#so brass knuckles would actually be so handy

[freaky-flawless]

I just realized what a travesty it is that Wonder Wolf doesn't have brass knuckles.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

Like a Shadow in the Night

She was here to study the dead lord's library. She was not supposed to pay any mind to the imprisoned dark mage. He, however, did not agree.

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

The flames of the candles flickered in the air as she moved through the room, floorboards creaking, shadows dancing around her. The storm outside was raging, gathering its strength for the night, shaking the walls of the old mansion. It seemed alive, the wind crawling through every niche, every nook, rattling the roof, moving curtains, howling around every corner.

Outside, she knew, the Elite Guard was having a tough night in the wind, the rain, the hail. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting the room for a brief moment before deafening thunder pierced her ears. Through the stained windows, massive dark silhouettes bowed to the powers of the sky, small twigs and branches occasionally hitting the building. A gust of hail splattered against the glass.

She was glad she didn’t have to be out there right now, guarding every entrance, every square of the perimeter. Instead, she was up here, listening to the unfortunate moods of nature as she sat down at the small table and placed the candelabra next to the pile of old leather-bound books she wanted to take a look at.

From time to time, she could hear a distant humming, the clang of something being dragged over metallic bars, or the sound of an object hitting a wall. She didn’t spare it much attention, for she was here to check out the library of a fallen lord, not to deal with the imprisoned mage. His magic didn’t work in here, anyway. The late former inhabitant had made sure to secure the entire place and adjacent grounds against any form of magic. He’d seen himself too safe for too long, though, and when he went on a stroll through the woods, one of the witches he’d had hunted by a local band of anti-magic veterans had made short work of him.

Now, all the writings and ancient scrolls he’d collected throughout his life and passion for witch hunting could come in handy for the Elite Guard and their fight in the looming war between the Dark Forces and the King’s Guard. And since she was an expert in the field, the Guard had sent her in here to do some research.

Fiddling with the long blonde braid hanging over her shoulder, she skimmed a few paragraphs on the history of the Shadow Clan, spotting nothing she didn’t already know. Maybe this book wasn’t what she’d been looking for, the information it contained seemed to be too basic to tell her anything new. After carefully flipping through a couple more chapters, she placed it aside and opened the next book, a small one with yellowing pages and paling ink. It was written in tiny, cursive handwriting and she had to bring her face closer to decipher anything. She let out a curse at the little light her candles could provide her, hoping the storm would let up soon so someone could repair the giant chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings in every room. Or maybe they could just fetch her a few torches, but every person in the proximity of the mansion was indispensable from their current job. She sighed. The candles would have to do.

A few hours passed, the storm kept howling and her head began to grow heavy. She had to blink away the tiredness and concentrate on the pages, the words starting to swim before her eyes.

“Doesn’t that get boring after a while?” She jumped, accidentally ripping part of the page she had just been about to turn.

There, in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, was a young man. His clothes were dirty and torn. The mop of wild hair on his head was hanging into his face, glowing auburn in the spare light. Impossibly green eyes were watching her and a shudder ran down her spine at the intensity. She felt like prey under that gaze.

“How- how did you get out?” Alarmed, she stood, holding the candelabra in front of her as if it would actually be of help, would he decide to attack her.

He shrugged, taking a bite from a bread roll she realized he must have taken from the basket of food she’d brought and placed in the kitchen, for herself and for the guards after a shift change. Which, she reminded herself with a gulp, wouldn’t be for at least another hour. And even if there wasn’t a storm raging right now, nobody would hear her screams from inside the mansion.

He chewed and raised an eyebrow at her defensive stance. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything to you.” When she didn’t move, he took a few slow steps towards her, a wicked grin forming on his face. “What, do you not trust me?”

She didn’t dare leave him out of her sight for one second as he started to stroll around the room, ran his fingertips over dusty surfaces, gaze wandering over the bookshelves lining the walls, the spiderwebs, the windows, and finally, her. She felt trapped, although he wasn’t standing between her and the door anymore. She could make a run for it. But what would that do? He’d escaped his prison; she didn’t know what else he could do.

“How did you get out?” she repeated.

He was tall but skinny, maybe she had a chance of overpowering him, if needed. But something told her she shouldn’t underestimate him. It had taken the Elite Guard years to track him down, months to finally trap him, with the help of a royal knight disguised as a trader who’d been able to get close enough and backstab him at the last minute. Hundreds of men had died in an attempt to catch who they called the Shadowbringer. Others called him the Night Fury. Offspring of Lightning and Death itself. If she didn’t know about this place’s securities against magic, she’d have suspected the storm was his doing.

He sneered. “They think all I am is because of my magic. They think they take that away from me and I am nothing more than an empty vessel.” He fished something out of his pocket that looked suspiciously like a lock pick, twirled it between his fingers and put it away again. “But I’m not stupid.” He spoke with a calm, collected voice that could have fooled her if she didn’t know better. There was a dangerous power behind that voice and she got chills from the way his eyes drifted over her body. “Meredith, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, but the twitch of her mouth and slight widening of her eyes revealed her surprise. “Yeah, I thought so. The guards are arrogant enough to think themselves above me when they talk right next to me, like I’m incapable of listening or thinking just because they have me locked up– and, and some kind of… of power over me.” He was gesticulating at nothing in particular. Something in his eyes turned dark as he regarded her. “What about you, Meredith? Do you think you’re mightier than me because you’re collecting knowledge on how to defeat me?”

The hairs on her arms stood up at the implication that, even though he was at the Guard’s mercy at the moment, he could still defeat – kill – them all. She gathered her words and her voice back from the pit of her stomach. “I think you’re supposed to be in your cell right now.”

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he heard the slight tremble in her voice, smirking at her. From his other pocket, he produced an apple – the red one she’d personally picked from the market this morning – and tossed it into the air a couple times, catching it with ease every time. He might be distracted enough, she thought, maybe she could formulate some kind of plan, or, or…

“I’m supposed to be many things right now.” He approached the desk and she instinctively took a step backwards, clutching the candelabra that her knuckles turned white. He laughed, low and deep and alluring. She gulped, heart hammering in her chest. In the back of her mind, she saw the field of dead bodies, saw the black skin, the shadows that had gorged themselves on their lives, eyes milky and gray and dead–

“Don’t come any closer!” Her voice was definitely trembling now, along with her hand. Molten wax ran down the brass candleholder.

Unimpressed, he put the apple down on a corner of the desk, on top of a pile of notes on alchemy. Idly flipping through a few sheets, he rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.” When she still didn’t relax, he waved at her tight grip. “And will you finally put that thing away? I’m not a vampire.”

She did. She put it on the desk, not because she trusted him, but because she would burn her skin from the wax if she kept shaking like that. She didn’t move her hand away from it, though. Just in case.

“Wh-what do you want?”

“From you?” He looked up from the page he was reading. “Oh, nothing, really. I just like to get out of my lovely cell once in a while and roam this place. It has lots and lots of secret paths and hiding places, did you know that?” He raised his chin and nodded at the chandelier above them. “A little extravagant for my taste, though.”

Cocking her head, she regarded him, curiosity taking over. “Why don’t you just leave?”

He glanced at her, again with the single raised brow. “Sure, and then I’ll play a game of tag with your royal guard friends out there.”

She frowned, not quite buying that argument. Surely, if he wanted, he could find a way to escape. Maybe he was just putting on an act and he wasn’t as powerful as he made himself appear? No, she didn’t believe that. He must have a different plan in mind – if only she could figure it out, figure him out…

Suddenly, that wicked grin was back on his face, and before she could react, he stepped close to her, so very close. She froze, her breath hitched, the warmth of another body almost tangible. He leaned in so that their noses were almost brushing, his magical green eyes trained to hers, locking her in place. A swoop went through her stomach and her heart was beating so loud, she was sure he could hear it. She swallowed when she felt her body tingle at the proximity. Not now, not here… Concentrate… Steeling herself, she pushed these feelings away.

“Or maybe you could help me. Pretty thing like you should be able to distract the guards for a few minutes…” His fingers lightly touched her wrist, trailed up her arm, leaving maddening electricity in its wake. Dammit…

“Or I could make you…” From one second to the other, his face hardened, something dark glossing over his eyes, his hands gripping her arms so tightly it hurt. A short, terrified cry escaped her and he leaned ever closer to her instinctively retreating form, but there was no way to escape, he held her firmly in his grasp. “It would be so easy,” he whispered into her ear and a shiver like a cold shower overcame her entire body. Wow… Through all her emotions, admiration crept towards the surface, and she let it hover there. As long as it didn’t break through her mask…

Ostensibly satisfied with her reaction, he pulled away from her, dangerously unpredictable smirk back in place. With a heart pounding for several reasons, she watched him pick up his – her – apple, toss it into the air one more time, and make towards the door. “If you need me,” he called back without turning his head, “I’ll be in the shadows.”

A few moments after he’d left, the life rushed back into her veins, her knees wobbled and she collapsed into her chair.

“And scene!”

As the lights went back on, someone came to blow out the candles, people started clapping and cheering and slowly, the crowd around her came back into focus. And with this change of atmosphere, Meredith turned back into Astrid.

From around the corner, Hiccup sauntered in, the wicked Shadowbringer grin morphed back into that gap-toothed smile she liked so much.

“I think we really got it this time!” she heard Gary call from his director’s chair, but Astrid barely noticed. She held up her hand for a high-five and when Hiccup accepted it with an excited whoop, the tingles were back in full force. This time, she didn’t try to push them away.

“Fuck, Hiccup!” She laughed and lightly shoved his arm. “I was actually scared back there; you were so amazing!”

An adorable blush spread on his cheeks. “Thanks. Not bad yourself.”

Someone shouted, “Early lunch, everybody!”, and she immediately caught Hiccup’s gaze.

“Lunch in your trailer?” he asked in a low voice, a secret, suggestive glimmer in his eyes. She nodded, lips tingling in anticipation.

“Meet you there in ten.”

[readerinsertfanfiction]

I saw your wardrobe post and literally had to ask how the Ikesen boys would react to MC that is super into e-girl/cute goth alt fashion. I love chains and spikes, a decorative knife or two 👀👀, skirts and thigh highs with combat boots. I have a brass knuckle belt buckle and moms look at me like I'm crazy lmao If you arent comfortable writing this then no worries!! Thank you in advance!

Omg. This is gaining traction. Hahahahaha! I love it! I have no idea what an e-girl is or what to imagine with cute goth alt. fashion, #fashionoob but I can work with the description. 😂

If I get a lot of these requests I will start cutting into the amount of characters, however. Doing them all is hard. 

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Characters: All of them for now, but I will appreciate it if future requests could limit to five characters, or so. 

Oda Nobunaga

Now this took a dark turn (puntentional, sue me.), he did not expect you to look like a cutefied and female version of his soldiers.

Makes him believe all the more that you are a token of war and his lucky charm. That brass knuckle belt buckle better be as functional as it looks, because he will expect you to use it.

Those knives are definitely worth to be examined. He likes to collect his fair share of swords and knives himself! Though he will definitely be frowning at the quality of the blade, their weight and how they wield.

Amuse him enough and he will give you a decorative knife of better quality.

Hideyoshi Toyotomi 

Concerned noises escape him as his inner mother hen comes out. Decorative knives? Brass knuckle belt buckle? And are those spikes?

Definitely worries about the safety of your fashion. What if you hurt yourself with it? Or accidentally hurt his beloved lord? Where Nobunaga is amused Hideyoshi will try to keep you away from his lord.

Will definitely try to tell you to leave your accessoires at home, how can those still be considered jewellery? What kind of crude place did you grow up in?

Also wonders why you are dressed all in black. It is ominous and unneeded. Will definitely be suspicious of you for a long while to come.

Ieyasu Tokugawa

Is fascinated by your fashion, but for reasons different than you might guess. No, he finds it fascinating how your fashion is very practical in keeping people away, especially the spikes.

Prickly personality, prickly appearance, Ieyasu likes the thought of that. Perhaps that will teach the likes of Mitsunari to finally keep away from him.

The thigh highs he finds questionable, however. If you are concerned about the cold why not just wear something longer? And though your combat shoes are very sturdy and mean looking they aren’t exactly easy slip on and offs, which is important in this era where you don’t wear shoes inside, but where you are expected to rush outside for an attack.

Might adopt the spikes in his own fashion, though he will soon find that they get in the way with his everyday life.

Mitsuhide Akechi

Wonders what sort of environment you grew up in to require dressing yourself like that.

Dressed so visibly armed Mitsuhide really only can think of constant conflict and war, which makes him a little sad.

When he figures out it is just aesthetics he wonders how that works. Why would anyone willingly dress themselves like they could harm themselves or others?

All in all, Mitsuhide doesn’t understand and he doesn’t think he wants to understand it either. Cue, his lost interest in the modern era ever since he heard Sasuke talk.

Masamune Date

He digs it. It looks cool, it looks dangerous, he smells danger and adventure coming off that brass knuckle belt buckle.

Though he still prefers his sword, he can appreciate knives. Those are some pretty knives, but only meant for decoration. “It is a shame that the blades are of such poor quality, lass,” he tells you.

At least he knows that he doesn’t have to worry about you too much. Granted that you know how to use them. He will sharpen your knives first, however.

Will maybe also offer to sharpen those spikes and the brass knuckle, though ultimately he also doesn’t want you to get hurt if you happen to be clumsy.

Mitsunari Ishida

The strategist doesn’t see much sense in your aesthetics. There isn’t much diplomacy to be had in your dress, only fight.

And even then it isn’t a good armour or does it make for good weaponry.

He can think of a few styles in which it does come handy, but he doesn’t really enjoy the thought of getting you so near the fire.

Maybe it is a family crest? A rather crude one, he believes, as most family crests are inspired by philosophy, but he can get along with it.

Ranmaru Mori

He is wary of you and your style. What are you trying to display? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

Intimidation? Pah, he laughs at it, because he definitely isn’t feeling intimidated in the slightest.

Though he is daunted at the thought that you could hurt yourself. That would be bad. Unless you have threatened him once, then he will hope you will hurt yourself. #petty

Kennyo will think Ranmaru is trying to describe a porcupine when the male tries to report back on his master.

Yukimura Sanada

We have heard Boar Lady and there was Enchantress, be ready for: Hedgehog! Or Porcupine.

Lots of name calling to go with your style. Because he can. Because it is Yuki.

Doesn’t find it cute at all and will exclaim such loudly. (Yuki, respect the style. Geez, brat.)

Wonders if it is never heavy to wear all of that. He definitely gets tired having to look at you.

Shingen Takeda

Oh, wow, this is a surprising look for a goddess. Rather, prickly?

Will admonish Yuki for calling you names. No, we don’t speak to anyone in that way.

Though he will give you a good look or two out of curiosity. Those spikes are intriguing.

Again, disappointed in your decorative knives. The quality of the blade is just not where it is at.

Kenshin Uesugi

Fascinated. Beyond fascinated. It looks like you’re ready to throw down a brawl 24/7. And Kenshin is here for that.

Will probably be the first amongst many to figure out how harmless your fashion is because he actually did try to manhandle you.

“What are those blades? Blunt and crude.” - Kenshin when he snaps your decorative knives in half.

He started impressed and then was disappointed when they didn’t serve a real fight. Will find you something better.

Sasuke Sarutobi

Probably ordered by Kenshin to get you some real spikes for wear and better knives.

Otherwise, again he is from the 21st century, he isn’t fazed. He has seen his fair share of trends and styles.

However, he also knows how you will stand out in the sengoku era, after all, you already do in the modern era.

With the constant warring people are, in general, hostile. Sasuke worries that the people you meet will see your dress as a blatant provocation.

Yoshimoto Imagawa

His weapon of choice is a fan. I think we can deduce from there that he loves subtlety and grace.

He sees your brass knuckle belt buckle, he sees your spikes and he scowls as if he saw Motonari.

With that I mean to say: he doesn’t like what he sees and he doesn’t like the style. It is crude and more of those ‘ugly’ words he so rarely uses.

If you approach him dressed like that you will find no friend in him, I feel that he is rather quick to judge in that. Though he can and will hold a civil conversation for the sake of pleasantries.

Kennyo

Like mentioned before, he thinks you’re a porcupine the first time he reads a report. Spikes, what?

But when he sees you he understands what his young spy was describing, and is he in for a surprise.

Spikes as in actual spikes? As in what Sasuke throws down at times? What? Kennyo doesn’t understand why one would wear that.

“Don’t you ever hurt yourself with those?” he questions you cautiously. Though he does wonder what sort of wicked soul designed these.

Motonari Mouri

He thinks of durians the first time he sees your spikes. Travelled as he is, he has seen the exotic fruit once or twice.

Prickly outer shell, but sweet inside? Like a durian, though you are sure to smell a lot better than the fruit.

He wonders if your hometown has durians as well, seeing as you are dressed like a dark version of one.

Did you know that legend has it that a durian fell on someone's head and cracked open, revealing its sweet flesh? He wonders if you will fall for him and reveal your sweet side.

[writtenjewels]

Bloodlust part 3

Part One, Part Two

Being a vampire and being the leader of a lethal gang worked very well together. As he climbed up the criminal ladder, Maxwell often finished his victims by sinking his teeth in. Of course he was always careful to mask the puncture wounds with knife cuts or hard blows from brass knuckles.

With the arrival of the Assassins and the Rooks, his meals were even easier to come by. Though that was very low on his list of reasons why he was interested in Jacob Frye. He watched the man fight on several occasions now-- both out on the street against Maxwell's Blighters and in Robert Topping's fight club-- and found Jacob's style magnificent.

Him chipping away at Starrick's powerful hold of the city only made him more intriguing. Maxwell was pleased the younger man agreed to working together.

Tonight Jacob was working along the Thames. Maxwell watched as the Assassin hopped to a boat carrying cargo meant for Starrick. An explosion cut through the quiet, causing the Blighters nearby to merge onto Jacob's position. Maxwell chuckled a little to himself. He had a suspicion Jacob did that on purpose just to start a fight. The young man certainly seemed more in his element throwing punches or shooting his pistol.

It gave Maxwell a brilliant idea for their first outing together.

Jacob dumped the dead Blighters into the river. That was Maxwell's cue to go down and have his supper. He dived in, grabbed the body, and pulled it with him to the nearest bank. There was a lovely wound in the Blighter's gut where Jacob shot him. He bent his head down and began to feed.

“Roth?” Maxwell froze, slowly lifting his head to meet Jacob's stunned gaze. Maxwell inwardly cursed; he was usually much more careful. “What are you doing?” Jacob asked.

