#snake handler lady is there too

[kply-industries]

[theoverlyenthusiasticwriter]

The Witness

Part 2

Part 1

Read it on Ao3

It had been five years since Auguste had seen Damianos, Prince of Akielos, but he recognized him instantly.

And he knew Laurent did too.

If Auguste had a breath, he would hold it. Laurent’s boots echoed on tiles, cold and crisp, as he approached the kneeling prince. There was a sneer to his upper lip, as if in disgust.

He should be disgusted. A prince of a foreign nation had been delivered to him as a slave, humiliated, captive. It was unheard of.

Auguste held little resentment towards Damianos. Thus were the ways of war. Men died and made murderers of other men. They were each defending their own countries. They each believed they were right, and the other was wrong. Auguste could see that now.

The question was if Laurent could.

The courtiers parted around Laurent, as if in fear of the supposedly reckless, mettlesome prince. He’d been drinking, an act he hadn’t participated in since Uncle forced wine down his throat as a child.

This was going to be bad.

“Laurent, don’t,” Auguste said softly, as if his dear brother might hear.

“I hear the King of Akielos has brought me a gift.” Again, that slight curl of the upper lip, but Auguste recognized now that it wasn’t disgust: it was rage.

One of the courtiers laughed. “An Akielon groveling on its knees. How fitting.”

Damianos lifted his head and for a moment, Auguste was sure all of the air had been sucked from the room and replaced with ice. Laurent went white as he met those dark eyes.

Then Laurent’s face shuddered. It lasted barely a blink before it was gone and the mask snapped back into place, but Auguste knew.

There was no way he hadn’t recognized him.

In five years, Prince Damianos had lost what little boyishness he’d had at nineteen. He’d filled out his shoulders, sharpened his face. Bound as he was, he looked more savage than man, barely restrained, vicious and unpredictable.

Councilor Guion said, “He is intended as a pleasure slave, but he isn’t trained. Kastor suggested that you might like to break him at your leisure.”

Auguste recoiled. A pleasure slave? This man was born to be king. And Kastor? He was sent by Kastor?

“I’m not desperate enough that I need to soil myself with filth,” said Laurent.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Break him on the cross. I believe that will discharge my obligation to the King of Akielos.”

“Laurent, no.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Auguste watched in growing horror as the handlers reached for the chain. No. No, no, no.

“Wait.”

The word cut through the clang of chain links. Everyone paused, including Auguste, as Laurent came forward.

“I want to speak to him. Remove the gag.”

The handler hesitated and Guion protested, but Laurent was prince and he was obeyed.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

It became immediately apparent that though Laurent might know who this man was, the others in the room did not. For they thought nothing of the question, dripping in malice.

Prince Damianos of Akielos did not respond.

“Perhaps he is defective,” suggested Guion, wringing his fat fingers.

Laurent ignored him and lowered his head as a snake might to get a better look at his prey. He said again, in crude, accented Akielon, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Damianos snapped, “I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart.”

The room recoiled. Someone backhanded Damianos but Auguste didn’t see it. He was looking at Laurent.

Laurent, who straightened slowly, vertebra by vertebra, the picture of elegant control. The picture of a man on a precipice.

Auguste wished he’d been given form so he could put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, draw him into his chest as he had done when he was a boy.

The handler suggested the name Damen. It went over the heads of most of the courtiers, especially when Laurent didn’t appear to react.

But the reaction came in deliberate comment: “I heard that the King of Akielos may marry his mistress, Lady Jokaste. Is that true?”

The information seemed to hit Damianos like a blow as Laurent spoke so casually of his crumbling kingdom.

Auguste felt the sharp stab of pity, then a bit of relief when Laurent ordered his men to beat Damianos, rather than whip him. Laurent did not stay to watch, so Auguste didn’t either.

He went to his rooms, where Nicaise was glaring at a chessboard.

Auguste’s ghost hovered in the corner of the room as his brother approached the boy and knelt beside the board. Neither said anything, as was the way of many of their interactions, the knowledge that Nicaise would not last much longer weighing heavily in the air between them.

And he didn’t. Nicaise lost to Laurent rather quickly, then pouted, his lower lip jutting out.

 Laurent gave a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Auguste hadn’t even known he could do that—fake happiness for another person. When Laurent was a boy, his smiles were genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes, wide and often toothless, knocking the breath out of anyone who saw.

They played another round of chess, where Laurent let Nicaise win. The boy merely thought he was clever.

Auguste’s heart hurt.

A servant arrived to fetch Nicaise, one of the silent ones that Laurent had cultivated to his side so they would not tell the Regent. He collected these little bits of the palace, cultivating them with the grace of a king, earning their loyalty through small bits of kindness. Servants and guards and stable boys all ripened to their icy prince, who protected them in exchange for their secrecy. Those on the outside did not recognize it, only saw what Laurent wanted them to see.

But Auguste caught the small wave the servant gave Laurent before ushering Nicaise away and his heart hurt again.

Auguste knelt in this body that was not a body beside Laurent’s bed, where his brother curled in a ball and cried himself to sleep.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Aim True (Bridglar)

The runner-up of the "country loves songs" prompt poll was: Trick Shot

Virginia City gets cheesier every year. John is just glad the worst of the Nevada heat hasn’t made an early appearance; last year, it reached triple digits in spite of it being only May. 

“Mr. Bridgens!” Three of his students wave to him from in front of the “Olde West Shooting Gallery.”

Why they’re attempting a middle English spelling in a state that never saw a British colony is beyond him, but he waves back as he crosses the road to join them. 

Ostensibly, this field trip is to cap off the senior year with a celebration of Nevada history. John doubts more than a handful of students see it as anything other than a chance to spend the day browsing souvenir shops, daring each other to go into the plethora of haunted hotels, and gorging on ice cream and caramel apples. But they look forward to it, and he does like seeing the young minds he’s shepherded through AP or standard English have a day to just be young and carefree. 

Principal Franklin sets only three mandatory events for the day: getting to the bus on time, getting back on the bus on time to depart, and seeing the live “Wild West” show.

The trio of students tells him all about the Silver Queen as they find seats in the open-air theater. John ends up between Franklin and James Fitzjames, the drama teacher. He wishes he’d taken a cue from VP Crozier and brought a large hat; the sun is baking his scalp, and the flies keep buzzing past his ears. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, cowpokes of all ages, prepare for the wildest show this side of the Rockies!”

The crowd cheers with mild enthusiasm; it’s only the 11am show, after all. No one has had time to imbibe from the saloons lining the street. Not that John would anyway; he’d sooner die than be a derelict chaperone. 

A stetson-bearing figure bursts through the central curtains and the staff, and a few of the seniors, hoot and clap. Thomas Blanky, former and much beloved shop teacher, gives an exaggerated bow before launching into the same speech he gives every year.

“Howdy folks! We’re just plum tickled you could join us all on this fine, Friday mornin’. We got a real fine show for you today full of sharp shootin, trick ropin’, and the prettiest face in the west” he winks, “the rest of my troop ain’t bad either.”

Bad accent aside, John enjoys seeing his old colleague acting the ham. Blanky runs through a handful of mildly impressive trick shots, including popping balloons taped to the hats of his fellow performers. 

Next is a comedy act involving a literal dog and pony (and a cockatoo), the handler going by Irving insisting that the routine is wholesome while his co-presenter and the exotic bird do everything they can to undermine this assertion. 

The third act earns an incredibly loud cheer from James and Francis, as well as from the rather odd duo behind them of Goodsir (biology) and Collins (P.E). Lady Silence, as Blanky calls her, steps onto stage, and John is tickled to see she’s sporting period-accurate Shoshone clothing. Her act consists of more elaborate trick shots, all of which she does without uttering even a peep of fear while permitting a tarantula, then a scorpion, then a rattlesnake (“really a gopher snake” Francis mutters, only to be elbowed by James) to climb on her arms and hands.

When Lady Silence is done, she’s followed off stage by the loudest cheers so far, including a “Brava” from Goodsir. 

Act number four sets John's heart beating quicker; knife throwing has always struck him as one of the more dangerous endeavors one could pursue. It doesn’t help that Mr. Irving is back, looking a bit too convincingly terrified as one Mr. Hickey outlines his silhouette with knives. When both men exit in one piece, he relaxes and listens to Blanky introduce the final act. 

“And now, to close out our show, the amazing, whip-smart, hawk-eyed, Harry Peglar!”

John’s heart speeds up again. 

The man smiling out at the crowd with quiet showmanship and earnest excitement has the most handsome face he’s ever had the pleasure to see. 

Harry tips his hat and proceeds to shoot smaller and smaller targets from the air. The coin shot is so impressive that he even hands it to Crozier to inspect before and after the shot. As he straightens and tucks the coin into his pocket, his eyes fall onto John

“For this next trick, I need a charming assistant. How about you, sir?” 

John blushes, his instinct to demur, but both Franklin and James urge him forward, and so he allows Harry to pull him up onto the stage. Some of his students cheer, and he can tell without looking that many phones are pointed his way. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

God, does the man have to address him that way? He can only pass so much pink off as 

sunburn. 

“John.”

“Tell me, John, do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Good man.” Harry claps him once, friendly, on the shoulder, “you do, however, know what one of these are?” He produces a cigarette from his pocket. 

“Yes.” He smiles, “I said I don’t, not that I never.”

Audible shock from some of the students earns a laugh from the crowd. 

“Are you willing to hold this in your mouth for me? It won’t be there very long.”

John obligingly parts his lips only to realize, belatedly, that Harry meant for him to take it from his fingers. Without missing a beat, the trick shooter places it against his lower lip with a grin. 

“Now, John, I have another question. Do you know what this is?”

He holds a bullwhip up to the crowd to “oohs” and “ahhs.” John, slightly distracted wondering where the man had been hiding the implement, nods. He’s fairly certain James is cheering extra-excitedly; he did make John watch all four Indiana Jones films. 

“Here’s what I’m going to do, John. I’m going to light that cigarette for you. And before you even have a chance to inhale, I’m going to put it out from all the way over there.” He gestures eight feet to his right.

Harry looks over his shoulder, still audible to the crowd but with clear sincerity, “Do I have your permission, John?”

He nods again, trying not to imagine all the other things he’d grant Harry permission to do if he gave him that same look once more. 

“Wonderful! Let’s have some cheers for my brave volunteer!”

He uses the cacophony to huddle in close to John, who steadies the unlit cigarette steady with his fingers so the younger man can click a tarnished Zippo beneath it. Then, in a blink, he’s out of reach, unfurling the whip and testing it, bantering with the crowd but keeping his focus clearly on John. 

“Ready, John?”

Not knowing what else to do and feeling too tense to nod, he offers a thumbs up. 

“Hold still now, I’ll have that out for you in three, two, one.”

Crack

His ears ring, though the claps from the crown and the lack of any blood on his face tell him Harry managed his trick beautifully. He holds up the remainder of the cigarette, increasing the cheers. 

“Well done, John!” Harry practically bounds up to him, “let’s give him one more round of applause, folks!”

John means to leave the stage to the performers once more, but before he can, Harry grabs his hand and brings him down into a bow along with him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s an hour left to go on the field trip, and John is an extremely icy cold brew that Fitzjames treated him to. Most of the students are staying close to main street, finishing up their last purchases and taking endless pictures of each other.

“They were a fun crowd.”

He turns to find Harry leaning against a streetlight, still in his cowboy costume, ten times more handsome than anyone who ever played the role on screen “school groups can be hit or miss.”

“I’m glad as well; an excellent show deserves an appreciative audience.”

“Easy to put on a good show when you’ve got good help. I, um” he reaches into his pocket, “I have to go get ready for the show at two, but I meant to give you this before you hopped off stage. I always like to give it to my volunteer for that trick. This time I was a little flustered and forgot.”

Harry holds out the coin from his sharpshooting trick, dropping it into John’s palm. 

“Oh, I-” He’s not sure if he means to protest, or say thank you, but Harry cuts him off by closing his palm for him, keeping his own hand around it.

“Something to remember me by.”

A flash of a smile, followed by someone shouting his name from across the way, and then he’s gone. John stands, watching him walk toward the theater, and savoring the ghost of those fingers around his own. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late June finds him back in a much hotter Virginia City, the sun refusing to drop behind the mountains quickly enough to provide a much needed respite from the glare. He hadn’t expected to visit again so soon, but Silna and Goodsir invited him to meet them for dinner; the Delta Saloon has begun serving a special, twice-monthly menu of period accurate fare and he’s very excited to see if it’s any good. 

Arriving early–there’s been bad traffic the last two days so he erred on the side of caution–leaves him ample time to ponder the historical artifacts tucked away in the corners of the saloon. He’s reading the plaque on the “suicide table” when a figure steps beside him. 

“Anticlimactic, I always thought.” 

Harry smiles when John looks his way, the undercurrent noticeably changing from friendliness to hope when John smiles back. He’s dressed in modern clothing; a black tank top, tan shorts, and ankle hiking boots (much better protection against the dust, pebbles, and sunburn than the sandals of most of the visitors). 

“The story” Harry continues, “that it’s named that when what happened is one or two people might have killed themselves because of losing money at it, not because someone used it in one, or died right on the wood. Besides, if that’s the bar for calling something a suicide table, I’d bet half the slot machines from here to Vegas need the same plaque.”

“Agreed. Though I do enjoy the thought of preserving some piece of the past, even if it’s to make salacious signs about it.”

“Did you come all the way back just to read our signs?” Harry says with a hint of cheek. 

“That depends on if there are any you think I’d like.” He turns full-on toward Harry, who aims for a subtle looking him over and fails.

When his phone buzzes, he considers dropping it in the nearest pitcher of water. 

“One moment, I’m meeting Silna and Harry, other Harry, that might be them.” 

H. Goodsir: Running late, courtesy of the majesty of nature.

Attached is a photo of a herd of mustangs, who seem utterly disinterested in moving from both lanes of Highway 50. He shows it to Harry, adding, “That’s not sarcasm; the man is delighted any time he sees the native wildlife. Which doesn’t always end well; we were driving to a conference in Tahoe once and he stopped to look at a large black bear. Still in the car, of course, but poor Mr. Collins was still rather stressed by the proximity.”

Harry laughs, then tilts his head towards the bar, “Sounds like we might have time for a drink?”

“I’d say so.”

John orders a gin and tonic, paying for Harry’s lager with a playful, “they don’t pay teachers that poorly” when the younger man tells him he doesn’t have to. 

“What do you teach? I didn’t get the chance to ask and I’d been wondering.”

“English, two classes of honors and the rest for seniors and a handful of juniors.”

“I hope they get on better with you than I did with mine; we got into an argument over Tess of the D’urbervilles and I’m not sure he ever got over it. The dyslexia didn’t help; he thought I wasn’t applying myself.”

“That’s a shame. There are lots of ways to assist students who struggle with reading, for any reason. And as a teacher, I’d argue it’s part of the job to make sure you do.” He sips his drink, “may I ask what the argument was?”

“I just thought it was worth talking about how Hardy has a lot of opinions on farming and morality for a man who probably never did any farm work. All well and good to talk about the evils of modernization taking us away from nature, but acting like the things that make running a farm ten times easier are evil because they don’t match your imagined idea of the life seemed…shallow. And I thought that might be an interesting angle to look at the book from. Mr. Thompson disagreed.”

“I happen to think it’s an excellent point.”

A shrug and a sweet smile, “Might have just come to me because I grew up on a farm. You grow up shoveling cow shit, you have some thoughts on the pastoral.” He flinches, “pardon my french.”

“Harry, I was in the navy for ten years, I’ve heard profanity that would make the devil faint.”

“That’s why you have tattoos. I noticed them during the show and, um” he takes another sip, licking his lips after in what’s either an automatic motion or a bid to drive John mad with desire, “I’ve been thinking about them ever since.”

He forces himself not to say that if he’s a very good boy, Harry might get to see the rest. This can just be a friendly drink. If Harry wants it to be more that’s for him to decide. John won’t push it. 

“None of your own?”

“Not yet. I want to get a line of poetry but I haven’t decided on which.”

