someone who will dedicate their time to her. I can’t do that for her. Not while the pain is so… so fresh. I… I’m losing the fight. And I’m not sure I can get up anymore than you tried to pull me up. I’m sorry.”

Here’s a snippet that I removed from the canon apaf storyline because I decided to move it along a little faster. Before they find out that CJ was hiding with the Foot Clan, Leonardo wasn’t supposed to abide to Leo’s demand of letting him tag along. Leonardo was actually going to reach his breaking point in his stress because he had been searching my alone for weeks and nearly explodes on Leo—in a sad way, not anger hehe.

“Because Casey’s all I have left!” Leonardo snaps suddenly.

The elder slider momentarily freezes when he realizes what he has said, wrapping his fingers around his sword’s hilt in an awkward attempt at hiding the bandanas. He swallows, realizing he has dug himself a whole deeper than the trenches. “I… Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I should have worded it better. But believe me when I say I care. I care so much. Maybe a little too much—to the point where I’m only thinking straight ahead and instead of everything else around me.”

Leonardo winces at the way his words come out of his mouth, but he continues, “And I’m sorry that it’s hurting you. I really am, but it’s been really hard and I’m trying not to focus on… other things when Casey is the only one here. I promise when we reach CJ, I’ll take the time to—I don’t know—process? —everything? I just really need CJ to be okay. If he’s okay, then I can finally breathe. Alright? Can you give me that at least?”

Leo’s eyes flick downwards to the elder’s grip on the multicolored hilt, finally noticing the red and purple bandanas. Shit…, he thinks, I’m an asshole.

Wasn’t this fun? A lot of stuff was avoided because we picked plot 2 for apaf hehe, and we’ve moved faster onto the “raising baby” part

Although, I do miss the potential angst that could’ve been in plot 1 lol

I’m not sure if these were already shared or not hehe but it’s nice to go through them again

Sorry for the bad grammar or spelling if you spotted any, I didn’t bother to edit these haha

[shivunin]

Sleight of Hand

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 7374 Words | AO3 | No warnings)

Here's the magician AU I have been talking about. I may write more in this AU at some point, but for now this is the whole story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it c: (and here is what I was listening to as I wrote this)

In the hours before showtime, Hawke sometimes liked to come to the stage and stand just behind the curtains. Nothing else. Just—stand there, eyes closed, and listen. 

There was a heartbeat to the old theater. In quiet moments, she could almost feel the pulse of it. There: the echo of past applause, the soft swish swish of years of push brooms across the empty stage, the murmurs of a thousand chorus girls and backup dancers. There—the hush as bows rising over violins, hovering over still strings. And there—spots squeaking as they pivoted to the correct position, just before the light inside was lit. It was like a sharp inhale, like the twitch of a muscle about to contract, like toes pressed to the very edge of a precipice. 

Or maybe that was just her own fanciful thinking. 

“Hawke,” the dry voice of her stage assistant called from the wings, “It is four thirty.”

One breath: in and out. 

It was time.

“Coming,” she called back, stepping away from the dusty velvet. “Say, Fenris, do you ever stand onstage and hear the echoes of performances past?”

A pause.

“No,” he said. 

When she turned to look at him, she found him already dressed for the show in the customary snow-white shirt, black vest accented with lines of silvery embroidery, and deep black trousers. From the audience, the watchers would not see the many-times-mended seams, the shabby cuffs, nor most of the pale tattoos covered by each. He’d told her there was no sense in covering them—and he was right, for they showed through his shirtsleeves in the stage lights—but at least covering them gave the impression that they weren’t up for casual discussion. 

The illusion provided by both was for the best. Most people learned the hard way that Fenris did not like to talk about the markings, and the shabbiness of his clothes was her fault, for she’d had little spare money to spend on fixing it. 

“Really?” Hawke asked, walking toward him. “Not even a peep?”

“No,” he said again, but this time the corner of his mouth twitched. 

Ah; he was in a good mood tonight. One could never tell. 

“I suspect you invent these things for your own entertainment,” he went on, uncrossing his arms and shifting from one foot to the other. “Or perhaps you simply enjoy asking me nonsensical questions.”

“Oh, it’s both,” she said earnestly, widening her eyes. “You’re ever so attractive when you look at me like I’ve gone mad.”

That garnered a snort, which from him might as well have been uproarious laughter. Fenris fell in step beside her as she passed him, and they began to make their way from the wings to her narrow dressing room. 

She’d been desperate when they’d first met, facing down an hour and a half to showtime and an assistant who’d delightedly told Hawke she was running off to Rivain with her beau. Hawke had gone to the portion of Lowtown where folk looked for work, and there she’d found him. 

Fenris had been scowling and plainly exhausted, clearly the worst possible choice for the task. Hawke had asked him to come anyway, because there was something about him that she’d seen then and saw now, some intangible quality that made her want to do something for him. If the show went poorly, it was just one show. She’d offered him the job on the spot and—well, three months (or was it four?) later, here they were. He hadn’t given her reason to regret it yet, though he’d be the first to admit that he’d tried. 