Maxwell ran his tongue over his bloodstained lips. If anyone else caught him, he would have killed them immediately. But with Jacob...

“I'm drinking his blood. I'm a vampire.”

Jacob stared, his mouth open. Slowly he closed his mouth again and held out his hand. There was blood on his knuckles from his recent fight. Despite having a corpse at his feet, this blood seemed more tantalizing. Maxwell ran his tongue over the knuckle, feeling oddly disappointed it was the metal he tasted and not Jacob's warm flesh.

“So.” Jacob cleared his throat. “How long have you been like this?”

“Years. I was in the circus when it happened.”

“I imagine it comes in handy now,” Jacob remarked.

“It does.” Maxwell finished cleaning the knuckle. “I must say you're taking this very well, my dear.”

“I don't really know how to take it. What does being a vampire mean, aside from you drinking blood?”

Maxwell wasn't sure he could really explain it himself. He wasn't that different; he just needed blood to survive, and he could communicate with crows. He told Jacob about being roughly the same as any other human but not about that other skill. He might want to use it some day without Jacob's knowledge.

“Don't let me keep you from your meal, then.” Jacob sat and actually watched as Maxwell fed from the shot Blighter.

He was right in calling Jacob the bravest man in London.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 226, Replies Part 2

1) “Oh she’s not happy having to revisit all those painful memories, at all.”- That and I think that’s she’s pissed that Curious is judging and labelling her from an outsider’s perspective of her actions, re-contextualising them to fit within Curious’s views, rather than honestly attempting to see things from Toga’s perspective and understand how she sees the world. Curious is interesting in Toga’s story, but she’s not really interested in ‘hearing’ the story as it stands- simply finding out the parts of it that align most with the narrative she intends to write for the MLA’s propaganda

2) “Oh fuck  you, you overgrown evil smuf. What, isn’t blowing her up enough, you also need to conjure a fucking gauntlet to flatten her face?”- I kinda think she does actually. Curious’s quirk seems to differ from Bakugou’s in that it seems she can’t explode herself, but can explode other things. Curious is able to detonate her mines with a thought from a safe distance, but said distance indicates that she ‘needs’ to be that far enough away from the explosion, since unlike Bakugou she’s not immune to the blasts that she produces. This indicates that her quirk is supposed to be something to be used long-distance, as is she’s too close, Curious will get hurt from her own explosions. 

Therefore, her body can’t naturally explode itself, nor does it have natural defences against explosions, so to help encourage Curious to keep her distance, the quirk simply turns any object or person she touches into a walking bomb. If Curious picked up a stick, she could turn said stick into a mine, but exploding it would also blow her hand up. Therefore, the gauntlet is an object designed to be an activator and focuser of her quirk, directing the explosion in one direction whilst also acting as an object she can activate the quirk on. Plus, it’s a massive big brass knuckle, so that’s always handy to have in a fight.

3) “Sure, it wasn’t the way she was treated ever since she was a kid by parents that clearly despised her for being different and how she was made to just act like she was told instead of actually helping her understand what she was doing, or finding ways to help her, oh no, its society’s fault….”- Well, in certain regards that’s not wrong either- it was society’s collective pressurisation and condemnation of non-conformists and their families that motivated Toga’s parents to teach their daughter to suppress her ‘undesirable’ traits, though presumably it’s something along the line of an informal understanding?

Society obviously won’t tell parents to force their children to repress themselves to Toga’s extent outright, but the collective opinions of the people around them clearly would have had a negative view of the family as a reflection on the daughter’s behaviour, so whilst it didn’t outright ‘say’ that Toga needed to ‘conceal, don’t feel’ herself, it didn’t dissuade the family from taking that course of action, even if they took things too far in the end.

4) “Not that the detail would matter, you already said you want to use her death in your favour and is willing to distort it to do so, and if you only want the details to just satiate your thirst for knowledge then- “- Well, for Curious to twist the narrative to her advantage, she has to ‘know’ what that narrative is in full. She may be a crazed fanatic, but she’s also a journalist at heart, and she clearly wants to confirm or validate her hypothesis with Toga before she goes to print. Curious may be fine with altering the view of Toga’s past to suit the MLA’s agenda, but outright printing and publishing false information? That’s something no journalist would willing do- you can’t move the people’s hearts with faked news sensations- it’s gotta be genuine at heart!

5) “I said before how Toga seems to be out of touch with reality, like the Pyro from TF2, correlating her murders with normal stuff, but now I’m getting sad because I know that she really never was taught what or why it wasn’t right.”- It’s hard to teach somebody right from wrong when they’ve been taught from an early age that part of themselves is naturally ‘wrong’ even though it feels right to them and is a natural part of their psychological make-up. Toga couldn’t find acceptance within Society’s ridged views of ‘normalcy’, so ironically, it was only within the more open-minded and accepting group or murderers and villains in the league that she can find a place to be who she really is. 

It’s only amongst fellow outcasts who don’t fit into the system that Toga can be told she’s not wrong for being the way she is, so clearly defending them, even to the point of getting shredded like this, is clearly something ‘right’ for Toga. She’s a serial Killer, but she’s got a heart that cares deeply about things around her, just like everybody else. If she can only find a place to be amongst a villain group like the league, then clearly she’ll embrace being a villain if it means protecting the one place she feels at home with.

6) “She put another mask to escape the things that woman was saying, and the pain she was feeling. It was right when she was being told how miserable she was for acting like like that that she become another person, again, not exactly subtle, but still really well placed.”-It may also be partially out of a desire for companionship in a really stressful moment. It’s all but stated that Toga swings both ways because her idea of suitable partners is tied up with blood, which doesn’t differentiate between male or female (unless you want to get some in-depth CSI analysis in there) so Toga ‘loves’ Uraraka as equally as she does Izuku- in fact, I kinda get the vibe she wants to be in a relationship with the both of them at the same time. 

Toga’s alone, in mental and physical agony and facing the very real possibility that she’s about to die here, so her transforming into Uraraka could be seen as her trying to get close to one of the people she most admires as a means of having them spiritually standing beside her in this sea of enemies. Toga thinks she’s going to die alone here, separated from her teammates, and without them, she lacks anybody else in the ‘normal’ world that she used to have a bond with- her friends, her family, all that vanished when she took her mask off, but in this manner, she can feel like she’s got somebody in her corner cheering her on even as she faces the firing squad down.

7) “Yeah, it seems like it was just that, he knows that Midoriya loves Uraraka, and she subconsciously turned into her, because, like she put, she wanted to get closer to the people she loves, and Midoriya is the spitting image of that boy she turned into a knife-holder.”- Actually, it might be the opposite- Uraraka seems more aware of her feelings towards Izuku, than vice-versa- Izuku’s got a lot on his mind right now, what with All Might retiring and the changes in OFA, so he’s not really thought a lot about romance in general, but Uraraka’s free of all those worries, so she’s more able to see Izuku is a relaxed light and admire him from afar. It’s similar to how Toga admires the pair of them from afar, and just like Uraraka secretly hopes Izuku will one day understand and return her affections, Toga hopes the same from the pair of them.

She wants to be close to both of them, because she can tell there’s a genuine bond between them that she also wants- it may actally be exactly what she was looking for when she gave her own ‘love confession’ to Saito, and not receiving what she was hoping for, consoled herself by indulging in her blood cravings whilst looking for that special something in her victims, something she wants, but has never been given, no matter how hard she acted the normal girl- somebody to genuinely understand and bond with the ‘real’ version of Toga, in spite of her flaws.

8) “SHE CAN USE OTHER’S QUIRKS AS WELL?!

HOLY FUCK TOGA WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER USED THAT BEFORE?! OR DIDN’T YOU KNOW ABOUT IT? HOW COULD YOU NEVER DISCOVER SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!”-It’s a logical side-effect of her own power’s limitation- like Monoma, she has a time limit for how long she can stay transformed, so she’s already had to deal with the complications that come from her body physically transforming into a new shape whilst moving around- it’s difficult enough to learn how to move normally in a new body- activating said body’s unique quirk would be an additional complication on top of that, especially since it’d be rare of Toga to have studied her kills enough to realise what their powers were and how they used them. 

She had her quirk’s usage suppressed throughout Middle School to fit in, so she only really started using it regularly once she ended up on the run from the heroes and police. Just like Deku, she never pushed her powers to the limit, and thus lacked an understanding of her power’s potential, nor had a reason to experiment with her abilities- she got along just fine with what she had by drinking their blood and physically transforming into somebody else- she probably assumed that was the extent of her quirk’s shapeshifting abilities. Additionally, it seems Toga likes turning into ‘cute’ people she likes, whom all seem to have a generally humanoid body-type. Toga isn’t interested in drinking the blood of guys like Shoji or Ojiro, because they’re not her type, therefore she never turned into an in-humanoid body before and thus never realised she could duplicate heteromorphic-quirks as well, in addition to regular quirks.

Uraraka is the exception to all that, because circumstances prevented Tog from Sucking her dry when she got her blood sample, and her interest in her drove her to analyse her character and fighting style at the first opportunity she got, which happened to be the licence test, where Uraraka had to demonstrate her quirk’s combat usage by necessity. Her quirk having such an easy activation switch and physical release move, in contrast to whatever Curious does to mentally explode her mines, made it even easier for Toga to use the quirk, because she knew Uraraka to a better Standard than her usual targets, thanks in part to her obsession with shipping her, Uraraka and Izuku.

9) “HOLY FUCK NOW SHE’S ABOUT TO WIPE THE WHOLE ROOM CLEAN WITH JUST A SINGLE MOVE

SHE’S ABOUT TO SLAM-DUNK THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS”- Good think Uraraka’s power is a combo-type. Land consecutive hits, and then finish off the special move for a multiplied high score and a TPK. Therein lies the downside of surrounding yourself with mindless followers willing to sacrifice themselves for your sake- if something happens to you, they’re all left wide open for a killing stoke. After all, they’re already willing to throw their lives away to protect you, if you get hurt, they’re going to be too preoccupied with trying to save you to think about protecting themselves, hence why Toga was able to float the entire street before anybody could stop her- their fanaticism backfired on Curious’s strategy to beat Toga.  

As an aside, Toga’s also really lucky that Uraraka’s quirk has high defensive properties as well. It doesn’t matter how hard you hit somebody if you weigh absolutely nothing- the law of inertia will send you flying backwards instead, minimising the damage you take from whoever’s targeted by the quirk. In fact, that seems to be how Curious goes flying off there- the force of her own explosion buffeted her upwards once her weightlessness came into effect and she floated backwards from the blast, hence how she gets so high so fast. That actually adds more Karma to her demise- not only is she killed by her own power indirectly, she’s killed because she literally and metaphorically got too close to the sun in the process of achieving her goals. 

Uraraka’s power is touch-based, Curious’s is long-range and requires no physical movement to activate. If Curious had stayed away from Toga and relived upon her meat-shields to defend her, she’d have beaten Toga out in endurance, but because she got too wrapped up in the story, and assumed Toga was too near-dead to properly fight back, she got up close and personal to get the in-depth scoop, allowing her to be affected by the zero gravity and for her entire gang of followers to fall next when they realised she was in danger and took their eyes off Toga. Curious killed herself by engaging in a needless battle to state her own desires, rather than relying on the disposable Liberation mooks to wear the league down from a safe distance.

10) “Uraraka would instinctively know to touch her enemies to dispose of them, but you wouldn’t, and yet you still acted in that way. Like you almost became her for a moment…”- Interestingly, it seems to combine their fighting style for a moment there. Toga’s dropped her last knife, so she’s bare-handed and thus not able to fight in her preferred manner, whereas Uraraka never uses a weapon because her gravity power is an unparalleled advantage in close-range, the only downside being that Uraraka needs to be physically capable of getting close and taking the opponent in hand-to-hand. Toga’s trained her body-to above average levels in her serial killer modius operendi, but she’s based her entire fighting style around using blades and hand-held weapons to attack, lacking bare-handed means of fighting. Toga seems to instinctually combine both their fighting styles to rapidly affect as many liberation goons as she can, before she even recognises what she’s doing. 

Part of it may be instinctual or subconscious understanding of how Uraraka’s powers work thanks to her Quirk’s ability to absorb and replicate her appearance and quirk, part of it may be toga subconsciously realising the best way to take advantage of her new-found power before everybody can react to the sudden turn of events, but either way it’s indicative of what Toga said about becoming those she loves. Toga basically becomes Uraraka’s evil counterpart here, using her powers in an overwhelmingly violent manner completely opposite to the first time we saw her use it to save Izuku- from falling to boot, for extra irony- and the torn ‘mask’ on the double-spread shot showing Uraraka’s warped expression with the ‘real’ Toga’s bloodied face peeking through it. It’s like Toga summoned Uraraka in her hour of need to save her and fight beside her on behalf of the league, and it’s possible that if Toga absorbed enough blood from her target, she could actually develop a perfect mental copy of Uraraka inside her own head, fitting with her desire to become her in mind and body.

11) “FUCK’S SAKE HORIKOSHI, STOP WITH THE FUCKING WHIP, I’M TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON”- Just Horikoshi reminding you and Toga that she hasn’t miraculously healed from her internal injuries, she’s still basically 95% dead on her feet, and that her borrowed power, and the transformation that comes with it, is running out. It’s actually possible that the more Toga uses a Target’s duplicated quirk, the faster her blood supply and resulting transformation runs out, hence the mask starting to peel off here is a sign that she hit her limit when using zero gravity and can’t float any more target, though the end result would still be the same even if she didn’t voluntarily release the quirk.

12) “Oh yeah, she pulled a shonen-protag on us, and we didn’t even saw it coming”- The league didn’t just hijack the title, they hijacked the 1A kid’s roles as heroes in the story, will all the associated benefits that come with the job, such as spontaneously developing new powers ( or rather, re-contextualising the powers they already possess in new and effective ways)  in crisis situations.

13) “DING DONG, THE BITCH’S FUCKING DEAD”- I actually like the fan- translated version of this scene more.

Really sells how she’s so wrapped up in her journalistic mania, the concept of her own morality hasn’t even entered her mind, even as she’s plummeting to the ground.

14) “My god, that was quite the backstory, and I feel like a fool for being played like that by Horikoshi, that bastard. I was believing he would go the “She was born twisted” angle and was quite disappointed for a moment, before he slapped me in the face and said “HA, YOU’RE WRONG, YOU IDIOT””- Rather than ‘twisted’ it’s more like Toga was born a little ‘different’ than others, but societal pressure and their desire to not be seen an ‘inadequate parents’ due to their daughter’s ‘bad behaviour’ caused her parent to attempt to over-correct Toga’s behaviour, eventually pushing her to the breaking point. If anything Twisted her, it’s the social consciousness that her inherent needs were something to be repressed rather than accepted and adapted. 

Toga just needed somebody to understand her- still does, in fact- which may be why she’s so fascinated with Izuku, who’s somebody willing to reach a hand out to others in need, even if he knows they’re not on his side, as Toga saw first-hand in the licence exam.

@thelreads​

[shiftysdogtags]

hellooo :) would I be about to get a ship, por favor? I'm 5'3, really short silver hair with the sides and back shaved, about 125lbs. I'm very rough and tumble, I love working with my hands, I'm a drummer. Very much a tomboy. Almost always wearing a backwards snapback. Very very solid and aggressive exterior with the mushiest of interiors. A hopeless romantic, really. I love animals. I have two dogs. I'm very handy. Always down to fight, very protective of those I love, but very loving. Thanks!

I really hope you like this because i can really see these happening and i am 100% jealous😂

All ships, fics, and headcanons are open for the pacific and band of brothers💕

Romantically

Buck Compton

As soon as I read ‘backwards snapback’ I seen the baseball scene and I knew you both would be such a cute couple

Buck seems really chill and up for anything and I get the vibe from you too

When you’re both together you vibe in your own little bubble together and you don’t need anyone else

Even if you’re not actually doing an activity together, just sitting in the same room together is enough for the both of you

But I can also see you having a dart board in your house and you both like to chill and play a game or two and of course that leads to you both being competitive

He likes that you’re independent and you can do things by yourself

And he loves that you can help each other out when it comes to diy or fixing things

Like you Buck can be mushy and emotional and he needed to be wrapped up in a blanket and loved

while you don’t talk about your emotions with each other much you have no problem doing it when it’s really needed and the other person is always there to listen

Like if you feel upset over something he said he apologises straight away and he thinks of everything he can do to make it up to you

Buck is so protective just like you and if anyone crosses you they also cross him and the both of you work as a single unit

He is also a hopeless romantic and he’s the type to bring you hope flowers just because he wanted to or to buy you random gifts because he loves to spoil you

Please love this sweet man

I can seriously feel it in my gut that you and Buck are the most amazing couple ever and I will defend this to the death

Friendship

Joe Toye

This fighty man has given you engraved brass knuckles for your birthday but it’s like ‘happy birthday I love you so much from your bestie x’

He looks like he could beat the crap out of anyone and you give me that vibe too

When he first met you he actually thanked the forces that be because he had finally met someone who just gets him

You and Joe are like the same person and you think the same things at the the same time

You can talk to each other by simple eye contacts or eye rolls

Both such a power friendship and you’re both intimidating to people who don’t know you

But when people actually take the time to listen and get to know you they can you’re both actually completely sweethearts who just like to be left alone together to have fun

Joe loves to play with your dogs and he so comes over just to sit on the sitting room floor and play with them

He hates fixing things so naturally he calls you his best friend to help him out

And he will sit and watch you doing whatever it is and he talks to you about the most random of things

With you it’s super easy and he feels like he can be himself because you seem so chill and he likes that you don’t judge whatever he says no matter how weird or random

He’s such a soft person despite his rough and ready appearance

And when he wants to talk about his feelings you’re his go to person because he knows that his words will go no further than you and whatever secret he tells you will be kept forever

[leximpwrites]

Seeker 1

The first part of my current project! Please bear in mind that this is still a work in progress, and these may or may not be the final versions. As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged! Also an fyi, these chapters will probably average between 1,500 and 2,500 words each, so I’ll be sticking them behind page breaks. Also just so you guys know what you’re getting into. Lol

@officialleehadan​ @kitvinslakte​ @nox919​ @dierotenixe​ @stuck-in-theclouds​ @gyvorn12​ @apenvssword​ @wildforestferret​ @krceramics​ @starsdreaming​ @wordsdreaming

The musical ringing of a sword clearing its sheath is actually the first sign of trouble, though to be completely honest, I'm really not paying attention to the rest of the bar. I'm intent on the map in front of me, and the places the owner is marking on it. 

