#sending the archivist back (possibly) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 4 months ago

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In My Civilization You’re the King and the Queen (ao3)

For day 7 of @cassianappreciationweek ❤️ (if you thought Semper Eadem was self-indulgent, this is a whole other level...)

When a favour for Rhys brings historian Cassian up to the special Manuscripts reading room at the British Library, he crosses paths with the formidable - and beautiful - archivist, who isn't at all pleased when this towering and tattooed newcomer badly handles one of her Anglo-Saxon treasures.

Cassian’s eyes hurt.

He didn’t know how it was possible— he’d only been working for two hours but, he supposed, staring grimly at the pile of books still waiting on his borrowed desk, he’d spent every moment of those two hours scanning page after page of printed text, looking up only to type up his notes. Given the fact that his head was spinning and his water bottle remained sealed away in the lockers downstairs, forbidden in any of the library’s reading rooms, it was probably no wonder that the two hours he’d been there was already starting to feel like two years.

How do you get a headache in your fucking eyes, anyway?

God— he needed a break.

The pulsing at his temples was the nudge he needed to push away from his desk with a final, cursory look at the stack of material on twentieth-century warfare, closing his laptop with a gentle snap that seemed to resound through the carefully maintained silence. The single blunt pencil he’d brought with him was left on the desk beside the small notebook he’d scribbled in; a silent I’ll be back soon conveyed in the piece of paper he’d used as a bookmark and tucked between the pages of the book he’d just been rifling through like his career depended on it.

Given the current state of the higher education job market, perhaps his career did depend on it.

He didn’t let loose the derisive snort that bloomed in his throat as that thought crossed his mind. Instead he kept his steps silent as he abandoned his desk, cutting through the expansive, high-ceilinged space filled with sunlight streaming in from the high windows. On all sides he was surrounded by the rustle of pages turning, of wooden seats creaking, of fingers typing rapidly on keyboards— and Cassian breathed it all in, drawing it deep into his lungs in the hope that it might chase away the headache before it could take root.

As a historian, he wouldn’t ever deny the thrill that research gave him.

He slipped out of the first-floor reading room in silence, and only when he was outside, standing in the cool hallway that seemed to echo with a hundred voices drifting up from the foyer below, did he let loose a breath. Already the headache was starting to subside, like all he’d really needed was some fresh air, and in the brief respite he allowed himself before he returned to his desk, he leaned against the wall and pulled his phone from his pocket.

He was only half surprised to find a message waiting from Rhys.

Are you at the BL today?

Cassian rolled his eyes before sending back an affirmative. Yes— he was at the BL, or the British Library. The home of thousands upon thousands of books and historical artefacts, including the journals Cassian needed to write his latest article and the hand-written accounts of some soldiers present at the Somme which would form the basis of a conference paper he planned to give in the spring.

Almost immediately, Rhys responded.

Remember that favour you promised me last year? I’m calling it in.

Against the pale stone wall, Cassian blinked warily at the message chain, wondering what in all seven hells Rhys wanted this time. A senior lecturer at the same university, Rhys was a historian of language and literature, already well on the way to a professorship in some stuffy department that somehow saw twice the amount of funding as Cassian’s modern history department, despite receiving less than half the number of students. Cassian often imagined his brother’s office hours to be little more than him donning a velvet smoking jacket, legs crossed whilst seated in a leather armchair before a roaring fireplace. What are your conferences like, he teased Rhys often, Mr-fucking-Tolkien?

Rhys only ever rolled his eyes and launched into a pre-prepared lecture about the fucking structure and etymology of Beowulf or something.

But before he had chance to ask what, exactly, it was that Rhys wanted, the bastard was already calling.

“Why do you only ever call me when you want something?” Cassian asked as he picked up the call, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he pushed off the wall and made for the spiral staircase that would take him down to his locker.

“I do not,” Rhys insisted, his voice thick with indignation. “You know I love you like a brother.”

Cassian only hummed, and in answer Rhys let out a short laugh that echoed down the line. From that alone, Cassian knew Rhys was in his office on campus. Cassian had to share an office that was roughly the size of a fucking postage stamp with another member of the modern history department, but Rhys— oh, Rhys had a sprawling office on the top floor, with a sash window that looked out over the green, and ceilings so high that his voice tended to echo.

Bastard.

“There’s a manuscript I need you to call up from the stacks for me,” he said, his voice growing distant, like he’d left his phone on speaker on his desk as he paced around his palatial office. “The archivist is dragging her feet and says there’s a ten-day wait for scans of the pages I need. I can’t wait that long, Cass, and I won’t get chance to get down there myself and see the thing in person.”

Cassian sighed. “So?”

“So I need you to request the manuscript and take some photos of it for me.”

“Can’t you just promise a big donation to help speed things along?”

Rhys snorted. “I tried. She wasn’t having it.” A brief pause followed— one where Rhys’ footsteps sounded, growing closer to the phone, and when he next spoke his voice was clearer, louder, like he’d taken it off speaker. “Would it help if I said please?”

Cassian let out a laugh of his own, equally as dry and echoing on the smooth floor of the hallway outside the locker room. “It might be a start, yeah.”

“Look, I’ll send you all the details. All you’ll need to do is take the manuscript out, and take some photos of like, ten pages for me.”

Cassian sighed, pinching his brow as he thought of all the work he had to get through himself, and any hopes he’d had of an early finish dried up like an abandoned well.

“That means I’ll have to go to Manuscripts, Rhys. Fucking Manuscripts.”

It was, truly, Cassian’s worst nightmare.

Manuscripts was the reading room tucked into a corner on the top floor, a mezzanine that stuck out two levels above the ordinary reading room, like the scholars using it quite literally enjoyed looking down upon the rest. Reserved for those consulting the oldest and rarest of texts, it was far smaller than the other reading rooms below it, with a low ceiling that gave the place a feeling of closeness that was ludicrous considering the size of the building. It made him shudder just to think about it. He’d been there only once before, when Rhys had dragged him in as part of a joint research trip, and Cassian had suddenly understood why Rhys was so damned stuffy.

It was like a fucking advertisement for tweed, in there.

He huffed heavily, and Rhys laughed again, his voice distant once more.

Bastard.

“Mhm,” he answered, clearly distracted already. Cassian heard typing, and knew that Rhys had already started working again, his phone likely discarded on his desk as he waited for Cassian to agree. With a scowl, Cassian headed for his locker and punched in the code, slamming the door when he’d fished his water bottle from his bag.

“You owe me,” Cassian hissed. “You won that favour in a bet and this is way beyond—“

“I’ll send you the details,” Rhys cut in breezily, his voice practically fucking melodic with victory. “Oh and Cass? Tell the archivist I said hi.”

***

As soon as Rhys sent over the manuscript’s details, Cassian put in the damned request.

Back at his desk, he didn’t bother to read the brief description of the manuscript on the archive catalogue before submitting, but he glimpsed the words tenth-century and groaned so loudly it earned him a scowl from the library’s patrons on either side of him.

Already he’d begun to pray that the request might be rejected— after all, even though his reader’s card granted him access to the collection - and the letter of introduction he’d provided years ago extended his access even further - there was still no guarantee he’d be cleared to work with a document that old without the archivist asking questions. It was older than anything else he’d ever touched by a solid nine centuries, and even though his account no doubt listed his status as a professional historian, well…

For once, Cassian thought, Rhys might just have to be disappointed.

He flicked his eyes up to the mezzanine jutting out over the reading room, suppressing a sigh before turning back to his own work instead of focusing on Rhys’.

It was three hours before he checked the request status, crossing his fingers beneath the desk as the page loaded. Rejected, he thought. Please be rejected.

He’d have time to kill before his train home. Could swing by a nice cafe, or grab a beer at Coal Drops Yard before catching a train at King’s Cross. Hell, if he walked the other way, he could even call to the British Museum for an hour, given that it was open late on Fridays. He could relax after a day spent reading harrowing accounts of twentieth century battlefields, and—

Ready to collect.

There, right in the status bar; three little words that derailed what had, for a moment, promised to be fucking lovely evening.

Cassian scowled.

Around him the library was entirely silent apart from the soft clacking of keyboards and the rustle of turning pages and as the afternoon neared four-thirty, most of the patrons began to pack up and think about going home. But before Cassian could so much as glare at that mezzanine for a hundredth time—

His phone screen lit up with a text from Rhys.

Don’t forget my manuscript, he’d written.

Prick, Cassian answered.

***

“I have a request,” he said ten minutes later, standing at the desk on that mezzanine floor.

He’d already had to sanitise his hands before entering - once he’d asked Rhys why they didn’t wear gloves like they do on TV, and he’d received a ten-minute lecture about the fragility of vellum and the friction created by gloves - and flash his pass at the security guard sitting by the door, watching like a hawk.

Dragons, Cassian thought. The fucking lot of them— like dragons hoarding treasure up here.

But the woman behind the desk had her arms full with a bound manuscript that was easily two feet long, and for a moment she ignored him entirely as her fingers curled gracefully around the navy-blue binding. She carried it like it was nothing, held it like something precious close to her chest, and for a moment Cassian simply watched her, tilting his head at the way the overhead lights turned her golden-brown hair to muted bronze. It was braided in a coronet that framed her face, and when her eyes flicked up, they were a blue so stunning that for a moment Cassian completely forgot why he was there.

She raised a single eyebrow, placing the tall manuscript down in the pile to be sent back to the stacks, and Cassian had to clear his throat.

Right— Rhys.

A favour for Rhys.

“Name?” she asked, holding out one elegant hand for his readers card.

“Cassian,” he answered, handing it over, wondering if this was the woman who’d given Rhys so much trouble.

God, he hoped it was.

He flashed her a smile. “Just the one manuscript on order.”

She hummed, lifting her eyes to study him. She scanned him head to toe, taking in the tattoos that peeked from the neckline of his shirt, curling at the base of his neck, before tracking her eyes down, over the muscles that corded his arms to the ink on his knuckles. He’d gotten vita and mors tattooed on his knuckles after finishing his PhD— life and death in Latin, a fitting tribute to the fact that he spent his life with the dead.

There was something about the way she looked at him— something that said she was trying to piece him together, puzzle out the man that towered over the collections desk half an hour before closing on a Friday. And when her eyes flicked up to his once more, Cassian let himself smirk just a little, lifting his chin as he watched her slide his card back towards him over the counter.

Maybe he should have said something, asked for her name.

But before he could so much as remember what words were, she turned sharply on her heel and headed for the shelves behind her, where one single, small manuscript sat alone in the collections pile.

“Here,” she said, sliding it slowly across the desk.

It was bound in black leather, with the gilt numbering on the spine its only identifier. A nineteenth-century binding Cassian would guess, though it was far from his area of expertise. He merely took the manuscript in hand, waiting for the questions— waiting for her to ask why on earth he’d turned up and requested this manuscript in particular.

But she had already turned away, tracing a hand along the spine of another manuscript as she tucked a request card beneath the cover. A stray piece of hair from her braid crossed into her eyes, and without breaking her focus she tucked it back behind her ear. Looking down, her eyelashes almost brushed her cheek, and as she began to scribble away at something in pencil, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration.

Cassian couldn’t stop watching her— was entranced, and only with effort did he pull himself away and turn for the four rows of mostly-empty desks that stretched behind him. It was a world away from the countless rows of desks downstairs, and as he made his way across the muted olive-green carpet and picked a desk at random, he’d honestly forgotten why he’d been so unwilling to come up here in the first place.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

God, he wished he’d gotten her name.

Sighing softly, Cassian plunked the manuscript down on the desk, sinking into the chair and taking a single breath as he stretched his neck, easing the stiffness that had worked its way into his muscles after an entire day spent with his head bent over old books. He plucked at the manuscript’s cover, fingers lingering on the leather.

Not as old as this, he thought dryly.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket, breaking him from his thoughts. It was Rhys— sending yet another text to check that Cassian had actually managed to take out the manuscript with no issues. Rolling his eyes, Cassian snapped a photo of the manuscript, still closed, on the desk.

Happy?

Rhys sent him back a simple thumbs-up.

With an indulgent shake of his head - and a silent promise that he’d make Rhys pay through the fucking nose for this, perhaps in the form of a very expensive bottle of whiskey - Cassian pulled the manuscript towards him, opening the front cover with one hand whilst with the other he pulled up the list of page numbers Rhys had messaged him over.

The leather creaked as he cracked it open, and inside he was met immediately with stiff vellum pages, yellowed with age. It smelled of ink and dust and aged parchment, that curious combination that was musky and thick and far from unpleasant— like somebody had taken the smell of a library and distilled it down to its most concentrated form. He breathed it in, running a hand along the edge of the pages that were soft, worn from centuries of handling.

No, this wasn’t his period, and he’d never call up something like this from the stacks himself but…

The historian in him saw the age of the thing in his hands and couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe.

The ink inside was still a bright black, as if it had been penned yesterday, and each line was straight as an arrow, the script perfectly uniform and precise, meticulous. Cassian inhaled, breathing in the utterly unique scent of age-old craftsmanship, but even as he scanned the first line, trying and failing to find any word or, hell, any letter he could recognise, he felt the frown creasing his brow.

Is this even English? he asked Rhys, thumbs flying over the keys.

Yes, Rhys replied instantly.

Cassian snorted quietly to himself, barely suppressing the roll of his eyes as he glanced up, flicking his attention towards the one other scholar still in Manuscripts at quarter to five— fifteen minutes before closing. How the fuck do you even read this shit?

He could practically hear Rhys’ dry tone when his brother responded. It’s called palaeography, Cass. Those of us interested in real history learn it.

Cassian snorted again.

Rhys was firmly under the impression that anything that had happened less than a hundred years ago barely even counted as history. He’d almost had an aneurism when Cassian told him one of his colleagues had a student writing their dissertation on the pop culture of the 1980s and 1990s. “That’s not history,” Rhys had said as he’d spat out his drink in the pub. “That’s sociology at best, and at worst— it’s our fucking childhood. It doesn’t count.”

With a wry smile, Cassian turned his attention back to the manuscript in his hand, flipping through the pages to find the ones Rhys needed. On each, the script ran edge to edge in flowing black, in a hand Cassian couldn’t even begin to decipher. The initials were grand though, decorated with swirling vines and small figures, as though some monk in the 900s had poured his heart and soul into the writing of this volume. Something about that tugged at Cassian, at the part of him that longed to uncover every version of the past there was to find, and as he brushed a finger over the ink once more, he almost wished he was able to read the text; almost wished he could find out what, exactly, that monk had deemed so important he’d immortalised it with his pen.

There was something wondrous in it— something that called out to him and made him feel like a child again, staring up at the walls of a castle in ruins, embers of insatiable curiosity igniting like a wildfire he’d never been able to extinguish. The manuscript in his hands had survived centuries— war and plague and famine and fire, it had weathered them all. It had witnessed the breadth of human history and arrived here, to sit beneath his fingertips and give Rhys the means to write his article.

Not that he’d ever admit any of that out loud, of course. Rhys would have a field day.

Rolling his eyes, Cassian flipped another page over, finally finding the first of the ones Rhys wanted photographed. Using one hand to splay the pages wide open, he picked up his phone in the other and lifted it up to take the picture—

“What on earth are you doing?”

Cassian startled, and looked up to find the woman from the desk - the archivist, surely - standing behind him, her arms crossed over her chest as disbelief flitted across that beautiful face. Something like horror flared in those magnificent eyes, and her lips were parted in an expression of abject shock. Cassian’s brow furrowed.