Hawke didn’t have to think very hard to find the next topic of conversation. Work was always easy to fall back on. 

“So,” she said, “about the trick before the cups—”

“Absurd,” he murmured, then gestured gracefully, “but go on.”

“The box is an audience-pleaser and I’ve adjusted the swords better this time. Please reconsider.”

He sighed. 

“Fenris,” she said, and the pair of them paused before her dressing room door. 

“Hawke.”

Maria grinned at him, delighted as ever by the dryness in his voice, then turned the doorknob and walked inside. The lamps were already lit—his doing, no doubt—and both of them politely pretended that there wasn’t a dent in the couch roughly the size and shape of his body. 

“I do not believe that this trick is—is that another bruise?” he asked, darting in front of her. Hawke drew up short and angled her chin upward, neither hiding nor stepping away. His fingertips hovered just above her cheekbone for a moment before he took a step back. 

“Yes,” she said brightly, and edged around him to sit at the dressing table. She would still need to change, and Honeybun needed to stretch her legs, and—

“How?” he asked. When she glanced at him in the mirror, his brows had drawn tightly together. 

There had been a time not very long ago—perhaps three months now—when he’d scowled at her like that all the time. She hadn’t even noticed when his expression had started to soften. 

“Picked a fight, as usual,” she said, lifting the first of many makeup brushes. “But good news: the idiot won’t be stealing from the coffee seller again. Oh, also I got paid.”

She smiled at Fenris in the mirror, but he wasn’t having it. He rolled his eyes and turned away instead, reaching under the rack of costumes to flip the cage door open. 

“Come on, then,” he said, irritation underscoring his voice. 

A rabbit, carmel-patched and floppy-eared, hopped from her enclosure and wiggled her nose at him. Fenris took a berry from the bowl on the side table and placed it gravely before Honeybun, who set upon it with leporine delight. 

Hawke smiled to herself. When he’d first arrived, he’d regarded the rabbit with the narrow-eyed suspicion usually reserved for snakes. She supposed he must see more of Honeybun than she did these days, given that he was quietly occupying this room for most of the hours that Hawke herself was not in it. Even so, there was something sweet about the way he gingerly leaned down and ran a hand over the rabbit’s head. 

Maria looked away before Fenris could catch her watching and began to get ready for the act as if she’d never noticed anything at all. 

|

Fenris would be the first to acknowledge that it was a ridiculous situation. 

Once, he had been a feared living weapon, chained at a magister’s side as a deterrent to the mage’s enemies. Once, he had left a trail of heartless bodies from Tevinter to Seheron. Now, he donned a sparkly vest and stood on stage in front of a crowd, pretending that Hawke’s sleight of hand meant the same thing as magic. 

It was not without purpose. He told himself this often, when he lay on the lumpy couch in the dressing room at night, when he worked through fighting forms in the quiet of the morning, when he straightened his vest and readied himself to step onstage yet again four evenings a week and twice on Saturdays. 

This was not without purpose—but that did not make it any less ridiculous.

“Alright there, Rog,” Hawke was saying to their audience volunteer for the night. “You see that all the cups have nothing in them, yes? No sticky honey on the inside, no secret bottom?”

The boy, freckled and gap-toothed, nodded and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. 

“They look alright,” he agreed. “Nothing funny inside.”

“Wonderful,” Hawke said, bestowing the full force of her smile on the poor boy, who flushed red enough to mask his many orange freckles. “Now, I am going to put the ball under one of the cups and move them around. Then, you’re going to tell me which cup the ball is under. Alright? If you pick the right one, we have a prize.”

She gestured to Fenris, who sighed and displayed the prize in question: a “wand” of black-painted wood with a white tip. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of it. 

“Alright!” he said, rubbing his hands together. 

“Wonderful,” Hawke said, displaying the ball with a flourish before tucking it under the first cup. 

This part was always fast by necessity, but Fenris was familiar with it by now. He could see the blur of the ball when she angled the cup just so and it shot into her sleeve. The first few times, though—he might have wondered if it was some sort of magic, though he knew it wasn’t. He could often feel the echo of magic through the tattoos, like the ripples thrown by a rock cast into a still pond. He’d never felt them during her act; whatever she did onstage, it did not involve the Fade at all. 

The rest of the scene went precisely as anticipated: the astonished boy picked an empty cup. Hawke revealed that they were all empty, produced the ball from behind the boy’s ear to the audience’s delight, and then sent him off with the little ball even though it was the last of their current stock. Fenris had found this routine absurd at first; he hated to admit to himself now that he thought it was…endearing, perhaps, that she insisted on doing this for the young audience participants even though it inconvenienced her. The boy, stunned, wandered back offstage with many a backward glance at the magician herself. 

