#they wear each other's colours urgh

[hamuden]

It gets chilly on No man's land

[moutainrusing]

poison

Cackles and drunken laughter filled the empty, lamp-lit street as Sirius and his friends lounged about on deserted pavements and roads, chugging beer bottles and smoking cigarettes, teasing each other about meaningless nothings. They had spray paint canisters rolling about at their feet, and Sirius’s clothes were bizarrely spattered with a mixture of vibrant colours from their attempt to beautify the ancient stone buildings surrounding them. (It hadn’t worked.)

“And then,” James was laughing, spilling beer over his torn jeans, “He told me I was a useless layabout, right, but how useless am I really, ‘cause right when he said that, the dunderhead tried to step intimidatingly towards me, and tripped over the fucking beer spill I was trying to clean. Like, dude, I ain’t useless, I was literally cleaning the mess of the customers. Anyway, I got fired.”

Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes. “Old men are just stupid, innit?”

James nodded, “Uh huh, ‘specially you, you big old man.”

“Oh, fuck off, just ‘cause I’m born earlier than all of you, I get bullied,” Sirius shoved James away.

Remus laughed quietly, leaning against the railing of the stairs the rest of them were sitting on while smoking his cigarette. “Wanna file a report against us?”

Sirius smirked. “Nah, who’d listen?”

“No one in this fucking town,” Remus grinned back, stubbing out his cigarette with his boot.

“Urgh, don’t remind me,” Marlene dramatically fell over Remus’s feet. “None of ‘em give a shit about nothing. We could be dying, and they’d be like, ‘yes, finally, the population has reduced.’”

“One less citizen to deal with,” Mary mockingly sneered at her.

“Oh, the youth has gone to shit, and we can’t do shit about it!” Lily sang.

“Bro,” James looked at her. “That’s some dope tune.”

“Ha!” She scoffed. “Shame my musical genius is wasted ‘cause this town can’t afford it.”

“Sing to me, then,” James propped his chin on his hand and fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Don’t let your voice go to waste.”

Lily kicked his face. Sirius doubled over laughing. “Ow,” James moaned.

Remus passed him a bottle, and James looked at him with an awe-struck expression, pressing it to his cheek. “Woah, how’d you get it so cold?”

“‘Cause he’s fucking cold, duh,” Marlene lifted her head slightly.

Peter shook his head, “I don’t understand how the word ‘cold’ now means insanely awesome, like—”

“‘Cause the youth is shiiit,” Lily yelled into his ear. He batted her away with a laugh.

Just then, a van entered the street, and slowly came to a stop in front of them. They raised their eyebrows at each other, because truly, none of them would mind in the slightest if a bunch of kidnappers in ski masks rolled out and held them at gunpoint.

Although it wasn’t a bunch of kidnappers, it was just one guy stepping elegantly out of the side door, and he wasn’t wearing a ski mask, because Sirius could clearly see his smooth skin, his high cheekbones, his chiselled jawline, his crystal blue eyes, his bright blond hair—

James placed a hand beneath his jaw and closed it, muttering, “Keep it in your pants.”

Sirius scowled. He was keeping it in his pants, it’s just, in their town, no one ever had such smooth, unblemished skin, or fashionable, contemporary clothes — everyone had their scars and bruises and completely shredded jeans.

Remus snorted, and flicked a bit of cigarette ash over his hair, bending down to murmur in his ear, “Stop pouting, you’ll get smokers’ lines.”

Sirius felt a thrill run through his body, and he gave Remus a cheeky chin, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. He took a drag, and breathed smoke over Remus’s lips. “We’ll get smokers’ lines even without pouting, Remy. What’re we doing right now?”

Remus took the cigarette back. “Making the most of our wrinkle-less faces,” he smirked, blowing even more smoke back at Sirius.

Sirius laughed. Then he noticed the man having stopped in front of them in his periphery, and he turned away.

Lily had narrowed her eyes at the man, and snapped, “What d’you want?”

He laughed; it was cold, and jarring, and sent chills down Sirius’s spine. It was a complete contrast to the warm, exhilarating tingles Remus’s laughter gave him. “I mean no harm,” the stranger assured. “I simply noticed,” and then he looked at Sirius, “Beauty.”

Sirius felt blood rush to his cheeks. He pointedly looked at his scuffed trainers. What the fuck did this guy mean, that a delinquent like Sirius was beautiful?

The man continued, “I am Gellert Grindelwald. I run a modelling agency, and I’ve been looking for new faces. What would you all say to posing for me while I take some photos?”

Marlene laughed incredulously. “The hell? You want photos of a bunch of drunk, troublesome teenagers?”

“Yeah, hell no,” Mary scoffed.

Gellert coolly raised an eyebrow, which looked threaded and pencilled, not a single hair out of place, unlike all their messy, imperfect faces. “It pays well.”

And then all their eyes widened. They shared a glance between each other, a glance which said, We need the money.

James sighed, “Alright. Fine. Do what you like with us. But just one photo.”

Gellert flashed them a smile of perfectly straight, sharp, pearly white teeth. “Sure. I’ll give you all fifty each.”

Peter gaped at him. “Fifty?!”

Gellert looked unimpressed. “You’ll catch flies if you don’t close your mouth.”

Peter shut his mouth immediately, tomato-red with embarrassment. Gellert seemed to smirk at this, and he ridiculed, “You know, it’s a miracle that you’re ever able to close your mouth; just look at yourself.” He pointedly glanced at Peter’s body, which, admittedly, was on the plump side. But Sirius bristled; that was hardly a bad thing.

In fact, James and Lily both took extreme offence to this, and simultaneously rose to their feet. “Take that fucking back!” Lily yelled.

James declared, “I’ll have you know, all people are fucking beautiful! Some of my favourite are what you’d call ‘plus size’, but that doesn’t make them worth any less to me!”

Gellert waved them off, “I’m aware plus sized models can be dazzling, that’s why I’m keeping this young lad in the photo,” he pointed at Peter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Lily scoffed, throwing herself back down. “All plus sized people are beautiful, did you not fucking get that?”

Gellert rolled his eyes. “Albus,” he called to the van behind him. “Bring me my camera.”

Another man, with a dark, well-groomed beard, stepped out of the van, holding a chunky camera. He passed it to the photographer, before casting an inscrutable gaze over them and noting, “An interesting collection, Gellert.”

Gellert simply smiled, and began taking pictures.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Sirius jumped up and marched towards him. He reached for the camera and tried to grab it from Gellert’s hand, who held it out of his reach boredly. Sirius glowered, “We said one photo.”

Gellert simply smirked, slung his camera over his shoulder, plucked the pen from Albus’s waiting palm, took the lid off with his mouth — which caused Sirius to accidentally stare a bit too long at his lips — and scribbled something on Sirius’s hand. Then he walked back to the van.

Albus’s eyes glimmered slightly, and he nodded to Sirius with an amused smile, slapping a wad of cash into his hand. “That covers all the photos.” Then he walked back to the van, and they drove off.

“Yo, Sirius,” James bounded up to him. “What’d he write?”

Sirius displayed his hand. “Seven Slytherin Green… three-thirty,” James muttered. “Huh.”

Marlene then came up and slapped them both on the shoulders. “Alright, let’s distribute that money!”

“Woah,” Peter gasped as they each received five hundred quid.

“Holy shit! We can pay the bills now! We’re not gonna get kicked out!” Lily cheered.

“The central fucking heating,” Mary added.

Remus glanced at the money in his hand with a frown, and Sirius looked at him curiously. Remus gave him a soft smile and shrugged, pocketing it. “So… going to Slytherin Green?”

Sirius shrugged. “Maybe. Probably another photoshoot, innit?”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “I’ll come with if you wanna go.”

“Really?” Sirius beamed, now looking forward to going simply because of Remus.

“‘Course.” The response only made Sirius beam even harder, and he grabbed Remus’s hands, forcing him to dance under orange glows, just drunk and happy and so high on the warm rush Remus gave him, these magnetic thrills flowing into Sirius’s veins from Remus’s calloused fingertips pressed into the pads of his own.

That was how, the next day, at three-thirty in the afternoon, Sirius, Remus, James and Peter found themselves standing in front of Seven Slytherin Green.

“Do we just go in?” Peter gestured to the open warehouse.

“Yes,” James stated confidently, and swaggered in first.

Sirius scoffed, because he was the one invited, so quickly, he strode in after James, matching his strut.

And… wow. The place looked so cool. There were pure, spotless white backdrops, nothing like the town’s piss-stained walls, and bright, flashing lights, making everything look new and shiny, unlike their dingy old flats, and there were state-of-the-art props (a bloody wicked motorbike!) and everything was just so modern. Stylish. Classy.

Gellert was in the centre of it all, snapping photos of two models intently.

“Hey,” Sirius called. Gellert turned around and his lips quirked up. Sirius realised he really needed to stop looking at his lips.

He didn’t talk, just took Sirius’s arm, and tugged him forward, encouragingly jerking his head towards the models as he pushed Sirius in between them. Then he took a photo.

“Ain’t that one a beauty?” He smirked, turning the camera to show Sirius.

“I—” Sirius felt pure shock. And elation. He could be a model? What?

James ambled over, peering eagerly at the photo. “Hot damn!”

Peter whistled his approval while glancing at it subtly, but Remus. Remus didn’t even take it in. He just looked at Sirius, and muttered, “Prefer the real thing.” Before Sirius could even question it, he’d gone out to take a smoke.

Fine. Be that way, Sirius thought. He couldn’t help but feel offended. Did Remus think he wasn’t pretty enough to be a model? But then he’d said he preferred the real thing, so did that mean he preferred it when Sirius was ugly? He preferred Sirius when the camera hadn’t beautified him? Did he not like the fact that Sirius could actually be something this way? Be more than some repulsive, disowned street urchin?

Sirius forced a grin, pushing aside whatever shit was going on in Remus’s brain, and looked Gellert in the eye. “Can we take more?”

“I was counting on that.”

And then Sirius was pushed in front of the pure white backdrop, and being told to pose in these alluring positions, which he had no idea he was capable of, and then James was joining in, and they were back to back, hair falling into their eyes as they looked down at their feet, oozing confidence and poise, then Peter was joining in, beaming at the camera with chubby cheeks, looking all cute and adorable.

Although Remus came in and glared at this, muttering something about, “Stereotypes. Just ‘cause he’s chubby doesn’t mean he can’t be cool and confident.”

Gellert didn’t even look at him. “I know what sells. You would sell too. Wanna join your friends?”

Remus’s lip curled up into a sneer. “No. I’ll be out there waiting until it’s time to leave this shithole.”

Sirius gaped at him. This place wasn’t a shithole. It was the fucking opposite. Maybe Remus was just hungover and grumpy? But Sirius could always make him smile even if that were the case.

Gellert tapped his chin thoughtfully, turning to look at Remus’s back. “A shame. You think it’s possible to convince him?”

Sirius jumped at the chance. “Yeah,” then he chased after Remus, leaning against the side of the warehouse with him.

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully, gently nudging Remus’s shoe with his own.

“Spiffing.”

Sirius burst out laughing. Remus looked at him, and something seemed to be dancing in his eyes, making them light up.

“No, really,” Sirius caught his breath, “What’s wrong?”

“I dunno. Everything just… feels wrong.”

“I think everything feels very right, actually. You’re here with me, so everything has to be right.”

“Right,” Remus drawled, looking away.

That wouldn’t do. Sirius wanted Remus to look at him. “Hey,” he whispered. “Gellert thinks you’d make a good model too.”

“I don’t really care what that codger thinks.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“You’re blinded by your insatiable libido.”

Sirius flushed. “He’s hot, okay?” He tried to joke, “I dunno how you’re resisting his charms.”

Remus scoffed slightly. “It’s pretty easy, actually.”

Sirius tried making him grin, “You’re just talented.” It didn’t work. Sirius felt unbearably disappointed.

So he tried to get to the root of the problem, “How does… the modelling business make you feel?”

Remus stared at him, cold and detached. “Wrong.”

But it made Sirius feel right. He felt something drop inside his chest, like the pieces of his life had been taken away, because that was what Remus, James and Peter were to him, and if Remus didn’t feel right with them, then what was Sirius supposed to do? He just nodded quietly, and went back inside, throwing himself to the cameras and lights.

A couple more days, and he found himself in his own dressing room, with people milling about him, spraying his hair in place with a ton of anti-frizz product, making his eyes pop with heavy eye shadow, dressing him up in tight, form-fitting clothes. It was rich and it was gorgeous. Then he stood in front of the cameras, where he could make out with other models for as long as he pleased because it was literally his job.

To be sexy. And if he hadn’t talked to Remus in a while, then it was fine. James and Peter were still here. In fact, Peter had been getting close to this other model, Tom Riddle, and it looked like he’d made a good friend. Because that’s what life was about. Living glamorously with the people you love. And if Remus didn’t want to do that… Sirius might cry. But that would ruin his mascara.

So he turned to the model he was supposed to snog for their photoshoot, and captured her lips in his own while Gellert snapped pictures in a frenzy.

Next week, there was a gala. And they were all practically shitting themselves. Because guess what this meant?

Peter squealed, “Holy shit, we’re part of like, the celebrities!”

“We’re with the other models,” James grinned with bright eyes. “We’re like, the real deal.”

Sirius smiled softly. “We can invite plus ones,” he said, almost to himself.

“I’m inviting Lily! Albus and Gellert would probably love to recruit her.”

But the only person on Sirius’s mind was Remus. “Do you think Remus would come?” He asked quietly, as if asking any louder would cause Remus to yell at him in a resolute ‘NO’.

Peter shrugged, while James replied slowly, “Text him anyway. Just to see.”

So Sirius texted him. It was weird, because even through a phone screen, Sirius’s skin was tingling and his head felt slightly light and his hands were minutely trembling, a little sweaty at the fingertips. He just felt extremely nervous. And then he felt everything crash when Remus left it on read. So he asked Marlene while Peter asked Mary.

The gala took place in a huge museum-like ballroom, with photos of all the models up on display, and Sirius was laughing with guests, buyers, and fellow models as they drank from champagne flutes and danced in their elegant suits and gowns. The place was brightly lit, not allowing anyone to be hidden, to show off their utter perfection.

Sirius was chatting to Gellert and Albus, complimenting them with all the charm he could muster, then he was flirting with other models, placing touches here, there, everywhere, but then he froze. He backed away, and moved towards the door. Because Remus just stormed in, completely contrasting the elegance in his shredded jeans and battered boots, but for some reason, Sirius thought it was perfect.

Because he hadn’t seen him in ages, and now, all he could think was how much he missed him, in all his shambolic, messy glory. The first thing he did was pull Remus into a hug. “You came,” he hummed into the warm crook of his neck.

Remus seemed to freeze, before slowly hugging him back. But as soon as they’d hugged, he’d broken away. He turned to Gellert, and looked to be picking a fight.

But Sirius couldn’t see what they were fighting about, because Albus whisked him away. “We have people… requesting for you,” he said, as if that was something of significance.

And maybe it was. Because suddenly, Sirius was face to face with his family. And his mother was smirking at him, “So I see you decided to follow the scandalous, rich way of life even after leaving us?”

Sirius’s throat felt go dry, “No, I—”

His father raised a brow, “You do realise we are the ones who provide the money for these operations? No matter how much you try to run, if you want to be successful, you’ll always come back to us.”

“It wasn’t for you! It wasn’t for success, or money, or—”

“So what was it for, Sirius?” His brother cut him off, and Sirius saw him step out from behind their parents. “You said you had to leave to escape us, because we were dirty, filthy, manipulative scammers, and then you joined back into the business? All you get from it is success and money, so tell me, what else was it for?”

And Sirius couldn’t answer that, because Regulus looked hurt, and now Sirius was hurt, and what did he do when he was hurt?

He swivelled on his heel and pushed through the crowds, shoving away hands which were getting too close to his skin, glaring at the makeup artists trying to touch up his eyes, and watching as Remus shook his head at Gellert before leaving the way he came, and not even thinking before heading in his direction.

“No one actually likes me here, do they? I’m just a money-making sex symbol.”

Remus raised a brow. “I like you.”

And that was all Sirius needed. He began taking down all the posters of his artificial body, and throwing them at the buyers. He tore his deal with the agency. He yelled at Peter to get away from the egotistical bastard that was Tom Riddle, and Peter listened, because it wasn’t too late, and Sirius wouldn’t allow it to get to the point where Tom had wormed his way under Peter’s skin.

He told Lily and James to run off and elope and live their best lives, because all that mattered was being happy with the people you love. He interrupted Albus trying to collect Marlene and Mary. He grabbed Regulus by the wrist, and swore that they would ruin the Blacks’ corrupt business, and every little leach sucking the money from their dirty cesspool.

And after, he clutched Remus and kissed him square on the mouth. Somehow he knew that everything would sort itself out as long as he listened to the man in front of him. Or his heart. But it was basically the same thing.

[thlayli-ra]

Stray (part 6)

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, Larry, AJ Lee

Pairing - CM Punk/Drew McIntyre, CM Punk/Samoa Joe (past)

AU - Stray AU

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Mentions of past abuse, blood

Words - ~3,700 words (long one, yay!)

Summary - Punk takes Drew to Mindy's. No, it's not a date!

They stayed in the wet room for a long time, locked in each other's arms. Drew had finally stopped shaking but his whole body was still tense. Punk could feel the muscles like bars of steel pressed against his arms and chest. He didn't blame him; he was shaken up too. He hadn't expected the danger to come knocking at his door so soon, truthfully he'd almost convinced himself it wouldn't come at all. That he had brought the wounded animal back to his sanctuary where he would be safe forever.

But now it seemed like the four walls were made of straw. On the brink of collapse with one puff of the wolf's breath.

They needed out. Needed to be among crowds where there could be witnesses and less chance of a violent confrontation.

Punk had an idea!

'Hey Drew,' he said, softly breaking the silence. 'How would you like more of those muffins?'

The Scot went still. Until two blue eyes sparkled up at him eagerly.

Upstairs, Punk searched through the bundle of clothes that Joe had brought over earlier, looking for a jacket that Drew could wear out. 'Or a hoodie, a sweater, anything that-'

He went quiet. Drew cocked his head at him, waggling his index finger back and forth. What?

Punk didn't notice, his eyes fixated on a bright royal blue garment that he removed from the pile. He'd recognised it as soon as he'd spied a flash of that distinct colour. Had he forgotten? No, surely not?

It had been a present. Punk had bought it for Joe's birthday... or was it Christmas? Maybe neither. When Joe had tried it on for the first time, Punk had to put his hand over his mouth to stifle his giggle.

'What?' Joe asked his boyfriend sternly.