“A favour for a friend,” he said slowly, confused. For a moment he wondered if Rhys had gotten it wrong— if this was one of the manuscripts not permitted to be photographed. But the archivist shook her head sharply.

“Are you an imbecile?” she asked bluntly. “Or have you just never been inside an archive before?”

Cassian bristled. “Of course I’ve been inside an archive before.”

Just not to examine documents…. quite this old.

He’d admit that he was perhaps a little bit clueless when it came to this— handling things that predated anything else he’d ever worked with by almost a fucking millennia.

And yet… he wasn’t about to let her know that.

He pushed away from the chair, rising to his feet as the carpet hissed beneath his boots. God— she barely came up to his shoulders, but she didn’t back away. No, instead she lifted her chin to fix him with that encompassing stare, her glare almost enough to melt the flesh from his bones.

“I find that difficult to believe,” she hissed, nodding at the desk. “No book rest. No snake weights. And no historian would ever open a manuscript the way you just did.” She scowled as she nodded to the vellum pages he’d just had his hands all over. “The pages in that manuscript are a thousand years old.”

Suddenly there was a fire rising in his chest, some kind of beckoning interest flaring to life as he looked down into eyes brimming with so much ire they threatened to tear him apart. Every inch of her was lined with hauteur, her jaw tight as he canted his head and looked down at her, folding his arms over his chest in a stubborn gesture that said he wasn’t going to be the one to back down. She met him stroke for stroke, catching his gaze and refusing to step back, standing so close that he could smell her perfume. Something in Cassian relished it, revelled in the way she was forced to tilt her head back as he took a step closer, eliminating the distance between them until barely an inch separated his folded arms from hers.

“I’m a modern historian, sweetheart. I’m just here to take some pictures for a colleague of mine and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Oh— oh,” she said, inhaling sharply, and Cassian saw the moment she made the connection. Her eyes darkened, her brows rising, and if he’d thought she was pissed before… Christ, he hadn’t known the meaning of the word. “You’re here for that prick who somehow found my office phone number and called me to demand that I rush his request through.”

Cassian bit back a grin. He had no idea how Rhys had managed to find her number. Azriel, probably.

“Does the word no mean anything to either of you?”

“No,” he answered easily, letting a feral smile loose across his lips. Indignation flared in her eyes, and Cassian could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat or several. “Look, just let me take these photos and I’ll be gone. You can have your decrepit old book back then.”

Her scowl deepened, those sharp eyes growing somehow - impossibly - sharper. Like she’d taken offence on behalf of the manuscript he’d just called decrepit.

Fucking hell, she was stunning. She reminded him of a blade— shining as bright and as pure as silver, and yet sharp enough to have him bleeding if he so much as breathed wrong in her direction. And that scowl…

It was enough to have him simpering after her like a fucking teenager.

She said nothing, only huffed forcefully before turning on her heel and marching briskly back towards the desk. Cassian nodded once before turning back to the manuscript, but before he could so much as raise his phone for another photo, the archivist had returned, slamming down a thin string of weights onto the desk beside him. With her other hand she reached around him to pull forward the foam book rest that sat at the back of his desk.

“Move,” she said sharply.

Cassian could only hold up his hands in surrender as he backed off.

With perfect and practised care, gently she lifted the manuscript from its spot on the surface of the desk. The thing wasn’t inherently fragile, but still she checked the spine for damage - aiming a pointed glare over her shoulder as she did so - before setting it down on the book rest, letting the foam cradle it.

“You open bound manuscripts from the centre, not the front cover,” she said, like it was the most fundamental thing in the entire world. “Otherwise you��ll strain the binding.”

Slowly, she teased the pages apart, starting right in the middle and working her way back to the page Cassian had been photographing only a handful of minutes ago. Then, she draped the thin string of weights across the pages to keep them spread.

“These are used to keep the pages open— not your hands.”

She took a step back away from the desk, folding her arms back over her chest as she studied the new set up. For a heartbeat, her eyes dropped to his hands, lingering once more on the tattoos decorating his knuckles. Once it might have been considered a professional hindrance, to have so much ink on display, but historians with tattoos were far from rare these days. And he didn’t think that the woman before him looked with disdain, either.

“What would I do without you?” he drawled, tilting his head to the side.

She rolled those devastating eyes of hers, and when she shook her head, Cassian caught a hint of her perfume. It was delicate, something floral with just a hint of spice— like rose and honey, and it had him drawing her deep into his lungs, savouring it and throwing her a wink that he knew might end up with her throwing him off the ledge of the mezzanine altogether.

“Be banned from ever entering my reading room ever again,” she muttered, her voice low and bitter. She shook her head again, sending her small silver earrings glinting beneath the bright white lights. Harsh lights, not flattering for anybody, and yet— she was beautiful. When Rhys had called, Cassian hadn’t really known what to expect, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the archivist to be… well. Like this.

As he snapped another photo for Rhys and nodded for her to gently turn the page - parchment rustling, binding creaking, weights whispering as she arranged them carefully on the edges of the vellum - his eyes fixed on her hands, elegant and sure.

No ring there, he noticed.

He didn’t know why he’d looked, or why he’d even bothered to note it. Just because she wasn’t married didn’t mean there wasn’t somebody in her life, and besides, whether she did or did not, it didn’t necessarily mean that he had any real interest anyway, did it?

Or perhaps he was just kidding himself— practically tripping over that empty space on her finger in case it meant he might have a chance.

His mind was entirely somewhere else as he took the remaining few photos Rhys had requested, barely seeing the script on the pages anymore and too caught up with the way she stood silent by his side, her eyes occasionally flicking his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t have missed it, though. Her attention was like a match dragged along his skin, setting fire to him with a spark and a hiss and a perfectly lethal glare.

And when he was done, when the last photo was safe in his camera roll, Cassian drew fully away from the desk. Glancing up and taking in his surroundings for the first time since she’d stormed over, he noticed that the last scholar had left, leaving them almost entirely alone save for the security guard by the door.

A breathless kind of anticipation crept up his spine, pricked his skin as he lingered by that desk.

There was only one thing he wanted to ask now— one thing he’d been dying to know ever since he’d walked through that fucking door.

“What’s your name?” he asked, drawing closer as she lifted the weights from the pages and let them pool on the desk.

She paused, not turning to look at him as she lifted the manuscript from its cradle and eased it closed. “Why should I tell you that?”

Cassian shrugged. “Because.” When she glanced over her shoulder, he flashed her a grin that could have been called cocky, could have been called boyish in its charm. “I’m a historian. Curiosity’s part of the job.”

“Historian of what, exactly?” she demanded, turning around sharply, in a tone so much like Rhys’ that Cassian couldn’t help but let his grin spread wider, unfettered. “I’ve never met a historian who can’t handle a manuscript before.”

“I told you. I’m a modernist, sweetheart.”

She ran her eyes up and down, lingering on his chest, his broad shoulders. Then her eyes flicked to his face, his long hair pulled back to reveal the earring studded through one lobe.

“So you really haven’t been in archive before.”

“Of course I have,” he countered.

“Not a real one,” she muttered and God— she sounded so fucking much like Rhys that Cassian thought they might even get along, if ever they met. If they could detach themselves from one another’s throats for more than five seconds.

He let out a laugh that echoed through the vaulting space, something inside him igniting when her eyes widened, the hush breaking like glass beneath his feet. She blinked again, muttering something about how he clearly hadn’t ever been in a library before either, before gathering the manuscript in her hands and turning sharply on her heel, pushing past him to heard towards the collections desk.

And like Theseus following Ariadne’s string, Cassian followed her.

Somewhat more earnest, he leaned against the counter, curling his tattooed knuckles loosely into his palm. “I do appreciate it, you know. You coming over to help.”

“I did it for the manuscript, not you,” she pointed out dryly.

He grinned. “Come on. Give me your name at least— so I know who to address the thank you note to.”

“Only a note?” she fired back, raising her eyebrows.

Cassian felt a thrill skip through him, tripping along his veins until it reached his chest and made him feel slightly breathless. He liked this— the banter, the back and forth that was so remarkably easy it felt like falling into step with someone he’d known all his life. This stranger - this beautiful stranger - glared at him as he leaned over the counter, his chest pressing into the wood as he brought his face hardly an inch from hers, and he’d already figured out that her eyes sparked when she was irritated, that she huffed in exasperation often, and that the small tilt at the corner of her lips was the only outward sign she’d allow that she was entertaining him and his cocksure posturing.

This close, he thought he might have died and gone to heaven. His eyes dropped to her lips again, unable to look away.

“What else would you like, sweetheart?” he murmured, offering her a crooked smile. “Shall I get on my knees and extol your virtues to all of London?”

She hummed. “It might be a start.”

Cassian laughed again, easy and free. She had no idea how willing he already was to get down on his knees. He half thought he might break his kneecaps in the rush to prostrate himself before her, and as he watched her standing there beneath the white lights, precious manuscript in her hands, something stirred in him. A kind of interest he’d not had in someone in, well… years.

The archivist drew back, putting space between them that left Cassian blinking like a fool as she took the manuscript back to the shelves, ready to be returned back down below to the stacks. He could only watch her stride purposefully away, his eyes straying to her hips and down, all the way to her heeled boots, and God, that couldn’t be it, could it? He couldn’t let that be it. Could he?

Suddenly, there was only one thought in his head.

Fuck it.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said suddenly, the words leaving him in a rush that was far too loud in the silence of the reading room.

With a gentle thud, the archivist set the manuscript down. Her silver-blue eyes flicked up so sharply that Cassian honestly wondered if one day she’d manage to cut a man and make him bleed with those eyes alone.

“In what world do you think I’d want to get a drink with you?”

Cassian grinned. “Oh, come on, sweetheart.” He leaned back casually, tilted away from the desk when only a moment before he’d been a breath away from vaulting over it and falling at her feet. “Consider it an apology for Rhys’… stubbornness.”

She straightened, her face turning contemplative as, slowly, she made her way back towards him. Imperious, she lifted one perfect eyebrow. “If I said yes, would you promise never to come into my archive again?”

Cassian let out a low, rumbling laugh as he lifted his shoulders in an idle shrug. He didn’t think he could promise her that. Suddenly he was wondering just how different the first world war and the eleventh-century were really, and whether he could pull off a drastic change in his field of study, just so he had an excuse to see her again. To come up here and have her lecture him some more on how rough he was with some ancient books.

God, if he was lucky - exceptionally lucky - maybe he’d even get the chance someday to show her how rough he could be with other things, too. What else he could do with the hands she kept glancing at.

He cleared his throat again. Now was not the time to be turned on, and yet.

And fucking yet.

“I’ll even throw in dinner,” he said with a wink.

The archivist rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know my name.”

Cassian leaned forwards over the counter again. “So tell me.”

She paused, and the silence grew so weighted that Cassian could feel it. But it wasn’t oppressive or suffocating— it was electric. He could feel the air thrumming between them, dancing with tension that was so thick it was making him dizzy. Her eyes dropped to his lips— his to her neck, that expanse of bare skin that he was fairly sure he’d be begging to taste before the night was out.

“Nesta,” she answered at last. “My name is Nesta.”

Already he wanted to know how it would feel to whisper her name in her ear, to feel it on his tongue. To shape it with his lips until there was nothing else left.

“Well then, Nesta.” He offered up another winning smile, just a breath shy of rakish. “Dinner?”

She paused, assessing him like he was just another one of her manuscripts. He flourished beneath that attention, tilting his chin up like a fucking peacock, and if anyone else were here, he might have reined it in, might have kept himself in check. But apart from the security guard standing at the other end of the room, they were alone, and when Nesta looked at him with nothing but blatant interest in her eyes, Cassian felt his blood begin to hammer through his veins and knew that he had one more card to play— an ace hidden up his sleeve.

“You know,” he began slowly, tracing an idle finger in circles on the desk, “the British Museum is open till half six on a Friday.”

He cast a glance to his watch. 4:55pm. In twenty minutes they could be standing in the sculptures gallery, marvelling at beauty crafted by ancient hands. In the grey light, surrounded by the gleaming white marble, Cassian had no doubt he’d be falling over himself to impress this woman.

“A bottle of wine and a couple of ancient artefacts. You do know how to charm a girl,” Nesta quipped. She laid a hand down, splayed on the desk between them, and as she raised her eyes to his, Cassian swore time stopped altogether.

Her voice was dry, acerbic, but Cassian grinned, damn near feverish.

“I know how to charm you, princess. Aren’t ancient artefacts your thing?”

“Well, they’re certainly not yours. Planning on breaking into a display case and shattering the Sutton Hoo helmet?”

Cassian grinned, feral in his delight as he shrugged. “Who knows what might happen if you’re not there to stop me.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but she didn’t draw back. With every breath she seemed to shift a half inch closer, and Cassian’s heart was a war-drum in his chest, beating so fast, so loud, it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t breathing— wasn’t sure he even remembered how.

“Is that all I am? Your chaperone?”

He couldn’t think of anything witty, couldn’t find some cutting remark to send her way. She was so maddeningly close, all it would take would be a slight shift on his part to bring him crashing into her, and as his eyes fell to her mouth, all he could think about was her sharp tongue, her soft lips, how much he wanted her.

He wanted to kiss her so badly he thought he might die if he didn’t get the chance.

Nesta said nothing, only stared at him in a way that said she knew exactly how undone he was.

She was close, now. So close, and as his eyes roved across her face, he couldn’t think beyond the desire that was building in his chest, lining his throat and making him desperate to touch her. He wanted to reach out. Wanted to brush a thumb across her cheek, graze his knuckles across her jaw until he reached her lips. All he had to do was lift his hand—

The moment shattered when the security guard slammed a mug down on his desk at the other end of the room, looking pointedly in their direction as he plucked up his coat and prepared to leave.

Cassian reared back, clearing his throat, suppressing the laugh in his chest. A blush stole across Nesta’s cheeks, so perfectly pretty he wanted to reach out and brush it with his fingers.

“Well, sweetheart,” he said as he cleared his throat again. “Is that a yes?”

Nesta took a moment, but when she huffed, there was a small smile at the corner of her lips, a glint in her eyes. She shook her head like she couldn’t quite believe she was about to agree to an immediate date with a total stranger, and Cassian’s grin was feral as she bit back that smile and walked away from the collection’s desk, into the back rooms of the library reserved for staff alone. But she looked back, glanced at him over her shoulder and said,

“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome

#cassianweek2024 #nessian #nessian fic #archivist!Nesta #historian!Cassian #modern au

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shapeshiftershenaniganary · 11 months ago

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Fascinating thought just occurred to me about Mike Crew.

So, he's pretty significantly touched by the Spiral, right? That's the entire reason why he's in this mess. But he binds himself to the Vast, throws himself out of a church, badabingbadaboom he's good it's all over

But I don't actually think it is.

Looking back on all of the few times we get interactions with Mike, how he treats his powers differs a bit from Fairchild (who I will be using as the Penultimate Vast Avatar, for obvious reasons). Whenever Fairchild goes around murderhobo-ing, it's all very blunt. You are under the sea or up in the air. Thing is big. Get scared.

But Mike seems to take it more psychologically than that. The account we have of him actually preying on a man stems from the victim's personal fears. Fairchild pretty explicitly doesn't care about his victim's personal lives (for quite a few of them their Fear Entrapment is literally a job they sought out on their own, just happening to put them in the right place at the right time), but Mike is quiet and deliberate, and his torments are very often an effect on the victim's minds (notably, our dear Archivist)

I want to dial in on that. We experience his interaction between Jon and himself through the Archivist, so we (to whatever extent possible) end up seeing it through Jon's eyes. But, Mike does pretty explicitly say that, although it seems like they're falling, Jon hasn't actually moved at all- and I don't think that's normal, especially for a flavor of Avatar famous for sending people into pocket dimensions.

