#she and I also have middle names that compliment each other (summer / snow) .. its just WEIRD coincidences SUPER weird

[taiyami]

You're in her dms but our birth moon phases complete each other perfectly. We are not the same.

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Mistletoe

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter put off introducing you to the team for a long time, but Tony insists the holiday party at the compound is the perfect way for the team to meet the only best friend they haven’t yet.

Word Count: 2385

Warnings: Christmas themed, more fluff

Tags: @lokilvrr

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my fics anywhere without my written permission.

"If you ask me one more time if I'm sure I want to go, I promise I will rip my hair out and you'll have to deal with looking at me bald every day," you huffed out a laugh with only a slight playful annoyance tinging the words as you spoke. Delicate application of mascara, mouth parted ever so slightly to give the steady hand needed to not mess up the extravagant glittery eyeshadow that you'd never admit took three tutorials, four tries, and over an hour to do properly.

"O-okay," Peter's anxious voice flowed through your phone perched on the edge of your vanity. "I'll be there in 15, Mr.Stark had Happy pick me up. Bye, (Y/N/N)."

One final layer of ruby red lipstick to compliment the dress that MJ had helped you select; a beautiful a-line knee length dress, intricate lace dancing across the chest and flowing down each arm, stopping just before your wrists, all in a rich christmasy red. Fixing a small golden necklace around your neck to match the gold of the friendship bracelet Peter had given you, MJ and Ned before everyone went off to college, you slipped on a pair of gold glittery flats to complete the look.

As if on queue there was a small series of knocks against your bedroom door. Grabbing the small black clutch you'd thrown a few things in, you opened the door, smiling at Peter before taking in his appearance.

Being an Avenger had done him well, a new sense of maturity vibrating in his aura. His loose curls had been groomed and shaped up, no doubt a request from Tony for this party. His shoulders more broad, a hint of stubble prickling his chin and jaw, all complemented by the sleek black tux, with a bright red tie that just happened to match your dress perfectly. Michelle's doing no doubt.

"O- uh - you look- you look beautiful," Peter stumbled over the words as he tried his damndest to not stare at any one part too long. There was a faint blush on his pale skin. "Are you ready?" He asked, "Mr.Stark isn't happy that you're my only friend he hasn't met."

A soft giggle played at your lips as you turned your lights off and shit your door, "Sure am, Parker."

*

"Holy shit, there's even little sodas in here - PETER YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THEY'RE TINY," a small squeal left your lips as you pulled out one of the tiny cans from the cooler in the limo, Happy sending Peter and amused look through the rear view mirror.

Peter chuckled softly, "I tried telling Mr.Stark we didn't need the limo but he insisted."

"Okay, but seriously, if Tony wasn't already married I'd be chasing after that if it meant I got things like this every day," there was an obvious joking tone to your words but it still stung Peter deep in the gut. Happy sent Peter another look when he caught that hurt puppy look on Peter's face, which he responded with by closing the partition.

You pouted at Peter, "Hey, that was mean," you scolded softly.

"He kept wiggling his eyebrows at me it was weird," Peter whined in defense, causing a string of laughter to fall from you.

"Where's the party at?" You asked, settling back into the seat next to Peter, pressing the small can of soda to your lips, the warm, dim light casting a fairytale like glow over you and Peter was damn sure Tony had changed the lights.

"It's at the compound," Peter answered, pulling his phone out to check the time, anything to keep from looking at you too long. "Mr.Stark said he wanted something more intimate this year. It's a few of his friends, everyone had a plus one, I originally wasn't going to go but he wanted to meet you and thought this would be a good time to do so."

"Ooh wait, so I also get to meet the team?" You asked, feeling the car pull into what you could only assume was the compound.

Peter nodded as Happy opened the door and Peter grabbed your clutch before getting out, holding his hand out to help you. A chorus of thank you's and nice to meet you's flowed between the group before Peter steered your attention to the pristinely white building that was brightly lit. Hundreds of thousands of little crystal lights strung on every ledge, every tree, every bush and branch available. Little white deer silhouettes lined the walkway and it truly looked like a winter wonderland thanks to the dusting of snow still stuck from that morning.

The bustling party could be heard even outside, laughter, chatter, and music vibrating the architecture. Peter opened the door for you, the sounds doubling in volume as you stepped into what felt like a scene out of a Hallmark movie. Intricate decorations and lace, ribbon, and likes strewn across the ceilings, railing and archways. A pop-up bar and serving table off to the side, the home to extravagant drinks and foods you had only ever dreamed of getting the chance to taste. The intimate lighting doubled with the warmth that the endless Christmas music sent through you made your heartbeat a little faster when you remember who you came here with.

Peter's arm wrapped around your waist, leading you towards the back of the room that sat huge round tables. At the center table sat a few of the team members; Natasha with her feet propped up on Sam's lap, Sam who was bickering with Bucky over what sounded like an argument over the best something and poor Steve stuck in the middle of his two friends squabbling.

Peter cleared his throat to get their attention, all eyes turning to him and then immediately falling in you. An anxious, almost embarrassed kind of warmth spread through you as they all analyzed you, Bucky breaking into a huge grin. "Hey Peter, is this the dame you haven't shut up about?"

Sam sighed exasperatedly, "Barnes, for the last time, we don't call girls dames anymore."

"I think it's rather endearing," Nat added, eyes never leaving you, watching as you looked up at Peter with a small look of shock on your face, lips slightly parted. Bucky had undoubtedly caught you off guard with the confession, and Peter was blushing even darker than earlier.

"Peter Benjamin Parker," you said, voice in a heightened, almost comical tone of disbelief, "Are you talking about me again? Do I need to bring out the pictures from summer camp?"

His eyes went as big as saucers, "No no no no, they asked about my friends and I told then about you that's all," his words were rushed, quick to speak in hopes of deterring your threat.

"Sure, if you call gu- ouch, why'd you hit me," Bucky grumbled towards Steve who was sending him a warning look and suddenly everyone at the table caught on. You knew nothing.

Peter watched as your mouth opened to speak but quickly cut you off when he heard Tony talking from the upstairs balcony. His gaze moved upwards, seeing a much less crowded, but still just as decorated area and he grabbed your hand, leading you to the steps. "C'mon. Let's go see Mr.Stark."

Tony was talking to a business friend, a young girl who you could only assume was his daughter hugging tightly to his leg with one arm and a feeding herself a cookie with another. Her eyes moved from the man in front of her to Peter and you and she gasped, dropping the cookie and running over to Peter, who knelt down in preparation to hug her.

She flung her small body into Peter's chest who hugged her and stood, moving to hold her on his hip. "Peter!!!!!! Why'd did you leave? Daddy's being boring. I wanna play with the bobots- Peter who's this she's pretty - and OUR DRESSES MATCH!"

She squealed, causing Peter to laugh softly.

You looked down at yourself and then over at her, taking in the details of her dress and realizing she was wearing a smaller version of your dress. You giggled softly, watching as Peter sat her down so she could twirl to show it off. You knelt down to be eye level with her, "Well, that just means we both have good tastes because we both look very pretty, don't we?" You asked her.

She nodded her head furiously. "Yes! Daddy wanted me to wear gold but I liked this one better. I'm Morgan."

"Hi, Morgan. My name is (Y/N), I'm Peter's friend. We've been friends since we you as little as you."

She gasped softly, "Does that mean you know how to prank him? He never falls for my pranks," she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted some, only causing you to laugh more.

"Of course I know how to prank him," you looked up at Peter to realize that both Tony and him were watching the two of you, the other man from earlier gone. After giving Morgan a small smile you stood, reaching out to shake Tony's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Stark." You beamed a bright smile at him, causing Tony to smirk softly and send Peter a look of approval.

"The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart. And please, call me Tony. I'm surprised you haven't freaked out yet, Peter's mentioned a few times that you're a big fan of - well everyone." He said, hand motioning to wave in the direction of where the team was.

You nodded, feeling Peter move back to your side and seeing Morgan find her place at Tony's leg again. "I'm a huge fan, and it is taking everything not to freak. But what kind of first impression would that be," you joked softly.

Tony chuckled, picking Morgan up. "Very true. I'll leave you two to enjoy to party. I think I need to get this stinker another cookie before mommy comes and yells at me." Morgan cheered as Tony moved to take her back downstairs, leaving Peter and you alone.

Leaning over the balcony you used the height to your advantage, observing the party and every one of its inhabitants. Watched people dance, drink too much champagne, kiss and coo at one another. It was almost surreal, the wealth, the confidence, the comfort of the bubbling atmosphere. The feeling of someone watching you pulled you from your thoughts, turning to look at Peter who was watching you intently.

"What is it?" You asked, almost amused, "something wrong with my makeup?"

Peter shook his head, hands fidgeting with the end of his jacket, eyes darting around anxiously before looking back at you. "N-no, actually. The complete opposite. I can't get over how beautiful you look tonight." He bit his lip, and when your eyebrow crooked upwards and a small smirk toyed at your lips he got worried, more anxious than before, "Not that you don't always look beautiful but you just look especially beautiful tonight."

The smile and light laugh that left your tempting lips made him feel he was baptized in cold water, drowning him and filling him with life all at once. "You overthink everything, Peter," intertwining your fingers with his, you pulled him towards the steps. "I want a drink and I want you to show me around."

A glass of champagne and too many horderves later, you found yourselves in the compounds kitchen searching for refuge from the stimulation of the party. The two of you sat on the kitchen island, reminiscing and laughing, catching up for the first time in what felt like an eternity since the start of the semester.

"So, this is pretty much where you live now? No more loud Queens streets to lull you to sleep at night?"

Peter shrugged, pulling off his suit jacket and moving to roll the cuffs of his button down shirt up. "Well, I kinda bounce between here and Aunt May's. Mr. Stark has me taking classes online so I can still work with him and not over do myse-"

A loud gasp pulled your attention to the doorway, Morgan was standing there, holding Tony's hand and pointing at the two of you. "Daddy! Look! They're under the mistletoe!"