For her part, Hawke grinned at the audience, bowed with a flourish that scattered light over her red coat, and moved smartly on to the next trick: producing Honeybun from her tophat. 

It was as Fenris found his place behind the table that hid the rabbit that he looked up at the audience and saw them. 

There: at last, a half dozen fighters dressed in Tevinter garb. 

It was almost a relief to see them here, when he’d been expecting them from the first moment he stepped onstage. It wasn’t a trap he’d placed, so to speak, but these performances had been a lure of sorts. And now—now his pursuers would show their hand at last, in the time and place of Fenris’s choosing. 

One of the fighters smiled to Fenris and stood, walking toward the rear doors in the audience. The others followed, leaving a large section of the back row empty. Fenris’s blood thrummed in his ears, adrenaline pouring into his system. It was an effort not to call on the markings, but there would be no fight in the moment. They would be waiting outside instead, perhaps with some sort of conveyance to stuff him into. A cage was always easier to begin with; it allowed them to deprive the occupant of food and water, to control their sleep without needing to worry about danger to the slave hunters, and—

The kick to his shin brought him back to himself. 

“—must be feeling shy today. Well folks, how about a hand for Her Serene Fluffiness? Maybe we can coax her out from the mysterious beyond.” 

The audience cheered accordingly and Fenris realized he’d missed his cue. Of course he had; he’d finally gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He could walk off the stage right now and it would not matter one bit. 

Only—only Hawke had found him in that alley, hungry and cold, and offered him a job on the spot. He’d never been anything but dry and skeptical during these performances, but she’d never once faulted him for it or suggested he leave. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it—though why continued to elude him. She’d slipped the key to her dressing room into his pocket that first day and she’d never once walked in on him there no matter how wary he’d been in the early days. 

Fenris owed her nothing. He performed a job and she paid him for it. But—if this was to be his last evening with her here, he owed it to her to finish this well. 

Fenris found the catch under the table without looking and flipped it, opening the trap door to the hidden rabbit cage within.

“And—Abracadabra!” Hawke said, tapping the brim of the top hat with a flourish. When she reached into the hat and scooped Honeybun from the depths, Fenris felt a pang. 

It was an absurd trick. It had always been an absurd trick. 

But—he would miss the cursed creature. 

He’d…miss the way Hawke smiled at the rabbit every time she lifted it from the hat, as if surprised and delighted to find it there. 

“Oh, dear,” Hawke said, cuddling Honeybun in her arms. “But you can’t help me do any of my tricks, can you, darling? Perhaps my lovely assistant can keep track of you for the moment. Let’s see—ah! A treat for your troubles, my little friend.” 

With a flick of her fingers, she produced a strawberry seemingly from thin air and smiled down at the rabbit. Honeybun took the berry from her hand, nose wiggling furiously, and Hawke held the creature out to Fenris.

Hawke must have seen something in his expression; her eyes searched his face as Fenris took the rabbit from her. He looked right back, taking in the wink of the gold tucked in amongst her curls, the scar that crossed one eyebrow and fell just below her eye, the bruise she’d barely managed to cover with powder, the way her upper lip was just slightly larger than the lower one, and the determined set to her chin. 

There was much he would have liked to say to her in that moment. The words crowded in his throat, chokingly thick, but—well. The show must go on, as she often said. Fenris settled Honeybun in his arms instead, noting absently the warm softness of the fur, the soft movements as she went on nibbling her strawberry, and nodded once to Hawke to indicate that all was well enough. 

“Alright, folks,” she said, turning and spreading her arms wide. “You’ve seen wonders tonight, haven’t you?”

A cheer from the audience. 

“You’ve been delighted and entertained, amazed and awakened to the possibilities of the world—well, now it’s time for the grand finale.”

Fenris stroked his hand once over the rabbit’s back, tension riding the base of his neck. 

Yes, it did seem like it was time for a finale. 

|

There was something wrong with her assistant. 

Maria had noticed it most of the way through the act, but the oddness in his manner hadn’t gone away when they’d returned to the changing room. She set the last of the baubles in her hair aside and turned at last to look at Fenris. He was keyed up in a way he hadn’t been for months, shifting from foot to foot and tensing at every sound from the hall beyond. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Fenris flinched. Hawke half-rose at the sight of it, but sat again when he took a step back. 

“If something’s happened—” she began, fingers curling around the arm of the chair, but he gestured sharply. 

“It is nothing,” he said. “You need to go.”

“I need to go?” she asked, brows rising. “Forgive me, serah, but I was under the impression that this is my dressing room. I have no intention of walking home in this.”

She gestured to her outfit—still the stage costume—and Fenris grimaced. 

“Here, then,” he said, taking the stack of her street clothes from the couch arm, “change and go.”

Hawke took them, but she didn’t go. 

“Fenris,” she said quietly, “please. Whatever this is—let me help.”