Now, am I saying Crew is secretly a Spiral avatar? No. But I am saying that the Spiral clearly got its claws in him, and it doesn't seem to have ever entirely left. And, considering he was able to use a Leitner successfully with no real consequences, had already had past experiences with both the Corruption and the Flesh, and that giving a statement may count as a mark from the Eye? Mike could've shaped up to be a pretty good Archivist-alternative, ESPECIALLY if he'd survived Daisy.

#Mike Crew #Michael Crew #I still don't know which tag ppl use for him I have GOT to check that #tma #tma spoilers #chattering #The Vast

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manyworldsofdarkness · 10 months ago

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What is CURSEBORNE?

This might be of interest to any World of Darkness or Chronicles of Darkness fans or any fans of Onyx Path Publishing and White Wolf in general. We could be getting a new urban fantasy horror game series soon.

On April 10th, 2023 Onyx Path publishing’s blog brought up a hypothetical of making their own urban fantasy game series. Of course this was in response to their lack of any new WoD or CofD products as they do not own the rights to those IPs and must have approval by Paradox before working on anything. Currently Paradox is more focused on supporting their v5 products with their in house studio, Renegade Games and are no longer contracting other studios to right supplements for them for the foreseeable future. Because of this, the 20th Anniversary World of Darkness games and Chronicles of Darkness lines aren’t getting any new releases and what has already been announced and put into production are the only things to release in the near future. The only way for Onyx Path to make more urban fantasy horror games is to make their own and while they only mentioned this as a possibility, the comments section of this blog post exploded into discussions over this new potential game.

The next few blog posts afterwards continued the discussions asking people what they would like to see in a new potential horror game, such as a Masquerade system or signature characters as the comments sections only further spawned more discussion over this new world. Around this time too, Onyx Path announced their new unified version of their in-house system called Storypath Ultra, which should go without saying but will definitely be the system this potential game will be using. Then about a month later, on May 19th, on the official Onyx Path YouTube channel, this video was released https://youtu.be/fL1VPUzoB_Y?si=cR4ZPeb0wf9Kt6mM

youtube

A short seven second long animation of a murder of crows flying against a snowy tree line and the word “CURSEBORNE” forming as they all fly away. A short, mysterious teaser? Well for the next eight months Onyx Path would release a total of 30 videos of similar nature as of writing this post. Strange and short vignettes of classic horror tropes such as fog, spiders and recordings of monsters. Some would even be rereleased with minor differences and even text. I recommend watching some for yourself, there is a really eerie vibe to some. These capture more “modern” horror vibes when compared to WoD or CofD, some even feel inspired by analog horror or urban legends, the “Train” short particular reminds me of Japanese urban legends. Blog posts more or less stopped mentioning this potential game as time went on and mentions were then replaced with a strange picture of a moth, the same one at the top of this post.

On January 31st, 2024, 7:00 EST this website appeared https://www.curseborne.com/

CURSEBORNE, the title in all of those videos. The website has no text, just images of the same moth from the blog just posted all over a black background. Some will slowly fade in. Clicking on them will lead to a new page featuring one of the many teaser videos playing in your browser. Going back to the homepage, you’ll see a moth that appears to be glowing when compared to the others. Clicking it sends you to a Typeform quiz asking “Who are you?”. Answering it gives you a strange title such as “Raptor”, “Gaki”, “Archivist” etc. with a description of how you act. If I’d have to guess, these titles could be the names to new monsters or factions in CURSEBORNE. I’d like everyone who’s interested to please take this quiz and post your results on this post to see how many titles, or “paths” are found.

In short, it looks like Onyx Path is gearing up to make a new urban fantasy game using their own system. It’s not going to be World of Darkness with different names, but its own unique take on the concept.

#curseborne #World of Darkness #chronicles of darkness #onyx path publishing #white wolf publishing #TTRPG #Youtube

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varlaisvea · 3 months ago

Note

You said it was OK to send you asks about eso npcs so...

There's an archivist in Summerset, Meredil at the Illumination Academy. He essentially gets possessed by the collective spirit of all the trashy romance novels he reads, but after the spell wears off he's terribly embarrassed of how forward he was with the Vestige.

Would you consider writing something where the Vestige visits him again afterwards? :3

Ah, thank you for the request! I had to go back and re-play that quest, so thank you for that too :)

I should warn you: unless requested otherwise, I think it's fun to write the Vestige as The Vestige, ie the race-less, genderless PC, the person with no memories who asks questions like what does a high king do, exactly? And for the record I don't mind writing ~spicy things, but I usually keep anon asks on the lighter side unless requested otherwise.

So, this is cheesy enough for [i am shot to prevent sheogorath jokes]. I HIGHLY doubt this is what you had in mind, but... enjoy?

Thank you so much for the request, anon! Anyone reading this should feel free to submit more, if the spirit moves you.

(2k words, PG-rated, allusions to sex)

----------

We check up on all the students and faculty as we’re leaving the Illumination Academy. A lot of them are embarrassed after being transformed into book characters, but Bastian and I had a great time here. For me, it was because I got to mess with people a little bit, which I rarely get to do when I’m Serving The People Of Tamriel. For Bastian, it was because we took the time to stand around and read dozens of musty books. I mean, the ones I read were interesting, but he was reading things with titles like The Quarandil Theses and Perspectives on First Era Pastoralist Poetry. I love the guy, but how would I even know if one of those books suddenly possessed him and became his personality, like happened to the students today? At least I learned a lot from everything I read.

I get distracted by the fish pond near the gate, and soon someone appears next to me—Meredil, the archivist I spoke to in the school.

“I'm glad I caught you—I really must apologize again for my forward behavior earlier,” he says, laughing a bit nervously. "This is not the first mishap we've had with the Library of Shrieking Terror."

“Oh,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t care at all. Your version of the curse actually seemed kind of fun.”

His laugh gets more nervous. “Well I’d never deny that, though ironically what remains of it gets less fun by the moment... Anyway, look, I realize this is quite awkward, given what I’ve just said about my… current state of affairs, but let that only serve to underscore the fervor of my curiosity.” He swallows uncomfortably, and looks away for a moment. “I must ask you: how is it that your armor is glowing like that?”

I’m not sure what I’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “You know, I don’t know? I guess I assumed it was enchantments?”

He looks astonished. “You can’t possibly tell me no one has asked you before, in your line of work.”

I shrug. “I don’t really know what my line of work is. Lots of people call me ‘adventurer’—do you not see many adventurers in these parts?”

“Oh, goodness; I am only a hundred fifteen years old, but I have seen a fair number of adventurers in these parts.” His eyes go wide. “Oh, don’t listen to me,” he says playfully. “Since the Queen’s decree, we do see travelers and wayfarers of many sorts, but, well… I can’t say too many of them go into the depths of the archives.” He sighs. “Stars, I need to get out more.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I’ve certainly seen some fancy adventuring gear but that…” He looks at my outfit in admiration. “Well-designed, well-fitting, and glowing! I’ve never seen a glow enchantment quite like that—I spent several long moments trying to calculate how one might go about amplifying an enchantment for such purposes before my curiosity got the better of me, and I hoofed it out here to see if I could find you to ask about it.”

“Ha, I really hadn’t thought about it much,” I say, now keenly aware of how brightly my gear is glowing, even in the late morning sunlight. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better answer.”

“Oh, don’t apologize at all,” he says. “Really, I had to know if it was something simple I hadn’t thought of, and otherwise, I couldn’t miss my chance to talk with someone with access to something like that. I don’t mean to be off-putting, but I imagine you must be a wildly interesting person.��

“Ah, well…” For some reason I’m more honest with this mer than I usually am when people say stuff like that to me. “Actually, I don’t think I’m all that interesting, as a person. When that guy’s bored of you?” I gesture to Bastian, who’s behind me staring up at the sky in abject boredom. He doesn’t even hear me. “That’s dull. At first when I got here, I was trying the same boring tactics to un-curse people as the mer who cursed everyone to begin with, whom everyone only-semi-affectionately described as boring.” I turn around. “Hey B, sorry for taking so long bud, you can take five if y—” Bastian’s gone before I can finish the sentence. “See?”

Meredil huffs. “If you’ve managed to obtain adventuring gear like that, you automatically have at least one interesting story, no? Likely many more than one."

“Oh, yeah. I have a ton of ‘em.”

“Then, I am interested to know how one could live an objectively interesting life and not be an objectively interesting person.”

“Well, I don’t remember most of my life—long story—but I could tell you a few tales about fighting dragons, or rescuing royalty?”

“Wait!” Meredil laughs. “You’re not just some adventurer, are you! You’re the Vestige of Coldharbour!” He grins wide. “Am I right?”

“Lots of adventurers fight dragons and rescue royalty. Right?” You’d think this conversation would get easier.

“Handfuls of people, but yes. But most of them have songs sung about them—you know them when you see them.” He makes a thinking face with his hand to his chin. “You stopped the Planemeld.”

I nod.

He stares at me for a few moments. “I’d assumed that when you won your soul back from Molag Bal, you’d gotten your memories back too… But, your memory begins when you became a hero?”

“Pretty much,” I say, smiling as I do when I’m reminded that strangers know details about my life from bard songs and rumors. Several moments of uncomfortable silence pass.

“So, those dragon-slaying and royalty-rescuing stories are the only ones you’ve got,” he says, meeting my eyes.

“Uh, yeah…” I sit down beside the fish pond. “And now I have a pretty good one about this place.” We share a pleasant laugh. “So… what do you think is interesting? I’ve got vampire lords, risky assassinations, multiple giant crabs… One time the ghost of a pirate turned me into a skeleton for a little while.”

He shakes his head. “I may spend my days in a place that could be mistaken for a mausoleum, cerum, but this tomb has books in it—I’ve read and catalogued all sorts of monster stories and political plots. Of course it is my honor to do so, but that has been much of my exposure to the world.” He sits down next to me. “But a perspective like yours, I don’t think I’d find in a book. Stumbling into an extraordinary life with no memory of an ordinary one. Learning about the world by saving it. Learning about people while constantly seeing them at their worst.” He smiles expectantly.

I just stare at him. “Ah, well…” No one says stuff like that to me. “I’ll be honest, I still don’t know what’s going on a lot of the time.”

“How would you? There are little children older than the length of your memory.”

Why have I never thought of that? “Most people ask about the ancient temples and Daedric demi-planes I’ve seen—or if they’re drunk, they ask how many famous people I’ve slept with.”

“Oh, I hate when I’m asked that question,” Meredil says dryly.

“People ask me about stuff they’ve heard I’ve done. I guess I’ve just always figured that means I’m not very interesting as a person? But honestly, it doesn’t bother me—I don’t have any memories to compare it to. And I can’t really blame people for asking about my adventures instead of asking about me—today was a fairly slow day for me, if that tells you anything.”

Meredil stares at me with a sad sort of look I can’t decipher.

“Um. I actually read a lot of books." Why am I lying to this mer? “Well, I skim some of them. But, uh… they’re a surprising amount of my exposure to the world, too.”

“You’re learning about statecraft and magic at the same time you’re learning, er… how to… socialize, make friends!" Meredil smiles at me, amused. "You’ve had to figure out the plots of Princes while you figure out how to navigate small talk.”

I nod slowly. “I have to ask a lot of stupid questions, but I’m learning.”

Meredil laughs. “Cerum, that is far more interesting than slaying dragons! And you wear armor fit for Auri-El himself!”

“Thank you,” I say, not knowing what else to say. “People don’t usually…” I trail off as I meet his eyes.

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you," he says excitedly. "If not for that curse, I’d never have hit on the Vestige of Coldharbour, eh? Imagine! Ha! I can’t wait to write Mother. It is an honor to have flirted with you,” he says, bowing his head.

“Ha, I don’t know about that,” I say. “Flirting is one of those things I’ve had to learn along with slaying undead and such. I’m way better at re-killing liches. I mean, sorry, you were great at it, in my opinion—you’ve definitely read the books."

“I’m flattered that you appreciated my technique, ceruval. Those steamy books certainly increased my skill and potency, though; I could feel it. And the confidence they gave me…” He looks at me with a seductive grin. “Oh, imagine if you’d come upon me after I’d had a chance to read a bit more? I might be asking you a thousand fascinated personal questions with far fewer clothes, and from the comfort of a warm feather bed.” He looks away with faux innocence. “That offer is still good, of course.”

People say things like that to me all the time. I usually laugh and change the subject, but I find myself just staring at Meredil, trying to think of something funny to say. Why am I trying to think of something funny?

Meredil notices my lack of response, and hastily clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, “the curse has been broken, but the downside of my particular variant is that its effects still very much remain, with no magic necessary.” He laughs nervously. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to the situation.” He doesn’t move. “Uh, but… I can’t quite stand up just yet. You’ll need to walk away first, I’m afraid.”

I don’t move. “I realized something... interesting,” I say, after what feels like a very long pause. “I need to learn more about flirting and, uh, you know, all of that. I remember you saying you know where each and every one of those steamy books is filed. Don’t you?”

He stares at me in utter fear for just a moment, then says, quietly, “It would be my deep pleasure to guide your hand to them, of course. But I am in no state to assume I have taken your full meaning correctly, cerum. Tell me, am I being propositioned by the Vestige of Coldharbour?”

I panic a little—I wanted to read the steamy books; I wasn’t propositioning him. Was I? He was uncommonly kind to me… Was I? Guess I really don’t know anything about flirting. But… come to think of it, I do have several friends who can flirt their way into a bank vault or chieftain’s tent. What would they do? Razum-dar would instantly think of some wordplay that is simultaneously threatening, solicitous, and clever—I try to do that. First I shoot Meredil my best Jakarn eye-twinkle. “Hm, even if you are being propositioned by the Vestige of Coldharbour,” I say, with sultry Naryu nonchalance, “do you really think anyone would believe a story like that?” This marks the first time I have ever propositioned someone using that title, or any of my many titles. Feels slimy. Probably won’t try it again.

Luckily, Meredil is not put off. “Why assume I’m in it for the story?” he says. “Perhaps you’ll be the one telling the tale. Tales, preferably—especially after that curse, what I have to share could fill volumes, Vestige.”

We only get through one book, but it takes the rest of the day and evening. Meredil's feeling much better now, and he says I am welcome to return to Illumination Academy anytime I need more study. And it seems I’ve misjudged my dear friend Bastian Hallix: it turns out, Perspectives on First-Era Pastoralist Poetry is graphically sexually explicit and, in places, lyrically erotic. Interesting.

#elder scrolls online #eso #tesblr #meredil #bastian hallix #fic request #requests welcome! it takes me a few days but then you get... uh... this #love this quest lol 'i don't know why we even HAVE a library of shrieking terror' —guy who took a book from the library of shrieking terror

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doahaesunshine · 26 days ago

Text

Chapter 13

Chapter WC: 3576

Tags

eh, I can't think of anything -Tristen

Master List | Prev | Next

There are some nights The scary ones Where I feel as though my heart will burst I hear it Pounding against my chest It fills me with anxiety I know I won’t die But my thoughts keep me awake And I’m left staring at the dark ceiling

Half of a year.

That’s how long you have been in the magical world of the Seventeenth Realm.

