#and i become a small and easily frightened beast alarmed by change | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

llamagoddessofficial · 3 years

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What if, before Sans could give her the necklace, another god decided to curse her into another form? Like maybe a monstrous beast? There's plenty of deities strong enough to do things like that for even the pettiest of reasons and she's low enough on the tiers that whoever cursed her would probably immediately forget who she was and what she was turned into. That's all frivolous knowledge now- punishment has been given, end of story. Except it's not- Sans doesn't know where MC is or what happened to her and in her case she might be hunted down by heroes questing for glory

Oh no

anon

why'd you do this to me

now i have to write this

---

You don’t even know what you did.

The cave was damp. It was small, it was cold, and despite the fact that all the animal residents had fled the moment you arrived it still stank heavily with the foul collective odours of fur, sweat, faeces and death, the stench permeating the chamber from every crack and crevice that led further underground. It was pitch black, a swallowing darkness... but it wasn’t like you noticed, giant form curled in a corner, matted fur soaked with so much mud and miasma that if it weren’t for your strained breathing you easily could’ve been mistaken for part of the cave floor.

Every monster needed a weakness a hero could use to overcome it. And yours... yours was your near-blindness. Once your sight left the smells and sounds of the world around you became overwhelming, terrifying, painful, forcing you to flee in a panic to the nearest damp hole where everything was muffled as much as possible.

I don’t even know what I did.

Claws. Teeth so big you could no longer shut your mouth. Scales and fur, leather skin, a body so huge you could barely carry yourself, and a horrifying overbearing sensation of fear and hunger. You knew what happened to monsters- the role they played in the legends. Your job was to terrorise innocent people until you died at the hands of the hero. Nobody was going to help you... nobody was going to stop long enough to realise the guttural sounds you were making were merely cries for help.

...

A new smell. At the entrance to your cave. It was... a blue smell, cold and smooth and carrying in on the wind, coming closer. The movement and the presence of someone else alarmed you, frightened you- you dragged yourself to your feet in confusion, forcing your heavy body up on shaking and aching legs, stirring up the rotten air as you turned to face the intruder, jaws hanging open.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

“... oh... oh no...”

The voice was... softer than you anticipated. Gentler. You were bigger than it- you looked down at where it was coming from. But you still hated it.

It was a new feeling you’d been growing accustomed to... in the same way you’d grow accustomed to an infectious mould in a room you were trapped in. Hatred. Hatred toward anything that moved. You were alone, in pain, not understanding what you did to deserve this or why nobody had come to you when you screamed as you transformed. Your friends, your siblings, your mother...

But then again, she’d be ecstatic about this, wouldn’t she? Now she’s famous- the mother of a monster. If I die at the hands of a stupid little God or prince, she has her place in history.

Suddenly, you were imagining clamping your jaws around her torso and tossing her like a ragdoll. You were imagining putting teeth through the ribcages of your siblings. The thoughts brought you joy.

“shh... don’t do that.” The voice said, reminding you it was there. “thinking that way is feeding the curse.”

It started coming closer. You could sense something, an icy shadow falling over you- your jaws cracked open further and a snarl fell out alongside a steaming breath. The sound was so horrible, so ugly, so deep... but then again, every sound you’d made so far had been like that. You were starting to forget what it felt like to open your mouth and hear a voice.

The growl didn’t deter it. It kept coming. The closer it got, the more agitated you became; it didn’t feel like any God you knew. It felt ancient and dark in a scary and overwhelming way, how did it feel bigger than you even though the voice came from somewhere you had an advantage on? In your head, it was like a huge shadowy monster even bigger than yourself was pressing toward you. You started to back away, into the edge of the cave, snarling getting louder... filth-covered hackles raising in warning. It just kept coming, i-it kept, your back legs hit the wall and go away, go away!

You lashed out. Your head lurched forward and your jaws closed, hard, around a boney hand.

...

The other hand touched your snout.

It made you freeze. You weren’t sure if it was some kind of power this Other Monster had placed over you, or if the sensation of being touched was just so... unexpected.

“... what have they done to you, flower?” It... he said. Despite how pristine his dark aura was, he touched your filth-caked muzzle with no hesitation. The hand was small on your face, it slowly moved... up and down.

Comforting you.

“it’s alright.” Even softer; a murmur, trees rustling in the night, gentle on your aching ears. “you’re still you, my love, no matter what body you’re in.”

... You started to quiver. Who are you? You could see eyes, little white dots, despite not being able to see.

“i need you to let go, for me.” He didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that you still had his other hand in a vice-grip that would shatter a lesser man’s bones. His voice hadn’t become any less soothing. “i know you’re in pain. but you cannot hold on to it... that’s how the change takes hold. you just need to let me help you.”

Let... you...?

... A strange feeling. Like someone was wrapping a blanket around your dirty, wet body. It shimmered, but it felt so nice... and it seemed to lovingly push on your mind, wrapping it up as gently as a butterfly’s wings. The barest touch of tiredness was enough to make your legs quiver and slowly buckle- your belly touched the floor, and he went down with you, still caressing your face.

You wanted to shake the blanket off. You wanted to shake the arms away from you. But... he didn’t let you go... and you were so tired of being wet and afraid.

At least... someone came for you.

“... there. that’s it...” He cooed, stroking the ugly, unnatural mess of fur and scaled and skin that was you. The blanket was getting heavier and heavier... You let go of his hand. He removed it from your mouth, placing one hand on your snout and one on your jaw...

“... shh... let go.”

...

As soon as you went under... the monstrous leathery skin and fangs fell away into a thick ash that settled into a slush onto the wet cave floor.

... He removed the black robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around your small, naked, dirty true form, lifting you up to cradle you in his arms... then vanishing with you into the shadows.

#llama writes #death god sans #fables and romances

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eldridgecandell · 4 years

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Send a muse + an endingSECRET END- Crack. Come up with the silliest end to your muse’s story as possible.

@jacobdcheshyre

Breathing hurt as Eld slowly blinked awake, his body stiff and aching as he lay within the confines of the metal box. Around him lay the rotted and dusted remnants of whatever cushioning someone had thought to put in with him to comfort his transition. A shaky hand would weakly come to push on the top of his makeshift coffin, the musty scent of moldy cloth and unwashed skin fill his nostrils as the witch hunter taught himself to breath again. A wracking of harsh coughs brought his escape plan to a halt as he tried to curl up in a ball of pain from the use of his lungs and what felt like the rest of his organs waking up. Terrible thirst began to itch at his warming tongue and throat before his hand would brush against a small glass vial. Animalistic hunger and the need to survive took hold as he scrambled to find it and bring it to his lips.

Empty. Empty and dusty. He was so thirsty.

Placing his hand against the metal top again, teeth would bare as he tried to push again. Skinny weak arms would be joined by legs of the same atrophy would push as well, a dry moan rumbling from his chest as he felt the top give a bit and slide to the right. The small slit did not offer light but did offer fresher air than his current tomb as his minor victory lead to a renewed vigor to his escape. Gritting his teeth, the witch hunter found his scraggly voice adding to the struggle.

"Come on you bastard. Come on."

And then darkness reigned above him as the top crashed to the side, a hearty dry laugh following as his legs and arms gave way to exhaustion.

Time was lost once again as Eld snapped awake, his eyes opening to find only darkness and dusty air but free from his prison. His mind was scattered as he tried to figure out where he was and why, thankful though that he at least knew who he was. A pain echoed in his elbow as he reached over to urb at the stump of his other arm, a grim recognition returning as memories began to filter slowly at the ache.