There was sweat along his forehead, and his hair had fallen out of the neat quiff he wore during the act. They weren’t quite friends—he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in getting attached to this place—but the two of them worked very well together. And…well, she’d never say it to him aloud, but here and onstage with him was the only times she felt she could simply be herself. Not a sister or a daughter, not the glue that held her friend group together, but Maria the Magician and only that. 

“No,” he said, just as quietly, but iron-firm. 

Right. 

Hawke turned away and went into the back section of the room, where the tiny bathroom was located. It was quick, silent work to change out of her costume, to set aside the tuxedo shirt, the red coat, the matching skirt and shiny shoes. It was quick work, but she worried the whole time and her hands were unsteady on the buttons of her trousers when she did them up. 

Returning to the room didn’t help. Fenris watched her while she hung up her clothes, and he was waiting with an extended hand when she was finished. 

Hawke looked down at his hand, and then at his face. He’d made it abundantly clear that he did not want her to touch him on the first day they’d met. She’d moved to do the simplest of tricks—pull a coin from behind his ear so he could buy himself lunch—but he’d caught her wrist lightning-fast and forbade her to try it again. They passed things back and forth onstage, but that was the closest they’d ever come to touching skin to skin. 

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

She took his hand anyway and sucked in a breath when she felt the hard metal hidden there. Fenris clasped her hand between his, pressing the key to the dressing room into her palm. His hands were callused and warm around the smooth, cool metal he held. There was absolutely no reason to feel the way she did about touching him—they were hands, for the Maker’s sake—but she felt something nonetheless, a bubbling sensation in her chest. It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that he was…he must be…

“Thank you,” he said in that low, serious voice. “For—everything, Hawke.” 

She didn’t let go when he did. For a moment, they lingered there, the key pressed between their palms. 

What could she say? He’d already refused to explain himself, had already made it clear that he didn’t want her here. What more could she possibly say if he would not allow her to help? 

“You need to go,” he said, extricating his hand from her grasp. When he stepped aside, there was a clear path to the door. 

Fine. 

Fine, she would go—but she’d be damned if she left him to the jaws of whatever fate he’d resigned himself to. Hawke nodded, passing him closely enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. She paused only once, the door held open in her hand. He was still watching her when she looked back. 

“I’ll see you later,” she said, the words not quite a question. 

Fenris hesitated. His mouth firmed and he half-nodded, an angled bow of the head that might have been assent or disagreement. 

Hawke turned away and shut the door behind her. She strode toward the back door at a clip, taking her staff from the umbrella stand where she’d hidden it. She had people to find and not much time to fetch them here. 

She could only hope that whatever Fenris was going to do, he would take his time doing it.

|

Fenris waited onstage, hands loose at his sides, dressed in the clothing he’d worn when he fled Seheron. Unfortunately, it remained the sturdiest he owned; whatever could be said about Danarius, he’d wanted his pet bodyguard to be properly attired. 

The theater around him was quiet. He’d waited until the crew were all gone, until the lights were doused, and then he’d crept from a hiding place along the catwalk and propped the back door open with a brick. They would be here soon; he had little doubt of that. At least here Fenris had the advantage of knowing precisely where everything was—especially given that the stage had already been prepared for Hawke’s show tomorrow evening and all of the usual props were positioned precisely where they’d be needed for the performance.

Fenris clenched his fist, eyes closed, listening. Do you ever stand onstage and hear the echoes of performances past? Hawke had asked him just that afternoon. 

An absurd question—she seemed to enjoy being absurd—but standing here now, Fenris felt he almost understood what she meant. The past seemed to live in the empty spaces here, in its way. 

Two steps to the left—that was where she’d first tapped his wrist with her so-called wand and drawn a full bouquet from his sleeve. There—just to the right, beside the table—that was where he’d first asked her if anyone fell for this farce of an act. She’d laughed in his face, then announced to the crowd that every performer should have a skeptic on hand, lest they become too full of themselves. She’d given him a cut of the excess tips tossed into the hat after the show that night and every night since—had that been the first night or the second?—and told him he had a job as long as he wanted it. 

Odd—because he’d only half-believed her at the time—but in his memory she looked uncharacteristically solemn when she’d said it. “Stay as long as you wish, Fenris,” she’d told him, and when he’d put his hand in his pocket later he’d found the heavy brass key inside. 

Tonight, the stage curtains had been left open, as was usual after the audience was gone. If he opened his eyes, he would see all the way to the back of the theater where Hawke’s friends sat during weekend performances. They were loud—would always shout when she pulled off a trick, even if they’d seen it a dozen times before—and Fenris had always taken their presence as his cue to disappear swiftly after the show. 

He wondered now if it would have been better to allow himself attachment to this place; if he had reached out sooner, would it have been easier to stay? He didn’t know. He was weary of running—and that was precisely what he would be doing when he left this place. Months ago, he’d thought to take a stand here and make an end of it, but—did he really think this would be the end of Danarius’s pursuit? 

No. No, he knew better than that. Perhaps it would be worth it to consider staying here after—

A soft squeak: the hinges of the back door, perpetually overused and under-oiled. 