John is very glad for this; if he’d managed to get Harry into bed only to find lines from one of the greats etched into his skin, he might have fainted. 

“Who are the contenders?”

A snicker, “Thomas Hardy, for one. I do love his poems about nature. I like Whitman too, but it’s so hard to choose…”

They spend a good half-hour discussing the merits, and ironies, or tattooing varies stanzas onto oneself. By the time Goodsir taps him on the shoulder, they’re leaning far enough towards each other that his glass nearly hits Harry’s jaw when he jolts in surprise. 

“I was starting to worry you’d be stuck there all night.”

“I’m sure.” Goodsir says with a smile and a glance at Harry that suggests he doesn’t fully believe him, “they eventually realized there were better places to rest their hooves. I got some wonderful pictures though.”

“You’re going to run out of memory at this rate. Again.” Silna keeps her amused look as she adds, “do you want to eat with us, Henry?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to intrude, I was just keeping John occupied while you got here. I ought to be going, it’s not the longest drive back to Dayton but I’ve got a mountain of chores to do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Silna. Nice to see you, Harry, and it was wonderful talking with you John.” He offers a final, parting smile. John watches him go once more, wondering if doing so makes him lecherous, or if he even cares if it does. At the door, Harry pauses, looking back, and his face brightens when he sees John is looking at him. Then he winks and steps into the finally cooling air.

“Your right pocket.” Goodsir murmurs as the waiter leads them to a table.

John ventures a hand into his shorts and finds a slip of saloon napkin next to the coin, the one he’s been carrying like a lucky charm for a month. 

Give me a call

It’s followed by a phone number. Harry didn’t have a chance to write it while they were talking, which means he must have done it the moment he saw John in the bar. 

Silna shakes her head, “I told him I could just give it to you for him.”

“You trick shooters, you do have a flair for the dramatic.” Goodsir pulls out her chair. 

“If we didn't, no one would watch.”

John lets them banter for the moment. After all, he has to attend to the pressing matter of asking if Harry would like to join him for coffee tomorrow.

[preservationofnormalcy]

Hah! I just found this transcript from the archives. This was all declassified for the extranormal community in the 90s after some Radiant Heart deacons showed up on a wizard talk show before we could stop it.

The following document was assembled from an audio recording and agent recollections during an operation that took place January 2nd, 1950, wherein Agents Saxon and De Boer attended a “revival” religious meeting held by Extranormal Beliefs Group “First National Church of the Radiant Heart” in the guise of reporters from the local newspaper. Elizabeth De Boer is an accomplished psychic medium in Office employ, and Saxon is employed as Security.

===============

[The revival meeting takes place in a large tent, such as that used for a circus. A few hundred people or more are assembled inside. Benches are arranged in three “wings” surrounding a central stage. It was noted after the fact that this resembles the “trefoil”.]

[De Boer] Is it on?

[Saxon] Yes, ma’am.

[Background noise and chatter from the assembled congregants.]

[D] What do you think so far, Saxon?

[S] They put me in mind of my cousins.

[D] Why?

[S] I’m from the hills, ma’am. ‘Round Tennessee way. My family’s church are all snake handlers.

[D] And how do you feel about them?

[S] Pity, mostly.

[D] Because they’re religious?

[S] On account of my uncle dying from the snakebite, ma’am.

[D] Mmm.

[S] Speaking of, how’s the Geiger?

[D] We won’t keel over tomorrow, if that’s what you’re asking. 

[S] But it’s still going off, ma’am?

[D] Chambers said the ███████ would protect us.

[S] Not that I distrust Miss Chambers, ma’am, but a man gets a little nervous when he sees a Geiger counter spinning.

[A rising noise from the crowd quiets them. Clapping and singing commence as Pastor Mayweather himself rises onto the stage, waving, smiling, and grabbing an offered microphone.]

[Mayweather] Thank you, Brother Mark. Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, you know why we’re here tonight. Don’t we?

[The crowd murmurs agreement.]

[M] We are here in communion, ladies and gentlemen, we are here to give HONOR to the one that unites us, gives us life and POWER, and BRINGS us together both here and in the next life, can I get an amen?

[A chorus of ‘amens’ rises from the crowd. Mayweather continues to speak as he paces back and forth across the stage.]

[S] He’s navigating the stage real well. I thought he was supposed to be blind?

[D] They said he doesn’t have eyes. In our line of work, I wouldn’t assume those mean the same thing. Besides, he’s probably faked it.

[M] --and you are HERE, ladies and gentlemen, to witness a miracle. Am I right? I got to speak about something here folks, let me speak before we bring on our new friend. Do you feel it, folks?

[Shouts of agreement.]

[M] Oh I feel it too. That glow, that warmth. Can you feel it, soaking your body, wrapping your very DNA in radiant love, rebuilding you? Of course you can, family. Of course you can. Brother Mark, can you-- yes, thank you Brother Mark. Folks, this is Emily. 

[A young girl is wheeled onto the stage in a wheelchair. She is shy, but looking up at Mayweather with awe.]

[M] Young Emily here had polio. She has been blighted by that dreadful disease and can no longer walk. Isn’t that right? [E] Yes, Pastor.

[M] Emily, are you here to accept the blessing of our saviour, our light, our POWER and warmth, the Split Atom? 

[E] (tearing up) Yes, Pastor.

[Mayweather puts his hand on her forehead and leans down toward her.]

[M] Sister Emily, will you place your faith in the Glow, the holy radiation, and be PURIFIED by ions, down to the subatomic level, Miss Emily--

[E] Yes, Pastor!

[The lights in the tent flicker and a low hum fills the area. The counter on the silent Geiger counter in De Boer’s longcoat rises.]

[S] What’s he doing….

[M] Sister Emily, by the POWER and AUTHORITY invested in me, we will REMAKE you. We will split one atom, one holy exercise in unlocking the secrets of the universe and we WILL burn away this damage, we WILL heal your damaged nerves--

[The crowd’s cheering rises to a fever pitch. The lights flicker faster and a green glow emanates from Mayweather’s hand. He continues his invocation, and many in the crowd join him, chanting, cheering, reciting scripture.]

[M] BE HEALED, Sister Emily, be HEALED!

[There is silence, and then a crackling energy. Briefly, green light can be seen behind Mayweather’s sunglasses. As the lights come back up, Mayweather holds out his hand.]

[M] Sister Emily, will you rise in the name of the Glow?

[After some hesitation, Emily pulls herself out of her chair. To her amazement, she can stand shakily on her feet. The crowd erupts in cheers and praises.]

[S] Wow. That’s--

[D] Chicanery. Hogwash. 

[S] The girl seemed--

[D] A plant. An actor. Flicker the lights, flash a green flashlight onto the speaker. It’s a show to sell their radiation quackery.

[Mayweather dabs his forehead with a handkerchief as Emily is led off the stage.]

[M] Isn’t that a miracle, ladies and gentlemen. Isn’t that wonderful. We know where our power comes from, don’t we? From the Radiance, from the Great Ionization. Folks, we have another thing to show. Brother Gregory, fetch the- thank you, Brother Gregory.

[A deacon brings a Geiger counter and sets it on the stage on a table. Mayweather stands behind the table, his hand over the counter.]

[M] Ladies and gentlemen….ladies and gentlemen, we are GATHERED here tonight in the name of the Split Atom, I said in the NAME of the SPLIT ATOM to call up the spirit of Sister Josie, isn't that right? Yes family, Sister Josie passed on into the Glow two months ago but her holy atomic soul has lingered to GUIDE us into the holy Glow ourselves. 

[He raises his hand, palm outward, and the crowd goes silent. Saxon notes that De Boer leans forward to watch.]

[M] Sister Josie….are you here? Are you here with us?

[The Geiger counter is silent for a moment, then crackles to life. De Boer clutches her forehead.]

[S] Ma’am? Do we--are you okay?

[D] Yes, yes, just. Keep the recording going, Saxon.

[M] Sister Josie, is that you? Two clicks for yes, one for no.

[The Geiger squeals twice, and Mayweather smiles. The crowd gasps and murmurs.]

[M] Ain’t that something, folks? Ain’t that something? Sister Josie, can you bless us tonight? Bless us with your Radiance? 

[The counter goes haywire, squealing and clicking loudly. De Boer leans on one of the bleachers for support, gritting her teeth.]

[M] Can you feel her, folks? Can you FEEL her ionized spirit coursing through each and every one of us gathered here?

[D] We need to go. I need to leave.

[S] Yes, uh. Alright, ma’am, let’s--

[The sound of the crowd dies down as they leave the tent.]

[S] ….what, uh. Did you hear something?

[D] Yes, I….hold on.

[De Boer takes a moment to compose herself.]

[D] Screaming. 

[S] What?

[D] It was just screaming. Just….screaming. Turn the recording off. We need to get the ERTF involved.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I wondered why this was getting notes lol.

Some More animals from my mother's childhood home:

Nickel and Dime, the bait fish that lived in a teapot

Susan, the rat snake

Susan 2 or "Twosan", also a rat snake but may have also been the same rat snake but bigger.

The cats Smoke and Fire, so named because: 1. They were gray and orange, respectively 2. Fire was blind and navigated the house by following Smoke around, so literally, wherever there was Smoke, there's Fire.

A Goldfinch that moved into the Canary's cage after he passed away and it was put outside one day during housecleaning

A flying squirrel

After my Grandparents moved to a nursing home, Grandpa had a "pet deer" that was a wild whitetail buck who would come up to the window of their room for carrots and head skritches, despire everyone telling Grandpa NO!!

The Woodcock That Lived Under The Oak Tree. several attempts were made to name it but the next time it came up in conversation, everyone forgot what they had agreed to call it, so it became The Woodcock That Lives Under The Oak Tree.

Romaine, a frog they found in a head of lettuce

A Cow, briefly

Apparently Strange The Dog had puppies at some point and they managed to find homes for Weird, Odd, and Bizarre, but they decided to keep Queer, which was a real funny animal to stand in the street calling in for dinner.

At least 17 Bullfrogs, all named "Dog"

Skittles the Pony who had a penchant for swimming in the local lake and biting pieces out anyone who wasn't paying enough attention.

Honorable Mention:

The first Dog my mom got was "Cops" a beautiful 120lb purebred German Shepherd who had flunked out of the police K9 academy.

Cops HAD been doing very well at Bite Training, except that being A Creature of Profound Intellect and Sound Philosophy, Cops had assumed that the purpose of biting was to get the guy who was shouting and behaving aggressively to stop. So the first time he was told to Chase Down A Fleeing Suspect (the guy in the bite suit, sprinting away) Cops correctly decided that the man screaming at him to bite someone who was actively leaving the confrontation must be the aggressor, and promptly bit his handler in the dick.

Being that he was entirely too morally upstanding for police work, Cops was surrendered to the local animal shelter as my mother arrived to adopt a dog.

She expressed an interest, was told why he washed out and "He's got a mean streak a mile wide- A little lady like you wouldn't be able to control him."

My mother, 4'11 and the former Ohio State Weight Lifting Champion, looked down at this gentle soul and promptly scooped him up into her arms on his back like an infant, where he was thrilled to remain, tail wagging, for the rest of the adoption process.

Cops was my mother's loyal guardian, and largely aloof to politely hostile to nearly every man my mother brought home, which tended to end romantic relationships. Until one night when she brought a former ESL teacher turned computer programmer she'd been seeing home for a drink and when she came back from the kitchen with the bottle of wine, Cops had climbed into the man's lap on the couch and rolled on his back while the man goo-goo'd over him like an infant.

"That's when I knew it was serious." She told me, much later. "I hadn't made up my mind about marriage at that point, but I knew I wanted children, and that I wanted him to be your father."

---

I still make my living telling stories on the internet, so if you want to support my Ko-fi or Patreon, I'd be very grateful.

An Incomplete List of the Animals my Grandpa brought home over the course of his 67-year marriage to Gandma:

Annabell, a solid white and completely deaf pit bull that used to let mom draw on her belly

The World’s Ugliest Tom Cat, who turned out to be the cuddiest teddy bear of an animal

Cocker spaniel named “Captain”

Stupid, the Cat

Litter of baby raccoons

Three more cats

A completely bald and extremely anxious canary that sang beautifully, but only at 4 AM

Baby Squirrel that grew up in the house and then refused to move out

A Genuine Thoroughbred Racehorse who was a spectacular athelete but had a habit of running races in the wrong direction.  Benny turned out to be a terrific trail horse instead.

Turtle

Snapping Turtle

A bucket full of 43 goldfish left over from the fair.  Mom counted once they were all in the bathtub in the backyard with the snapping turtle.

Another cocker spaniel named “Major”, who had the tremendous talent of eating green beans silently

Red-tailed hawk he found on the highway, and sucessfully nursed back to health and released.

Dummy, Son of Stupid

Strange, the dog that lived under the porch and only came into the house at night.

An “abandoned” baby deer.

Spooky, an alleged dog.  

Joey the parakeet whose tricks were  1. drinking tea out of a tiny cup 2. threatening to peck out people’s eyes 3. wearing hats

A Really Big Toad he found behind the factory, because the other auto workers were discussing using it for target practice.  Mr. Grumpity was guardian of the rosebed for several years and granny’s (his mother) favorite animal he ever brought home.

Gretchen, a St. Bernard that had to be shaved from her prior owner’s neglect, and spent a week hiding from sight with such success in the house that they thought she’d run away.

Arson, Burglary and Murder, three frankly adorable little kittens.  They did not change the names, much to the regret of the cop who lived three doors down.

Yet another Cocker Spaniel, named “Colonel”

Cardinal (bird)

Canada Goose (Demon)

Once in the nursing home, he had a “pet” 12-point whitetail buck that would come to his window to be fed corn and get headskritches, inexplicably named “Florence”

The marriage only ended because thier time on earth did. He never kept an animal Grandma wouldn’t allow and if anything she was worse about it. She was the one who brought home a tarantula.

[ocean-blue-whump]

Just A Dream

For @febuwhump Day 21: “Help them.”

Thank you to the @whumpawoman server for all the help with this one!

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Sunny and Star Crew: @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, EXPLICIT NONCON, NSFWHUMP, 18+, MINORS DNI, dehumanisation, derogatory language, nightmare, thoughts about consent, sad Star hours, Handler Greco is his own warning, whumpee called kid but is an adult

***

He’s never touched her like this before. 

His hips, rolling into hers, her hands, tied to a hook on the floor in one of the Facility’s training rooms. 

Star knows it’s not real. Handler Greco’s never touched her like this before. 

“God, 501. I don’t know why I never did this.” His hands roam across her body, strangely gentle for someone who caused her so much pain. 

Her breath catches in her throat as she looks up at her former Handler, his eyes darkened by lust. “Because I was just a Guard Dog.”

“No. Because you were my favorite.” He pushes a lock of hair out of her face and his fingertips feel real but this can’t be real. “I never agreed with the decision to make you a Romantic. I thought it was a waste of a good fighter. But I don’t know. You’re good like this, aren’t you?”

Star holds her breath, looking up at his cold eyes. She’s good like this. She’s perfect like this. “You could have stopped them from making me into this.”

“No. You made your decision, 501. Killing a handler damned you and we both know it.” One hand holds her jaw, forcing her to look at him, the other snakes down, palming her breasts. “When Handler Hanford said that your worth is between your legs, did you believe him?”

Star sucks in a nervous breath, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. “Yes.”

“He was wrong. You were amazing, 501. But I should have fucked you sooner than this.”

“My name is Star. Not 501. But all you did was call me a fucking bitch.” Her eyes prick with tears as Handler Greco thrusts into her. 

He ignores her. “I was going to buy you, when I heard you were going to be a Romantic. I would have let you get trained, first, just to see how well he could do, turning my feral little thing into a sweet slut.” He speaks so gently for the words coming out of his mouth. 

“But I’m not yours,” she breathes out shakily. He’s making her feel good, why does this feel good?

“You could have been. And I bet you would have liked it, too.”

Star throws her head back against the floor, choking back a moan. “No, I-” She can’t finish the sentence, pleasure rippling through her.

“That’s what I thought.” 

There’s screaming coming from the other room, an all too familiar man screaming. Star’s head jerks up towards the direction of the noise. “S-stop, that’s Sunny.”