It had been a bold plan. A combination of gnome technology, human magic, and draenei healing technologies had been used to preserve the last of the old guard with apparent success. The Order had insisted as they couldn't afford to lose out on a resource such as him, how many would be left with the knowledge after the fall of Arom's Stand and the destruction of the Coven? The future would need that knowledge, his knowledge. It had also helped that he was edging toward that great beyond any way if it didn't work, so why not give it a shot? Apparently the theories had been correct and now here he was.

A barrage of questions began to muddle Eld's thoughts as he was regaining his sense of being, his free hand now coming to rub at the bridge of his nose. How long was he out? Where was he? Was this the future? Or the past? Was it worth it? Where was the Order? Where was Cheryl? Jonah? Rachel? A lurch of fear and anxiety came to his stomach in a wave of nausea as he fought the urge to vomit, knowing well there was nothing to even let out. Eyes closing again, a familiar cold wet snout would nuzzle his face that would dash his fear to the wind.

"Good boy." Eld would croak as he reached up to gently scratch at the sleek fur of Bandit.

The hound leaned gently into the witch hunter as they stumbled out of the tunnel and onto the widest desert Eld had ever seen. Far as the eye could see there was nothing but flat red earth, dead and silent. Behind him lay the hole they had literally crawled out of, the dog easily taking action to dig their way up and out onto whatever surface this was now. Was it better? Safer? Eld had his doubts as he coughed and spat a dry splash of his precious insides into the sand. Bandit looked up with his midnight eyes and stared hard at his master, worried obviously in the animal's demeanor. His one hand raised and waved off as he shook his head before croaking into the wastes. "I'm fine, now which way?"

The man and his dog headed into the desert.

Minutes to hours and hours to days, neither would know as they marched ever on. Ever across the dusty plain, the crack earth beneath paw and barefoot never changed as they travelled further and further along. Hunger and thirst would likely be their end, but whatever gods or fates watched them deemed a sparcling of grass here and there would suffice them followed by a brief shower of rain. Eld had fallen to his knees with his mouth wide as he supped at the skies bounty, his arm outstretched as he held his hands in a cup to catch as much as possible. It had tasted off but it was wet and it had sated him despite the copper and tin tinge to the liquid. He had more important things to worry about, mainly the storm that followed the rain.

Lifegiving water had dried up as quickly as it came only to be followed by a storm unlike Eld had thought possible. Wind whipped from the sky and all about sending clouds of red dust to clot and mud any of the pools of precious water from before. With the wind came the flashes of purple and blue across the sky, a shower of electricity in the air as it bombarded the world with it's force. The thunder shook the very rocks and cracked the earth again and again as it resounded with what should be the death knell of the planet. What happened to his world? Where was everyone? Had he really been asleep so long? The storm raged all around him as he crouched down beside Bandit and held tight to the large beast, shielding his face in the black fur of the dog. His cries of anger and terror swallowed whole by the world they lived in now.

“Identify yourself terran.”

A voice spoke calmly but with a stern authoritative tone to Eld, the words echoing in his head as he swayed in a black endless void. He wasn’t in pain, quite the contrary he felt better than he had in days since his awakening. Muscles relaxed, skin cooled, and his aches dissipating at an almost alarming rate. He felt like a new man.

“Terran you can hear me and speak. Identify yourself. I assure you I can find the information if needed but it will not be pleasant.” The voice spoke again, the threat unintended but very real in it’s command.

Eld swayed in his black prison and spoke softly, finding his voice but hard to work his jaw as he muffled. “Eldridge Candell.”

“Thank you, Eldridge Candell. I will ask you a series of questions now. You will answer them and do not lie. I will know.” The voice answered, its stern monotone setting off a strange sense of reassurance. “How old are you?”

“68.”

“What is your sex?”

“Male.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Are you aware that this planet is currently under quarantine?”

“This planet?”

“Yes, terran. This planet is currently under quarantine by order of Conclave. You in violation of the treaty of Khorhal.”

“I don’t understand.”

There was a pause in the back and forth, the voice sitting in silence.

“You do not.”

“Who are you?”

Once again a long pause before the voice spoke again, the empty calm of his words building that sense of reassurance.

“Terran, open your optics. I will calm you, but I fear this will be quite a shock. Do not fear though. You are safe.”

The black blanket lifted from Eld’s eyes as he blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision, finding the shimmer of liquid about him and the former muffle of his voice thanks to a mask wrapped about his jaw. His head twisting side to side as new sensations of vision enhanced his sense of touch to find himself floating in water, thicker and warm like a bath on a winter’s day. His hand would flail a moment and tap gently against cold clear glass, a new coffin. Despite his current isolation, the witch hunter did not feel a sense of panic or terror as strange and absurd his world has become.

At least until the figure came into full view.

A tall, golden armored figure stood outside the glass case now, brimming with strange witch fire and light as it paced in front of him. Metal shaped unlike anything he had ever seen before gleamed in strange white light, mixing with the bright blue jewels littering it’s form all leading to a horrific blank face. The grey flesh wrinkled and elongated features set the calm to revulsion and familiarity with the draenei people he had met before in a time long ago. But the eyes frightened him most. Golden, bright, and seeming to see into the very depths of his soul as it peered into the glass like a patient parent seeing their child’s pet fish for the first time. Or the last.

Eld was glad for the water all around him as he was sure the creature would see him shake and shiver in the wake of it’s gaze. His one hand coming to rest on the glass and try to push more space between them as the grey visage would draw closer making the features all the more alien and reveal a golden crown like the armor it wore with a blue crystal gently pulsing. The jewel gently hummed and drew his attention, easing the panic and reaffirming the former calm as the voice once again entered his mind.

“En taro Adun, Eldridge Candell. You are very lost.”

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paladin-andric · 4 years

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Character Backgrounds: Lexius the Unheeding

“The demons sometimes find a way There's nothing keeping them at bay But for the power of my mind The road to paradise is long And halfway there, I'm heading wrong I'm leaving all the pain behind

The wonder of it all

My heart was blind, but now I see I know the power and the glory of the world I took a breath and now I'm free I feel the glory of the world”

-From “The Glory of the World” by Stratovarius

Lexius’ life started off quite differently than how he lives today. The man was originally the son of a wealthy merchant, his father used his great wealth to marry into a poor noble house, effectively raising him from a lowborn commoner into low nobility. Lexius was raised with all the comforts a well-off son of a noble could expect. He was well educated, well trained, and lived rather comfortably.

All this changed once Lexius began reading the Holy Texts. He quickly became fascinated with God and the tales of the holy men of old at a young age. He read every last page of the Texts from front to back. Proverbs, the story of creation, the first faithful on Earth, the commandments and tales of heaven…it was all so terribly fascinating.

After convincing his father, Lexius shifted his studies towards theology, becoming more and more familiar with the scriptures and their meanings. He attended church regularly, and enrolled in many discussion groups and volunteer missions.

When he became an adult, Lexius decided he wanted to officially join the Order as an ordained priest. After a few classes and tests, the Order welcomed him as Brother Lexius. He was assigned to work at the Godwin Monastery, deep in the wild forests of Southern Geralthin.

Lexius excelled in holy arts. Blessing, healing, sanctifying and calling forth God’s power…he was quite skilled, though he rarely found use for these abilities in the monastery. It was very quiet and peaceful, with not much to occupy his time with.

While staying in the monastery and getting accustomed to life as a priest, some rustling in the attic woke some of the priests up one night. Fearing the worst, the group discussed what should be done. Lexius volunteered to go up into the attic, armed with nothing but a candlestick.

Shaking in fear, the priest quietly stalked the attic, flashes of lightning illuminating the pitch black room.