Tony chuckled softly, "They sure are kiddo, and what does that mean?"

"They have to kiss!" She exclaimed.

Looking up you saw the bundle of green and read tied around the light fixture and couldn't help but shake your head and laugh in disbelief. "If I didn't know any better I'd believe everyone was in on something," you said and watch as Tony held his hands up in defense and backed out of the kitchen with Morgan in tow.

"Y-yeah," Peter swallowed loudly, causing you to look over at him. "We- we don't actually have to kiss if you don't want to." His voice was soft and nothing more than a mumble and he fiddled with the rolled up sleeves.

"What makes you think I don't want to kiss you, Pete?" You asked, smiling softly, a sudden wave of anxiety wiping over you. "Do you think I'd try this hard for anyone else?" You motioned to yourself.

"You could have come in sweatpants and a tank top and I still would've thought you looked amazing." Warmth spread across you, slightly embarrassed and unsure of what to say, "...Can I kiss you?" He asked.

A timid nod was enough of an answer as he moved to cup you cheeks with his hands, thumbs rubbing over the apples of your cheeks as he took a moment to admire every detail of your face. "I've loved you since we were kids," he admitted before pressing his lips to yours, slow and almost unsure.

The moment he felt your hands on his chest, tugging at his shirt to pull him closer, his actions had more confidence, lips soft and speaking a language you didn't know you knew, filling a void you didn't know you had. You pulled back a little, both of you smiling big and giddy.

"Merry Christmas to me," he mumbled.

"Merry Christmas to us." You corrected, pressing another small kiss to his lips. "And I love you too."

[maraudersmessrs]

Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban--- Chapter 35: One Monster, Two Monster

Ao3 link

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29 / Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34

By the time Monday rolled around, he was as recovered as he ever would be, energy back up and pain ignorable. 

It was glitteringly sunny over a light dusting of fresh snow, cutting the late January bite into something that almost had a pleasant edge. But instead of taking a walk over the grounds as he longed to do now that he knew his joints wouldn’t dump him somewhere unfortunate without warning, he made his way up to his classroom, magically-lightened boggart trunk in hand to set up before Thora arrived. The 2 days in bed and the rest of the week and weekend stuck indoors catching up on missed classwork had him gazing longingly out each window he passed, soaking in the brief sunlight like some sort of summer starved plant. Alas, prior commitments. Thora seemed a pleasant enough girl and he was always pleased to get to know his students as more than a name on a page, so, despite the unfortunate circumstances, he was sure the morning would be agreeable enough.

He had the floor cleared, chairs and desks neatly stacked against the sides of the room by the time she poked her head around the door jam. “Hullo.”

Glancing over his shoulder from setting the case in the approximate middle of the room, he smiled at her, “Good morning, Thora, right on time.”

He felt her draw close behind him, watching him wave his wand to undo the magical fastens while leaving the physical locks still firmly sealed. “Why are we here and not on the 7th floor?” she asked, curiously.

That surprised a short laugh out of him and he rose to his feet, hands on his knees. “Good question. Partly for the fact that we only need a bigger space when there’s a whole class worth of people lining up to take the boggart on. But, also, partly because I don’t want to have to walk that far, do you?”

She gave a short chuckle of her own and shrugged, tossing her bag onto a desk against the wall. “Not really.”

“I’m glad this is satisfactory for all parties, then. Save, perhaps, our unfortunate boggart, here. Feeling alright?”

Eyes locked on the case, she shrugged again, uneasily. Her fingers picked at the hem of her sleeves. “Nervous, I guess. I’ve been trying to guess this whole time what it might be and I don’t really know which one I would prefer, y’know?”

His eyebrows raised in mild surprise and said, “Oh? I had thought you knew.” Declining to continue felt the least invasive, but they both felt the implied ‘and that’s why you elected to have a private lesson.’

It was hard to tell against her dark cheeks, but Remus got the impression that she flushed a bit as she shifted from foot to foot. “Uh, no, I just...I don’t do well, er, performing in front of others, y’know? I get real...I just get real anxious and I didn’t want….”

As she trailed off he held up a hand and shook his head, trying to negate whatever  discomfort his question had caused, “Whatever your reasoning is fine with me, Thora, like I said, I’m not going to ask for justification. I shouldn’t have assumed, so I apologize.”

“Nah, ‘s alright. Just didn’t wanna have a fit in front of the whole class or anything.” She glanced around at him and shot him a small, sheepish grin, “In front of you is fine, though, I suppose.”

He smiled as gently as he could and said, “I’m here to help keep you safe, so whatever happens will be kept in the strictest confidence, Thora. Is there anything in specific you’re worried about?”

“Not really, just the whole, uh, worst fear thing. Not looking forward to that,” she said in a tone of humor veiling real discomfort. Her fingers kept picking at her sleeves, plucking nervously.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “But necessary--to be able to know and control your greatest fear, to use that power to transform it into something that is not only harmless but laughable is an invaluable skill. There are many adult witches and wizards who struggle with it. Do you want to talk about what it might be?”

“No...I think I’ll psych myself out….”

He glanced down at the case, then back at her, a quirk of sympathy tugging his mouth when slowly she tore her gaze away from it to meet his. “Do you think you’re ready?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out before rolling up her sleeves and pulling out her wand. “I guess so.”

They both took several steps back, Remus drawing his wand as well, eyes on Thora. “Remember, I need this boggart for future lessons, so no going and banishing it in one go, right?” He quirked a smile at her that she nervously returned. “Remember the spell?” She nodded. “On 3?”

Without speaking, she nodded again, lips tight and wand pointed. Moving back even farther to leave her as the boggart’s primary target, he said, “1...2...3!”

The locks popped open, the lid flew off, and all at once, the both of them froze.

A latch cracking---

Mad golden eyes. Immense.

Moonlight---

A bass snarl, shaking through the ribcage to seize the heart.

He couldn’t move---

Measured steps, stalking. Claws grating on stone.

Werewolf.

A record warbled down the hall, the bed dipped--

Student. A child is here. Something in him slammed down, hard and fast. Breath unlocked again. He could move, numbly. All he could feel was a frantic, frenetic buzzing, deep within him, unidentifiable as an emotion. It had taken only a moment, maybe two. Thora was only just recoiling, her wand clattering to the floor, a horrified scream breaking free. She dove back against the front desk, curled up, hands over her head. Mutely, he slashed his wand, driving the boggart back toward the case, but not far enough. He stepped closer, the sickening vibration deep in his gut intensifying. The thing turned its eyes to him. Long white fangs parted. Another step and it shrank, spun, changed until the moon floated instead, like some sort of horrible Russian doll--the moon within the wolf within the moon within--

He slashed again and it fell back into the trunk, lid slamming down. He had no idea what was on his face as he turned back to her, but it didn’t matter, for she was slumped to the ground sobbing, hands over her face. “Oh God. I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--I’m sorry--that was stupid, that was so--”

“It’s alright,” he felt himself say, quietly.

“I’m sorry--”

Feeling strangely unreal and off center, he knelt next to her. “It wasn’t stupid.” His hands were numb.

The sobbing shrank quickly into hiccoughs she valiantly tried to tamp down, scrubbing her face clean on her sleeve. “Sorry. Sorry, for--for--”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He couldn't seem to inject any inflection in his voice. 

“I shouldn’t cry, I was just--it caught me off guard, I didn’t mean to drop--God, that was so stupid….”

“You can cry. It was scary.”

She, sniffed, lowered her sleeve and turned to look at him. He didn’t quite have control yet, so whatever expression he had was worryingly unfiltered, but whatever she found seemed to help, for she sucked in a deep shuddering breath and closed her eyes. Now that the beast was gone, so was the strange, unsettling thrumming at his core, leaving him feeling curiously...empty. Vacant. He, too, took a deep breath.

“Really, I’m okay. It just surprised me,” she said, her voice roughened by the now-stopped tears. “I, uh, I was sort of hoping it wasn’t gonna be that. Which...I guess makes sense that it was, if I was hoping it wasn’t. My brother and me almost got attacked in the forest, when we were little, going for a walk. Mum killed it--she was an Auror. I hadn’t really thought about it in years but then, when Professor Snape was teaching your class when you were gone...I guess it got me thinking about it again.

“Which, I mean, yeah, it sucks because it was scary but, Snape--” Distracted by this memory, she suddenly rolled her eyes, looking annoyed, “It was so dumb, he kept teaching us about werewolves and we told him that you had it planned for later this year but he wouldn’t listen, he kept saying all these things. My friend in Gryffindor said he did that earlier in the year in his class too, he told me about it. And it was like he kept trying to really subtly insinuate that you were a werewolf or something? It’s so stupid, like Dumbledore would ever let someone like that come to Hogwarts. And to choose you to be the one he was, like, hinting at is just--” she let out a scoff. “Everyone knows he wants to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts but of all things to accuse you of, it’s just really dumb. All the Hufflepuffs agree that you’re one of the nicest Professor’s we’ve ever had; werewolves aren’t nice people, they’re werewolves,” she continued, incredulously, obviously offering this as a compliment and an invitation for him to scoff as well, gesturing to the now inert trunk as evidence of this fact.

“...It’s nice to be trusted,” he heard his voice say, hollowly. 

Suddenly, she looked self-conscious and muttered, “Er, probably shouldn’t be disrespectful about other Professor’s around you, huh? Sorry.”

He felt very far away. “...Probably not.”

Thora gave one last, huge sniff, swiped her arm across her nose and stood up, “I guess I should have another go.”

It took him another moment to rise, but he did. Student. Teaching.  “Yes. Do you have any ideas about the Riddikulus form.”

She cast him an odd look. He made sure to blink. It felt like he had been staring. Wake UP, something hissed fiercely.

I don’t think I want to. I don’t think that would be wise at all.

“Um…” Her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips. “I guess...maybe...well, not dead, that’s not funny….”