Fenris took a deep, slow breath and released it, feeling along the lines of the lyrium markings. He was ready; he hadn’t spent these past months in idleness. He’d spent them eating properly and practicing in the privacy of Hawke’s dressing room. He was not the shell-shocked slave who’d escaped from Seheron, nor was he the desperate creature on the run through the hills and dales of the Free Marches, striking back just enough to survive before running again. Fenris would fight, and fight well—on his own behalf, for once. 

It was a simple thing to turn and face backstage, to wait for them to come. It had been the work of months to reach a place where he would want to.

“Well, well, well,” an accented voice drawled from the wings, “would you look at that? The master’s stray dog, fresh from doing its little tricks onstage. How d’you think the magister will take it out of your hide when he finds out how you’ve been spending your time—little wolf?”

Little wolf. The disgust Fenris felt when the words crawled across his skin was so potent it was almost a physical sensation of its own.

“Come on, then,” the voice drawled. “Heel, boy. It doesn’t have to be a fight; you know it’s all over now, don’t you? Why make this hurt more than it has to?” 

Fenris still couldn’t see the speaker, but he could see a dark shape on the catwalk above, moving quietly in the shadows. That was not good; he would need to remember to be especially wary of the space above his head. 

“No.” 

No. How easy it was to speak a denial of his own volition; how good it felt, even after months of running. 

No, he would not go back without a fight. No, he was not Danarius’s little wolf anymore. 

The speaker stepped from the wings at last, dressed in sturdy clothes—fighting clothes. Others revealed themselves, four on one side, six on the other. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man in robes to the left was a mage. Fenris was grossly outnumbered, even before he counted the ones hiding on the catwalk. 

No matter. He would fight and die before he would allow himself to be dragged back to Tevinter. It could be—would be—that simple.

“You should know better,” the speaker said with a grotesque smile. “The magister never lets go of what belongs to him. Why bother running in the first place, slave?”

“Fenris is a free man.”

No. 

Hawke’s voice came from behind him, somewhere in the audience. Fenris didn’t turn to look at her—he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the slave-hunters—but the man he’d been speaking to angled himself slightly to look down at her. 

“How lovely,” he said. “And harboring an escaped slave. Stay back and we won’t take you with us when we haul this one off.” 

Footsteps behind him; hard-heeled shoes on the stairs up to the stage. Fenris’s hands curled into fists at his sides. 

“Hawke…” he said, and felt the stir of air beside him.

“You’re sorely mistaken,” she said in her stage voice, bright and loud, “He’s my stage assistant, not a slave. If you think I’m going to let you—”

“Let us?” the leader barked, laughing. “Let us? You don’t have to let us do anything, Pretty; you can’t stop us.” 

Hawke still stood just behind him where Fenris could not quite see her. Fear tangled with the anger in his chest. Had he not told her to go? Had he been anything less than perfectly clear? She—foolish, impulsive—she had put herself in harm’s way for what?

“Hawke,” Fenris said, “I do not want your help. Leave.”

One step. A second, sharp against the black stage floor. 

She came to a stop at his side, back straight, chin angled up. When she stood like this, the top of her head was level with his eyes.

“No,” she said pleasantly. 

“Suit yourself,” the leader said, drawing a saber from his belt. “You’ll still look pretty enough in chains, girl.”

No. 

“How sweet of you to say,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

He’d missed the staff in her hand—how, he didn’t know—but Fenris did not miss the wash of fire that poured from it when she struck it against the stage floor. It consumed the first of the slave-hunters all at once, so quickly that Fenris had not yet processed the fact that Hawke was a mage before everyone else was moving and it was too late to think. 

Fenris darted toward the leader first, half because he presented the most immediate obstacle and half because of the threat he’d just made. It was one thing to risk himself and another entirely to risk—

No; not now. He did not have space to think of it now. 

The spell caught him when Fenris called on the markings, ready to rip the man’s heart from his chest. A cage of light; he’d seen its like many times before, had been caught between its bars more than once. It crushed the air from his lungs, lifted his bare feet from the ground, and stopped his hand mid-motion. Fenris gritted his teeth against the pressure, bracing against the pain to come. 

Instead, the spell ended, dropping him neatly back on his feet. 

“No, thank you,” Hawke said cheerfully, “Why don’t you try it yourself and see what you think?” 

Fenris felt the ripple of magic in a pulse across the markings, but again he had no space to think of this. The leader still stood nearby, thrusting the saber toward him, and Fenris caught the flat of it on his bracer, redirecting it harmlessly away. The others closed in quickly, and it would mean death or worse to be surrounded. Fenris reached into a man’s chest and crushed his heart in one smooth motion, ducked another blow, and thrust the dead man’s body in the way of another combatant. 

He’d planned this; it did not matter that Hawke had arrived to upset all his strategies. Fenris snapped one man’s neck, caught another blade with the now-limp body, and slipped backward again, to the place where Hawke had stored his least favorite of her tricks. 