'Nothing!' Punk replied innocently while his face turned a deep shade of red from plugging up his laughter.

'Say it!'

Punk chewed his lip ring. 'You... you know that scene in Willy Wonka, when the girl, 'what's-her-name turns bright blue and starts swelling up-'

'Right, it's coming off!' Joe declared, struggling out of the jacket like a rat caught in a plastic bag.

'NO! No, no, no,' Punk rushed forward and grabbed it by the lapels, pulling it back on. 'It looks good on you, really.'

'You couldn't get anything more subtle? Maybe something black?'

'You don't need any more black. I'm just trying to add some colour to your wardrobe.'

'Urgh, fine. You ready to go?'

Punk nodded and they went to head out on their date when the blonde suddenly piped up, 'VIOLET! THAT WAS HER NAME!'

'What?'

'You're turning violet, Violet!'

'That's it! I'm not wearing this fucking jacket!'

Punk had lied. Joe looked ridiculous in the jacket. But he had worn it that night. For him. And now?

Studying the jacket in his hands, Punk could visualise that night so clearly. It seemed like yesterday but yet so long ago. A different time, one that now only existed in his memory.

Soft, warm fingers pressed under his chin and coaxed his head up. Punk found himself looking into two stunning sapphires, creased with worry. He sniffed and shook his head. 'Sorry, just... got distracted there. Here, try this on.'

Drew unzipped the hooded jacket and threaded his large arms into it. Punk prepared himself for the sight, expecting the Scot to look as equally ludicrous as his ex.

Only... he didn't. In fact, Drew looked incredible! The fabric hugged his broad shoulders and draped flatteringly over his muscular frame. The colour, which had looked so garish on Joe, was a natural fit for Drew and highlighted the darker tones in his eyes. Zipping the jacket up, he raised his brow at Punk, turning around with his arms out wide for the full effect.

'Wow...' Punk's jaw hung limp. 'Blue really is your colour, huh?'

Drew scrunched up his face, as if to say 'duh!'

'Yeah,' Punk chuckled quietly. 'Course it is.'

Punk grabbed up his phone and keys. 'You coming Larry?' he asked the little dog, dozing on the couch. Larry replied with a sleepy grunt. 'Oh, come on. Your lazy butt could use a walk.' He grunted again, curling in on himself. 'Fine,' Punk chuckled. 'Enjoy your nap.'

Hopping down the front steps, he stepped outside, locking the door tight behind him. A quick glance up and down the street found no sign of the two strange 'cops' from earlier but that didn't mean a thing. They could be hiding in a car or another building, watching him from one of the many dark corners. Pulling the visor of his baseball cap down, Punk stuffed him hands into his pocket and walked away down the street.

He felt like he was being watched. Eyes boring into the back of his shoulders like drills, trying to extract his secrets. Everyone he passed was a potential threat especially those coming from behind. Several times, he glanced over his shoulder with his fist clenched in his pocket but each time he received nothing more than a side-eye from the passing stranger.

He took a odd route, zig-zagging back and forth across the streets, trying to draw out anybody following him or lose them altogether. After traversing this mindless trail for several minutes, he came to a stop outside an alley a few blocks over from his apartment.

'I think we're in the clear,' he whispered into the shadows. Nothing. 'You coming?' Nothing. 'You want those muffins or not?'

Finally Drew appeared rising out from behind a dumpster like a giant from behind a mountain. He was very nervous, agitated, his fingers fidgeting with the collar around his neck.

'You ok?' Punk asked. He was answered with a hard shake of Drew's fist. 'You did really well. You followed my directions perfectly. Those goons will have been so busy keeping tabs on me they wouldn't have clocked you sneaking out the back.' You hope! 'You were really brave.'

Drew timidly placed the fingertips of his flattened palm against his chin and swiped them down as if blowing a kiss. Thank you. Punk knew that one.

'They're not gonna try something in broad daylight,' Punk tried to convince him. 'Mindy's isn't far, just down here and-'

A large hand gripped his shoulder, bunching up the leather of his jacket in a white-tight fist. 'What is it?' The Scot began to wildly motion around him, pointing in every direction, signing so fast that Punk couldn't follow at all. 'I don't understand...' he said, shaking his head.

Thinking for a moment, Drew then reached down and grabbed up Punk's left hand. Lifting it in front of Punk's face he ran his finger back and forth over the cage-fighter's tattooed knuckles until it clicked.

'Free.' Punk's shoulders fell. 'This is the first time you've been free. Properly free.' He looked around them at the hustle and bustle, the roar of the traffic, loud and aggressive under the dark grey sky above. He could see why it would be overwhelming for the Scot.

His inked fingers curled around Drew's large digits and folded his hand in his. 'I've got you,' he reassured the taller man. 'I'm right here.'

The gesture worked in soothing Drew and together they walked hand-in-hand through the busy streets. Sometimes, people would stop and stare at them but Punk was used to such attention. Before Drew he had walked this way with Joe and that would always draw eyes - the pair of them were hardly the types to blend into a crowd.

But, strangely enough, walking this way... didn't feel strange. Punk was weirdly comfortable holding onto the larger man, their hands fitting perfectly together as if by design.

By the time they reached the bakery, Drew was noticeably more relaxed and chomping at the bit to see what was inside. Punk, ever the gentlemen, opened the door and allowed the Scot in first when he spied a familiar face behind the counter.

'Back again so soon?' the younger woman cocked her head to the side sweetly.

'Do you ever leave?' Punk shot back.

'I work here,' the woman countered. 'What's your excuse?'

'Hey look, I brought you a new customer, you should be grateful!' He motioned over to Drew and the woman did a double take.

'Oh!' She glanced at Punk then quirked her eyebrows, knowingly. 'Ohhhhh.'

The cage-fighter narrowed his eyes. 'What?'

'Oh nothing,' she made out like she was tossing her hair over her shoulder, despite it being tied in a messy bun on her head.

Punk wasn't buying. 'AJ?'

The woman shrugged. 'He's cute.'

Punk rolled his eyes. 'It's not what you think.'

'Yuh-huh!'

'We're not dating.'

'Yuh-huh.'

'I'm just helping the guy out.'

'Hmmm.' AJ pursed her lips tight. 'Well, if you're not gonna hit that then...?' She fluttered her long lashes sweetly at Punk.

'He aint your type,' the cage-fighter argued, a tad too swiftly.

'What? Tall, rugged and handsome?' AJ scoffed. 'Where's he from?'

Punk paused, shuffling his feet. 'Scotland,' he muttered under his breath, trying to ignore the way AJ's jaw nearly fell through the countertop.

'Oh my god! Does he have the accent?'

'Why don't you find out for yourself?' Punk waved his hand towards Drew, who had been salivating over each delicacy behind the glass the entire time Punk and AJ had been talking, oblivious to the conversation surrounding him.

'Ok, I will.' AJ sauntered over to Drew's end of the counter, unaware of the mischievous glint in the older man's eye or the way his lips were tightening up into a smug smile.

He liked AJ. They'd gotten to know each other through his almost daily jaunts to the bakery. There had been a time, shortly after Joe had left him when he had arrived bleary-eyed and distracted and she instantly picked up that something was seriously wrong. Sitting him down with his pastry and a free coffee, she told him to wait for her shift to end then the pair of them went for a sandwich together and they talked for hours and hours. Punk opened up about his failed relationship and she had listened, allowing him to finally let some of the unbearable pain out. He would always be grateful for her kindness that day.

They'd exchanged phone numbers and regularly kept in touch, sometimes meeting for a coffee or a meal if either was feeling low or lonely. He always said that, in another world, in another universe somewhere, he might have fallen madly in love with AJ, maybe even married her. It was tragic, really, that he didn't swing that way.

'Hey there,' AJ gave Drew her brightest smile. 'What can I get you today?'

Punk bit his lip as Drew raised his hands and began to sign, probably saying something lovely and polite to the pretty petite behind the counter. He couldn't contain the snort when she side-eyed the cage-fighter, a single eyebrow raised.

'Hey Drew,' Punk called over, cutting off his flow. 'These are the ones you had yesterday.' He pointed to a shelf in front of him and the Scot practically knocked him over as he barrelled towards them. Punk took he opportunity to wink cheekily at AJ.

'You're an ass!' she uttered under her breath.

'You can't talk to your best customer like that!'

'You're my worst customer!' she shot back. 'The. Worst!'

He gave a cute shrug when a large finger began tapping him on the arm. He turned to find Drew pointing at two different muffins - the triple chocolate ganache and a salted caramel with blue and white frosting on top. His brow was furrowed and his lip quivering, unable to decide between the two.

'Can't help you there,' Punk shook his head. 'They're both delicious.' Then Drew whined and Punk instantly caved in. 'You know what, AJ, let's just go for a-'

He was cut off by AJ slapping an empty cake box on the countertop. Punk blinked at it then back at AJ who fluttered her pretty eyelashes at him again.

'I come here too often, don't I?'

The pair were in no hurry to head back to the apartment so they continued their walk and found a spot to eat their cake. Drew practically chomped his down in one bite but Punk sat with a faraway look in his eye. He was thinking about what AJ had said back at the bakery. 'Does he have the accent?' It reminded him of something one of the fake cops had said about Drew. 'Speaks with an accent.' He'd been so focused on not giving anything away that the strangeness of that sentence hadn't dawned on him until now. These men had held Drew prisoner for years so surely they would know that he couldn't speak.

Or could he? When Punk had asked him, Drew had replied with both 'yes' and 'no'. What did he mean?

'Drew?' The Scot glanced over at the cage-fighter, eyes bright and merry. 'Can I ask you something... personal?' Cat paw. 'That muzzle you wore when I found you? That's why you can't speak, isn't it? They made you wear it all the time so that you couldn't talk?'

A long, horrible pause. Punk panicked that he had overstepped when Drew dipped his head down low. But after a while, he lifted his fist up.

Cat paw!

Punk hitched a breath. The box in his hand crackled as his fingers tightened their grip, nearly crushing it. 'How long since you last spoke?' Drew thought for a moment then began to count on his fingers, Punk watching each digit rise in turn. 'Is this in months?' he asked, holding on to a splinter of hope. Drew sighed and shook his head. The counting resumed. Punk saw him reach three and couldn't take it anymore so he placed his hand over the large fingers and curled them back down.

'Did they teach you how to sign too?'

Fist shake. Then Drew pointed his finger into his own chest.

'You taught yourself? How?'

Placing his palms flat together, Drew opened them up like an oyster. 'From a book?'

Cat paw.

'Guess you had to find a way to help yourself, huh? To tell somebody what was happening to you?'

Cat paw. Then he raised his right index finger and hid it behind his palm before sliding it under and up in front. Punk had no idea how, perhaps it was the look in Drew's eyes or the sorrow that accompanied it but he somehow understood precisely what that gesture meant.

'Yeah,' he heaved out a sigh. 'I get ya. We'll do anything it takes to not feel lonely.'

The pair went quiet, and the sounds of the city took over. The wind was still strong and rustled through their clothes, tugging at their hair.

'You know,' Punk said, carefully choosing his next words, 'you're not a prisoner anymore.' He turned his head slightly towards Drew but didn't meet his gaze. 'I know it will take time but... you don't have to live by their rules anymore. The muzzle's off. That collar could be next?'

Drew grasped at the black leather with his other hand and shook his head rapidly from side-to-side. Even the thought of removing his collar terrified him. Punk tried not to feel so deflated.

'Like I said, it'll take time,' he went on. 'Trust me, I've spent months working through my shit and it's all stupid compared to yours. But just keep telling yourself, you're free, you're your own man again. They don't own you, they don't fucking dictate your every move anymore. You can do whatever you want now. You wanna speak, you speak. You wanna go home-'

A glob of something manifested in Punk's throat and he quickly coughed it away.

'... well, you know. You get what I'm saying.'

No cat paw this time. Just a solemn nod of Drew's head.

Punk squeezed the fingers under his hand. His box of muffins sat untouched on his knee.

They could have stayed that way forever but the weather turned harsh and Punk thought it best to head back. Taking the route that Drew had used to sneak his way out of Punk's apartment, the pair walked hand-in-hand, slowing down towards the end of their journey as if stepping back inside would break some wondrous spell they were under. They were coming to the last corner, when Drew came to an abrupt stop, tugging back on Punk's hand.

'Everything ok, kid?' Punk asked turning to face the larger man. Head shake. 'Hey, what did I tell you about those creeps? I won't let them get to you if it's the last thing I-'

Drew wobbled his head from side-to-side. That's not what he meant. To express himself clearer, he reached out and grasped Punk's stubbly cheeks in both of his large hands. Stroking his thumbs through the rough bristles, Drew studied the sparkle of green in Punk's pretty eyes, wide with questions as Drew gently pulled him in closer. Both men's breath lingered in the cold air between them rising like steam, each pant growing heavier.

Their lips touched, soft and warm and inviting. Drew's eyes fluttered shut while his hands slid to the back of Punk's head, stroking through feathery strands of dark hair. Punk did not pull back, nor did he advance. Standing like a stupefied statue with his arms by his side, he returned the kiss through half-lidded eyes, his cheeks darkening with every passing second.

Drew was the first to break away, checking to see if he had crossed a line. Punk found himself lost for words, flushed and pining for more of that sweet mouth. Drawing in his bottom lip, he rubbed his tongue over it to taste the slickness left by the Scot.

'I... uh...'

His mind was foggy, a deep desire to grab the lapels of Drew's jacket and yank him in for round two, but another part of him fearing that this was wrong, that he was taking advantage. That he was no better than the bastards who had ground him down so much that he had instantly latched onto the first person who'd shown him a shred of kindness, like some baby bird.

In the end, it didn't take any words. Punk wrapped his fingers around Drew's hand and gently prised it away from the back of his neck. Reassuring the Scot with a wobbly smile, he held the hand tightly and guided the larger man forward, silently promising that they would discuss this properly once they were inside. Leading the way, Punk turned the corner first.

And immediately froze, his sneakers squealing as he skid to a halt.

His back door had been kicked in!

'Shit!' he cursed under his breath, and shoved Drew back into the alley. 'Stay there!' he hissed, his entire demeanour changed in an instant. 'Stay right there and don't move until I say so.'

Punk took one step and his wrist was ensnared, jerking him back. Drew's face was full of terror. 'I'll be right back,' he told the Scot. 'I promise, the first sign of danger, I'll come right back here.'

Reluctantly, his wrist was released and Punk edged towards his shattered door. Stepping over the remnants of wood at his feet, he slowly climbed the back stairs, convinced that each step creaked loudly beneath him. His heart was thrashing in his chest, his lips pursed tight to silence his raspy breath. Raising his fists in front of him, he ground his soles against the floor; a fighter preparing for battle.

The door at the top of the stairs was ajar. Through it, he could see the state of his apartment and gritted his teeth. It had been entirely ransacked. The floor was littered with every possession he owned, items that had once been on shelves and in drawers. Chairs had been thrown across the room, kitchen cupboards emptied onto the floor, pictures torn from the wall. Even the dirty dishes abandoned from earlier had been tossed to the ground, along with the scummy water which now sloshed across the tiles.

Punk carefully stepped over the debris, shattered glass crunching beneath his sneaker and anger flaring up red hot in the pit of his stomach when he spied it. The message left for him on his own dining table.

Drew's muzzle! Sitting right in the centre.

Atop a pool of blood.

Punk went cold.

'Larry?' he called out, to be answered with silence. 'LARRY!'

He rushed to the lounge, checked the couch, behind each chair, the dog bed. All empty.

His body went numb, anaesthetised with horror. He leapt up the stairs, bounding up three at a time to the floor above. 'LARRY! LARRYYYY!' He no longer cared if they were still there, no longer cared if they heard him coming, he had to find his beloved dog. He threw open every door, looked under every bed, felt the dread clawing and shredding at him front the inside out.

Nothing! Nothing!

But the blood? Who's blood was-

He stumbled back downstairs, despair buckling his knees. He grabbed at the handle to his gym when a sound reached his ear. Something like... scratching.

He stopped, craned his ear.

There! Coming from the closet. Punk flung it open and fell to his knees with relief when a solid blur of grey fur leapt into his waiting arms. He hugged Larry to his chest, squeezing him tight. Manic laughter falling free from his lips as a large, wet tongue licked the tears from his cheeks. 'Thank fuck,' his shaky voice repeated over and over, 'oh thank fuck!'

A shrrnk of broken glass beneath a boot. Punk flinched, tightening his grip on Larry.

However, it was only Drew, taking in the mess of Punk's apartment with pale-faced panic. Punk could pinpoint the moment those blue sapphires fell onto the muzzle left on the dining table and he watched with a heavy heart as all the joy from earlier drained away. Drew turned back into that lost, little creature he had found trembling in the shadows.

The fear Punk had felt when he saw that blood was still fresh, still thumping loudly around his system. For a split second, he imagined how he would feel if it had been Drew's blood on that table-

No! He would never let that happen. Never!

'Come on,' he said. Wrapping his jacket around Larry, he stumbled to his feet and grabbed hold of Drew's arm. 'We've gotta get out of here!'

To be continued...

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[bluvlet]

top five in9 costumes? :3

Ooh this is an interesting question! These aren’t going to be ranked in the sense I prefer one more than the other, it’ll just be a list of five I like! Also I’ve never sat down and properly thought about it before, so apologies if the reasonings are a bit lacklustre.

5. Rudolph (A Random Act of Kindness)

I really really like drawing this guy. Long hair and greying hair are both characteristic that just really appeal to me visually, and I find them really fun to draw. Also i like the subtle differences between original timeline Rudolph and the alternate Rudolph that appears in the episode. Original Rudolph has his hair tied back, less facial hair, and smaller, more rectangular glasses. He feels a lot more put together. Alternate Rudolph wears his hair down, his facial hair is more grown out, his glasses are rounder frames that, if I am picturing him correctly, don’t fit his face as neatly. His more laid back appearance reflective of how much less important he is in this timeline, and how aimless he tells Zach he feels. In his video to himself Original Rudolph is dressed neatly in black and blue; Alternate Rudolph looks like he’s had the life sucked out of him, standing around in baggy white and grey. (Zach is also dressed in white in this scene. I wonder if it has something to do with it being his mother’s funeral - a reversal of the traditional custom of wearing black? Whatever reason, it makes the alternate timeline look so strange and sterile.)

4. Ronnie (Wise Owl)

Ronnie’s costume does very well to be a physical representation of his mental state. I think it’s good that we never see a change in costume (even though you would expect him to after the bath incident) or see him take off his shoes (as far as I’m aware). I like the colour choice of orange and pink, I can’t explain it but they feel like very hopeful colours to me - compared to say, if he was wearing red. But they also remind me a bit of fire, and Joanne’s pink birthday balloon. I like the detail of his hair being the same, still long enough to conceal the burn scar on his ear… The wig itself was rather horrendous though.