It was during one of these flashes of lightning that he was met with the face of a kobold, rifling through one of the sacks of supplies they kept in the attic.

It gazed up at him, its fear mirroring the priest’s own. For a moment, time seemed to freeze at they stared at each other.

Both of them screamed in terror, the kobold tripping and falling over while Lexius stumbled backwards and clutched onto the candlestick with all his might.

After regaining his senses, Lexius moved forward, ready to attack the monster that was desecrating the Lord’s house.

The beast, however, simply cowered in fear, holding his hands over his head and whimpering.

While he could very well have fought the creature, Lexius didn’t exactly feel comfortable with beating a helpless, cowering person to death with a candlestick.

After some time talking with the rest of the priests while the creature hid in one of the sacks, Lexius attempted to talk with the kobold. It didn’t appear to be able to speak, although it DID seem to be able to understand them. Strange, it knew the tongue of man, yet couldn’t speak it…

After some time hanging around the monastery, the kobold started visiting it frequently, hiding out in the attic during rain and approaching Lexius while he went about his duties. The little thing seemed to have formed some attachment to the priest.

Eventually, he stopped leaving altogether, slowly becoming more and more comfortable around the priests, as they stopped becoming alarmed when he made himself known around them. He began to watch the priests tend to the monastery, mimicking them. He started sweeping the floors, dusting the artifacts, and moving supplies to and from where they needed to go.

The priests dubbed the kobold “Rascal”, and let him do whatever chores he decided on doing each day. It was less work for them, at least.

Through all of this, he never spoke, even in his native tongue. Lexius had the creeping suspicion that he was mute, either physically or through choice.

Carrying along like this, Lexius became quite close with the tiny, easily frightened beast. He sat down with Rascal during supper, read the scriptures to him, and simply vented from time to time, the kobold always answering with a silent stare and a nod.

When the Exile happened, the monastery was lucky enough to be warned ahead of time. They hid Rascal away when the soldiers came, luckily managing to keep him concealed while the soldiers turned the place inside out. This close call was celebrated, and all were quite happy.

A couple of years later, the news of Palethorn came. Fog blanketed the city in darkness, rumors of demons roaming the city floated around. Whispers of the end times were heard…

Lexius made a choice. He couldn’t let this happen. By God’s will, the demonic darkness must be destroyed. Even though he had never fought a battle in his life, he couldn’t just sit around and hope the demonic fog went away. It wasn’t the right thing to do.

In the dead of night, Lexius slipped away from the monastery. Even the kobold was asleep, snoring loudly under Lexius’ bed. He left a note on his bedside, apologizing for leaving his brothers and sisters like this, but noting that this had to be done.

He took nothing with him save for food and water. He had nothing to fight with, and his faith was his only armor. That wasn’t important to him, though. He had to find some way, any way to get there and help. He would figure how to defend himself later.

Quivering with fear, Lexius took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness.

After reaching Palethorn, the devastation and emptiness of the city fueled his resolve. His cause was most righteous! After some time wandering, he came across some survivors who ushered him to the Citadel, the last bastion of life in the city.

They outfitted him with what little spare gear they had left. The priest was given an old sword, a suit of chain armor, and a small wooden shield, which he crudely painted a cross on. With a small group of determined adventurers at his side, and zeal in his heart, Lexius seeks to destroy God’s most vile enemies once and for all.

Although, he isn’t thrilled about it. He has no experience in battle, and is clearly outmatched. And although he isn’t afraid to die, he DOES want to make it through this in one piece…

…after all, what would Rascal do without him?

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadchronicles, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @fierywords, @shewrites-sometimes, @nerds-and-nebulae, @purpleshadows1989

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usuknetwork · 6 years

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USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 15 #1

Title: Just a Dash of Magic Day 3: Magic Summary: Arthur would rather mope during Christmas, but Alfred has other plans. Rating: T Warning: Minimal cussing, offscreen minor character death

(Written by: @soda-rebel and Art by: @jellyfist)

There’s always a sort of mysterious feeling that settles with the snow. Not in the sense of chills that tingle deep in the bones, no. It’s more how the familiar somehow becomes unfamiliar, how memory-laden paths can easily lose their softness to overwhelming white. On such cold-caked paths of newness, there something stirs. It’s something ethereal, something otherworldly, something...magical. But in due time.

Of course, Arthur had always found snow to be something of a hindrance. Snow. Ice. Heck, even just the beginning of fall was tedious. The herbs he had easily stocked during the spring were always, always, killed by frost. No, there was nothing Arthur liked about the winter. Unfortunately, his cottage had been built from the draftiest parts of a hollowed oak tree. He didn’t like how the frigid fingers of cold would creep under the heavy door of his home. He didn’t like the silence that came with the receded animals; only death should ever be this quiet. He didn’t like that his...lover, would try to change his negative predisposition on the matter. Though it wasn’t the first (and definitely wouldn’t be the last) time Alfred F. Jones tried to ‘domesticize’ him. At least that’s what Arthur liked to call it. Though he supposed Alfred just couldn’t help it. There was a certain wildness to Arthur, a foreignness that intrigued almost as much as it frightened. But it wasn’t the wildness most were familiar with. It wasn’t like a hawk, with its terror dipped talons and see-all gaze. It wasn’t like a horse, with equally endless spirit and fury. What lay in Arthur was an eye grabbing newness. Newness that could break and burn and beat. Of course that made it all the more valuable to have. Time and time again, Alfred would come to him asking for more wildness and more danger. He’d ask Arthur to come with him, saying that Arthur could belong. While his love certainly did belong among the humans, Arthur was what many would call an abomination. In less extreme terms, he had always been an outcast. Maybe even a hermit. Besides, there was nothing he could do to hide what stirred beneath his surface, and he felt no need to change a past that he cared little about.

Ever since his birth, the villagers knew something was off. Little Arthur Kirkland, with eyes green like a snake, but sharp like a raven. Little Arthur Kirkland, face rounded like a doll’s, but skin pallid like a corpse. Little Arthur Kirkland, with the body of a human, but the blood of a witch. Of course, precautious people have a certain knack for labeling and preparing for these sort of things. Before he could even talk, the villagers had stockpiled weapons against him, a toddler no less! They told their children, their children’s children, and any town willing to listen. And then they waited for dear, sweet little Arthur to make a mistake.

Arthur, naive as he was, thought that a war was coming to his home. He knew from what he recalled of his mother-- before she was sent off to sea by the village --that there was something otherworldly about him. Luckily enough, she had left him journals and notes on how to control whatever power he had. Ignoring his father’s warnings, wanting to prove that he could be of use despite his strangeness, Arthur dabbled in spells. He liked how healing spells felt like a swim in warm honey, but hated the way the air seemed to stick to everything afterwards. Hexing was fun, but the after effect always smelled of burning skunk cabbage (a ghastly smell). White magic felt like layers of mint on his skin, an unwelcome burn. And then he tried black magic. Now that was something else. It sizzled and whispered to the stale air. Whenever Arthur called, it would leap from him like a stallion, tearing into the skin of silence, making it bleed the aura and power magic usually held. Power, power, power.

Of course, there were days when black magic would turn on him like the wild beast it was. Sometimes Arthur’s fingers would burn from taming it. He could even remember when his little pink nail-beds darkened from soot and magical essence. At one point, Arthur strained himself so much that his veins were blackened from yanking out the magic time and time again. But he liked it. So he never stopped.