I turn to look over my shoulder and see three toughs, blades drawn, facing off against a pair of personal guards who are escorting a young noble boy, and who is currently hiding behind them. 

"Ye spilled mah drink, ye stupid cur!" snarls the largest of the three. He has the rolling burr of the mountain tribes to the north, and a face only a mother could love, nose clearly having been broken in three places, several ugly scars, and a large wart on his left cheek. 

"Back off, commoner!" the older of the two guards growls back, a short sword in one hand, a long knife in the other. He has the air of an experienced fighter, and I would bet good money on him being able to handle any two of the three in front of him without too much effort. "I'm no fool! You were trying to lift milord's purse!"

"Liar!" the northerner yells, and lunges forward. 

He doesn't even get close.

I'm always impressed with how quiet my apprentice can be when he has a mind to. Even I'm slightly surprised when Jax seems to materialize out of nowhere behind the three thugs. He catches the leader almost out of midair, and tosses him halfway across the room. The thug lands on a table, which was never made to take that kind of abuse, and crashes to the floor. Before the other two can react, he grabs each one by their collars, and slams them into each other. Stunned, they collapse in a heap on the floor.

The situation dealt with, Jax looks up and catches my eye, before smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, sir."

"No, good job, Jax," I tell him approvingly. I turn back to the barkeep and hand him several gold regents, and then several more. "These are for the mess and table, and those are for the information." 

He bobs his head gratefully and pockets the coins. "Thankee, Sir Seeker," he says with a genuine smile. "You an' yours are always welcome 'ere." 

I nod my thanks and signal to Jax to pick up the two at his feet while I retrieve the northerner from the wreckage of the table. The young noble and his two guards take that as their cue and quietly slip out the door. I make a mental note of the house sigil on one of the guards sleeves. I’ll pay them a visit tomorrow and make sure the boy is alright. It never hurts to cultivate goodwill amongst the upper class.

"We'll drop this trash off at the Guard house on our way back to the barracks," I say, both to the barkeep and to Jax, before we turn and head outside. It's raining lightly, typical for this time of year, and it rouses the three miscreants from their semi-conscious daze. They struggle briefly, dismayed to find themselves in the custody of two Seekers. I keep a close eye on them, wary of any tricks they might have. A hidden blade, or some other unpleasantness.

"So, what did the barkeep give us, sir?" Jax asks, shoving the two men ahead of him roughly as we head down the stone street. Imperial Engineers are truly masters of their craft, the road paved with broad, triangular stones.

"Some good, solid information, and a worrying pattern," I tell him, retrieving the city map from the belt pouch I had stuffed it into. The bartender had marked a number of spots, and I point them out. "Look at the number of sightings there have been in just this district alone."

"What do you think, a nest?" he asks after looking it over, sounding a little nervous. Sometimes I forget that despite his size, Jax is still a lad. 

"Most likely," I reply as we round a corner and spot the Guard house up ahead. The soldier on duty salutes us smartly, and hands our prisoners off to one of his subordinates after we explain what happened.

I resume our conversation once we head back out into the rain. "Probably a new queen in the catacombs under the city trying to stake out its territory."

I suppose I should introduce myself before we get any further into my tale, huh?

My name is Zepara Alchanic, and I, along with my apprentice Jaxus Luteno, are Royal Seekers currently stationed in Throne City, the capital of the Human Empire. 

And what are Seekers, you ask? We're monster hunters. Damn good ones, too. Tailor made for our job through a series of alchemical and magical transformations called The Proofing. It gives us the physical traits we need to fight monsters, and years of training gives us the skills.

Sometimes, in my darker moments, I wonder just how much we give up to become what we are. 

But usually, I feel the trade is worth it. I am very good at what I do. Technically my oath is to serve the Eternal King, but I see it as less loyalty to the crown, and more loyalty to the nation and its people. My job is to hunt down and destroy monsters that threaten the lives of everyday citizens. 

But back to my tale. 

I give Jax's shoulder an encouraging pat, despite the fact that I have to reach well above my own head to do it.

 "Don't worry, lad," I say, careful to keep my tone light. No need to worry the boy. "Even a full nest isn't much of a threat to a pair of Seekers who know what they're headed into. Just stick by me, remember your training, and you'll be fine." 

That seems to lift his spirits, and he nods, then begins studiously checking over his gear. I watch him for a moment, making sure he’s doing it properly. Satisfied he’s going about it just as I taught him, I follow suit. A Seeker relies on their gear. If your gear fails you in a fight, you’re dead, pure and simple.

Taking on a shade nest would actually be a good challenge for Jax, now that I think about it. He’s been progressing well since I became his mentor four years ago, but he tends to underestimate himself, and it holds him back a little. This will be a good way to show him what he can really do, and give his ego a healthy boost in the process. 

We finish our gear-check just as we reach the entrance to the underground portion of the city. There are thousands of miles of tunnels, galleries, and cellars under Throne City.

Originally it was just the mines under the dwarf fortress-city that is now the Imperial Palace, but over the centuries each generation dug their own underground portions and linked it into the already existing network, The end result of that, of course, being a complex labyrinth of truly staggering size. 

It can be very, very easy to get lost down there. 

I dig out a key that every Seeker is given when they complete their training. It gives us access to places like this. I unlock the steel gate that bars the stairwell down, and lock it behind us once we're through. We have to bend almost double to fit, as these ceilings were not designed with a seven foot Seeker in mind. Twice I hear Jax mutter a curse behind me as he bumps his head on something, and I have to bite back a laugh. I might be having a hard time, but the poor boy must find it almost unbearable. 

It isn’t long before we reach the bottom of the steps, and I straighten gratefully, in what appears to be a storeroom for one of the restaurants or inns above us. The walls are lined with sacks, crates, and barrels filled with various foodstuffs, all neatly organized and clearly labeled. 

I sniff the air, catching the rotten-meat stink of our prey almost at once. I hear Jax doing the same a moment later, and I nod my approval when he points down a nearby passage.

"Over that way, I think," he says, and grins when he sees me nod. We draw our paired ton-filar, heavy long-bladed fighting daggers with brass knuckles built into the grip, and a short four inch spike at the other end. They’re vicious weapons, specifically made for close in fighting, and designed to give us as many ways to hurt an enemy as possible with a single implement.

Most Seeker gear and weaponry is designed this way. It gives us an edge. And believe you me, when you're fighting the kinds of beasties we do, it always comes in handy. 

We move off in the direction of the scent, careful to keep our blades up before us. The passageway is narrow, so Jax leads the way, and I follow closely, walking backwards to make sure nothing tries to sneak up on us.

We continue down the tunnel, following our noses, until it opens up again into another wide room. The smell is horrendous, and I hear Jax gag a little. 

"Breathe through your mouth," I advise him. "It helps."

I scan the room, taking everything in all at once. Trash, rotting food, and less identifiable detritus litter the floor, and the far corner of the room is buried under a mass of reeking filth that rises to the ceiling. I curse myself for not thinking. As soon as they hear my voice, shades come pouring out of the nest, chittering angrily, eager for a meal.

Shades aren't big, about the size of a cat, and aren’t especially threatening. They look like a hairless rat with an odd, bird-like head. They're not even hard to kill. A good solid kick from a normal human is enough to put an end to one. 

The problem is, there's never just one. 

They breed fast, in clutches of seven or eight, every three weeks. They carry disease, and spread rot wherever they go. Nobody knows how they came to be, but we know that dark magic spawned them, because all our monster hunting tricks work just fine. 

"Grenades!” I snap, following my own advice, withdrawing one from the belt pouch I keep them in. 

Grenades are expensive kit, but absolutely priceless when dealing with swarms of creatures like shades. A small sphere packed with gunpowder, enclosed within an outer sphere of cold iron plated with silver, and the space between the two filled with a mixture of rock salt and holy water. 

We light them with a flick of the thumb against the special alchemical fuse, and then toss them into the middle of the pack. They detonate with a surprising level of force for such small weapons, shaking some dirt loose from the ceiling. Between the explosion, holy water, and rock salt, dozens of the little beasts vanish into puffs of dirty smoke. Dozens more are killed as shrapnel scythes into the massed bodies.

The remainder of the pack, their numbers thinned by the grenades, rush us. Jax and I spin around each other, years of training giving us the skill to fight in such a tight space against a swarm of enemies. I skewer a pair on my ton-filar, turn, and catch another mid-air in the chest with one of the pommel spikes. Jax ducks around me and punches down the two that are trying to leap on me from behind, and boots another in the face when it tries to bite at him. It careens back into its fellows and takes them down in a tangle.

With a chattering shriek that makes us both wince, the queen and her nest guard emerge. 

Easily three times the size of their smaller fellows, the nest guard are huge, slavering beasts with glittering red eyes, long, sharp beak-like mouths, and wicked claws. The queen is even bigger and nastier, her belly swollen with her current clutch. 

"Blast her!" Jax calls, and I nod, quietly impressed. We whirl with skill and speed that no human could hope to match, as we trade blades for the coach guns, safely secured across our backs. Jax's is the typical, blunt-nosed, over-under variant favored by most Seekers. 

But mine…

Mine is a work of art. It was a gift, made for me by the master weapon-alchemist Argius Cratona of Wavedancer, after I rescued his daughter from a lich during my apprenticeship. It has six barrels, twice the length of a standard coach gun, arranged in a circle around a single larger barrel at the center. The steel barrels are polished to a mirror shine, and ornate, curling scrollwork is etched into each one. The solid cherrywood grip and stock is chased with brass and burnished to a deep, warm glow. The gun's name, Sophia, is inscribed on a small brass plate embedded in the stock.

It has three triggers. The first two are tied to three of the six outer barrels each, so that a single trigger pull fires three bursts of cold iron and silver shot at once. 

The third trigger goes to the center barrel, which fires a specially made bullet created by Cratona. Called a Decimator Round, it’s a solid slug of cold iron coated in silver, and infused with powerful alchemical compounds that detonate once inside a target. Every month he sends me a box with thirty of the hefty, hand-sized shells, along with notes from him and his daughter. I’ve kept a steady correspondence with them both over the years, and never once in all my time as a Seeker has Sophia failed to kill the monster it was aimed at.  

But I digress. 

We fire together, then fire again, the booming report of our guns thunderously loud in the enclosed cellar, filling the far side of the room with a blizzard of shot that tears the queen and her guards to bloody shreds. Jax and I deftly snap open the breeches of our guns, ejecting the spent casings and replacing them with fresh, though I take a moment longer due to the extra barrels.

Silence descends for several long minutes as we wait to see if any more shades come out of the darkness, but either we had killed them all, or the remaining few were smart enough to scatter.

"I think we're done here," I decide at last, holstering Sophia, and Jax follows my example. I wave for him to follow, and head back the way we had come. "You did good work back there, Jax, very well done. I'm impressed."

Jax ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Thank you, sir, but I only did what I thought was best."

"Which is exactly what you should do," I tell him firmly, with a smile. "You acted as a Seeker should, and I'm proud of you. You have solid battle instincts, and you don't have any lack in terms of skill. You've learned everything I've taught you so far, and learned it well. You do me credit as your mentor, and yourself as a Seeker."

Jax is left speechless. I stifle a small twinge of guilt. Perhaps I’ve been a bit sparse with praise up until now. Well, that can be fixed easily enough. 

"Come on, lad," I say, ducking low to head back up the stairs. "Let's go get something to eat. I would say we've earned our supper tonight."

[stabbyapologist]

A Dog and a Cat

Part 14

Danica spent the rest of her solitary confinement in a deep sleep. Three days. Aside from going to the bathroom and a shower, that was the detox method of methamphetamine. Her body didn't take as hard to heroin; she was an addict that was wired with a hardcore attraction to stimulants, despite all the negative consequences that followed it. She had been doing this since she was eight; she knew the routine, of what would come—But logic stated that addicts recovered to return as functioning members of a society of normies.

Arkham Asylum was a different playing field with a garden-variety of psychopaths. Different people, different rules. Different socially acceptable habits and vices. Many of them were comfortable with torture and murder; so when Danica returned to general population, she was greeted with positivity and acceptance. She could wear her new line of murders in the asylum as a badge of honor, gaining infamy amongst her playmates. The comparison between her demeanors while dry or high were recognizable by her peers; and she was well-liked whether sober or fucking crazy.

Jerome's liking of her didn't decease when she was sober. He knew what she was capable of. Unlike the normies, he was fond of both her Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde—which is what they referred to her states of mind, albeit with respect.

She sat in the lobby, musing with Aaron about the ability to kill a family with his bare hands—a feat that he achieved with his own family.

Danica laughed as Aaron described a personal event of a particular homicide that went cold. *How amusing*.

Jerome sat down beside her and landed a kiss on her cheek politely. Danica grinned.

He was right. When she had followed his lead, and just let go—she felt as if this was her home. The need to leave had ebbed away, not so destructive as before.

It was more or less like sitting down with family at a dinner.

"Darling," Danica greeted him.

"Gorgeous," he returned.

In Arkham, it was not uncommon for inmates to pair off. It was necessary to mark territory to avoid confusion of what was on the market and was better off left alone. Danica grew accustomed to him sitting beside her, either with one of his hands on her thigh under the table or an arm around the back of her chair.

"Honey," Danica turned to Jerome, "have you ever killed with your bare hands before?"

"Uh, no," Jerome answered. "I have not. An axe, I can tell you, is very handy to keep around. A knife...potato peeler." He thought a second more. "A key."

"*A key*?" Danica remarked with a grin.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "You hold it like this—" he mimicked holding brass knuckles "—hold it like that with a key between your fingers and..."

"Does that work?" Danica said, intrigued.

Jerome shrugged,

"Well, when I obtain an officer's key, I'll pick a test subject and see if that actually works."

He and Danica exchanged glances and chuckled.

"I'll do it, though," he added delightfully serious. "Now I'm really curious."

Danica gestured to one of the guards.

"I recommend him."

"Whyyy?" Jerome drawled, smirking.

Give him a reason.

Danica's grin became devious.

"Newbie ."

"Ooh, the help," Jerome squealed with excitement. "But you know what, I think this could be a lot of fun."

Sionis sat across from them, having overheard their conversation. He glanced at Danica with a keen eye.

"I need a favor," he said.

Danica raised an eyebrow.

"You?" She exclaimed. "You need a favor from me?"

"Yes, actually; that guard you're thinking about making miserable. I'd like you to leave him be."

Before Danica could speak, Jerome interjected,

"Well, doesn't sound very fun at all."

Sionis looked at him.

"He's a man on the inside."

"A mole?" Danica asked.

"No, " Sionis clarified, "not like that. He's one of us."

"I highly doubt that," Jerome sighed, glancing at the nervous number standing by the door. "He looks like he'll fall over if you poked him too hard..." He made a small chuckle.

Danica assumed he had a few ideas with what to poke him with, most likely all of them resulting in a blood bath.

"I can't guarantee anything," Danica said smoothly to Sionis. When he gave her a look, she kissed her teeth, and replied, "I can guarantee that I won't do anything; but you do see where we are, right?" She gestured to the community. "Maybe you should talk to them.

Sionis resolved that she was right, stood to his feet, and strode away. Jerome watched his back for a good minute. He tapped his fingers on the back of Danica's chair thoughtfully. She glanced at him.

"I'd hate to upset my friend," Jerome said sarcastically. "But perhaps I'm right."

"Right about what?" Danica asked.

"What's the fun in it if the old boy is just gonna keel over?" He glanced at the guard again. "Guess we'll have to wait for the new flood of employees to make waves."

"I know you're disappointed," Danica turned to him with a smile. "We'll have some fun of our own later tonight. How about that?"

Jerome patted his hands together.

"Oh, goody!"

[sketchyfletch]

The Art of Self-Defence (The Arcana drabble)

Well, this started as a drabble and then ended up about three pages long. Nadia wants MC to learn some practical fighting skills. Nothing explicit, but behind the cut for safety. Technically written for a female MC but there aren’t any gender pronouns in use so you can read it as you wish. Might put this on AO3 later.

��Do you know how to defend yourself?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you glance up to find Nadia studying you. You are sat at right angles from each other, at the end of the long table with the remains of breakfast scattered between you. This has been your seat from the third day in the palace, when Nadia insisted that you move close enough that she can whisper asides into your ear. This places you mere inches from her, and you see the small furrow between her brows that betrays concern. She isn’t merely curious.

“Well, I have magic that can protect me.” You trace your finger on the tabletop, outlining the pattern of the sort of glyph you might lay at your door or across windows to prevent entry from, say, the malignant goat-faced ghost of your lover’s former husband. “I have been taught spells that can attack as well, but I prefer not to use them if I can.”

“No, of course not.” The answer hasn’t soothed Nadia. Her face remains tense. “But should your magic fail you – it has been known to happen, please do not take this for doubt in your abilities – can you use your fists? Do you know how to use a dagger to buy yourself some time?”

You shake your head. “I never had need of it. At least, so far as I can remember.” Who knows what happened before your memories were swallowed by the great expanse of blackness that fills your mind when you try to recall? Nadia appears to follow the same thought.

“Curious, what that time might have taken from us. Perhaps you were quite handy with a weapon. Or a champion pugilist.” A small smile crooks her mouth at last, but it sinks again quickly. “We must remedy this. I will make arrangements immediately; Portia will fetch you once everything is ready.”

And with that, she rises, kisses your cheek, and sweeps gracefully from the room.

You choose to spend the rest of the morning in the library. Julian left behind many scrolls and scribbled notes, and while you don’t think anything will lead directly to him, no further leads have come to light. A distant clock chimes eleven before Portia arrives, smiling in her usual sunny manner. “The Countess requests the pleasure of your presence in the fencing hall,” she announces, looking somewhat amused. You are less amused; while you know Nadia would never hurt you, the thought of doing anything with swords makes you uncomfortable. You know the pointy end from the grip, and that’s it.

You’re given no time to protest. Portia can be as forceful as her mistress in her own way, and you’re propelled out of the library and along the hallway before being turned into a room you haven’t entered yet. Wood lines the floor and one wall; overhead, rich golden carvings adorn the ceiling, pictures of battles and myths that even you remember reading of. Another wall is floor to ceiling windows facing out over a good portion of Vesuvia, and the sunlight pours through it. In the center of the room, hair glowing richly, is Nadia.