Handler Greco grins. “What are you expecting me to do about that, kid?”

“Help him!” This can’t be real, she didn’t know Sunny when she was under Handler Greco’s control. Still, the cries of her bonded make her heart race. 

Handler Greco moans. “You’re tight. You feel so good, 501.”

“My name is Star.”

“No. You’ll always be 501. Unless you were mine for good, kid. Then I’d give you a real name.” 

“Help him. Please, you have to help him.”

Handler Greco grins and rolls his hips, leaving Star gasping. “Even when it’s not real, you want to protect him. Funny how that works.”

Get off of me. Don’t stop. Star writhes underneath him, panting, reduced to nothing more than a desperate mess. 

“Yeah, you’re good, 501. You always were good in your own way, even if you never wanted to admit it.” He traces his hands across her sides, stopping to hold onto her hips with a bruising grip. “If I owned you, I’d fuck you with the muzzle on. Got that?”

Star nods, a tear sliding down her cheek. “F-fuck you.”

Handler Greco chuckles. “You know what this means, right?” He leans forward, his beard brushing against her jaw. “This is your dream, kid. You chose this. You chose me. You brought me here.” His tongue licks a stripe up her neck, and Star shudders. “You can wake up at any time you want. But you haven’t. Were you thinking bad thoughts about me?” His smile is all light and casual, his nails draw half-moons of blood in the soft skin of her hips. “You chose me. I’m honored, kid.”

“I want this. I want you,” Star says with a breathy moan, turning her head so he can have better access to her neck.

“Hanford teach you that at Romantic school? God, I want to fuck all those stupid trained thoughts out of your head.”

Sunny screams in the background. 

“This isn’t real,” Star whispers.

“Settle, girl,” he whispers back. A bead of blood rolls down her hip. “You know it’s not real but you still want him to stop screaming.”

Star nods, trembling as Handler Greco keeps fucking into her at a slow, leisurely pace. “Make him stop, Handler, please.”

He pulls away, lifting her chin up with two fingers and forcing her to make eye contact with him. “Kiss me, pretty little thing.”

That she can do. He was right, too, it’s her dream and she must want this, right? Star surges forward, her lips pressing against Handler Greco’s in a mockery of love. 

She can feel him smile, his tongue invading her mouth and his hips moving faster. 

The screams have faded from the background and Star is left wondering if this was all worth it, if the rising pleasure in her core negates the good she did by sacrificing herself so Sunny could stop screaming.

But he never was screaming, and it was all a dream so she must want this.

Right?

Handler Greco’s lips are on hers as Star builds to her climax, trying to hold herself at the edge. Blood drips from where his nails are in her skin. 

He doesn’t stop kissing her, not even as she starts to shake and moan and—

Star wakes up with a shaky gasp, the sheets stuck to her skin with sweat, aroused and angry at herself and tired. She slumps against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, tears rolling from her eyes. 

It was just a dream.

She can feel invisible bruises on her hips, his beard tickling in her face, his cedarwood, amber, and vanilla cologne stuck to her skin, his lips lingering on hers. 

She cries silently, careful not to wake up her bonded, where he sleeps peacefully next to her. Her tears soak into her hair, into the sheets underneath her. 

It was just a dream. 

Why did it feel so real? Why did it feel better than real? Why did it feel so right?

The door opens, but Star doesn’t bother lifting her head. She can’t bring herself to fight right now. 

Comet settles next to her, cupping her face in his hands. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does she.

Handler Greco just proved to her that she always was a whore. She should have thought back, she always fought back against him, but Sunny’s screaming…

No, she tells herself, a bitter, burnt taste on her tongue. You wanted him, you stupid slut.

Star pushes herself up, suddenly all too overwhelmed to be alone, and settles her head on Comet’s thigh, then bursts into tears, pressing her face into his jeans to muffle the sound. 

Comet just strokes her back and lets her cry. 

[that-one-i-think]

Part 3 of Gladiator Liochants history!

Despite the fact that the Viper Pits were a bloody mess that only allowed one winner, that didn't mean that the fighters didn't form relationships. For not all fights were to the death and for some, death wasn't the end.

Reviving a fighter was expensive, not only for the fighter but for the pockets of the gladiators beneficiary. First, the gladiator has to have died within the last hour, no longer or else they are fully dead and not mostly dead. Second, the fighter must have injuries that are recoverable, if the gladiator was decapitated then no dice. Third, the mage needs to have a rare gem, a blood ruby, ones that can only be found in the pits of the nether. Only then can the gladiator be revived.

Fortunately for Liochant, he only had to be revived twice. Once when he refused to fight the child shadow knight, the second was from the punishment afterwards.

Liochant had four handlers in his time as a gladiator. His first one being a high ranking soldier from the North, one who participated in the invasion of the desert and Solspear. He was an old mei'fwa who was only given 12 year old Liochant as a prize, one that he decided to turn to his advantage. He trained Liochant, and allowed the young man to continue his worship of Menphia, as a devout man himself (of Esmund). He wasn't a cruel man, but he made sure Liochant knew the price of losing.

At 15, Liochant was sold to another handler. A man's gift to his wife, a beautiful older woman who was both cynical and kind. She was a priestess of Menphia in Northern Tu'la before the King "closed down the temple for heresy.". She enjoyed Liochant, for he was someone she could show off. This relationship was beneficial for Liochant as she allowed him to continue his worship and even tattooed him whenever it became necessary. With her, his punishments were low, unless her husband determined that his lost was too costly.

She was a beautiful stylist and even after her husband forced her to sell him after his fight at 17, she was hired to dress him, and gave him his Menphia religous tattoos for his milestones. Something that Liochant appreciated with his whole heart and the Lady deemed as a form of mercy.

His third owner was a cruel man who only cared about the dollar and took pleasure in the bloodshed. He was very close to the King and brought Liochant to all of the parties, using him as a symbol of status, showing him off as a pet rather than a person, using Liochants faith as a way of fetization. He took every possible moment to dehumanize Liochant, and when Liochant refused to kill that Shadow Knight child, he made Liochant face fates worse than death.

When his previous owner got bored of him, he was given to the Scorpion. A man who was born in Solspear and betrayed the desert for money and a higher position in society. He patched Liochant up, making him more beautiful and honestly more desirable than before in regards to looks, with the help of the Lady. The Scorpion was a man who made misbehaving gladiators disappear and whether it be pity of regret, he shipped Liochant on the next boat to Ru'aun with some pocket change.

Liochant was close to two gladiators as well. Valerie the meif'wa shadow knight with a fiery temper and Osyn, the O'khasis noble who came to Tu'la to establish a trade route before being found to be a werewolf. Liochant met them when he was 16 and being shown of by the Lady, both being older than him by a few to several years. They got along ish but they mostly interacted with him for pity.

They saw each other a few times after, Valerie impressed by his defeat of a Shadow Knight when he was 17 and Osyn congratulated him for his new snake tattoos, not realizing that they were a form of bodily control and not religous like his others. Osyn and Valerie were still pretty removed from Liochant though as they had been big fighters for years while Liochant had only recently became a sensation. Until Liochant was 20 and pissed of his monstrous handler.

They were brought to watch the match, something not completely out of the ordinary but they did not expect Liochant, a mere human, to successfully face off against two werewolves without getting bitten. That is when they gained respect and it was around the time their circles fully converged with his.

The three became close, with Valerie and Osyn having been a secret couple for years enjoying a friendship with Liochant. And, whenever they were alone and allowed the time, occasionally something more. A loving touch was sometimes a miracle for these three, especially when it was wanted.

Though, their closeness meant that they witnessed Liochant's downfall. Valerie was pissed and called Liochant foolish for trying to spare the child, but deep down she only wished she did the same as to prevent herself from becoming a fully fledged shadow knight, and to have saved her brother. Osyn understood why Liochant did what he did and the first moment the two were alone, wrapped Liochant in his arms.

The two watched the cruelty unfold onto Liochant, their privileged positions never knowing punishment from their handlers but learning exactly what Liochant, a mere human had to face. They saw the past scars and they are seeing the future. Osyn thanked every God he knew when Liochant was given away, and Valerie prayed every night when Liochant disappeared for him to have not been turned into a shadow knight.

So while relationships were not the most important thing on Liochants mind, he still had some influential ones, good and bad.

Time for more lore for my fanfic For My Sunlight, this time THE GLADIATOR PITS! This will start with what it inspired it and then go into why it was created and then make a long reblog about Liochant's history. LONG POST SO EXPANDED (feel free to use the idea for yourself and comment!)

So before there were the gladiator pits, there was something a festival called "The Lioness Tournament". It would happen every solstice as a celebration of Menphia. It featured various celebrations with the major feat being the tournament. Fighters from everywhere in Tu'la would come to compete and try to win an attempt at bonding with Menphia's relic. Very few ever did, which is why there is a second prize of a nether gold weapon. (Despite never winning a tournament, Liochant does have a nether gold khopesh he received from a his mother figure who was a tournament winner)

Now, 16 years ago, the King of Northern Tu'la invaded the desert and completely took over the continent. With the tournament taking place in Solspear, the capital of the desert country, the Tiger King of Tu'la had an idea to get the people on his side. He turned the tournament into an all year event, with the tournament hall turned into a large battle pit as "a way for the people to get closer to Menphia".

He originally sent rebels and soldiers who fought against the invasion to the pit. They fought for the entertainment of the rich and Royals of northern Tu'la, including those of the desert who betrayed their people in favor of the riches of the north.

As the years passed, it became an even larger spectacle with the stakes getting larger and larger and the arena even growing. Two years after the establishment of the pit, Tu'la ran out of rebels and soldiers, so they got creative and started using prisoners instead. Presented with he option of the pit or death, many decided to take their chances. You could win your freedom, as long as your weren't entertaining that is.

Fights featured gladiators fighting against other gladiators, monsters, and sometimes even fights that are rigged. 1v2, 1v4, and even some that are 1v20. Be wary if you are found to be a werewolf or a shadow knight in this area, for you may just be thrown into the pit for "crimes" against Tu'la.

The games operated akin to the hunger games, with many of the upper class sponsoring the gladiators and trading them akin to how one would trade pokemon. These gladiators would become rather famous, shown off like show dogs by their current owners, but the life wasn't easy for the gladiators. It truly was only dressed up torture.

While some of the battles ended in death, a good majority ended in defeat or revival. Those who lost would be severely punished, and even the gladiators who won wouldn't be free from punishment and torture. For if the fight wasn't entertaining or getting the money worths, it could be worse than losing.

If a gladiator stops being entertaining, they will either be put to death or put to other purposes. Being put to death is the better option if people think the nobles are cruel to gladiators they are much crueler to the people they own. The rich want what they can't get, and once they get their hands on them, officially, they savor. Gladiator eye candy is candy, after all.

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 25: Wish

I squeaked by submitting the word doc on this one bc I was so weirdly. invested. akdlhsflkdg

I wrote, briefly, about one of Aymeric’s exes, so it felt only right to introduce one of Serella’s! How fun!

word count: 2,120

It was a rare thing, Serella wishing on a shooting star. As a child, she did it every time she saw one, and had always had the sort of wishes that come with youthful naivete. Having been forged into a tool for the betterment of the realm, and having long grown out of those childishly selfish sort of wishes, she knew them better as a channeling mechanism, as a broad expanse of energy she could tap into. She knew them better as a chart to map out her course, as a balm to heal the hurts of those around her.

Even now, stood not far from a banquet table with a flagon of mead in hand, eyes watching the way Hyana, Estinien, and Aymeric all spoke in animated whispers and all dressed in finery befitting this Gridanian gala, Serella was reluctant to make wishes, to hope for something for herself. Admittedly, she had taken the excuse of wanting more mead to just observe the three of them from afar. Aymeric, dressed down but still elegant, all fine leather and soft cloth in that shade of blue she could only associate with him, eyes crinkled in a smile in that way that only happened when it was genuine, and only really happened in their company. Even Estinien had managed to dress up a bit, though she suspects that had a lot to do with Hyana wrangling him into it— and ah, Hyana. She was resplendent, wrapped in a gown that looked to be made of the forest itself, she moved with the grace and power of water itself, and Serella watched, transfixed.

The three of them made a stunning constellation upon wish she could chart her course, a guide home when she was lost. A pity, then, that Hyana and Estinien yet hesitated in joining. Someday, I’ll be useful enough to justify it to them, she thought to herself— and ah, there was a wish, she supposed. She had memorized every constellation, every gate for an Astrologian to open, and still, she could think of no better stars to wish on than the three of them, and chose to make it enough that she wished for them to be happy.

So enchanted and thoroughly distracted, she hadn’t realized she was being watched until she felt a nauseatingly familiar aether close in on her. It was a heavy feeling, like standing in a room that had only moments before been on fire, smoke filling her lungs and weighing her down, oppressive and heated. On reflex, Serella’s hackles raised in anticipation for the source of that uneasy feeling. 

“Ella Bella!” Called the wraith from her past.

Serella didn’t turn her head to look at the woman who had called her in such a tittering, birdsong voice. Her hands curled tighter around her flagon.

“Lady Eveanne.” She replied evenly, eyes fixed on her constellation. 

“You remember me!” The Gridanian noblewoman gasped in exaggerated relief. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, my how things have changed!”

“And yet stayed the same.”

For a start, that larksong voice of hers had grated against some of her more benign nightmares, scraping and simpering as it was, talking about Serella and at Serella without speaking with her. Always, always about, “My little doll might be a little broken, but she’s still made of sturdy porcelain, isn’t she?” 

Little wonder Serella had foregone relationships for so long after she lad left Gridania.

“Why won’t you look at me, little doll?” She crooned.

You’re the Warrior of Light. You have expectations and titles and a job in the military and you have to be better than breaking her fucking jaw in.

“I’m too busy watching my partner.” Serella admitted, and really, it was true; Aymeric alone was more pleasant to look at, never mind the fact that there were two other people just as stunning as he was.

With her newly formed habit of making a wish upon a star, she begged him to notice her gaze as she took a long pull of her mead. Its sweetness settled on her tongue just as his eyes met hers, bright stars all their own, brilliant blue giving her a warm smile that turned inquiring, gaze drifting.

She hadn’t realized where he was looking until she felt Eveanne’s hand on her arm. She nearly jumped from the contact, and swiftly moved her arm to fold behind her back, out of reach.

“You found a partner?” The noblewoman spoke up in that higher pitch she often took when she was feigning interest in conversation. “Ohh, where…?”

Serella hadn’t realized she would use the opportunity to lean into her personal space, pretending to peer out into the crowd. It was, perhaps, unbecoming to stumble backwards, away from her, but the scent of her perfume— rose hips and lavender— rankled her.

Looking at her was worse.

We’re the same height now. Serella realized, and something about that angered her. Eveanne hadn’t aged a day in the near decade it had been since they had last seen one another, her chestnut hair held back in artful pleats folded over in a delicate hairpin bejeweled to resemble a peacock. The motif continued in her dress, all rich silks of blue, green, and tinges of gold. She looked, as ever, too opulent for her setting. She was the sort of woman who would show up to a funeral in a cherry red ballgown and insist her black sash was appropriate.

“Ahh, now she looks at me!” Eveanne beamed, clapping her hands together in front of her face once. “And how strange, my little doll is not so little anymore.”

Hands still pressed together, she tilted them to press against her own cheek, scrutinizing Serella. Uninterested in her, Serella turned back toward where Aymeric was now speaking in hushed whispers with Estinien, as if he were hurriedly trying to end the conversation— or perhaps talk Estinien out of something reckless. Or both.

Hyana was conspicuously absent. Serella couldn’t find her in the crowd.

“Was it the little bird in the green dress?” Eveanne asked. “Is it her?”

Serella didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to properly respond, and Eveanne wasn’t worthy of the knowledge anyroad.

“You’re not being properly cared for.” Eveanne continued, and the way the words stretched under her sneer made the way she pursed her lips audible enough that Serella knew exactly what expression she was making without looking. “Dresses don’t suit you anymore. You’re so boxy now.”