It was foolish of him to think they’d understand his intentions. Arthur had only wanted to show that he could defend the village now, that they never needed to fear anything ever again. All it took was a small explosion of dark flames from his magic to alarm the humans. And that was how he discovered it was never a forest they were preparing to fight. It had always been him. When those he had thought were friends, family almost, surrounded him with pitchforks and fire, Arthur panicked and whispered for the only thing he could trust. He would soon regret not thinking of a precise spell that day; all Arthur had wanted at the time was to fly far away. The magic answered and whisked him away in a flurry of feathers to the empty center of a forest.

Arthur remembered how cold it had been there in the morning snow. He remembered how he sat there for hours, unable to believe what had happened. He remembered how he couldn’t stop shaking in his thin nightshirt (he hadn’t had the time to change). It was not until Arthur glanced at some ice that he noticed something different about himself. Multiple wheat-colored feathers were firmly imbedded into his neck, contrasting the rapidly darkening soft blue of his frostbitten skin. Arthur stilled when he didn’t find any wings attached to his back, but only a little. He tried for hours to rip them out: the frill around his neck, the few feathers around the back of his head, and the small feathers that clung to his shoulders. But when one was gone another just took its place. He felt so helpless, so alone. When Arthur calmed down enough after his panic, he cried, knowing the truth about his mother’s ‘holiday’ to the sea and knowing what would happen to his father. He never cried again.

What had he been thinking about before his nostalgia trip? Yes, yes the snow. The snow was cruel. Arthur hated the snow. Half his clothes were light shirts and the rest were cloaks! Not to mention his hands. Cold weather always made his hands act up. They were tender from years of abuse from his magic, but at least it was manageable in spring. He actually needed gloves in winter. Gloves! The disgrace! That reminded him, he should put on gloves.

Arthur scolded himself out loud for a few minutes on how he wasted so much time on useless memories. He pushed himself out of his bed--though it was more a nest of quilts on a hammock-- to the cold wood floor. Pausing first to fluff the spot where feathers and hair melted together, he set off to look for gloves to stop the aching in his fingers. He checked by the round window, the only window, swearing that he had set it there before. It wasn’t there.

Maybe by the? No. If only his cottage wasn’t so cluttered. It was small, having only a cooking/brewing area, a table to eat at, and a bed that was somewhat tucked into the wall, but he had so much stuff! There were the hanging and hidden jars holding his wilting herbs; Arthur always tripped over those. Miscellaneous pots and cauldrons filled the dining area, a few upturned ones even served as his stools. The kitchen? To put it lightly, it still needed some love after his botched attempt at cooking with magic. But most of all, sparkly, dangly, glittering knick knacks were strewn everywhere. Some hung from the ceiling because they caught the sun just right and worked as a natural morning alarm. A few seemingly endless bracelets tumbled from the small table (with the cauldron chairs) onto the floor. Arthur just honestly liked shiny things, developing a bad habit of finding and pocketing them. He never wore any of it really, he just liked how they looked. Perhaps that too was from the spell. Speaking of pretty things…

“Alfred, I’m not ready to head out yet,” Arthur called. Not that Alfred would wait outside anyway. He bustled inside, stomping off the white from his shoes and leaving them with his heavy winter coat by the door. Then he bolted to the kitchen.

“Artie it’s so cold! Did you go out yet? No, wait, don’t do that. It’s really really cold,” Alfred stammered as he practically collapsed by the fire-lit stove, thankful for its warmth.

Arthur smiled at the exaggerated antics. Feigning a hurt voice he said, “How rude, I haven’t seen you in weeks love, and the first thing you embrace is my stove.” Silence. Draping an arm across his eyes, Arthur moaned, “What a life, for my first and only lover to choose kitchenware over me! What a cruel fate! Woe is me! The end is neigh!” He would have continued if Alfred hadn’t run over to press half frozen kisses onto his face.

“You know” --kiss-- “I love” --kiss-- “you” --kiss-- “but” --kiss, kiss-- “I’m freezing!” Arthur indulged him, pretending to still be deeply wounded by his preference of cast iron as opposed to warm flesh. He wasn’t able to enjoy the moment for long. As quickly as he ran over, Alfred skittered back to, and almost fell face first on top of, the radiating stove. Apparently hints were lost on the clueless. Arthur sighed, already feeling the kisses evaporate from his skin. He made a show of walking and diving under the covers of his bed, feeling his feathers puff up from irritation. Under the blankets, a cold sensation startled him, making the feathers near his neck ruffle excitedly. Arthur was more than disappointed to find the cause to be his missing gloves and not an oven-detached Alfred. Honestly, fuck the snow.

Alfred must have noticed his boyfriend’s pouting, eventually padding over to and snuggling with Arthur in the hammock. Starved for attention, Arthur melted into the embrace, happy for the added heat. Alfred pressed his face into some of Arthur’s soft shoulder fluff and inhaled deeply. It smelled of pine, cinnamon, and a dash of magic. Alfred buried his face deeper until he almost sneezed. Luckily he’d been through enough snuggle sessions to know when to stop. To Arthur’s embarrassment, the feathers that coated his neck puffed up in response. He forced them to lay flat, pushing them down with his hand, but after a few seconds of Alfred’s nuzzling, they just flew back up. Arthur sighed and let the troublesome feathers be.

For a while the only sound was the soft crinkling of burning wood from the stove and twinkling from a few disturbed trinkets. Arthur had to admit, he enjoyed moments like this. Him and Alfred just sitting together, pretending like a world didn’t exist outside their arms. Well, not a world Arthur wanted to take part in anyway. Sadly it didn’t last. Alfred was starting to get fidgety. He would be playing with the blankets for one moment then switch to gently petting Arthur’s feathers the next.

“Alfred,” Arthur began, “You seem anxious. Is there something you wanted to do?” Alfred practically glowed with excitement.

“Actually, yeah Art. I was wondering if you, ya know, wanted to do anything festive? Maybe build a snowman or somethin’?”

“You mean you want to go outside?” Arthur asked. He stared at Alfred, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Alfred faltered under Arthur’s stare. “Uh yeah…” he mumbled.

“I thought you said it was too cold.”

An urgency seemed to spark from Alfred. “But who doesn’t go outside when it’s Christmas! I know you don’t really celebrate it, but you’ve been cooped”--Arthur’s feathers ruffled irritably-- “er, holed up in here like all forever! Don’t you wanna go outside a little?”

Arthur huffed. “No, no I would rather not.” Crossing his arms, Arthur hoped he made it clear that he wouldn’t be moving an inch for the rest of the evening. In his pouting fit, Arthur felt a lack of warmth, a lack of Alfred. From of the corner of his eye he could see just how dejected Alfred looked. His lip was even quivering the way children did when they were upset. Arthur was a sucker for those. Alfred did walk all the way there just to see him. “Fine,” Arthur relented, the guilt getting to him. “But only one snowman.”

Alfred immediately beamed at him and scrambled to get out of bed, almost throwing them both to the floor. He apologised with a quick kiss to Arthur’s cheek and rushed to throw on his coat and boots. Arthur opted for a green cloak that had been laying in a pile on the floor. He really needed to tidy up.

“Are you sure you’ll be warm enough in that Artie?” Alfred asked, worried that his boyfriend would turn into an icicle.

Arthur looked down at his clothes: the usual thin shirt, loose pants, plain boots, and the cloak he picked out. “Besides my gloves,” --he paused to grab them from the blankets-- “I think I’ll be just fine Alfred.”