He said nothing.

“Er...bald? Or...pink. Still scary, though; a pink monster is still a monster. Um...oh! Oh, I got one, okay! I think,” she cast a doubtful look at the case. “I think I can try again.”

“Good.” Dream-like, he moved beside and behind her once more.

“I won’t drop my wand this time,” she said, words firm, as if assuring him but her face was dubious. “Riddikulus?” He nodded. “Okay...ready.”

The lid swung open once again, that deeper than deep, rattling growl came again. His eyes were closed. The stench of rotting meat---Stop.

There was an intake of breath next to him. “Riddikulus!”

There came an odd, muted thump and a surprised gale of laughter. His eyes opened. A huge black anvil sat where the werewolf had been, leaving only 4 splayed legs beneath it. He must have stared at it for a few moments because Thora, still wheezing, said, “Sorry! Dad’s American, Muggle born. I got brought up on Wile E. Coyote! Meep meep, asshole!” She crowed at the boggart, who twitched at each new peal of laughter.

He felt his lips stretch and he said, “Funny.”

In the face of her mirth, the whole thing scooted backwards, then dove back into the case for relative safety and quiet, which made her laugh harder, tightly curled hair quivering in her glee. Part of him, the Professor part, quite detached, was glad that she had come about so quickly and found something so effective. Another, separate, walled off part truly and completely and sincerely no longer wanted to be here. A wolf scrabbling at the walls of a room on fire.

“...You should try again. To be sure you have it.”

And she did.

Twice. Control.

After the boggart had fled once more, he waved his wand, closed the case and locked it. Thora flexed her arm and said, “Take after my mum, I guess! Werewolf slayer!”

“Well done.”

She hesitated and said, “Are you alright, Professor? You’ve got...awful quiet.” She looked unsure, even concerned.

Something in the vicinity of a smile came over his face. “Yes.”

Sweet, kind, werewolf-fearing Thora frowned and studied his face, then softened and said, “Professor Lupin...were you a little scared, too?”

Deep in his pockets, he felt his hands begin to shake. Trusted. “Yes,” he repeated. “I think...I must have been.” 

Something like sympathetic relief swept onto her face and, Hufflepuff through and through, asked, “Are you okay?”

“Mum killed it.”

“You’re one of the nicest Professor’s we’ve ever had.”

“A pink monster is still a monster.”

A latch shattered--

There is no monster in that trunk, there is one monster in this room. There is no monster in that trunk---

Student.

“I am. Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Satisfied, she turned and eyed the case. “We don’t...have to do this again, right? Not until O.W.L.S.?”

“No. Just the essay.”

Flashing a grin, she blew out a breath and clapped her hands together decisively, “PHEW! Good! I really don’t want to see that again soon. Or ever.” She turned back to him and, automatically, a smile pasted itself on his face, like holding up a mirror. “I’m really glad I chose to do the private lesson, I, uh, know a couple people who wouldn’t have let me live down that little scene that happened. But...thank you. Sorry if it was hard on you, too,” she added.

“Don’t worry about me.” Then stop making her worry. Selfish.  “You did very, very well, Thora, and I’m proud of you. I’ll see you in class.”

“See you in class!” A bounce in her step, she scooped up her bag and thrust her wand behind her ear. With a fierce grin, he heard her say to herself, “I did it.”

She looked back at him and the smile flicked back on. Behind it, it felt distinctly cracked. He waved. She waved and left. The door closed. He sat down, on the floor. His hands shook.

It was a long, long time before he could touch the trunk.

[kyloren]

Mileven post-S2 fanfiction recommendation list: PART V

For past rec lists please see instalments I, II, III, and IV. If your fanfic isn’t featured, apologies. Message me and we’ll amend that grievance in the next rec list instalment. 

* marks the ongoing stories. 

canon: 

for laughs, for luck, for the unknown by ArtemisRae: “Mike goes away to college. El goes with him. Within a year she gains a new set of grandparents, a pet, a job, and enforces party rules.” 

+ its sequel the monkey in the wrench by ArtemisRae: “Mike ends up in the hospital, El has to face her insecurities, and they turn the corner with Mike’s parents.” [ArtemisRae’s works are so beautiful, I can’t breathe.] 

a wonderful awful idea by ArtemisRae: “Mike wants to recapture the Christmas magic of his childhood, but mostly he accidentally makes his girlfriend cry.” 

the last picture show by ArtemisRae: “Hopper catches Mike and El at the local drive in after being led to think that they were at the Hawk with their friends.” 

six weeks* by bananannabeth: “There are six weeks between the night El comes home and the night of the Snow Ball, which leaves not a lot of time to deal with a whole lot of shit. Somehow, she and Mike ride it out.” 

can’t argue with that by bananannabeth: “Karen is well aware of how stubborn her only son can be, but as much as he tries to pretend he has to do everything on his own, Mike isn’t alone anymore. So if he’s insisting on running to El’s rescue at the cabin in the middle of the woods at two in the morning, you can bet his mom is not letting him go alone.” 

+ its prequel with background Mileven: alone by bananannabeth: “Karen left Joyce alone when she so obviously needed support, and now she’s trying to make amends. Casserole and coffee seems as good a place as any to start.” God, I love bananannabeth’s You Can Talk To Me (aka. Karen Wheeler is a Good Mom™) series so, so much. 

just another sleepy sunday by suchastart: “Game night, a few years into the future.” 

promises by blacktreeswhitesky: “For Jane Ives, it’s always been like this. She was always searching for something, for someone.” [I’M NOT CRYING. YOU ARE CRYING.] 

how we sleep by zombiecupcake: “The gate is closed, and the gang finds themselves getting the much deserved rest they all needed.” 

love you like that* by ohanae: “Snippets out of Mike and El’s life after she closed the gate to the Upside Down. They learn things together, go to school together, grow up together.” 

operation christmas for el* by Booklover1217: “When the party discovers that El has never experienced a Christmas before they are horrified. That is until Mike comes up with the plan to give El the most amazing first Christmas imaginable and so Operation Christmas for El is born. The next days that follow are filled with gingerbread, mistletoe, snow, and the magic of Christmas which just may change El’s life forever.” 

home by lesbeatlesbunch: “Mike gets his license.” 

pretty by hma1313: “Sometimes he thinks he sees her standing at the end of the street in that ratty dress of his sister’s, the fabric torn and stained, but he’ll blink and then she’s gone and he’s half convinced he imagined it all.” 

scrap my knees, whatever; i’m gonna let them bleed by ceruleanstorm: “How many compliments can Mike and El yell at each other over a card game?” 

close the door by g00denough: “Because we are just waiting for when someone walks in on El and Mike kissing.” 

things you said* by Brown Eyes Parker: “a collection of one-shots revolving around Mike & Eleven and things they say to each other.” 

+ its sort of sequel, sort of outtakes things you said, alternate stories* by Brown Eyes Parker: “Original and alternate or continuations of stories in my “things you said” series.” 

heartbeats in the quiet by screamingintosilence: “It was usually just a cold, but this felt like the flu.” 

perfect summer day by AR357: “It was a sunny summer day in 1984. Mike had been looking forward to this day for a while. With each breath of crisp summer air, he felt more and more invigorated. With each hill he crested, he felt his heart thumping away. But then again, maybe he was just thinking about what the day’s events would hold.” 

flutterby, butterfly* by foreverinthe_eighties: “What would happen if, years after the events that took place in 1984, Kali seeks Eleven out herself. And gives her the opportunity to change her mind.” 

the name game by Strange_Archivist: “El and Mike have their first real fight, and it’s a doozy.” 

eleven things* by Socalledfriend: “Eleven returns, but things don’t just go back to the way they were. It’s not clear how she managed to get home, and meanwhile Will’s sickness is only getting worse. Some things never change though, and while she’s back, Mike manages to teach her at least eleven things about the outside world.”

raspberry breeze by urdearestmom: “Sometimes she stays up with him, and she calls him ridiculous. How don't you fall over when you get up in the morning? She asks. Pfft, I don’t need sleep! Who do you think I am? He says, but then he smiles and her heart melts, she's never been able to be angry at this boy for more than a few minutes.”

promises* by Vontar: “Sometimes, it’s the little things in life that matter. Scenes of life from Eleven and Mike, as they face the future together.”

stranger things holiday extravaganza* by Commernator: “Mike, Hopper, and the rest of the party help Eleven experience holidays for the first time.” 

alternative universe: 

the boy with freckles like constellations in the night sky* by got credits (Poly_Grumps): “It had been a quiet night in the town of Hawkins Indiana when Will Byers disappeared seemingly out of thin air. Jane Ellie Ives could still recall her last moments with him, the last words she had spoken with him before she watched him bike off into the night. It had started like any other day in fact, with the curly-haired girl and her gang of friends all sitting around in her basement gathered around a rather intense game of dungeons and dragons!” Reverse AU. [guys, guys, guys. I’m screaming. It’s so good.] 

(all i wanna be is) somebody to you* by sinclairsmax: “Elle Hopper never thought that she’d win American Idol. Then again, she also never thought Mike Wheeler would fall in love with her. Behind the cameras, everything is turned upside down.” YouTube AU. [this is everything I didn’t know I wanted.] 

we could be heroes* by ValBirch: “A series of connected vignettes about our favourite characters—but with superpowers.” Superhuman AU. I repeat, SUPERHUMAN AU. [Plus, the author has a whole set of moodboards/aesthetics for characters and I’m dying.] 

the artist & the dancer* by JavaCat26: “Her warm honey-brown eyes were fixated on him. Emotion washed over him like warm bath water. He wouldn’t let her down. Ever. He took a deep breath, steadied his hand, and pressed his pencil to the canvas. “I can do this…”” College AU. 

upside down and back again* by Crataeis: “When a new threat begins to emerge from the ashes of the Upside Down, an unlikely group of four of our six main protagonists band together to try and stop it.” Alternative Reality? Time Travel AU? I can’t quite tell, but although this fic is in its early stages, it’s really good and worth a look. 

a rose by any other name by serendipitous_rambles: “The Montague and Capulet high schools never got along. There was bitter rivalry between the two schools, nothing good could come from associating with each other. But what happens when two fall in love?” Romeo & Juliet-style High-School AU. 