She has changed into the same boots and breeches she wore for riding, but her shirt is a simpler, open-necked one, tucked into the high waist and with sleeves that billow before pulling tight around her forearms. Her hair is back in the plait that you ran through your fingers on the way back from Vlastomil’s estate. She is as beautiful and immaculate as ever, but she looks ready to fight.

“My magician.” She smiles. She is unarmed; a table lined with weapons rests against the wall. Nervousness curls through your gut as you take in brass knuckles, stiletto knives, a brace of pistols, and paired rapiers, as well as others that just appear to be various forms of stabbing implement. Nadia closes the space between you and cups your face between her hands. “I swear I will bring you no harm. I believe that regular lessons will be required, but for now, I simply wish to see what you can do to begin with. Are you amenable?”

You nod. There is more to this than satisfying curiosity, and behind Nadia’s reassuring looks are fresh lines of tension. More than one person might take an objection to the Countess of Vesuvia consorting with a common-born magician. They might even attempt to disrupt it. Nadia, as ever, wishes to protect you. And while you can protect her now, anything else that might help…so much the better. You start towards the table, and she shakes her head.

“Bare hands, first. Come at me.”

You don’t want to attack her. Not that you don’t think she couldn’t handle it, but the thought of raising a fist to her is sickening. But Nadia stands ready, and this is for her piece of mind, so you take a stance that you think might be all right and run at her.

Then you’re on the floor. Nadia’s hands are on your shoulders and you’re on your back. “How did you do that?”

Nadia pinks a little at the awe in your voice. “Well, my sisters may have treated me like a baby, but I took some matters into my own hands. I felt that I should be able to defend myself.” She’s still on her feet. “I side-stepped you and dug my heel into the back of your knee. Normally it would be more painful and I wouldn’t guide you to the floor, but I don’t exactly relish hurting you.”

Her mouth draws level with your ear. “Not unless you explicitly request it, anyway.”

Oh, that does not help. She knows it too, and she chuckles a little before helping you up and demonstrating again what she did so you can get it. The next few attempts go better; Nadia has more training than you, and is faster, but is reluctant to risk causing actual harm. You manage to grapple with her for a few moments, strength to strength, Nadia’s arms coiling with yours. She wins when she slides your foot out with hers, as slick as a dancer, and tumbles you back onto the floor; but this time you don’t let the fight be over. You roll over your shoulder and regain your feet. The look of comingled surprise and pleasure on Nadia’s face makes you grin like an idiot.

“Very good! You are learning. Now I will come at you.”

Nadia bears down on you like lightning on a hillside, and you have to move without even thinking to block the blows she aims for your face, ribs, stomach; glancing blows keep sliding past your guard and you’re giving up space, backing up along the room. Then you start to notice a pattern and suddenly it’s easier. You even get her to move back a little. Then some more, and some more. Nadia is surrendering ground and you don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re almost at the opposite end of the room. In amongst the blows she’s smiling at you with a wild, fierce expression you’ve never seen on her face before, and you both drag in air like you’re drowning. Small curls of hair slip free from the hard knot of Nadia’s plait and cling to the sweat lining her face; her eyes glow with the exertion of the fight. If you get her back against the wall, you win. You move forward to close the distance –

She grabs your arms and spins you, slamming you hard against the woodwork. In a continuation of the same movement, she pulls a small dagger from her boot and presses it to your throat; a dirty trick, for a bare-handed fight. You start to make a playful accusation of cheating, but then you catch the look in Nadia’s eyes and your own lungs pull tight. The prick of cold metal at your throat is a stark counterpoint to your own warmth and that of Nadia’s body pressed hard against yours. To expose your throat to the knife, Nadia has pulled your hair back.

For a long moment you stare at each other. Nadia’s eyes are those of the lioness, contemplating her next meal.

Steel clatters dully against the floor as the knife is cast aside and Nadia seizes you, the hand not in your head winding tight around your waist, and kisses you more deeply and harder than you could have thought possible. You return it immediately, consuming more of this wild, gorgeous woman with every second, and she growls – not moans but growls – in response.

When she drags you down this time, you don’t even try to rise.

When sense returns, you are draped across her on the floor. Most of your and her clothing is scattered every which way; some of it is torn. Your heart is still hammering but is finally beginning to slow, and your breaths start to ease from short, hard gasps. Your hair clings damply to the nape of your neck. Nadia smiles lazily, but affectionately, one finger tracing over the marks she’s left on your neck.

“I will confess.” Her voice is a low purr. “This was not actually my intention when I arranged for us to spar.”

“No?” You can’t resist teasing her. “This wasn’t just a plot to get me hot and flustered and unable to resist your whims?”

“There was not much resisting that I detected.” Even within the afterglow, Nadia is able to make you blush again. You did not want to resist, at all, and you made that almost embarrassingly obvious at points. You change the subject.

“What was the dagger about?”

Now she blushes. “I was going to use it as a demonstration of why it is best not to underestimate an opponent, or assume you have the upper hand. It did not work as planned.”

“I think it worked very well.” You initiate the kiss this time, a slow, tender echo of the ones that came before. “And I should have known better than to try and push you against the wall.”

“I was quite impressed,” she admits. “I believe you may well have had some training in the past after all. You were pushing my capacity to fend you off.”

You lapse into silence for a moment. What were you before? Asra’s apprentice, but obviously more than that. Could you have been a fighter?

It’s hard to stay focused on this chain of thought for long when Nadia wraps one leg around yours, and places a light kiss on your nose as her fingertips run down your stomach. You giggle, a little, and her eyes light with mirth. It is no secret by now that you’re ticklish. She doesn’t prolong the torture, though, and curls some of your hair around her finger. “I am reassured that you clearly know something of how to take care of yourself. Outside of your obvious skills with magic, I mean. But we should do some actual training at some point, so you are versed in self-defence in as many ways as possible.”

“Will you be my teacher?”

“Of course.” Nadia considers. “But perhaps we should have somebody else in here with us on occasion, to ensure we stay on track.”

That gives you pause. “Wait, when did Portia leave?” You had completely forgotten she even accompanied you into the room.

Nadia’s eyes widen, and she looks towards the door, before the corners of her mouth curl and she presses her head against your shoulder, starting to laugh. “I forgot to dismiss her. She must have…excused herself.”

You let your head flop against the floor, laughing as well. It’s easy to see the funny side when Nadia is pressed so close to you, her giggles shaking your body as well. “Oh, gods. She’s never going to let me forget about this.”

[unchartedterritoria]

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 9

In case you don’t want to read it here, it can also be found on A03:

Dangerous Chapter 9 A03 Link

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8

Thanks to everyone that has read it so far! Also, comments and feedback are always appreciated. If you wish to be tagged for new chapters, let me know!

“Turn left here, here!”

Remy had led Faith and Sam back to the SUV and, with his directions, steered them to the other side of downtown Springfield, Illinois, close to the capital building. Remy directed Sam down a quiet one-way side street off the busy main road that held the bulk of the afternoon traffic. After passing a crumbling pay per hour parking lot, they approached a large, pale pink colonial house with green shutters and looking entirely out of place. It had a huge front porch complete with columns and a large community garden in place of what used to be the property's backyard.

“Here we go, pull around the back,” Remy said, pointing between the seats.

“Ok, yeah, ok,” Sam grumbled. He was never good at taking directions from people. Young, old, government authority, civilian, didn't matter, didn't like it one bit.

He pulled the car around the back of the large house, parking in what looked like a small gravel lot that was shared by the house and by the owners of the plots in the community garden.

“Remy whose house is this?” Faith asked, her nose to the window as she looked around. Sam put the car in park next to a pair of dumpsters shared by the two properties as well. Remy jumped out of the car excitedly, slamming the door behind him and rushing up the wheelchair ramp attached to the back door. Faith and Sam sauntered behind him, much like they had done since arriving in Springfield and meeting Remy.

"My god, he's like a puppy!" Faith exclaimed to Sam, leaning in close to him in the hopes that Remy wouldn't hear and be offended at her observation. Sam raised the corner of his mouth in a goofy, half grin.

"He's just a kid. You think this is bad; you shoulda seen him at 13 when he was just a pipsqueak."

Faith knitted her brows together in confusion. “Since when is 13 a pipsqueak?” She inquired.

“Since I hit puberty and became taller than the rest of the 13-year-olds in the world,” He said coolly.

“You're an ass,” She said half laughing.

“You're not just figuring that out, are ya sweetheart?”

They walked toward the back of the house where Remy waited impatiently. He stuck a hand into the pouch of his hoodie and pulled out a red gummy worm. He popped the end into his mouth, peering through side windows and staking out the immediate area around them.

"Remy, seriously, where the hell are we?" A tired note was creeping into Faith's voice as she asked again.

“This is the Edwards Place. Elizabeth went and married into this big powerful family. All her in-laws were like, Illinois big shots. Her father-in-law was one of the first Governors and Congressmen. He was Governor when it was still a freakin' territory. Her husband was attorney general for the state, and her brother-in-law’s were all lawyers or something impressive like that. I still think it's funny that Elizabeth went and married into this crazy powerful family probably thinking, 'Oh I'm so great, look at me, I married the Attorney General.' and then her sister comes along and is like, 'Watch this bitch,' and goes and marries the president,” Remy cackled wildly, the rest of his gummy worm now clamped between his teeth.

“Jesus kid,” Sam said with a snarky laugh.

“Ok, cause all these famous Sand suckers lived here, they went and turned the house into like, a museum. Before they did that though, we had a diary from Mary Todd Edwards in our inventory. Then, once they opened up, the Edwards family proved provenance so they took possession of it and it got moved over here,” Remy explained.

“So, let us in then,” Faith said.

“I can't. If it’s a historical state building, I got keys. This place is privately owned by some non-profit. That’s where Sam comes in,” Remy said, turning towards him as another gummy worm magically appeared out of his hoodie and into his mouth.

“Get us in? C'mon Remy, I thought you had a challenge for me!” Sam boasted. He backed away from the house and examined the outer structure, mentally trying to create a path from the ground to a window on the top floor that looked to be open a crack. He took out his coin and flipped it around in his palm, the Sam Drake equivalent of clicking a clicky pen over and over to help him think. Faith and Remy watched Sam curiously.

“They don't have a security system or nothin.”

"Yeah ok," Sam replied, still staring at the outside. His coin was going end over end over his knuckles. He stalked to the dumpster and grabbed it by the edge, hoping to move it closer to the building.

“Sam.”

“What?”

“You just have to pick the lock, you don't have to go all parkour dude,” Remy said, glancing up the side of the building.

“It's ok, all I have to do is climb on top of the dumpster, jump over to the garage roof, make my way across those two window ledges, -” He explained until Faith's growing laughter caused him to stop.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Oh my god. You can't pick a lock, can you?” Faith asked, barely getting the question out before bursting out laughing again. Sam slipped his coin back in his pocket and crossed his arms in front of himself defensively, his dark green jacket pulled hard against his shoulders.

"Look, -" Sam started to explain, only to be interrupted again by Faith, who found this little tidbit downright hysterical.

“No way man, really?” Remy questioned, unable to comprehend this thought. Faith put a hand on Remy's shoulder, leaning her head against him for support during her fit of giggles.

"Alright, so I can't pick a lock. It's never stopped me. I still get in, and I always get what I came for. Always.” He said with a smug look on his face. Faith regained her composure, wiping away the wet trails the tears from her laughter with the sleeve of her jacket. She turned and headed back towards the rear door of the house, her hand rooting in the inner pocket of her coat. She pulled a small, soft leather case from her jacket. Adjusting the back of her jeans, she squatted down in front of the door, her eye line level with that of the brass doorknob. Sam and Remy walked towards the door, curious about what exactly Faith was doing. Faith slipped two slim tools out of the lock pick kit and slid each one into the keyhole on the doorknob slowly. Remy watched her in a giddy amazement; he had never seen a lock actually picked before, there wasn't much use for breaking and entering in the field of academia. Sam crouched down next to Faith who was still intently working on the lock, gently sliding and turning the tools by the resistance she felt.

“You can pick locks?” He asked in a quiet voice, trying to keep his surprise tone to a minimum.

“A handy byproduct of a misspent youth,” Faith said, wiggling the bottom metal arm.

“You've been holding out on me. Makes me wonder what else you know how to do,” he questioned suggestively. Faith felt the bottom tool slip into place and turned them both at the same time. The door clicked as the lock disengaged.

"Wait 'til you see me with cherry stems," She whispered to him with a wink before standing up. Sam bit his bottom lip as a thousand pictures flashed in his brain, most of them downright dirty as sin. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up as if it would help dissipate some of the thoughts in his head. Faith quietly turned the doorknob and opened it a crack.

"No one should be here, right?" She said softly. He shook his head no. Faith stood up and opened the door the rest of the way slowly, stowing her tools back inside her jacket. Stepping inside, she was still cautious of making too much noise. Sam followed close behind her with Remy on his heels. They entered what looked like at one point was a small mud room that looked to now be used as an employee entrance. Sam looked around the corner and up the back stairs towards the second floor.

“You know where the book is Remy?” Sam asked.

“Probably like a bedroom on the second floor in one of the displays.”

“Ok, you stay here. Keep a look out for anything.”

"What? Oh, come on dude!" Remy whined angrily, his face utterly crestfallen.

“Just stay here, alright?” Sam said, not really in the mood to embrace the teenager whiny attitude, even if it was coming from Remy.

“Fine...douche,” He resigned sullenly, leaning against the hardwood frame of the doorway to the rest of the house.

Faith and Sam made their way upstairs, still taking care not to make too much noise. The stairway was lined with detailed painted portraits in dark wood frames of what Faith was sure was different generations of Edwards men. The top floor was all hardwood, crown molding, and flowered wallpaper. Things like ornate chairs and side tables were cordoned off by velvet ropes, as well as some of the bedrooms along the hallway that ran the whole length of the house. Sam ran a hand over a cherry table with grapevines carved into its sturdy legs.

"Hm, bet this would be worth a penny or two," His rough hand over the vines and shook a leg for good measure to check for stability.

“Hey! Focus, not what we came for!” Faith hissed at him.

“I know, I know, but it'd make a great parting gift,” He said, already picturing its lot number at an auction.

Faith let out a sigh of disgust. Bastard, money hungry bastard! And I flirted with him downstairs! What the hell is wrong with me, I should get my ass examined. Cause that's where my head is, square up my own ass! Faith thought as frustration with herself built within her head. Nope, no more flirting. No matter how good he smells. Eyes on the prize, find the book. She continued left down the hallway towards a large wardrobe at the end of the hall, open and displaying different pieces of period clothing. She stopped in front of the doorway to her right. Inside was a bedroom that looked straight out of the 1800's. Desk, sitting chair, bed, all look like they belonged there, despite the 'NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY PERMITTED' signs.

"Sam," Faith called for him. He walked down the hallway towards her, his heavy boots thumping against the runners atop the hardwood floor. Coming up behind her, he followed her into the room. She made a beeline for the roll top desk positioned in the corner of the bedroom, some part of her knowing what they were seeking would be there. The diary sat next to its own little placard, telling the interested masses what it was and who it belonged to. This was it.

Faith stood motionless, staring at the diary, frozen in place while a sudden internal conflict began to rage inside her head. If I take this, I'm a thief; I'm a criminal. I know I already broke in, but this seems so much worse! This is outright theft!

“Hey,” Sam said, putting his large, strong hand on her shoulder, snapping Faith back to the moment at hand.

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just, I'm not a person that does illegal things.”

“Says the woman with the lock picks,” He said, his head tilted and hazel eyes staring at her accusingly.

“That was a long time ago, that was breaking into places for shits and giggles, this is theft!” Her voice whispered as if she was cursing in church.

“Well, it's a good thing I'm a thief then,” Sam said back in the same hushed mocking tone while he reached past her and grabbed the diary from atop the desk. Faith watched as he closed the book and stowed it in the back waistband of his jeans and straightened his jacket over it, hiding it from view. With that quick move, it was as if the world turned from black and white to bright neon and everything was suddenly real. No more talking about it, no more just researching for kicks, no more 'just a simple road trip,' this was happening, and despite her momentary question of morality, it made her feel fucking fantastic and more alive than she had felt since her mother had died.

Sam headed back down the hallway, Faith on his heels. She felt exhilarated, but she was still anxious to get the hell out of there and not get caught. Remy looked up the stairway from the main floor where he had stayed put, despite his protests.

“Did ya get it?” He asked excitedly.

"Got it, let's go," Sam answered as he strode toward the door, ushering Remy and Faith out first. He closed the door, locked it behind him and stalked towards the car, trying not to draw any attention to the three of them if there was anyone around. As Sam unlocked the car, he pulled the diary from the back of his pants. He might not have the same anal need to preserve artifacts like Nathan did, but he figured sitting on it while he drove would not only be a bad idea but would be very uncomfortable. Sam handed the diary off to Remy's outstretched hands, sure that was the best place for it. Sam turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Almost euphoric at this point, Faith looked out her window, darting her eyes in every direction, anxious to make sure nothing looked hinky. The sun bright and reflecting off the puddles from the morning's rain, Sam sped out of the parking lot and down the one-way street, running over the cubed gum wrappers as he went by.

Sam skidded to a stop in front of the lobby of the motel chain they decided on to be their base camp for the night while they were in Springfield. Sam shifted the car into park and slid out of the driver's seat.

“Stay here, I'll grab a room,” He said, slamming the car door behind him, causing Faith to give a tiny jump.

"For someone dealing in antiques, he's sure not very gentle," She muttered to herself. She pivoted in her seat towards Remy, who held the diary open in one hand and his phone in the other. A gummy worm as green as his hair hung crooked out the side of his mouth. The flashlight feature from the cell phone lit the diary, giving Remy some extra light as the daylight faded quickly underneath the growing clouds.

“How you doing Remy?” Faith asked.

“Pretty fucking awesome,” He stated very matter of fact. He sucked the rest of the gummy worm into his mouth and smiled at Faith.

"Alright, the entries start in 1875. Mary died in 1882, and the diary looks like it goes til around like, June of the next year. That's when she lived with her sister so we should, hopefully, be able to find something."

After a few minutes, Sam walked out of the lobby with three room keys, handing one each to Remy and Faith as he got in the car. Parking in the far corner of the poorly lit lot, they grabbed their gear and headed towards the last room on the ground floor. Sam was pleased to see the room next to theirs empty as they walked over the cracked sidewalk; That meant more privacy, which was never a bad thing to have too much of. Faith opened the door with her keycard and flicked on the light. It had looked exactly as Sam's had the night she stayed with him, only this one had a couch and an uncomfortable looking high-backed armchair. Remy set the journal on the table and plopped down in one of its chairs, face still glued to the front of his phone. Faith dropped her backpack next to the bed and flung herself back on it with a sigh. She felt as if she hadn't had a decent sleep in days since she had found that damn Bible and the lack of a bed for the last 48 hours was starting to weigh on her eyelids and her back. She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumbs.