3 + 2. Blake + Drew (The Trolley Problem)

Ugh he’s not talking about The Trolley Problem again is he…. Individually I love Blake and Drew’s costuming, but I also love how they visually contrast each other! Blake wears a white jacket overtop a black shirt. And he accessorises himself with bracelets and necklaces and a ring on his middle finger. His hair is styled upwards and white, but not quite entirely, and is still a bit dark around the back. Drew on the other hand wears his darker colours on his outer layers, with his white shirt peeking out from underneath his jumper. He is dressed plainly, without accessory, and his hair is black and flat to his head - but neat. I just love the visual dichotomy of the two of them, urgh they fascinate me endlessly.

(Also this is not a serious point but I find it a bit funny that Blake wears glasses, and lacks the ability to see the wider scope of Drew’s plan. Glasses are a universal icon of intelligence, particularly academic, but wearing them indicates that you have imperfect vision. Your glasses can be taken from you, and you can be left ‘in the dark’.)

1. Pierce (The Bones of St Nicholas)

I have nothing remotely serious to say about this I just love his christmas jumper and his hat and him matching with Posie. They’re so cute. I can’t wait until December, and it becomes the appropriate time of year for me to draw fanart of this episode.

[rriavian]

Hi :) I hope you feel better soon! A soft corintheus throught: clothes swap (I don't know what the occasion might be, or rather I imagine it but that would involve a less soft set ^^). I think the image of Corinthian in Dream's black clothes and vice versa is intriguing!

This thought is amazing and I probably won't do it justice right now but wow am I going to be coming back to it tomorrow!

There was this fanart of the Corinthian in one of Dream's robes and so I feel like he might sneakily try his clothes on. Just because. Or because Matthew dared him to. Something about 'Bet you can't pull off any of the bosses insanely on point outfits'. The Corinthian is like excuse you. He tries it all on and yes he does look amazing. The black is a wonderful contrast. So I imagine that's one way.

(Could you imagine if the Corinthian tried on the battlesuit???!)

Dream would just be judging the Corinthian's fashion sense like urgh boring. Too beige. Not enough flair. Honestly with the way you dress you don't even need to eat eyes in a nightmare, just slip into a fashion designers dreams and they'll wake up screaming.

The Corinthian is...displeased by this.

So he probably says something along the lines of Matthew's challenge, which leads Dream to be like 'well if I must' because they are both insanely Normal about each other. And he'd probably pick the clothes least offensive to him, but I'm imagining him looking amazing in one of the Corinthian's white shirts. I've used this image before but...just a couple of buttons undone, cuffs loose, it draped around his thin shoulders. Dream knows he looks good.

The rest of it looks good too in a 'I'm wearing my boyfriends clothes' kinda way.

Though Dream in the knife harness? (Or just the knife harness??) The Corinthian would lose his mind over that. Dream would not be leaving whatever room they happened to be in for quite a while.

Dream would be the same seeing the Corinthian in his clothes. Just all the possessive feelings. He'd probably say something unhinged about the Corinthian being all in black (his colour). I can also see it happening on one of their romantic dates in the Waking World (yes this is now a thing) where the Corinthian drapes his jacket around Dream's shoulders and then wraps his arm around him so he can't shrug it off. Idek where Dream's coat went but it's not there anymore.

The Corinthian is just all smug like 'oh you looked cold sweetheart' and grinning.

Ahhh I love this! Clothes swap is such a good scenario and I must think more on it because I swear there's a thought I'm missing. Ooh! Fishbowl rescue! Another chance for the Corinthian to give Dream his jacket. And then carry him away while he's wearing it.

[jaskierswolf]

My beloved Wolfie, would you entertain us with some bards in ugly jumpers?

I love bards! This isn't beta read and fits into my modern bards AU but works as a standalone too!

Pairing: Jaskilion (QPR/fuck buddies), Geraskier, Yenralt (both romantic)... everyone is poly.

CW: Mention of hoey but not explicit

On AO3

_

“Absolutely not!” A loud shriek of a protest escaped Dandelion’s lips as he stared in horror at the garment in Jaskier’s hands. His curling tongs were still frozen in place, hovering just above his head, luckily not attached to any hair. Jaskier would not be responsible for burning his best friend’s precious curls.

Instead, he just pouted at his room mate and wiggled the ghastly colourful jumper in the air. “Please, Dandelion. Geralt and Yen will be wearing them too.”

Dandelion scoffed. “Now I know you’re lying, Yennefer wouldn’t be seen dead in such a monstrosity and I’m surprised at you!” His arms flailed widely as he spoke, and Jaskier had to bounce back to avoid the burning hot wand. It was a whirlwind of hair and limbs whenever Dandelion talked, always so animated, passionate… beautiful. Even if it was in indignant anger. “I shall be wearing a more suitable party outfit that actually accentuates my natural beauty, and I’m not going anywhere near your cock whilst you’re wearing that- that… urgh. There just simply aren’t the words for it.”

A memory of their last Christmas together flashed before Jaskier’s eyes, the image of Dandelion kneeling at his feet wearing nothing but silvery blue tinsel burning through him like fire. God, had that really been a year ago, fucking like rabbits in the living room, their very first Christmas as roommates. Jaskier smirked, and plucked the curling tong from Dandelion’s fingers before carefully starting to wrap a blond lock around the shaft. His friend huffed but settled down to let Jaskier finish the job.

“Would you prefer it if we just wore tinsel to the party? You had absolutely no problem with my cock then,” he winked as Dandelion’s jaw dropped and he flailed, clearly flustered by Jaskier’s words.

“Oh you- you minx!”

“Guilty as charged, dear heart.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and both of them turned to face the sound as Jaskier carefully put down the tongs.

“Come in!” they said together in harmony, a strange habit they’d picked up from spending so much time around each other over the years. Some people thought they were non-identical twins from the way they always seemed to be in tune… unless Christmas jumpers were involved apparently.

Then again, Dandelion was also the type to meticulously design the Christmas tree decorations, whereas Jaskier was quite happy to dump as much glittery tack on the tree as the branches could hold.

Oh well, not everyone’s perfect - not even Dandelion.

“Jaskier, Dandelion,” Geralt greeted them warmly as he stepped through the door, with Yennefer on his arm.

“Ha!” Spotting the two hideous jumpers, Jaskier laughed and pointed at his roommate. “I fucking told you so!”

The only response was a forlorn sigh from his darling friend. Geralt's jumper was red and had a picture of a horse in a Santa’s hat, whereas Yennefer’s was white with a mistletoe design.

“Yennefer,” Dandelion whined. “Not you too! I hate to admit it, but truly you were my last hope. We both know this idiot can’t say no to Jaskier’s pouting.”

Violet eyes flashed brilliantly, and Yennefer smirked, looking between the three of them - their family. “That’s a little hypocritical, Dandelion. The things I’ve seen you do for that twit… It’s a wonder you’re alive.”

“Oi!”

Jaskier just laughed, pulling Geralt into a hug before capturing his lips in a kiss. “Hey love,” he sighed happily, falling into his boyfriend’s embrace. “Witch,” he added to Yennefer with a wink.

“God, your jumper is worse than Geralt’s,” she rolled her eyes. “But at least he’s tried, Dandelion.”

“I take offence to that! I was in the middle of doing my hair before I was so rudely interrupted by this absolute crime against fashion. I was planning on looking my best,” Dandelion sighed with a huff, pouting as Jaskier moved to hug him instead.

It didn’t take long for Geralt to join the embrace as Yennefer held the jumper up, clicking the hidden switch to make the little lights shine in the woollen tree. The jumper was everything that Dandelion hated, perhaps that’s why Jaskier had picked it. He adored his best friend more than anything, but god, the man never knew how to let loose. His outfits were meticulously chosen, even when he knew Jaskier or Geralt would be tearing the fabric off his body. The only time Dandelion’s hair wasn’t absolutely perfect was if he was sick, or had been caught in an unexpected rainstorm. Even in the snow, he looked like an angel, the snowflakes catching in his curls and eyelashes.

Christ, despite everything, Jaskier was unreasonably in love with him. It ached somedays, but most of the time he was just grateful to be allowed to love Dandelion in any way he could, and be allowed to love Geralt too. It made for complicated Christmas dinners, but in many ways it was just so simple:

It was about love and family.

And Jaskier didn’t know a single group or family that understood love better than their ragtag mess of love and friendship.

But really, Dandelion needed to learn to relax in his appearance at times, learn it was alright to laugh at himself. So Jaskier had found the most garish jumper in the shop and presented it to his best friend for the party. If that meant the three of them ganging up on him a little then… so be it.

“Please, dear heart,” Jaskier pleaded, looking up at his friend through his eyelashes and letting his bottom lip quiver slightly. Then he reached up to brush a curl from Dandelion’s eyes. “Please.”

“Oh you- you… fucking bastard. Fine. Give it to me, but I will have to wear sunglasses so I’m not blinded by it’s ugliness. Truly, it’s hideous!” Dandelion scoffed and pulled the offending item over his head. With his curls only half done, and looking more casual than Jaskier could remember seeing him outside of work in ages… he looked adorable.

A proper little Christmas elf.

“See, beautiful, dear heart.”

“Urgh.”

Geralt chuckled, wrapping his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. “He’s right, Dandelion, you look good.”

“Tolerable,” Yennefer teased when the blond blushed.

“I hate you all!” Dandelion cried as he stormed out of the room. Shortly after they heard a shriek and he came flying back in. “Finish my hair, finish it now, please.”

They all laughed, and Jaskier picked the tongs back up from the mat. “Sit down you old fool.”

And then he began to sing an old Christmas carol from school, but Dandelion soon joined in whilst Yennefer found some wine in the fridge. By the time they were ready, they were all a little merry, basking in the love of their family in their not quite matching ugly jumpers.

Even though they were leaving the house. Jaskier knew he was home.

_ Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki

[sunshineszn]

BNHA characters and which countries in Africa they’d be from

feat. Hawks, Mirio and Mina

A/N: There might be several parts depending on how well this post does and also how well I manage to educate myself on other African cultures because I’m only from 1 and have experienced/ know the cultures of a few. You guys are definitely welcome to help me in the future if you would like. But I had so much fun doing this!

Hawks | Nigeria

•Oluwakeigo, this man ffs 

•A YORUBA DEMON

•A sweet talker but has nothing sweet to him

•Will flirt with you by promising to pay your bride price

•Will call you his wife/partner or the mother/parent of his future kids even though you just met.

•Meanwhile he was a whole wife back in the village

•Swears up and down that he’s rich

•Meanwhile the money that he uses to take you on dates is from him selling dreams to old white desperate women in the US.

•He tells them he’s a Nigerian prince LMAOOO 

•He dresses nice sometimes though, I’ll give him that

• Takes pictures in front of sports cars that aren’t his 

•Absolutely loves suya. Make him some and he’ll be on his way to make marriage negotiations with your family.

•A HUGE fan of soccer/football

•Watches the British Premier League religiously

•For special matches he goes to the local sports bar with his friends wearing his favorite team’s jersey, loose jeans and some beaten down white trainers 

• Yeah Nigerian Hawks is a problem

Mirio | Democratic Republic of Congo

• Now this mf

• Is actually smooth, like dangerously smooth

• So confident and will hit you with that French that will make your knees go weak

• A modern sapeur who is very much in line with sapologie culture meaning he is very well put together, smells nice, works out and has a fit body etc.

• Dresses to the nines half of the time, you’ll never catch him slipping

• Although he does wear brightly coloured suits and his dressing can be a bit gaudy and flashy at times askjhawjd

• Now this man’s dancing LAWD

• I said this before but I’mma say it again

• Canon Mirio can’t dance for shit but Congolese Mirio?!?!?!

• This man’s waistline is DEADLY

• Koffi Olomide’s disciple for sure sksksks

• It’s the reason why he has 5 baby mamas from every region in Africa. Each with 2 kids. 3 were born in the same year cause he was runnin through Africa like the mayo monkeys during the colonial period.

• Definitely appreciates his African queens that’s for sure

• Says he’s going on a “business trip” , meanwhile he’s visiting Angela in Ghana then hops on a plane to link with Amara in Ethiopia.

• There’s no corner in the continent he hasn’t touched

Mina | South Africa

• My girl Minaaa oops I mean Mbali

• She’s defs a Zulu girl

• Straight from Kwazulu-Natal and grew up in Johannesburg. Definitely a big city girl (in both ways lol).

• Y’all saw how she was dancing in the anime? Yeah that level of skill doesn’t change, miss girl fucks it up on the dance floor to Gqom and Amapiano (a subgenre of South African house music)

• A huge fan of the Distruction Boyz, DJ Tira, Busiswa, Kabza De Small etc.

• I just realised that her and Sho Madjozi are so similar omg (she’s another popular music artist)

• Definitely makes dance videos and becomes viral from them

• Is very proud of her language and culture and doesn’t change herself for nobodyyyy

• She’d honestly look so good in the traditional Zulu attire

• Quite outgoing and bubbly. All the teachers love her even though she can be a bit of a troublemaker.

• Absolutely LOVES a good party

• Like all South Africans do tbh akslshfdj sleep who?

(*cough* south africans also really love their alcohol but she’s underage so I’m not gonna add this but if she was of age she would definitely not stray too far from the stereotype LMAO definitely the type to dance with a bottle on her head)

• Is definitely stylish and has an amazing closet, I’m so jealous.

• Definitely loves a good shisa nyama ( bbq place) and inhales a plate of pap, chakalaka and braai (bbq) meat.

• Urgh I’m in love with the idea of South African Mina

******************************************************

A/N: Can you guys guess which region/country I’m from? Drop an ask with your guess!

Hint: It’s none of the countries listed here BUT I'm from one of their regions.

If you’re one of my moots that knows you better stfu lol

[danwhobrowses]

WWE Money in the Bank 2022 - Quickfire Review

So it's that time of the year again, Ladder Climbing Season

One of WWE's Big 5 PPVs (I'm not calling it that premium live event shtick) is in the books, so let's see how it went!

Spoilers for the PPV

Kick Off

A congrats to Rosenburg for getting engaged

WWE are definitely trying to keep Cody in people's minds, but honestly 'peak of my career'? This is the dude who was ROH and NWA world champion

Of course they talked up Logan Paul as well. I mean, I get it he's an influencer, but it's only short term stuff. Paul can be a good wrestler, but he has to make sure he doesn't make the same mistakes as Ronda Rousey has, and that includes believing he can be a babyface

One Whole Hour of Kick-off and 0 Matches, absolute bull

Main Card

Even as a heel Becky gets that pop, dunno what the headset was but the green and gold was great, she almost looked like a Psycho Ranger

Liv getting a pop close to Becky, Alexa and Asuka was great

Is Raquel's gimmick that she has a back?

I remember that MITB and I can tell you that pop from the crowd was not for Alexa, people were heartbroken that Becky got slighted again

Camera cuts really need to simmer

0 Love for Lacey

Shotzi has had a bit of messy match which is a shame

There has been some really nasty landings in this match

Happy to see Liv win, her rebounding back from the ladder was a clever spot, and Becky freaking out makes sense because she's 3 for 3 for being the last woman kicked off the ladder. The match was scrappy, but decent.

Not a good day for accuracy between the WMITB and Theory overshooting his dive

The match got better the more it went in, it started as a pseudo-squash, threatened to get boring with Theory using rest holds but finished strong

Did Carmella raid Charlotte's feather closet?

Match was fine as it was, nobody thought Carmella had a chance but they didn't squash her and they didn't overstay their welcome, Carmella's post-match should've been a sneaky misdirect but didn't quite land

That Lily credit card ad thing was abysmal...

Burgundy was nice on the Profits

See unifying the Tag Titles was a good idea on paper, but WWE's delivery has been poor given the complete lack of depth in the tag division, by no fault of the wrestlers

Ford also can easily be a great singles competitor

This tag match is sponsored by smacking people in the mouth

Great final third, but now what? The Usos don't really have any more babyface teams to face again for like another month

Oh the raised shoulder, so this will continue the feud

Bray? Or is that just Spooky Edge?

WWE do NFTs? Yeah I'm not surprised

That was a mild pop for Ronda, but at least props for the pride colours

Sharpshooter is devastating to the back, Pat

This match is sponsored by calling each other 'Bitch'

I've often criticized Ronda's inexperience and lack of charisma, but this is the best I've seen her look in a long time. The Shawn Michaels pose during the Sharpshooter was a smart spot

The match was decent, like Belair nobody gave Nattie a chance, but at the least it didn't overstay its welcome, mainly operating in Ronda's wheelhouse

Morgan cashing in though was the bigger pop. I dislike though that they had her immediately get caught into the ankle lock, Ronda was perfectly set up for an Oblivion, should've been that then pin rather than a rollup

But still, very glad to see Liv FINALLY get gold, I fear it won't last long because well...Ronda...and it's mostly a babyface version of Bliss' cash in at 2018, but still, Liv finally gets the W

Urgh, Ronda doing the Hogan at Mania 4, just let Liv have her moment!

This is a surprisingly tame abomination that Seth is wearing

Pretty dumb of Shamu not to use his fighter boys to have an edge in this match

Okay but why? It makes 0 sense

Sami hiding behind the turnbuckle post was great

Pat this ladder has held the Big Show and Mark Henry I think it'd be fine

JEEZ that recoil

Ladder Floating Bro was a great spot

Missed chance to have Omos erupt from the pile of ladders like Godzilla

There's Butch, finally realising wrestling maths

I hate the finish in layers. For one it completely renders the whole qualifying process redundant (they even had a mobile raffle thing which had fans ask who would win MITB hours before announcing Theory in the match, meaning tons of fans wasted their money), for second it's just 2019 when Brock won the MITB, for third 3 of these guys shouldn't have really been in the match: Theory for obvious reasons, Drew because he has Clash at the Castle and Riddle because he lost a title match which bans him from challenging Reigns again and for fourth, because it's Vince McMahon's fingerprints all over this, the man's 'stepping down' is completely meaningless in terms of booking

I know Theory is considered one for the future, despite losing at mania to Pat which does make all these veteran wrestlers look like losers, and he may do really well with the briefcase, but he doesn't resonate with me at all and to finish the PPV like that was quite underwhelming. Which is a shame because the match was good, and I really REALLY wanted Sami to be given his dues, there was story in him being the MITB winner

Conclusion

Overall this was a fine PPV. It had some twists, some good but not all, and everyone worked hard. I can't say it's my favourite piece of wrestling I've seen this week though, such is the risk with WWE's newfound PPV approach of attempting to overdeliver on weak builds. It at least sets up for more, but you can't help feeling that there could have been more.