+ bonus: wherein The Party is featured prominently…again: 

in a dream where the air is soft by a simple space nerd: “El has hair slicked back behind her ears, darkly ringed eyes, and somewhat bedraggled clothes, and Max would normally steer clear of people looking like her, but she’s heard so much about El, and God, why is this group of friends so unlike everyone else Max has ever met? Max never used to care about what random people thought of her. “Curse you, stalker,” she mutters half-heartedly.” [I love Mike and Max in this one. This has to be my favourite interpretation of both characters, hands down. This fic is so in tune with characterisation, it can be considered canon.] 

more than one best friend by topangamatthews: “El’s first best friend is Mike, but he’s not her last.” 

after the gate closed* by insomniacwriter17: “Just one shots about all the little head canons I have.” 

el’s word book* by Noth_lit_9: “El is frustrated that her vocabulary lags behind those of her friends, so Hopper wants to provide her with a way to see her growth.” 

it’s okay to not be okay by talesfromthesnogbox: “Jim Hopper knew it was a real emergency when he was woken in the night by a phone call from his son-in-law Mike from the hospital. All was not well, but Jim reminds Mike that sometimes it’s okay to not be okay.” 

teenage girls by EvieSmallwood: “El & Max hang out at the arcade. They talk about the present and the future.” 

a is for alphabet* by urdearestmom: “Each chapter is a letter of the alphabet, lots of fluff and laughs ensue.” 

so i could kill them for you by valancysnaith: “Max deserves so much better. The party is there for her.” 

.

.

okay, so I had a lot more, but my Cloud messed the fuck up and deleted half of the bookmarks I made. now, I gotta go and track down the fics I lost…

UPDATE: part VI is out.

[breg21]

The Ties that bind us Ch.1

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12840945/1/The-Ties-That-Bind-Us

Chapter 1! I'm so excited to get this story started! I now have a skeleton down; so I know what I basically wanna do with this story, I can't wait to write it all down! Anyway, please enjoy. Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Nickelodeon does.

HOWEVER, LILITH FENTON IS MINE HEHEHE.

Two years had passed. Spring poured into summer, summer had swirled into fall, and winter was now taking its harsh claim over Amity. As the seasons changed so did Team Phantom, which was now their official name. Now that Team Phantom was a renowned worldwide corporation, it allowed people to make ghost hunting to be their career, and people could start as young as fifteen with parental permission. It was now a more government-funded career, with classes taught by educated people that had to get a degree in the field.

It also gave students that wanted to go into ghost hunting a scholarship into college if they wanted something other than ghost fighting, depending on their rank, how invested they were, and what skills they built up over the years. It worked like a grading system; the better the grades, the more scholarships were offered. While there was a grading system in Ghost 101, it worked more on the physical aspects, like gym, and either you passed or failed.

Ghost 102 worked on more of the science of ghost hunting, and was graded like a normal academic class. They were taught how to outsmart a ghost, how to hide from a ghost, and a better understanding of how a ghost thinks for self preservation. The students had to learn how to get out of tough situations that they may get into if a ghost were to attack them.

Danielle wasn't sure how many high school and colleges offered the ghost hunting classes outside of her town, but in town there were three classes: One taught by her grandpa, one by grandma, and one by Valerie's dad, Damien Grey.

Her dad had changed the most, while he wasn't the bulkiest around he was starting to lose his lean build and was gaining muscle from ghost fighting. He kept his hair about the same, and he now towered over Dash at 6'4''. His crystal blue eyes, despite having seen so much horror and shit in his young eighteen years, had retained an understanding of happiness. He always said it was because of his family that he was so grounded in reality. He now wore a plain black t-shirt with his symbolic logo, and simple blue jeans.

She had also changed a little over the years. Her figure was now more refined at sixteen. However, not wanting too many eyes on her, she kept to her baggy hoodies, sweatpants and leggings, unless she was with Tucker, then she'd dress a little differently. Her eyes that matched those of her dad's stayed the same, and honestly so did everything else. She didn't need much of a change.

Her mom and Valerie stayed the same physically, other than filling out in the chest area a bit and gaining a couple inches in height. Valerie still was curvy, and her mom still had her straight figure, which always seemed to compliment her nicely.

Sam was also growing her hair out now; it was just past her shoulders. Her signature clothing hadn't changed much, except for a different deep purple plaid skirt with black lining instead of the green; she had also traded her purple tights for black ones that stopped just above mid-thigh.

Valerie now typically wore a crimson red sweater and black jeans. She preferred to cover up, trying to protect her skin as much as possible if a ghost were to unexpectedly attack, unlike Sam who didn't give a damn, her own words being "If I get a scratch, I get a scratch, I'm not going to worry about it," to which the huntress could only shrug in acceptance. To each their own.

Tucker had changed along with Danny, getting more bulk in his build. It was not as much as the halfa but it added to him, and - to Danielle's utter disgust - made girls chase after him constantly, to which she'd secretly fire an ecto-blast at the fawning girl's ass over her boyfriend. He stood strongly at 6'2'', which still made her have to stand on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. Switching up his own outfit, he now wore a light baby blue hoodie with the logo embedded on the front, dark blue jeans that matched nicely, and a multi-colored beret of green, red and yellow. He was in his last term as mayor.

As of right now, however, it didn't matter how many years had passed; Danielle was still sure that school was the embodiment of torture for teenagers. She had been out with Tucker last night, past curfew -which got her grounded- and she could feel her eyes start to droop. Drool started to pool in her mouth, threatening to spill over. History 2 was so boring, and Lancer hadn't changed over the years; his voice still put people to sleep.

"Ms. Fenton!" Her textbook slid from her desk, dropping to the floor, resounding with a loud thud. Bolting up, her eyes snapped open, sweeping the room, searching for danger. When she came back to reality, she saw her classmates staring back at her in laughter and amusement. Her only response was to shrink a little in her seat. What scared her most was the look of anger on her parents' face.

"Ms. Fenton, do I need to have a conference with your parents? If the cause is ghost fighting, I'd allow it, but seeing as your dad over here is quite awake, something tells me that isn't the case." The glances she received from both eighteen-year-olds told her she didn't want that.

"No, sorry sir." He turned back to his lesson.

"Now, as I was saying-"

Out of nowhere, the ceiling caved in.

Two ghosts - from what Team Phantom could tell, one being Skulker, and one unknown - were in hand-to-hand combat. Skulker, unfortunately, had the upper hand in the fight as they pushed against each other to gain control against the other. His bigger build seemed to tower over her.

The girl looked no older than sixteen. The weird thing about her though, was she had almost the same costume of Team Phantom, complete with the DP logo, sleek green, black, and white colors and all. She had a round baby face, thin lips pressed firmly together, with a narrow scrunched up nose as she fought off Skulker. Her waist length hair was snow white, much like Danny's in ghost form, and her amethyst eyes narrowed in concentration on her fight.

There was something else she noticed about this new girl. A medallion hung loosely around her neck, with the letters CW imprinted in the middle that stood for Clockwork.

Just great.

Time travel. Can't we have a normal month?

The girl's head turned to the side, piercing daggers at the team. "A little help here you guys?" She hissed through her teeth as she continued to struggle with the hunter.

The four broke into action. Valerie, Sam, and Tucker pulled bazookas from their backpacks, while Danny and Danielle changed forms, and all started striking the hunter with ectoblast after ectoblast. It was moments before he was easily contained in a Thermos.

The girl got up with the help of Danny. Rolling her shoulder, she groaned in anger and pain at discovering that her shoulder was dislocated.

"Thanks, dad." the halfa said.

Everyone but the four gasped in shock at hearing this girl call him dad.

'Wasn't Danielle his only daughter? How many clones did Masters create?' was the only thought from their fellow classmates.

Ignoring their shock, Danny continued as if it was nothing. "What's your name?" He came up to her, grabbing her shoulder, signaling that this was going to hurt, and she nodded in agreement, used to this by now.

"Lilith." she grit out between her teeth. He grabbed her forearm, placing one hand on her shoulder, and snaps it back into place.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm uncle Clockwork's apprentice. I'm from about twenty or so years into the future. Sometimes he has to send me to different times to test me so that I can learn to do things correctly. I don't exactly know why I'm here yet."

Oh, that made sense. Sorta.

"Wait," Sam cut in, placing her weapon back in her backpack and snapping the Thermos back onto her specter deflector belt. "I don't get it, why would Clockwork need an apprentice? He's the master of time. "

"Even the master of time needs a break too mom. Humans and ghosts are a pain to watch over constantly. And don't even get me started on the Observants." She shuddered at the thought of them.

"Okay." They all turned to the new nasally voice that enters the conversation; Mikey. "There's something I just don't get. Your daughter, from the future, just fell from the sky, and you act as if it's nothing. What made you so jaded that your future daughter coming here doesn't boggle your mind?"

In response, all fingers of the group, including that of her own, pointed to Danielle. "I was kinda the straw that broke the camel's back," She explained, with pride gleaming in her beautiful brilliant blue eyes.

"Shouldn't you be more careful of what you do here, haven't you heard of the butterfly effect?" That earned the nerd an eye roll.

"Why do people have the premise that time is so sensitive? The butterfly effect only happens in extreme cases."

"Do we have any more siblings in the future?" Dani asked.

Lilith turned back to look at her older sibling, "Yeah. He's a little shit too. He's thirteen." Lilith mumbled sorry when she saw the angered look of her parents at the swear word.

Well, they definitely had time to perfect it with Danielle.

That was when all hell broke loose.