And it wasn’t any closer to feeling like home…

Of course there were people that you considered friends. For example, Vernon, Jihoon and Soonyoung, your dorm mates, were all very good friends. You ate delicious meals that Mingyu cooked for everyone like a little family. Dino still checked on you and performed routine examinations every other week. It was hard to ignore the Alchemist, especially when his familiar had taken a liking to you.

Archivist Jeon was still keeping his space but you no longer felt awkward around the older Arcanist. Whenever you had a hard question about magic or needed to find a specific book, he was always there to help. Seungkwan was also always willing to lend a hand when finding informational books on language and incantations. You were still yet to meet his mentor, Joshua, but that didn’t necessarily bother you. Apparently, the young Ward was very busy.

Lessons with Jeonghan halted during your short healing period. The raven haired man himself never entered the dorm, but his black ball python familiar, Obsidian, would visit from time to time. The slithering creature was able to climb up to your window and when you let him enter, he would always curl around your forearm. You felt bad, spending all this time away from Jeonghan without telling him what had happened, but through Obsidian you were able to send small messages.

You found yourself telling the sleek snake about your day and what you’ve been learning while away from his Arcanist. The creature obviously was unable to respond since he wasn’t your familiar, but he understood your words and you were certain he relayed them to Jeonghan.

There was one evening, during the beginning of summer, where Obsidian tapped on your window expectantly. When you welcomed him into your room, you saw a small note attached to his body. You let Obsidian crawl up your arm and gently untied the note from his lithe form to open the slip of paper. It was in Jeonghan’s handwriting.

Come to the balcony.

With the black scaled snake still wrapped around your arm, you opened your door and peeked out, looking both ways before exiting the confines of your room. Even though it had been three months since your last episode, you knew that if Jihoon or Soonyoung saw you out of your room they would escort you back. Shadow was also a possibility, his sense of smell was good and Tigris had very alert ears, but you saw neither the familiars or their Arcanists. Gingerly, you stepped through the hall to reach the balcony, thankfully no one was there.

The evening air was warm and slightly humid, clouds formed, shielding the orange sky from showing itself. Despite the desire to see the sky you scanned the area, looking for Jeonghan. Obsidian crawled from your arm to the balcony railing, wrapping himself around the structure to climb downward. You watched as he reached the ground and slithered out toward a figure in the grass.

Jeonghan stood in the small field below you, gazing up at you with his sleepy eyes. His lips tugged into a lazy smile and he beckoned you forward.

“Come down.” He projected his voice while trying to remain somewhat quiet.

“I can’t- Jihoon will beat my ass if he sees me walking around the halls.”

You couldn’t hear it, but Jeonghan was definitely laughing.

“Jump-”

“What?!”

Jeonghan sighed. “Jump- I’ll catch you.”

Flabbergasted, you rolled your eyes as you processed Jeonghan’s words. He wanted you to jump off of the balcony so he could catch you? That sounded like a sure fire way to break your ankle.

“Fuck it-”

You leapt over the railing and felt a short breeze blow past you. Instead of Jeonghan’s arms catching you, the wind had guided your fall, the soft grass beneath your feet.

“See? I would never let you fall~” He said in a playful tone.

“Ha. Ha.” You said in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes again.

Jeonghan threw his arm over your shoulder to pull you in for a hug. “I missed you.”

You reciprocated the embrace with a soft smile. “Awh. I missed you too.” The words were less than kind when you spoke them.

As you stayed close to Jeonghan, Obsidian slithered his way back to you, hanging himself around your neck. You stroked the smooth scales and smiled as the python fashioned himself into a scarf, a snake scarf. Jeonghan released his hold on your shoulders and slid his hand down your arm to grab hold of your hand.

“Do you want to go to the glade or the lake?” He asked as he led you along the stream.

You pondered the options. “Hm… Can we go somewhere new?”

Jeonghan thought to himself as the two of you continued down the path, but paused as something popped into his mind. “Oh! I can take you to see my friend.”

“Friend?”

“Shua! He’s a ward here.” Jeonghan said with a bright smile. “We hang out occasionally.”

“Shua? Like Joshua? Seungkwan’s mentor?”

Jeonghan nodded as he pulled you in the opposite direction, moving toward the woods away from the main path. You were afraid you would get lost, but your company appeared to be well acquainted with the less traveled paths.

The black brick cottage was bigger than Dino’s but much smaller than the Evoker Dorms. Everything was so tidy, the potted plants on the porch were well taken care of and the shrubs around the house were expertly pruned. Jeonghan, still leading you by the hand, knocked on the door and waited patiently.

Without a single creak, the door swung open and you were met with warm, chestnut hair and a fawn-like face, his overall appearance was charming and friendly. He greeted you with a smile but as he turned to Jeonghan his lips flattened.

“Wow- You used the door.” His dark brown eyes peered down to where you and Jeonghan’s were linked.

Blushing, you unlatched yourself from Jeonghan and rubbed the back of your neck while avoiding eye contact.

“I thought I should be polite since I brought Sage with me.” Jeonghan said with a forced smile.

“Nice to meet you. You must be Joshua.” You muttered in a small voice.

“That is correct! It’s nice to finally meet you, Sage.” Joshua held the door open for both you and Jeonghan, welcoming you into the home with an outstretched arm.

The three of you spoke over tea and biscuits. You learned that Joshua was originally from California, but his parents sent him to the Seventeenth Realm for protection. He also spoke on how even though he is technically younger than Seungkwan, he is still a mentor and is proficient in Abjuration magic.

You briefly read about the Abjuration School, it's a class of magic that is centered around defense, counter spells, and ward casting. Seungkwan spoke highly of Joshua, he often praised his mentor on how skilled he was in casting protection spells as well as enchanting items to create magical charms.

“Speaking of magical charms, Joshuji here said he had something for you…” Jeonghan leaned on Joshua as he spoke, a playful smile on his features.

Joshua shot a confused look at Jeonghan. “I- Yeah, that’s right. I’ll go get it- one moment-”

You and Jeonghan were left alone in the living room, sitting across from each other. He continued to sip his tea while you studied your surroundings. The interior of the house was just as neat as its exterior, overall it had a rustic feel with a lot of crystals and minerals decorating the shelves. Even the mantle of the fireplace had plenty of trinkets and geodes that came in different shapes, colors, and sizes. Jeonghan veered into your line of sight with a knowing expression.

“Joshua and Seungkwan like to collect things. They’re like little crows.” He chuckled to himself. “I’m sure half of the things Seungkwan has laying around are from that human boy he’s sweet on…”

“Vernon?”

“That’s his name?” Jeonghan perked up. “He’s one of the Evokers- a roommate?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah- and sweet on each other is an understatement. They need to get on with it and start dating…”

“They aren’t dating?”

Joshua returned from upstairs and reclaimed his spot on the couch. In his hand he held a long chained necklace with a chunk of dark metal attached to it. In spite of the piece of jewelry looking a bit rough, it was still pretty.

“It’s a charm I had been working on for the past three months. The metal has strong properties. For example, the enchantment is-”

“Balance based.” Jeonghan interrupted Joshua’s explanation. “Shua told me a lot about it. Seungkwan informed him you’ve been filling your weeks with studying and so he wanted to give you something that would keep your energy in balance.”

The thoughtfulness made you smile. “Thank you, Joshua. It’s super cool-looking too, I like the long chain style.” You thanked him as you held the necklace in your hands.

Wearing the chain, you looked down and admired the shiny rock. It went down to your sternum so it could easily be tucked into your shirt.

“The enchantment will take effect slowly, gradually repairing your psyche and replenishing your mana.” Joshua explained. “Jeonghan helped me with it, so it should be extra potent.”

You flashed a warm smile to Jeonghan. “So I should be thanking you as well.”

“I’m glad you like it! It suits you.”

A light blush heated your cheeks due to Jeonghan’s compliment. You peered down to fidget with the necklace. but you could feel that Jeonghan’s gaze was piercing through you.

“Alright-” Joshua started as he rose from his seat. “As much as I would love for you to stay, I have some work.” He walked the two of you to the front door. “Get the hell out, Jeonghan- Sage you can visit anytime, I’m sure Seungkwan would love it.”

The door was shut, and with a click you and Jeonghan were locked out of the home.

“Damn- I was going to ask some more questions about the charm…”

Jeonghan returned his arm to your shoulders and draped himself over you. “I helped with it, I can try and answer any lingering questions.”

Your raven-haired friend was successful in answering most of your questions, the simple ones. He told you that the hunk of metal was Magnetite and that its properties were best suited for balancing energy, emotions and focus. The two of you continued to chat as you walked along the pristine cobbled road. Here the pathways were better kept and fresher, they must have been paved recently.

The trees were a bit more sparse in this area, instead of evergreens they were birch trees with white bark and light green leaves. You saw the evening sky easily through the canopy, the clouds cleared and the deep purple of dusk was clear and visible.

“Oh?” Jeonghan whispered in a low voice as he focused his attention forward.

You followed his eyeline and saw another man walking down the path. His head was faced downward, reading a book that he held with bandaged forearms. You saw a head of dusty orange hair and tanned skin, his eyes were trained on his book. The outfit he wore was simple, a loose fitting white button up, equally flowy navy trousers, and laced boots that disappeared past his pant legs.

“Ah- Dokyeom! Long time no see!” Jeonghan called out with a lazy yet boisterous smile.

The other man, Dokyeom, tore his eyes from his book to look for the source of the voice. When he saw you and Jeonghan, he froze for a moment and bowed his head as a greeting. The orange haired man began to turn.

“What have you been up to, Kyeomie?” Jeonghan called out while dragging you with him to approach the other.

Dokyeom stopped in his tracks and turned to address Jeonghan. “I’ve just been experimenting with spells. Exploring my potential and such…” His voice was sweet and polite as he spoke, dark, nearly black eyes studied you as he spoke.

His eyes glued onto where Jeonghan had his arm wrapped around you. There was a subtle bunch of nerves that filled your chest, it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

“Oh- How fun! Are you using the tome I lent you?”

Dokyeom returned his gaze to Jeonghan. “Yes. It’s been very helpful with Sanguis Magica .”

“You study blood magic?”

The orange-haired man was about to speak, but Jeonghan leaned in close to your ear.

“Mhm- Dokyeom here is a Vitae and a damn good one…” He chuckled darkly. “He’s learned how to enhance his healing magic by using his own blood. Kyeomie has always been a bit of a martyr .” Jeonghan sighed another laugh as he fixed his posture.

“This is great actually!” He continued to talk. “You can thank Dokyeom in person now, Sage!”

You raised an eyebrow at Jeonghan’s statement but returned your attention to Dokyeom as a wave of panic crashed into you.

“He’s the one who saved you and brought you to Dino- He practically drained himself dry healing you…”

The words hit you like a truck as you realized this man, Dokyeom, had saved you more than once. He retrieved you from the lake, healed you, and then the time your head almost burst, he saved you again.

“Ah- I- Thank you!” You stuttered. “I honestly don’t know if I can thank you enough. You saved me twice and I’m thanking you six months later- Wow- I am awful.”

The concern and anxiety that was radiating off of Dokyeom started to fade away as you spoke to him. A bright smile plastered on his face and your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“It’s my duty to help people if I can. Even if it means sacrificing my own strength.”

You heard Jeonghan snicker next to you and whisper a soft, ‘Martyr’ You nudged him with your elbow, softly but enough to get him to behave.

“Were you heading somewhere before we interrupted your path, Kyeomie?” Jeonghan asked playfully.

Dokyeom shook his head. “Just returning to the Springs…”

“Oh- Then we’ll be on our way, I’m sure you need to recharge-” Jeonghan began to walk away, dragging you with him.

“It was nice to finally meet you!” You said in a raised tone as you looked back.

Dokyeom was still standing still in the middle of the road as he watched you and Jeonghan walk away.

For once, Jeonghan walked you to your dorm. Twilight was in full effect with indigo skies and a rising moon. The late evening air was refreshing compared to the warm midday weather. Jeonghan had resorted to holding your hand instead of smothering you with his arm. He stopped at the opening in the treeline, the dorm only yards away.

There was a moment of pause as the hold Jeonghan had on your hand anchored you in place. Instead of his usual lazy expression he looked nervous as you turned back and approached him.

“Thank you for seeing me today, Sage.” He said, keeping an even tone.

A smile creeped its way up to your cheeks. “You know it’s no problem and thank you for the gift.”

“Why are you thanking me for that, it’s from Josh-”

“I knew that was a lie.” You snickered. “You were too eager and he was too confused.”

“You got me there…” Jeonghan trailed off with a dry chuckle.

Another pause.

Smiling at each other, the two of you shared a look.

Jeonghan raised his hand to your face, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. The proximity made you hold your breath instinctively and you closed your eyes as Jeonghan leaned in slowly.

The feeling of soft lips gently pressed against your skin as Jeonghan placed a delicate kiss on your forehead. Heat immediately filled your face, making the chilled touch of Jeonghan’s hand more prevalent. Your eyes fluttered open and you saw Jeonghan staring down at you, eyes soft and full of adoration.

“Goodnight, Sage.” He said as he released you.

Too stunned or flustered to speak, you nodded your head to show that you understood his words. With another quiet laugh, Jeonghan turned and made his way into the tree line.

“Ah- Goodnight!” You called out before he fully disappeared.

With a spin, Jeonghan looked back at you and waved goodbye with a two finger salute.

What had just happened finally caught up to you, and you blushed once more, a surge of energy threatening to burst forth. The feeling in your chest was warm and light, and it lingered as you entered the dorm.

A resounding chorus of chirps welcomed you at the door as you saw a gaggle of familiars in the entrance.

“Oh- Hello, Ruby, Shadow, Tigris, oh- Yucca is here too… Kelpy? Is that a rabbit?”

Without another sound, Ruby chirped an order and led the rest of the familiars into the house. Sheepishly, you followed behind, hoping that everyone would just ignore you as you passed by the dining room. Before you could even think of executing your plan, you were stopped by a very agitated Mingyu leaning against the archway.

“Sage- Where were you all evening? We’ve been searching for-” Mingyu checked his pocket watch. “A whole two hours…”

“Uh- I went for a walk, got a little lost…”

“Two. Whole. Hours?”

“Jeez, sorry mom I’ll be home on time next time…” You rolled your eyes at Mingyu.

The taller man crossed his arms and leaned his weight on one hip. “Seriously, Sage?”

“Y’know what? Dinner sounds great right now.” You walked past him, ignoring the flames in his eyes.

Just as you suspected, the whole gang was here. Vernon sat side by side with Seungkwan, Jihoon and Soonyoung ceased all conversation as they watched you enter, and a troubled Dino sat across from them. Sauntering to the counter, you fixed yourself a plate of food and sat next to Dino.

“Where-” Dino started to ask a question.

“I went out for a walk to get some fresh air and I ended up getting lost. I found where Joshua lives- You were right Boo, he’s very nice.”

Mingyu took a seat at the table as Dino rose from his chair to refill his plate.

“Oh and I met this nice guy named Dokyeom-”

The sound of a plate shattering against the hardwood floor had you whipping your head up in surprise.

Everyone paused and stared after you spoke. The atmosphere was… weird and the feeling in your chest was even weirder.

“Did I say something wrong?” You asked with an innocent expression.

Dino crouched down and began cleaning up the plate he dropped. Vernon and Seungkwan noticed the tension, standing from their place at the table and leaving with their familiars. Mingyu patted his hand on the table to grab your attention.