Alfred shrugged. “If you say so.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment when it came time to nudge open the door. He was about to be assaulted by icy winds he had avoided so well. He heard Alfred ask a question, probably about his choice in clothing, and assured him he was fine. Slowly, slow enough for the hinges to squeal, Arthur let in the cold. He could feel as warmth drained from his skin and fell under the floorboards. His feathers pressed down and against his neck, trying to save what little warmth hadn’t dripped away. The wind felt like an icy whip that danced and lacerated anything that lived. It didn’t seem to bother Alfred though.

Alfred seemed to have bloomed at the sight of snow, the first burst of cold giving his eyes a glorious shine. As Alfred sprinted past him to a clearing a few feet away, Arthur stood and watched from the doorway. He couldn’t help but think that Alfred was made for this weather. Those blue, blue eyes were beautifully preserved slices of winter, intense like the frozen waters but as soft as freshly fallen snow. Yet they always held the warmth of a soft spring day. In a way, it was magical.

“Artie!” Alfred hollered before flopping backwards on the snow. “Come make a snow angel with me!”

Arthur suppressed a chuckle--well, more like covered his mouth with his hand--as he watched Alfred flap his arms and legs. “You’re going to get colder like that Alfred,” he scolded, but not without a smile.

“But it’s fuuun,” Alfred laughed. “C’mon, don’t be so stuffy.”

“Stuffy?” he asked in an amused voice. Arthur’s eyes glinted with mischief. He ran out from his spot, not caring about the cold for once shouting, “I’ll show you stuffy!” With just a little bit of magic and an abrupt hand gesture, all the snow from the branches above Alfred fell on his face. The action surprised him, but the competitive glimmer on his face told Arthur he hadn’t been hurt. With a face that was flushed from cold and joy, Alfred took a scoop of snow from the ground.

“It’s on bird boy!” he shouted, hurling a snowball at Arthur. It hit him directly in the face. Alfred whooped in victory, which was short lived. All it took was a wave of Arthur’s hand for several dozen perfect snowballs to float in the air around them.

With a slight smirk he said, “You have two options. You can either surrender or face my magic.” He let the dangling snowballs slowly inch forward. It would have been more threatening if they weren’t, well, snowballs. “What’ll it be love?” Arthur asked in a honey dappled voice. Alfred seemed to be assessing his options: get pelted or give up the snowball fight of a lifetime. Just as it looked like he was about to submit, Alfred grabbed the closest hanging snowball and threw it at Arthur. Hitting him square in the chest, it caught him off guard and gave Alfred the perfect chance to run away. “I choose freedom!” he yelled between bits of laughter. The look of astonishment on Arthur’s face was just too hilarious to not laugh at.

Arthur pursued, letting the snowballs crumble back onto the ground. His cloak created a bit of drag, but not enough to interfere. He caught up to Alfred with ease (probably because of his lighter clothing) and tackled him to the ground. Arthur laid his face on Alfred’s chest, hearing his heart flutter with each breath. “Do you surrender now?” he asked between pants. Geez, he really needed to get out more.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “You win this round Art. But you won’t be so lucky next time.”

“Oh?” he chuckled, looking up a tad from his spot on Alfred.

“I’ve been told I’m a master strategist.”

“By who, your mother?”

Alfred pouted and shoved some snow down Arthur’s shirt. Arthur made an ungodly screech and squirmed off Alfred to get the ice out.

“Foul play!” Arthur yelled, hopping up and down from the sudden cold. He realised his mistake too late. Alfred exploded into fits of laughter, half from the sound Arthur made and half from Arthur’s wording.

“Get it? ‘Cause you have…” Alfred tried to quiet the remaining giggles. Arthur glared, almost daring him to finish the sentence. “Nevermind,” Alfred said with an annoyingly sweet grin. “Anyways, we have snowmen to build.” Gathering himself and patting off the dustings of white, Alfred starting packing snow.

“Here, let me,” Arthur offered. Before Alfred could object, an invisible force swirled the snow until two perfect snowmen stood side by side. Arthur allowed himself a small smile as he stepped back to admire his work. Alfred seemed a little upset for not taking part in creating the snowmen, but he looked more relieved to not have to deal with the tedious procedure. Making himself useful, Alfred gathered some sticks and a few stones to decorate the snowmen with. He shuffled back to Arthur to appreciate the bare snowmen while carrying a small mound of materials. Inspiration seemed to strike as Alfred quickly broke a few twigs and arranged them on a snowman’s face.

“Look Arthur! He has your eyebrows!” It did indeed, the three rows of twigs mimicking the brows on Arthur’s face.

“Very funny Alfred,” Arthur replied. He had to admit though, it was pretty ingenious. Not that he’d ever tell Alfred that.

Together they added a few more details, such as stones for eyes, mouths, and noses. When it came time to add the finishing touch, Alfred insisted that they arranged the stick arms to look like the snowmen were holding hands.

“They’d be sad!” was Alfred’s justification.

“You’re sad,” was Arthur’s retort as he helped Alfred.

“I’m never sad when I’m around you Artie.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Let’s get back inside, the cold is making you sappier than you already are.” As Arthur turned to head back, he felt a slight tug from his cloak. Alfred was gripping one of the edges gently, his face looking urgent.

“You know I love you right?” Alfred asked. Arthur felt warmth trickling back up to his face while a few of his feathers fluffed up. He swore that no matter how many times he heard those words, they always made him feel so, so warm. Arthur felt the magic in him sizzle and spark just under the surface, reminding him what separated him from the humans. It was peculiar that Alfred never felt threatened. In fact, their entire relationship seemed to casually gloss over how Arthur was a potential danger. But no matter how many times Arthur used his magic, no matter how strange he was, Alfred only seemed to love him all the more.

“Y-yes. Of course I know that. I love you too Alfred.”

Hand in hand, they walked back to Arthur’s cottage to snuggle in the hammock again. As Alfred cooed over how pretty Arthur’s feathers looked against the snow and whispered to him promises of the future, he couldn’t help but like the cold for the first time in a long while. Perhaps he had found a place to belong after all.

#usuk #ukus #usukxmascountdown #day 3 #aph america #aph england

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toseehowthestoryends · 7 years

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A Different Fate - Chapter 18

Summary: Fiona learns that Rumplestiltskin is the Dark One shortly after Cora breaks his heart, and leaves the Dark Realm to find him. Slowly, they build the relationship they should have had - and Fiona grows determined to restore the destiny she cut away from her son. Years later, when Belle makes a deal to become the Dark One’s maid, she never expects to find his mother living with him, or to find Fiona encouraging her growing relationship with Rumplestiltskin.

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Chapter 18—“A Bit Alarming”

Belle thought about asking Fiona before she tried to push forward in this relationship, but in the end, she stopped herself. Rumplestiltskin was so frustrating, closed off and yet endearingly fragile. She had to stop turning to Fiona for help with these things if she truly wanted to get to know Rumplestiltskin for himself, so she started in small ways in the days following Tink’s stay in the castle. She didn’t bring up how the previous Dark Ones might be influencing him—even though Belle burned to ask more questions about that! Instead, she just talked to him. They talked about books in the library, about history, about places he had been and things he had seen. And slowly, she started touching him more and more, laying a hand on his arm here and a kiss on his cheek there. Rumplestiltskin seemed to soften every time she did so, his eyes looking more and more human as he gave her hesitant smiles.

Belle drank each one up like an elixir; she didn’t know why her ability to make the Dark One smile meant so much to her, but she wanted to see him happy. There was as much sadness in him as there was darkness, she’d realized. Rumplestiltskin was capable of terrible things, such as trying to kill that poor outlaw he’d nearly shot a few months ago, but he was also capable of deep and genuine feeling. Can he love me? she had once asked Fiona. Fiona, of course, had implied that he could, although Belle hadn’t been ready to believe her at the time.