Questions were thrown at her from the class, several all at once, one after another which eventually became a mess of words, shouting, and people who wanted their question answered. Poor Mr. Lancer couldn't even quiet the kids.

Danielle then offered Lilith a hand - even twenty years in the past the sisters had a special connection – and Danielle boosted her up onto Lancer's desk. Bringing her fingers to her mouth, Lilith let out a loud piercing whistle.

"Okay. Mr. Lancer has a class to teach, and I still have to figure out why I'm here. I'll answer only three questions, but then my family and I gotta get out of here. Now, one at a time and you better raise your hand. I won't answer if you don't raise your hand."

Paulina was the first to raise her hand, to which Lilith, with much disgust, picked her. "Do I marry the ghost boy?"

Lilith's eyes squinted in confusion at the eighteen-year-old, her mouth agape for a second, truly contemplating whether or not if this chick was for real. She could tell the rest of her family felt the same, and her dad was holding mom against him, trying to calm her with whispers into her ear so that she wouldn't go and attack the girl.

"Are you serious right now? I just referred to Sam as my mom. Wanna know why? 'Cause they've been married for years in my time."

The latina shrugged. "You can't tell me she amounts to much." Lilith, bless her heart, was mid-air, about to pounce on the older - older to her at least - girl when Danielle caught her by the waist, clutching her younger sister to her chest to try calming her baby sister.

"My mom is a world-renowned fashion designer that makes Danny Phantom clothing. Who do you think came up with my dad's logo? My mom." She stressed the name. "She's also a great ghost hunter along with the rest of my family. My parents are rich, I don't have to worry about any college money wise, but I sure as hell don't flaunt it like you do.

"And another thing, you marry Baxter. Have fun with that. At least one of your children doesn't turn out as horrible as you. The other one is terrible, unfortunately. "

"So we have two kids?" The jock asked sheepishly, as to not upset the girl.

While Dash didn't raise his hand like she had asked in the beginning, Lilith let it slide; she was nice like that."Yep. My brother is actually dating your younger one, Ashlen is her name. It's cute, 'cause she's nothing like her mother. From what I can tell, she likes him for him, and not just his ghost half." She smirked at the girl who was now glaring at her. Not that she minded. Paulina didn't scare her, neither did her kid.

"What's the other one's name? Please tell me it's a boy, I want to keep the Baxter name going." That angered her. He never changed. She had to bite back a growl that bubbled in her throat.

"That-"

"Why are we discussing this?" Mikey piped in once again. "She's from the future. This is only going to mess up the timeline."

That only pissed her off even more. "I have had training with the master of time himself. I think I know more than you're aware of. Have you even met Clockwork? No. So shut up and sit down. I have to cut this short anyway. I really have to find out why I'm here."

She turned to her family. "Let's go to Nana's. We'll discuss everything there." They all nodded in agreement, telling Lancer that they'd pick up their homework after school.

"Race ya." She saw the challenge in her big sister's eyes as she transformed.

"Oh, you're so on!" With that, they sped off towards nana's house, Danielle just a tad ahead.

Yee. I personally love the idea that Danielle and Lilith are close, despite the big age difference. Anyway, let me know your thoughts! Until next time. (I know I said it'd be longer until I posted this story, but I just had so much inspiration for this one that I had to write. Lol)

Shoutout to my amazing beta reader silente faery. The rest will be posted on Fanfiction. I hope you guys enjoy!

[dunesofblack]

Bunyip

I am really aggrivated at myself for putting this off but some time ago I commissioned several pieces for my Skyrim characters. Remember those? Back at the very beginning of this rather “interesting” tumblr page (okay, maybe half as interesting but still =b). I also wrote a short story that is supposed to prequel these two commissions. Both are done by the wonderful writer Scape. Funny, ‘chill’, and as of this post currently open for commissions. 

This is my story. It is SFW and just a ‘get to know’ for characters. I just hope I did them justice. 

“SKYRIM INN”

Drifts of snow warmed to a mist as it drifted off the sharp sides of High Hrothgar. Ides of a warm summer had bowed the chill of fall and now winter. Ivarstead sat as busy as the outpost town could. Between travelers seeking Riften Hold over the mountains and pilgrims seeking to journey the Thousand Steps, the locals kept business running along the riverside with logging as well. Wilhem, barkeep of the Vilemyr Inn, and barmaid Lynly Star-Sung, or Svidi to the Black-Briars, held up most of Ivarstead as the Vilemyr took in more business than most others.

Strangers came in the night, nine all together, from the corners of Skyrim. Each with their own rank and wear as an invitation of questionable origins drew each of them to the mountainside town. A few knew of the existence of one another, others heard only rumors, but the majority were ignorant.

The first to enter were punctual, a pair of Imperial soldiers who had remained garrisoned within Skyrim’s borders as the civil war ended. None paid them attention as they entered the Vilemyr Inn from the cooling night and strode to the reserved room with little more than the rasp of leather from their Imperial armor. The aged Breton Istndre Vaudik took the lead as he sat opened the door, pulled out a chair, and promptly sat without so much as a word. His stooge, fellow soldier, or whatever one might wish to call the brute that was Virales Wotrucia closed the door behind them before taking his own place.

While Virales was strong, hawk nosed, proud chin, and the epitome of Imperial strength, Istndre was a different sort. His greying hair was balding from the crown and framed his calm, round face nicely. Brown eyes passively took in his environment before settling calmly though his sharp brows continued to impress attentiveness. A pair of white marks decorated his cheeks like boar tusks and marked his High Rock heritage. The right one was marred slightly by a burn received in combat, promising a good tale should the Breton ever speak up about it.

Virales was less impressive. Tall and invoked the image of a standing bear with his broad muscles straining at his Imperial uniform. Virales’s hair greyed though less than his companions. Neither had to wait long before a third person arrived, opening the door to the minstrel’s music and shutting it before poor Lynly could ask if they required service.

A cold faced Nord woman took one of the seats next to Virales without glancing his way, leaning back so her Elven armor clinked faintly against the chair. Every aspect of the newcomer spoke a lifetime of violence and her mixture of Elven armor with Dwarven sword and glass shield enforced the though. When they asked her name she merely introduced herself as Vylkrin without saying a word further. Imperial soldiers though they were, Virales and Istndre knew better than to pry. Skyrim once again belonged to the Nords under the High King. This woman, with her cold blue eyes, lips a frost-bitten purple color, numerous scars dancing across her lower face, and apparent habitually shaved head was no different. Beneath her golden brows the skin around her eyes appeared bruised or sunken in. Whatever this Vylkrin had for secrets she could keep them.

Calls from outside drew the attention of the soldiers, but not the sword-maiden, to the door. Heavy knocks from high on the door rattled the wood portal on its hinges. When Istndre opened it out of etiquette he was greeted with a wall of muscled flesh and assorted heavy armor. The Breton would have thought the man was half-troll considering how tall he was, stooping to achieve access into the room, perhaps taller than the Altmer. When others thought of the Nords they pictured large, muscular men with flowing blond hair and piercing eyes as blue as the winter sky. This one fit the image. Just looking at him Istndre knew the man to be a warrior. An iron helmet with downward curved horns sat on his head and complimenting the long brown beard that hung over paldroned steel armor. His hands were clad in ebony gauntlets and feet shoed in Orchish boots. A glass battleax was slung over his shoulder and looked to be recently used. However, as he passed and took a seat, Istndre noticed the blank look in the man’s eyes. It was not the leagued stare of a veteran. More it seemed as the absent gaze of a fool.

Istndre closed the door and was almost to his seat before another knock came at the door. The veteran Imperial soldier gave a sigh but heeded the inquiry anyway. He was surprised further by an Orc woman looking to be in her middle years and wearing full steel armor favored by the Nords able to craft. Istndre quickly corrected his thoughts as he spotted a pair of gauntlets that appeared to be crafted out of large bone. The Orc introduced herself calmly in a deep but soothing voice as Jezveka Nehmwin. She was broad and thick, though not as large as some Orc, and had the impressive as well as obvious strength her kind was known for. However, it was perhaps her face the drew more attention. Her dark hair was bulled back to a sophisticated bun and kept in place by a pin, giving Jezveka an air of refinement that appeared almost completely out of context with the savage red war-paint on her face. It was reminiscent of the sharp-toothed maw of a beast slightly above her jaw, hooks beneath her eyes, and three blades holding the imaginary jaws together at her brow. Small, almost cutesy tusks poked out from otherwise enviously kissable and plump lips. As small button nose that seemed somewhat large in comparison rested above but had the ridges of feigned anger along its bridge, a thing most orcs could never be rid of it seemed. Last but not least were her distinctive yellow eyes outlined with red splashes of twilight. Jezveka’s eyes held a feral intensity yet also kindness and intelligence no mere beast could possibly imitate. She wore a dagger at the hip but also an ancient Nordic battleax at her back. An odd woman, especially an Orc considering she did not name a stronghold.

Entering, Istndre found himself staring at the alluring barbarian woman as he closed the door only to have it tap against something hard with a grunt. The same grunt earned the glances of everyone as a second Orc stood in the doorway. Grizzled, blocky face with accumulated scruff and medium length hair curled into a singular line of dark dreads front to back along his head. Scarlet warpaint framed his cheeks and enforces his brow, lined with Orc spikes along his forehead. The only scars he bore were three claw gashes along his face of a powerful animal that got the better of him. Istndre and Virales both gave the Orc a good looking over. What little armor he wore he had in a fur skirt kept around his waist and boots. Something told them that animal that had left its mark never got a second chance.