His puppy-like eyes filled with worry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“What? Yeah-” You thought for a moment. “Is he, like, not cool or something?”

“No- No! He’s fine, he’s cool.” Soonyoung stuttered, the tone sounding a little forced.

Jihoon lightly smacked Soonyoung’s shoulder and muttered a low “Shut the fuck up.”

Dino returned the table empty handed and sat right beside you. “Did he say anything to you?”

“I mean- now I know who saved my life.” The table went still as everyone held their breath. “And I thanked him… Why are you guys acting so weird?”

“We’re just worried that because he was present when you entered this realm that it would tie in with your memory loss.” Jihoon spoke with an analytical tone. “Dino told us he could have triggered the near-hemorrhage you had. We just want you to be careful…”

As Jihoon spoke, a bad taste covered your tongue. Jihoon himself was feeling uncomfortable, you could sense it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to focus on your friends at this moment…

Dino was the easiest to read, you didn’t need to dig deep, his concern was evident from his appearance alone. Mingyu was indifferent, more worried about where you were than who you were with. Soonyoung seemed a little lost, like he was missing a piece of the conversation, but the others' uneasiness must have bled onto him.

“Guys- I’m fine- No headaches or nose bleeds while I was out. It was actually really refreshing because, y’know, I’ve been cooped up in my room for three months…”

“No- That’s fair.” Mingyu spoke and all heads turned to him. ‘What? The balcony can only provide so much, it’s only fair that Sage gets to take a walk.”

“Thank you, Mingyu-”

“But-” He interrupted. “It would also be nice if you let someone know and took a buddy with you…”

“Okay- I can do that. Jihoon, wanna go on a walk with me tomorrow?” You spoke as you dramatically turned your head to the man in question.

He sighed deeply. “Yeah- Sure…”

“Don’t sound too excited…”

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@reiofsuns2001 @shinwonderful @starstrawb

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mylordshesacactus · 1 year ago

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Suncrest Campaign Character Epilogues

Audie (Human Wizard)

About a month after the final battle, as repairs are underway, the party gets a random Sending message from Max's friend Ihava the punk-rock tabaxi, namely, “Hey, did you do something with time travel? Because some dead heroes just showed up in the city and they’re very confused.” As an archivist, and also as the member of the party who's done the most reading and research into the Bastion of Life's specific adventuring party from 50 years ago, Audie is far and away the one that they want to talk to most--especially Rochelle Willowfeather, the tiefling monk who led that doomed final stand. Audie, once she stops stammering, is able to help her find records of the aarakocra settlement where her wife had lived--but sadly in the fifty years since Rochelle was frozen, her wife has passed away. She takes it hard, though her friends help her through it. Seeing as how she just helped to save the world, and how she has glowing letters of recommendation from the incredibly famous, miraculously resurrected heroes upon whose legacy was founded the entire Spellbound Dominion, Audie finally gets a full-ride scholarship to wizard college. Unlike her sister Summer, she completes her degree and starts only the occasional fight with administration. She applies for a work-study position. Her apprentice at her old archive is VERY confused but also very supportive.

Andromeda (Aarakocra Paladin)

Andromeda joins the City Guard. Deeply affected by Olassa's sacrifice, and having seen in the Violet Guard what a city guard can look like without honest people keeping its power in check, she wants to honor her mentor's memory. She enlists as a recruit, starting from the bottom. As an experienced and honest mid-level paladin, however, she climbs the ranks quickly and joins the officer track. While she, UNDERSTANDABLY, keeps her god-touched flail Morningstar (a legendary weapon) as her primary weapon, when she becomes an officer she commissions (possibly from Farrah!) a halberd as well. It's mostly a ceremonial weapon, but she trains with it and learns to wield it regardless. (Throughout the campaign, while she also wore a longsword for emergencies--Olassa's signature weapon was always the halberd.) Eventually, within a few decades, Andromeda is named Guard-Captain of the city of Suncrest.

Farrah (Tiefling Fighter)

Farrah, very excited to meet The Legendary And Miraculously Resurrected Heroes Upon Whose Legacy Was Founded The Entire Spellbound Dominion, happily invites them home to meet her mom! They all immediately start fangirling and asking for Brenda's autograph. This is the BEST running gag in the campaign. Farrah, after speaking with her blacksmithing master, transfers her apprenticeship. Instead of learning to make weapons she trains under a silver-and-goldsmith and learns to make tiny, beautiful things that require a lot of patience. Once she's satisfied she has basic skills in this area, she takes the armor of the fae commander who led the occupation of Suncrest, melts it down, and reforges it into a statue--an excellent likeness, in solid silver, of the Wolves of the Wild Court of Winter. This ninth-level casting of "Fuck You" is casually gifted to V, to display in the Sigil Rampant. In fact, the party periodically drops by with souvenirs from their travels to hang up there, now that V owns the place. Farrah also returns to the smithing guilds in Requiem for a while, learning how to forge enchantments into items, before ultimately returning to Suncrest as a mage-smith.

Max (Human Bard/Rogue)

Max never uses that last Wish. Consideration was given to using it for a resurrection--bringing back Olassa, or even the village of Little Ivywood. Ultimately however, Max's caution won out. He remains attuned to the scepter, but puts it in a chest and buries the chest in an unmarked, undisclosed location, sharing its coordinates with only Audie and Ihava in case of catastrophe--Ihava because she can be trusted to use it wisely, and Audie because she can be trusted to overthink any potential Wish so badly that if she ever goes mad with power the next generation of adventurers will have plenty of time to storm her evil fortress and take it from her before she can do anything diabolical with it. Also because he trusts his friend or whatever. In the meantime, he finds that bardic wanderlust again. He splits his time on the road between Suncrest and Requiem, spending--reluctantly--some time with his family. His route isn't regimented, but it's predictable, so that his friends can always find him if necessary. Eventually, about five years after the final battle, the two fae warlocks--Max and Farrah--wake in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in their serpent marks. Peering into the 'eye' of the peacock feather, they see the image of a plain, battered, half-rotten leather diary...which slowly pans out to show its location in the false bottom of a chest...being rolled and tossed....into a rickety cart......in a cave....in the Underdark. They understand, inherently, that this is their first mission as eyes of the Feathered Serpent. And the adventure continues. But first...

Nimbus (Human Ranger)

Nim also remains in Suncrest--or around it, rather. He doesn't join the Guard outright, but he's on their payroll regardless as a woodland scout and makes regular reports. He often talked about wanting to be able to send his sister to wizard school--Paisley Salvia is incredibly smart and "wizard" is the smartest thing Nim knows. They start by bringing her to study in an academic apprenticeship at one of the government programs in Suncrest to, essentially, get her gen-ed requirements in. When given the opportunity, however, Paise actually ends up not wanting to learn magic--she's much more interested in the mechanical and the mundane, using the real world around her to do great things. She wants to become an artificer...and unlike wizardry, which can only be really learned in Dumplinmere, there's no better place to do that then the rugged and resource-rich city of Suncrest. Nim is, of course, delighted. Paise is also extremely happy to be pursuing her dreams close to home, and of course that's mostly due to proximity to her family...but there is, of course, another consideration. Thesh Nightshadow, the young bugbear girl that she kinda sorta got outed as being in a relationship with when they were [checks notes] kidnapped by werewolves while meeting each other in the woods and had to be rescued by her older brother. (Thesh, when they found her, was barely conscious and half-delirious from fever. When the were-cult, mistakenly believing that torturing a maiden would force Albion the unicorn into their killzone, grabbed Paisley, Thesh tried to fight them. They broke her jaw. It had been left untreated for, at that point, nearly a week--she could very easily have died without Andromeda's intervention. Nim didn't even have the heart to tease them very much.) Anyway. Thesh is the daughter of the chieftain of the Talonholde clan and is training to follow in his footsteps. That means learning politics, logistics, military tactics, conflict resolution, and woodsmanship. For some of those, Nim gets her into the academy in Suncrest--but for the latter, even her village's best hunters unilaterally agree that Nimbus, who has class levels to their "Bugbear Commoner" stat sheets, is the best possible teacher. She ends up training under him a lot, and they get very close as a result. And about five years after the world nearly ended, the party attends their wedding--but the bugbear wedding ceremony I wrote for myself will be its own post ;)

#d&d #suncrest

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lostonehero · 9 months ago

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I have too much time on my hands off from work so uh another wip self indulgent breekon and hope adopt Martin

This was suppose to be crack but it's bow too long to post fully here so uh have a preview till I finish it and put it on a03

Gertrude stared at the two delivery men. She was well acquainted with the pair who call themselves Breekon and Hope. However, she didn't think she was due for a delivery, especially considering she was planning on traveling to disrupt a ritual in America, taking Micheal with her. "What do I owe the pleasure?" She replies dryly.

Breekon smiles, unsettling to look at. "Evening Archivist, we appear to need your help."

"We've run into an issue with a delivery." Hope finishes.

Gertrude raised a brow, intrigued. "And why would you need my help?" She steps back as a child reveals themselves from behind Breekon. She honestly couldn't tell if it was a little boy or girl, but it wasn't a stranger, just a normal human.

"We tried to return it..." Breekon trails off.

Hope continued. "The things mother refused it."

The small child clings to Breekon, looking up at Gertrude. They were small, malnourished, and filthy. They had matted red hair and freckles or dirt she couldn't tell. Their clothes were hastily stitched together, and she had a feeling the mother had just left the kid for dead without clothing. The kid couldn't be more than 2 generous. She didn't want to think about the fact she knew that was a lie.

Gertrude blinks. "I'm not taking the child. Just send them to an orphanage or police."

The two strangers look at each other and frown.

"I reckon we help you." Breekon grabs the child's shoulder who doesn't seem startled more confused.

"Then you help us. We ain't fans of Nikola and that circus." Hope smiles.

"We tell you how to stop the unknowing." Breekon matches the smile.

"You tell us about human children." Hope finishes.

Gertrude can't help but have a shocked look on her features. She wouldn't pass up on an opportunity like this. "I suppose I can give advice on a child's needs and wants."

"Perfect"

"Glad we have a deal."

The child just stared at Gertrude.

......

Gertrude learned about the unknowing and how to stop it. She was shocked, to say the least, that they were so forth coming with information.

Breekon narrowed his gaze, and Gertrude wasn't sure that was possible. "You're end of the deal."

Hope adjusts the child on his lap. "Teach us."

Gertrude leans back. "For starters, how old is the child, and are they a boy or a girl?"

The two starters exchange a look then look back to Gertrude.

Gertrude sighs and rubs her temples. This was going to take a while. "Ok, to start, do they talk?"

"The child has not said a word." Breekon gives a look to his partner then to the child.

Hope nods. "They have tried, but no sound comes out. It appears the child has damaged parts."

The child looks between them and decides to yawn silently and curl up in Hope's lap.

Gertrude sighs. "Before you ask, humans need sleep, and it appears the child trusts you enough to sleep in your lap. Humans need sleep to function." She sighs and gets up. "You two can read, right?" The two strangers nod. "Good, I'll be back. I'll have books on human health and biology and parenting books that will have all the information for you."

The two strangers watch the archivist leave.

"The human is defenseless." Breekon points at the small child.

"I don't think it understands it should be scared." Hope points at the sleeping child.

"Too small, I reckon." Breekon tilts his head.

"I don't understand why I desire to protect it." Hope rests his hand on the child's back.

"To raise for the stranger like the desolation?" Breekon responds for an answer, but it sounds like a question like they don't believe it.

"Never been human." Hope pauses.

"Don't think that matters now." Breekon reaches out a hand to the child.

"Is this fear?" Hope sounded quiet.

"I don't know." Breekon matched the quiet voice.

......

Gertrude sets down the large stack of books down. "Read these, and I'll get the child as clean as I can using the archives supplies." She approaches Hope to retrieve the child, and to her surprise, he pulls the kid closer to him. "Now don't do that, humans have to get clean or they get sick you know of the corruption. Good now, I'm going to clean them and tell you if they are a boy or girl, yes, it matters for human development due to hormones." She picks up the child who wakes up, but they don't cry. "An odd thing, aren't you." She watches the two strangers reach for the books and begin to read.

The small child waves goodbye to the strangers as Gertrude carries them off to a bathroom outfitted with a shower and, thankfully, a towel.

Gertrude places the child down and takes a breath. "I wish I knew your age and if you understood me. Alright, I'm going to unclothed you and wash you to the best of my ability."

The child blinks as Gertrude strips them.

"Ok diapers, you're quite little then, and ah, you're a boy. Ok, I can work with this." Gertrude sighs as she watches the boy, and it is freckles, not just dirt. She shaved the boy's hair with the buzzer she understood why they had due to an incident with the Leitner. Thankfully, one of the librarians brought a diaper bag with them rather than a normal purse, and she managed to get a diaper, which again thankfully matched the boy's needs. Overall, he was still too skinny and small, but he looked better.

The boy was wrapped in a fluffy towel since Gertrude didn't have clean clothes to put him in.

"Hopefully, the time it took to clean you, they have gotten through at least one book." Gertrude picks up the small boy. "Maybe I can get some food in you. I'm sure they don't understand the concept of food."

The boy blinks his impossibly blue eyes at her.

Gertrude sighs. "I'm not cut out to be a parent."

.....

"He's a boy." Gertrude places the boy down on her desk with a plate of cut-up bananas. "By the amount of teeth in his mouth, I hazard a guess that he's nearly two or approaching 2 years of age. I hope you both got some of the reading done while I cleaned and gave him food."

The boy was eating the cut-up bananas as he waved again at the two strangers.

"We've finished the books." Breekon tilts his head.

"We understand what has to be done." Hope hums.

Gertrude pinched her brow. "Don't kill the child."

The two strangers looked offended.

The boy continues to eat quietly.

.......

A rough knock on a yellow door. The door creeks open, and a man that is tall, unsettling, and hair that seems to curl unnaturally. Hands longs and sharp clawed.

"Evening." Breekon tips his hat.

"We reckon we can leave him with you." Hope nods as well adjusting his hat.

A small boy looking healthier and bigger stares up at the twisted tall man.

"Excuse me?" The man from the yellow door stares at the strangers.

"You were human.... once" Breekon laughs.

Hope nods.

"I, yes?" The spiral tilts their head.

"We have work and can't bring him." Hope mutters.

"The archivist is unavailable." Breekon sighs, pushing the boy forward.

The boy waves.

The spiral man matches the movement.

"The boy is Martin." Hope continues. "He is 4 and can't be left at school. Humans have tried to steal him."

"His mother has harmed him when we tried to return him. We request help on watching him as we work. The boy doesn't speak." Breekon pulls his hat down.

"Don't harm the boy, and we will help with any request." Hope crossed his arms.

The spiral nods, but it is a more confused reaction.

"Good." Breekon smiles.

"Well, be back tomorrow." Hope hands a bag to the boy.

The boy stared up at the spiral man.

The spiral stared at the boy as the strangers left. "Hello."

The boy waves and holds up his lunch box with a cow on it. He grabs a clawed finger and smiles.

"Micheal.... I'm Micheal." The spiral felt sanity bleed into his mind as a sense of self returned like an infection.

The boy tilted his head, watching him return to his tall human form.

"Martin?" Micheal watched the boy nod. "Ok, how about lunch? Although I don't think time really exists but a boy needs food like you."

Martin nods and hugs Micheal's leg.

Micheal blinks and realizes he is now both the spiral and Micheal. Has this ever happened before? He didn't know or care he was an uncle now, and he also now had a bond with the stranger. That was good he thinks he wasn't used to coherent thoughts.