She would think that, the petite slip of a woman. Serella recalled a harvest festival attended on her arm, hearing her go on about how no one there dressed to suit their frame— or can’t afford to! She had laughed at her own joke, joined in by the cronies that had wanted some of her influence. Even then, Serella hadn’t understood the joke, beyond just being said to be cruel.

In hindsight, it should have been an informative, illuminating experience on Lady Eveanne Deautimoix overall.

“Such is the way of adventurers and Paladins alike.” Serella shrugged, and frowned deeply when she realized her flagon was empty. She set it aside on the table with a grimace, hating that there was nothing to occupy her hands now. Folding them tightly over her humble olive skirts, her creme sleeves and bust seemed stark, but she had thought her dress lovely. “And any piece of clothing will suit the wearer if it is properly tailored.”

“Ohh, did you learn that on your adventurers?”

“I learned many things. Not the least of which was how to be happy.” Serella hoped and prayed and wished with everything that she was that that would be enough for her to just leave.

“Were you truly so unhappy with me?” 

“I didn’t even know what happiness was with you.” Serella sneered, at the end of her patience. “I had to turn into a Warrior of Light before I even remembered the concept.”

“Oh, Ella Bella mine,” Eveanne crooned. Then, quick as lightning, darting out like a snake with its fangs bared, her hand caught Serella’s chin and turned her head to face her. “A Warrior of Light. Finally, my broken little doll found her use—”

“Let. Go.” Serella warned, voice a low snarl, her disgust evident. “Or I will break your arm.”

Eveanne opened her mouth to retort, likely with an, oh, you wouldn’t hurt me, which would be setting herself up for disappointment, really, but then before either of them could really react, Eveanne’s cold fingers left her face. Forcibly. 

Serella blinked owlishly, not entirely certain when Hyana had come over or how much of the conversation she had heard, but it was apparently enough to move her to wrenching Eveanne’s arm away, bending it in such a way that it seemed on the edge of snapping.

“What kind of arrogant little prick do you have to be,” Hyana snarled low, eyes burning with rage. “To try something like that with a Warrior of Light?”

Eveanne had never known the threat of danger. In all the time Serella had known her, her privilege had always been enough of a shield to keep most everyone at arm’s length from her. 

Hyana, for a thousand blessings, was not most people.

“Oh, are you her new handler?” Eveanne hissed, unaware that Hyana would, in fact, break her arm.

“Hyana, let her go. It’s alright.” Serella reassured with a tip of her chin.

Hyana didn’t seem keen to let go— for a blessing, Aymeric managed to beat Estinien through the crowd to join them, though the moment his eyes settled on Hyana grasping the woman’s forearm, he stilled.

“Eveanne, if you value the use of your arm, shut the fuck up.” Serella hissed, at least grateful she’d had a wish from some decade past granted in that regard. “No one is my handler— and just because you saw me as your charity pet doesn’t make you one, either.”

She turned kinder eyes to Hyana, still straining with the effort to not break her arm. “Let her go. I promise, it’s alright.”

Hyana still didn’t move, not until their eyes met for a long, long moment. Though she still burned with fury, she threw Eveanne’s arm into her torso.

“I see you near her again, I’ll be licking your blood of of my blade. Are we clear?” Hyana snarled in low warning.

The stillness of the gathering was not lost on Serella. Her ears burned. She had just wanted mead, how did it come to this? Even still, she couldn’t help but marvel at the three of them, all rage wrapped in finery, all upset on her behalf.

That was still something she needed to get used to, she supposed.

In much the same way she had done with Hyana, Aymeric turned gentle when he turned to step at her side. “Are you well?” He asked, his hand warm at the small of her back.

Eveanne gasped. At the sound, instantly, Aymeric’s gaze steeled as it darted to her.

“I know you.” Aymeric said, voice thick with open contempt. “Lady Deautimoix. Just influential enough to buy your way into politics but not important enough to have power over them.” He scoffed. “That you would have the confidence to disrespect a war hero so blatantly offends all sense and sensibility.”

Her heather gray eyes were wide with horror. It was a strange look on her, fear. Serella felt a little bad to take some measure of glee from it.

“I...forgive me, Lord Speak—”

“I am not the injured party. She has made her intentions clear.” His reply was swift but curt.

Eveanne left, and melted into the crowd with some semblance of shame— or a publicly acceptable facsimile of it, at least.

The noise of the celebrations resumed as quickly as it stopped, and the three closed in on her, all alarmingly gentle.

“You’re alright?” Estinien asked, the most reserved, though his gaze was discerning.

“I’m fine— really, I’m fine.” Serella shrugged them all off. “Really, I’m used to it—”

“Used to that?” Aymeric balked.

“That’s...more or less how relationships have been. Like with her.” She shrugged again, uncomfortable with their shocked gazes. “I was useful. And when I was useful enough, I was rewarded with affection. That’s...that’s how it works, right?”

The silence was sharp and loud in her ears, and it answered for all of them in the wake of their upset.

“I’m breaking both of her arms.” Hyana said, gathering her skirts and turning heel.

“I’ll make sure there are no witnesses.” Estinien mused, already stepping in line with her.

“No.” Serella and Aymeric said at the same time.

They stopped, however reluctantly.

[tanglebond-tales]

Wake Up, Lupin (pt. 1)

Most days, it doesn't matter what time Lupin casts the spell.

But today is Thursday, and therefore, it matters.

Ding a ling a ling, says the first alarm. Ugh. That means it's 6 o'clock. Two hours til work, one hour til portal time.

Lupin goes back to sleep.

Bing bong, says the second alarm. Ugh. Six thirty.

Wake up, Lupin. Now. Says the third alarm. Okay, the first two didn't actually SAY what they said, it was onomatopaiea. Sounds that they made translated into words. But this one actually talks.

"Uh. Portal day."

The alarm clock does not respond. It only knows how to say that one thing, repeatedly, in its tinny little voice.

"Wake up, Lupin. Now."

"Fine! Ugh. Fine. Okay. Get up, Lupin." She rolls out of bed. At least it's warm.

---

"Ugh. Why is it always so warm here."

Lupin draws the final stroke of chalk to complete the circle, and before she can even look up, there is a flash of light.

"Hello, Lupin. It's been a while."

"It's been a week." Her handler's enthusiasm at this time of morning was routinely offensive.

He steps forward out of the teleportation circle, places the supply chest on the sideboard, and makes a show of brushing the dust of the conjuring chalk from his otherwise immaculate coat. "It has! I do hope things are going well with you."

Lupin yawns and stretches. "Not bad. Work is fine. Y'know, hammering steel. Over and over."

"But you are getting plenty of practise with those elementals."

"Well, yeah, it's what I do like literally all day, so yes."

"I am glad. I take it they are co-operative."

Portal successfully cast on time, Lupin has retreated to the kitchen. She is making toast. "They're okay. I mean, some more than others, some of them are rude. Some of them are lazy. But most of them are nice. And some of them are really funny."

"I actually kind of envy you. The air realm boundary here is so thin. You're really getting the best of it. It's a wonderful assignment."

"Rui, I've been here for a year. It's getting pretty boring. And why do you always have to visit so early?"

Ruiprouice Frouce sighed. "I know. It is a long time. But we all do it. And, as you know I have a lot of people to visit. This is how I like to start my Thursdays."

She cracks some eggs into the pan and smiles at him over her shoulder. "You're sweet.” From nowhere, a wooden stirrer coalesces in her hand and she prods at the sizzling eggs. “Okay, look, I know. Rite of passage as a conjurer, blah blah. I get that, and I'm grateful for the chance. But, Pelor, am I ever ready to move on."

"Yes, Lupin." Closest thing Lupin ever had to an uncle, but he never used her nicknames. "Just one more week."

Lupin sighed. "Yes. Just one more week. Have you had breakfast?"

---

Felton Blacksand sighed, stroking his long beard and looking at the chrono dial. "Where, oh where, is Lupin."

"I'm here!" hollered Lupin, her attempt at sneaking into the office foiled by her big mouth and scrabbling feet. "I'm sorry."

"It's Thursday, already?"

"Sure is! So, what needs doing?" she inquires as she catches her breath, coils up her two long braids, and stuffs them into her beret.

Felton sighed. Not that he'd been paying close attention, but he knew the year was almost up. When he'd gotten the letter from the conjurers’ guild - sorry, the Guild of Conjurers and Summoners - he hadn't expected much, a bookish nerd maybe? Certainly not someone so talented in the trade as well as the craft. The thought of Lupin moving on was heavy on his mind.

"Crew two is on the Hammer, so they'll probably need you to help get them started. Third crew is in the mines, so Pelor willing they won't need much attention, but crew four is on the mechanisms so they'll definitely need your support. And crew five is,” he consults his clipboard, “smelting, so they may need some fires put out."

"Put out? Come on." She shimmies indignantly into her company-issue grease-spattered overalls. Frowning as she spots a couple of small tears, she jabs at them with a finger and they mend instantly.

"Loops. We're training your replacements. Give them some space to make mistakes."

Lupin was losing track of the number of sighs today. Plus one. "Can I at least stoke some fire tomorrow?"

"Sure, as long as they learn a lot today."

Lupin rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I guess."

"Crew one is on bucket detail, so keep an ear on them. They're not exactly fast."

"True, that. Anything else? Roll on end of shift, right?"

"Roll on. Don't forget to eat lunch."

"Thanks, boss." Lupin left.

---

It hadn't been an eventful shift. The air elementals had been compliant, mostly, but she'd had to talk down to a fairly large firey, and he almost didn't accept her bluster. She knew the protocol for that situation - contain with a magic circle, call for the water squad - but she was proud of the fact that she hadn't had to do that in a bit over six months. She could usually get them to listen to reason, which helped a lot since her physical stature would hardly be described as intimidating. Not that she didn’t have a few other tricks up her sleeve if it really came down to it.

Anyway. The shift was over, and Lupin was heading home. The viewing platform was on the way - about the closest thing this charming hamlet had to a tourist attraction - and hey, the Hammer in action was always a sight to see after walking up that big darn hill on her short gnome legs, so Lupin often stopped there.

Today was different, though. It was Wednesday; nearly a week had passed since Rui's last visit, and tomorrow was the big day. It was tradition in the guild to time the final day of casting with a visit, do a bit of a ceremony and whatnot, and that was tomorrow.

But more immediately, today there were some actual tourists.

A bunch of weirdoes, actually, thought Lupin as she approached the platform. In a good way, an interesting way, and certainly something she hadn't seen in a while. An elf lady with a fancy-looking bow strapped to her back. A tall human man with rippling muscles and a giant sword. A robed monk, a little girl, a birdman. A lizardy guy. Lizardy? No, more dragon-y. And a peculiar boy, not so much taller than Lupin, humanish but for the pointy, swept-back horns atop his head. Lupin somehow has an impulse to just run forward and hug him.

She suppressed it, barely, and instead sidled up to the group just as the dragony man was leaving. Adventurers? What were they doing here? "Hi! I'm Lupin!" She thrust her hand out in the vague direction of the boy with the horns.

---

It seemed like the boy with the horns had a lot on his mind, but that was okay, because Lupin loved talking about her work, and had been doing so incessantly. "And then, right? We put the molten slug on the anvil. And then, the hammer smashes it flat! So flat. Keeping that hammer working is basically my day job. You know, just the other day..."

Fancy bow lady interrupts her. "So, you work here, then?"

Lupin stops. Was that sarcasm? She wasn't used to that, around here.

"Yes, I do! So where are you guys from?" Funny how the fatigue of a whole shift in the steelworks could be erased with a little bit of chitchat.

---

It turned out they were new in town, just passing through really, and looking for somewhere to eat, drink and sleep. Lupin knew just the place - and what a coincidence, was going that way. Even if she weren't, she would have said she was. She'd learned some names, including the horn-headed fella, Russell. Walking next to him, she felt like he was in need of some cheering up.

"Hey, do you like animals?"

Russell immediately perks up. "Yes! I love animals."

"Oh, well." Lupin clasps her hands together, and then opens them a crack. A tiny nose peeks out, whiskers twitching as it samples the air, followed by the face and long body of a silky white ermine, which scurries up Lupin's arm and perches on her shoulder, looking intently at Russell.

"Russell, this is Snickers."

Russell is agog. "What.. how.. did you just.. summon that?"

"Her. And yes. Well, no. Well, she's always around, just not always in material form. I think she likes you."

Lupin bumps her shoulder into Russell's and Snickers scuttles across, disappearing up Russell's sleeve and, a moment later, poking her fuzzy face out of the neck of his armour.

Russell's excited grin has turned into barely contained paroxysms of laughter. "That.. tickles!!", he exclaims between gasps of air. "Oh yes indeed," says Lupin, "this is definitely her tickliest form. Sometimes she's a cat, sometimes a rat, we didn't really like her as a snake, but birds are a lot of fun. Though, not as cuddly."

Snickers has wriggled free of Russell's armour and parked herself on his shoulder, busying herself with nuzzling him incessantly. Accordingly, Russell has regained the power of speech. "She can change forms?”, he asks, returning the affection. “Like, whenever?"

"Oh, well it takes a little bit of doing. We have to cast a spell for it, which needs some fancy ingredients, so it's a bit of a special occasion when we do, you know?"

Russell is impressed. "That is so, so cool."

Lupin blushes a little. Finding a familiar is among the most basic of basic conjuration, but it’s nice that he's impressed. And it’s nice to be chatting to someone who doesn’t tower over her. "You think that's cool? You should see what I do for a living." She starts into telling him all about a day in the life of an elemental wrangler as they walk on.

---

"So, this guild has had you living here for a year, casting the same spell every day, over and over, to - set up a portal?"

Sitting around an assortment of tables, the adventurers are exercising their elbow muscles hefting tankards of excellent ale. Blacksand's Brewery is crowded, as always after the end of a shift at the 'works, with dwarves, gnomes, and humans, far too many of whom Lupin knows by name. The elder of the Blacksand brothers, Beren, tends bar, and waitstaff sashay busily amongst the tables.

"Yep, that's right. It'll facilitate travel and trade and blah blah blah. And it'll mean I've concluded this stage of my service to the Guild, so I'll be presented with a shiny new badge and make a bunch of people real proud, but best of all, I won't have to stay in this boring excuse for a town anymore."

"Oh come on, it's not so bad. This place is nice. And the hammer is really cool!"

"Yeah, so cool! So much going on here! And I get to hear the clanging all day every day from up close AND far away!" Lupin is thrilled to be using sarcasm again. She makes a show of counting on her fingers. "You've seen the Hammer, you're eating at Blacksand's, and you've met me. I think that about covers the highlights of the Praak experience."

She pauses to sip her ale. "I will not miss this place. I will miss some of the people, though." She looks around at the interior of the Brewery. "And, well, I might miss this place. But Praak generally? I don't think so. I don't exactly have a plan yet, but I'm sure looking out for an excuse to leave." A smiling waitress deposits several plates of delicious-smelling food on the table, and Lupin nods in acknowledgement, suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt for badmouthing the small town. She picks up the smallest plate, containing a boiled egg and small cubes of various cheeses, and sets it to one side. Snickers goes straight for it and gets to nibbling.

"But you have to finish this portal first, right?"

"Oh, yes, well, that's happening tomorrow."

Russell's eyebrows raise precipitously.

"Tomorrow! And you said there's going to be a ceremony?" Had she said that? She wasn't sure, but the thoughtful look on Russell's face stilled her tongue. "Do you know anyone who could transport someone between planes? That's a conjurer thing, right?"

Lupin hesitates, unsure of what is happening. "Well - that's something I'm studying towards, but yes, I suppose I do know some people. And yes," she anticipates his next question, "it is possible some of them might be here tomorrow."

"Huh," says Russell, his eyebrows returning to their typical stance as he grabs a chicken leg and leans back in his chair. "Gaalin will want to meet you."

"Who's Gaalin?", says Lupin.