He was about to close the room to the hall when a slight cough caught his attention and the Imperial soldier turned to see a fellow Breton standing in the door with a disarming smile. Thin of body and light of skin, the man’s green eyes and red hair was a striking contrast to normal Bretons. It certainly made him stand out in Istndre’s eyes. The man’s smile widened, and he greeted Istndre with a silver tongue. Hinthaur Brobrok was his name, from Riften, and worked magic for entertaining travelers. The man’s hair was cropped and shot up in a singular backward spiked ridge with one long braid curling down his left side past his ear. His face had similarities with the noble busts of nobles with a proud nose, sharp brows, and pensive lips. If it were not for the green tattoos running up the sides of his neck to his lips and cheeks like roots of a sigil tree, Hinthaur could be considered less masculine. Toss an elegant dress on the man and most would think the Breton a woman. Istndre’s eyes narrowed as he allowed the man inside the room. His memory took him back to his time in Cyrodil and when he had seen the pretty men in gowns from the Summerset Isles. The Dominion and their damnable parties.

All sat around the table, seven in number. Between the three large warriors, Orc barbarian, Virales the Imperial, and the giant of a Nord, the remaining four spread themselves so as not to disrupt the lingering feeling of tension between the three. The barbarian Orc glanced in Jezveka’s direction and grunted, speaking something in their native tongue, but the woman ignored him. Instead, she sat next to Vylkrin who seemed as ambivalent to the male tension yet cautious. Then there was Hinthaur who was all smiles and Istndre who was deeply concerned about those smiles.

The door opened once more as the last of them stood in the doorway. Each of them eyed the stranger with interest as the woman, from what the keen-eared could discern of her velveteen voice, had Lynly bring a round of drinks, beef stew, and several apple dumplings. Waiting until the Nord barmaid had left, thanking her before closing the door, the stranger turned to the guests. A solemn grey mask of old design adorned her face, silted horizontally for the eyes and mouth, and a blocky stop at the chin. A gold-emerald ring adorned her left hand and a bone-hawk amulet around her neck. She wore hooded and fur lined robes that resembled a cross between regular mage attire and a triangular poncho draped across the front and back. The robe was obviously had crafted and of some special importance.

Instdre’s eyes widened as he recognized the make, bolting from his chair to stand straight with Virales following his example. “Greetings Archmage!”

A soft chuckle whispered from beneath the mask and grey-skinned hands, long fingered but not indelicate, pulled back the robe’s hood before removing the mask. “Thank you soldier, your attentiveness honors your legion and people. I am Azuhrunith Mezaref, Archmage of the College of Winterhold. It is a blessing to meet each one of you.”

Behind the mask a lithely thin but odd-looking Dunmer seemed to gaze back at them. Sharp of face, Azuhrunith had a complexion and build most unusual of her kind. A creamy grey skin like smoothed mountain rock, and set within were unnaturally milky pearls, the eyes of a blind man even though the Archmage seemed to look around as if capable of sight. Whether by magic or some other means, red pigment surrounded the lids of her milky eyes like flower petals in spring. Several small gashing scars marred the left side of her face from chin to cheek. Three slashing diagonally to her ear in a triangular pattern between mouth and lips, and a smaller fourth at the hollow of her cheek. Each revealed a tender pinkish flesh beneath the alluring grey visage. Silvery-pink cupid bow lips held a multitude of Azuhrunith’s subtle, and seemingly mischievous, expressions. Tribal, golden-yellow arrows dripped from the lower lip to chin just as others formed up and around from the corners of her eyes along the bridge of her nose. They stitched up across her brows before curling down like a ram’s horns along her cheeks and twisting just before reaching her jawline. Perhaps an attempt to hide the scars on her face with something a bit more striking though one may have predated the other. Hardened, prominent, and high-sitting cheekbones as well as chiseled brows without hair give her odd face an even more alluringly strange appearance. All of this, culminating with her naturally bald and rounded scalp, giving her an even stranger air of paradox and unwellness. Hairless save for the long lashes upon the lids of her eyes. The Archmage was less of stature than normal Dunmer, a full head shorter and most certainly smaller than all but the shortest of Bosmer.

When those lips opened to reveal oddly whitened teeth a voice issued forth as a divine matron speaking to her children. “Greetings, one and all; well met. As the good Istndre declared I am the Archmage though please call be Azuhrunith or Azuh as your tongues will allow.”

A click of the tongue before she continued. “Looks as if nine of us are present. Well then, shall we begin?”

“Pardonings Archmage,” The rough Nord man clad in armor rumbled in his thick accent. “But there be eight of us with you.”

“Mmm?” A ghost of a smirk tinged Azuhrunith’s pearly lips. “Two of them came in at the same time. The invisibility potion should be wearing off any moment now.”

“Throm not like mage elf.” The barbarian Orc spoke up this time, pointing a rough finger as he leaned in his seat. “Little head spells not work on Throm. Speak good or Throm take head of mage elf.”

Jezveka tensed next to a relaxed Vylkrin. The Nord man uncrossed his arms as both Imperial soldiers rose from their seats with eyes locked on the Orc. Only Hinthaur remained seated where he was, unconcerned by the imminent struggle which seemed fated to occur. But it never did. Just as the Archmage said, a figure became apparent in a false sunburst of dull gold and sunset purple. The last of the strangers was revealed to Throm’s great annoyance, the evidence of wanting to take his threat out on the newly appeared person evident on his face.

“Ladies,” Hinthaur stood next to the quickly visualized Dunmer. “Gentlemen. May I introduce Evinence Veel.

Unlike the Archmage, Evinence had the suspect traits of a Dark Elf. Sharp faced like most Dunmer, white haired spiked up like a bush while ivory sideburns fuzzed at his jowls, his compact body most certainly was taller than the Archmage while still short enough to sneak around. Dark grey skin looked as if it had been toughened over the years to provide a calloused weave to his taut muscles. The tribal imprinting of a red hand marked his forehead and the only sign of weakness he could not mask was the one scar, trailing down from the corner of his left eye. A reminder that not even the most skilled of vagabonds were always perfect. And Veel was most certainly one. Unlike Hinthaur who wore simple mage robes and expensive boots, Veel’s gauntlets and boots were of a dark material that seemed to blend into shadows while his body was covered in brownish armor covered in pockets and belts. But his face drew the most attention, not for his odd marks but for the iridescence of his orange eyes and the telltale red line that cut from his bottom lip.

“Lawful will not drink from same table as vampire.” The Nord rumbled as he rose, dull blue eyes becoming frightfully intense.

The one named Veel smiled as he reached for his crude looking Orc dagger, hissing in contest. But before either could touch their weapon, the Archmage clapped her hands together. They did not move but eyed the small Dark Elf with question.

“I did not spend resources and time to have you kill one another at this point.” Her voice was calm but with unwavering authority. “Please sit down. You are my guests here tonight, every one of you, and it is impolite for guests to maul one another before food or drink.”

Lawful the Nord grunted but sat down as his chair groaned in protest. “Still not drink from same table as filthy vampire.”

“I would expect no less of Lawful the Paladin.” Azuhrunith’s face never seemed to turn in address as if truly she was blind. “Now then, I am sure each of you is questioning why you have been summoned in such a manner and to such a remote location. Firstly, I have called all here for sharing something in common. Each of us has had dealings with the Dragonborn at some point.”

A round of breaths went around the table. Some gasping, some hissing, some calming, others easing. Each looked at one another with more interest than when they had first met.

The Archmage continued. “Yes, each of us had known the Laat Dovahkiin at some time and in some place. Allies, enemies, and opponents.” She stopped to give a pointed glare in  Throm’s direction, which was starting to become a common occurrence. “We have aided the Dragonborn and his companions in their quests across Skyrim. It is for this reason that I specifically called upon each of you. Second, we each would have crossed paths sooner or later and I would have us know one another before having at it in the least.”

Virales was next to speak. “You wish us to acknowledge the Dragonborn, hero of Skyrim and the Nords, Slayer of Alduin, Ally of the Companions, Defender of the Empire and Champion High Queen Elisif, Draugr-bane, traded horn-cups with a vampire and expect us to as well?”

“Dragon, vampire, werewolf, giant, wispmother, hagraven, and Deadra.” Azahrunith spoke smoothly as she slipped into her chair. “Laat Dovahkiin considered all of us allies at one time or another. Here I amend we judge by no more than this.”

Though the Imperial let some of his tension pass, Evinence and his crony Hinthaur across the table only made the appearance of. He knew better than any of them, save perhaps the Orc Jezveka. Evinence had heard of her, the brawler, a blacksmith out of Markarth and trader in Falkreath. The Thieves Guild had gathered stray words on the wind for him and the vampire master thief so kept his throne underneath Riften. Hinthaur by his side, loyal and watchful, with silver tongue. Each one seated knew Evinence as a monster, it was to be expected as he was a vampire, but if they only knew how much more the Archmage was than he. He pondered how fearful they would become. Perhaps more afraid than he.

Evinence felt it though, those milky eyes upon him. Staring yet not staring. Without thinking he had reached for his dagger and caught himself. It was better not to cause trouble, not with her around. Evinence would play this game so long as both thieves left alive with a little something. His only worry was that they were already playing one of hers.

“Is the thought sound enough for everyone to take in?” Azuhrunith asked, face subtly shifting into a smile.

“It is fair.” Lawful the Paladin grumbled and Throm along side him.

The Imperial soldiers nodded, Vylkrin tilted her head, and Jezveka gave a slight bow from her waist.

“Very good then. As you know, Jarl Balgruff is superstitious after the civil war and the end of the dragon threat. I meant to reserve part of the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood. However, with the tripled guard and the nearby destruction of Helgen the townspeople have become inquisitive. An inquisitive mind and gossiping lips are to things I know some of you wish to avoid.” The Archmage allowed the corners of her mouth to widen a little. “Ivarstead provided a secluded location where people worry more about bears, bandits, or trolls rather than the odd stranger.”

“For us less than welcome persons?” Vylkrin’s voice bit at the end yet lacked Nord accent almost entirely.

The Archmage seemed to flinch at the comment, though it could have been a smirk. “Prying eyes and gossiping are what happen in most taverns. Nine strangers reserve a room. Two Orsimer, Two Breton, Two Nords, an invisible vampire, an Archmage wearing a mask for a disguise, and an Imperial built like a war horse. Care to guess how many enemies we have between us? No, I brought us here for privacy. Solitude in which to introduce ourselves, learn prospective boundaries, and perhaps for alliances if not neutralities.”