Martin tugged on Micheal's arm and held up a candy bar Micheal could not recognize.

"Do you want me to open it for you?" Micheal stared down at the bow who shook his head. Martin pushed the bar into his hand. "Ah.... thank you."

Martin grins and follows Micheal through the yellow door.

......

Micheal scowls, and he forgot he was capable of anything but a smile. "Do I have to?"

"We finished our job." Breekon holds his hand out, and Martin takes it and waves at Micheal.

"What is the payment you like?" Hope shows off teeth that shouldn't exist in his mouth.

Micheal blinks, grabbing his yellow door. "I would like to watch Martin again." He can feel himself grow taller and more twisted.

The two strangers share a look and a silent conversation.

"Humans call it babysitting." Breekon picks up Martin on his hip.

"You want to watch the human child? He is ours." Hope brushed a curl out of Martin's face.

"Yes, that is agreeable." Micheal smiles. "I won't keep him if you agree."

The two strangers nod.

......

"The act of babysitting requires the guardians to not be available to care for the child." Breekon seems to narrow his gaze with eyes he doesn't have.

"We are home to care for the child. You shouldn't be here." Hope adds matching a scowl.

Micheal laughs, and it echoes unnaturally around the room. "I see no harm in visiting...." He shifts back to looking like a normal human as he looks around. "This is a very sterile apartment."

Martin wasn't paying attention following a spider around who led him to one of his "toys," which were crude plastic mannequin parts and a blanket that he wrapped around a plastic arm.

Micheal frowns. "I uh huh you two are doing ok..."

The two strangers glare at the spiral avatar.

"Ok, so I have experience raising my siblings and making me babysit has given me back my humanity kind of? I'll help you guys. Have you've even enrolled him into school yet?" The blank stared answered Micheal's questions.

.......

"I reckon we understand." Breekon has grabbed Martin and placed him on his lap.

"Very informative to train a human." Hope nods.

"Not train." Micheal can feel his hair grow out and spiral. "Raise. Now I don't know how you got a phone, and I'm not one to ask questions anymore, but calling around, I got Martin registered for classes next year. Having friends is important, and I set him up with a doctor about the talking thing and general health examination. Also, he needs normal toys unless you want people to get suspicious, and yes, you can feed on the fears of other parents if they upset Martin."

Breekon nods. "So Martin is set?"

"We don't want to hurt the little guy." Hope fusses with Martin's hair and finds a spider who he places gentlely on Martin's shoulder.

"Not hurting him. Just to avoid suspicion from normal human people. Martin, do you like the strangers?" Micheal leans over to face Martin.

Martin puffs out his cheeks. "Not strangers." His voice was quiet, and the three men stared at the boy stunned. He points to Breekon as he sits in his lap. "Breekon." He then points to Hope. "Hope." He furrows his brows pointing to Micheal. "Mik- Mike - Micheal?" He was having a hard time producing Micheal.

Micheal blinks. "Ye-yeah, I'm Micheal."

"I'm never going to change my name again." Breekon and Hope say at the same time as they embrace Martin.

Martin smiles.

.......

The teacher sat nervously at her desk. It was a normal meeting it had to be a normal meeting. She swore she saw a yellow door in the corner of the room, and she knew she didn't have yellow doors in her classroom. The two men that sat in front of her desk they were unnatural. They wore the same uniform, but that's the only normal thing she can see on them.

The larger man with straight black hair and a frown, maybe she couldn't tell it didn't look natural on the pale skin even if the color of his lips was wrong. "What are we here?" His accent sounded fake, but she was terrified to ask or even comment.

"I reckon the boy has done nothing wrong." The smaller man had lighter hair, and it curled, but it also didn't. His eyes were purple, but like as if his eyes were doll eyes.

The teacher laughs nervously. "I uh nothing is wrong." She stiffens as a creak of a door is heard. "I just wanted to share some concerns I had... nothing bad." She swallows her fear the best she could. "Martin is excelling at his schoolwork and already reading books made for kids older than him. He really likes spiders and dolls, but uh he hasn't been talking to any of the other children, which is concerning. A boy his age should be more. Have you had him tested if he's on the spectrum?" The door that shouldn't exist was open and what.... she let out a breath of relief.

A tall blonde man rushed between the two other men. "Hey, sorry, I'm Micheal. I'm helping these two with Martin."

She didn't care what their relationship was he looked normal and she could breathe again. "R-right."

"Get the boy tested for what?" The larger man growls.

"Our boy is healthy." The smaller one adds.

Micheal smiles. "Not that kind of tested. No, no, it's fine ma'am, he just started talking last year, and the doctors are aware of it. He loves his books on spiders and dolls. I'm sure Martin will come out of his shell."

The teacher nods. "Great, and that's really great, but that's all I needed to speak about. He's a very smart and sweet boy. Just needs to be a bit more social, that's all for healthy development." She sighs in relief, watching the blonde man guide them out through the yellow door.

"You can't scare that woman to death. Martin likes her." She chose to ivory that from Micheal and how his voice started to echo. She needed to warn the teachers for older students.

.......

Martin waves as the yellow door creeks open as the three step out. He gets up and shoves a drawing into Hope. "Present!"

Hope held up the drawing and showed it to Breekon. It was a crayon drawing of the two, and Martin has written their names. "Reckon our boy is an artist."

"We will hang it up." Breekon smiles as Martin giggles.

Micheal sighs, returning to a more human look. "Martin, have you made any friends?" The two strangers glare at him.

Martin shakes his head. "The other kids think I'm weird."

Micheal sighs. "You'll find friends who appreciate the weird."

Martin shrugs and looks down.

.......

"You're weird." A blonde boy sits next to Martin. "You don't have any weird fleshy tendrils around you."

Martin blinks and tilts his head. "What?"

"I see them in my dreams." The blonde boy huffs, pulling out red crayons. "You're a mystery. Mommy says they don't mean anything, but they do. I swear they do."

"What do they do?" Martin watched him draw.

"They give me dates and time, dunno what that means yet, but I think it's important." The boy was drawing red tendrils.

Martin pauses, Uncle Micheal told him to make friends. "I'm Martin."

"Oliver." The boy smiles, holding out his hand. He was cold like Hope was he wasn't good at keeping himself warm like Breekon was.

"Are you a stranger?" Martin blinks his blue eyes at the blonde boy who looked confused.

"No, you know my name." Oliver hums.

Martin hums. "Breekon and Hope are strangers, and I know their names."

"Then what does stranger mean?" Oliver hums raising his brow.

"Dunno Micheal won't tell me, and neither will Breekon or Hope." Martin shrugs.

"Huh, do you think they know what these are?" Oliver holds up his drawing.

"Wanna ask after school?" Martin smiles.

Oliver matches his smile. "Yeah! Wanna be friends, the other kids don't like me."

Martin nods excitedly. "Yeah, I wanna be friends."

........

"Uncle Micheal!" Martin ran out holding the hand of another boy as they approached.

Micheal smiles and forces himself to look even more human. "Martin, did you make a friend?"

"I'm Oliver. Do you know what these are?" He shoves a drawing up at Micheal. "Mommy says dreams don't mean anything, but they give me a date and times for the people I see in them with the tendrils. Martin doesn't have them."

Micheal takes the picture, and he can smell something off about the boy. It hit him suddenly that the smell reminded him of a mourge, and he knew what that meant. The End took a child avatar. Is everyone copying the Desolation? "This is important. You should tell everyone their date and time."

Oliver eyes widen. "Thank you, mister Micheal. Oh wait, can I hang out with Martin this weekend? I wanna meet his pet spider." He stops. "I have to ask my mommy though..."

"Oliver!" A woman huffs as she made her way over.

"Hi, Mommy!" Oliver smiles, holding up Martin's hand. "I made a friend. Can we hand out this weekend?"

The woman sighs and smiles. "You made a friend?"

"Hi, I'm Martin, and that's my uncle." Martin points up to Micheal, who smiles nervously, adjusting his glasses. "My mommy doesn't like me. Breekon and Hope tried to bring me back, and she threw a knife at me."

The woman stared at Micheal. "Go talk to your friend for a moment, Oliver." She watches the two boys run by the odd yellow door. "I uh..."

"Everything is fine, legally speaking Breekon and Hope didn't adopt Martin, but everything they tried to return him to his biological mother er she responds with violence. However, Martin has a safe home with them, and I help out when I can." Micheal gives a nervous smile.

"Geez, I thought my situation was shit." The woman chuckles. "You can call me Kat. My husband died recently, so it's just been us, so I'm glad he's making friends. Uh, how about the park this weekend? I have time off on the weekend thanks to my government job, and I'm sure it will help Oliver to have a friend." Kat smiles.

Micheal nods. "Oh, that sounds lovely. Martin hasn't been the best with other kids since they single him out. Did you guys just move here?"

Kat nods. "Is it that obvious? Yeah, we did, but we have to get home." She sighs. "Oliver, come here it's time to go home."

Oliver runs up to his mom. "Yes."

Martin runs behind him. "Cannwe hang out?"

Kat nods. "Yeah, this weekend the park is a nice place, and I can meet uh Breekon and Hope?"

"Life partners." Micheal raised his brow, gauging her reaction.

"Oh huh, I understand the adoption problems. Ah, no worries, I'm sure they are doing great. He seems like a good kid." Kat waves and picks up Oliver.

Micheal smiles and feels his hair curl. "You made a friend."

"I made a friend that isn't a spider." Martin corrects.

"Of course, little Mr. Web avatar. I don't know why Breekon and Hope encourage that. Please warn me when you grow new eyes." Micheal sighs, holding his hand out.

"I got new teeth?" Martin opens his mouth to show fangs.

"Don't bite anyone." Micheal smiles. "Unless it's a nasty adult."

"Ok." Martin smiles and follows him into a yellow door.

......

Kat freezes as the two men approach her. She puts her son behind her and swallows. The taller man she didn't think he had eyes but she couldn't see through his hair. The smaller man was smiling, but it looked all wrong. "Can I help you?"

The larger man smiles, and it somehow looks worse than the smaller man. "I'm Breekon."

"And I'm Hope." The smaller one finishes, and their accents sounded so fake and unnatural.

Kat gkes to speak before a boy pops out from between them.

"Hi!" The small red head covered in freckles relaxed Kat.

Oliver ran in front of his mom. "Hi Martin!"

"Hi Oliver!" Martin points to the larger one. "That's Breekon." He points to the smaller man. "That's Hope. They help care for me. They are strangers."

"Are they strangers because they look weird?" Oliver tilts his head they didn't look right, and he couldn't place why.

"Dunno." Martin shrugs.

"Wanna watch me tell people dates and times like your uncle said I should?" Oliver smiles.

Martin nods. "Yeah! I wanna help you." Oliver grabs his hand, and they run off.

Kat relaxes slightly. "Boys, you know. I, uh, mean well kids, they tend to grow up fast." She gives a nervous smile but doesn't feel the fear like last time. "Right, my name is Kate, but I go by Kat. It must be hard raising a boy like that all by yourself, poor thing rejected by his mother. I'm sure he cares about you both deeply."

Breekon raised his brow, but Kat wasn't entirely sure. "We were told having him form a bond with his mother would help."

"She doesn't seem to want him, but he's a good lad." Hope finishes and grabs Breekon's hand.

Kat smiles at the pair. They were probably nervous, probably the first public outing as a couple. "How long have you've been together?"

"Ages." Breekon hums.

Hope smiles.

"I miss that. My husband passed recently, but I'm glad you both have each other." Kat hums. "How did you guys adopt Martin? I know there isn't anything official, but I won't tell the boy is happier with you two. Oh, where are my manners? There's a bench off to the side. We can sit and watch them play. I don't like being out in the open either." She leads the pair to a bench where they sit, and she sits in between them. "I apologize if this is forward, but I don't want anyone giving you guys dirty looks. People aren't too kind to those like you both. This way, we can keep talking and not separate you two."

"You're a kind one." Breekon pauses.

"I think it would be beneficial to keep in contact." Hope nods at Breekon.

"Oh, that's great. So how long have you two been guardians?" Kat smiles, waving at her boy in the sandpit with Martin.

"He was 2 when his mother left him with us." Breekon hums. "Wouldn't let go of Hope's leg."

"You wouldn't put him down after you wrapped him up in a blanket." Hope smirks.

Kat smiles. "A sweet little thing. I'm glad you both found him."

The two strangers have a silent agreement to protect this human. They made a friend like Martin. It was a lot less messy than using actual parts like they thought was needed.

......

Kat was worried, which was an understatement, Oliver just turned 13 a little over a week ago, and that's when the problems started. She just thought his complaining was just normal teen stuff she knows she annoyed her parents. Then, she started to find bloody handprints around her home. She knew Oliver and was complaining about his hands hurting, but she brushed him off, explaining that he would see the doctor for his physical soon.

Oliver wasn't fast enough to hide his hands when his mother burst into his room. "I uh..."

Kat covered her mouth, staring at her son. His hands were bloody, and his skin seemed to slough off. She swallows her work isn't supposed to follow her home, let alone affect her own son. She knew her son's friend Martin, his adopted parents weren't human, but they seemed harmless, but she knew better than to go to work for help, and they seemed to understand the inhuman nature of things. "Oliver, are you ok?"

Oliver was crying. Blonde hair fell in front of his eyes as he got up and ran to his mom. He clung to his mom. "I couldn't stop it, and it hurts so much. Am I dying?"

"Not if I can help it." Kat hugs her son. "Alright, we're going to visit Martin, and I'm going to ask his guardians for some advice. Now, don't argue with me. I'm going to get you some gloves and I'm sure they can help."

"Did i... did I get Martin sick?" Oliver hugs his chest.

"No, sweetheart. Well, I hope this isn't contagious. However, his guardians can help. I just know it, so let's head over there." Kat smiles.

......

Breekon answered the door, Kat only knew this because he was the bigger of the two she couldn't tell you any stand-out features. She made it a point to not stare at them she knew it made them uncomfortable. "Kat and Oliver. What brings you to our humble flat?" He gave a smile that didn't look right.

Kat smiles back. "Look, I know I've never brought it up, but I know you two aren't human, and uh... where's Hope?" She shakes her head. "Not important, but I don't think I should ask my place of work for help. Oliver, please take off your gloves."

Oliver nods, and flesh comes off with the glove along with blood sluggishly seeping out of the wound.

Breekon's lips thin to a neutral expression." Aite, come in. Don't touch anything living, Oliver."

Kate pushes her son inside and follows behind him. "I apologize for the sudden interruption as well. Do you know what's happening?"

Breekon turns to his side as if he was waiting for Hope to answer, but he wasn't here. He grimaced. "Martin is going through the same...." He bites his lip with mismatched human and animal teeth. "Different patron.... preparing their bodies for becoming fully fledged avatars not..." He huffs, crossing his arms.

"You can stop. I know it's hard without your other half." Kat smiles softly. "Oliver, go find Martin."

Oliver nods and dissapears deeper into the flat.

"You serve the stranger?" Kat knew it was true, but the nod eased her suspicion. "Are yes and no questions ok while Hope isn't here?"

Breekon nods as tension drains from his shoulders. "We didn't want to leave Martin alone..... the Web never made a fully fledged avatar before. Let alone so young."

"You don't have to talk without your partner. You're probably curious why I'm not freaking out more. It's uh complicated." Kat smiles and follows him to the couch. "I work for the government never lied about that, but it's a secret branch, and thankfully, there are more safeguards than the Magnus Institute or just the normal police. I don't want to lose my son but I have a feeling that the End chose him."