Match Results and Predictions

Liv Morgan def. Becky Lynch, Asuka, Alexa Bliss, Raquel Gonzalez, Lacey Evans & Shotzi for the Women's Money in the Bank Briefcase Bobby Lashley def. Theory (c) [Submission via Hurt Lock] - NEW CHAMPION!! Bianca Belair (c) def. Carmella [Pinfall via KOD] The Usos (c) def. Street Profits [Pinfall on Ford via 1-D] Ronda Rousey (c) def. Natalya [Submission via Armbar] CASH IN: Liv Morgan def. Ronda Rousey (c) [Pinfall via Roll-up] - NEW CHAMPION!! Theory def. Drew McIntyre, Seth 'Freakin' Rollins, Sheamus, Riddle, Omos, Sami Zayn & Madcap Moss for the Money in the Bank Briefcase

[realautisticlightyagami]

characters!! michael distortion/shelley, sasha james, &/or “alice” daisy tonner 🥺?

oooh this is a long one!! Thank you for the ask <3 I'm gonna do all of them >:)!

Michael (Distortion)

Favourite thing about them: Probably it's laugh and views on identity!

Least favourite thing about them: ooh that's a hard one... Probably its manipulation tactic being more so pinned on paranoia. I think Helen had a better idea of how to manipulate the archives crew.

Favourite line: I'm gonna sound boring but you can't go past the "I am not a who, archivist, I am a what. A who requires a degree of identity I can't ever attain" slaps so hard!

brOTP: ooohhh, Sasha or Helen!

OTP: I really like gerrymichael, I am simply a Michael kinnie in love with Gerry Keay <3.

Random Headcannon: You know what happened in MAG74 with him sitting on a bench? Yeah, it loves going out and doing 'normal person' things and creeping random people out >:)!

Unpopular opinion: Urgh, I don't know if this is an unpopular opinion or not but it is aromantic and more than happy with a queerplatonic relationship. If the ask thing means like, canonically, then it wears very plain clothes when posing as a human. I love bright colours and pretty patterns as much as the next person but it clashes with the whole 'somethings wrong but I can't quite put my finger on it' thing.

A song I associate with them: I actually made a playlist! Linked here! One song, in particular, would have to be Entropy by AwkwardMarina (yes, the mlp fansong-)

Favourite picture of them: ahh, this is difficult. I'd have to say the one linked here!

Michael (Shelley)

Favourite thing about them: I have projected so much on him uhh let's go with his kind, trusting nature and persistence!

Least favourite thing about them: The timeline inconsistencies >:(!

Favourite line: there is uh,,, not a lot at all. Gonna have to go with the "[Nervous chuckles]" <3.

brOTP: hrrrmmmm Martin Blackwood <3. They make tea and talk about their s/o's together :)!

OTP: gerrymichael again. I love the whole 'opposite aesthetics' trope!

Random Headcannon: Ahhh I have to pick just one... His parents owned a small dairy and cows are one of his favourite animals!

Unpopular opinion: I know this isn't exactly 'unpopular' but he is NOT anybody's 'uwu small soft boy'! I get so mad when people see a polite, caring male character and take away all his personality and potential to replace it with "sowwy miss wobinson 🥺🥺🥺" and all that!

A song I associate with them: ah, hmm the first one that comes to mind is My Heart is Buried in Venice by Ricky Montgomery but that doesn't feel right...

Favourite picture of them: THIS ONE THIS ONE THIS ONE!!!!

Sasha James

Favourite thing about them: Just, "Martin doesn't have the best self-preservation skills-" ... *follows some creepy spiral monster to what she thinks will be a graveyard*

Least favourite thing about them: Oooh, arghhh, hmmmm, I can't really think of anything! She's a really nice character :)!

Favourite line: "Sorry, Tim! I can’t hear you over all this stapling." Iconic <3

brOTP: Martin, Georgie. Oh god just let them have had more time :'(

OTP: ok I'm a timsasha stan.

Random Headcannon: She's trans and so is Tim, they knew each other from childhood and made jokes about 'swapping' all the time.

Unpopular opinion: I don't have one I don't think?

A song I associate with them: I can't say I've put that much thought into it honestly. I should in the future!

Favourite picture of them: I love @dysaniadisorder 's Sasha, just,, all of them.

Alice "Daisy" Tonner

Favourite thing about them: Her voice.

Least favourite thing about them: I could go on forever but I'm gonna keep it short and say, idk, maybe the whole 'abusing her power as a police officer' deal?!!!?!

Favourite line: I like the metaphor here: "You don’t know what it’s like to have your secrets pulled out like teeth, just because he asked?"

brOTP: no one. She doesn't need or deserve friends.

OTP: daisira.

Random Headcannon: When she goes full hunt mode in s5 it's like a full werewolf transformation.

Unpopular opinion: This isn't really unpopular but I hate her guts.

A song I associate with them: Nothing in particular.

Favourite picture of them: the last added bit on this post!

phew! That was fun! Again, thank you for the ask!!

[thirstyforbishiesimagines]

Hehehe I had way too much fun trolling this ‘cold’ grumpy boii! Poor Eugene can’t catch a break! 

Also... Zion’s such a mood in this fic ψ(｀∇´)ψ 

Enjoy xx

.

Dangerous Fellows Christmas Event

Eugene x Reader

Fluff

🎅 🎄 I  Post-Apocalypse

.

.

“EUGENE! STOP… RUNNING!” Legs slowing down from fatigue, totally out of breath, you continue to chase after him.

“NO!” He calls back, zooming in and out of each room as you tail his every move.

“It’ll be cute! I swear!” You plead helplessly, holding out a fuzzy snowman costume toward him.

“HELL. NO.”

“Eugeneee! Pleaseee! We’re gonna be late!”

“GOOD! WE’LL JUST STAY HOME THEN!” He rushes past you, sprinting into the bedroom before locking the door behind him.

“Come on, Eugene!” You catch your breath before slumping against the door for support. “Stop being childish! Everyone will be dressed up!”

“I DON’T CARE!” He yells from behind the door. “AND WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE A SNOWMAN?!”

You chuckle lightly, not needing to see his face, you could already picture the cute pout upon his features as he retaliates.

“We all selected from a list! You refused to take part in choosing, so you were left with the snowman nobody wanted!”

You waited patiently for his reply. But as time passed, you were met with nothing but silence. Bringing your ear to the door, you could hear the quiet mumbles of a grumpy Eugene.

Realising you had no other choice, you decide to go with plan B to combat his stubborn resolve.

Pretending to sigh heavily, you slowly begin to walk away while putting on your best discouraged voice.

“Fine! You win! Let me go get changed and then we can go…”

A sinister smile wide upon your lips, you sneakily slip out a newly bought costume from your bag.

A couple minutes go by as Eugene continues to hide himself away.

Exhaling deep, you mask your mischievous grin and casually call out, “OK, EUGENE! I’M DONE! LET’S GO NOW!”

Eyes glued toward the bedroom, you watch as the golden-haired male exits the doorway, a bright triumphant smile upon his lips.

“We’re late now…” You sigh as you pick up your plate of freshly baked cookies, nonchalantly stepping out from behind the counters — now in clear view.

As Eugene’s eyes land on your figure, his winning smile gets utterly washed out by the overwhelming colour of crimson painted over his face.

“ARGH! W-WHAT ARE YOU W-WEARING?!” He stutters, completely paralysed as he shamelessly gawks at your outfit.

Cleavage pushed up to the nines and booty cheeks threatening a full display from the smallest of movements, you simply answer, “My costume?”

You head towards the front door; clad in nothing but lacy red lingerie, a red mini skirt with fluffy white trimming and a simple Santa hat.

As you turn the doorknob, Eugene beelines toward you and slams the door shut. Arms out wide, he shields you from the outside world.

“YOU CALL THAT A COSTUME?!” He questions, totally exasperated as his eyes scan over you in every direction.

“Eugene… we don’t have time for this…” Moving him out of the way, you reach out for the doorknob again before he quickly grabs hold of your arms.

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! YOU ARE DEFINITELY NOT LEAVING THE HOUSE LIKE THIS! GO GET CHANGED!”

“But… this role is important... Who else will be Santa then?” You ask innocently, tilting your head in fake concern.

“I DON’T KNOW! BUT IT SURE AS HELL WON’T BE YOU!”

“Eugene…”

He then grabs your hands tight, crouching down before looking up to meet your gaze with pleading amber eyes. “Please, (Y/N)! I’ll do anything, I’ll even wear that dumb snowman costume. Just please don’t wear this out.”

“…Really?”

“I’ll put it on right now if you want!” Eugene replies with desperation.

Got him.

Knowing you had him completely wrapped around your finger, you ultimately decide to ease him of his torturous distress. “Well… I guess I might have another outfit somewhere…”

Practically on his knees by now, he pleads once more. “Yes, please… just… anything but that.”

“Okay… I’ll go get changed…”

“Oh, thank god.” Eugene exclaims before slumping down onto the couch.

Taking a small peek at his defeated form as you leave, you witness Eugene laid back — hands covering his red-hot face as his voice is muffled within his palms. “Dammit… she’ll be the death of me.”

At last, you were dressed in the original outfit you had planned to wear all along. Unbeknownst to Eugene, of course. Stepping out into the lounge, you sport a pure white, long feathery dress with a floating halo attached above your head — an entirely opposite theme to the scantily clad fabric you had on just moments before.

Surely, he wouldn’t oppose to leaving with an ‘angel’.

Standing before your spiritually depleted boyfriend, you twirl around merrily before flashing him a glowing grin.

He stares for a moment before shaking his head. “No good… You’re still too cute.”

Astonished over his constant denial, you groan, “Eugene!”

“Fine… at least it won’t skyrocket my blood pressure this time.”

You stare at him as he avoids your eyes. “Your turn.”

Eugene hesitates slightly before sighing, finally grabbing the once abandoned costume. “Why do I feel played…?”

.

“I look stupid…” Eugene complains, his feet heavy with every step.

“No… you’re adorable!” You giggle as you excitedly skip up to Harry’s doorstep, hearing Eugene sigh for the thousandth time behind you.

Before you could even knock, Harry swings the door open. “Welcome!”

Eugene’s eyes go wide for a moment as he realises what Harry was wearing. You look back and poke your tongue out at him as he groans in defeat. Covered in red and white with a sack of presents to match, Harry gleams happily within his Santa costume. “Merry Christmas, guys!”

“Merry Christmas, Harry!” You beam back wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, yeah…” Eugene sighs once more, dreading the chaos within.

Harry gestures inside, “Come in! Everyone’s already here.”

Stepping into the warmly lit home, you’re both welcomed with an onslaught of greetings and well wishes from all around the room. Your eyes light up with joy as you reunite with the friends you now call ‘family’. Seeing everyone’s festive spirit made you feel right at home.

“HEYYY!!” Zion greets loudly from the kitchen. Stepping out into the lounge, you’re met with the brazenly exposed, half-naked redhead with a gold ribbon tied neatly around his neck. “Aww, well aren’t you guys the cutest?” Zion calls out as you break into hysterical laughter.

“…Aren’t you cold?” Eugene asks, wholly unimpressed, eyes creasing as thin as slits.

“You’re right… it DID get cold all of a sudden…” Zion wraps his arms around his bare form before looking in your direction. “(Y/N), did you HAVE to bring the snow in with you?”

“And… it starts.” Eugene mutters under his breath. Wiping the tears in the corners of your eyes, you try to question his clothing options—or lack thereof—but Eugene beats you to it. “So, what are you meant to be anyway?”

Zion’s eyes go wide with shock, dumbfounded by his simple question. “You can’t tell? Am I not a gift to your eyes?”

The room falls silent. So quiet, you could even hear the soft crackles of the flames within the fireplace.

Zion looks around the room, flabbergasted at everyone’s absent response. “I’m everyone’s Christmas present!”

“Bet you’re full of coal.” Eugene snickers.

“Only if you’ve been bad~” Zion fires back with a wink as he backs away toward the kitchen again, finger gunning the entire way back until he was out of view.

Eugene groans before sighing once more. “Today’s gonna be a long day... Can I take this off now?”

“Nooo! We need to take a family photo with everyone first!” Stopping him from unzipping himself and trying to lighten his sour mood, you nudge Eugene’s side playfully. “Come on! Everyone’s in the Christmas spirit and having fun!”

“Urgh… This is why I hate Christmas…”

You giggle at his predictable response before cheerfully waving back to Ethan and Lawrence sitting by the fire. “Ok, Scrooge. How about we say hello to everyone first and then go grab some food, sound good?”

He’ll be in a better mood after he eats.

“Fine… You know I’m only putting up with this ‘cause I love you, right?”

“I know.” Leaning up on your toes, you give Eugene a quick peck on his cheek. “Thank you, Eugene.”

“Yeah…” He murmurs, scratching the back of his golden tresses awkwardly.

.

Standing by the dining table filled with traditionally festive dishes, you lovingly feed spoonful’s of pudding to your now content boyfriend. For once, he wasn’t complaining about being here or feeling defensive over his attire. He began to actually enjoy himself as he caught up with everyone.

Well… That was until Zion came back to set down some eggnog on the table.

Coming up beside you, Zion looks toward Eugene before letting out a giant sneeze… a fake one of course. But it was enough to bring Eugene’s mood back to square one.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST PUT A SHIRT ON, YOU FUCKING NARCISSIST?!”

“Man… the winter breeze sure is howling loud today!” Zion effortlessly ignores him as he snakes an arm around your shoulders. “You know, (Y/N)… since it’s so cold here, I heard that an easy way to warm ourselves is to cuddle each other while being stark nake-”

Before he could finish his sentence, with lightning fast reflexes, Eugene swipes a plastic butter knife from the table and places it by Zion’s cheek. His eyes now dark with murderous intent, voice seething in malice. “Hands.Off.My.Girlfriend.”

Zion immediately takes his hands off of you and raises them up as a sign of mercy. “Whoa… Chill, bro.”

“Ayeee~” Judy chimes in as she reaches out her hand for a synchronised fist bump with the proud redhead.

“Pfft-” Failing to stifle your chuckle, you go into an uncontrollable fit of laughter again, having way too much fun from everyone’s shenanigans.

Eugene snaps his head toward you, a look of utter betrayal in his expression. “Really, (Y/N)? That joke got you too?”

“I’m s-sorry… The timing… was perfect!” You manage to say as you clutch your stomach, giving in to the giggles.

About ready to burn his costume at this point, Eugene barks out, “CAN WE TAKE THIS DAMN PICTURE ALREADY?!”

.

Now cozy in their everyday clothes—after the chaotic madness of capturing the perfect group photo—the mood was tranquil as everyone chatted amongst themselves.

A moment of calm washed over the both of you as you sat comfortably within Eugene’s embrace by the roaring fire. A glass of warm eggnog within your palms, Eugene rested his chin within the curve of your neck — drained from the constant torment.

“Finally… Zion can leave me alone with his lame ass dad jokes now.”

Feeling somewhat responsible and guilty for putting your boyfriend through such turmoil, you decide to sneakily lead him away to a place that Harry secretly set up for you.

“What are you planning now?” Eugene’s eyebrow raises, underlying skepticism within his voice as you slip away from the party.

Spotting the hanging mistletoe in the hallway ahead, you eagerly drag Eugene over and situate him right underneath. 

“OK! Now, look up!”

Eyes raising toward the ceiling before settling back on your expectant gaze, he smirks roguishly, “If you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just asked.”

Is it too cliché?

Suddenly feeling horrified by how enthusiastic you were, you cover your rosy cheeks with your palms and attempt to run off. “You’re right! This is dumb!”

“Hey!” Eugene protests as he hastily grabs you by the hand and gently pulls you into his arms, chuckling as he witnesses your bashful demeanour. “It’s only fair if I get to tease you a little too…”

His hand reaches up to caress your cheek, thumb gliding over your mouth as it lingers upon your soft lips. Leaning in close, his hot breath inches from your skin, he whispers, “How are you so adorable?”

Without a moment of hesitation, your eyelids flutter to a close — anticipating the warmth of his lips pressed upon yours.

Just as you were about to close the gap however, a wolf whistle echoes from the end of the hall.

Both taken aback by surprise, you turn your heads to witness a sneering Zion leaning against the wall… watching in amusement. “Oh, ho ho~ Be careful, (Y/N). If this gets any steamier, Olaf over here will melt away!”

Your face burns with embarrassment having been caught in the act of such a lovey-dovey scene. Infuriated by his interruption, Eugene blows up in rage for the... how many times today? You seem to have lost count at this point.

“SERIOUSLY, ZION! DO YOU EVER SHUT UP?! I’M NOT EVEN WEARING THAT STUPID COSTUME ANYMORE!”

Waving his hand indifferently in dismissal, Zion wanders off, dusting his hands like he had just completed a job well done.

“God, he’s so irritating! How is he everywhere?!” Eugene grumbles as he massages his temples with his fingers.

“Even I’m starting to get annoyed now.” You admit, your eyes falling into aggravated slits at Zion’s retreating form.

“We should have never come…” Eugene pouts, his expression reminding you of a provoked cat.

Cute...

You wrap your arms around him, hoping to calm him again. You hear him sigh in frustration as he returns your embrace before nuzzling his face into your (h/c) locks. “You know he only teases out of love, right?”

He scoffs at the thought.

Taking his hand in yours, you smile knowingly. “Plus, you don’t need to hide it, I know you enjoyed seeing everyone again.”

His attention shifts to the side, avoiding your gaze as his cheeks grow a subtle blush. “Whatever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his innocent response.

“Anyways…” He trails off as his fingers delicately lift your chin upwards. “The only love I need is yours.”

Leaning down a second time, Eugene’s gentle lips press together with yours. Fitting together as perfect as a puzzle, you gasp lightly as he hugs you tighter. 

His scent was... reminiscent of faint firewood.

His lips... tasting of subtle hints of cinnamon.

Every part of him consumed your senses. 

As he grips your chin eagerly, your mouth parts immediately as if by instinct — welcoming his intoxicating tongue.

Contrary to what Zion believed, Eugene’s kiss left your body melting under his every touch.

As your lips part ways with his,  Eugene’s eyes were met with your fervent gaze — his eyebrows furrowing in response. “Can we go home now?”

Misunderstanding his intentions, you fail to hide your sadness. “You hated the party that much?”