“Throm no care about privacy. No care about tavern. Why Throm not cut little mage head from shoulders?”

“Because then, my good Throm, you would not be able to hear what beasts and battles lie with your future.” The Archmage smiled as the barbarian quieted and leaned forward with interest. “Each of us has experienced many things in our travels with Laat Dovahkiin. And while I would enjoy nothing more than to spend all night and day listening to your tales, it would be best to simply introduce ourselves and give a brief account. In this way, we shall know one another and perhaps gain from this understanding.”

That is the witch’s game then? Evinence narrowed his glimmering eyes. Control the information and have a tight hold upon knowledge. With these two things one could topple dynasties. And she uses it to manipulate some of the most experienced persons in all of Skyrim simply by introducing them to one another and guiding conversation.

He did not appreciate being used but the Dunmer vampire knew better than to challenge the woman opposite of him, Archmage or not. But if I can strengthen my position as head of the Thieves Guild then all the more reason to participate. Perhaps a bit of lying is in order.

Evinence and Hinthaur exchanged a subtle look before the master thief turned back to the Archmage, consenting with a nod. Others around the table appeared interested at least in the prospect. The Orc barbarian most of all looked eager to have new fighting opponents, or at least companions who might tell him of powerful beasts to hunt.

“Very well then, I will begin.” The female Orc spoke with her soothing rumble. “I am Jezveka Nehmwin though some know me as ‘the brawler’ for beating my opponents without weapons. Falkreath is my home though not my hold. I declare no stronghold nor have I need of one. The Dragonborn and companion offered me a chance to end Silver-Blood and Foresworn rule in Markarth hold, I readily accepted as it was there I had settled to ply my trades at the time. I fought with them throughout the civil war and along side the Companions as well as the Circle.”

A few confused looks passed over the group, though only Azahrunith, Hinthaur, and Evinence knew the meaning. Only they were closely aware of the certain eccentricities of the Companions and their hunting behaviors.

“I abandoned Markarth after the Foresworn rebellion. The Dragonborn was able to introduce me to the Jarl of Falkreath and secure a position for me in the hold. I work there as an enchanter and blacksmith.” Jexveka finished and folded her arms.

“You craft and enchant as well?” Istndre asked.

Jezveka nodded and the Imperial soldier took the Archmage’s request of gathering in a new light. It was rare a blacksmith deviated from their trade. And one who could enchant anything, armor or weapons, that they themselves forged would be a prized asset. The Empire would be keenly interested in commissioning from this Orsimer woman.

“Let us be done with this then.” Vylkrin spoke up. “I am Vylkrin, sell-sword. Traveled with the Dragonborn over many paths and through many places. Little there is that I have not killed. While I am an enchanter and blacksmith as well, I prefer sword and shield to earn my coin.”

Hinthaur’s smile widened a little. Between these crusaders of the Dragonborn there was at least one who would do anything for coin. A blacksmith with enchantment skills none the less. Two for the price of one, even if this Vylkrin had not put her labored skills to practice in many seasons. Thieves used equipment just as hardily as warriors and enchantments were their lifeblood. It would be true that a good thief could do without, but an excellent thief understood to use every trick they might without compensating.

“Virales.” Rumbled the barrel-chested Imperial, scowling lips and jutting hawk nose giving the man a dower impression.

“And Istndre, of Cyrodiil. Legionaries both.” The aged Breton finished for his comrade in arms. “We served under General Tulius while the Dragonborn aided us through the civil war, of which we are indebted. I am a fire-mage from High Rock, though Cyrodiil and the Empire has been my home since I was a wee lad. Most recently our outfit is stationed near Marthal at the Hjaalmarch encampment.”

Evinence subtly perked. He had business in the Hhaalmarch hold. Black-Briars wished to expand their trades and it was easy to slip flat bottomed lugs through the inlets of the marsh. It was near the East Empire Company docks but that made it all the better for shifting things in and out through the mists. The vampire thief glanced up to see Azuhrunith give him a meaningful glance and ever so subtle smirking twitch of her lips before turning to Istndre.

“As a fire-mage used to battle you have also learned restoration magic as well?”

“Quite. Though not as well as yourself or the renown teachers at the College of Winterhold.” Istndre offered a bow, he was too old to blush at a young woman’s charms. “I am well learned with the flame branch of destruction magic, restoration for wards and basic healing taught by High Rock elders as well as the Imperial Legion instructors, and alteration for battle armor as time required though I have laxed and my alteration would barely be called competent.”

“Truly?” Azuhrunith’s eyelids shifted ever so slightly. “Never the less, few in the college ever experience combat lest they turn to less desirable studies or take up alternative activities with mercenaries hunting beasts as well as bandits. Though we at the college are knowledgeable more than not, most lack experience. Quite a few come to the college now to practice destruction magic even though that the civil war is over. It would no doubt encourage such students to learn from an instructor experienced in such matters. And also provide an important opportunity for Imperial Legions should they be provided incentives by the Empire.”

Istndre’s eyes widened. “You would invite me into the sacred halls of the college to instruct?”

“What do you take me for? A Mage Guild conspiracist?” The Archmage laughed, a lightly thing like birdsong among spring wind leaves. “No, the College of Winterhold will open its doors to all interested in the aspects of magic so long as they bear no harm. Under the past Archmage, Savos Aren, the College of Winterhold stood firmly influenced by its own council. However, in recent events I have found it necessary to lend a slightly open hand to the Jarls and to the High Queen. I still maintain Savos Aren’s point that whatever happens outside the college is of little importance to the students unless it affects their or the college’s interests. I also maintain that students do nothing to bring harm to the college, the hold, or the persons within the college reach. Anything beyond this is theirs to explore. Should they choose to join the Imperial Legion after being inspired by a particular part-time instructor, that is between their families and Cyrodiil.”

“I thank you Archmage.” Istndre bowed as best he could in his chair.

Azuhrunith waved his gratitude with a little concern. “Please do not be so formal. I can only promise a seasonal position and little coin at the college. There is a woman who runs an oddities trade post in Winterhold named Birna. She lost her brother to wraiths a few seasons ago and lives by herself. I might convince her to rent part of her home to a reliable High Rock man should he bring some business her way.”

The smooth transitions the Archmage wove caught Istndre by surprise. For the cost of making Winterhold a traveled and sought market for the local Imperial encampment even if it was closer to Dawnstar, taking only a temporary position at the famed College of Winterhold, and providing a place to spend his retirement the Archmage had steered the old Imperial soldier in to the stable with only words. And only a fool would discard the offer. There was a chance she knew of Istndre’s retirement from the Legion though that was a far-fetched thought. One could make an easier run of killing the Emperor.

Such transitions were not lost on Evinence nor Hinthaur either. Azuhrunith was fortifying her position in Winterhold. College students would receive knowledge of combative magic outside of personal experience, the Empire would take a great interest in the College and the Mage Guild would have competition from the north, and the students were able to transition from the college to the Legion if they so pleased. It was a fine web the Archmage wove.

Virales appeared bored rather than excited. He had served with Istndre since joining the Legion. From Cyrodiil and the Sunset Isles and back, the men had fought in battles without glory and skirmishes that could never be told. Both were near retiring, unable to gain more rank as their prime had passed them and with few coin the Empire gave as compensation to those who had made it through many years of service. Only to be stationed at the far north of Tamriel.

“And Falkreath is a wonderful hold as well.” The Archmage continued, drawing the Imperial’s attention back to the present. “Cold and damp through the seasons but quite beautiful. It is a small hold but quite needy as it serves as the gateway to Skyrim. Jezveka Nehmwin, does not Jarl Siddgeir have need of warriors now that the war and strife is over?”

“He moans like the winter winds about it.” The Orsimer woman let out a heavy sigh and gave a shrug. “At last I heard he is recruiting from the local Imperial encampment, offering the position of thane should any person step forward. He has pestered even me to take up the post, but seats in the hold make me uncomfortable as I have enough work to accomplish at the forge.”

With the sway of a hand, the Archmage turned the attention back to Virales. “Then should an Imperial veteran, say one experience in many battles as well as having known General Tulius and Laat Dovahkiin, should come forward to inquire about the position they would be received with as much joy as a Nord can offer. Doubly so, I would think, if he were an Imperial able to converse freely with the Falkreath Imperial encampment.”

Grunting, Virales swelled his chest a little. Perhaps retirement would not be so taxing as he had foreseen. A Nord hold far from Cyrodiil is an odd place for an old Imperial, but times were changing. Warmth in winter and food till he was old and feeble was all Virales could ask for. His frowning lips evened though never turned upward and he gave a nod to the Orc Jezveka. He would accept the position at Falkreath should it be open to him.

“The gods surely smiled upon this council.” Azuhrunith clasped her hands as if in thanks, though Veel knew it to be simply for show. “Surely those in Sovngarde, Sand beyond the Stars, and the Far Shores smile down on us.”

“Not care about shores or wheat-hair die-happy.” Throm grumbled.

He received a glare for his declaration, even from the Imperial.

“Well then,” Azuhrunith shifted a little in her chair and crisscrossed her legs in spite of the furniture, revealing to others surprise feet only clothed in wrappings. “It is my turn for introductions then, though I feel slightly expectant in front of you warriors.”

Throm rumbled in pride while the others merely gave a nod in acknowledgement.

“I am Azuhrunith Mezaref, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Watcher of Spriggan Glades, Ally of Lady Valerica and Vampire Lord of the north wastes, Consort of Aedra and Daedra.” The Archmage made a slight bow, clasping her thin hands at her knees as she did so. “It is a blessing to finally meet all of you together.”

“Vampire Lord?”

“Yes?” Azuhrunith gave a sweet smile to the questioning Istndre.

The Breton quickly shook his head. “Nothing, apologies for interrupting Archmage.”