[dyke-remy]

Live And Let Die, part 1

Part 2    Part 3    Part 4   Part 5   Part 6 

Description: Agent 008 and Agent 009, professional spies for the MI6 with liscense to kill. Partners in both work and love. After an agent goes missing the partners have to once more go out into the field. (It’s a James Bond AU)

You don’t need to know anything about James Bond to be able to read this fic, trust me

Words: 3516

It was 7 am when the alarm clock went off. It's loud blaring filled the room that had been peaceful a few seconds ago. Remus let out a grunt. Without opening his eyes he took out a knife from under his pillow and threw it at the clock. The noise disappeared.

"You can't keep doing that" Remy muttered, half yawning it out "Q is like running out of clocks"

"If he could make that morning star that also worked as a disco ball for my birthday he can make some new clocks" He replied.

The room (and the entire apartement) was of average size with just enough space for everything necessary. Which made sense, they didn't spend much time in there anyway. Soft morning light was shimmering in through the window.

The blanket had been wrinkled since Remy was laying over it with their head on the pillow. Remus had his arms wrapped around their waist. They were so close their hair twined together on the pillows. He leaned closer and gave his spouse a good morning kiss.

Their slow awakening was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. They glanced at one another as their expressions turned serious. Remus quietly got up and grabbed the gun laying on the nearest drawer. Butt naked as he was he sneaked over to the door and slowly opened it and at the same time held the gun out.

"Good morn- AAAHHHH!" Patton Moneypenny screamed when he saw the gun peeking out at him. He had on a dark blue knitted suit jacket with stylish bows instead of buttons. With it he had on wide blue matching suit pants.

Remus' posture relaxed when he saw who it was. He fully opened the door "Hiya Moneypenny. You should yell it's you next time or else your brain might paint the walls.....That would look kinda nice tho"

"You should take something on" Patton suggested with a cheerful smile while his cheeks went bright red.

"He should" Remy who had come up behind their husband agreed "One day someone will shoot your dick off"

"Naaaahhhh. They will be too surprised by seeing my massive cock to think about attacking me and then it'll be too late. Boom bang dead! It's a genius tactic!!"

Remy rolled their eyes. They sent Patton a warm smile before pulling him into a hug "Hiya PatPat! Wanna come in?"

"Yeah" As he looked around the room which he'd been in many times he continued with "M wants to meet you in 15 min"

M was the leader of the MI6, the organisation they all worked for. Patton had been his secretary for as long as anyone could remember. It would be weird to imagine M's office without Pat working tiredlesly on his desk right outside.

"15? Girl a lady needs time to get ready, what the fuck" Remy opened a drawer and pulled out the black suit pants, white shirt, black tie and black blazer that acted as their dress code.

"15? Oh! Too little time to spend with my Favorite person in the whole MI6!" Remus exclaimed. He still didn't have anything on.

He took Patton's hand and moved the other to lay on his waist. He spun him around in some sort of dance which made the shorter man giggle and blush harder. He tried not to look down at Remus'....

"Oh Mr. Moneypenny! Rotten apple of my eye! Every mission is spent missing you!" he continued to dramatically lament. He dipped Patton and playfully moved in for a kiss.

Patton let out a chuckle while leaning his head away. "I'm married"

"Ah yes! The greatest tragedy of my life!" Remus held his hand over his heart and all.

"Tragedy indeed" Remy commented before flicking their finger to the back of their husband's head. They dumped his clothes onto his head too "C'mon gal the sooner you get done the sooner you can go out and play fisticuffs with someone"

"Fantastic point dear!"

After gettin dressed Remus jumped up on the bed and pressed a specific spot on the painting on the wall. It turned around to reveal a collection of guns, knives and various other weapons hidden behind it. He patted his morning star and throwing stars goodmorning, fully knowing that M nor Q would allow him to bring them on a mission. Instead he took a gun and carefully cleaned it as if he was cleaning a marble vase.

"I hate these fucking suits. They're so boring. No style. No style at all!!" Remy groaned out while tying their husband's tie because he'd been a spy for 7 years now and he still couldn't tie a tie.

Patton nodded along in sympathy "Very gay of you to think that" The duke chuckled.

They fixed his shirt which had been buttoned wrong "I don't think about fashion because I am gay as fuck! I think about it 'cause I've tots been the most fantastic disguiser here for years and fashion is like integral to a good disguise!! Besides my mothers are fashion legends and I gotta represent y'know"

"I know"

He handed over a gun (Handler ppk) and a few different knives to his spouse who swiftly hid it in different places on their suit. He himself preffered a bit more heavy handed attilery even when it came to handguns.

The couple followed Moneypenny out of their apartement. They lived in a normal looking apartement complex, a little bit fancier than a normal one. They went into a cleaning scrub.

Patton grabbed a mop standing in the corner. He pulled off the top of the handle revealing a scanner underneath. He pressed his thumb against it. A panel of numbers appeared on the wall. He quickly pressed in a code which finally made the inner wall open up, revealing an elevator.

They stepped inside and chit chatted about the weather and what they'd done on the weekend as the elevator went down.

The elevator opened with a satisfying ding. They were many many levels underground now. Long grey hallways stretched forward. It could be a maze for someone new to the place. Patton walked in front of the other two, he knew it like his backpocket.

After 5 or so minutes of walking he stopped by his secretary desk and sat down. There were stacks of paper work on his desk and cute animal posters hanging on the wall beside him.

Remus leaned over the desk and moved a piece of Patton's hair behind his ear "One day I'll get you on a date my dear Moneypenny"

"Sure you will mr. Octopussy. For now I think you will have to stay satisfied with taking whatever mission M gives you"

Remy took Remus' hand and dragged him with them into M's office. He was able to blow a kiss to Patton on his way in. Pat simple chuckled and rolled his eyes. They both knew neither of them were serious.

The office was an old fashioned one with walls and furniture of dark wood. Purple satin clad the windows. Plants and terrariums littered the room and all kinds of snakes slittered about.

Though the biggest snake of them all sat in the chair behind the desk. M. Most people called him Deceit. He had a menacing smile, ebony skin and dark hair pulled back into a braid that reached his shoulder. On his shoulder laid one of his most dearest and most deadliest pets.

"Look who finally decided to join us" M greeted as they came in.

"Aww you missed us so much didn't you??" Remus replied while sitting down on one of the chairs in a way no normal person should "It's okay Deecy. We can invite you to our next movie night"

"Yeah" Remy sat down on the desk and leaned close to Deceit "We're gonna watch Saw 4 and legally blond"

"I can think of much better ways to waste my time thank you. So onto ghe case. It's about-"

M stopped talking because the agents were obviously too busy flirting with each other to listen. It was nothing compared to how they used to spend entire briefings making out right when they'd started dating.

"Please if I wanted to get ignored I would go home to my children which honestly I wish I could" M muttered.

He gave one of his snakes a pat on the head before sending it to twist around Remus' neck which made them both shut up very quickly.

"So about the case. Agent 0012-"

"Like Emile Picani 0012?" Remy interrupted.

"No agent 0012 the giant whale. Yes Picani"

"Oh he's a great kisser! Babe y'know how I like worked in the Q department a bit before becoming a full fletched agent. Yeah I was Pic's quartermaster. We would stay together during missions sometimes. We made out lots and he showed me a bunch of like cartoons"

Deceit put on a more serious expression "He's gone off the radar. He was sent on a mission to Latvia together with 005. Agent 005 has been confirmed dead. Right now we're suspecting that Picani is the killer"

"He wouldn't!" Remy objected.

"We can never be sure. He could have gone rough or been paid to turn sides. Or he's being tortured right at this moment. Anything could have happened"

"I wish I was being tortured right at this moment" Remus who had completely zoned out until now added.

"Well you can gladly take his place if you found him then. He and 005 were supposed to attend a poker night. I suggest you two attend it in case he is there. Disguised of course. If he's gone rough we can't have him be hostile towards you if he recognises you.

"Non suspicious straight couple?" Remus asked while looking over at Remy.

"Non suspicious straight couple!" They replied while high fiveing him.

--

A bit over a day later later Remus was driving a silver aston martin. They were on their way to the casino which was placed away from any nearby town. Among the snowy hills the ice casino stood tall.

"Girl these shoes hurt worse than the time I got shot" Remy groaned while fixing their high heels.

"You can just change shoes y'know" Remus replied.

They looked at him as if he'd just spit in their food "No??? It's part of the character girl!! Like you can't do a great disguise if you don't dress like the character would"

"Which characters are we tonight?"

Remy shone up into a smile "Glad you asked! You are Louis Roy. French guy who inheritated his dad's company. Total asshole. Straight cis you know the type. You're 36-"

"Is that why you put all that make up on me? To make me look old?"

"Yep. And your mustache tots helped. I'm Chelsea Roy. 24. Model. Married you for the money. Housewife. I'm cheating on you with your dad"

Remus let out a fake audible gasp "In return I only married you because I liked your feet model work"

"Touche"

The car stopped in the parking lot of the casino. Remus leaned back in his seat and checked his gun. He glanced over at his spouse who was strapping a blade to their thigh.

"What?" They asked when they caught him looking.

"Nothing" There was a soft smile on his lips "I just love you. Like a giant elephants heart ripped out and bleeding on the ground love y'know"

"I know"

Remy unbuttoned the top button on Remus' tuxedo shirt. They pressed a kiss right below his shoulder, leaving a red lipstick mark, before buttoning it again so it was hidden.

"Just as a reminder" They explained with a cheeky smile.

Remy leanded against Remus' shoulder to fully look like arm candy as they entered the casino. A worker took their coats by the door. Uphead was a luxurious bar made of ice and a large area with tables here and there to mingle. To the left was the casino area. It was the only place where nothing was made out of ice. Instead glistening lights shone on red slot machines and people in expensive clothing were gathered around large poker tables. To the right was the entrance to the casino's hotel and the desk to get keys.

The couple casully went around the mingle area while looking for Picani in the crowd of hundreds of people.

"People are looking at you" Remus mumbled to them after at least 2 guys has been too busy looking at his spouse to not walk into walls.

"Who can blame them" Remy shrugged.

They had on a dark blue satin dress with an open back and a slit on the front so they could move easier. Their wavy light brown hair was pressed down under a blond wig and they had a fake sapphire necklace around their neck. Their dark eyeliner stood out against their pale skin. Remus had on a black tuxedo with a matching bowtie. His dark brown, nearly black hair had been slicked back. His olive toned bordering on brown skin honestly looked amazing in the lighting of the casino.

"Q said Picani was supposed to stay in room 235 so I'll like go and get the key while you like mingle or something I dunno. Kay?" Remy more commanded then asked.

"Yes dear! " He did a mini salute while sticking his tounge out before walking away.

All the keys to the rooms were hanging on the wall behind the desk. Remy took off their necklace while walking up to it. They fixed their posture and took a deep breathe to get ready to make their voice as high as possible.

"Exscuse me sir!" They put on a panicked tone as they walked behind the desk.

The man who presumebly worked at the hotel glanced at them before doing a double take and full on looking at them with heart eyes. "Something wrong?"

They put on a bright smile and twirled the end of their hair between their fingers "Yeah I uh just kinda dropped my necklace and it's like suuuper hard to put on by my own so could you like put it on for me? Pleease?"

"Of course!"

Remy handee him the necklace and turned towards the wall. While he was busy putting it on they took the keys to room 235 without making a single sound. In one smooth motion they stuck it to where the blade was already strapped to their thigh.

"Done!" He said.

They sent him another smile "Do I look good?"

"You look amazing!!"

"Aww thanks sweetie"

They sauntered of without another word. They took a glass of champange from a server they passed to look more casual. They inspected the key while looking for Remus. When they stuck their nails down into it a mark was left if only for a moment. It was a fake.

Remus was sitting by the poker table, loudly boosting about a made up story while betting way more money than he should. He shone up into a grin when he saw Remy. They leaned on his chair and moved one hand to comb through his hair. He moved an arm around their waist to pull them closer knowing fully well that his spouse was distracting everyone else in the poker game.

"Got the key?" He whispered.

"Got the key. It's a replica. I can see it"

"Okay so Picani has the other one. Makes sense. Now we know he's alright"

"Nah girl" Remy glanced around at the other players "Trick them into shoving their keys. Trust me"

"I always do" Remus put on a cocky smirk and leaned his elbows onto the table "Isn't this game becoming a bit boring? How about this: we all bet the amount of money our hotel rooms cost. Including the ones just for the ladies if you get me hurr hurr" He took out the key to his room he'd gotten from Q and laid it on the table "Just as a showing"

Most of the people had been drinking so they all threw up their keys without much thought. Remy subtly moved around the table and glanced at the keys while Remus continued with the game.

Remy stopped midstepped and quickly walked back to him. They made it look like they were kissing his cheek when they were actually whispering

"The mistah on the other side of the table was the one who threw the second 235 key. You know his name or do I have to like pretend flirt the ugly bastard?"

"Ron Stewart. Was real quick to introduce himself just to brag about his money"

"Good. Q can deal with like finding info about him. We gotta find Picani"

They grabbed him by his arm and dragged him up from the table. Remus made some comment about women always hurrying to the other people around the table while quickly throwing his cards away.

He took their hand in his and intertwined their fingers as they entered the hotel part. Ice chandelierd hung in the hallways and deep crimson mattresses where laid over the icy floor. He held his other hand close to where his gun holster was hidden under his jacket.

The door up to the second floor was locked. The two of them glanced at each other. Now they relly knew something was off. Remy took out 2 hairpins from their wig and unlocked the door in under 3 minutes.

The hallways were eerie and quiet. The lights were low and the sounds from the casino were now only dull faraway whispers.

Sudden footsteps were heard. Remy pressed their back against the wall and pulled Remus by his collar into a deep kiss. Out of the corner of their eye they saw a guard walk into the hallway. It was clear there was a gun hidden in a holster connected to his belt. The enby hoped he would just leave them alone if they made out hard enough. It usually worked.

When he saw them his already grumpy expression turned into a grimace. He grabbed onto Remus' shoulder and forced him out of the kiss.

"Visitors aren't allowed on the second floof" He said in a gruff voice.

"Oh come on. Whats a guy gotta do to get some privacy" Remus replied while keeping his arm around Remy's shoulder. They nodded along while blinking innocently and swaying back and forth.

The guard seemed to think for a moment. He took a step back before in a split second pulling out his gun and pointing it at them.

Remus went on instinct as he moved forward and forced the gun out of his hand. He stood like a shield in front of Remy in case it shot. The guard stumbled back as the gun was dragged out of his hands.

Remy shot forward. They dug their nails down into the guard's wrist and kicked his knee to get him off his balance. With a huff they turned around and with the motion swung him over their shoulder and down on the ground. Before he even had time to regain his breathe they kicked their foot onto his neck, knocking him out instantly.

"Should keep him out for long enough" They commented while leaning down to feel his pulse.

"I love it when you do that sudden kissy thing. I wish murderous people would walk in on us more so you'd do it more often" Remus replied.

"Babe you can literally ask me to kiss you whenever"

"It's not the same if the threat of death isn't looming over us!!" Remus did an overexagarated pout.

Remy stood up and moved the blade on their thigh to their hand "Leave that to when we've found Picani" They said while continuing into the next hallway.

Remus quickly followed them, even walking a bit before them so if another guard showed up they would shoot at him first. "So eager to see him huh?"

"Duh. He was like the closest thing I had to a boyfriend before I met you. Like sure we were never official but we kissed and did all that sorta couplesy stuff. I haven't seen him like years! I wanna catch up y'know"

"Do I have to be afraid of being replaced" Remus joked.

They bumped against his shoulder "Babe neva!"

He was about to reply with something lovey dovey but the conversation immediatly stopped as they both saw it. Room 235. The door stood slightly open.

They moved silently, weapons in hand. Remy was the first in. They looked around with urgency in their eyes. They searched through the entrance before going into the bedroom. Remus checked the bathroom but there wasn't a trace of him. No traces of other people either.

A sudden choked back sob came from the bedroom. Remus ran to it while holding back the urge to yell out his lover's name.

Remy stood with shaking shoulders by the door. On the floor with his back leaned against the bed sat Emile Picani. Dead.