“It’s not that… It was good to see everyone. But, I just… wanna spend some time with you now, (Y/N)…”

“O-Oh…Okay.” You stutter. He wasn’t usually this forward or honest, and it left you feeling a little shy. The prior hours, as you dragged on your stay, made you somewhat apologetic toward him. “I’m sorry for making you wear that costume.”

His eyes go wide before smiling warmly. “It’s fine… as long as you had fun.”

A bubbly grin on your face, you beam, “I did! Thank you, Eugene!”

Eugene chuckles quietly in response as he ruffles your hair. “Anyways, I guess it was worth it.” He then clears his throat uncomfortably. “…You looked beautiful today.”

“Only today?” You question; your tone, playful.

Eyes closing from exhaustion due to everyone’s constant lively energy, he sighs deeply as he rests his forehead against yours. “Give me a break already… You know what I mean.”

Tittering softly, you slowly nod against him.

“Don’t even start me on that lacy shit you had on this morning…” Eugene then looks up abruptly, confusion clear on his handsome features. “Wait… You tricked me! What was that outfit for anyway? Harry was Santa…”

Giggling radiantly at the memory of your prank, you reply, “It’s a gift!”

Eugene’s eyebrows raise in curiosity before you leaned closer to clarify, “But only for your eyes…”

“Ah…” Eugene places a hand on his mouth, turning his face toward the wall and averting his gaze — hiding the faint blush upon his skin.

He then clears his throat again before looking at you in a suspicious stare. “You’re not gonna chase me around again and say you bought it for me to wear, are you?”

Although you found the idea quite tempting, you smile sincerely. “I think I’ve teased you enough for one day.”

“Good.”

Taking your hand in his, he leads you away from the mistletoe and out of the halls. Pink hues decorate your cheeks as you anticipate a festive night, spent only in the arms of one another.

.

.

x luna

[itsgoodtoseemeisntit30]

Dentist! - Dhawan!Master-Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut 

It took all my strength to not stay in the warm bed. The man next to me turned over and muttered “are you gonna turn that alarm of love?” 

I groaned and whispered to my smart speaker to stop the morning tune it was playing to wake me up. “I suppose I should get up for work.” 

“Urgh, work is so boring.” He said in my ear. 

“Well, we can’t all be time travelling aliens and I need this job to keep me afloat when you leave me alone.” 

He said nothing in response so I rolled out of bed and turned on the light. 

I jumped in the shower and then returned back into my bedroom. I chose my underwear almost on auto-pilot and it was only when I looked at the Master’s smirking face did I look down at my selection - a black lacy bra and pants. It was one of his favourites. 

“You dick.” I joked “I’d thank you for not hypnotising me without me knowing.” I said whilst pulling on my work shirt. 

The Master smirked and pushed himself up on his elbows. His black hair was messed up from sleep and his eyes sparkled with early morning mischief. “Oh but you love it” He said darkly. I felt compelled to come closer to him and put my hands on either side of his face and kissed him deeply, his hands wrapped around my waist and brought me closer. 

“No, no I’ve got to go to work.” I mumbled into him and pulled away, he looked like a wounded puppy. 

I was now running late and leaving my flat in a rush. I had a job at a dental surgery on reception only a short drive away from home so I arrived with seconds to spare. The Practice Manager and the other receptionist were standing in the waiting room, clearly waiting for me. “Ahh, hello Y/N I just wanted to make a quick announcement. The new root canal specialist is starting today. He hasn’t got any treatments, just consultations for now but I’m sure he’ll find his feet quickly.” Announced my manager. 

I glanced at my colleague, this wasn’t something I was aware of. She read my expression and said “ we employed him when you were away.” 

I nodded and just at that moment the doorbell went “that must be him. I’ll go and let him in.” Said my manager. I busied myself behind my desk, not looking up until my manager said “ladies, this is Doctor Koschei.” 

I looked up with a pre-prepared smile on my face and almost gasped out loud. There stood the Master, my Master wearing his signature check trousers suit, blue shirt and purple coat. “Nice to see such good looking receptionists.” Said the Master cheekily, giving me a small wink that went unnoticed by my manager and colleague. 

“Oh you can stay.” Giggled my colleague, which was really unbecoming of the woman’s advanced age. I rolled my eyes at her comment. Without another word the Master left us. 

I looked at the diary, he didn’t have a patient until 9am. I made a plan to go and confront him once my morning tasks had been completed. 

Unfortunately I got bogged down with my jobs and it wasn’t until his first patient arrived did I remember that I was supposed to be seeing him. 

I excused myself from the desk and walked down the corridor towards the surgery, his fake name was already on the door. How long had he been planning this? 

I knocked on the door, praying that a nurse wasn’t in there with him. 

“Come in.” I heard him call out. I opened the door and there he was in black scrubs which was the  practice’s signature colour but he made it so much more stylish. I checked around the surgery and didn’t see a nurse so I locked the door and said “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Language Miss YL/N” said the Master with a mock serious expression. 

“No seriously, why are you here? You’re not a dentist.”

“I have had the training.” 

“Watching Little Shop of Horrors on repeat is not training.” 

The Master slunk towards me and I suddenly felt very turned on by his presence. “Admit it, you’re glad I’m here aren’t you?” 

He pulled my arms high above my head and kissed me fiercely. Desire pooled in between my legs as I kissed him back. 

“Jump” I heard in my head and I did as I was told, I held onto his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his waist. He held onto me whilst peppering hot kisses down my neck and turned around, almost throwing me onto the dental chair. His excitable hands cupped my breasts and then travelled down to my skirt where they delved underneath. I shuddered with anticipation as he made small circles around my clit. 

“Say my name.” He growled. 

“Master!” I said weakly, trying to not climax too early. I didn’t want this to end. 

“Such a good girl.” My flailed out trying to find something to grip onto and it hit the antiquated ipod player. 

“You'll be a dentist

(Be a dentist)

You have a talent for causing things pain” sang the ipod. 

We stopped for a second to laugh at the absurdity of the situation “at least it’s appropriate.” Muttered the Master as he picked up speed again. I climaxed at the end of the song. 

“I’m sure they heard” I breathed out, trying to stop panting. 

Sure enough we then heard a knock on the door “Dr Koschei, everything alright? Are you ready for your first patient?” Called out a nurse. 

We looked at each other “wanna have some more fun? Skip this joint and head out to the stars?” Asked the Master. 

“Always, but how?” 

The Master wiggled his eyebrows and led me to what I thought was a cupboard but once he opened the doors we were in his TARDIS. 

“Have I ever told you that those scrubs look really sexy on you?” I asked as I pulled the Master back to my lips.

[undeadsnorlax]

Stick ‘Em Up

Archive of Our Own

@badthingshappenbingo​

I have been struck with Punisher brainrot the last few weeks, so why not fill a prompt up with my man Castle. my first time writing for this universe (or at least, first time publishing). and it’s sort of...my own version of the Marvel universe because canon is a playground and I’m a child who wants to break the swings.

Prompt: Hostage Situation

Fandom: Marvel Comics/The Punisher

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (all the stuff you’d expect from the Punisher, guns and killing)

Wordcount: 4596

Four robbers. Fifteen civilians. And one Punisher.

Or, Frank goes to the bank to cash a cheque and ends up caught in a hostage situation.

“Hey. Can you talk?”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it quiet though. I’m in public.”

“Ooo, anywhere nice?”

“No. The bank.”

Frank could practically hear Micro rolling his eyes at his bluntness from the other side of the phone, only covered by the slight rumble of his computer chair moving across the floor.

“Cashing the cheque you got from Monroe, huh?”

Frank wrinkled his nose, peering over the line of people in front of him. “Uh-huh. I need a restock. Think you can arrange a meeting with Jackson?”

“Mm, sure can. I still can’t believe Monroe tried to bribe you into not killing him,” Micro scoffed, the usual click-clack of his keyboard audible under his voice, “Like, who the hell does that? You sure it’s a good idea to do this so soon though? The guy only just died…”

“Hasn’t been reported yet.” He dropped his voice, adding a slight growl as he spoke. “Probably won’t for a while, given where he’s laying now.”

“Urgh. I hate when you do that voice.”

On the other end of the line, there were a few beeps and bwoops, as Micro let out a content hum. “Anyway, called because I got more info on Ray Broad. I’ll drop it off at the usual spot at seven – sorry, at nineteen hundred hours. Then I’ll get Jackson to meet you in the usual spot at twenty-three hundred, ask if he’s got anything new in. Think you’ll be done by then?”

Frank shuffled up in the line, seemingly no closer to the front than when he’d started. “Hopefully. Thanks. Keep in touch.”

“Wow, that all I get-“

He hit the hang up button before Micro could finish, tucking his phone back into his jacket. With a small huff, he shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around the rest of the bank.  Every other line seemed just as slow, the other two that were open, the workers behind the glass looking stressed to get through everyone in good time.

Understaffed maybe?

“Hey grandma, hurry up will you?”

Frank’s attention moved to face ahead of him. He was only three people away from the counter. Currently being served was an elderly woman, and just behind her some impatient suit who crossed his arms.

The old lady turned around, a hand to her chest as she scowled. “Excuse me?”

“Sir, please,” the teller said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I understand this is taking a while but-“

“You heard me,” the suit scoffed, ignoring the teller entirely, “Hurry your ass! You’re holding everyone up!”

Frank rolled his eyes a little, tuning out the conversation. Not my problem. Sooner he could get out of here, the better.

He wouldn’t usually waste time like this, but financing could be hard for vigilantes, and it was only a matter of days before Monroe’s body washed up somewhere along the East River. Or parts of him, anyway.

Six grand to save his life. Cheapskate even in the face of death. But it’d get Frank enough bullets to down another several jerks, so he could hardly complain.

The automatic doors at the entrance swung open again. He looked out of habit, keeping cautious to any small sound.

A group of four breezed in, nothing exactly out of the ordinary as three of them separated out to different corners of the room, one staying lingering by the door.

The hairs at the back of his neck pricked up.

They were each wearing a mask, those creepy ones you could get at a craft store in different vibrant colours. Somehow nobody had noticed, but then again not everyone was Frank Castle, years of extensive military training and intense paranoia all rolled up into one man.

The suit and old lady were still arguing, the teller desperately looking toward one of her co-workers for help. The woman just in front of Frank tutted, turning back to make some comment to him about this behaviour, but he was already distracted by flitting his focus on each of the newcomers, watching as one began to lock the door, when-

Bang-bang!

The sound of gunshots rang through the building, the presumably lead dipshit pointing a gun in the air as they looked around.

“Everyone on the ground, now!”

The security shutter was slammed over the door, as a few patrons let out a scream, another shot being fired.

“Nobody move or try anything funny, and this will be over soon.” He swerved around, nodding at the three bank tellers. “We’ve already disabled the alarm system, so don’t even try.”

“Shit,” Frank hissed, slipping his hand inside his jacket before cursing again.

No gun. Not even a goddamn combat knife. Out of character. He gritted his teeth as he remembered he’d just washed this jacket, forgot to put something into the concealed holster in his rush to get this over with. Idiot. You always double check!

Two of the robbers advanced at the counter, pistols outstretched. Frank glanced over what they were wielding – 9mm, semi-automatic. Browning, maybe? Not a scratch, they’re brand new. And it was obvious from how they held them. They had some conviction, some cocky air, but it was clear they’d barely even held the things before.

“I said get down!”

One swung around, aiming at the impatient suited guy from earlier. The guy hesitated just a second too long, frozen at the sight of the gun barrel staring him down, and was met with the base of the pistol smacked into the side of his head.

This was serious then.

He quickly dropped to his knees, hands raised up and shaking. Soon everyone followed, until Frank was the last one standing.

He hesitated, glancing around the room. Four robbers. Fifteen civilians.

And one Punisher.

“Hey! You listening?”

Reluctantly for now, Frank raised his hands and put them behind his head, kneeling down. He’d just have to wait.

“You two, keep everyone here in check,” the leader said, walking up to the staff door and kicking it open.

He reappeared on the other side of the counter and immediately grabbed the wrist of the clerk that had been serving Frank’s line, pinning it behind her back and lodging his gun to her neck. She tried to yell out, but the gun was just shoved harder.

“Shut it! You’re gonna take us through to the safes. Cyrus, you’re with me.”

The last guy nodded, jogging up before the three disappeared into the back room.

Frank swallowed, figuring out how to do this. He never usually found himself on this side of a situation, even when things went really bad. Even then, he usually had something to hand from his arsenal to help him. For now, all he had was his wits.

He took in the two left behind. One in a pink mask, one in a yellow. The leader had been wearing a black one, while the ‘Cyrus’ guy he’d yelled for was in blue. Good way to distinguish them all.

Yellow started to pace around the others being held hostage, whilst Pink, who’d been the one to hit the suited guy, stayed nearby, bouncing on his toes uneasily. It was almost impressive that out of this team of four, only one of them was fully confident, and they’d still managed to get this far, even for a bank branch so small.

Almost impressive.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this in broad daylight,” Pink said, rolling his head around his neck, “This feels too easy.”

“Dude, shut up,” Yellow snapped, kicking someone’s bag out of the way as he passed them, “Okay? Blayke knows what we’re looking for, and we’ll be outta here before anyone realises something’s up.” “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be easier at night?”

He has a point, Frank thought, watching their movements carefully, Why would you break in during the day?

A whimper came from Frank’s side, distracting him. The woman who had been in front of him in line had huddled in on herself as much as she could, shaking like crazy as tears rolled down her face. He waited a moment until Pink turned away from them, before leaning in a little closer, keeping his voice hushed.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

The woman looked up, puzzled as she sniffed. “I-it’s Moira…”

“Okay Moira, I’m Frank.” He gave his best smile, as warm as he could manage right now. “I’ll get us out of this, okay?”

“How the hell are you gonna do that?!” came the hissed voice of the suited guy, gritting his teeth as he made sure the robber didn’t hear, “They have guns.”

“You have me,” Frank replied. Blunt and honest. “You got a name?”

“Jeremy, and-“ He cut himself off, eyes widening. “Wait, are you an Avenger?”

Frank couldn’t help scoffing, shuffling on his knees a little. If he timed it right, he could probably launch himself up from this position and have one of these assholes on the floor before the other could fire. Or maybe-

“Or like, an X-Men? Or...X-Man? Is...is that the singular?”

Oh, he’s still talking.

“Keep it down. I’m not-“

“Daredevil?”

Frank glared ahead. He went to snap some retort, but was beaten to the punch by the elderly lady smacking Jeremy across his arm.

“Hush, will you? He’s twice the size of Daredevil.” She leaned forward a little, aiming such a sweet smile in Frank’s direction. “Gladys, by the way.”

He blinked and nodded his greeting. Forming a whole little gang here...they could be useful though.

“Do you mean it though?”

Moira’s voice was weak, cracking at the edges as she kept sniffing loudly. “Can you really help us?”

“Yeah. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Hey! Keep it quiet back there!” Pink snapped, glancing over his shoulder.

Frank grinded his teeth together, glancing at the three to his side. He wouldn’t usually involve normal citizens, but he needed to disarm at least one of these jerks...just needed to bring them closer.

“I’m gonna need you to play along,” he whispered, just enough so the three of them heard, “Follow my lead.”

He waited for them all to nod, and he swallowed heavily. Drama had never been his strong suit in school, but he’d have to try.

He scrunched his face up and groaned loudly, lowering his hands to clutch his stomach. This didn’t draw any attention, so Gladys leaned forward a little.

“You alright sweetheart?” she cooed.

Frank forced a fake whine, doubling over and gripping his middle tighter. Moira gulped back some tears and called out.

“H-hey! Excuse me! This guy’s hurt here!”

Pink glanced down at Frank, before looking over at Yellow on the other side of the room. “What’s the protocol?”

“I dunno,” Yellow said, shrugging dismissively, “We were just told to watch them.”

Frank groaned again, slowly inching the zipper of his jacket down. Might as well make this a big entrance when it came to it.

“I know first aid,” Jeremy piped up with a shaky voice, making as if he was going to move, but the gun was pointed in his direction once more.

“You stay there!” Pink barked. He trailed off a little as Frank fell forward onto his elbows, starting to pant a little. “He seriously doesn’t look good Yas. Is this like, a heart attack or something?”

“Christ, just check him, then let that douchebag there help if it’s something serious.”

Perfect.

Irritatingly, Pink holstered his pistol as he came over, tucked into the pocket of his pants, but he could still reach it easily if he was quick enough.

Pink crouched down, putting a hand to Frank’s shoulder and rolling him onto his side a little.

“You good man? You got some kinda meds you need or-”

He froze. Thank God for strong branding and very few of Frank’s clothes not having it. With his jacket now unzipped, there was no missing the skull logo emblazoned on the shirt underneath.

Barely visible behind the holes of the mask, Pink’s eyes bulged. Frank allowed himself a quick grin.

“Shit, Yas, it’s the Pun-!”

Frank didn’t give him much more of a chance to finish as he lunged a hand toward his throat, sitting up in the same swift motion.

Pink was slammed to the floor, choking and flailing helplessly as Frank used his other hand to grab the pistol. My arm is now complete!

“What the fuck-“

Yellow’s focus was drawn to the scene now, as Frank scrambled to his feet, pacing forward as he quickly checked over the gun. Safety off, fully loaded clip. Cheap and cheerful, but it’d do whatever job he asked of it.

Pink still flailed on the ground, pointing at the skull as he desperately tried to catch his breath once more. Yellow faltered, taking a step back in shock.

“He’s the Punisher?!” Jeremy hissed behind him.

“We can do this quickly,” Frank said, dropping his voice down from his previous casual tone, “Best not to draw it out.”

“Thought you were more shoot first, ask questions later,” Yellow said, barely hiding the nervous chuckle he let out, “Too much collateral damage around for the Punisher? 

Shit. The asshole wasn’t wrong. Frank was an exact shot, but it almost wasn’t worth killing these jerks at the risk of the civilians' lives.

Yellow took advantage of that hesitation, grabbing one of the other hostages and holding his gun to her head as she cried out. Frank sucked in through his teeth, calculating how he could do this. If he was clever, he’d manage to hit his hand or maybe his leg, something enough to get him to drop the hostage…

From behind him there was a yell, as Pink finally recovered and ran forward, attempting in vain to rush Frank and push him down. Of course it did nothing, other than piss him off when he was already in a bad mood.

It almost wasn’t worth killing them.

Frank swung a punch into his gut, winding him enough that he stumbled. Pink gasped, clutching his stomach, but still tried to run at him again. Frank huffed, grabbing Pink by the collar, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as he lifted him up, just enough that his toes were still on the ground.

He glanced at the pistol still in his hand.

“Wait, no, no, don’t-!”

The gun was lodged under Pink’s chin and fired without another thought.