“Alright, food should be here in like half an hour,” Remy announced, plopping his phone down on the table. Faith sat up and looked at him, puzzled.

“Didn’t I just see you eat three corn dogs?”

“Yeah.”

Sam’s cell phone vibrated audibly in his jacket pocket. He fished it out quickly, double checking the incoming number. Nathan.

“And didn’t you just eat a bunch of gummy worms?” Faith said, continuing her questioning. She glanced at Sam questioningly. He held up a finger and opened the metal door of the motel and stepped outside.

“I need real food, candy is like, just a food substitute. I’m a growing boy you know,” Remy answered, the last thing Sam heard as he shut the door behind him and pressed green button on his phone.

“Hey little brother,” He said holding the phone up to his ear while he rooted into his jacket pocket for his smokes.

"Hey, Sam. How you making out in Illinois? Any luck?" Nathan asked.

“Remy got us a starting point. We’ll see where we end up.”

“Keep him out of trouble alright? He’s a good kid.”

“C’mon, trouble? Me? Never,” Sam said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“I’m serious Sam. I heard Jasper still has Arthur Bixby sniffing around for you and Faith so watch yourselves. You remember what he’s like, “Nathan warned him.

“Motherfucker,” Sam muttered to himself.

"Gimme the phone," Sam heard a gruff voice say in the background on Nathan's end of the line. Sam leaned on beige metal railing that ran along the edge of the building, the cold metal biting into his forearms as he held the phone in place with his shoulder. He heard the phone being shuffled between parties. He waited patiently, smoking his cigarette while Nathan and Sully bickered, Sully finally winning with the phrase, ‘Just hand me the goddamn phone!' Sam took one final drag of his cigarette, burning it down to the filter.

“Sam,”

“Victor,” Sam said, grinding the butt of his smoke into the pavement with the heel of his dark gray boot. “Recouping at Nate and Elena’s?”

"Believe me; it's not by choice. How's it going?"

“Alright so far, Remy got us somewhere to start.”

“You heard what Nate said about Bixby?” Sully questioned, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Yeah I heard, I’ll watch my back,” Sam agreed half-heartedly. He still wasn’t convinced that Jasper Nox would have anyone watching them.

“Don’t bullshit a professional bullshitter Sam. You need to watch your back, watch Faith’s back,” Sully urged him.

“Why you got me lookin’ out for this girl, Victor?”

"Cause I asked you to," Sully replied, hoping to shut him down quickly.

“Is she important, I mean, is she your kid or something? Why you got me doing this?”

“Sam, please, just do this one goddamn favor for me without asking any questions, alright?” Sully said as anger and frustration boiled over in him quickly.

“Alright, alright. I got it.”

“How is she?”

“Faith? She’s fine,” Sam answered.

“She’s fine?” Sully repeated accusingly.

“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s good.” Sam assured him.

“Sam.”

“What?”

“Don’t do it.”

“What are you talkin about?” Sam questioned.

"I'm talking about keeping it in your pants Samuel. That's what I'm talking about."

“Awe Jesus Sullivan, gimme a little more credit than that,” Sam said,

“I’m serious.”

“Okay,” Sam said, making sure the sarcasm dripped from every letter.

“Leave this one alone Samuel, it won’t lead anywhere good,” Sully warned him; The words that he had already heard Sully say to him in his head, now hearing them aloud, sent a chill down his spine. What the fuck is up with this girl? He thought to himself.

"Alright, alright, Victor, I got it," Sam acquiesced. Sam looked across the lot, a small red sedan covered in rust puttered into the large parking lot, its sides plastered with magnetic signs of what Sam assumed could only be the local pizza joint.

“Gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

“Watch yourselves out there.”

"Will do," Sam said, snapping the phone closed. First, it was take care of her; then it was protect her, now it's keep it in my pants? Fuck that; I promised one and two. I didn't make any damn promises about being celibate. You want me to take care of her? I’ll take care of her, my way. The whole Samuel Drake package, full fucking service if the moment presents itself, Sam thought to himself smiling as he dug a small wad of cash out of the front pocket of his jeans.

[crossroadsdimension]

I think I’ve hit a good point to end this little thing. It feels like a good place to wrap it up -- especially since it leaves you guys with enough room to imagine the shenanigans that Ford can get up to now. :3

Chapter under the cut for those who are too lazy to click the link!

Chapter 6: Power in voices

After the fifth time that day that Ford’s voice caused the kids to head upstairs and take naps, Stan had had enough.

“Either you’re not talking or we figure out a way to get the music out of your voice before you accidentally cause the whole town to go take a nap!” Stan frowned at Ford.

“Stanley, I--”

“Nuh uh, nope. Not a word out of you, Poindexter.”

Ford looked annoyed at the interruption, but he didn’t try and pick up where he left off as Stan rummaged around in the kitchen before coming back to the table with a notebook and pen.

“This’ll work for now.” Stan fixed his brother with a rather pointed look.

Ford sighed, then picked up the pen and wrote what he’d been trying to say all afternoon. He turned the notebook around so that Stan could read his cursive writing clearly.

“I think this is an unforseen side-effect of Addi releasing her spell. People who have been Taken by magical creatures of one kind or another for any length of time longer than a few minutes usually show some change as a result of it. I would question that Mabel’s recent high addiction to sugar is the result of the gnomes, but you’ve said she’s exhibited that even before what happened at the start of that summer.”

“What does Mabel’s sugar addiction have to do with the gnomes?”

Ford rolled his eyes and wrote in the notebook again. “The Gnome Queen is known to be so sweet inside and out that no predator in the forest can resist going after her. The fact that Mabel consumes a large amount of sugar on a daily basis makes me think that being in the gnome’s presence and being considered their queen for even a short time might have caused it as a side-effect. Will have to ask Dipper if her addiction to sugar has only increased since that summer.”

Ford tapped his written paragraph meaningfully, raising his eyebrows at Stan.

Stan frowned in response. “Well, she’s doing okay. At least she can also eat stuff other than pure sugar. But what about you, though? I mean, every time you talk someone in this house is gonna fall asleep, and I bet the same thing’s gonna happen if you go out and do a lecture or something.”

Ford sighed and propped his head up with one hand. He shrugged. “I’ll have to practice and find a way to separate the power in my voice from my speaking voice so that I don’t cause people to fall asleep when I don’t want them to.”

“Well, yeah, but how are you gonna do that?”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

The two men turned sharply at the familiar voice, catching sight of Addi standing in the kitchen doorway in the oversized question mark shirt that Stan had thrown at her two days ago.

Ford moved out of his chair so fast that he knocked it over as Stan pulled out his brass knuckles.

“Assistance?” Stan repeated shortly. “You’ve assisted enough already. First you turned my brother into a goddamned pet and now you’ve--”

“He’s been Touched with magic, that’s all.” Addi huffed. “It’s nothing of my doing; magic is a natural force that does as it likes. And mine seemed to think that you could do with something.”

Ford frowned at that. “I’ve been able to handle myself fine on my own. This isn’t any different.”

Stan started to look a little sleepy, but he shook it off and held up his fists. “Yeah. We don’t need your help.”

“Oh, please, like you can just use writing utensils to talk to each other for the rest of your lives.” Addi frowned. “You need to school your power into your singing voice. I can help with that.”

“And what’s the catch?” Stan snapped back.

“I just want a little company.” Addi shrugged. “It’s boring out at the lake all by myself. Why do you think I was getting pets in the first place?”

Stan and Ford exchanged looks.

“Give us a minute to talk about this.” Stan said to Addi. “Go wait by the lake or something.”

“No. Like I said, it’s lonely there.” Addi raised an eyebrow. “And I just might go after another human again.”

They exchanged looks again.

Ford motioned with his head towards Addi with a look on his face that suggested “we should take it.”

Stan frowned and shook his head; too dangerous.

Ford motioned to his neck, then up towards the floor above them; if they didn’t do something about it then the kids were going to end up going back to bed every few hours and he didn’t want to force them to do that.

Stan’s expression softened at that; then he scowled and sighed irritably. “All right; fine. But don’t pull anything funny on Ford or you’re gonna know how a certain triangle felt when his eye met one of these.” He held up his fist meaningfully.

“I’m not going to ‘do’ anything.” Addi rolled her eyes, but there was a slight spark of something in her eyes that suggested she wasn’t going to toe the line that Stan had put up. “We are going to need to be alone for a few hours. I doubt that you want to fall asleep for three hours straight again.” Addi gave a cheeky grin.

Stan’s scowled at Addi, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get anything’s attention that you don’t want out there.”

“I’m bringing my gun with me,” Ford called after him.

“Yeah, sure. Do that.”

Ford looked back at Addi with a guarded expression as Stan left. Addi simply looked amused.

“Come on, lullaby,” Addi motioned for Ford to follow her out of the house.

“Lullaby?” Ford repeated.

“That’s your magic.” Addi hummed the song that had caused Ford to fall asleep before. “You can set others to sleep for however you wish. An hour, a day...even longer, if you so choose.”

Ford’s hand instantly went to his neck at that. “I...I can?”

“Indeed. Quite handy when trying to make sure that a kraken doesn’t wake as your ship passes over it.” Addi looked amused at the look on Ford’s face. “Or when I want my pets to actually sleep for once. The bags under your eyes are terrible, you know that?”

Ford dropped his hand at that, expression souring. “My sleep patterns are my own business, Adeline.”

“Well, they are now. While you have that singular ability, you can’t be put to sleep yourself. So nothing’s going to be able to sneak up on you and knock you out so easily.”

“...all right, I admit that this ability is useful, but if I’m causing my family to fall asleep every time I speak, that’s not very useful then, is it?”

“Relax. I’ll show you how to use it properly. It’ll simply take some time, that’s all.”

Ford grumbled something under his breath that sounded like something out of a minor key. Addi simply laughed in response.

When they reached the lake, Addi threw the shirt off and waded into the water far enough so that her lower half would shift to a fish tail. Ford made it a point to avert his gaze -- now that the enchantment wasn’t in the way, he felt that offering her privacy during her transformation from the waist down was a better idea than just outright staring.

She’s helping you control the power she accidentally gifted you with; it would be wise not to get on her nerves.

Ford didn’t want to know what would happen if he angered a siren.

“You’re going to need to loosen up your voice first,” Addi called from the lake. “I assume you know how to do that much and have a few exercises in mind?”

Ford blinked at the statement and looked back over at Addi. “Ah...no, not really. I never really had the time for it.”

Addi looked annoyed. “Well, in that case, we’ll be working on that first. You sound like a bass, so transpose what you can and follow my lead.”

Ford swallowed nervously and nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s begin.”

Time Break

“Wait.” Wendy looked like she was starting to have a headache. “So, you’re telling me that the sea witch let Ford go last night, and he’s going back to get voice lessons?”

“It’s either that, or he has to play the part of a mute for the rest of his life,” Stan replied. “Which, knowing Ford...he’s not gonna want to do that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I guess he knows a whole new meaning to ‘talking people to sleep’ now.” Wendy’s mouth quirked up into a smile for a moment before she sobered. “So, what’s gonna happen now about that siren?”

“Well, Addi is -- as far as I know -- planning on sticking around at the lake. Ford said all she really wanted was company an’ she did the song thing to keep people there.” Stan frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not sure if I believe that, but she’s the only person around here who knows what’s going on with Ford’s voice an’ how to help him deal with it. So we’ll just have to deal with that until Ford can control it himself and he won’t have to take lessons from her.”

“I hope that happens soon, because I think he’d rather stay away from the person who tried to basically turn him into a dog.”

“Ehhh.”

Wendy frowned. “What.”

“You didn’t see what happened when we were on our boat. Before the sea witch incident, he’d practically throw himself off the ship every time we encountered anything remotely dangerous. I swear, it’s like his danger sense only encourages his curiosity. So if he’s being offered a chance to learn about sirens from the sea witch….” Stan trailed off.

The redhead groaned when she got the rest of the message. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. I bet if there was some weird, reality-warping monster out there, he would’a been torn between studying the thing and falling into madness or beating the heck out of it. We’re lucky we didn’t.”

Wendy looked like she wanted to hit her head against the counter repeatedly. “It must’ve been a miracle that he survived as long as he did.”

Stan snorted. “Y’know kid, sometimes I wonder that too.”

As if on cue, Ford came barrelling into the gift shop with an excited look on his face. He was soaked to the bone, but the light in his eyes clearly said he still had most of his sanity -- although even that sanity was a bit questionable.

“Dipper!” Ford called. “The Gobblewonker is real!”

Dipper scrambled into the room from the living room. “It what?! But I thought that McGucket--”

“He had to get his designs from somewhere, didn’t he? Addi’s found it and let me catch a glimpse -- I need to sketch this out! Come on!” Ford disappeared behind the vending machine, Dipper on his heels.

“Hey, wait for me! I wanna see it too!” Mabel quickly entered the gift shop and followed after them.

Stan and Wendy exchanged knowing, deadpan looks.

“Well, at least the good thing about all this is that Ford didn’t sound like he was gonna be putting anybody to sleep for a while,” Stan commented dryly.

Wendy snorted in amused agreement.

[missfiatlux]

Chapter 3

Rolf Bradson’s hands were marvelous things. Long and elegant and thin, they had opened people up, touched things that had never been touched by any other person (and hopefully never would be again), and closed them up again, better than before. These hands were so good at this task that Rolf became a world-renowned orthopedic surgeon.

But not only that; Rolf’s hands, ambitious little creatures, also excelled at creating by not touching anything. Rolf could pull notes out of thin air; during theremin performances, it seemed as though he were some sort of magician. A curious hillbilly magician, perpetually wearing a red MAGA-branded golf bag on his head. These hands made him the world’s second best theremin musician.

Right now, however, these hands were occupied in the dull task of washing Rolf’s red Jeep. Rolf had mounted steer horns on the roof of the car, yet another manifestation of his “interesting” qualities, but he was not one of those weirdos who name their cars.

Rolf himself was not paying attention to the task at hand, because he was on a conference call. To be perfectly honest with you, he wasn’t paying attention to the conference call either, having dimmed the volume to the level that the overlapping voices sounded like the inconsequential buzzing of flies.

Rolf had just won a game of virtual chess and washed the left horn on the red Jeep when he turned up the volume on his phone to check out what his Illiterati brothers were up to. A loud, raspy voice bawled at him, chiming with challenge:

“Rolf! Wanna take it out back and have it out for Betty?!”

Rolf had grown tired of the Enlightened Illiterati. Most of them were smart, and even the stupid ones tended to be handy and strong, but between them all, they lacked a single ounce of effective communication skills. Their preferred method of settling a discussion was to “go out back and have it out like real men.” Rolf did not want to “have it out like a real man.” His hands and brain were precious million-dollar instruments, and he did not relish the possibility of fucking them up for the sake of a dispute over the location of the next meeting, the satanic nature of death metal, or whether Betty was Paul’s girl or Rolf’s.

“No, I don’t even like her,” Rolf said. “Why would I need to fight you for her?”

“Oh, come ON!” Paul shouted. “You know that Betty ain’t worth nothing unless I break a couple ribs fighting a bigger, stronger man for her! Ideally, I’d even sustain a concussion!”

Rolf thought for a moment. In this interim, the voices of his Illiterati brothers rose in indignation that Rolf would demean any woman like this, refusing even to award her the prize of being worth breaking another man’s ribs. What the hell is wrong with this guy? What kind of chauvinistic pig is he?

“Well,” he started. “If Betty is worth breaking a couple bones for, couldn’t you go and buy her flowers or something?”

Paul spoke again, in a violent singsong, as though he was explaining a very simple concept for the 33rd time to a very stupid and very young child. “Here’s how it works. We go FIGHT, and then I get HORRIBLY INJURED. BETTY feels BAD for me, her TRUE LOVE, and proves her devotion by continuing to love me, after I proved MINE by getting hurt in a fight with YOU!”

Ah. This made perfect sense. Rolf didn’t even need a moment this time. “Alright. I’ll go get my brass knuckles and meet you outside after our next Illiterati meeting. But I can’t fuck up my hands too bad, since I still have to work on becoming the world’s best theremin musician.”

“You mean you’re not already the world’s best theremin musician?! Why’s Rolf our leader? I bet I could beat him at the theremin on my first try!!”

Rolf was not sure who said this, but he did not welcome the challenge to his authority. “How much do you bet? Higher than a thousand or you’re next after Paul.”

“That’s not even fair! I don’t have golden-haired Betty to attend to my masculinity-proving injuries. Neither do you! It’s fine to give a few punches to a loser like Paul who literally asked for it, but challenging an equal like me violates our code of chivalry or whatever the fuck you had us all sign.”

“It was an insurance waiver, and it was just for the Harley-Davidsons,” Rolf said. He was suddenly very tired of this chatter. “Anyway, I think this is all awfully heteronormative. Next Illiterati meeting, I want to see some boy-on-boy action, or I’ll cede the title to Paul.”

Voices rose in protest. Rolf hit the “end meeting” button, cutting them off.

***

In the fresh silence, Rolf’s hands finished washing the right horn of the red Jeep. He thought about where he wanted to drive next, in his shiny red Jeep, with the horns on top. The truth was, unlike his fellow Illiterati members, Rolf did not crave women or wealth. He already had enough of both for several lifetimes, which was not a brag, just a truth. Rolf’s soul was wrapped up in “being the best.” He cared about nothing else except this one thing, which was a fine, fine way to live his life. He had always been like this. That is: incredibly accomplished and definitely better than you.

***

It was three days later, and it was a few minutes after the conclusion of the 111th Congress of the Enlightened Illiterati. The night was humid and warm for May, the kind of heat that sent tempers spiraling and fists flying. Inside the restaurant, Rolf and Paul looked at each other over empty bowls of pho.

“Let’s have it out like real men.” “Yes, let’s.”

The rest of the Illiterati brothers rose and made to leave in a scattered and halfhearted manner. As the waitstaff cleared away the bowls, Rolf and Paul menaced each other out the back door of the restaurant.

The hillbillies followed and made a loose ring in the empty parking lot behind the restaurant. Paul squared his shoulders, as did Rolf. Rolf’s brass knuckles glimmered under the street light.