[mca-attack21]

Deadly Definitions 14

This combines multiple episodes of season 2 and doesn’t exactly follow the plot. As for all, it can be read as stand-alone or as part of the series. My masterlist has links to the rest of the series HERE . I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is both welcomed and encouraged.  Tags: @l4life @ahoy-ladies-67

The Black Hood. That is what the town was calling him thanks to Alice Cooper. The man who had shot Mr. Andrews, Moose and Midge, killed Ms. Grundy, and had been psychologically terrorizing your friends. He had been on the loose for three weeks and that was all the time it took to change everything. There was a curfew instated,everyone was on edge, and that is only scratching the surface as you were sure more had transpired that you were merely unaware of.

Out of everyone, Archie had taken it the worst. While his dad was okay and back to work, he still wasn’t sleeping. He was constantly on edge and had even tried to take matters into his own hands by creating the red circle. You loved how fiercely he wanted to protect the people he loved, however, you were starting to fear that he was losing himself in the process.

You tried to be there for him, but it was harder now that you lived and went to school on the Southside. Speaking of Southside, Jughead was supposed to be your friend there, but he had started to hang out with the Serpents. He had become a kingpin in a matter of weeks. Little did you know that his involvement had gone further and included a deal with the snake handler. Something both he and Archie had swore to never speak of again. You didn’t blame him for becoming a serpent as he probably wouldn’t survive otherwise with the ghoulies around. You just hoped that he knew what he was doing.

As for the rest of the gang, you haven’t heard much from Veronica, who has been preoccupied with her father’s return. She desperately needed to know whether or not her dad had any connection to the Black Hood. Betty was trying to keep Jughead on the straight and narrow and manage her parents never-ending drama. Unbeknownst to you, she was also struggling through torturous communications with the Black Hood who had dedicated his work to her.

Your group had been separated just when they could benefit most from being together.

You were supposed to be hanging out with Archie. Instead, you were forced at gunpoint to go to the cemetery. Trying to stay calm you called Archie as directed through tears. You hoped with every ring that he wouldn’t answer. Maybe you would be able to keep him out of this mess. But that was not the case.

“Hey Y/n, I’ve been waiting for you. Is everything okay?” Archie asked.

“Archie, I-” you started but the Black Hood pushed the gun into the back of your head causing you to whimper.

“Y/n?”

“I am in the cemetery with a friend of yours. Come alone and don’t call the police or I will be dead when you arrive” you read. 

“I’m on my way. Everything will be okay, just hold on. I lo-” he said frantically before the Black Hood ended the call. 

“So what is the plan here? Killing us in the cemetery is a little cliche isn’t it?” you taunted.

“Shut up and sit still!” he demanded.

You sat and looked around trying to come up with a plan, any plan. You hoped that Archie wasn’t dumb enough to come alone, but you knew that he would. He would do anything to protect the people he loved.

When he arrived he went for you but was stopped by the Black Hood. He directed you and Archie further into the cemetery where there was a shallow grave with an empty coffin. You were confused, but then realized with horror what was about to happen. 

“Get in the Coffin” the Black Hood ordered.

“No way!” Archie replied.

“Get in the Coffin or I’ll shoot her in the head,” the Black Hood threatened. 

“Okay,” Archie surrendered doing as told.

“Shut the coffin and start to fill in the grave,” he ordered you.

You hesitated, how were you supposed to do this? 

“Y/n, do it now. Shut the coffin,” he yelled.

“It’s okay.” Archie tried.

“I’m so sorry, I love you,” you cried as you closed the lid. 

“Pick up the shovel. Fill in the grave.” the Black Hood demanded still pointing the gun at your head. 

You did as told careful to throw the dirt at Archie’s feet. You were racking your brain for an escape scenario that would get both of you out alive and alternatively a plan that ensured Archie got out alive. It was a minute later when the police sirens were heard. 

You took advantage of this temporary distraction and used to shovel to knock out the Black hood which caused him to drop his gun. When you turned back and he was fleeing the scene. You immediately went for Archie pulling open the coffin and helping him out.

“Where did he go?” Archie asked frantically.

“Through there, towards the bridge,” you answered.

Archie wasted no time in grabbing the gun and sprinting after the Black Hood. You were close behind. When Archie and you did catch up, the hooded figure was about to jump over the bridge. 

“Stop!” Archie yelled, “I said stop or I’ll shoot you. I swear to god that I will do it!” 

There was a pause. How far was Archie really winning to go? You knew that whatever happened next would change everything.

“You tried to kill my father and my friends. You are going to pay for your crimes. This ends tonight.” Archie struggled. 

It was then that the Black Hood had decided to jump. “Stop!” Archie screamed. And then the gunshot fired by Sheriff Keller. 

What happened next was all a bit of a blur. The moral of the story was that the man behind the mask was none other than Mr. Spenson?  Everyone met up at Pop’s to celebrate if that was even the right word. Something didn’t feel right, the pieces seemed to fit together too well. But you definitely were not going to be the one to say anything.

The Black Hood was dead, right?

Everything was over now and could go back to normal, right?

Could it be that easy, just once?

No, not in Riverdale. 

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Oh my god they were roommates

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts. I will post the next part tomorrow.

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 2051

Part 1

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Walking through the huge glass doors, you almost stopped and turned around. Any other time the music would at the very least have you tapping your toes, but not this time. Even the ridiculously expensive DJ could not turn your mood upside down.

You looked around the room. Of course they had cleared a space for dancing. Stark’s lavish parties always had lots of people dancing, and those who weren’t inclined to rock to the music could watch the night over the city through the massive windows.

The city looked like a twinkling Christmas ornament against the dark sky. Below, cars sped to and from, creating colourful lines of light in the raindrops on the glass. This was exactly how you felt. The calm rain washed the outside of the building while the loud chaos raged inside. Breathing in and out, you decided to hide in the corner, have one drink, and then head home to a date with Netflix and your pyjamas.

What on earth had made you think that attending a party filled with happy people would keep your heartbreak away? It hurt more than it should. Yes, Tommy was an asshole, you realised that now, but it was so hard to let go of the past two years. A part of you missed him, but you weren’t at all sure if you missed him or if it was just the lack of somebody there. You hoped it was the latter. If not, you needed to have a stern talking-to with yourself. In any case: procuring a drink was the next point on your agenda.

You shuffled through the crowd, wanting to be anywhere else, but you had said you would come, and you always kept your promises. You drew a deep breath and turned to the bar, where you bumped into Loki and his handler, Ben Reed.

Looking at them, you felt even more awkward with your plain, black skirt and blouse. Loki, like everyone else, was wearing black, but the details of his suit and the way he held himself made him look extra dashing and out of place. Standing next to Agent Reed, even more so.

If you squinted, you could just about make out the snakes winding and slithering over the lapels of his jacket, just barely visible when the light hit just right. Most likely sorcery, you thought, and felt bad for Ben, who looked no more than average compared.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Loki said with a polite smile. “Are you here alone tonight?”

“Yes.” Your reply was short and curt, and Loki knew better than to pry.

Agent Reed, however, did not. He looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/N? You look like someone stole your toy.”

You pulled self-consciously on your skirt, slipping the heel of your shoes on and off. “Tommy dumped me last week,” you replied, surprised that it didn’t bring tears to your eyes, and hoping that the information would make him back off. You were in no mood to deal with him today.

You didn’t have anything in particular against Ben as such, it’s just that he had little to no compassion for others, and he had a little too much fun being a power hungry know-it-all. Okay, so maybe you had something against him after all. But you tolerated him because you were co-workers. And you liked being around Loki. Despite his closed-off demeanour and his violent past, he made you laugh with his weird humour and stories.  You wouldn’t go so far as to call yourselves friends, but you did enjoy his company at least.

“What?” Reed exclaimed without real feeling. “But he was such a handsome man. You looked so good together.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to kindly fuck off, but Loki beat you to it. “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless, Agent.” He turned to you and inclined his head slightly. “If you require my assistance, fair Y/N, I know several ways to maim and disembowel someone without taking their lives –“ He winked at you, but Reed frowned.

“Now now, Loki. You are still on probation, remember? Talk like that can get you in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you rat on him, Ben. It’s not Loki’s fault you’ve no humour.” Turning back to Loki, you were smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. “Thank you, but no thanks. I greatly appreciate the offer, but Tommy doesn’t deserve another thought from me.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Maybe you would like to accompany the Agent and myself? There is an empty table over there. What would you like to drink?”

You caught the eyes of the bartender, who sidled over to the three of you. “One rum and coke. With a lime wedge, please. Thank you.”

Holding up a finger, Benjamin nodded. “Beer.”

“And for you?” the bartender asked Loki.

“Brillet, please. Grande Champagne, if you have.”

A couple of minutes later, you were making your way to the empty table, just far enough from the biggest crowds to be able to talk, but close enough that you could zone out without it turning too awkward.

The evening turned out a lot better than you feared. One drink turned to two, turned to three, and the conversation flowed freely, only interrupted by loud outbursts of laughter. You even bobbed your foot to the music.

“Please excuse me,” Loki said, rising from the table. “Oh, no need to follow,” he added when Reed moved to get up too. “I just have to visit the restroom. Don’t worry. You’d know it if I tried anything.” He lifted his trouser leg slightly to reveal a sleek, black device. You knew they were monitoring him, but an ankle bracelet?  So many questions filled your brain.

Reed seemed satisfied, and lowered himself back into the chair. Once Loki was out of earshot, he blew out a loud breath. “Jesus! I’m so sick of this. Following his every move. That goddamn weaselly face of his… I swear I’ll go mental one day!”

You frowned. It couldn’t be that bad. “You don’t have to follow him, you know. I’m sure he’s –“

“Loki is a war criminal, Y/N. He’ll never be a good citizen; evil is in his spine. But I guess you’re too blinded by his charm to see it.”

That was unnecessary harsh, you thought. Since the invasion of New York you had never seen Loki do anything illegal, and you were a firm believer in second chances and judging by what people did rather than what they had done. Reed, on the other hand… Apparently he held grudges, and when he decided he didn’t like you, well, then everybody knew it.

When Loki came back, looking fresh as always, Reed got to his feet. “I’m sure you can keep an eye at him,” he said to you, nodding to Loki. “I’m gonna…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but ploughed his way through the crowd towards a beautiful redhead dancing on her own by the DJ booth.

“Wow, that was sudden,” you said with a smile. “Not that I’m sad he left.”

Loki nodded, a smug smile spreading over his face. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like me very much.”

You watched as Reed tried and failed to grab the woman’s hand. A giggle escaped before you caught yourself, and you turned back to Loki. “Why? I mean, there’s the… but you’ve been very well behaved after, and he wasn’t even stationed in New York.”

Loki sipped his cognac, watching Reed’s efforts with amusements. “Well, he’s not very good with the ladies,” he said as if that would explain everything.

You gestured for him to continue.

“Last month he asked out a colleague, Annette was her name, I believe, but she turned him down. Rather harshly too, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? How?” You felt curiosity grow in your chest. His luck with the ladies couldn’t have anything to do with Loki, but then you remembered his comment earlier.

Loki shrugged just as the woman was joined by her friends, taking Reed by surprise. You both snorted into your drinks. “She told him that she would rather go on a date with me than spend an evening with him.”

“Ouch.”

“That is the correct term, yes. Ever since, his behaviour towards me has been increasingly colder.”

“Not your fault, though,” you offered, swinging your glass a little too vigorously, sloshing the drink over the edge. “Ben is rude. He doesn’t understand – see?”

The redhead slapped him hard across the cheek and turned to her friends, who were all laughing. Fuming, he returned to the table, and you hastily tried to look like you hadn’t been watching.

“Come on,” he growled, gesturing to Loki. “It’s time to go.”

Looking between them, you frowned. You weren’t at all ready to end the evening, and you were contemplating suggesting that you could take custody of Loki for the reminder of the night, but that probably weren’t a good idea anyway.

“Have a pleasant rest of the evening, Y/N,” Loki said, lifting your hand to his lips with a wink. Behind his back you could practically see smoke billowing from Ben’s ears. “Until our next meeting.”

It didn’t take long to finish your drink and call for a cab. The sudden stop to your talk with Loki reminded you that you came to the party alone, and that thought sent a wave of sadness and anger through you, and a short car ride later, you aggressively kicked off your shoes and stomped to bed without removing your makeup or clothes.

A week later you were sitting by your desk, trying to plot numbers into an Excel spreadsheet and not dying of boredom, when Miriam from floor three handed you a thick envelope. “You’ve got a mission,” she said before hurrying back to the elevator.

You opened the folder and pulled out a good pile of papers stamped CONFIDENTIAL in bright, red ink. Most of them contained notes and reports on Loki: his crimes and his progress, and you skimmed through it. As far as you could see he had done nothing to warrant suspicion the last three years, only minor pranks and general mischief, most of which, to be frank, you found hilarious.

The four last pages of the document contained a rough outline of a plan, and notes on Loki’s magic. A yellow post-it fluttered to the floor. When you picked it up, it revealed a time and location for a meeting. A quick glance at your calendar made you sweat. Tomorrow.

Loki was already there when you arrived, coffee in hand. Considering how he had treated the other agents (and to be fair, you couldn’t really blame him), you had decided to try to start on his good side, so you brought him a coffee as well.

“Morning,” you yawned, sliding the styrofoam cup over the table. It was too early to warrant a full sentence yet.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His voice was silky and suspicious. Clearly he hadn’t been informed of the change yet. You wondered if it was intentional, or if Agent Reed had just upped and fucked off the second he got the all clear.

Director Fury waltzed into the room moments later, followed by two agents you had never seen before. “Good. You’re both here. Please have a seat, Agent Y/N,” he added when you got to your feet.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is going on, Fury?”

You swallowed, hoping your first task wouldn’t be cleaning up a showdown between the two. Because you were pretty certain it wouldn’t be pretty.

Fury smirked. “I have good news for you. Agent Reed resigned.”

You felt your face twitch as Loki leaned back into his chair and visibly relaxed. It was difficult to decipher his face, but you thought you could see a drop of relief in his eyes.

“However,” Fury continued, “I think you know we can’t just let you roam free. You have still to prove your allegiance. So I have assigned a new agent to keep you company.”

Nodding, you gave Loki a tight-lipped smile and a small salute with your coffee cup. Behind you the two agents tightened their grips on whatever weapons they were carrying.

Needing to diffuse the tension, you threw out your arms. “Tadaa. Could be worse, right?”

Loki remained silent, and you prayed he wouldn’t blow up. After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he seemed to sink back in his chair. “Could be worse.”

Fury slid a folder across the table. “Good. That’s that out of the way. Do try to be a little excited, Loki. I thought you didn’t get along with Agent Reed.”

Loki caught the folder and read through the assignment. Once he was done, he groaned and rolled his eyes.

“We are in the process of finding a new apartment for you,” Fury said, ignoring Loki’s silent protest. “There is little in the vicinity of Y/N, but we will have a place ready within the next week or so.”

You looked at Loki, slumped in the chair, and Fury, oblivious to what was the real problem here. “Um, I have a suggestion,” you began, feeling all eyes on you and squirming in your seat. “If you need me to be closer… How about I move instead? It’s no problem for me to rent out my apartment. I have no sentimental ties to it, especially after…” You cleared your throat, shoving the memories of finding Tommy on your couch with some random chick to the back of your mind. What he had thought bringing her to your place instead of his own you didn’t know, but then again he had been absolutely sloshed. “Anyway, I’m sure it’s easier for me to move to the other side of the city?”

Hoping Fury would at least consider it, you glanced at Loki through the corner of your eyes. His back sat straighter, and he had moved to the edge of his seat. Maybe it would be a bearable arrangement after all.

“I’m sorry,” Fury said. “We have no one to relocate in that area. But…” He suddenly got a sly look in his eye. “Loki. You have a spare room, do you not? That would make it much easier for us.”

“What? Absolutely not!” His face clouded over, and you could practically sense the fire in his eyes. Okay, so this wouldn’t be easy after all.

What followed was a staring contest that would have even the testosterone filled tomcat slinking away to hide under the stairs. But eventually Loki inhaled and rubbed his temples. It looked like he mouthed “Fine,” but other than that he gave no indication that he was okay with the arrangement.

“So that’s decided. How soon can you move, Y/N?”