Breekon nods, sitting next to her.

"I mean, I didn't think they would start going after children. It's pretty clear these fears enjoy adults more than kids. Uh, no offense, but uh, Martin is a different patron than you." Kat pauses at the small nod. "I see you didn't want him to be like you?"

Breekon frowns. ".... He wouldn't be our Martin anymore..... we didn't want him to be a Stranger like us..... no, that isn't right." He swallows. "We were never human to begin with."

Kat reaches out and holds Breekon's hand. "Don't force yourself to speak without him. It's ok to be stressed. You both are basically Martin's fathers. He's changing just like my boy is just different gods?" She smiles at the nod. "I'll keep your secret. Of course, if you promise, you'll help keep my boy safe."

Breekon nods eagerly.

"Good now, do you need to eat....?" Kat pauses at the odd hand movement. "Ok, wrong question." A nod. "Do you want to eat?" Anotger odd hand movement. She sighs. "If I make food, will you eat?" That earned her a nod. "Ok I can work with that."

Breekon pauses for a moment before deciding it was ok to speak again. "We don't have to eat like humans.... we can eat like humans... we feed on fear to sustain us."

"Ah OK that makes so much more sense than the theories we had at work. I assume all of the other types feed on different fears, then? OK, good going to have to figure out how to help my Ollie, but that's a future problem. Right now, I'm going to make them some food, and could you check on the boys?" Kat, let's Breekon's hand go and get up.

Breekon nods. "You are a good human..... we uh Hope will be happy to hear."

"Maybe it would be better if you both got cellphones." Kat pauses. "You don't know what that is.... ok, check on the boys, and I will explain it to you they are still kind of new."

Breekon nods and gets up to head to Martin's room.

......

Martin was shirtless laying on his bed with his arms up. He had four open sores, two on each side of his body. "You're lucky."

"How? I'm a freak look at my hands." Oliver huffs, sticking his hands back in his gloves. "I can still feel them."

Martin raised his brow. "Breekon and Hope said I'm getting new arms."

"That's cool, though." Oliver sighs, looking over. He makes a face. "Er, well, it doesn't look cool now."

"I don't really understand it, but apparently, the female voice I've been hearing is the mother of Puppets and the spiders, but uh, technically, they are the same thing, kind of. I dunno." Martin sits up. "My actual mom is a lot meener than her."

"Really?" Oliver frowns. "You don't talk about your mom."

"She doesn't like me. Breekon and Hope try to bring me to her at least once a year, and it doesn't go well. I don't tell them to stop because maybe one year she'll be happy to see me." Martin hisses in pain as he puts his arms down. "Ugh, can't I just get the new arms already?"

"I don't think it works like that." Oliver holds up his bloody hands. "You know I started to hear a voice too, but I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. My god seems weird. Yours is at least a mother."

"I just think that's a title. They're known as the Web." Martin shrugs. "I like spiders, though."

"I like spiders too. Why can't I be a spider creature?" Oliver hisses and pulls up his shirt, showing off a rash starting on his chest. "I probably should tell my mom."

"I've got a rash on my back and legs if that makes you feel better." Martin sighs, looking up seeing Breekon in his doorframe. "I uh nothing I said nothing."

Breekon chuckles softly. "It's too be expected both of you are the first....." He huffs. "The first fully fledged avatars of your patrons who picked you...... we will help you hide after you're done.... Kat is making food...."

Martin smiles. "Thank you, Breekon."

"Can you help us?" Oliver can feel his glove slip off with a wet splat on the floor. "Sorry...."

Breekon shakes his head.

Martin smiles. "It's ok, Oliver. It's just blood and flesh."

"Still kind of gross." Oliver frowns.

.......

The front door opened, and nobody made a comment on how Breekon rushed for the man who entered. "Deliveries went well?"

"As well as it can without you." Hope smiles as they share a kiss. "Is Martin ok?"

"Bleeding is sluggish. Kat is here." Breekon locks his arm with Hope, and they relax in each other's presence. He led his other half into the kitchen where the two boys were eating, and Kat was getting then their third helpings.

"Welcome back. I kind of stormed in earlier, but Breekon insists it's ok. It's probably better if Oliver stays while he is changing, or at the very least, he stops visibly bleeding and losing flesh." Kat smiles. "I also made you both some food you guys don't have to eat, but the offer is there."

"Kat has been very understanding." Breekon smiles unnaturally wide.

"We are in your debt." Hope tilts his hat at her.

"Right well again, I'm cashing that in. Please look after my son. I don't want to alert anyone at work that something is amiss, and he will be safer here because of you two." Kat sighs. "And Oliver insisted that freaks stay together."

Oliver nods and so does Martin.

Breekon and Hope share a laugh. "We would happily look after him with Martin." They speak in unison.

.......

Martin pulls his hood over his head. Kids were awful, and he knew he was only 16, but the statement held up. They always had a comment on how he looked or just his stutter or his shy behavior. Oliver doesn't live near him anymore his mom had to move due to work they still hang out during the weekends, but now that meant he was alone at school. It didn't help that he was big and tall and he was still growing.

A short teen bumped into him. "... can't you see with those glasses." He had a bright blue scarf and was trying to hide a scar on his cheek that seemed to travel down extensively to his body.

Martin stopped. "....cool scar." He covered his mouth and turned on his heel and tried to walk away when the boy reached out and grabbed his hand. He had impossibly green eyes that seemed to have a ring of sky blue around them.

"What did you say about it?" He scowls, and Martin didn't recognize him. He stepped back, and Martin knew why.

Martin blinks and covers his face. "I'm sorry!"

The teen raised his brow. "Who are you?"

"Martin Blackwood, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to point out the scar. I just thought it looked cool, and I don't know."

"Mike Crew." Mike shakes Martin's hand he was already holding. "You like falling?"

"I uh... huh." Martin tilts his head. "You've been claimed by a fear, haven't you?"

Mike let go and furrowed his brows. "No, I was struck by lightning."

"Same thing, I think. Uh, my guardians have been trying to teach me about all of them. I can tell you if you want?" Martin shifts nervously.

Mike nods. "Yeah, my dad doesn't really care what I do after school. I just have to be home before sundown."

"Ok, yeah. Is the library a good place?" Martin smiles as the other boy nods.

......

A yellow door creeks open, and a blonde teen jumps out. "Martin!"

Martin places a finger over his lips. "Shhhhh, we're in a library."

"Not fair. I can't sneak up on you anymore." Oliver huffs and stops raising his brow. "Oh, uh hi...."

Mike looked over his chair. "You another fear freak?"

"Mike!" Martin huffs.

Oliver raised his brow. "You've got weird eyes, and... no time... huh, then yes, I am. Did you figure out what?"

Martin shakes his head.

Mike rolls his eyes. "You've got dumb blonde hair."

"Rude." Oliver hops in a chair next to Mike. "Anyway, have you narrowed it down?"

"Yeah." Martin holds up the list. "Obviously not the dark since he can still see, and not the corruption because he isn't dirty and invested with any sort of bug. Not the web, Mother would have told me, and I would be able to see strings he also doesn't have extra arms."

"You've got more than two arms?" Mike smirks. "Show me."

Martin pulls up his sweater to show the two pairs of arms wrapped around his chest and stomach. "I have to wear baggy clothes, can't really hide them like my spider half, or extra eyes or mandible. Oliver just needs gloves because he can use hide with normal clothes."

"I'm mostly just a spooky skeleton." Oliver chuckles as Martin pulls down his sweater.

"I wonder if I'll get anything cool." Mike hums grabbing the paper.

"Well, we got to figure out what picked you first." Oliver takes the paper from Mike. "Maybe the Desolation."

"He hasn't set anything on fire." Martin puffs out his cheeks.

"I need a lighter." Mike raised his brow as it's crossed out.

"Ok, that answers that...." Martin stops as a elderly man approaches them.

"Huh, I thought it was just rumors from the stranger from all things. The desolation should have just waited for their God to pick than." He chuckles, adjusting his glasses. "Now, now, no need to stop on my account, or I can solve this little conundrum for you three."

The three teens stay quiet.

"Now, now I won't bite." The old man laughs. "I'm Simon Fairchild, and I believe your friend developing the blue eyes has been picked by my patron."

"Who do you follow?" Oliver was the one to speak up.

"Oh my dear boy, I would show you, but I'm not one to pick fights with the other patrons. I am part of the great Vast." Simkn smiles and lowers his glasses to show off impossibly blue eyes.

"But don't people get a choice?" Martin frowns. "We didn't get a choice in this."

"Aha, that's right, you three are complete anomalies. Never happened before, the patrons don't exactly choose, but you three are the exception to the rule, old Jonah will be pissed, well he already is dealing with his own anomaly. Anyway, enough of that, I'll be your teacher and show you the best ways to feed our lovely patron. You know feed them before they feed on you." Simon chuckles and hands a card over. "Call me when you start feeling peckish."

Mike hesitated but took the card with a number on it. "Do you guys feed on people?"

"Kind of? I don't really need to scare people about death. I did accidently kill a few animals before I figured out that I can't touch them without gloves." Oliver frowns.

"People tell me their deepest secrets, or I can control them. I really don't enjoy controlling people, though, but sharing facts about spiders and showing them off seems to work, too." Martin hums. "I can make webs too."

"All I'm able to do is tell people how and when they will die." Oliver huffs.

"Deaths touch seems pretty cool." Mike hums.

"Only on my hands." Oliver sighs.

"I mean, it's pretty obvious. I meant hands you don't touch with your foot." Mike snickers.

Simon chuckles. "Oh, the folly of youth. I'll see you guys again." He seems to vanish as he looks through the open window.

"Whoa... do you think I'll be able to do that?" Mike gasps.

"You guys get all the cool shit." Oliver huffs crossing his arms.

"You have all the medical knowledge on like everything." Martin smiles.

"Maybe I'll be a doctor. Easy to feed the End that way." Oliver shrugs.

"That seems a bit on the nose." Mike raised his brow.

"Oh fuck you." Oliver huffs.

"I would say you can, but you can't seem to use your hands." Mike smirks leaning forward.

Oliver blushes a deep red. "I uh... well I...."

Martin looks away, trying to ignore the red thread between the two.

......

A eerie voice echoes around as it laughs. "You're new." A long crooked finger points till it glitches and looks normal. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you."

Mike steps back from the yellow door and the blonde man.

Martin waves. "Hi Micheal, what brings you over?"

"You made a new friend." Micheal smiles. "I apologize then for scaring you again uh..."

"Mike." Mike gives a nervous smile.

"He's the spiral, but also Micheal." Martin smiles.

Micheal nods. "That is correct, I just wanted to pop in and say Breekon and Hope are out on delivery and won't be back till next week. Nikola is giving them problems, and they don't want them to find out about you."

"Oh, alright." Martin frowns and looks away.

Micheal frowns and looks over to Mike who just shrugs.

Mike nudges Martin. "What's wrong?"

"My adoption day is in three days, I just I dunno I wanted them there." Martin sighs. "It's fine."

Mike frowns. "Maybe next year will be better this Nikola sounds like a bitch."

Micheal's frown deepens.

"It's whatever. I'm getting too old for that stuff, right, so I'll be fine. I'll uh head to the store to pick up food and stuff for the next week or so don't know how long they will be. I'll see you later, Mike."

Mike holds his hand out watching Martin go. "I wouldn't if I was you. He doesn't want us to interfere." He sighs. "He talks about them, Breekon and Hope like they're his dad's yaknow. I haven't met them yet, and Simon tells me I should be careful, but if they are the ones to raise him, I don't see why I should be worried. He's probably the best influence I've got left."

Micheal crosses his arms. "I helped raise him too."

"I don't think it's a competition." Mike sighs. "It's nice to meet you, though, for what it's worth."

Micheal watches Mike walk away as well. He was going to find the two strangers and rip them a new one.

......

It took Micheal three months to find the pair. His voice was twisted and angry, echoing off nothing. "Where the fu- oh... ah, " He seeming poofs into a normal human form in an instant.

An older teen boy and a preteen boy hide behind Breekon and Hope.

"Why do you have two kids?" Micheal tilts his head, trying to get a better view.

"Younger kid found Nikola exploring..."

".... we handled breaking him from the mark....."

"...older lad wouldn't leave..."

"....followed the boy..."

"....Nikola thinks we ate them...."

"..... we didn't...."

"... we had to hide..."

"... we have to return them...."

Micheal holds his hand up, stopping them. He knew they were panicking their voices completely identical to each other. "You both. .. you both changed...." He adjusts his glasses, walking around the pair. He doesn't even look at the two boys. "You two are changing."

Breekon and Hope grip each other hands tighter.

Micheal smiles softly, and his door opens. "Time to go home, and you boys are coming too. Martin will forgive you both, and I'm sure we can find some clothes for the two of you that aren't dirty."

.......

The creek of a yellow didn't distract Martin from his work. He started to knit and crochet, having multiple arms helpful for his new hobby, and Micheal got him a lot of yarn. He hoped that when Breekon and Hope came back, they wouldn't be too upset. He wasn't mad at them he's worried and trying to distract himself. He wants to tell them about Mike and that Oliver was moving back closer.

Two pairs of strong arms wrap around Martin. "We're sorry for abandoning you."

Martin gasps and shakes tears falling down his cheeks. "Dads?"

The embrace is tighter.

Micheal clears his throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but Martin, can you spare some clothes?"

Martin pulls away and turns around. "I uh oh new people hi I can make tea." He drops his needles and yarn. He hugs two pairs of arms to his chest and forces his extra eyes to close. "I uh, I'm sorry."

The younger boy approached eyes wide as he got close to Martin. "Are those real?"

"Danny!" The older boy hissed.

Martin blushes and nods. "Y-yeah, most people are scared of them."

"Can I touch them?" Danny looked up at him.

"If you want to. They're just normal arms. They even have my dumb freckles." Martin gasps softly as the boy touches them.

"That's so cool." Danny smiles and waves to the other boy. "Tim, come on, he isn't going to bite you!"

Tim, the older teen, walks cautiously over. "I'm sorry, my brother can be a bit touchy, and I uh..."

Martin blushes a bright red, spotting a red string around the older boys wrist, and it connects to him. He stumbles back. "It's fine. You're probably scared it's fine. That's normal. I heard Nikola is quite nasty right, yeah. I'm going to make some tea, uh, right clothes, uh, the dryer, the dryer has some stuff, too." He rushed out to the kitchen.

"Tim, you scared him!" Danny crossed his arms. "His dad's saved us, and you scared him."

Tim sputters. "I did not scare him." He huffs. "You probably scared him since you rushed at him."

"I did not! I asked him first." Danny pouts.

Breekon grabs both of their shoulders, pushing them together. "That's enough, lads."

Hope smiles. "One of you shower I'll get you clean clothes."

Micheal laughs. "Boy wasn't scared." He slips back through his door, and it vanishes.

......

Martin pauses watching Tim from the doorway. He was looking into some history books about Robert Smirke, Breekon, and Hope, who said he was the first human to categorize the fears into separate entities, and he was right. Tim was odd he was the opposite of himself, outgoing and loud. He was strong and athletic. He had that red string too, and he was honest when he finally had the courage he told him, then ran away.

Tim waves spotting Martin. "Hey Martin, still fighting fate?"

"N-no, you deserve a choice." Martin stutters but approaches. "I uh are you ok?"