Rumbling. Some indistinct yells. An M1 Abrams rolled up the slope into the parking lot. The top of the battle tank flipped open and fair Betty emerged, more beautiful than ever, although her golden hair was tied back and she was clad in baggy army fatigues. “Begin the festivities,” she cried, in a voice that you could easily imagine giving orders on a chaotic battlefield.

Rolf delivered the first swing. As his fist connected with Paul’s side, he heard a sickening crunch, and it pleased him. It had been years since he had fought like this. It had been too long. Rolf felt a familiar head rush of bloodlust. Tonight, there were no rules.

Bam! Paul returned the favor to Rolf, in the form of a knuckle sandwich to the left eye.

A bright light to the left. Paul thought it was a passing car. But it was actually the brass knuckles, coming in to give him a concussion. The rest of the fight passed in a quick blur of Rolf’s flashing brass knuckles, sudden obscure movements, and pain sparking out of darkness.

When it was over, Rolf was scratched and bruised, but at least he was still standing. Paul was lying on the ground, a picture of pitiful valor. Rolf raised his arms in a silent yell of victory. The night had turned cool, and suddenly he was shivering. The humidity was coming out of the air in a light drizzle that turned into a fountain of light under the streetlight.

Betty scrambled off the M1 Abrams and ran to Paul. The hillbillies converged, eager to see whether Paul would be able to walk away from this fight. A cursory investigation revealed that he would not, and so Rolf and Betty helped him up and half-carried him to the tank.

The Enlightened Illiterati dispersed to their vehicles and drove off, along with the M1 Abrams. Rolf sat, bloodied and sore, in his red Jeep, as a warm rain pattered on the windshield. His mind was racing, for his hands were aching for more. His hands longed to kill. Rolf yearned for murder.

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing Fantasy Roleplay Contest 2020, Submission by Alex Harvard

Living in a world of magic, you are a talented young magician. In this fantasy world magicians act as adventurers, peacekeepers, advisors and more to the citizens. As you travel from place to place you solve problems, seek out new magical knowledge and keep the people safe from harm.

One day you are walking towards the nearest town to top up on supplies when you spot an out of control magic carpet careering through the air. It’s elaborately designed but seems to be badly damaged – it has noticeable holes and its edges appear to be covered in ice crystals. With a shock of recognition, you realise that you’ve heard of this carpet before – it belongs to Alexus Ignitingus, a famous sorcerer known for being the guardian of the biggest magical library in the world. As you look closer you see that in one of the carpet’s tassels there is a scroll – is it some sort of message from Alexus? What do you do?

Option one – you chase after the carpet to see where it’s going.

Option two – you try and grab onto the carpet and climb aboard to regain control.

Option three – you try and use your magic to blast the carpet out of the sky.

 Chapter One – Option One

You decide to chase after the carpet. It’s going at a fast pace, but you manage to keep up and you see that it’s heading towards the town. But it seems that the damage the carpet has taken is too much for it to stay airborne for much longer and it finally crash lands, right in the middle of the town’s bustling marketplace. In the chaos of the crash, a stall of potions is knocked into the neighbouring stall, which sells exotic carnivorous flowers. A potion bottle cracks, spilling onto several of the plants, and to the horror of the townspeople they come to life, bursting out of their plant pots and attacking and eating anything in their path. You must find a way to protect the townspeople and either destroy the plants or revert them back to normal, so that you can retrieve the scroll. This chapter will end when you pick up the carpet’s scroll.

I ran into town, following the carpet’s careening flight down, but was pulled up short by sudden crashing and screams. Frozen for a second, I stood empty-handed and empty-headed, before the terrified wail of a child sent up like a flare and I jerked back into action, haring off to find the source of the chaos.

What on earth could have happened in the moment between the carpet disappearing, beyond the line of shingled roofs and chimneys, and now? It hadn’t looked dangerous – it was a damaged rug, for goodness sake.

Finally, I found the town’s centre, emerging from an alley in a whirl. I came upon rather an extraordinary scene, even for a travelling mage like myself.

If only I hadn’t dumped my bag racing after that damned carpet, the Comb of Cinders Master had given me before I set off journeying sure would have come in handy right now.

The townspeople who remained cowering in the square set up a cry when they caught sight of my coloured robes, denoting my status as a magic user.

“Please!” one woman shouted, cowering under what I assumed had been her market stand. “Help us!”

Allowing myself a single second to wonder at the absurdity of my life, I sighed, then sprung into the fray, mind racing through scenarios and possible solutions.

Plants. The plants were alive and enormous, and creeping over the town, vines sinister tentacles, capturing townsfolk and caging them in like a cat with a mouse between its claws. Prising open shutters and doors, indiscriminately knocking over stalls and generally causing havoc – this was not good. So far, I saw no corpses, but that couldn’t be trusted to remain true.

I brought out my knuckles, slipping them onto my fingers in a familiar motion as I ran through all the spells I knew for dealing with plant life (or maybe magical creatures? I couldn’t say yet). But then, a touch on my ankle and I jumped straight into the air like a startled horse, shouting the first thing that came to mind.

“Thalla!”

Get away.

My brass knuckles glowed warm on my right hand and my feet touched the ground with a sound much too loud for my weight. Dust rose in a ring around me. It seemed every living thing in the vicinity flinched back.

I felt humans and plants alike staring at me in confusion and dismay.

“Oops. Sorry?”

“Is that it?” A child’s voice was sharp in the momentary calm I’d created, although I could tell they hadn’t meant for the words to carry. My ears grew hot. At least the vine was gone. But now my desperate spell had worn off… and there were plants with teeth? Where in all hell had they come from?!

“Air a spìonadh leis a ‘ghèile!”

This time it was purposeful, determined, and I felt the calluses on my fingers blistering again under the searing heat. A tearing gale blew in, ripping away enormous leaves and unanchored vines.

“Help!” The voice from before, the snarky youngster – it came from the centre of the madness and it was high and desperate and very young.

I left the eye of my storm and ran blindly through whipping hair and leaves. There. The child – they couldn’t have been older than ten – hidden away under a fallen sign, a fern as big as a tree looming above. It was bending and rising again and now the kid was out in the open and vulnerable. They screamed, but it was drowned out by the crash of the discarded sign hitting the cobbles.

“Sgiath! Losgahd!” I commanded without breaking my stride, spells directed at the child and plant monster respectively.

Within a moment I was there, scooping up the child and turning my back on the plant. It steamed and seemed to creak and whistle in confusion. I tried not to use this spell too often – it was messy and dangerous, especially in a cramped town. I only heard the spell’s effect. The crack and whoosh of the creature bursting into flames, like the fire had come from within. Ash snowed down upon us, making my hair almost as pale as the blonde kid’s.

“I’ve got you, buddy.” The child’s cheeks were tear-stained, but the belief in their eyes was all-encompassing, despite their earlier disenchantment.

Damn kids and their innocence.

I was ripped out of my relatively safe bubble by a roar – but not of pain. This was anger. The townsfolk had mobbed together and as my gale had died, they threw themselves upon the remaining unfortunate plants with the desperate force of a cornered vixen.

All I had to do was sit and watch, holding the child, and before I knew it everything was still – a graveyard silence.

“Is everyone alright?” I called tentatively. One woman came out of nowhere, barrelling down on me at a run. I handed the child over without trouble, recognising her expression.

“Oh, Riven! Thank you, ma’am, thank you,” she sobbed, clutching Riven so tightly I was almost wondering if I’d have to save the kid a second time today.

“Don’t mention it,” I returned, averting my eyes with an awkward smile and shaking the ash from my hair with my unadorned hand.

“But, hold on a moment –” I finally had a moment to gather myself, and found formless emotions rising within. “Could anyone tell me what the actual hell happened here?” I spun around, discovering I was asking empty air, the townsfolk having immediately lost interest in me now there was no immediate danger. I sighed, removed my brass knuckles and tucked them away, almost resigned to not knowing. But the woman was still there, kneeling by Riven. She answered me.

“Ma’am, something flew outta the sky. I didn’t see what it was – ‘cuz someone ran off again,” she shot an unimpressed look at Riven with her words, and they returned a sheepish grin, “so I was a lil’ busy, but I think it knocked over a couple stalls.”

“And created… all of these?” I nudged a random severed vine which lay still and dead on the cobbles, surprised.

She shrugged. “Coulda been Marita’s plants. And the potion stall of that traveller was right nearby. He seemed kinda sketchy – I guess it coulda caused all this.”

I was a bit incredulous at this improbable sequence of events but nodded anyway.

“Alright, thank you. I don’t suppose you saw where that flying thing went?” I asked.

She looked at me harder then, squinting. “Why, is it yours? That why you appeared just now, outta nowhere?”

I blushed when her child looked up at me, made bold once more by curiosity. “That flying carpet’s yours?”

“No!” I answered quickly. “No, I saw it out above one of the farms. I followed it in.”

Riven pouted. “That’s a boring story,” they told me, unimpressed.

I shrugged – I didn’t know how to respond. Kids weren’t my forte. Or people, generally.

The youngster popped up suddenly, wriggled out of their mother’s grasp and in one quick motion grabbed me by the hand. I flinched. It was the burnt one – my casting hand. Riven didn’t notice, dragging me along as their mother’s chastisements and warnings fell on deaf ears.

“I can show you where it went, though!” They grinned back at me, gap-toothed.

Now I was interested. I was tugged across the square, almost faceplanting a good few times. Riven just scrambled over the debris like a goat. Absolutely unfair, really. I swerved violently when Riven hopped right on over a well – water and I were not good friends. As soon as we were past it, I was grabbed once more and given a look which assured me I wasn’t getting away so easily.

“Ta dah!” We halted suddenly and I almost bowled the child over with my momentum. But they were right – here was the flying carpet, torn and icy and attached to the scroll, just as I’d seen it before. It reminded me…

“Hey, kid,” I turned to see a small herd of children had somehow amassed behind me whilst I wasn’t watching. Riven cocked their head.

“Yeah?”

I shuffled a bit under their stares. “Umm – could you do me a favour? If your parents don’t need you home yet.”

The youngster grinned crookedly, hardly resembling the one I had rescued maybe 15 minutes before, save for the ash in their hair and tracks on their cheeks.

“Name it, lady. Ma will live.”

I coughed. “Well – I dropped a satchel just outside of town, on one of the farm tracks. I was wondering if you could find it for me? It should be near a copse of stunted poplars, to the south-west of –”

“I know the place,” Riven asserted. With not a moment of hesitation, they turned to their gang. “Old Man Grey’s farm, got it? Spread out, bring me the bag.”

Like royalty they were obeyed instantly, children shooting off down alleys and pushing at each other as they raced to be the favoured subject.

It made me raise an eyebrow, but I turned back to the carpet, shaking my head. If I’d tried that as a kid, well… I took the object in once more and without touching anything tried to discern what had happened – even using my brass knuckles at one point to scan for any trace magic. I realised not quickly enough that it was useless – this was a flying carpet. Of course, there would be spell residue. If there wasn’t, then I should be worried.

I must have been working for a while, because before I knew it, my satchel was being dumped beside me and child-sized shadows were skulking away again.

I checked my bag. Everything intact, even the Comb. Good job those kids didn’t know value when they saw it. That had been a risky ask, even for me. If I could find them again, I decided I’d give Riven a thank you gift before I left.

But now I was stalling. I took a breath. And another. Another. I opened my eyes and took the scroll in my hand, taking care not to touch Alexus’s carpet.

Well done, you’ve managed to claim the scroll. As you pick it up, you unfurl it and read the following words:

‘To whomever reads this message,

Greetings, fellow sorcerer – I apologise for the unorthodox means of transporting this message, but I am in dire peril. I have been imprisoned within my library by Zarix, a cruel and greedy elven warlock intent on gathering all the world’s magic for himself. Zarix has somehow gained control over a mighty frost dragon and with its freezing breath it has encased my quarters in a block of unmelting ice, leaving me trapped – all I can do is hastily scrawl this message and command my trusty magic carpet to bring it to a worthy magician.

I know that my own magic is not powerful enough to break frost dragon ice, as it magically refreezes whenever I try to dispel it. My library’s charms prevent entry to anyone that means harm, but Zarix is resourceful and I am sure that he will soon find a way to undo my spells and steal the library’s magical secrets for his own. This knowledge must not be allowed to fall into his hands – please, come at once to put an end to my captivity and Zarix’s schemes!

Yours humbly,

Alexus Ignitingus’

With his message Alexus has enclosed a map and you immediately head towards his library. Soon you come to the first major obstacle on your quest – a wide, deep valley of water known as Howling Lake, so called because of the sound the fierce winds make as they whip along the water’s surface. It’s surrounded on both sides by high sand dunes, making it the only way through, but it’s rumoured to be home to all sorts of dangerous creatures. At the side of the lake there is a rickety old raft, which seems to be the only way across the water – the only other possibilities are to swim or to skirt around the shore through the sand dunes. What do you do?

Option one – you swim.

Option two – you take the raft.

Option three – you walk along the shore through the sand dunes.

 Chapter Two – Option Three

You decide to travel across the sand dunes on the shore of the lake. The wind picks up and before long it’s a raging sandstorm, nearly blinding you with every gust. Through the sound of the whistling wind you begin to hear something new; a voice, singing soothingly to you and encouraging you to come towards it. You stumble after it, almost hypnotised, but as you follow your foot slips into a pool of quicksand. As you struggle to pull yourself free the source of the beautiful singing reveals itself to you – it’s a sand siren, who has lured you into the quicksand to eat you! You must free yourself from the quicksand and defend yourself against the sand siren’s attack. This chapter will end when you defeat or escape from the sand siren.

I took one look at the lake and immediately turned off the path that led to the pier. Sure, the sand dunes were rumoured to hold creatures I would much rather avoid, but at least you could trust a desert to be free of water.

I mean really, the entire situation was a series of improbable events. Me, the one to attract Alexus’ favourite carpet as the ‘worthy sorcerer’? A frost dragon enslaved and Alexus trapped? A lake put into my path just to make the entire ordeal more unpleasant?

The universe hated me – I was sure of it. The irony of the carpet having found me, of all people. I knew Alexus from long ago – he accompanied my parents and I on our expedition – but anyway, it was safe to say we had never gotten on particularly well. I would make him eat his words when the ‘silly little hatchling’ arrived to free him.

Stomping along the ridge of the sand dunes, I kept finding myself blinded by the sun glinting off the surface of the Howling Lake (as it was labelled on my map). It wasn’t bringing back pleasant memories. Deciding on the spot, I stepped away from the slope that led to the sparkling water until sandy dunes hid the lake from view, the ridge of the valley’s edge becoming the new horizon. I’d just make sure to keep that in sight and I wouldn’t stray off into the rolling dunes.

So, onwards I trekked. The sun was low in the sky – it still being early in the day – but was cruelly hot, beating me down until I had to take my outer robe off to create a makeshift headscarf to keep my dark hair and skin from soaking up the heat. But nearly as soon as it was completed, the sun’s rays seemed to dim. Had I wasted so much time already?

But no, the sun was still hanging in the same place.

It was a dark, roiling cloud rising from the far away horizon and masking the sunlight. That’s why it was getting darker. I looked at the violently looming mass steadily rising higher as it approached. I looked towards where the lake surely hid, still and indifferent.

I’d brave the sandstorm, thanks.

Wasn’t much further to go until I would join the path once more.

Onwards I trekked. It grew dimmer and now I felt the wind pulling at my headscarf, picking up sand to sting exposed skin. My eyes felt gritty, imitating the familiar feeling of not having slept for many days.

But I’d slept well last night in the town’s inn, having gifted Riven a box of sweets as promised.

I smiled distantly.

On I went.

Now I couldn’t hear myself over the roar and whistle – could barely differentiate the ground from sand-filled air as I stumbled ever on. Now my only thought was escape – get away – you’re not safe here. I could feel something – someone – there with me. I couldn’t stop.

I hummed, although I couldn’t hear the tune over the din – they were familiar notes, playing away in my mind. A song for travelling. But actually, now I could hear it – whisked to me on the wind, the melody lilting, soaring, sweet and steady and my mother’s voice. I’d stopped. The song continued. My feet moved without my consent. One step and another, and her voice grew louder. On and on and I was running, sprinting – I felt the end of my headscarf tear free but didn’t dare stop to fix it. It fluttered and I ran and the song was so familiar, voices joined together in harmony as the wind carried me to her.

The ground sank, but her song rose above that and I scrambled forwards, on hands and knees, shin deep in sand, elbow deep, and it sucked and – from the sandy air came a figure silhouetted, and she was there, right there.

“Mam! Mam, you’re back! How did you get out?”

Her voice trailed off as she emerged, and stopped, still far from my reach. The wind whistled in her silence. I reached out to her with one hand.

“But Mam, I left you in Tuama Reòta with Da, how – how did you…?”

My words trailed off as my mind began to turn. “You…”

This creature was not my mother.

It hissed and my arm dropped. My hand was covered in mud. I tried to stand, to back away. My limbs – were stuck. I was stuck and sinking and in the storm I made out more dark shapes flittering through the storm.

Damn sand sirens had lured me into quicksand by imitating my dead mother?

Oh, they were going to get it.

Taking stock as swiftly as possible, I stopped writhing and lay still, trying to get the pressure off my trapped legs. I knew the drill – it wasn’t too different from escaping cracked ice sheets. Laying back and ignoring the second issue that was steadily encroaching, I used my free hand to grope for my knuckles. It was my left hand, the only one available for use.

I guessed there was a first time for everything.

Slipping the metal onto unblemished fingers felt beyond strange, but currently I had more pressing issues.

“Buadhach,” I whispered, and felt my limbs float to the surface just a fraction more hurriedly. I could see the details on the slithering, reptilian lower half of its body now. I shouldn’t be able to make those out. It was too close.

I whispered the spell over and over with growing urgency, not daring to put too much power into it for fear of doing more harm than good. Finally, my legs reached the surface, and floated there. I lay on my back, feeling the siren’s long shadow drape over my skin. I unwrapped my headscarf with haste and threw it behind me like a carpet.

With a much more forceful, “Cruadhaich! Agus Seòladh!” the material became rigid and lay primly atop the silty mud, no longer threatening to sink. A hasty flip and scramble got me onto the stiff robe, and without hesitating I put as much distance as I could between me and my almost tomb. Solid land was only a couple of metres away, I discovered. Go figure.

“Alright!” I exclaimed as I switched the hand wearing my knuckles, spinning to face the creature who I could now clearly see was not at all motherly and in fact rather snaky. I grinned and it bared its rows of fangs back at me with a hiss. A command to attack, I deduced, when the dark figures all coalesced from the sand into equally pointy-looking snake people and launched themselves at me simultaneously.