There were a few screams as the body hit the floor with that dull thud he was numb to. He turned back, wiping the splashes of blood from his cheek with the heel of his hand, teeth bared.

Yellow started to shake, glancing around. Frank moved closer, head cocked to his shoulder.

“Let her go bud,” he growled, tensing the fingers of his free hand, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Yellow’s knees buckled slightly, losing all confidence in a few seconds as his gun fell to his side. He still had some cockiness left, as he shoved the hostage right into Frank, unexpectedly enough that he stumbled.

With Frank briefly distracted, muttering an apology to the lady as he got her steady, Yellow tried to make a break for it, rushing toward the staff door the rest of his crew had disappeared into earlier. Before he could make it, however, Gladys threw out her handbag, causing him to get tangled in the strap and trip into the ground with a hard smack.

Thank you grandma, Frank thought with a raised brow, rushing over and standing over Yellow, pressing one heavy boot down into his back.

He tossed a look back at the other customers, then toward the remaining bank tellers, still cowering behind the counter. “Keep quiet. Get that door open and get these people to safety. I’ll take it from here.”

The nearest one nodded, hurrying out and toward the entrance, as several of the hostages started to get to their feet, confused but clearly relieved as they awkwardly sidestepped Pink’s body.

Under his foot, Yellow whimpered. Frank just pushed down harder with a soft growl, a finger tensed against the pistol's trigger guard. “One wrong move kid, and I’ll-“

A hand brushed against his elbow, causing him to flinch as he turned his head, but it was only Moira, still sniffing. Lucky he wasn’t so itchy on the trigger.

“...thank you,” she whispered, smiling weakly as she moved to the exit.

Frank blinked, but gave a small nod, watching as the doors were opened and everyone filed out. He stayed where he was, glancing at the staff door every so often just in case. Still, he caught Jeremy immediately getting his phone out, grabbing his wrist as he passed.

“You better be calling your mommy.”

Jeremy hissed from the grip, struggling to pull away, letting Frank read the 911 already typed onto the screen.

“You’re the goddamn Punisher!” Jeremy said, stumbling as Frank finally let him go, “You killed a guy in front of us!”

“A guy who smacked you with a gun. You’re bruising already.” Frank blew out a dismissive breath, rolling his shoulders. “You wanna call the cops? Go ahead. I’ll be finished before they get here.”

He watched Jeremy fluster. The guy clearly wanted to argue, do some moral highhorsing or whatever it was people who didn’t understand his work did, but one half-hearted glare was all it took for him to back down.

“I’m still calling the authorities!” he cried, showing he’d hit dial on his phone’s screen as he stormed out.

Frank grunted, now alone in the bank’s lobby. Great. Got a time limit now.

Under his boot, Yellow squirmed. He’d almost forgotten about this asshole.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Yellow asked, voice quiet.

“Was waiting for it to be just the two of us, that’s all.” Frank wrinkled his nose, lifting the pistol up and aiming it at the back of Yellow’s head. “Traumatised the civilians enough killing your buddy. But, before I do anything...are you part of some bigger thing?”

Yellow started to answer, but Frank’s heel dug into his spine. “And as you can imagine, I don’t like liars.”

“N-no...there’s a few others, but we’re small time. Smaller than small, barely worth the time. I swear.”

He yelled out as Frank ground his boot down, pushing his full weight into him.

“Mould can start small,” he said, coldly, “Something you can ignore. But it grows eventually if you don’t take care of it, cause a lot more problems later down the line. Address. Names. Now.”

“I don’t know any, I never dealt with the higher ups. That’s Blayke’s job!”

Frank raised a brow. “That the one in the black mask?”

Yellow gasped for air, nodding. “Yeah. That’s all I know. I swear. We’re not important.”

“What the fuck-?!”

Frank looked up, to see the Blue masked robber standing behind the counter. He huffed, firing two shots off into Yellow’s head, feeling the breath leave under him. He’d outlived his usefulness.

Blue gulped, frozen and shaking on the spot. Frank quickly ducked to grab Yellow’s gun, still on the floor where he’d dropped it, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans, before walking through the staff door toward him.

“Yo, Cy! What’s with the racket?” came the leader’s voice from the other room, “Pierce acting up?”

Frank tilted his head, then pressed a finger to his lips, before making a turning gesture. Blue nodded obediently, doing as he was told. He was still shaking, but did well in disguising that anything was out of place as he called back.

“N...nothing boss. All good here. Yeah, just Pierce flexing a little, no worries.”

“Good man,” Frank whispered, stepping up behind and snapping the man’s neck with ease. Compliance deserved something swift.

He fell to the ground like a sack of flour, leaving his mask ripe for plucking off.

Frank took Blue’s face in. He looked young.

Wrong crowd huh kid? he thought, putting the mask on and walking through the back room.

The black masked guy was distracted, standing in front of a wall of half-open safety deposit boxes, most of their contents discarded to the floor.

“Where the fuck is it?!” he cried, turning to glare at the bank teller, cowering in one corner, “You said it was here!”

“I-I opened the safes with the numbers you gave me, there’s not much else I can do-!”

Frank cleared his throat to let them know of his presence. Black turned around, but barely looked, still clearly too frustrated to see his companion had grown a few inches and gained thirty pounds of muscle.

“It’s not here,” he said with a huff, pulling his mask off and throwing it to the ground, revealing another younger guy, “We were lied to.”

“Hm. What a waste.”

Black blinked, finally actually looking at Frank, and of course homing in on the skull.

“Oh...oh shit…! What happened to Cyrus?”

“What do you think?” Frank asked, ripping the mask off with a snap of cheap elastic, “Now let the lady go and we can have a nice civil discussion.”

Black had started to fire at him before he even finished his sentence. Frank was anticipating it though, and dived to the floor, rolling out of the way and behind a nearby desk.

“Shame,” he muttered, checking the one pistol again quickly before firing a few shots over the desk.

They pinged off the wall behind Black, one managing to graze his shoulder and making him hiss out in pain. He kicked down a nearby table to use as his shield, but not before grabbing the poor clerk and dragging her behind.

“Leave her go!” Frank barked, pressing the trigger only to fire blanks, “Shit.”

“No way Punisher,” Black said, his voice shaking, “If I’m gonna die today, I wanna at least put up a fight.”

He peered over the table at just the right moment for Frank to lob the empty gun in his direction, smacking him in the forehead. He fell back, but Frank knew it was nowhere near enough to kill him.

That was until he heard a dull thunk. Then another. What the hell?

Grabbing the second pistol from his waistband, he scrambled over to see the bank teller holding the barrel end of the gun he’d thrown. She brought it down again, slamming the base of the magazine against Black’s head. Blood was starting to trickle down the robber’s face, too dazed now to react.

“Asshole!” she screeched, going again but was met with resistance as Frank grabbed her wrist.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. I’ll deal with it.”

She gulped, seemingly coming back to her senses, as she let Frank help her to her feet.

“Is everyone safe?” she asked, watching as he crouched over Black.

“All the customers and your co-workers are, yes. These guys…” He sniffed. “Not so much.”

He paused a moment, before reaching into his jacket, holding out a small brown envelope to her.

“I...I came to cash a cheque. I still gotta get some more info outta this jerk, then leave as soon as possible. You mind getting my money?”

“Psh. Gladly.”

She hurried out of the room, leaving Frank to slap Black’s cheek, making sure he was still awake. He startled a tad, still trying to reach for his own gun that had fallen in the fight, but Frank pushed it further out of reach.

“Your buddy told me you know who hired you,” he growled, digging a knee into his stomach, “So talk. Names, anything.”

“I…I don’t have a name.”

Click. The pistol was pressed to his temple. Black whined.

“I mean it! The closest I got was ‘benefactor’. They call me, me and my boys do their shit. Easy as.”

Frank watched his face then grunted. This much was certainly true. “What were you looking for?”

“A necklace or some shit? With a locket on it. I dunno, I assume it was worth a tonne.”

As if reading his mind, Black added, “Drop off location given only when we reported having got it.”

“Hm. Must be pretty valuable to them.”

Frank was certain he could hear sirens in the distance. Hurry up…

“So that’s everything you got for me, huh?”

“Look, Castle, c’mon,” Black said, gripping at his wrist, struggling in vain to pull the gun away from his head, “I could help! Just give me a chance.”

“Think you screwed any chance you had when you took me hostage.”

His brains were splattered across the floor before he could argue any further.

***

“...and onto our main story. Five branches of the Brighter Bank were attacked at various locations around the city today. At exactly two-fourteen this afternoon, groups of masked individuals held up the banks, going through the safety deposit boxes in search of some unknown item.”

Frank sipped his coffee, eyes not moving from the TV in the corner of the cafe. Micro furrowed his brow, slipping a folder into his hand under the table.

“Thankfully, no civilians were injured,” the newscaster continued, the screen splitting to show another reporter, “However, the bodies of four robbers were found at the Brighter Bank located on Jasmine Avenue. With us is Hailey Edwards at the scene.”

The on-location reporter nodded and took over, gesturing at the cordoned off building behind her. “Eyewitness reports from those held at the building today say the deaths were the work of violent vigilante, Frank Castle, also known as The Punisher.”

“Jesus Christ, Frank,” Micro muttered, picking at the fries on his plate, “You ever take a day off?”

“You know I can’t,” Frank said, flicking through the folder on his lap quickly, before slipping it into the backpack he’d brought that sat at his side, ”Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Police are currently investigating what could have been taken, and are heightening security around all Brighter Banks starting tomorrow. They urge any and all witnesses to step forward if they have any useful information, and also stress – do not approach the Punisher. Despite the reports of him safely getting all the hostages out today, police wish to remind the public that Castle is a highly dangerous individual.”

“How are things boys?” the waitress asked as she approached the table, pot of coffee in hand.

Frank gave her a warm smile, holding out his mug. “Wonderful as ever, Aggie.”

“Aw, that’s nice.”

She refilled his cup before walking on. Micro sighed a little, leaning forward on the table.

“You get any idea what those hold-ups were about?”

“Not much.” Frank poked at his half-eaten burger, wrinkling his nose. “They were hired by some other force. Searching for some locket, but they didn’t find it there. When I interrogated the guy that was meant to know, he said they only talk on the phone. Never met ‘em face-to-face. Maybe one of those other teams found whatever it was.”

“Jeez.” Micro ran his hand over his hair, glancing back at the TV once more. “It even worth pursuing further?”

“...no. Think it was just an ordinary locket. Hope so, anyway.”

Frank tapped at his backpack, raising a brow. “Bigger fish to fry right now. Wanna put my focus into bringing Broad down.”

“If you say so…”

Micro trailed off a little then smirked, getting that look in his eye that meant Frank immediately knew whatever was next out his mouth would irritate him.

“I still can’t believe you got caught up in a hostage situation.”

Frank grunted, taking a bite of his burger so he didn’t have to answer properly. “Shuddup Micro…”

[hesesols]

Into the WILD

Day 16 of Ichiruki month 2020

Trapped inside fantasy MMORPG. Send help please?

Rating: T

FF/ao3

.

The first thing that strikes him as odd is that the ground underneath him is dewy soft. Not that the carpet in his tiny student accommodation isn't soft. It just isn't as soft by comparison and doesn't smell so strongly of grass and urgh- he hates pollen with a vengeance.

It makes his nose itch like mad and –

Wait!

Last time he checked summer was already over and the northern hemisphere was entering early autumn.

.

Brown eyes open in alarm.

The sun is in his eyes as he sits up and he's lying in a sea of golden tulips and ruby red camellias, blades of grass and crushed flowers under his fingertips.

He isn't alone.

There are others next to him. Each one garbed in unusual medieval clothing- intimidating-looking armours with spikes and brightly-coloured capes, fur-trimmings and equally garish-looking armbands; brandishing weapons that range from claymores to wooden staffs. Everyone seems to be in more or less the same state of disbelief and wide-eyed amazement at their new surroundings.

Where are they?

And holy shit! Is that a real-life armoured bear?

.

"You look like you could use a hand there, Kurosaki."

"Ishida?"

Ishida or at least who he assumes to be Ishida- his annoying cousin of sorts and fellow guild member- stands in front of him, offering an outstretched hand. Ichigo recognizes the voice but those pointy ears, the gleaming ivory bow that stands at a grown man's height and strange cleric-like clothing- those are definitely new. He grabs hold of it and pulls himself up, wiping at the grass stains with a fierce scowl before turning to the strange elf-like creature.

"What are you wearing?

Uryuu snorts, "I could ask you the very same question, Kurosaki."

Ichigo glances at the midnight black armour he has on- light weight, extra resistance to magic and +25% endurance to all physical attacks- wait, where did that come from?- the reassuring weight of Zangetsu in his hands-

He blinks.

.

Name: Zangetsu. Also known as: Sword of the Moon, Cursed Fang. Status: Legendary. Raid item from the Sacking of the Gollum King's Palace at Hueco Mundo. The mythical black blade forged by the Grandmaster Yhwach over the Fires of Sokyouku for a full year and a half in preparation for the Conquest of the Soul King's Throne (see also Conquest of the Soul King's Throne). Grants the wielder—

.

Reeling from the surprise, he falls flat on the grass.

How the hell did that just happen? How did all those words and background information just pop into his head unprompted? Almost like they're in a fantasy RPG gam—

"What's going on?"

Uryuu's smile is grim and sardonic, sliding the half-moon glasses up the bridge of his nose before he tells him, "Don't freak out but I think we're inside the game."

.

.

.

"Anything?"

Uryuu shakes his head.

Ichigo sighs. The lines of communication are down and no one has been able to log back out into the real world since they first entered.

"This doesn't make any sense at all!"

10,000 WILD players across the world and different servers who were online and active at precisely 12 midnight that day somehow found themselves transported into the game world and trapped there as their game character persona.

They're calling it the Lockdown.

No one has a clue as to why they were the only people affected, nor do they know how they came to. One minute they were logged in, playing the game as usual; the next thing they know they're lying flat on their asses in this strange new world strongly reminiscent of the game world of WILD, as their respective game characters.

He's one of the lucky ones he thinks. As a human Swords Master, there isn't much alteration to him besides the clothes and the muscle bulk added to his physique, unlike Chad who woke up as a bear armed to the teeth with a war axe and metal gauntlets. It wouldn't have been a pleasant wake up call for anyone, much less someone who wakes up trapped inside a fantasy MMORPG.

"What about Keigo then? Have you managed to locate him yet?"

Uryuu's eyebrow twitches. The pale blue glow from his hand falters for a fraction of a second when his attention shifts to shoot his guild leader a nasty glare.

Ichigo growls before mumbling out an apology to the raven-haired Cleric. He knows of course that Uryuu is trying his best and really in a strange new world that seems equal parts deadly and fascinating, the best is all they can do.

He's just … frustrated over the lack of answers and to make matters worse, one of their own still remains unaccounted for. Out of all the guild members who decided to switch servers during the Lockdown, it just had to be Keigo- scatterbrain extraordinaire. He wouldn't trust Keigo not to get sold on some crazy-ass get-rich-quick scheme in the real world, let alone in this virtual reality full of bloodthirsty monsters just waiting to make a nice dinner out of unsuspecting players.

The double doors to his studies are suddenly pushed apart, jolting him out of his thoughts. Orihime stumbles in barefooted and narrowly avoids tripping over the trail of her druidic dress robes in her excitement. Her cheeks are flushed and the pretty flowers in her flower crown bloom and blossom in magnificent shades of pinks and violets as she makes her announcement.

"Kurosaki-kun! I have his location!"

Ichigo jumps to his feet.

.

Finally!

.

It's the first piece of good news he's had since he found himself stranded here with the rest of his guild members.

"So where is the idiot then?"

Behind her, trails Tatsuki- their resident cynic and Shield Maiden who purses her lips and informs both him and Uryuu rather miserably, "You're not going to like this. He's in the Forest."

Ichigo resists the urge to face-palm as he sees Uryuu rubbing at his temple.

"Keigo must have been on his way back to HQ and decided to take the shorter route," Uryuu rationalizes things- as the team tactician he excels at it, "he couldn't possibly have known."

That's right. Keigo couldn't possibly have known that he would get sucked into the game and be left standing in place of his game character.

Tatsuki gives a derisive snort, "Doesn't make a difference. A level 25 Bard like him can't possibly survive the Forest of Hueco Mundo alone. He's going to get himself killed. The Forest is no man's land- level 70+ Hollows and player killers aren't warded out."

All eyes turn to their orange-haired team leader.

"What do you want us to do?"

Call it instincts but Ichigo has a nasty suspicion that player death in their new world would also mean certain death in the real world. The thought makes him nauseous and for obvious reasons, he isn't too keen on testing out the theory himself.

Keigo may be a pain-in-the-neck and downright insufferable at times but damn it! He's one of them. He's their pain-in-the-neck and they can't just leave him there.

In the real world, Ichigo Kurosaki may be just an ordinary university student bogged down by studies but here in WILD, he's a guild leader, it's his job to look after his guild members and he pledges to make sure that every single one of them makes it back home to the real world in one piece.

Ichigo heaves a loud weary sigh, grabbing the sleek black katana by his side.

"Let's go get our idiot back!"

.

.

.

"I told you we should have gone left instead of right!"

Tatsuki can feel her skull throbbing. She should have just stayed behind with Chad and Orihime.

"Stop yelling at me! It's not my bloody fault that you're so fucking incompetent that you couldn't get a better map!"

"Oh so I'm the incompetent one?! Never mind I was the one who organized the rations! We would have starved to death days ago if I hadn't triple checked our provisions!"

Tatsuki grimaces as the feel of exhaustion creeps in as does the unbearable chaffing on her thighs. It wasn't just the lines of communications that were shut off with the Lockdown. It turns out the Portals- their main means of transport have also been disrupted and that means that the full distance between Karakura and the Forest had to be covered by good old-fashioned horse-riding.

They've been riding nonstop since they left Karakura, trading horses with NPCs in the farmlands nearby to push ahead at a gruelling pace and rescue Keigo as soon as possible. It is a noble cause but the trade-off for the weeks' long worth of hard-riding leaves the three riders surly and sullen. This virtual reality that they're trapped in certainly feels real enough, right down to hunger pangs and sore muscles.

Chaffed thighs, bland food, little sleep and the heat (the sheer humidity was making her hair frizz) made for horrible traveling condition and it seems that both Ichigo and Uryuu are about to hit their respective boiling points.

She rolls her eyes, tugging at her horse's rein to halt.

"Both of you need to shut up before –"

A sudden rustling in the bushes nearby draws their collective attention and sure enough from the depth of the overgrown bushes, a Hollow emerges. This one seems more reptilian in features, flickering pink tongue and all. Something jumps at the back of her mind but Tatsuki ignores it.