Feeling slightly dizzy from the power display that just played out, you hesitated. “Uh… whenever, really. Depends how much I have to bring with me.”

Part two

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Tagging the peeps who have shown interest: 

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Thoughts/Background Goblet of Fire

What kind of creepy graveyard is this? Skeletons crawling over one another? Snake hidey-holes? Is this Nagini speaking or can she hear Voldemort from that far away? This just shows how fast she is as she moves along the ground here. Literally, we have here the Angel of Death equipped with wings and a scythe, which normally the Grim Reaper carries.

One light on in the caretaker’s house which is right next to the family graveyard? We are assuming that this is the Riddle estate, correct? Wealthy families like that would have had a family graveyard near their home. Also, that house in the background, Riddle Manor? Is super big and though it is dark looks grandiose.

The house here, looks well lived in, but at the same time, almost like it has only recently been inhabited. This is a kitchen, but it looks like there is a shovel on the wall, and only one light?

Still, only one light on in the main Riddle house. Wormtail can’t even draw a curtain? Dang.

Those are some old fashioned keys. I understand that this is a Manor or whatever, but this takes place during the nineties? No one thought to update the locks on this place? Frank mentions, “Those kids”, like people breaking in has been a real problem. Why not update the security? Also, who has been paying for the upkeep of this place? Lucius? Some secret Dark Lord Corporation? Is that why they are old school? Because we all know that wizards like to keep everything super, super, super old school?

Seriously, who is keeping up this place? The topiary is amazing!!

He looks like he is walking up a sort of backdoor entrance or servant’s entrance.

He is the caretaker for the grounds, but can’t dust a little? That clock needs a good one.

The light wasn’t muted because no one was casting a lumos, they were simply using a lamp that had the fabric bits removed that dampen the light.

The way that Barty is smiling when Nagini perches herself on Voldemort’s chair is fucking terrifying.

Ron’s room really is all orange. Such a fanboy.

The Burrow is in such a great spot. The little pond in front, the trees, the openness. The house itself is incredible. Still, only one light on. Whose? You can see the group walking away. That has to be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room. Or Ron forgot to turn off the light, again.

They are all having to run to keep up with Mr. Weasley because he gets his cardio, bitch.

Mr. Weasley is rocking that straw cabana hat because he knows Muggles son!

Such a beautiful shot!

Did they travel through a worm hole here? I know the director or whoever had to make a creative choice in how this was going to be portrayed, but…. Idk.

Everyone is flying around, the arena is clearly segregated into Ireland’s colors or Green, Red, and Yellow, perhaps hinting at the final score of the match? Nice job, filmmakers.

What is this guy juggling? It looks like toy merecreatures almost.

Orange is the Weasley families favorite color. They’re just owning it at this point.

The pitch looks like it is in the inside of a volcano or a mountain.

Some people have seats right on the grass of the pitch? So, if the Weasle’s have bad seats at the very top what would the very lowest seats be classified as?

Who knew that a job qualification for Professional Qudditich players is the ability to adequately throw and spark fireworks?

Krum is a showoff.

Those are omnoculars? What Ron has to his face?

The way that they were all packed in together, it’s a wonder the whole place didn’t burn down with all the incendios they were throwing around.

They are all wizards, underage or not, and this is a life threatening situation, and yet, no one is firing back at the Death Eaters?

Okay, so everything did get torched to the ground. None of these tents had some fire retardant?

That amount of spells coming at the trio.

That style of hat that Crouch is wearing has got to be some ministry trend. Wait until they all hit the trucker hats in the 2000’s.

That Dark Mark is really cool.

I love her hat though. It looks like something that would have been worn to the royal wedding.

Seeing the train is always stunning.

I love the collection of sweets here. Colorful, to attract the youngins.

This is a really colorful movie. The third one was very muted while still being stunning. This and the next one experience with splashes of color that are just beautiful.

They are passing a big lake in the background there. Out of the window just looks wild and remote.

He addresses it clearly to Sirius Black. Is that a qualification for the owls to know where they letter needs to go or do they just have to have been there before? I need to know the specifics of owl travel.

You get to see the whole scope of how large not only Hogwarts is ,but the grounds, and I love that.

You see Neville in this first sequence as they are watching the other schools arrive as well as Fred, George, Ginny, Colin, Harry, and Hermione. Angelina Johnson is in the background behind the twins.

The sails on the Durmstrang ship looks like it is decorated with a two headed dragon. Is that the symbol for Durmstrang?

So while Dumbledore is chatting, Hagrid and Flitwick are behind him chit chatting.

There are two levels to the head table in this movie. The main folk are sitting at the higher table. Snape is leaning against the wall, not directly related to them at all. I bet he hated first days at the school.

Snape is one hundred percent mimicking Dumbledore’s speech for a hysterical Flitwick in the background.

The bald guy behind Dumbledore looks asleep, straight up.

Are butterflies the symbol for Beauxbatons? That would be very interesting. A creature that transforms completely into something else.

Hermione and Ginny are the only two who know what’s up in this shot.

Dumbledore was giving Madame Maxime eyes.

Filch is just standing dead in the middle of the Durmstrang wizards.

He is still standing there when Krum and Karkaroff walk in.

The kids so promptly follow Dumbledore’s instructions even though some of them are probably embarrassed about having to sing the school song.

But not Harry James Potter. He is living for this song.

Again we get so many shots of the school in this movie.

You can see the house point containers behind Dumbledore’s head.

You can see them again after the goblet is revealed.

Is that a tower of marshmallows?

OMgosh! The sky acted up when Crouch Jr came in because Hogwarts knew that he wasn’t who he said he was!!!!

The cup is so primitive looking compared to the container that is in.

It almost looks like each layer was created by a different faction of the wizarding world as a whole. That could definitely be a fanfic.

The perspective starts on the Durmstrang ship which again features a dragon.

Cages, nets in the background of the DADA classroom.

There is also a lot of glass and mirrors in the room which almost makes me think of a fun house where you don’t look like yourself in any of the mirrors which is super fitting for Crouch Jr. at this phase.

Why does Hermione look so suspicious already?

And what is the use of all the bugs, Crouch Jr. you sick mother f-er.

Who needs fifty overflowing worms in a jar?

Dean Thomas is straight up rocking a composition notebook from Walmart on that desk. He is representing Muggle culture at its finest.

Crabbe is wearing a ring. Is that his heir ring? That would be interesting as we see the younger generation start to really get pulled into the war in this film.

The portrait on the stain glass crying. We have all seen this, and appreciate the majesty.

We love a rain soaked Robert Pattinson.

Everyone is just watching the battle between the twins and Hermione.

There is no other light in the Great hall except for the Goblet? Dumbledore does love his aesthetic.

Snape is like, get me out of here.

And that display of power is why all of them dang kids sing that dorky song.

Who is Cedric kissing here as he goes up to the head table?

The cup is like the opposite of the Goblet of Fire. It is shiny and bright and new while the goblet is ancient looking.

You can see Harry’s scar quite prevalently in this shot.

The Hogwarts trophy room. I have never connected this before. It is huge.

Karkaroff has gold fillings.

What are the spinning trophies and where can I get one?

One light on in the top part of the castle.

Pensieve memories are blue, and the Goblet’s fire is blue. Coincidence? Fic writers, you tell me.

The suns on the curtains in the boy’s dorm is a nice touch.

Ron has a homemade quilt. I bet he gets those for birthday gifts instead of the infamous Christmas sweater. Molly Weasley is a boss.

What are all of these trophies for? I bet Dumbledore keeps all the ones that the various clubs and groups have won over the years.

Magical cleaner?

The scope of Hogwarts is amazing.

The owlery is literally covered in bird shit, like every inch. Dumbledore clearly instructs Filch not to clean it to deter frisky students.

Is that a cat on the stairs there?

I can’t ever decide if the Common Room looks too big or too small, here.

Harry talks about Voldemort so casually. But I guess if someone tried to kill me year after year we would form a sort of familiarity.

Those cabinets in the back are filled with board games. Bet me. Gryffindors are notoriously bloody, and game night, gets wild.

I bet Neville spends a lot of his time in the lake just researching and studying all of the different plant life.

Neville cares not at all for the drama behind him. He’s just like, “Give me the plants”.

I love that bright orange flower. Hagrid ain’t no fool. He knows how to get the ladies.

The mist in the background could almost be taken as fog, but then you think about the dragon’s and it literally could be smoke.

Hagrid representing all of the men who are shorter than their women.

There looks to be about six dragon handlers here.

They are carrying branches or their wands lit with fire at the end. Is that to confuse the dragons? Make them think that they already covered that area in their territory and are thus safe?

The handler on top gets bucked off the cage. He is done with this job.

I’m sorry, but those badges are ingenious. Do we know in the movie that Draco is the one that made them or is that fanon?

Those Hufflepuffs are nasty.

The sculpture that is seen in that scene in the courtyard looks like the same one that is present in Half Blood Prince. Do they also move around the castle at will?

Harry pushed Draco, and that guy in the back is like, “Yes, let’s have a fight.” Then he and the other guy straight up bounce when Moody pops on the scene. But Goyle is ride or die. Or maybe they ran and got McGonagall because she came really quickly???? Hmmm??

The walls are all green and lightly moss covered. Gorgeous.

Like, is there a legit list of all the things that teachers cannot do. 1. We do not use Transfiguration as a punishment. 2. Trying to main or kill students is expressively forbidden. 3. Flashy robes are allowed and encouraged. Share in the glorious pattern of life.

Crouch Jr. should have been shitting his pants at being at the end of McGonagall’s wand.

Again with all the mirrors. So, Crouch Jr. can make sure that his transformation isn’t slipping?

What are the faces in the mirror here?  

All the clues were there, and I didn’t see a single one. This movie and book is a masterpiece of plot. Plain and simple.

McGonagall was like, “Let’s not have the arena with the dragons so close to the castle, eh, Albus?”

There is a bed for each of the champions in this tent. Could no one transfigure a couch?

They have punch and muffins in the background. “Lime punch before you fight a dragon?” “Sure.”

I never noticed that blue in Madame Mazime’s hair. I love the school spirit that she is showing here. Dumbledore seriously thought of mimicking her. He would look bomb with a tie die beard. Convince me otherwise.

Filch is featured spectacularly in this movie.

The trunk at the bottom has a red cross on it, making this very likely an emergency tent that just so happens to double as the waiting area for the champions.

Colin made that sign for Harry.

I feel like that chain, oh, I don’t know, could have been magically reinforced or something.

How does his glasses stay on? I bend over, and mine are on the floor.

Even Draco here is like, “Come on, bro.”

Snape knew he should have stayed in bed.

So, does the waterfall seen here does that fall into Hogwart’s grounds as well because that would be awesome for field trips. My love for this ancient, magical castle in the middle of nowhere is unmatched.

Where was Seamus during that challenge? I did not see him.

The picture of the woman in the far left is very striking.

The Black Lake is a huge expanse. I always think of it as kind of small, but it is massive in this movie.

The pastries in the back are floating along the table. So cool.

Mrs. Norris just chilling, waiting to see these pitiful humans embarrass themselves.

Why can’t they have healed Harry? I understand the look, but dang, people continuity.

Neville has got them shiny dancing shoes. Augusta was very pleased when Neville asked her to buy them for him.

Hermione is a queen, and she knows it.

There is that semi circle of stone again from the third film. Hmmm….

Ginny’s friends are coming in with the support. Love a squad.

There was fruit on that table. I always wondered if they got snacks and what not during the daytime, between meals.

What was the need of carriages if the ball was held at the school?

Ron waited until last minute to even try on those robes or he definitely could have worked something out.

Owl sculptures are supporting the fires here.

Krum is dumbstruck by our girl.

Somehow she loses Krum to argue with Ron.

Is that couple making out at the table?

People are dancing in the hallway?

A gaggle of girls are crying on the stairs. Every middle school dance ever.

I’m telling you, whoever designed this cemetery had a very messed up imagination.

Neville stays out all night long. It is morning coming through that window. You dog, you.

Half of the allure of going to Hogwarts is to get to become a prefect and use that bath. Let’s be honest.

Crouch Jr. hates his life right now.

All of those books are like represent my best life.

Half of those students are like, “Yeah, no, you took all my money last time.” Because let’s be real, no one bet on Harry, and Fred and George scored big time.

Those top tiered placed have got to be enlarged with wizard’s space because they are quite small, and the whole school plus the two others are expected to attend each trial? Yeah, not big enough it seems.

Harry is a show off.

Seamus is wearing Hogwarts merch. Like where did he get that? A catalog? Gift shop in Hogsmeade?

You can see the merpeople’s ancient village here, or hints of it. Archways, etc.

Fleur looks legit worried here. Like Harry was right to not trust Dumbledore to ensure their safety when he can’t even tell Fleur who is out of the competition by this point that her sister is going to be okay.

Why are Fred, George, and Ginny right next to Malfoy and Co. for this shot, shouldn’t they be at odds? Or was that the best spot and neither were giving it up?  Or plain movie making reasons?

Harry is wearing a wand holster on his leg. Fanfiction writers catch all the details.

Seamus is like, “I am Harry’s hype man. I will keep him from getting hypothermia.”

Why did Hermione turn French here for that line?

Rescue….. that’s a strong word here, Dumbles.

Crouch Sr. is such an interesting character. He knows what it is like to lose a family, and he has his guard up because of that. Their story and their family is so interesting to me for some reason.

I think that’s the closest that Crouch Jr. gets to breaking character.

If you were born in the nineties you had at least one of those jackets that Hermione is wearing here, and if you had more, you had them in several colors.

Who bewitched Mad-eye’s eye? It is a very powerful magical object in its own right, right?

Please see my post about Sirius and Azkaban.

As soon as Snape is mentioned Crouch puts his head in his hands because he knows Dumbledore is going to have to have a say.

Dumbledore is looking so closely at the details that he misses the bigger picture in Harry’s dreams and Moody’s actions.

It’s so weird that Snape has a storage area for ingredients near Dumbledore’s office. I bet that Snape has several storage areas spread throughout the castle.

Snape could have just looked inside Harry’s mind, and be done with it, but no….because plot.

Neville is carrying yet another plant behind the trio here.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle are so carefree here that you almost forget that the happiness of youth that they have at Hogwarts is about to go extinct just like Harry and his friends. All of the kids in this story face a sharp change in perspective after this book.

I like that Harry has fake Moody, Krum has Karkaroff, Fleur has Madame Maxime, but Cedric has his dad because he gets to say goodbye to him.

The maze is just a massive headgame.

Do you think the reason that Fleur ultimately becomes close enough to Krum to ask him to her wedding is because Krum sought her out and made serious recompense for him being imperioused while in the maze?

They are just resorting to brute strength there at the end. The maze making them forget that they are capable wizards. A jelly legs jinx probably would have had much the same effect.

Angel statues I get, but this big dementor, grim looking thing holding the bones of Voldemort’s father. I just don’t get it.

Cedric gave Peter a chance to speak or stop, but Peter again took the cowards way out, and blasted Cedric before he really had a chance to fight back. What a punk bitch.

I’m glad that you are forced to choke your own self Peter because you deserve it.

Voldemort’s transformation here is both stunning and horrible.

The Death Eaters come out of the Dark Mark’s mouth.

Their masks here are different then the ones used earlier in the morning.

Voldemort is snatching their weaves here, and I love it. Stupid klan robe wearing wizard Nazis.

Voldemort puts his foot on Cedric’s face. Like, son, you need to pay for that privilege.

A lot of the Death Eaters here look like they have like staffs. I don’t understand.

A Death Eater in the background is litearlly clapping when Voldemort makes Harry bow, like get a hold of yourself, Hershel.

The statue, again, in the background presents such a striking image as the two duel.

The spell that Crouch Jr. urged Harry to learn is the one that saved Harry.

Harry just wanting to physically protect Cedric’s body with his own. Just heartbreaking.

I’ll never not sob when I hear Amos Diggory sob, “That’s my son! That’s my boy!”

Fred and George look to follow Crouch Jr. and Harry out. Do they tip off the professors?

Doesn’t Crouch know what it is like to stand in Voldemort’s presence? He was just babysitting the man, I mean, dang. Fangirling is one thing, but you have business to handle.