“Sgiath!” The protection spell gave me a moment to figure out the best move to make. All the creatures hit the barrier at once, making my previously warm knuckles flash hot and pulling a cry from my cracked lips.

I didn’t need skin, right? I damn well hoped not. The sirens were charging the barrier again and again – I wouldn’t have fingers left to wear the knuckles at this rate, they’d be burnt straight through.

Remembering with a touch of undeserved pride that I hadn’t dropped the bag with all my possessions this time around, I scrabbled for my Comb of Cinders.

“I really hope this thing isn’t faulty,” I gritted out. With a thought that felt more like a sigh of relief than it perhaps should have, my spell dropped. The sirens charged as one, hissing.

I pointed and hoped it would shoot. “Falbh!”

It did. Maybe the universe wanted to repent. The weapon (which was shaped like the crest of a chicken for some reason, metal as red as anything) somehow seemed to pulse in my grip. The sirens stopped dead.

Quite literally. I’m reasonably sure they were dead before they hit the sand, tails only continuing to writhe because of muscles burning away at varying speeds, pulling the rapidly disintegrating flesh one way, then the other.

The sandstorm picked up their ashes for only a moment before it all died down, having been brought on by the sand sirens for ease of access to their meal. The sand looked darker as it settled.

In that moment I thought back and decided the only reason I’d made so much progress before falling into a trap had been my distance from the lake’s shore. Quicksand needs water – it must have been harder to find a sink to lure me into out here.

Who would have thought the trauma they used to lure me towards becoming a meal was the same one that might have saved my arse?

Standing there with a red, oddly shaped lump of metal in one fist and gradually cooling knuckles on the damaged other, both weapons given to me long ago by good men, I felt entirely overwrought.

I groaned loud and drawn-out at the cloudless sky. “How come Master’s gift doesn’t burn the skin from my flesh, Da? Huh? That would have been a nice feature for yours, you know!”

The sole answer was the steady lapping of water from across the sand dunes. I felt that was apt enough.

I sighed, put my belongings back in order as best I could and set off towards the road, which I could see now that the air was clear and I wasn’t being hypnotised.

I walked and my right hand throbbed, blisters still rising; one round more on top of so many others.

Congratulations, you have reached the other side of the lake. But as you consult Alexus’ map, you realise there is one more obstacle between yourself and his library – the enchanted forest known as the Neverwoods. The Neverwoods are renowned for being a place of great natural beauty and home to all kinds of magical creatures, but also for being full of long, winding paths, which twist and turn dizzyingly to disorientate all but the most experienced explorers. As you enter, doing your best to keep your bearings through all the wondrous sights, sounds and smells, you encounter a threeway fork in the path up ahead. The left path is the brightest, with dappled sunlight shining through the leafy canopy, and seems to be leading towards a clearing of some kind. The centre path seems to be the darkest, leading deep into the very heart of the forest, but is also the most direct route. And the right path is the one which seems to be most travelled, as you spot multiple imprints on the ground. What do you do?

Option one – you choose the left path.

Option two – you choose the centre path.

Option three – you choose the right path.

 Chapter Three – Option Two

You decide to walk down the centre pathway. The trail is dark and narrow, with thorny vines snagging at your clothes and dense undergrowth threatening to trip you with every step, but eventually you come to a small building. The building appears to be an ancient temple or shrine of some sort, covered in an incredible variety of flowers, shrubs, moss and other plant life. Suddenly, a figure emerges from within the building – a person with the body of a human, but the head of a majestic stag, antlers and all. The figure angrily tells you that he is the Forest Spirit, a protector of all nature, and that you have stepped uninvited onto sacred ground. You must persuade the Forest Spirit that you mean no harm for him to let you pass, either through negotiation, an offering to the temple or even combat if the Forest Spirit attacks you. This chapter will end when the Forest Guardian gives you permission to proceed.

I looked at the crossroads for a long moment. I took the centre path of the three.

No matter how dark and eerie this one appeared at first, at least I could trust it to provide what it advertised. I wasn’t being dragged into another trap, nor did I want to come across nosy travellers or any packs which may be hunting them, so – the enticingly sunlit clearing, or the seemingly well-travelled road? No, thank you.

Besides, time was running out. Who knew how long Alexus’ carpet had been searching before it came to me? It may have already been too late, the library breached and Zarix at large, armed with fatal knowledge. I needed to cross ground as the crow flew and if that meant scary little trails through the deep dark wood then so be it.

But damn, they hadn’t been selling the Neverwoods short – I was walking along the centre of the path and already leaves brushed my arms as I passed, with branches catching at my hood in warning as the path continued to narrow and twist in on itself. The sun could hardly be seen, dim light reminding me of my last run in with creatures of the land and how they’d shown me Mam, risen warm and alive from the ice – but she wasn’t alive and if I wanted to put off joining her I needed to have a clear mind.

Shaking my head, I stumbled on, resolute. I needed to deal with Zarix and his frost dragon. (But actually, let’s pause there for a moment. How on earth had he manacled one of those? Dragons submitted to no one – I knew from experience – and those native to cold climates were generally even worse. Unless… he’d somehow won its loyalty? I really, truly hoped otherwise – I would like to be leaving that library with my physical form still intact, thanks.)

But anyway, I’d make use of my newly broken in Comb of Cinders, vanquish the villain, free the poor damsel and be swiftly on my way, hopefully having finally earned some respect from that bòidheach Alexus. Not that I needed his respect – or approval! It just wasn’t good to have an influential sorcerer – even a patronising, cowardly, selfish one like him – flouncing around and bad-mouthing you if you’re trying to carve your own patch in a world full of magic users.

“Honestly, why can’t I just be left in peace?” I muttered, kicking roots (certainly not tripping, it was just my way of venting frustrations) and slapping branches out of my path. It was futile. They just closed in behind me, more often than not whipping back once I’d passed, encircling me until the foliage huddled close, trees towered reproachfully and I wondered if I hadn’t in fact strayed away from the track.

Stopping as soon as I realised the situation, I pulled my knuckles from my robes, but hesitated. My fingers were sensitive to the extreme – some of the blisters having been inadvertently popped and drained, others still taut and translucent, creating a sight like one of the poison dragon fledglings had breathed over my skin and I’d left it untreated since. Which in a way, I guess I had.

Magic backlash couldn’t be healed with any learned spell or enchantment as far as I was aware. Once, in my younger years, Master had treated me with a potion of his own creation, when the taunts of the others pushed me just that bit too far and I lashed out, overextending my magic. The potion didn’t speed up the healing process, just soothed the pain, but I was still exceptionally grateful – I was informed how expensive and lengthy the brewing process was by Mam when I arrived home that evening with the poultice. I had my knuckles confiscated that night for the following three months. Not that it changed much – I couldn’t have worn them for the majority of that time anyway, with my hand and arm in such a state.

But I didn’t have any of Master’s potion with me now and the thought of searing metal against my skin was what made me pause. Did I have a choice? I was, for all intents and purposes, lost in the notoriously inescapable Neverwoods, without even the sky to navigate by. I supposed… but I’d used my left hand last time, hadn’t I? And it’d worked, miracles of miracles. Why not do it again?

I switched hands and slowly slid the brass knuckles onto my left hand. It felt wrong, as if the item itself felt uncomfortable on my fingers. The metal was worn in and old and rejected the change. What choice did I have though? I wasn’t a masochist – after twice exerting myself in the last two days, no one (but perhaps Da) would have expected me to cast anything for a long time.

But this was an easy spell and I was being dramatic.

“Treòraich mi troimhe,” I uttered softly, the language of my childhood rolling easily off my tongue. As expected, the metal warmed hardly more than the temperature of my skin. I felt a non-existent breeze blow against one cheek, and I turned to follow it, trusting my magic.

Time passed. It became more and more difficult to forge through the branches, with mud sucking at my boots, reminding me uncomfortably of earlier in the day. I began to question.

Then, I saw a flash of white behind a veil of leaves, directly in my path. With the promise of – well, something – ahead, I kept my pace steady, dismissed my misgivings. I arrived at the spot, but the green and brown shades remained uninterrupted.

That was when I figured the stress of the day was really getting to me. I recast my spell, affirmed the correct direction and continued. Or tried to.

Within two steps, I felt a shudder against my skin and a flash of heat through my body. Well – not heat, as such. It was like sunlight warmth through my veins, the chill of deep water pebbling my skin, a sense of unwarranted, unnatural dread making my hair stand on end. And yet the air in my lungs became light enough to float me away from this plane of existence entirely, as if my soul would drift from my body.

Whatever it was, it was entirely without warning and jarred me. It was magic of some sort – I was almost entirely certain. A spell? A trap? Of what nature? I stood where the shock had halted my progress for a good few minutes.

“Nochdaidh,” I intoned lowly, the same spell I’d used on the carpet.

Yeah, definitely magical. But, so what? Until a real threat presented itself, I had no target for a counterstrike and no excess energy to be throwing around doing difficult magic anyway.

I started onwards once more. And somehow, just then, the trees thinned out around me, opening into an unlikely clearing.

With a pure white hind, standing and staring at me quite in the eye.

Right there, not ten paces ahead.

Before I could truly register its presence, I blinked and it disappeared without a trace. Not even a rustle in the bushes lining the clearing marked its departure.

This was not a glad tiding. Quite the opposite in fact. As someone who liked my life separate from the Otherworld, I really didn’t appreciate that damn deer coming to greet me.

With extreme wariness, I looked over the clearing. I wasn’t comforted.

There was a – a structure, of some sort. So bedecked in moss and fungi and an ominously colourful selection of wildflowers that I could hardly make out the stone of its walls. In fact, the plants made it appear almost bark-like, as if four trees had grown up into walls and woven a steeple, then been petrified.

But the only possible way that could be true would be the attendance of Otherworldly beings and I had specifically requested the universe leave me out of that whole mess. A section of the wall rustled and a veil of trailing vines were pulled aside, to emit…

A man – no, a woman – a creature, as tall and lean as a willow tree, skin dark as loam, hair long and wild and framing a face unlike any I’d seen. Its eyes were pits, the green of mossy rocks and algae pools and millennia, with no pupil or whites to be seen. It stood straight, and its antlers were level with the forest’s canopy. It was still and stared, almost fading into the trees.

Apparently, I’d forgot the universe’s sense of humour when it came to my life.

It made no sound at all – didn’t even seem present by the way the breeze passed through it – but I heard a whining keen.

I swallowed.

It was me.

“Cernunnos?”

I felt like my words were soaked up by the wood itself as soon as they left my tongue. I couldn’t be sure it heard me.

I registered a response deep in my head, a hum of acknowledgement. It was like no other sensation – but I recognised it. It caused the earlier unexplainable sensation. But it wasn’t a sorcerer, that was for sure.

The reverberation in my skull was the forest itself, the trees and creatures and elements they lived with, all present at once, and listening, just as they always did.

But now I was acutely aware of the fact.

I had no delusions in that moment. I dropped my knees in an instant, eyes absorbing every detail they could keep a hold of. Its image seemed to stray and blur when I stared too directly.

But now I was pinned. How could it be my place to address Cernunnos, an embodiment of Nature itself? Beg for his favour – safe passage – my life –

My answer came, not in words, but as a sort of feeling. It was as sure as the tides ebbing and the sun rising.

It is not for you to do.

I was inexplicably calmed. I couldn’t protect against this, so why try, and fail? Opening completely, I became exposed, vulnerable, mind laid bare.

It rushed through me, a flash flood and thunderstorm and forest fire.

The icy water, Mam’s face sinking from view –

a Gaelic melody and breath-warmed fur tickling my face –

the crunch of snow boots in winter, with the hollow thud that made every instinct lay its ears back and tremble –

thin arms around my chest, caging me in, holding me back, condemning them to die alone –

pain in my hand, rain on my face, cold in my bones, fear and anguish and nothing in my heart –

I gasped. My lungs filled with relief.

I was alone, and in the middle of a path, and alive.

Alive.

Alive.

I met Cernunnos and lived.

Judged worthy.

Judged necessary.

I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. I rolled onto my back, arms limp by my sides, barely feeling the knuckles chilly on my fingers, or satchel digging into my flank.

I lay there and apologised for ever thinking I’d fallen out of favour with the universe.

Good work, you reach the end of the forest and in the distance the magical library is visible. But as you carefully approach you see that Alexus’ warning was true – his house is encased in ice, with the gigantic frost dragon lying nearby and Zarix is standing at the doorway muttering incantations to try and enter. You also see that the frost dragon has a glowing chain around its neck and you realise that this chain must be what is keeping it under Zarix’s command. Weighing up your options, you settle on three possible courses of action. You could try and sneak up to the frost dragon and break the chain, to free it from Zarix’s control – there’s the risk of the frost dragon going on a wild rampage once it is freed and becoming even more dangerous than Zarix though. You could fight Zarix in a head to head duel, magician against magician – you’ve overcome plenty of dangerous obstacles to make it this far, but a magician of his calibre is a dangerous enemy, especially if he commands his frost dragon to attack you. Or you could try and find a way to destroy the ice and free Alexus so that the two of you can team up and defeat Zarix together – however, you remember that the ice magically froze again every time Alexus tried to melt it, so you’ll need to come up with an inventive way to get past it. What do you do?

Option one – you attempt to free the frost dragon from Zarix’s control.

Option two – you attempt to defeat Zarix in a magical duel.

Option three – you attempt to melt the ice and free Alexus.

 Chapter Four – Option One

You decide to try and free the frost dragon from the enchanted chain. As quietly as you can you sneak up to the frost dragon. For a brief moment you panic as the frost dragon notices your presence, but to your relief it doesn’t attack you or make any noise, so you judge that the frost dragon is intelligent enough to realise you are trying to free it and has some free will when Zarix is not directly commanding it. You channel your magic to break the chain and after an initial struggle you’re able to split it open, revealing painful looking blisters where the chain links dug into the frost dragon’s skin. The frost dragon immediately rears up and roars, taking aim at Zarix in vengeance for being enslaved. Caught off guard, the evil wizard tries to resist, but the frost dragon’s relentless assault overwhelms him and he is frozen solid. But even after Zarix’s defeat the frost dragon still won’t calm down, thrashing around in pain and putting the library at risk of collapsing. You must find a way to stop the frost dragon’s frenzied attacks, either by calming it down or defeating it in combat. This chapter will end when the frost dragon stops attacking.

Creeping through the bushes, I finally came in sight of Neverwood’s edge and there, tall and stately and so very fitting for its owner, was the library; windows high and arched, walls a shining white. It glistened in the light of sunrise. A peculiar sort of reflection, so for a second, I was left wondering at the material. But then I realised – it was ice.

The ice which had trapped Alexus still encased the building, stained glass made dull with frost, creeping ivy frozen to picturesque shards, no doubt fragile enough that a glancing blow would send the leaves shattering down.

But the ice must be sustained by Zarix. From my position, I tried the best I could to make out his distant figure striding around the building, or occupied some other futile action. Was he somehow upholding the spell remotely?

An echoing thwap, like a leather crop striking the hide of a stallion, and beating wings emerged from behind the shoulder of the building, as wide as a ballroom, blue as winter sea ice. The head roared power, crest sharp and ribbed and as expressive as the ears of a cat, jaws lined with teeth longer than my forearm and glinting with gathered breath.

It soared higher and higher and I saw in that moment the dragons of my childhood, casting shadows that eclipsed the hatching house, wingtips of returning mothers grazing both our house and the sanctuary’s hospital building in a single swoop. In the shine of its eyes I saw the age of my father’s companion and the strength of my mother’s. I saw dragons I’d raised, alive now still and migrating over mountain and ocean to visit the place they’d hatched.

But this poor creature… Chains dripped from flesh rubbed raw of snow-pure scales, scars glaringly out of place in the pure expanse of muscle. And there, sitting like it was his due atop the shoulders of this powerful, timeless creature – Zarix, a tiny, frail figure, wreathed in light. I could make out no details yet – he was too far away, circling the library that stood atop the slope the wood had been creeping up for some time.

I weighed the situation carefully.

What did I know? Nothing of importance.

What could I do? Nothing, until I knew more.

How could I defeat this airborne mage, who had both a dragon and many years of experience over me? Well, I’m sure I’d figure it out if I stopped dilly-dallying and got closer already.

I’d reached 100 metres from the building itself, maybe five seconds from the last straggling trees, when I heard a yell and a bellowing roar – although it sounded shriller than any I’d ever heard at the sanctuary. I scrambled to get past the foliage and was provided a face full of underbelly, swooping so low leaves showered down, branches cracked, and a breeze snatched at my hair.

I flinched, every muscle seizing. Only deeply ingrained instincts caught the scream in my throat and then the creature was past, chains rattling, glowing, searing. They landed, or had at least halted (it seemed a precarious meeting with the ground, but who was I to judge) by the library’s entrance, and here Zarix dismounted with jerky limbs.

“Stupid, obstinate reptile!” came the reproach, over the wheeze and rattle of icy pants.

Frowning, I watched him turn away from the creature to face the doors, but not before yanking, hard, on its collar. The chain glowed more fiercely, and I heard what could have been a yelp, but it was cut short.

Taking the chance provided by his turned back, I made a break for them, abandoning any vestige of safety the foliage provided. I was in this now, no turning back.

I imagined Alexus staring down from a lofty window at my wind-torn tresses, robes flapping as I ran low, and I didn’t even want to turn back.

This was my chance, finally. This one thing, then I would have proved my abilities to an extent that the dastard would never have to interfere in my life again.

“Ireki. Urtutako. Ez izoztu!” The voice rose in pitch, conveying the number of times he’d tried to force entry to the library already, but I didn’t recognise the words of his incantation – his magic was not like mine.

“Uko ezuazu zure presoa eraikin basatia! Ugh!”

Thinking fast, I sprinted up behind the dragon’s bulk, hoping in its restrained state it wouldn’t – or couldn’t – react. And if it did, well… I was trusting my fate to Cernunnos from now on.

Some people might retort that I ‘shouldn’t try my luck’, but I believed good fortune was there for its limits to be pushed – and broken. Where even was the fun in it otherwise?

The dragon didn’t react. Unfortunately, its stillness didn’t give me any inspiration for the next stage of my brilliant plan. I predicted Zarix would be running out of patience for the stubbornly unopened doors by now. He’d soon want his dragon back to fly away in a huff (one more tantrum in a line of who knew how many so far).

This had to be fast.