The sword thrust into the box was usually dull for his protection, but he’d replaced it this afternoon. The one he pulled from the wood now was much wider and longer than her usual stage blades, and when he swung it before him it knocked back three of his opponents. Only two stood before him now, but the leader was nowhere to be found. Where—

Hawke cried out behind him and Fenris spun around, his chest tight. The slave-hunters’ leader held her tightly, an arm around her waist. There was a long cut across her cheek, spreading a curtain of blood over the freckled skin. It dripped from her jaw, making a darker patch on the collar of her red coat. 

“You see?” the man panted. “Look what you’ve done. Now I won’t get near as much for her; she’s damaged goods.” 

Hawke’s lips were pressed so hard together that they’d gone pale and her eyes were fixed on him. Fenris’s hands tightened on the hilt of the sword as he watched the scattered light of his markings dance across her dress. She should never have involved herself; he’d made it perfectly clear that she needed to go. And now—and now—

More of the fighters stepped from the wings in his periphery. Fenris stepped to the side to keep them and the leader in his view, but he was already calculating how he could possibly get her out of this with her neck intact. He was too far to rush the man; too slow to stay his hand. He could reach through her for the slave-hunter’s heart—but this was not something he’d done before without intending for both parties to die. Six more stepped onstage, then eight, then ten. 

There was no way out of this. He could feel the certainty of that knowledge, rising with the sense of dread. Fenris would rather be dead than taken, would have gladly fought to that end alone. But she—how could he barter her own lifeblood the same way? 

How could he do anything else? 

“Drop the sword or I give her a matching set,” the leader said, angling the sword up until it rested across Hawke’s cheek and jaw.

Fenris looked at her again, his knuckles gone white on the hilt, desperate for anything—some sign—of what she’d rather he do.

Hawke looked back, raising her chin very slightly despite the blade resting against her skin, and quirked one eyebrow. That was precisely the way she looked at him when he was about to miss a cue, but what cue could she possibly be reminding him of now? 

Her arms were held tight to her sides, too immobile to move much, but as he watched one wrist flexed, flicked, and a small wooden ball flew out of her sleeve, rolling across the floor. 

“What—” one of the other fighters said, eyes following it, and an arrow sprouted soundlessly from the man’s neck. 

As the arrow hit, the man holding Hawke grunted with pain and let her go. At once, she slammed her head back into his nose and ducked, neatly missing the blade he’d tried to bring back around. 

“That’s no way to treat a lady,” a silken said behind the two of them, and the leader made a wet choking sound before collapsing to his knees. A woman in a pale dress stood in his place, spinning a bloody blade in one hand while she smiled down at the body. 

“Sorry we’re late, Hawke!” a voice called from the catwalk. 

As if the voice had reminded them what was happening, the fighters sprang into action again, rushing either Hawke or Fenris. Only—now they were not fighting alone. Arrows and bolts struck the slave-hunters as they rushed forward, and a fist of stone swept another off his feet and into the table where Honeybun’s cage was kept when she was onstage. Fire sparked out of the corner of his eye—Hawke’s doing—and lightning danced through the knot of people who’d tried to surround Fenris. A dark-haired man who closely resembled Hawke stepped into the breach, nodding once to Fenris before turning away and engaging a fighter with twin daggers clutched in her hands. 

They made short work of the rest in the end; there were seven of her friends, as far as he could tell, and when they fought together even the largest of their opponents fell before them. As the final slave hunter slipped from Fenris’s blade, Hawke sighed and braced a hand on her knee, breathing hard. 

“That was bracing,” she said between breaths. “Maker, what a mess. I’ll be weeks fixing all of this.”

“You could let the stage crew do their jobs for once,” a dwarf said, sliding down the ladder to the catwalk and swinging a crossbow onto his shoulder. “They do fix things like this, you know.”

“But if I don’t do it myself, how will I know they put things in the right place?” Hawke asked, waving a hand. Fenris was close enough to hear the breath she sucked in between her teeth just before she reached up to clear some of the blood from her face. 

“Well, don’t touch it,” another man said, stepping over several fallen bodies to peer at her. “What a bloody mess. Hold still and let me fix that, won’t you?” 

Hawke rolled her eyes, but straightened so the taller man could see. 

“Mother hen,” she told him, and her eyes angled to Fenris at last. 

“Alright?” she asked. 

Fenris lowered his sword, searching for the words. He found some at last, though they were not the ones he’d been looking for. 

“Why do this,” he said, gesturing to the box with swords in it, “if you can do real magic?” 

Her brows raised, but she flinched before they would have reached their usual apex. 

“Sorry,” the man leaning over her murmured. A soft light spilled from his hands, closing the edges of the cut across her cheekbone. 

“They’re both real magic,” Hawke said after a moment, “The only difference is that one makes people clap and the other gets you tossed in the Gallows. And besides—if a templar ever reported me, what would their fellows think except that they were too foolish to realize a good sleight of hand when they saw it? Hiding in plain sight was the best way to go.”