She was ready now.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked that evening. Belle had been reading while Rumplestiltskin spun—a habit they’d picked up sometime over the last few weeks—and Fiona was nowhere in sight. The Black Fairy had said something about ‘finding a fool’ when she left to meet Tink hours earlier, and Belle thought now might be a good time to talk.

“Like what?” Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at her, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Do you have a desire to know what potions can keep you young and beautiful for a hundred lifetimes, hmmm?”

That question startled a laugh out of Belle, and the question that followed blurted out before she could stop herself. “Do you think I’m beautiful, then?”

“I—I, um, well, as well you should be.” Was he turning a little red? Belle couldn’t tell, because suddenly Rumplestiltskin was up and looming towards her with comically feigned menace. “A monster wouldn’t demand an ugly maiden, after all. Only the best will do!”

“Oh, is that how it is?” She couldn’t help giggling, though, particularly as Rumplestiltskin danced forward, clearly miming a terrible beast.

“Of course it is. Haven’t you read the rules, dear?”

“Rules? What rules?”

“Of being a terrible monster.” His hands flashed in the air, twirling. “And I am the most terrible monster of them all.”

“Oh, stop that. Of course you aren’t.” Smiling, Belle reached up and grabbed Rumplestiltskin by the left arm, tugging downwards. As she’d expected, his silly dancing had left him unbalanced, and a small pull from her made him topple onto the couch at her side with a surprised yelp. “You’re certainly not terrible.”

Surprisingly sad eyes glanced her way briefly before looking away. “I’m not a man.”

“But you were, once.” Belle cocked her head. “You weren’t always like this.”

“No. No, I wasn’t.” His voice was a whisper, barely audible.

“You can’t have always been alone, either, can you?” She squeezed his arm again, watching Rumplestiltskin’s face carefully. He looked ready to clam up, ready to run away, but touching him always seemed to help. Taking a deep breath, she decided to gamble. “Was there a son, once?”

Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked around like a frightened rabbit, his eyes wide and almost afraid. But he didn’t pull away, only staring at Belle while she watched his tortured expression. Finally, his chin dropped to stare at the floor.

“Yes. Once.”

There was so much pain in his voice that Belle could feel it hanging in the air, broken and yearning. “What happened?” she whispered.

“I lost him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Belle squeezed his arm again, noticing the way tears were welled up in the strange, reptilian eyes. Despite looks, she’d never seen Rumplestiltskin appear so human as he did now, nor so small and so tired. “What happened? Will you tell me?”

He swallowed hard enough to make his adam’s apple bob up and down. “There’s nothing else to tell, really.”

“I doubt that.”

“You had a life, Belle.” His head came up as he changed the subject without warning, looking at her with a deep intensity that made Belle shiver. “Before…this. Friends. Family. What made you choose to come here with me?”

“Heroism.” Belle shrugged a little, wondering if she sounded silly. But Rumplestiltskin clearly didn’t want to talk about his lost son, so she went along with it. “Sacrifice. You know, there aren’t a lot of opportunities for women in this land to… to show what they can do. To see the world, to be heroes. So, when you arrived, that was my chance. I always wanted to be brave. I figured, do the brave thing, and bravery would follow.”

“And is it everything you hoped?”

“Well, uh… I did want to see the world.” She laughed lightly. “That part didn’t really work out. But, uh… I did save my village.” And Belle wasn’t so sheltered that she didn’t know how lucky she’d been. She had expected Rumplestiltskin to deflower her, at best. Not to make a friend who she cared for more than she’d ever cared for Gaston.

“By going with the terrible monster.” Rumplestiltskin grinned as he said the words, so Belle smacked his arm lightly.

“If you want to frighten me, you’re going to have to do much worse than that.”

He giggled, going theatrical on her again, looming forward with a wolfish expression. “Do you doubt I can?”

“At this point, yes!” But Belle could barely contain her own attack of the giggles; facing that ridiculous expression made her laugh uncontrollably. At least until a new voice rang out, rudely interrupting their fun.

“If this is what your mother’s maid gets up to when she’s gone, Rumple, you really need to find the girl some more work.”

They both twisted to see that terrible witch of a queen, Zelena, standing by the long table. Instantly, Rumplestiltskin was on his feet, his smile replaced by a scowl of epic proportions. “Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, dearie. Did you run out of peasants to torment?” He danced forward, all danger and sharp edges, with none of the softness Belle had come to love so much. “Or was it pirates this time?”

Zelena’s face twitched just so, and Belle knew that blow had struck home, somehow. But she sneered right back. “I came to speak to you about serious matters, and I find you acting like a child. How typical.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing about power, isn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a low growl, almost a purr. “When you have enough of it, you can act however you wish, and no one will dare stop you.” One finger went up, striking the air like he was poking holes in Zelena’s illusions. “But I can understand your confusion. You have rebellious princesses and irritating outlaws undermining you left and right.”

“Don’t test my patience, Rumplestiltskin!”

“I’ll test that and more.” He laughed easily, wiggling a bit. “And you know you can’t stop me.”

Belle couldn’t help snorting out a laugh; she managed to get a hand up to cover her mouth, but Zelena’s head still snapped around to glare at her. The Wicked Queen’s eyes narrowed appraisingly, however, and then the anger seemed to melt away as she turned back to Rumplestiltskin. “Do you know what else I know, Rumple? I know that there are more worthy companions for you if you’re in a playful mood.”

“Are there, now?” The way Rumplestiltskin sized Zelena up left Belle’s stomach heaving nervously. His eyes were unreadable, with none of the softness she’d grown used to seeing, but there was something predatory about his body language, something almost sensual, that made Belle swallow.

Have I misunderstood the way he looks at me? She wanted to creep out of the room, needed to get away to wrap her mind around this, but drawing attention to herself right now might be dangerous. Is he only being a friend? Does he like Zelena instead of me? Belle had spent so much time talking to Fiona about if Rumplestiltskin could love that she’d never even realized she might have a rival for his affections.

And of course he’d like someone like her more than me. She’s powerful. She’s dark. She’s a queen, not just some knight’s daughter who had nothing to barter but herself. Belle bit her lip to keep her emotions inside, but it was so hard. Why hadn’t she realized this might happen?

“Of course there are.” Zelena swept forward gracefully, her voice a purr. “We’ve always had a special relationship, haven’t we? Send the maid away, so we might…talk.”

Say no, Belle begged him silently. Say no. Please tell her to leave.

But Rumplestiltskin did no such thing. Instead, he waved a hand at her dismissively, still studying Zelena with an intensity that made Belle shiver. “Go…dust something. Or read. Whatever it is that you do.”

“But I—” The objection rose instinctively before Belle could cut herself off. She desperately wanted for him to say something, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t even look at her. “Nevermind. I’ll go.”

Gathering herself, Belle walked out of the great hall without looking back, keeping her head high and determined not to let her feeling show on her face. She was beginning to think that she’d made a terrible mistake, and there was nothing to do but leave.

“Shall we go somewhere more private?” Zelena asked as Belle headed for the stairs, and Belle didn’t have to turn to see her suggestive smile.

Rumplestiltskin giggled. “What are you afraid of someone seeing, dearie?”

She left before she could hear the answer.

If he looked at Belle, he was done. Contrary to what his mother might say, Rumplestiltskin was not a fool. He knew that Zelena hadn’t given up on him, and he knew that Zelena’s hatred for Belle would grow by leaps and bounds if she so much as suspected that Rumplestiltskin had feelings for his maid. She’d probably try something stupid, knowing Zelena, and then Rumplestiltskin would have to stop her. That would make an enemy of his star pupil, of course, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid by humoring Zelena’s advances until his mother could find some suitably handsome idiot to wave under her nose.