The Guide is nothing more than a useless collection of WILD lore and trivia.

She doesn't need a lecture on Hollow classes and their special attacks to know that the only good Hollow is a dead one.

With a loud battle war cry, she unsheathes her blade and leads the charge, throwing herself against the beast.

.

.

Ichigo leaps through the dense foliage with Zangetsu drawn and bloodied in his hand. Despite Tatsuki's misgivings about his foolhardy plans and recklessness, the woman is just as bad with her own brand of battle lust, leading the charge like a crazy berserker.

All hell literally broke loose the second they stormed through the clearing. The sheer number of the Hollow horde overwhelmed them and forced them to break formation and the three of them took off in different directions in a bid to divide the remaining Hollows' attention.

He ducks behind a tree to catch his breath. Having lost sight of both Uryuu and Tatsuki during their retreat, he is in a sour mood and more than a little embarrassed that a level 98 Swordsmaster like him is being forced back by a horde of weakling Hollows in level 50s.

"Psst. Ichigo."

Ichigo grips Zangetsu tightly, eyes nervously darting at his surroundings. He could have sworn that he heard Keigo's voice. Well it's either that or he's officially losing his mind.

"Over here."

A head pops out from the bushes next to him and Ichigo reacts accordingly- nearly slicing the newcomer's head clean off his shoulder and Keigo almost becomes a casualty of friendly fire before Ichigo sees through the heavy layer of disguise and stops the blade mid-swing.

"Keigo?"

The bard is barely recognizable with his slashed and dirtied tunic, patches of dirt and dried leaves covering his face.

"The fuck you doing- sneaking up on me like that! I could have killed you!"

Keigo couldn't have cared less. With a loud wail and snot running down his face, he throws himself at his saviour and professes his undying gratitude in between hiccups and tears.

"ICHIGO! I knew you would come for me! I never doubted for a second!"

"Get off me! You stink!"

The happy reunion doesn't last as the roar of a Hollow and heavy footsteps of a lumbering giant still their movements. Ichigo pushes Keigo away from him and readies his blade, but even his quick reflexes are no match for the suddenness of the attack.

"ICHIGO!"

The Hollow's swipe knocks the air right out of him and sends him flying. The tree trunk of a young sapling snaps in half as his back connects painfully with it. The pain disorients him and he is enough of a doctor's son to recognize the signs of concussion. Also, he thinks he might have cracked a rib (or two) as fresh blood- metallic in taste gurgles past his throat.

His vision clears in time for him to see the Hollow- a Dragon class one with beady yellow, thick, iridescent scales covering its front and gigantic wings sprouted at his back, rearing up for another charge.

This time at Keigo, who is down on his knees- eyes wide with fear as he scrambles to get away from the advancing Hollow.

There's no time to think. Ichigo pushes everything he has- the very last spurt of HP and MP within him towards Keigo, taking his place before the monster with gapping mouth, awaiting certain death to come.

.

.

"Out of the way!"

His eyes snap open just in time to see a small lithe figure, sunlight reflecting off the bone white armour- so bright that he squints, leaping through air and landing gracefully on the Hollow's back. A glint of light flashes yet again and before his very eyes, one of the Hollow's tattered wings is cut off, an arc of blood spurts high into the air and the Hollow's roar of anguish follows.

"Are you deaf or stupid? Get out of the way!"

Ichigo doesn't hesitate. With Keigo tucked under his arm, he pushes past the pain and sprints for the clearing.

With them gone, the mysterious stranger makes quick work of the beast, easily dismantling its other wing before diving for the kill; sinking the white blade somewhere between the soft scruff, flabs of excess skin free from the scaly armour.

Ichigo watches in silence as the dying monster screeches in pain, a swan's song in roars of fury before it topples over with dead eyes, a fine cloud of dust from where its body fell.

With the urgency of the situation gone, he focuses on the newcomer. Sheathing Zangetsu as it becomes apparent from the markings and sigil on the stranger's shield and helmet that he is a Paladin, one dedicated to the path of the light. They're in safe hands- for now at least.

"Where did you come from?"

The Paladin regards him oddly.

"What do you mean?"

.

"Princess!"

Half a dozen of swords are suddenly drawn and held under their throats by what seems to be a band of armed knights. Their armours gleam with the same bone-white shine and the leader of the men- a tall redhead with inked markings across his forehead approaches them with a fierce scowl and the intent to kill.

Next to him, Keigo yelps.

"The fuck!" Ichigo curses. His chest hurts, he's barely standing on his feet and now this?

Can this day get any worse?

.

"Watch your mouth, you punk!" The redhead growls threateningly, "You're in the presence of the Princess."

Amber eyes narrow. Did they think he's stupid? There's no one vaguely even female in their company unless—

The Paladin removes his helmet and a cascade of black hair- dark as the night pours forth. Apple cheeks, soft petal lips and elfin features curtailed somewhat by the iciness of her stare and her unsmiling face.

Their eyes meet.

.

Oh!

.

The short stature suddenly makes so much sense. Ichigo gulps.

"They're Heroes, Renji."

Renji scowls and gives them a dirty look.

Ichigo's eyebrows knot in confusion. "Hang on- what do you mean by Heroes and how are you a princess? Royalty isn't a job class and Paladins don't call themselves Princesses. I don't care what level you are, that's not allowed by the game admins."

The smile on the woman's face- Ichigo doesn't know what to make of it, but he thinks he's about to be made into a fool of epic proportions, especially when she pushes past her armed guards and tilts his face up by the chin with the tip of her white blade.

Smirking with dark violet eyes gleaming, she tells him, "That's because I'm not a Hero. Look closer."

Sure enough- when Ichigo focuses his gaze at her, her presence is shrouded in golden aura. The Guide pings- very belatedly and most unhelpfully, he might add.

.

Name: HRH Princess Rukia of the noble house of the Kuchiki, heir apparent to the throne of Seireitei. Status: NPC

.

He bites his tongue.

"B-But- but NPCs aren't sentient," Keigo blurts out.

Ichigo turns just in time to see him give out a pained yelp, being pummelled by the angry redhead, "Oh I'll show you how non-sentient my fists are!"

He winces. That looks like it would hurt… a lot. But Keigo's an idiot with thick skin, he'll live.

Rukia- her name rolls off his tongue easily. He refuses to even entertain the idea of addressing her by her royal title. For starters, a princess isn't supposed to be a Paladin, or know how to fight or use a sword, or look this good while having him at her mercy.

He gulps when violet eyes narrow at him.

"And you? Do you think that NPCs are non-sentient beings too?"

Ichigo is a fast learner and gives a quick shake of his head.

"Good-" her lips curve into a smile, hair dipping low to tease at the contours of his face as she whispers into his ear- "Because this NPC just saved your life. I'll show you just how deadly I am with my sword before you dismiss me as just another background token NPC."

The sword tip leaves his neck.

"Now, hold still."

That's all the warning he gets before a green glow is emitted from her hands- smelling faintly of mint and something fresh he can't quite name. He shuts his eyes, letting the healing magic wash over him, knitting most of his superficial cuts and wounds back into place.

When the light fades, his chest still hurts but at the very least he feels a little less light-headed and breathes a little easier despite the pain.

He wants to thank her- both for her healing and her timely rescue from the Hollow but she refuses to meet his eyes.

"Renji," she barks at her captain of guards who immediately stands to attention.

"Take them with us. He needs a proper healer. I can't set his broken ribs."

"It's Ichigo!" he calls out, interrupting their conversation and earning himself a hard glare from Renji but Rukia's gaze is almost thoughtful.

"Can you still ride, Ichigo?"

He nods.

A horse is brought to him under Rukia's instructions and as soon as he is properly mounted with Keigo seated behind him, the woman sounds the horn, black hair unbound and flailing in the wind as she leads the company into a gallop.

"To Seireitei!"

.

.

FF/ao3

Review, like, comment or reblog to send some love my way pretties~~~

I have a thing for fantasy AUs. Can’t you tell? Click on link for rec list of some off-main Isekai/Game animes. I have a special place in my heart for them.

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Margarita

Home World: Eraklyon (Born in Isis) | (Father is from the lagoon planet: Laugos)

Purview: Fairy of Pearls (Fairy of that which is hidden by 'beauty' or gilded, has a manifest preference for pearls)

Hair Colour: black with an iridescent sheen (purple and blue)

Eye colour: amber-brown

Skin: peachy-beige  

Height: 5 foot something (in heels)

Personality Key Words: polite, accommodating, five-seconds-from-feral, sharp/prickly

Hobbies: diving for treasure (sometimes treasure is a handful of pearls, sometimes it's getting to see a fun looking fish)

Favourite Foods: has a secret love for soft, stuffed fruit-buns

Pixie: N/A

Mother and Early Life:

Margarita comes from a mixed background, born to a single mother in Isis after a brief affair which her mother, Sabbia, believed to be the start of a long lasting relationship, Margarita has always felt the weight of her mother's expectations and desire for a better life for them both.

Their family line has had only weak fairies, and those have been spread out over the generations. Sabbia, was the first fairy of any real strength but her familial duty kept her home bound and helping with the old inn their family runs instead of learning more than the basics about her powers.

During a treaty summit roughly 16-18 years pre-series, the inn hosted the King of Laugos and his entourage, and Margarita was conceived, but Sabbia was left behind when the party returned to their own world.

Her mother pushed Margarita to embrace all the chances Sabbia had missed in her youth, and become the best fairy Margarita could be.

(And also with the hope Margarita's father would acknowledge her existence.)

Unfortunately for Margarita, this push for excellence hits unhealthy levels of obsession for her mother, something Margarita is aware of, but she doesn't feel like she can get out of her current circumstances without throwing everything her mother has ever sacrificed for Margarita back in her face. (And she believes she has nowhere to go.)

Margarita plans to get a well paying job that will allow her to take care of her mother and repay everything Sabbia has ever done for her, but one that will also take her away from her mother frequently. (Academically, logically, Margarita knows she shouldn't have to pay her mother back for doing the basic motherly steps of raising her own child, but beyond just feeling beholden to her mother, Margarita has some genuine affection for Sabbia which makes it difficult to keep an emotional distance.)

As a result of Sabbia's drive for Margarita's success, Margarita had very little social life as a young child which left Margarita feeling forever out of step with her peers, only her experience helping at the inn gave her the (customer service) ability to interact with others in a way that makes her seem personable.

Her academic achievements meant Margarita was always at the top of her class and often somewhat ahead, which helped her to secure scholarships to Eraklyon's premier school to study magic.

Which is where she met Diaspro.

*

Academia and Diaspro:

The two young women have been fighting each other for the top spot in everything since they first took the same exam.  Despite driving one another ever harder, they recognise a kindred spirit, both of them throwing away their own desires (not that they’ve ever really had the chance to figure out what those are exactly) to strive for unobtainable perfection.

They share a mutual, if grudging respect for one another, and any time another student comes close to replacing them at the top of the score boards, they close ranks and study together. (“If someone's going to beat me, it had better be you! I won't lose to some nobody!”)

The high stress of always having to maintain perfect grades and be friendly (if not friends) with everyone is extremely taxing, and Margarita often feels like she's on the edge of a complete meltdown.

*

Biological Quirks:

As a fairy from a long line of strong fairies associated with the elemental idea of earth and stone, Diaspro has a higher than average natural strength which Margarita will never match.

As someone who has a parent from Laugos, Margarita's body has a more efficient respiratory and cardio vascular system which allows her to run for longer and endure less hospitable air qualities better. (and dive for longer without spell assistance.)

Of course, Margarita can't shake off being thrown through a brick wall as easily as Diaspro.

And there's a down side to Laugossian heritage.

Laugos is called the Lagoon planet, it is covered primarily by lagoons and shoals, the surface water in most areas is often only 50 - 100 metres deep, though there are some sections of ocean which are said to be dozens of kilometres deep. (The furthest down most people go is 5 kilometres, which is half the depth of the Marianas Trench on Earth.)

The people of Laugos live in the shallows of the ocean, in crystalline under water cities, their eyes are adapted for extreme glare and constant shifting of light.

Margarita's eyes aren't able to handle the light like a pure-blooded Laugosian would, but her eyes aren't Eraklyon standard either, and occasionally she wears glasses or contacts to regulate her eyes' photo-sensitivity.

*

During the Series:

Margarita has never been Sky's biggest fan, finding out about the events of the Day of the Royals had her ready to commit treason and beat him to death with his own arm, but she decided Diaspro need a sympathetic shoulder more.

*

After Diaspro was kidnapped from her own palace while attending her princess duties, Margarita told Diaspro that she'd developed a theory:

M: “Weird things have been happening to you in the past few years, and it always seems to be while you're off doing your princess things, and therefore I miss them. I propose, you stop going places with out me, because I am clearly the anchor your life revolves around, nothing bizarre has ever happened to you around me, so for your own safety...”

D: *starts laughing and doesn't stop for several minutes* “Yeah, sure, that's how I get my life back on track”

M: “Well if you're going to be sarcastic, see if I ever help you again.”

D: “No! Come back! I need you to help me make 'Queen Consorting for Dummies'.”

M: “... what for?”

D: “urgh, Bloom. Sky's dating her, probably wants to marry her, which means she needs to know everything I know, and she has far less time to learn it in.”

M: “Your making her a cheat guide for Consort studies? Really? Her?”

D: “Sure, why not right? It's my duty as the Heir of Isis to ensure Eraklyon is in the best capable hands, which means making her hands any kind of capable. It's just duty. It's not like she ruined my life, stole my purpose and destroyed my entire sense of identity!!”

M: “... I don't know exactly when I became the calm, stable one in this relationship, but I hate it.”

*

Shortly before Valtor broke out of the Omega Dimension, Margarita received a summons from her father requesting her help.

Prince Litore, the heir to the throne had been injured and cursed in an attack by an ancient sea witch who had suddenly crawled out of the depths of Laugos's ocean, from a place called “koiláda tou thanátou”, (lit. “Death Valley”) the deepest chasm in the ocean floor which few have ever gone into, and which none have ever returned until now.

Margarita was called because her father had known of her existence, but never planned to acknowledge her, until the witch returned. Their ancestor had been a Guardian Fairy who'd defeated the witch before locking the tool she'd used away so it couldn't be misused, and only a fairy of her bloodline could free it.

Margarita is, of course, the only known fairy of her bloodline currently alive available. And naturally the Prince can’t be un-cursed until the witch has been defeated, so she absolutely has to do that while she’s there retrieving the witch-be-gone-device anyway.

By the time she's finished and able to return to Eraklyon, Diaspro has already been banished.

(Which makes Margarita laugh in hysterics, because she's just gotten herself perma-banned from Laugos for punching the king in the face after he acted like they'd done her a favour for calling her, rather than her doing Laugos and the royal family a favour by showing up and risking her life to save them.)

Margarita agrees that she could see how people would think so, but she's 100% certain Diaspro did not roofie prince Sky of her own free will. Not that Margarita can ever prove it one way or the other because the Eraklyon Royal guards stonewall her attempts to investigate.

*

Margarita's Father:

You may have guessed, Margarita's father is the King of Laugos.

Unlike with her mother, Margarita has no mixed feelings about her father and thinks he's 100% a piece of garbage (and not even the classy kind you're supposed to recycle).

She's also 78% certain she has more siblings than Prince Litore, who she thinks is arrogant and naïve, but not a complete loss if he can get his head out of his ass.

[beccascribbles]

Hello, hello, hello, m’dear!! Since we have the chance of getting to know you, I thought it’d be fun and you’re really cool, so I’d love to get to know you— first up; do you prefer hot or cold weather? Favorite candy or treat? Favorite romantic cliché? Fluff or Angst? How tall are you? And is there anything you’ve wanted to tell about yourself, but never had the chance? It can be anything, I’d love to hear it from you! You’re amazing and I hope you know that, love! 💞💘

hey! wasn't sure if many people would ask so i'm glad you asked a lot of questions 😂

see, the weather one is interesting because i like to claim i prefer cold weather but we get to winter and suddenly i'm freezing and want it to be summer. however, i can happily say i hate hot weather most of the time. being sweaty and sticky is just urgh plus i prefer wearing baggy hoodies.

fun fact: i don't actually eat sweets (wasn't allowed to eat anything with food colouring when i was younger so i've never really felt the need to since. also not a big fan of the smell - weird, i know). however, my favourite 'sweet thing' if we're talking like cake wise is carrot cake, especially from this little bakery i have a part-time job at.

um, favourite romantic cliché? i'm not really sure (little bit of a sucker for anything romantic, although the whole staring into each others eyes for an awkwardly long time does make me cringe a bit). i won't lie, i do love a good best friends to lovers story (very basic, i know).

most of the time, me and angst just click. i won't actively search it out to read, but if i find it i will read it and love it. when writing, i naturally gravitate to the more angsty stuff because it's easier to write?? however, i do love writing fluff when i'm in the mood (and i love reading it). it just comforting, you know?

i'm between 5'5 and 5'6 - fairly average height really but i get made fun of by my family for being short 😂

anything i've wanted to tell about myself but never had the chance? this is going to sound a bit boring but there's nothing i can really think of... no one i know irl knows that i write fanfiction (they barely know i watch anime and it's not like i try to hide it) but you guys obviously do. to be honest, my life is kinda boring. i might just give you a little fact?

fun fact: when i'm cooking my food (only been cooking for myself for over a week and i'm honestly thriving, although i am stuck on what to make for next week), i like to experiment and not follow the recipe. will literally throw in any herb or spice and hope it goes well. also rarely follow the right measurements but it makes cooking more exciting when i never know what the ens result will taste like.

feel like i rambled a little but i hope you liked finding out a bit more about me!

[thetradeway]

Session 35: 6 Mar 2021: “Touch this tool…”

Mina texted us all last night to say she has been diagnosed with Covid. She’s very ill and probably won’t make the game, so if not I offer to take Kessler for her.

Get well soon Mina!

Can we hear Sophie eating her apple? No, but she says Matthew told her she would spoil her dinner. She thinks it’s more like having a crunchy drink.

Matthew and Ed have both hurt their shoulders this week, Matthew’s was a beer-related injury.

Joe: did they find the puncture wound where the dart went in?

Sophie, hurriedly: shut up!!

Those words again: WHAT, MIGHT, AND, THIS, TOOL, WITH, CAN, DO.

We are rested and the thieving boggarts are dead. Sadly that doesn’t mean we’ve beaten the Blue Alley. Carl is blocking the door; Gideon kicks him until he wakes up.

Brother Charity has written something for Tarragon; he hands her a sheet of paper which she accepts with trepidation. (Oh god.)