“I still think it’s a horrible idea,” the healer muttered, still frowning down at her face.

“I think it’s genius,” the woman with the daggers announced, neatly sidling around two collapsed slave-hunters and crouching to check one’s pockets. “Hello—look at this.” 

“Is that a golden tooth?” an elven woman asked, wandering over the bodies as if she didn’t notice them, “I don’t think those are supposed to be in one’s pockets, Isabela.”

“Ouch—Flames, Anders, if I’d known it was going to hurt, I’d have done it myself,” Hawke snapped. Fenris turned back to her, ignoring the others for the moment. The healer—Anders, she’d said—let his hands fall away at last and shrugged. 

“You’d’ve scarred if you had,” he said. “Done now. You may still want to clean up; you’re a mess.”

Blood still streaked her neck and coat. Hawke grimaced again and tipped her head back. 

“Alright up there, Sebastian?”

“Of course,” someone called back. Fenris squinted and spotted a bowman in the catwalk. “Didn’t you say Aveline was coming?”

“No, I said Aveline wasn’t coming. She was on patrol when I sent word—but, as it turns out, that’s probably for the best. Can’t imagine she’d love the amount of dead bodies involved in this one. Ah, well. Maybe Merrill can make them toddle off and lie down somewhere less conspicuous.”

“I can’t actually do that, Hawke,” the elf said, looking mildly distressed, “But I do know a carrying spell—if we stacked them all onto something, perhaps I could make them float or—”

“It was just a joke, dear,” Hawke said, crossing to the woman and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Technically speaking—legally speaking—this was self defense. Wasn’t it?” 

As one, they turned to look at Fenris, who’d been standing wordlessly at the edge of the stage. He looked back, taking in the lot of them. What would it be like, he wondered, to have so many people who’d come in an instant when one needed help? 

What would it be to answer a call like that? To choose to step forward and fight, even before one knew the circumstances of the battle? 

What would it be like to…stay?

“Yes,” he said after a moment.

“You see?” Hawke said. “Now, I’ve promised Carver that drinks are on me—”

“Ah, you remembered after all,” the dark-haired man said, tucking a bloody cloth back into his pocket and sheathing his sword. 

“—so why don’t you finish frisking their pockets and pop off to the Hanged Man? I’ll meet you there in a bit. I think we need to sort out a few things here first.” 

|

Hawke stood in the bathroom of her dressing room, hands braced on the sink, eyes fixed on the mirror. 

Effort and focus had not helped her remove an ounce of the anger from her face. 

Really, she was angry often—people didn’t seem to notice if it was covered by a broad enough smile—but it had been a very long time since she’d been this angry. 

Breathe, she reminded herself, and closed her eyes to focus on that instead. It was no use. Behind her eyelids, she still saw the bastards on her stage, threatening her friend, demanding he submit to—

“Hawke?” Fenris asked from the other side of the door. 

Tears of the Bride, she’d come in here so he wouldn’t have to see this. 

“I’ll be just a moment,” she said, and it was an effort to keep her voice even. 

Silence. After a moment, she heard the sound of the cage door swinging open again. 

Alright. Alright. She could do this. 

Maria fumbled the trousers up and over her pantalets, fastened the blouse over her stays, and took another moment to look herself in the eyes and breathe.  Fenris had spilled the tale while she’d cleaned up in here, for she’d rightly guessed that he’d be more comfortable explaining if he didn’t have to look at her. Now, she was glad she’d arranged things that way because—well. What good would it do him for her to be mad now? If there was one thing she knew, it was this: people who were hurt, people who’d been tormented and hunted halfway across the continent? Those people were not the ones who needed her to be upset on their behalf.

Not where they had to see it, at least.

Hawke hesitated only a moment longer, hand thrust into her pocket, but then she swung the door open and stepped out. Fenris had chosen to sit on the floor and was regarding Honeybun solemnly as the rabbit investigated the space beneath the dressing table. He rose gracefully when Maria stepped into the room, but didn’t immediately do anything more than that. Hawke paused in the doorway, surveying the scene, and Fenris looked back. 

“She doesn’t like to stay in the cage for too long,” he said finally, spreading a hand in the rabbit’s direction, “She seems to prefer the room.”

“I agree,” Hawke said, setting a hand on the back of the nearest chair. “Before you came, I would leave her door open overnight and a sign on the door not to open it without checking first. The amount of times she’s been loose in the theater is…well. Notable.”

They stood for a long moment, looking at each other. Her fingers curled in her pocket. What could she say to him? He hadn’t wanted her help earlier, would have died rather than involve her. Now…Well. 

Both of them were far too proud; she knew that for a fact. One of them would have to reach out first. 

Maria stepped closer—close enough to touch if she’d intended to—and raised her chin to look him in the eyes. 