That didn’t mean that returning any small measure of her flirting didn’t make him feel sick.

Rumplestiltskin made himself giggle. “What are you afraid of someone seeing, dearie?” He was not leaving the great hall with this dangerously obsessive woman. Not when she was like this. If he had any luck whatsoever, his mother would return soon.

Zelena huffed. “I’m hardly an exhibitionist.”

No, you just keep a harem of men whose hearts you have. You just like to abuse them in private.

“Well, neither am I! What a lovely coincidence.” Rumplestiltskin grinned at her and danced away as casually as he could. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”

“I want to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement.” Zelena looked taken aback at the change of subject, but she wasn’t an idiot. Clearly, she’d come for more of a purpose than flirting with him, and that fact left Rumplestiltskin weak with relief.

“I wasn’t aware that we had an agreement, Your Majesty.” As usual, she only noticed some of the sarcasm he infused the title with; Zelena still puffed up when someone called her that.

“You need me. The way I see it, that means that you owe me something in return.”

Damn her intelligence. Zelena was a pain in the posterior, but she was smart. And she was far more ruthless than Regina ever would have been, even if Cora had raised her. That, of course, wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Nor was Zelena’s utter amorality. Both were things he hadn’t wanted in his curse caster, but she was right. He needed her.

Still, he wasn’t going to admit that, not to her face.

“Plans can change.” Rumplestiltskin wagged a cautionary finger at her. “Don’t tempt me too much.” But he didn’t say he wouldn’t give her something. Letting her think that she could win this round was probably advisable. He needed her to believe in her own power if she was going to cast the curse.

“Of course they can.” Zelena straightened her dress and her hair dismissively. “I don’t mind that you have plans in mind for me, but I do insist that you show me a little respect. And if you’re going to get things from me, I want things from you.”

He snorted. “Such as?”

“I want you to stop helping that insufferable little brat who calls herself my stepdaughter. I want her to suffer, and I want you to help.”

“No can do, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin waved an airy hand, wiggling a little further away for good measure. He certainly wasn’t going to help Zelena kill Snow White, not now that she was the other half of his True Love potion. Dangling Regina in front of Zelena as bait, on the other hand…that he could do. “Besides, I thought you wanted your sister to suffer more? Can’t make up your mind?”

“I want them both to suffer,” Zelena snarled. “They’re working together! Still!”

“Surely that’s a problem you can solve on your own.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you really want my help? Next you know, people will be saying that the Wicked Queen is nothing but the Dark One’s pawn…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off suggestively, and watched Zelena go red with anger.

Or maybe it was more like brown. Going red was hard when your complexion was already green.

“They wouldn’t dare!”

“Stupid people dare stupid things.” He sang the words at her, just to watch her lose her temper, but much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, Zelena swallowed her fury with an effort. She’s learning. That could be dangerous.

“Fine.” Zelena drew herself up again, clearly trying to look regal. “Regina doesn’t matter, anyway. Once I kill my brat of a stepdaughter, she’ll mean nothing. But I insist on getting something in return for being used.”

“And my training isn’t something in return?” Rumplestiltskin let his voice grow high pitched, rolling the words off his tongue as if he was more offended than he was. Truth be told, he was a trifle annoyed; Zelena was clever, yes, but he was giving her a gift of magic like she’d never dreamt of when she ran from Oz in hopes of a better life in the Enchanted Forest. She’d known enough magic to make herself into a queen, but not enough for much else. He’d given her that. “I think you overestimate your own worth, Zelena.”

She sniffed. “You’re hardly training me out of the goodness of your heart.” Zelena cocked her head, suddenly starry-eyed and softer. “Unless you are?”

“Of course not! Who said I have any goodness in me to give?” He laughed at that one, dancing even further away from this student who sometimes reminded him far too much of her mother.

“I’ll have the dagger by then, Rumple, dear. We both know that you’re only so clever, and I know you all too well. I will find it easily. Then we’ll make up for lost time.” Decades later, those words still made him shiver in sick fear. Cora had meant them—and given half a chance, he was fairly certain that Zelena would do the same.

After all, he was well aware of the harem she kept buried deep in her castle, the one full of pretty but heartless men. He’d actually cherished some unkind hopes that Killian Jones would find himself amongst their number, but the odious pirate still seemed to be free.

“Your mother’s little maid seems to think you do.” Zelena laughed, but the way she said the words made Rumplestiltskin’s nerves stand on edge. “One would think she even fancied you, judging from the way she looked at you!”

He gave her his nastiest smile. “Well, I do have that effect on women.” A trilling giggle. “Your mother could have told you that, had she survived.”

The low blow landed just as he’d hoped, making Zelena flinch, but alas, it did not distract her from the subject of Belle. “Don't tell me you’re bedding the little twit. She can’t be interesting enough for you.”

Perhaps I like a little light in my life, he didn’t say, even as Zoso chimed in: Even this one would be better than that stupid maid! And you know she wants you. That thought was nauseating, but the alternative of telling Zelena how he felt about Belle was even stupider. He wouldn’t endanger Belle like that, wouldn’t let Zelena know what the girl meant to him.

“Of course she isn’t.” He snorted with as much derision as he could muster, thinking about how unlikely it was that Belle actually cared about him as anything more than a friend. That helped him feel incredulous, at any rate. “What kind of lackwit do you take me for?”

“You’re male.” Zelena rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t usually take much.”

“I’m the Dark One, not some idiot man led by my desires.” He waved a hand, shoving his guilt behind a cold façade and another giggle. “Do try to keep up.”

The trick with the mermaids hadn’t worked. Or at least not the way Bae had hoped it would. The Lost Boys had made boats—very bad boats, which tended to sink without Pan’s magic—and they had raced them. It had even been fun. But Bae’s hopes that the mermaids might drown Pan were dashed. Two of them had attacked Pan, but it hadn’t done any good, other than giving Pan a good laugh and making him send the Lost Boys hunting mermaids. Bae ended up as the ringleader of one of those hunts, and it took all of the creativity he had to keep the boys with him from actually finding any mermaids. Don’t they realize that Pan won’t save them from drowning? He wanted to shake the other boys. Tootles was the only one with a lick of sense, and that wasn’t saying much. They were still laughing and joking like this was one big game.

Bae had to admit that things had been better in Neverland, lately. Pan’s games had been more fun and less bloody, which left all the boys deliriously happy. Not that they minded the bloodsport; those that hadn’t already been nasty when they arrived in Neverland usually turned that direction in self-defense before long. It was hard to be a nice person in a place like this, and Bae knew he didn’t always manage, either.

That was probably why he’d walked away from the fire that night, hoping to get a little air, and maybe a little perspective, too.

“Did you hope the mermaids would get me, or was that just a happy coincidence?” Pan’s laugh came out of nowhere, making Bae jump. When he spun around, Neverland’s boy ruler was floating in the air behind him. “I saw you smiling before I went under.”

Bae scowled. “I was smiling because my boat was winning the race.”

“Why the long face, Baelfire? There’s no need to lie. I know you hate me, even when you don’t want to.” Pan drifted down to the, grinning. “You probably hate yourself for that, too.”

“I don’t hate myself.” Usually. “Why would I?”

“I’d wager it’s because you don’t like feeling helpless. You don’t like being here, but there’s no way out, is there?” Pan leaned forward, his expression conspiratorial. “Unless you can make a deal with me.”

The deal is struck. Those words would forever echo in his mind, and just remembering them made Bae want to vomit. “I don’t make deals. Not anymore.”