She uses a beast shape to turn into a mouse to avoid the awkward situation in which she has found herself.

We move on. Melaina and Tarragon find a hidden door in the corridor. (Brother Charity: “Tarragon my love, come down from there!”)

Another room, with bottles on the floor - some broken, some whole. The words STRENGTH, CANNOT are written on the wall; we add them to our list. There is a small gold door as well. Melaina peruses the wine and finds some nice stuff worth 10gp each. She also finds 2 RHPs. Nice!

She investigates the gold door. Gideon makes an arcana check on it. He rolls poorly, and can only tell that it is locked.

Have we got any keys? We decide, after some fluffing, that we don’t.

Gideon: “why don’t you pick the lock, elf?”

Melaina: “Why don’t you Grease yourself through it, dwarf?”

(It gets uncomfortably racial for a minute.)

Melaina sees no traps so she makes a pick attempt with a 29 but it doesn’t open. Gideon has a look for some magical locks but rolls a 12. Ahleqs has a try but can’t discern anything magical either. “Maybe it’s a pull door and you pushed it, try the other way.” 

DM: There’s no handle.

Is there a keyhole? Yes, but it looks more like a slot than a traditional keyhole shape. Perhaps there will be another key guardian further along. Or perhaps there’s one in the broken bottles in this room? We’ve earned a break, perhaps we could drink the wine Melaina found.

We exit the room and continue down the corridor to find a grate with a room beyond. Can Tarragon fit through the grate, as a mouse? Yes, but she may not want to.

The walls are lined with red bricks. There are seven circular platforms hanging from the ceiling and the floor is twenty feet below us. The room beneath is filled with smoke. Tarragon decides she will stay where she is, for now.

“This tool with a soft touch can do what might and strength cannot,” says Melaina suddenly, out of nowhere. Ooooh!

Gideon gets stuck in the wall and immediately commences panicking. Stupid Grease Wizard! (Cue image of the DM picking Gideon up by the scruff like a grumpy old man kitten to rescue him.)

We all go back to the start. On the west wall there is a relief sculpture of a human skeleton, posed as if screaming. It reminds brother Charity of a statue his father had. No wait, it was a servant.

Tarragon and Melaina spot some more secret doors with their almost supernatural passive perceptions. Melaina investigates one; if she pushes a bit of stone she thinks it will open. It does.

THE LOW WAY is written on the wall. There is an open pit blocking the way. The whole corridor is filled with dust and cobwebs. The pit is filled with spikes. Okay.

Melaina makes an Insight check; she is pretty sure she could climb down the pit and back up the other side, picking her way carefully through the spikes. Gideon calculates that with a good run up, he could impale himself about ten feet into the pit.

We try the other hidden door. (Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.) This way there is writing that says THE HIGH WAY. Colourful frescoes depicting flying creatures line the walls. Short copper rods protrude from both sides of the corridor, all the way along, and lightning arcs between them all. They’re about 15 feet up so we could all comfortably walk beneath them, which we are immediately distrustful of.

Charity goes back to investigate the statue, with help from Ahleqs. The latter sees a small iron button in the skull. Duncan wants to press it, but Ahleqs is extremely reluctant.

He presses the button, while reminding us all that he has Mage Armour up. A door to Tarragon’s right opens. Now we have a third option, so we all go and make coffee and have a think. Carl discovers that there is a nubbin at the end of the corridor. Urgh, someone’s left their nubbin out!

(Duncan got called a prick by one of the local roustabouts, for wearing his mask outside. Well, go figure.)

Well then, what sort of death would we like? Spiky, electrified, or mysterious?

We choose mysterious, and find another door. No magic, not locked. The room beyond was once plush, but has fallen into disrepair. There is a door on the east side of the room. We search for a key.

Charity finds a desk with quills and ink, but nothing of note. Melaina searches the chair for loose change. Ahleqs starts pulling books to see if anything opens, but nothing seems to happen. Melaina finds a flute made from a thigh bone which screams when played. She tucks it into her pack.

We hear a voice from behind the door: “Entertain me”.

Ahleqs ignites Simon and has him do a dance; to assist, Brother Charity has some sparks emit from him. It doesn’t seem to impress the voice. Perhaps if Melaina plays the screaming thigh flute? She could, but she’s AFK.

(Ed apologises for leaving, he went to eat a sausage.)

Gideon does a little jig, as well as his rheumy joints will let him. Brother Charity tries the handle - the door opens. 

There is a statue behind the door of the wizard Kiliare, who is rumoured to have built the labyrinth. It is encased in a sphere of force, and its eyes seem to follow us. On the wall is written “Utter madness, pure rubbish.”

Hmm.

Gideon finds some vials on the floor and gives them a bloody good sniff with a nat 20. There are various magical potions from healing potions to alchemists fire and more. Oooooh!

Ahleqs does Simon’s trick again and the statue says “Urgh! Vermin!”

We ask the statue what sort of entertainment it requires. Its favourite form is riddles. Do we have any riddles for him?

“What has it got in its pocketses?”

“What’s black and white and red all over?”

It doesn’t respond to any of this.

How about: “This tool with a soft touch can do what might and strength cannot”?

The DM says we have all the pieces, but we’ve put them together in the wrong order.

Ahleqs: “Touch this tool…”

If we put it together correctly it will rhyme, the DM tells us. Keep them in the little groups we found them in: A soft touch, this tool with, etc etc.

This tool with a soft touch -

We can make insight checks.

(It rhymes, we should be able to figure this out!)

What might and strength cannot -

Wait, we might be missing a pair of words, it turns out. Joe checks; we are. Has he forgotten to tell us some words, or have we not been to wherever they are written? We haven’t been there, so we will have to investigate and come back here later.

Melaina finds a door in the plush room, to the north.

(Brother Charity tries to stroke mouse-Tarragon; she runs and hides behind Melaina’s legs. Charity: “You’re right Carl, I think she’s warming to me.”)

Behind Melaina’s door is another corridor filled with doors. Above the first one is written “take only what you can truly afford.” Melaina is immediately disgusted.

What were we looking for again, a genie lamp? No, a unicorn statue. Behind the door are thousands and thousands of gold coins. (If Zorya were here, we’d all be fucked. Sadly, Melaina’s greed is only a shade less than hers.)

Anyone proficient with arcana can tell that the coins are infused with transmutation magic…

The coins lie in such a way as to spell out words, in common: “ALL FAKE” Melaina picks one up to inspect it. It doesn’t seem quite right…

She tries an Insight check and natty 20s it. She gets a strong gut feeling that she wants to leave all the coins exactly where they are, so she does exactly that. 

There is a door further into this room, which Melaina investigates. It is not locked. Or trapped. To her knowledge. She opens it. The door beyond is made of stone and featureless but for the black iron gates at the other end. It looks like there’s something incredible on the other side; it’s shiny and bright and Melaina can’t help herself - she goes to take a look.

What is the incredible thing? It could be the sun, it could be gold, it could be a waterfall. It’s hard to make out. Mouse-Tarragon could probably fit between the bars if she wanted to. She does so - or she tries. She touches the bar - a magic mouth appears in the ceiling.

“Beyond these gates lies paradise. Enter them as you entered life and you may yet find it. Grasp the jewel and grasp the iron and be whisked away to the truest of rewards.”

We have a jewel with a couple of gates in it... 

Gideon: “Ain’t nobody grasping my jewels, I’m staying right here.”

It said ‘Enter them as you entered life‘... Do we have to be naked? None of us are especially comfortable with that. We go back to the corridor to try more doors.

Another magic mouth appears above another door: “Blessed are those who control their greed.” Because we all left without picking up any coins, we are now under the effect of a Bless spell for the next hour. #blessed!

Above the next door is a sign that reads “Incinerator”. Moving on…

Shall we have a look anyway? It’s not likely that the incinerator will attack us at the door. Not trapped or locked; Melaina opens it. There are little hand prints on the door at about Boggart level.

There is an eight foot pit with an orange glow emanating from it. Well. I guess that’ll be the incinerator then. Melaina has a look. It’s forty foot deep and at the bottom are a couple of Magmins. Like Calcifier! Ahleqs waves at one; it waves back.

Melaina sees the glimmer of metal at the bottom of the pit - kind of molten and solidified. There is also what looks like some kind of gemstone down there. She sends her mage hand down to grab the gem - wait, mage hand can only do 30 feet.

Gideon tears a page from his notebook and drops it in the pit; it floats down, and when it hits the bottom it is immolated by one of the magmins. He makes an Insight check, being a learned fellow. The creatures are fire elementals; they speak Ignan and no other language. So probably no asking them to hand us stuff, then.

Carl will lower Melaina ten feet down the pit so she can cast Mage Hand. She ties her hempen rope around her waist. Ahleqs assists him, and they both make STR checks and are successful. Melaina grabs everything she can reach with her mage hand, passing things up to us.

The gemstone is a moonstone is worth 27 gp, and the mixed metal slag (gold silver and copper melted together) is worth another 35 gp. Melaina pockets the moonstone and shares the slag.

We have three more doors. Melaina investigates the next door with a nat 20 - not locked or trapped.

A winding path of bright yellow tiles leads to another door on the far side. Tiles depicting magical funerary rites adorn the walls. 

GET THROUGH is inscribed on the wall; we add that to our riddle.

“What might and strength cannot get through, this tool with a soft touch can do”?

Melaina follows the path of yellow tiles to the door - behind it is a unicorn statue, Yay!

She tries to pick it up but it won’t move. The DM tells her that the door closed behind her as she came in. On the back of the door she can read the words “everything you see is mine.” The walls, ceiling and floor in this room is a single reflective surface, so she sees only herself. If she stamps her heel into it, will she break it? She fails her STR check, so no.

What if she closes her eyes and tries to lift the unicorn? at Ahleqs’s suggestion, she doubtfully tries this - it works! Brother Charity opens the door to assist Melaina - and now that he can see the statue, it teleports back to its original place.

Malaina closes the door, and her eyes, and tries again successfully removing the statue from the room. We put it in the bag of holding, and those in the yellow tile room are careful to remain standing on them as they exit.

We have a look at the remaining doors.

The one opposite looks like a plain wooden door. Melaina does her ushe but rolls a nat 1. It’s not locked or trapped, luckily.

We find ourselves in what looks like a wizard workshop. There is the stench of fire and acid, arcane goo in buckets. The whole room is difficult terrain. Brother Charity makes an INV check; a 12. He makes a DEX save, hashtag blessed, for an 8 total. Ah shit.

There are vials and bottles on the desk he’s looking at - he knocked one over and takes 8 fire and 8 acid damage. “Oh good lord. Um - ”

Did he at least get the book? No, but he can see it from where he’s standing. There are formulae written in it. He pats himself out vigorously.

Ahleqs has a look at another vial, and the DM is entirely too gleeful as he asks Ahleqs to make an INV check. He rolls a 9 and uses a sorcery point to re-roll it to get a 7. Make a DEX save!

He gets a 21, so he can halve his d10 results.

Kessler gets a nat 20 for her investigation! She goes around the room investigating; she finds 5 potions of greater healing and keeps all of them.

The last door is not locked or trapped. It is the smoky room from before! There are the platforms, hanging from the ceiling.

Oh, he forgot to tell us - when we were looking at the room from the other side - just a second… (oh shit, what’s happening…)

There is on the last platform, some kind of magical rapier. Melaina immediately wants it.

Twenty feet below on the floor is a pot spewing smoke. The platforms are hanging level with the floor we are standing on outside the room. The first is about ten feet away so with a good jump -

Charity makes a jump onto a platform; he makes it, but he hears laughter. We roll initiative oh no!!

These creatures are smoke mephits. Kessler’s two attacks both hit, but it doesn’t kill the first mephit. These are normally weedy, but they have been Beefed somehow. The smoke pot, perhaps? 

Melaina’s attack also hits for 32 damage - the mephit looks real ropey, all blood and scar tissue. She makes a jump out to the platform to join Brother Charity.

Charity makes a DEX check as Melaina lands on the same platform as him. He gets a 14; he’s fine. Phew. It’s his turn. He enchants a divine hitting club, and strikes at a mephit. He rolls at DISADV because he’s trying to balance with Melaina on the platform, but manages a hit for 9 blud damage.

He hits and kills it, it explodes in a puff of smoke. It’s gone - but it’s exploded into smoke, obscuring Charity’s vision for his next attack. He makes a jump for the next platform; at DISADV because of the smoke.

Charity: “God will guide me.”

He falls in.

(it’s only 2d6 damage, but it’s super funny.) He is now in very thick smoke, and Blinded.

Grease Wizard is up.

DM: “Tell me you’re going to do a geriatric run and jump.”

(Ed has been thinking; let’s say a person weighs 70kg or so. If they fell 30 feet they would be travelling at 87 kph; if you could run at that speed into a wall in D&D, you would take 30ft of damage for a horizontal splat instead of a - anyway.)

Gideon, as he leaps into the pit, missing the platform entirely: “TALLY HOOOOOOOOO!!”

Melaina rolls to see how long it takes her to stop laughing.

Ahleqs goes up to the edge, and in no way makes any kind of jump. He stretches out a hand and casts Fireball, using Careful Spell to avoid Melaina, who now stands alone on the platform. He decimates most of the mephits.

One of the surviving ones flies around the corner and does Cinder Breath at him; everyone in the corridor makes a DEX save. Only Carl fails, and he is Blinded. Another mephit attacks Melaina but misses. The second one hits though, for 4 slashing damage.

Tarragon makes an attack with her quarterstaff after she un-mouses,  remembering belatedly that her staff is broken and does half damage when she hits. It does half the damage she had hoped for. Well, shit. She backs up, putting the thing away.

Another mephit flies around the corner and slashes at Ahleqs’ eyes with its claws. Melaina’s one hits her again for 3 slashing damage.

Brother Carl rubs his eyes and paws at the air in front of him, grunting. That’s about all he can do. (Joe can’t find the blinded icon so he gives Carl a bleedy eyeball instead.)

Kessler kills another mephit - it explodes and we in the corridor (Ahleqs, Tarragon and Kessler) are Blinded for one round.

Melaina shoots the mephit remaining in the corridor with us. She makes the attack at advantage because it’s engaged with Ahleqs, even though that is about the equivalent of being engaged with a piece of lettuce. She kills it and it explodes into smoke, increasing the amount by which we are Blinded.

Brother Charity blunders around on the ground. That’s his turn. He rolls to see which direction he blunders in. Gideon does the same, and manages to blunder in the exact same direction.

Ahleqs casts Burning Hands, once he’s moved out of the smoke from the mephit, and gets two of them for full damage and one for half. Another mephit hits him for 4 slashing damage.

Tarragon does a Thunderwave, killing a mephit but not before pushing it ten feet away so the smoke won’t Blind us again. Kessler’s crossbow attack kills the last one, taking us out of combat. Phew!

Carl’s eyesight gradually returns over the next five minutes or so. Ahleqs offers him some eye drops if he will just push his hood back a minute... He reaches out to push it back for him but hesitates. He changes his mind and pats him on the head instead. Carl flinches violently.

We decide to let Melaina continue hopping from disc to disc; it’s easier if we don’t join her as the platforms swing violently when another person lands on them.

She rolls a 28.

The floor below is just normal flagstones. There is some muck and slime around, but nothing especially dangerous. Brother Charity laments his shoes, which were rather nice before he fell down here. One of the pots that are belching out the smoke is about ten feet in front of Brother Charity. It’s about five feet across and doesn’t have a lid. They’re bigger than he thought they were; he had wanted to push one over or turn it upside down to stop the smoke, but he gives up on that idea.

Melaina’s roll to jump to the next hanging platform is a 12, but she’s still hashtag blessed. She makes it - with a bit of a wobbly landing, but she makes it. She makes three more checks: a nat 20 for a 30 total, then another nat 20 for another 30, then an 18 for a 28 total. Ho-lee shitt. She needs to find a new party because we’re holding her back.

She gets to the rapier. It’s magical and of some value, but roll20 doesn’t seem to have it. It’s a Moon-touched sword, which sheds moonlight for 15 feet. Woo, fancy!

DM awards her inspiration for her amazing rolls, and doesn’t make her roll to get back.

Gideon and Charity are still blundering around in the smoke below. Ahleqs and Brother Carl lower a rope and pull them up.

Brother Charity sees that Tarragon has un-moused and runs toward her; she re-mouses and runs away so he shouts his second poem after her. Oh, fuckin’ hell.

Ahleqs has never heard a more beautiful poem recited to the back of a retreating mouse.

We return to the statue and tell it the poem - the one we put together from the writing on the walls, not Brother Charity’s love poems.

The statue says, “the answer of course is a key”. A wand appears in the air in front of it. There is writing on it in abyssal and draconic. Ahleqs takes a look at it - it is made from many low quality emeralds. It is a wand of secrets, and can reveal hidden doors and traps.

Brother Charity speaks Draconic. He makes an insight check to see if he can piece the rest together.

“All that is yours is mine and what is mine cannot be hidden.” 

He keeps the wand for now, after some discussion. So there’s the High Way and the Low Way still to explore. There is also something that goes in the golden door, that we haven’t found yet. A coin, perhaps? Ahleqs puts a gold coin into the slot.

Nothing happens.

Do we need to take one of the cursed coins, and put that in the slot? We’re reluctant, because we don’t want to be hashtag cursed.

We go back to the High and Low ways. Brother Charity waves the wand at the electrified path and it points at something in the middle of the floor, revealing a pressure plate. Melaina makes an INV check; she sees scrapes on the sides of the walls. She discerns that were the plate stepped upon, the floor would lift up and deliver us to the copper rods and our electrified deaths.

She disarms the trap.

We go down the path to find a silver-plated door engraved with circles of various sizes - from coin size to about two feet across. Gideon has a silver key…

He gets stuck in the wall again and has to be rescued before he can catch up and bring us the key. He reaches up and puts the key in the lock. (In D&D land, do all doors have handles at different heights for the different sized races?)

He opens the door.

We make DEX saves; anyone who gets under a 12 is knocked prone. A wall of polished steel spheres spilled out and knocked into us. Tarragon is knocked back to gnome form; now she has no form of escape from Brother Charity’s amorous poetry.

The walls of the chamber are line with bricks - weapons and equipment alongside bones and dried gore fill the room. The floor is littered with bear traps - rushing ahead before the DM can finish his description of the room, Gideon steps in one and takes 19 damage; he is also restrained.

Melaina spots ten feet of chain, as she picks her way delicately through the traps. She also spots another secret door, but the DM realises that Gideon has set off another trap. We roll initiative, but we call the session there. Joe will roll initiative for the monster next week so we don’t know what we’re fighting. Uh oh...