"Danny is fine, and I'm ok. Just because Breekon and Hope are strangers, they are nicer than the clown." Tim shuts his book. "Can I ask you something?"

"I uh, I have no control over the red strings. Mother can't even control them. You know, I thought it was only fear and secrets we fed on, but it's connections too, and I uh...." Martin stops. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

Tim shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I uh wanted to ask about the avatar thing."

"Oh, uh... ok?" Martin crosses all his arms. "I didn't have a choice in it."

"How did you know? I mean, did it just happen? Was it a slow change over time? I uh..." Tim adjusts his glasses. "I uh dunno I feel off since the theater."

Martin frowns and sits down next to Tim. "You don't look different."

"I feel different." Tim frowns. "I don't want to accidently hurt Danny."

"Ok, well, I think I can help." Martin smiles softly, reaching one hand out.

Tim sighs in relief. "Thank you. I just I don't know."

"Well, what are the things that are different?" Martin tilts his head. "You look normal, and I suppose I do too. People are born with extra limbs."

"Well, I mean, once the lights are off, I'm different." Tim frowns. "That's the dark, right? But I'm not a little kid, and I mean I'm not even afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the spiders that the web controls, and I'm still an avatar of the Web." Martin tilts his head. "I don't exactly think being afraid is a prerequisite."

"If that was true, I would be a stranger." Tim shudders. "No offense to Breekon or Hope. They seem pretty cool, all things considered, and they did save our lives."

"You're changing?" Danny poked his head through the door.

"Danny!" Tim huffs. "How many times have I told you not to spy on me?"

"Doesn't matter. Are you going to get extra harms like Martin? Can you feed on my fear? Oh, oh, do you get a weird pocket dimension like Micheal? It's like a video game fast travel!" Danny rushed into the room, dropping himself down next to his brother.

Tim sighs. "Danny, I don't even know if I am. What about you? I'm not going to feed on your fear."

"But that would be so cool." Danny huffs.

Martin chuckles.

"Don't encourage him." Tim huffs but was smiling.

"Well, we have 14 choices to get through." Danny was practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, once we figure it out, you could be like a fear superhero."

"That is the opposite of what the fears are... uh... wait." Martin pauses. "Being more well known could get more food and stuff, and maybe fear could evolve into a different emotion to feed on, but I dunno."

Tim smiles softly, staring at Martin. "Well, once we figure it out and I get a handle on it, we can go home, and then well, I can protect you guys."

"See superhero fear avatar." Danny smirks.

Tim rolls his eyes. "You read too many comic books."

......

A yellow door creaks open slowly, and Micheal steps out. Well, he tries before a hand grabs him and drags him out.

"Explain away this then!" It was Kat she looked annoyed and Micheal didn't exactly know where he was.

"I must say the dramatics are excellent look at his costume." A dirty blonde hair woman crossed her arms. "You really think I'm that gullible to believe that? It's almost as absurd as my brother being the head of an institute."

"Uh..." Micheal glitches to look human. "Um Kat, what am I doing here?"

The dirty blonde hair woman steps back.

"Two things, one to prove to Miss Bouchard that there is actual meaning behind what we organize. Secondly, why do Breekon and Hope have Diane's kids with them?" Kate huffs.

"Two boys...? You know where Diane's boys are?!" The dirty blonde haired woman growls. "That woman has been breaking down for the past 4 months."

Micheal pauses and in a soft voice. "Uhhh, Breekon and Hope stopped the boys from being killed from Nikola, and it doesn't matter Elias has a sister?"

"You know Eli, too? Don't tell me you also say he's the head of an institute. Last time I've talked to him, he left after college and worked in artifact storage. That man is not built to run anything except a drug deal if I'm being generous, which I'm not."

"Gwen shut up for a second. What do you mean the boys were almost killed?" Kat crossed her arms. "I thought I asked you guys not to involve my coworkers if I didn't ask."

"Ok, first off, technically, they aren't your coworkers they are your co-workers' children. Secondly, the two stumbled upon where Nikola was by exploring and would have been killed, and there parts used for the stranger if Breekon and Hope didn't interfere. Tim is becoming an avatar for the Dark, so they are waiting until he has some control until they come back." Micheal frowns. "You already knew the second bit."

"Oliver told me, but I'm glad you've also confirmed it." Kat smiles. "Also, thank you again. See, I told you! I swear what we go through the actual accounts and things are connected to fear creatures. Also, I really don't believe the bit about your brother, though. You've decided him as a pot head."

Micheal waves his hand. "Wait, wait, wait. Again, I can not stress this enough. You're Elias's sister?"

"He's ten years older than me and has a different mom." Gwen raised her brow.

"Time isn't real." Micheal says automatically. "I used to work with him, well we worked on the same building. I was in the archives, and he was in artifact storage and then the head of the institute."

"Bullshit." Gwen throws her hands up. "You show me proof of other avatars, and in exchanged I can tell you stories about Elias, and you'll understand how now qualified he is."

"Please." Micheal's door opens automatically.

"We have to pick up my son first." Kat sighs. "And probably Diane."

"Sure, sure tell me about Elias, though." Micheal drags them through.

.......

"TIMOTHY, DANIEL!" A woman rushed out of the yellow door, tackling her two sons. "My baby boys." She checks over both of them.

#not finished #currently too long to post here #when finished #I will be on a03 #breekon and hope #tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #oliver banks #mike crew #tim stoker

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ravendruid · 1 year ago

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Food, Friendship and Comfort

This fic is part of the @critter-genfic-events Bingo to fulfill the Comfort and Cooking slots. [Check my bingo card and other works here.] Set post-Campaign 2 and Mighty Nein Reunited. Read on AO3

Beauregard Lionett’s days as a Cobalt Soul Expositor are either dreary and dull with endless paperwork or exhausting with back-and-forth trips to Rexxentrum to track the Cerberus Assembly. Today is one of the latter days where she trades a warm, sunny Zadash for a gloomy and cold Rexxentrum.

Beauregard scheduled to meet her friend Caleb for breakfast this morning, so as soon as she steps out of the teleportation circle connecting the Rexxentrum and Zadash archives, she speeds past the guardians and archivists without a word and exits the dimly lit library onto the bustling street of the capital of the Dwendalian Empire. The feeling is immediate as the cold hits her uncovered skin and makes her curse between her teeth. Beau doesn’t have time to linger, so she follows the familiar cobblestone streets, ignoring the people rushing to and from work, the colorful buildings, and the heavy presence of crown guards in the more seedy areas.

The cottage that appears when Beauregard turns on another crossroad is a sight that makes the corners of her lips curl and her skin tingle in anticipation of warmth. She should have known better by now and brought a warm jacket along. The two small planter boxes out front are still full of tall, green plants, possibly kept alive in the cold by some arcane means from the owner of the cottage, and as Beau approaches, she notices that it either has recently been harvested or is yet to produce green beans.

Beau knocks at the rustic door, and where the motion would usually be followed by the sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor, it is now followed by silence. Weird. Caleb knew she was coming. Even if he is still in his arcane tower, he would have certainly set up alarms that would have triggered by now. Beau knocks again, louder this time, but still, no answer comes from the other side. She tries to peek in the side window through the small gap in the curtain but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The house is intact, with no signs of a struggle (or worse, an attack). Beauregard doesn’t want to expend the single use of her sending stone yet, lest it be needed later. However, the cold is bothering her right now, so she does what any good friend would do if they suspected their friend might be up to something or in a difficult situation: she picks Caleb’s lock. What are the chances that he has arcane wards against thieves? Highly, Beau tells herself as the lockpick clicks. Too late now. However, the door opens with a creak, but nothing explodes in her face. Beau sighs in relief as she steps into the musty interior and relocks the door behind her.

“Caleb?” She calls out to the empty house. It’s cold inside. The hearth is full of ash, and there is a layer of dust on every surface as if someone hasn’t cleaned in weeks. Beau inspects every room, each darker and emptier than the one before until she finally reaches the back room where she knows Caleb often tutors children who didn’t get accepted to the academy. This room, too, is empty and dark. Dust covers the desks and chairs, a few pieces of old parchment are spread out, and empty and dry bottles of ink sit forgotten. At first glance, this would be an average room. Messy, yes, but ordinary. But Beauregard knows better. She knows what to look for and finds it in a corner, slightly obscured by a tall bookshelf, a shimmering door that leads into Caleb’s tower.

Beau is welcomed by a lit fireplace in the study, a spectral Bengal cat rubbing at her legs, and a mess of Caleb lying on the soft, plush couch by the fire, reading a book about Dunemancy. He is alive but looks almost as bad as he did when they first met. Caleb’s shiny red hair is full of knots, although still in a ponytail, his beard is shaggy and unkempt, his clothes are wrinkly, and there are a few coffee stains on his shirt. Caleb is indeed a mess, which can only mean one thing.

“How long?” Beauregard asks in a harsh tone that means she will take no bullshit. Caleb lifts an eye from his book, finally acknowledging his friend’s presence, but he doesn’t reply. “Caleb, how long has it been?” Beau presses on. She strides confidently to where the man lies on the couch and effortlessly removes the book from his hold, closing it with a thud. Caleb stares at her for a moment, then finally greets her with the hoarse voice of someone who hasn’t spoken in days, “Hello to you too, Beauregard.”

Beau does quick math in her head. It hasn’t been that long since they last saw each other, perhaps two months, not even that long. She remembers Caleb saying then that he was waiting for a visit from Essek, but those were usually short and never resulted in a depressive mood like this. Something must have happened during their Xorhasian friend’s stay, and if the empty look in Caleb’s eyes is any indication of it, then Beau is determined to help and comfort him in any way she can.

“Clean up before I message Jester to tell her you smell and look like a hobo again. Just when she was starting to let it go away…” Beau threatens, scrunching her nose at him. Caleb nods and rises from his nest of pillows and blankets with the groan of someone whose joints are stiff from being in the same position for a long time. Beau shakes her head in displeasure and stares at the back of the man’s head as he lifts through the arcane elevator and disappears above the central iris.

Caleb meets Beauregard an hour later, freshly clean and bear-trimmed, in the dining room, where they plan their day over eggs, pancakes, and pocket bacon. Caleb doesn’t mention Essek, and Beau doesn’t ask questions about the state she found her Empire friend, so the only names said aloud are those of the Cerberus Assembly, particularly Ludinus Da’leth, who is up to no good. Caleb shares with Beau the detailed information he gathered since their last time together, information that cannot fit the 25 words of the sending spell they use for their daily reports. Beau is glad he took the official position at the Soltryce Academy, not for his proximity to the Assembly members, but for how much happier Caleb has been since he was allowed to teach and shape young minds.

When they separate hours later at the gates that lead up to the school, Caleb’s shoulders are lighter, and his smile brighter. Beau knows whatever happened is still lurking in the shadows, but she won’t pull unless he wants to push. So, before she turns her back to him and returns to the archives to fill out report after report, Beau throws her friend an invitation, “Why don’t you stop by later to have dinner with Yasha and me? She would love to see you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Caleb says, but from the look in his eyes, Beau knows he will knock at her door with a bottle of wine and apple tarts. So be it. She waves him goodbye and leaves.

—

Caleb is happy to find that Zadash isn’t as cold tonight as Rexxentrum. The smaller city’s lights are already sparkling against the dusky sky, and the aromas of food and burning wood fill the residential area around him. He knows he could have teleported directly to Beauregard and Yasha’s house, but he would hate to intrude on them, so Caleb teleported into a narrow alleyway not far from the center of town and strolled to their friends’ abode. The house is just as he remembers it. Not large, but cozy. The garden that Caduceus has been teaching Yasha how to care for is dormant as the first signs of winter approach, but the ivy growing up the front of the house is still there, larger and taller than the last time Caleb saw it. He stops at the iron gate, peering through the open curtains to see Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. He knows she has been learning how to cook from a neighbor, not always successful, according to Beau’s reviews in the few words they share about their day. Meanwhile, the tall Aasimar’s wife is just finishing setting the table for three people. How Beau knew Caleb would show up, he doesn’t know. Maybe she hoped? Perhaps she just… knew. Either way, Caleb is here now, crossing the iron gate, walking down the pebbled path towards the ivy-framed door, and knocking twice.

Beauregard opens the door with a smirk. She is wearing different clothes than Caleb saw her wear in the morning—more casual, comfortable clothes—her hair is still up in her signature bun, and she is still wearing some of her golden jewelry. The woman in front of him is not an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul anymore, but his friend from adventures that have been almost forgotten in time.

“Hello, Beauregard,” Caleb greets her sheepishly. Beau’s smirk gives room to a bright grin as she greets him back and steps away to let him in the house.

It’s a cozy, lived-in house (although a bit too messy for Caleb’s tastes) that smells of stew and sweets, where a small fireplace crackles in front of a comfy couch and a shaggy rug. The walls are adorned with art, paintings done by their tiefling friend of the Mighty Nein and their allies. Caleb’s favorite piece is definitely the large painting above the mantelpiece of their group of misfits, one that includes Mollymauk at one end, Kingsley at the other, and Essek smiling next to Caleb. Caleb has the same painting in his office in his small cottage (Jester painted one for everyone so they wouldn’t forget about them. So they could look upon it and smile, remember the memories of what they have been through, and soothe the sorrow of missing their friends).

“I’m glad you could join us, Caleb,” Yasha greets him, bending to give the man a bear hug. Beauregard must have told her wife the situation she found him in that morning because he sees compassion and comfort in Yasha’s eyes. Caleb merely nods and drapes his coat over the back of the couch. He produces a bottle of wine and a plate of apple tarts—not homemade today, though—that he kept in his private pocket dimension and hands it to Beau, who tuts at the wine label reprovingly but promptly uncorks it nonetheless.

Dinner doesn’t take long to be served, and it’s not half-bad (a vegetable stew with harvests from Beau and Yasha’s garden with a side of rustic bread also made by the latter). The conversation flows nicely between the three, sometimes pausing to sip on wine or to change the subject. Caleb listens attentively to Yasha’s tales about their neighbor, Martina, who has been teaching her new recipes to use their produce (she was, apparently, the one who taught Yasha the stew recipe they are eating). The conversation changes again to Beau and Caleb’s work tracking the Assembly, and the three discuss and share theories about Ludinus’s plans. Through it all, no one mentions the name of their drow friend, the war criminal who has been running from both the Empire and the Dynasty, which makes Caleb relax.

Essek doesn’t get the opportunity to visit often, and when he does, it’s in disguise, so Caleb has learned to cherish those fleeting moments. However, things seemed to have calmed down for a while, and Essek’s stay was extended to over a fortnight before chatter began, and the man departed again under the light of the moon. He hasn’t heard from his Xorhasian friend in weeks, which is not uncommon, but this separation has taken a harder hit on him. Beau clearly saw it that morning. She guessed from the state she found Caleb’s house in but didn’t ask, and neither did Yasha. Caleb knows the women will wait until he’s ready to share, and he’s thankful for that. He makes sure to give them a smile to convey his gratitude, and, in response, he is offered a place to stay overnight so he doesn’t have to return to his empty house and empty cold bed. Here, surrounded by two of his dearest friends, chatting happily about vegetables, fertilizer, and power-hungry mages, Caleb is still far from healed but on the mend, and the dark loneliness in his starts to vanish.

#critical role #cr fic #mighty nein #caleb widogast #critter genfic bingo #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #shadowgast #<- mentioned #beauyasha #<- background relationship #Post-Campaign 2 #Post-Mighty Nein Reunited

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