Don’t insult my Neville. I will throw down.

The mirrors are gone at this point. It looks like Crouch has almost packed up because he knows that he will no longer be needed.

Not his blood, ahhhhh!!!!!

Snape puts such flourish into his casting. That scene at the carriages earlier in this film. He looks like he is rearing back away from Karkaroff, but he is merely preparing to cast one fanciful, flourish of a hex on the man.

Just stick your face in the crazy Death Eater’s face, Harry. Great thinking. No wonder Snape doesn’t hold your intelligence in high regard.

We don’t get one look at Professor Sprout. This boy’s Head of House?

Look at all that magical cooperation, and yet, none of this was used in book seven, or any book after except for mentioning Fleur married Bill, and Harry learned a little tidbit about the Deathly Hallows symbol from Krum.

I love this film. It is stunning, and truly made me a diehard HP fan. I don’t think I will ever really tire of it.

[failes-xtra-bits]

Review (prologue 1-5)

the prologue begins with Jokaste talking to the councillor Guion. She is telling him that they have prepared a special "gift" for the Prince. In addition to the 2 dozen slaves already prepared for the Regent. This is where we get our first glimpse of Damen through Guion's eyes.

'Bound and under heavy guard was a male slave unlike any Guion had ever seen. Powerfully muscled and physically imposing, he was not wearing the trinket-chains that adorned the other slaves in the gallery. His restraints were real. His wrists were lashed behind his back and his legs and torso were bound with thick cords. Despite this, the force of his body looked only barely contained. His dark eyes flashed furiously above the gag. Guion’s pulse sped up, an almost panicked reaction. A gem in the rough? This slave was more like a wild animal, nothing like the twenty-four tame kittens who lined the hall. The sheer power of his body was barely held in check.'

‘Does he have a name?’ asked Guion.

‘Your Prince is, of course, free to name him whatever he likes,’said Lady Jokaste. ‘But I believe it would greatly please the King if he were to call him “Damen.”’ Her eyes glittered. ‘Lady Jokaste,’said Adrastus, seemingly in objection, though of course that was impossible.

it is here that we find by various reactions that the name Damen is in poor taste for some reason.

At this point in the prologue that the viewpoint switches to Damen's. We learn that Damen was taken unawares, that there has been treachery and betrayal by his brother. He has been taken to be prepared for this mysterious prince that has no love for Damen's country. Damen refuses to cooperate with the keeper of the slaves, who then sends for a woman to tend him. We get the idea at this point that he may be a bit libido driven--- that he definitely has a type(this scene will become important later). The lady Jokaste comes to visit and we find ou through an exchange that they were lovers, she chose his brother and betrayed him. Damen is believed to be dead, his brother has usurped his crown.

CHAPTER 1

Damen comes to, very groggy and starting to remember things in bits and pieces. He takes in his surroundings.

 'Everything gave the impression of patterns within patterns, the twisty creations of the Veretian mind(Foreshadowing re: the way things are planned by Laurent/Regent).It came together then, suddenly—Veretian voices—the humiliating presentation to Councillor Guion, —the ship—and its destination. This was Vere. Why was he still alive?'

The slave handlers come to make certain that he is safe and secure for the prince's viewing. Damen realizes that they are unaware of his true identity. if he wants to live he will need to keep it a secret. Through Damen's recollections we learn that The Regent is holding the throne for the Prince of Vere. The same prince on his way to view Damen. We get our first impressions of Laurent.

A scattering of courtiers was entering the room.

  'The courtiers were nondescript except for one: a young man with an astonishingly lovely face—the kind of face that would have earned a small fortune on the slave-block in Akielos. Damen’s attention caught and held. The young man had yellow hair, blue eyes and very fair skin. The dark blue of his severe, hard-laced clothing was too harsh for his fair colouring, and stood in stark contrast to the overly ornate style of the rooms. Unlike the courtiers who trailed in his wake, he wore no jewellery, not even rings on his fingers. As he approached, Damen saw that the expression that sat on the lovely face was arrogant and unpleasant. Damen knew the type. Self-absorbed and self-serving, raised to overestimate his own worth, and indulge in petty tyrannies over others. Spoilt.

‘I hear the King of Akielos has sent me a gift,’ said the young man, who was Laurent, Prince of Vere.

‘An Akielon grovelling on its knees. How fitting,’said Laurent.'

We learn that Damen is intended to be a pleasure slave for Laurent, but this is not going to happen Laurent hates Akielons and Damen hates Laurent. You start to pray that Damen can keep his mouth shut and just survive.

‘I want to speak to him. Remove the gag.’

‘He’s got a mouth on him,’ warned the handler.

‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’said Laurent, not quite pleasantly.

He knew better than to answer any question posed in that saccharine voice.  Laurent repeated the question slowly in the language of Akielos.The words came out before he could stop them.

 ‘I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart.’ (Facepalm! Ugh Damen!)

He gets slammed to the ground for this. They trade insults. Damen is taken to his quarters(and beaten).

Damen hears the guards talking about his duties as a bed slave and one reoccurring theme throughout the books is speculation re: the Prince's sex life.

‘Think what that’d be like, getting a leg over the Prince.’

I imagine it would be a lot like lying down with a poisonous snake, thought Damen, but he kept the thought to himself.

As soon as the men left, Damen reviewed his situation.'

Damen determines that he needs to wait for an opportunity to escape. As we know by now Laurent goads Damen further the regent shows up Damen see's him for the first time.

A few more quotes:

drunk Larent: ‘I’ve been thinking about what to do with you,’ said Laurent. ‘Break you on a flogging post. Or maybe use you the way Kastor intended you be used. I think that would please me a great deal.’

‘I thought you wouldn’t soil yourself with a barbarian,’ said Damen

‘I wouldn’t,’ said Laurent. ‘But if I gave you to one of the guards, I might lower myself as far as watching.’

"You have a scar."

(I want us to count every time he does or says something voyeuristic Re: Damen)

another thing to note is Laurent's initial reaction to seeing Damen--- (face turns white as it reacting to a slap or insult)

[jyiori]

First Encounter

It was supposed to be a self-indulgent drabble that I may or may not turn into a comic. I have several ideas running around in my head and they’re begging to be put down... I can’t draw fast enough to match, so I wrote it down instead. Ayda meets her familiar for the first time! It is set after Asra’s Upright Ending. Arcana Fan Fiction | Asra x Apprentice Ayda It was the dreams that started it all. Vivid, haunting dreams that made Ayda toss and turn at night, waking up drenched in cold sweat. It only took a shaky gasp for her beloved magician to wake, and within seconds she was engulfed in his warm embrace. Soft, murmured words of calm, whispered promises of love and protection gently lulled her frantic heartbeat to slow down. His hand soothingly strokes her shivering form while pressing endless kisses to her hair, forehead while repeating words like a mantra. 

“It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here.” She stares at Asra’s tired face through tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip quivering, “I’m sorry. I don’t… I can’t remember…” A slow tilt to her chin and he silences the rest of her apologies with a loving kiss, tightened his hold on her. Although it does not take much for her beloved to calm her down, they were both disturbed by the sudden rise in frequency of her nightmares. No matter the amount of magical wards Asra placed on her, incantations, incense, meditation and teas, nothing could prevent them from reoccurring. Even Muriel’s protective charms could not aid her, though Julian’s hopeful suggestion of leeches was shot down without a trial. It might have been better if she could recall what her nightmares were about, but all the apprentice remembered were flashes of angry red. With a pained look, Asra theorized that it might have been her memories from the Lazaret, which she was quick to dispute. It was different, she was sure of it. She did not feel or see the licking flames of the fire. With the Devil trapped in his realm, the Plague showed no signs of returning. They were supposed to live the rest of their lives in peace, travelling, seeing the world with Faust. Then came the voices. Or more specifically, the voice. Help! Ayda could hear it echoing through her mind at times, as they shopped at the marketplace, as they visited the docks, even as she passes by the Rowdy Raven. Each time, she turns and tries to follow, desperate to find the source. Concerned, Asra goes with her always. “It might be a trap,” he cautioned, worried if she would follow the voices if he were not around one day. As time goes on, the voice grows a little weaker. Her nightmares lessen, but still, she remains disturbed.

What if someone was trying desperately to reach her for help? The day began normally, like any other. Doctor Devorak suggested a change of pace and scenery for curing her nightmares, and for once, Asra agreed. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed up in disapproval when a delighted Julian led them to the Red Market, proclaiming he would definitely be able to find a cure amongst the more peculiar vendors.

It was then, she heard it again. Louder than before. In her native tongue.

Tolong! (Help!)

Slipping her hand out of Asra’s grasp, the apprentice broke into a run. He reached out instantly, but she was gone. Frantic, the magician turned to the doctor, who was still staring in shock as her form gradually disappeared from view. “Don’t just stand there Illya, help me find her!” Things seemed to be moving in a red haze for Ayda. She weaved through the faceless crowd effortlessly, almost as if she had done it countless times. Straight ahead, left turn, right fork, right again. Recognition slowly dawns on her face, even as her running feet carry her through the exact same pathway she goes through in her dreams. Dread fills her as she hastens her footsteps, almost stumbling over her own feet as the voice grows crystal clear. Rounding a bend, she finds the scene at last, the executioner raising his tightly clenched fist- “NO!” she screams out of pure desperation, throwing out her hands to conjure a gust of wind. At a split second of hesitation at the sound of her voice, the captor’s grip loosened and the spell hit him square in the chest, making him stumble and fall backwards with an almighty crash. It was at that moment, when their eyes met. “Itu kamu? (It was you?)” she asked softly, bending down to face the lovely creature that she barely managed to save. Iya saya. (Yes, it was.) The red head bobbed vigorously, radiating relief at being rescued from certain death. As the handler lunged for its crimson tail, the snake flipped and dodged aside before quickly sliding up into Ayda’s waiting arms. “Wait, sir, please,” she stammers as the man towers over her threateningly. “Now, now, that’s no way to treat a lady!” chimes a familiar voice, albeit rather out of breath. Julian steps in between them and starts chatting up the illegal snake trader right away, blocking his view with grand flourishes and babbling nonsense. Firm hands catches her shoulder as her knees give out, sweeping her into his arms, snake and all. Quietly they make their exit from the market, as Julian continues to distract the very angry trader. Asra is entirely silent on their way back to their shop, and she could feel his reproach from the stern grip on their intertwined fingers. Upon reaching the shop, he locks it, slowly turning to meet her gaze. “Please, Ayda,” his voice sounds painfully hoarse, and it was her turn to hold him as he melts in her arms in a shivering mess. “Please don’t do this to me, ever again.” They spend a long moment in silence, just holding onto each other for reassurance, before Ayda draws away slightly, concerned, “What about Julian? We left without him.” “He’ll be fine. He has talked his way out of much worse scrapes than this,” mutters a disgruntled Asra. At that moment, the snake hiding within Ayda’s clothes decided to sneak a peek at him. He flashes them a comforting smile, of welcome. “Hello, little one.” “Asra. I think… I think she might be my familiar.” There was a long discussion to be had that day, of nightmares and premonitions and voices, one that lasted late into the night. Much laughter was had as jubilant Julian showed up at the shop, to regal them with how heroically he managed to save the day and convince the snake trader into different business ventures. *** Faust was supposedly with Muriel at the time this occurred. Too many plot holes. There is certainly supposed to be much more to this story. And thus to be continued, another day. I think my mind is getting woozy and it’s past 4am. Probably should delete after I wake up. >_>

[whumpinggrounds]

Febuwhump Day 22: Burned

uh oh bad day for trainee number 067493

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire

CW: pet whump, lady whump, dehumanization, burning. also bad language.

“Your primary’s a real prick, you know that, 493?”

493’s breath catches in her throat. She’s not supposed to ignore questions from handlers, but she has no idea how to respond to this. Luckily for her, Handler Underwood just keeps talking. “You know why I moved all the way out here to this brand-fucking-new facility? You know why, 493?” She blinks at him blankly and he smacks her upside the head, almost bored with it. The impact is little enough that it hardly bothers her, but it scares her all the same. Handler Underwood snorts at her wide eyes. “Obviously you don’t know what the fuck I’m saying. You don’t have any brains in there.” 493 nods obediently, wondering if he wants her to verbally agree. Darting a glance at Handler Underwood, she sees he’s busy lighting up a cigarette and taking a long, long drag.  

“Now, if you did have brains, to appreciate what I’m telling you, I’d tell you I moved down here to be top dog.” He stabs his cigarette at her and 493 flinches into the wall, eyes pinned to the ember at the end. “Which I should be. I should be. Handler Collins is a washed-up old has-been. Sent down here because he kept damaging the goods up at headquarters. This is the kind of place where a guy like me should make a name for himself, and a guy like Collins should just…disappear.”

Staying quiet has worked so far, so 493 just nods, keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her. Handler Underwood won’t let her off that easy. His hand comes down to wrap around the back of her neck. “You know, you’re part of the problem, 067493. You have some magical moment with Atkins, of all people, and suddenly the Director is interested in Collins’ special little trainee. Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He squeezes her neck gently, and 493 swallows. “Isn’t that fuckin’ ridiculous?”

“Of-of course, Handler Underwood, sir.”

Stutter. She’s not supposed to stutter. 493 closes her eyes and waits for punishment, but nothing comes, and for some reason, that makes it worse. She’s supposed to be punished for mistakes. Punished, and then the handler will move on, but – Handler Underwood is still talking.

“You know what the worst part is?” Handler Underwood shakes his head. “I don’t think your primary is over his anger issues at all. I think he’s taking them out on my trainee, which is why the damn thing is acting broken.” 493 takes a careful breath, once again wondering if she’s supposed to reply.

Fast as a striking snake, Handler Underwood takes her shirt in both hands and slams 493 up against the wall. The reverberation shudders right through her body, makes her tense all over. She stands frozen, gasping, terrified of the glint in his eyes but more terrified of moving. “The good news,” Handler Underwood purrs, “is that I can fuck with his trainee just as easily as he can fuck with mine.”

Distracted by his own soliloquy, Handler Underwood hasn’t noticed that his lit cigarette is pressing hard into the fabric over 493’s collarbone. Feeling the heat against her skin, 493 whimpers and squirms. Handler Underwood misunderstands it as simple fear.

“That’s right, 493. I’m not going to undo any of your training. But maybe I’ll be a little harsher than I need to be, hmm? Maybe you’ll come out a little too skittish. Maybe you won’t be so eager to show off how Platonic you can be. Maybe – oh, holy fucking shit!”

493′s shirt is on fire. 493′s shirt is burning, a hole eating its way outward from the place where the cigarette seared through the fabric. There’s a burn on her skin already, a round red angry char, and now her shirt’s burning, burning and melting against her, the searing synthetic fibers agony against her skin. It’s deep, scorching pain, sweeping across her skin, eating through her skin -

493 screams, screams, screams, desperate howling screaming that rings through the room so loud she can’t hear whatever it is the handler’s shouting at her, whatever instructions he’s trying to bellow. She stumbles away from the wall, toward the handler who’s only backing away from her, desperate for help, for relief, for something, anything. She claws at her chest, at the melting, burning shirt, wailing as the pain spreads to her hands, her fingers, red-hot, cracking -

Then there’s smoke in the air, white and choking smoke, directed straight at her face so all she can do is cough, and the handler’s voice finally comes through loud and angry and clear. “Fucking drop!” Handler Underwood roars through the billowing white powder. “Fucking drop and roll! Cover your fucking face!”

She doesn’t know if she drops or if he knocks her over, from a distance, with his baton, she just knows that she’s on the ground, and her burnt hands come up to cover her face, and she rolls from one side to the other, choking, weeping, until something stalls, stops, plateaus. The pain is constant now, stretching, tearing, but it isn’t growing any longer. 493 lies on the ground and sobs.

Above her, Handler Underwood tosses the fire extinguisher away from him, staring at the smoking trainee on the floor. For a moment, he entertains the pointless, stupid hope that nothing has left a permanent mark. Then the smell of burnt flesh reaches his nose. “Motherfucker.”