“I am Throm!” Throm banged his fist on the table, causing the stew and brew to stir in their containers, as he growled. “Throm will fight each of you and cut head off of half! Women he will take as mates to keep bed warm back at stronghold, but only if strong as Throm think. No little mage, Throm will use mage head for blood drink and piss in when Throm need leak.”

Unfazed, the Archmage simply gave the brutish barbarian a smirk. She held up a hand in which appeared a swirling orb of ghostly green energy before tossing the spell across the table to Throm. The barbarian made to punch the spell but it instead was absorbed into his being. A faint green in the same color as the orb flittered over his form as he fell back into his chair like a sack of potatoes.

“Well, I believe that answers you questions my good Throm.” The Archmage hummed, leaning back into her chair with legs crisscrossed. “Evinence I believe you are next?”

“Evinence Veel.” The Dunmer vampire hissed, interlocked fingers clasped in front of him, strange eyes almost glowing in the light. “I am master of the Thieves Guild, aid to the Black-Briars, ally of the Dark Brotherhood, and apprentice of the former Lord Harkon.”

At the mention of the last Jezveka’s face twitched ever so slightly. Odd orange and feral yellow eyes met meaningfully for a moment before Evinence split the contact with a smirk. The brawler remained stoic despite the subtle nudge.

“Plentiful talk from a leech and his thrall.” Virales rumbled.

“Court mage, actually.” Evinence corrected. “And a good one at that, brown nose.”

The large Imperial straightened and flexed in his chair, making it seem all the smaller. “At least I speak for myself leech, unlike your blood pet and spindle fingered cravens. Lingering about in the squalor of Riften.”

Hinthaur smirked at the big man’s gruff, the soft lines of his face easing like a practiced courtesan. “Oh, I speak for myself. And I am no thrall to be sure, unlike an Imperial mutt and his camp father. Though I may be misinterpreting and you both are more intimate than that.”

“Blood-giving bitch.” Virales sneered.

Evinence leaned in as well. “Easy talk for a whore of the Dominion and Altmer bastard.”

Istndre opened his mouth, hands clenched even as his faithful comrade made to part the table as water, but the calming voice of the matron Archmage overrode the tension in the room. “Gentlemen, please. Manners. There will be no blood shed or foulness while you are my guests here.”

All calmed but Evinence visibly flinched at the rebuke. He could have taken them, every single one of them. The brawler and the barbarian would be the hardest, the destruction mage and his hulking pet the easiest, the sell-sword was experienced but not enough to give him difficulty, and the one stupidly named Lawful could have only been a true threat if he did not act the incompetent. With ease the pair of thieves could slip in, poisoned the food and drink, and slit the throats of those who could not be killed by concoction alone.

He turned back to gaze at the vampire lord. Azuhrunith stared back at him with those milky blind eyes, head cocked to the side, seeing him without seeing him. The fact that he still had yet to determine whether she was able to see or not still unnerved him. Hinthaur stood by his side and began his introduction but Evinence heard nothing. Then he caught the Archmage’s head tilting again, moving ever so in a sweeping motion toward the Legion bound Breton. Azuhrunith made a rolling motion with her hands. Evinence swallowed the lingering saliva in his mouth and his fear. He knew the Archmage had gathered them together and it appeared that she intended for everyone to leave with something that benefited the others. If the Breton named Istndre carried a scroll of importance, it would be of great value to the Thieves Guild and their allies.

“I am Hinthaur Brobrok of Riften, mage of the Thieves Guild and council to master Evinence Veel.” Hinthaur’s smooth voice seemed to fill in the gap left by the tension before. “Through the Rift and afield I maintain peace amongst the various factions. I form alliances where there were once enemies, and I assure travelers and merchants are able to find hospitality awaiting them in the Rift. The Archmage may have heard of my times of mischief at the college from that old Orsimer librarian, if he is still alive, but I pray you do not hold it against me.”

“Not at all. A student knowledgeable in the ancient Dwemer and dabbler of Nordic ruins such as yourself is quite renown in the halls of the college.” Azuhrunith’s head bent slightly in respect but not looking directly at the man. “However, I should warn you, if you choose to rejoin the college I will not be so lenient to your meddling.”  

A grunt accompanied the large Nord standing as the comparably waifish Breton sitting back down. “I am Lawful of the winter lands. I quest across all lands and kill evil things, served with Dovahkiin in civil war and dragon fight.” He turned to Evinence with a dangerous glitter in his blue eyes. “Want to smite dark elf vampire, but good mage say no.”

He sat down with a thud before picking up a mug and draining it in one pull.

“Well then, let the sup commence.” Azuhrunith took up her own mug and raised it.

The others did the same as bowls were passed around to served portions of the inviting stew within. Whomever had prepared the meal knew what they were doing. Perhaps Ivarstead was the prime place to begin the Thousand Steps because it had the best vittles. Or the other way around. Either way, those who had come as strangers shared meal with one another. Speaking to the Archmage and sell-sword rather than the others, Lawful began a tale of his travels through High Rock’s hunting down a deadly werewolf cult dedicated to Malicath. He told of his search in the wintered forests of Wrothgar, trading the Reachmen and their trained harpies. Lawful finished off his story in a blood-filled battle against an aged werewolf priest across tenuous ruins of Old Orsinium.

Soon Hinthaur, Jezveka, and Virales were telling tales of their own to much laughter and gasps of imagined horror. Azuhrunith and Vylkrin, with hesitation, added their own with Istndre attempting to do his best though he was a bumbling storyteller. Though the night wore on and the brew continued to flow readily, none bothered to stop for rest. There was too much to tell and too little time. As their past travels lead far and wide, all were bound together by the powerful Dragonborn until they met tonight. The gates had been thrown open and the lives of one another came calling to each other. Long into the night they talked, past the time of slumber and served food, until each understood it was time to leave. Azuhrunith, ever the gracious host the Archmage should be, offered several rooms she paid for in advance but few took them.

Vylkrin was the first to leave with little more than a farewell. However, as Azuhrunith clasped her hand to tell her of a potential Jarl in need of a sword, Hinthaur slipped a note into Vylkrin’s sword belt. Each side had opportunities and a sell-sword worth their strength knew to pick up offers where they could. Lawful stood, grumbling about taking one of the beds, and bid the rest good travels blessed by Kyne. Veel and his mage Hinthaur left with much glaring from the Legion pair, but with enough distraction from Azuhrunith for Hinthaur to slip a hand into his fellow Breton’s pouch and retrieve a small scroll. A treat they would wait to replace when the Imperials exited.

Four remaining strangers lingered a bit long while Throm slept the night away in blissful ignorance. Jezveka eventually stood and bid the others good night, lingering near the Archmage as she traded words with the brawler. Virales and Istndre followed later with much thanks and expressed gratitude.

Azuhrunith alone remained in the room with the snoring Throm. She slipped out of the chair, lightly wrapped feet making no noise as they braced against the wood floor, and looked down upon the Orsimer. Her eyes, though milky white as a blind man, still saw clear as day or night. Not that the mysterious Archmage would ever let others come to the truth of the matter themselves. With a smile fitting for the likes of Azura herself, Azuhrunith cast a sleep spell upon the slumbering barbarian.

She turned to the door and listened intently, the sounds of fire flickers and hushed breaths fading away as she concentrated to perceive one being in particular. Veel’s figure huddled close to Hinthaur as they hurried off after the leaving Legionaries. The Archmage smiled to herself, picking up the mask formally belonging to dragon priest Morokei as she left the empty room. Lynly gave her a questioning look for the slumbering Orsimer but closed the door after Azuhrunith passed her a small bag of coin. The Archmage left the small inn and wove her way through the small town toward Shroud Hearth Barrow.

When the Archmage was hidden within the shadows of the barrow, she slowly began slowly slipping off her clothing and folding them neatly. All that was left were her wrappings and bone hawk amulet. Even mages toiled in their work and Azuhrunith was no exception with her lithe build amplified by her short stature. Her figure remained in youth, seemingly frozen in time, with bowstring muscles akin to hardened scales and small upturned breasts. The pair sloped slightly, peaking in the cold air, but were barely a handful. Never the less, the Archmage was pleased with them. She let a hand play over the smooth grey surface of her skin before letting it fall. There would be time for pleasure later.

Arching her back, Azuhrunith let a black mist overtake her body as she grew and shuddered under a terrible transformation. Twin newborn limbs snapped from her back as she hissed between sharpened teeth. Azuhrunith the vampire lord flexed her skinny bat wings experimentally, finding the appendages operating to her liking, and slipped back out into the night. Twin moons revealed her form.

Neither larger in height nor width, the Archmage’s skin also remained the same. But it was the fierce features that set her apart. Pointed Dunmer ears had elongated along her hairless skull. Her fingers had become clawed and talons curved from her feet. Ever muscle in her body seemed to stretch tight in anticipation. However, the most noticeable of all were the muscles around her neck and shoulders that had grown larger along with the addition of the faint wings reminiscent of a bat. She opened her mouth, throat echoing with a muffled click as the world became aglow before her. The guards were mingling about well out of eyesight and the townsfolk had tucked themselves in long ago.

With a fanged smile, Azuhrunith jumped and propelled herself into the air. Her wings would not fly but were enough to glide through the forests without trouble. She would make Windhelm by daylight before finishing her journey to Winterhold on foot. Perhaps she would enjoy a snack along the way, the bandits had become bolder in recent seasons.

Sorry for whatever typos you find. 

Links to commissions. You have been warned Hentai Foundry is a +18 site. DO NOT GO IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. 

Making the Rounds: https://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Scape/35147/Making-rounds

Bounty in Winterhold: https://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Scape/41121/Bounty-in-Winterhold 

And also Scape’s e-book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Byte-Paradise-Tales-Hotel-Succubus-ebook/dp/B019YR6AGM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479763411&sr=8-1&keywords=Byte+of+Paradise