I was close enough to touch the metal stirrup dangling against the frost dragon’s flank. Now was the moment. The dragon gave a gentle sway of its tail, as if it agreed.

On went the brass knuckles.

“Cruback air falbh,” I hissed, left hand grasping the closest chain to try and minimise the energy I’d need for this momentous task.

The moment the words passed my lips, I felt the magic of the restraints push back and I knew I had to succeed, or else the likelihood of my death became uncomfortably relevant. I didn’t know if Zarix or some other sorcerer had enchanted these chains, but either way, he was no doubt linked to his beast in some way more than physical. He’d feel the intrusion upon his territory soon.

My flesh burnt and blistered and the dragon’s chained glowed, and glowed, and its hide began to steam.

I made up my mind.

A whispered spell, and the ivy came tumbling down, as terrifyingly beautiful as I’d pictured. Whilst Zarix was momentarily distracted, I hunkered down for my final trick.

“Fosgail. An-is!”

Open. Now.

The chains shattered, chips of metal clinking as they littered the grass. Zarix finally spun, alerted by the noise and swell of magic.

It was too late, thank the universe.

I flung the knuckles away, but the damage was done. I wasn’t sure they were ever going back on.

Newly freed and determined never again to return to such degradation, the dragon sucked in a breath. Blew it out. The grass ahead froze.

I saw from my probably unwise position of a few steps from its shoulder, its night-deep eyes narrowing in something that, if I’d seen the look on any other creature, I might have called a lust for revenge.

But dragons weren’t vindictive. I’d never known, nor heard of, a vengeful dragon. They were honourable, humble creatures – especially for being such great predators.

Apparently, its time in forced servitude had loosened its ties to the species’ expected behaviours.

It lunged, not bothering with sounding a warning. Zarix threw up what I assumed was a protection spell, but the frost dragon broke it as easily as a spider web, not pausing when Zarix stumbled, unprepared for the brute force of the dragon’s onslaught. He hadn’t bound this dragon himself – he would have been ready for this if he’d seen it wild.

Its momentum kept it going like a bullet at his temple, but he managed to regain his footing and uttered a yell.

“Geldialdi!”

Then –

Everything just…

Stopped.

The air was still. The dragon froze, two feet off the ground, jaws extended in a silent snarl. The last of the frozen ivy halted mid fall.

Time had stopped.

All but Zarix – and I.

“Well, well. Someone comes to free the pitiable prisoner and his library, is that it?” the warlock chuckled, stepping past the claws and bared teeth not a metre away with an irreverent pat to the snout. The dragon showed no recognition at the touch, staying just as frozen and furious.

He spread his arms with a flourish.

“Pretty neat trick, right?” he grinned, referring to the way he had stopped time entirely. “I picked it up when I travelled to America. They have such cool little shops – you can find spell books on everything from teleportation, to necromancy, to domestic chores! And – as I’m sure you can tell by now – the manipulation of time bubbles.”

I scowled, feeling wrong-footed. This was not in the plan. That was not allowed.

“What do you want with Alexus anyway?”

His eyebrows raised into what would have been his hairline, had he not been sporting a thoroughly bald, tattooed head, ink curling around his tapered ears. “Alexus, is it? Not Master Ignitingus? No title whatsoever? Don’t you have any respect for the man widely regarded as the most knowledgeable mage on this side of the world?” he inquired, eyes wide and mocking.

“Or perhaps…” He squinted at me, despite the sun being behind the building at his back, “you are here out of something more than duty? Do you perhaps know Alexus Ignitingus, personally?”

I shifted, uncomfortable with his implications and my continued lack of ideas. ‘Now would be a fantastic time for a stroke of genius, brain!’

“No, it’s just – I got a distress message. He sent it out to the closest magic user. That’s – that’s why I’m here.” I had no clue as to why I stuttered over the words, but I did, and I hated myself for my lack of social skills under pressure. This was my damn enemy! They’re not supposed to make me anxious – they’re supposed to make me angry!

He was grinning again. “Funny. It’s been a while since I froze the library. I suppose he only remembered to send out a message on day three of imprisonment? Because I know for a fact there’s a very active trading village not so far from here, and those never come without a mage or three.”

I frowned. At this rate I was definitely getting wrinkles. “How am I supposed to know what the bòidheach meant by it? All I know is I’m here, and you’re going to be stopped.”

He laughed, outright. “Language, language. Oh, aren’t you just super! I never get interesting people anymore – your type is why I even bother with all this these days. The masses, they’re just so dull, y’know? Them – you wouldn’t be able to see a difference even if they were telepathically connected to a hivemind and enslaved! Not… that anyone would plan to do something like that, of course.” He grinned boyishly, every aspect of his appearance at odds with the rest. Deep blue tattoos snaking over near every exposed centimetre of skin, bright purple knee-length cape, black woollen fabric around his legs looking like the skin-tight suit of an acrobat, curly-toed leather shoes that looked decidedly foreign and no-longer-glowing chains draped over each arm with metal cuffs at elbow and wrist.

“So, did your Mam forget to dress you this morning, or what?” I asked aloud, forgetting we were having a serious (or at least important – I’m not sure I could call this guy serious, terrifyingly powerful warlock or not) conversation.

His brows drew together, and for a second, I cursed my lack of self-preservation instincts. But then, he did something I wouldn’t have believed if a true seer told me of it. Zarix’s lips pursed and his eyes became shiny, as if he were holding back tears. He sniffed, then spoke tremulously.

“Fine – but you’re off the list of those-I-might-maybe-think-about-sparing! Obviously, I misjudged your level of interesting-ness.” He turned his back, content I’d been put in my place, and I watched him muttering as he shuffled back towards the building’s still tightly sealed doors.

Utterly perplexed, I looked around, as if to discover someone were standing just out of sight and cackling at my gullibility. Because what else could this be but a practical joke? But then – there. Movement in the high windows of the library.

Alexus? He… wasn’t frozen?

It seemed not. And if it turned out he was, well – I figured hallucinations weren’t sounding too unlikely after the last few days.

But real or not, it saw me looking and started waving frantically, only just visible through the frosty glass. I cocked my head, not understanding what it was getting at.

There was a long moment more of this flailing before it must have figured out that I was quite useless as a collaborator and took matters into its own hands.

Just as Zarix reached the building, most likely to start up a new round of useless incantations, the doors gave a click and creaked outwards, standing ajar enticingly. The warlock was understandably awestruck, seemingly rooted to the ground, previously inexorably busy jaw hanging slack. An unfortunate situation for him, in the circumstances. He never even got the chance to take a peek inside.

Alexus sent a bolt down. It shattered the window he was standing at before dissipating with a boom and blast that made Zarix and I stagger, releasing time from its confines. Life was moving once more.

And now, it was taking no prisoners.

The dragon jolted to the ground empty-handed, strongly displeased at the momentary escape of its prey. In a moment, it had zeroed in on the figure standing in the library’s doorway and was on the move once more, the wind its great wings created as it sprang blowing my hair across my face so that I spluttered and had to scramble to clear my eyes and mouth.

I took notice once more when I felt heat on my face for the first time since the desert and was faced with – Zarix, standing amidst a ring of fire. He must have cast that whilst I was occupied and couldn’t hear over the wind.

It was certainly effective at fending off the dragon. It seemed to dance, frustration frank in its snapping teeth and deep, rolling growl. If Zarix ever came out of his little fiery fortress, he was dead.

I watched the light play on his face as he watched the beast jitter before him. He must have felt his control over the situation returning and been bolstered by its addicting rush, because he flashed a wide grin (much too smugly for the situation, in my opinion).

“Oh, how easily the tides do turn,” he tutted, crossing his arms over his chest, as if he had any right to be calm in this moment.

He obviously wanted my attention – and thought this situation had provided him the perfect captive audience – but I was determined not to be that. Fulfilling his wishes could never be in my best interests, I knew that much.

Zarix continued to monologue, but my attention was elsewhere, watching the dragon readying itself quietly, and the glassless window, standing empty high above our heads. Alexus had definitely been there a moment before, so where was he now?

My question was answered with uncommon promptness.

The door banged against the wall, startling me. A palpable iciness was carried on the gust of air that had rushed from the doorway, and in a moment Zarix’s fire had been extinguished, the wind appearing to move with form.

The frost dragon took this as its chance. It lunged, and this time the warlock was too distracted by Alexus’s appearance to cast even a meagre shield.

The warlock fell to his knees. His hands thumped to the ground. His chest sounded hollow against the grass.

The dragon roared to the cloudless sky.

Zarix was very, very dead.

Ice was creeping from his corpse to coat the grass surrounding.

I stepped back – once, twice, perhaps twenty paces. The grass crackled under the dragon’s pads; turf thrown up by its claws.

This wasn’t over yet.

The chains falling away had revealed skin rubbed raw of scales, blistered and burnt and weeping.

“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry,” I whispered, looking on as this enraged shell of a creature spun circles, wings held high as if bracing for punishment.

Ice spread, crawled, and it took the leather of my boots creaking with cold for me to snap back to the moment.

I stood straight. Shed my robes, discarded the Comb and every other possession still carried on my person with equal disregard.

This poor dragon. The shards of my heart cracked.

I whistled then – a tune so old I thought I’d forgotten it. It seemed familiar company awakened many memories.

I heard my parents in the notes, the wordless song of comfort and understanding having reached many a terrified dragon. They were called dragon tamers, masters of beasts, the greatest dragon breakers in their own land and the next.

Our family knew the truth – had for all the centuries we had been in the business. Dragons were not to be made into pets or labourers or servants. They were so much more than we could ever be. If only you acknowledged that – gave them your respect, your service, your trust – they could be the greatest companions known to our kind.

And now, I paid my homage, as my parents had done so many times in the past, an awestruck me of yesteryear looking on from the side-lines with amazement and envy. I supposed I had finally got my wish.

There I was – a dragon tamer myself.

My melody rang clear, sounding even to my own ears deeper than anything a human could be assumed to produce, sung at a frequency all dragons could hear.

Its frenzied movements didn’t slow, but it turned to face me and met my gaze, challenging. If this didn’t work, I was now the prime target upon which to vent past injustices.

But I went on whistling, and tried to look as entirely opposite to its previous master as was possible when we shared a species. I advanced towards the swaying jaws with its curled lips revealing bone-white teeth, and in one movement dropped smoothly to my knees.

I tipped my head back to meet its gaze, neck long and arctic-goose graceful and oh-so delicate. A half-hearted swipe would be enough, like swatting a fly, brushing away a stray hair.

It stilled, eyes fixed upon me with an intelligence no animal possessed, and I kept on with my melody. Slowly, slowly – it dipped its snout towards my skull. Its head tipped. Mine tilted back even further, tendons tight and tense, eyes sliding shut. Sure, I was kneeling there, but that didn’t make me brave. If I’d drank more recently than at a stream of questionable origin the night before, I’d have quite literally been wetting myself.

Its breath washed over me. My own breath caught, and the song cut short.

I felt it touch my head, skin hard and leathery, but no colder than a stone wall in winter. I felt it, projecting to me.

Fapadh leat, piathar bheag.

Thank you, little sister.

And we stayed there, no longer at odds, my knees pressing into the hard, frosty ground, the dragon standing quietly, finally at peace. We were interrupted by shoes shifting on marble floor, and with a collective sigh we parted, now understanding each other better than many life partners did.

“Is… is that you, little hatchling?”

I turned, eyes still closed, unwilling to address the man I’d come here to save.

“It’s been a long time, thu beag cac. No free moment to spend visiting your brother?”

“Half.” I gritted out. “Half-brother, you bòidheach.”

He smiled sadly. “Harsh. But… fair, I suppose.”

I saw it all then –

Rippling icy water, Mam’s face sinking from our view, the shriek high in my throat replacing lilting notes.

The crunch of snow as Alexus ran to wrap his thin arms around my chest, caging me in, holding me back, leaving them to sink into the icy seawater – all to keep me from following them.

The pain in my hand as he crushed me to him in a shuddering embrace, rain – or were those tears – on my face, deep, ocean-cold in my bones, fear and anguish and nothing in my chest.

“You left them.”

The words were a croak, my throat dry and cheeks wet.

“But I looked after you, just like Mam told me. And your Da would have given everything for you to be safe, even if he’d never say it.”

“I can look after myself. I don’t need your pity.”

“Oh, little hatchling, you never would accept I meant you well. I love you, you know – now as I did then.”

I spun, and spat, “Give up the act already, bòidheach! All you ever cared about was your dragons – and books – and precious reports. You didn’t even turn back with me after Mam – Mam and Da – ”

“The dragon still needed help.”

“You’re a dragon! All duty and honour over the real people in your life… You are heartless.”

His hand covered his face, bony fingers clasping the bridge of his nose in an all too familiar habit. “I won’t argue with you. I love you. But we can’t put ourselves over every other living creature.” He looked up at me, eyes pleading for something – pity, or agreement, or compromise, perhaps.

“Besides,” he continued, glancing over at the frost dragon who stood as calmly as Stonehenge, just where I’d left it, “this dragon wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gone on when I did.”

That caught me out, not because it meant anything to me, but because it didn’t.

“What?”

Alexus softened and walked over to rest a hand on the dragon’s neck. His eyes closed for a split second, the dragon’s eyelids flicking simultaneously, and I knew they were sharing memories, a skill I hadn’t mastered before I withdrew from the dragon business bequeathed to my older half-brother.

He turned to me with exhilaration curving his lips and crinkling his eyes. “This is the dragon we were going to help, on that journey up North, when it happened. You, my silly little hatchling, have rescued your first dragon.”

And he looked at me with the pride of my entire family behind his eyes, and I felt it wash over me. The feeling that had kept them working in such a risky business, for so many years, despite all their close calls and unfortunate ends our ancestors had met pushing them to leave.

The fulfilment – satisfaction – joyful thrill. The knowing you had made a difference, and that the universe would remember.

And damn, was I thankful.

Excellent work! With Zarix defeated and the frost dragon no longer under his spell, the ice is dispelled and the library is safe. Alexus is so impressed by your skill he offers you the position of co-librarian and agrees to work in partnership with you to grow the library’s magical knowledge even further!

[charonaraccoon]

Hi dear! 2., 3., 4., 8. and 10. for the BoB ask?? (Sorry but I really couldn't choose XD)

2. One man from Easy to be the one who hates you?

Sobel? He’s part of easy, right? So I’d say him and I’d probably get into some arguments with David about literature, but we’d be pals afterwards :D

 3. Dike orders a patrol, you and 4 others. Who’s on your team?

We’d need a proper officer, so Speirs, Luz for entertainment reasons, Joe, because someone has to keep an eye on him and Toye for his level of sass and the brass knuckles would come in handy, too.

4. If you had to choose one episode to be a part of, which one would it be?

As horrible as it may sound, I’d say Why we fight, because I could translate and help out and be of general aid during that awful time.

8. Besides your fav, you can only keep in touch with one of the guys after the war, who do you write?

The only clever response to that is Richard Winters. He stayed in contact with everyone, so I could pretty easily get all the information I needed :DD

10. If you were in Easy what would your job be? (Radioman, Medic, Rifleman, Mortarman, machine gunner etc)

I am actually pretty good at nursing people and keeping a certain kind of positivity, when things go downhill, so I’d probably say I could be a medic, but… no one knows how bad it would get during a really heavy bombardment, so I’d rather be a simple soldier.  

 *_*_*_*_*_*

Thank you so much, my dear, this was actually very entertaining! :D And thank you for your patience, this took me a while^^ <3 

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 35 (Multi Liverpool players)

[boshawbearclaw]

Deputy questions

1:Lucas O'Connor, 24

2: he grew up as norse pagan, his father was from Scandinavia and his mother was from Ireland.

3: he joined the US marshals simply because he wanted to know inside information on the government.

4: he usually eats whatever he hunts

i.e elk, buck, any kind of fish, people....*cough* ignore that last part....but if hes in a public place and he sees vending machines thats where he'll go.

5: moonshine, irish whiskey and PBR.

6: as long as it has a good beat and lyric he'll listen to it but his most favorite is hair bands from the 80s and oldie music from the 40s and 50s,,,,and disco(he totally blames Sharky for that one).

7:where ever he can he'll listen to music, especially in the car, sometimes when hes angry he'll listen to GWAR and Ramms+ein at ear drum busting volume, he always has his headphones handy.

8: his dad calls him Luca, and his mom calls him Lucky, Sharky calls him Bubba but everyone else just calls him dep or rook tbh it really depends if they know his name of if theyre friends.

9: this ones a bit obvious aint it? Its Sharky :)

10: peaches, tbh its usually because shes quite and also cause she likes eatin peggies too ;).

11: his favorite vehicle(s) is Sharkys jeep with the machine gun on the back and his 1973 Pygmalion SSR with a little vaas wahine doll on the dash.

12: his spiked bat he calls 'Sasha',, his pink brass knuckles,, AK-MS 'the whitetailer',, 44.magnum steel & ivory,, SPAS-12 flameout,, MBP.50 gold and steel with silencer and extended mag and improved scope.

13: the black flamebearers outfit with larrys pants and shoes, when hes at boshaw manor just shootin the shit he'll usually just wearing pink floyd boxers and nothing else, except his Norse fern flower and wolf paw pendents.

14: if hes being honest, hes completely moonstruck over Sharky, but hes too scared to actually say anything even though when they were both hammered at the testicle festival Lucas carried Sharky along with him to somewhere quiet and made out with him for a few hours, there aint a thing Sharky has that Lucas didnt touch that night ;).

15: almost every clutch nixon race he did, he won, except the one when hes in a plane he doesnt like those ones much.

16: he absolutely adores hunting and fishing, its something he and his dad used to do during the week if his dad wasnt working.

17: he loves whitetail mountains alot because of how peaceful it is but there is also alot of hunting grounds, but he also loves henbane river because thats where he and sharky roast some angels.

18: he doesn't fear edens gate in the slightest, although hes starting believe everything joseph is saying because hes seeing the logic in his words((hes a paranoid schizophrenic like me btw)).

19: he wasnt tempted by the bliss at all because he hated the smell of the flowers and the way the bliss made him feel things that were all wrong, whenever he drives or walks past bliss fields he often stops and "discreetly" Sniffs sharky so the scent of fire, cigarettes, and just sharky fills his senses instead of the flowers.

20: his reaction to the resist ending was very odd, considering that there was no cussing, no anger no nothing, just a very very blank and vacant stare. About a day or so later lucas started to call upon any god or goddess that would help him and try to get answers to whatever the fuck happened.