“Usually,” she said, “the purpose of the stage assistant is to draw attention. The first trick to stage magic, you see, is misdirection. If the audience is looking at the assistant, they miss part of the trick. The assistant is meant to smile and look pretty and charm the ones watching into wanting to believe, just a little, in the idea of magic that cannot hurt or possess or pose a danger to them.”

Fenris regarded her steadily. He really had the most lovely eyes—not that she’d told him as much; she knew better than that. Looking at them made it easier to take another breath, to let some of the anger go. 

“You are really, really bad at that. The worst I’ve ever seen, honestly. But—what you are good at is asking exactly the question that they’re thinking instead. Why would you want to pull a posy from your pocket? How would a rabbit even fit inside a hat?” 

The smile came easy enough now. She didn’t have to work at it anymore. 

“What could possibly be the purpose of levitating two feet in the air and staying there?”

“It is a perfectly reasonable question,” he said, but his brow had unfurrowed slightly. 

Stay, she thought at him, smiling, stay with me. Don’t run. 

No; too soon for that. There were other things to say first, in any case. 

“They like you,” she said instead. 

Now came the hard part. She’d practiced this on Merrill for days after she’d first met him just in case. Fenris did not like things in his periphery, and he seemed to dislike being touched on the shoulders or neck in general. So, rather than pulling something from behind his ear, she tapped his chest and produced the thing she’d been clutching in her pocket. 

“Stay as long as you wish, Fenris,” she said, holding the brass key to the dressing room between two fingers. “The job is still yours.” 

Fenris looked at the key, then at her. His mouth firmed, as if he, too, was holding words in. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed slightly. 

“I am done with running,” he said, still not taking the key, “and—I had thought to ask you if you would allow me to remain here. After everything—well. I did not think you would offer. You understand that there could be more of them. This isn’t over.”

Hawke shrugged one shoulder. 

“So we’ll fight them again.. You’re not the only one of my friends with a skeleton or two in your closet, Fenris. I could tell you things that would turn your hair—well. Too late for that, I suppose.”

Fenris snorted, but a smile crept up the corner of his mouth. 

“In addition to the key, I am inviting you to drinks. The others will hound me for it if I don’t, but I think you might like at least some of them. They’re loud and cantankerous, they cheat at cards and half of them hate each other, but they’re family. If you’re going to stay, that’s something you might like to have.”

Honeybun hopped over her feet, and presumably over Fenris’s, too, for he looked down and away for a long, silent moment. 

“Yes,” he said at last, straightening, “I will stay. I…would like to stay.”

“Wonderful,” Hawke said, beaming at him. The key gleamed in the air between them. 

Readily, Fenris reached out and took it.

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Hello. You want asks, me give you asks. How is latest chapter update for twst treating you and second.

🙂😀

Do you know Legend of Zelda and or Linked Universe? I ask cause I want Twisted Wonderland crossover AU of that. Or something even more simpler like giving either Riddle or Idia the four sword :D

Yay! Asks! :D

Damn I sound like a starved peep receiving food

I'll tackle first the legend of Zelda bit so I can go under the cut with the new book 7 update. :3

I don't really know as per see Legend of Zelda. Linked universe as well, but I guess the 2 are related? All I know is that it's about sum guy who wants to save Zelda, and goes batshit insane slaughtering mobs around. :v

As for the book 7 update:

If anyone remembers the ABUNDANCE of ob aus I have where there's an actual ob vs ob situation... Or my desire to have playable ob Bois. Thank you... I predicted shit. :3c

THE SHROUD BROS FIGHT WAS EPIC, ALRIGHT! I LOVED EVERY SEC OF IT.

Gee... Good thing this isn't written by Araki(jjba's creator) otherwise Malleus would've had a very not nice fate. :'3

Still the doggos. T-T

Mama and Papa Shroud are now my favorite pair of parents. I just like their 'sun and moon' dynamic. U-Ub

Idia losing his shit over his mom going through his files will forever be a glorious moment for me. Like sure, buddy... Go apeshit for that. I support you. U-U9

And Malleus being RUTHLESS? HELLO??? His UM is so fun to analyze and see how Ortho outsmarted him just bc Malleus doesn't know how to unplug the wifi. Still, their fight was another fight that I wanna see animated/manga from, for the sole purpose that it breaks my heart near the end, then fills it with hope again.

This is sum gud material for the fighting club au. I swear this translates amazingly.

Despite what others may say, this wasn't as per see a short update. The previous ones seemed longer bc of the hexagonal maps. Damn those were hell. :'3

But since I speedrun the playthrough, then wait for the translations, I guess I have an upper hand in forming an idea of what happens, then strengthen it later down the line. It took me like 10 mins to finish the whole thing with skipping the story :P.

Bottom line: Pls twst, make the next part THE LAST. Idc if it's gonna take longer. GET. ME. THE. END.

I'm also calling dibs that Lilia is still gonna leave after this 'glorified temper tantrum'.