“Put out by dear papa breaking his deal with you?” Pan’s face twisted into an ugly pout, and Bae wanted to punch him. “It’s such a shame that such a coward—”

“Shut up! You know nothing!” The words burst out before Bae could stop them; he could hate his father all he wanted, but he didn’t want to hear Pan insulting him. Unfortunately, Pan only laughed.

“Oh, I know more than you can possibly realize.” His grin only grew. “But that’s a topic for another conversation.” Suddenly, Pan lunged forward, catching Bae by the front of the shirt, and now his eyes were no longer amused—they were blazing. “Today, I’m going to give you a warning. I like dangerous games as much as the next boy, but I like the odds to be rigged in my favor. You won’t try something like that again.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Bae knew that facing Pan down was stupid, but what did he have to lose?

“Oh, yeah. I know you’re not afraid of risking your own life—you wouldn’t be here if you were. So, I’ll make this so clear that even you can’t misunderstand. If you try to get me killed again, I’ll start killing off your friends. I know you don’t have many of them, but I can always start with Tootles.”

“You wouldn’t.” Bae wanted so badly for this to be a bluff, but the cold feeling in his chest told him that it wasn’t.

“Test me, Baelfire.” Pan released him without warning, and started grinning again. “But play along like a good little Lost Boy, and maybe someday you’ll get the deal Hook got. And then you’ll get to leave this island. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Not if it leaves me owing you,” Bae growled.

“Your loss.” Pan shrugged, and without a further word, wandered back towards the fire, leaving Bae standing alone in the dark.

He had to get out of here before he went insane.

Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow, Belle told herself firmly. She just had to ask the truth, had to find out if she was pining over someone who didn’t even want her. A few months ago, Belle would have said that asking hard questions like that would be relatively easy, but now that she’d fallen for someone, she was starting to realize that it wasn’t. She knew that she had to grit her teeth and ask, that she couldn’t leave things as they were. Belle couldn’t continue on blindly as if she hadn’t seen Rumplestiltskin flirting with Zelena, but why did it have to hurt so much?

Do the brave thing. Squaring her shoulders, Belle marched out of the library and towards the Great Hall. She’d left when Rumplestiltskin had dismissed her with that utterly uncaring wave of his hand, and Belle had given herself a few hours to think—and for Zelena to leave. Now she was sure the Wicked Queen was gone since her annoying laughter was no longer echoing through the castle, and it was time to talk to Rumplestiltskin.

She found him spinning as if nothing had happened, and thankfully alone.

“We need to talk.” Belle’s voice felt heavy and final, and she swallowed hard. “I…I need to know something.”

Rumplestiltskin peered up at her in confusion. “Know something about what exactly?”

“About you.” She squared her shoulders. “And Zelena.”

Was that sneer on his face directed at the mere maid who dared question him? Belle wanted to know where the sweet and joking man from that afternoon had gone, but she didn’t ask. He wouldn’t like being called sweet, not right now. Perhaps not ever, if he preferred Zelena to her.

“Whatever would you want to know about her for?” Rumplestiltskin’s lip curled up in disgust, but Belle couldn’t figure out if the emotion was directed at her or Zelena.

“You two seemed awfully…cozy.” Belle couldn’t quite bring herself to call it flirting. Not out loud.

He waved a dismissive hand. “She’s my student.”

“Why do you teach her, anyway? She’s an awful person.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am the Dark One.” Rumplestiltskin laughed, but to Belle the giggle sounded hollow. What was he hiding?

She crossed her arms. “That sounds like an excuse.”

“Why are you asking this, hmmm?” He stepped towards her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I just—I just want to know how you feel about her.” Belle swallowed; this conversation wasn’t going at all like she’d intended it to. Now Rumplestiltskin was on edge, and she knew by now that putting him on edge was not the way to get him to be honest. He could talk his way around a subject on the best of days, and at his worst…

“Feel?” A high-pitched snort of laughter. “Why would I feel anything for her? Or for anyone? I’m the Dark One. I’m not supposed to feel.”

“But that’s not true. You do feel. I’ve seen it. You can be kind and thoughtful, and—and—I just want to know what’s going on.”

He just giggled again. “That would be cheating, dearie.”

“Don’t call me that!” Belle had thought they were beyond this, beyond the impersonal ‘dearies’ and him holding her at arm’s length. But why wouldn’t he answer her questions? If there was nothing going on, surely Rumplestiltskin would say so.

“Ooooh, that struck a nerve, didn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin offered her a sweeping bow—but every line of his body screamed sarcasm, and the gleam in his eyes didn’t help. “My apologies.”

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

He wiggled gleefully. “Comes with the territory.”

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” Belle demanded, wanting to shake him. She almost stepped forward to do so, but caught herself just in time. If her relationship with Rumplestiltskin wasn’t what she thought it was, doing something so foolish could be really, really, dangerous.

What have I gotten myself into?

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Rumplestiltskin struck a thoughtful pose. “I do believe that’s what these silly mouth noises are known as: talking.”

Belle barely managed to bite back a groan of frustration. “You say things without meaning. You twist words like you twist magic. Can’t you just be honest?”

For a moment, she thought that her words might have gotten through to him; Rumplestiltskin looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. But then he shrugged. “Honesty really isn’t in my nature, you know.”

“It could be if you’d just try. You know that you weren’t meant to be like this. You could—”

“Don’t you start with that.” The words were a snarl, and all humor left Rumplestiltskin’s face as he glared at her.

“I’m not trying to start anything.” And she’d thought he’d come to terms with the fact that he had been meant to be the Savior, too. Apparently not. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Not about that.” Another glare.

“Rumple…” Against her better judgment, Belle stepped forward to put a hand on his arm. I shouldn’t. Not if he won’t tell me what’s going on between him and Zelena. I’m not in this to get my heart broken, or to be Fiona’s pawn in her plans, whatever they are.

But she still felt her heart going out to the broken man who stared at her like she was the first person to ever treat him compassionately, still felt herself burning to help him. Rumplestiltskin stared at her hand for a long moment before he shook himself, as if he was trying to banish something Belle couldn’t see or hear. The Dark Ones? Are they talking to him? She had just opened her mouth to ask when he pulled away without warning.

“I have to go.”

“Don’t—”

But she spoke too late. Rumplestiltskin had disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, and Belle was left standing alone in the great hall.

A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter 19—“If I Can’t Love Her,” where Belle calls Fiona out on her manipulations, Rumplestiltskin tries to apologize, and Bae defies Pan in a new and dangerous way.

#rumbelle fic #ouat au #ouat season 1 au #rumbelle #rumbelle au #a different fate #poor belle and her misunderstanding #idiot rumple strikes again #bae is in trouble

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365footballorg-blog · 6 years

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Ranking the top 10 personnel moves of the 2018 MLS season

USA Today Sports Images

October 18, 20184:17PM EDT

As we near the end of the regular season, the time is ripe to weigh which squad moves made by MLS clubs have borne the juiciest fruit.

Bear in mind, this is not a straight production and performance ranking of the best transfers made. Fit and influence in a new team is also highly important to winning, so the same goes here.

League general managers have done such a fine job adding impact pieces to their roster puzzles that our honorable mentions collection is exhaustive and hard to argue: Adama Diomande, Cory Burke, Rod Fanni, Benny Feilhaber, Aleksandar Katai, Darlington Nagbe, Cristian Penilla, Diego Rossi, Johnny Russell, Danilo Silva, Ismael Tajouri-Shradi, Walker Zimmerman.

No. 10: Felipe Gutierrez

Felipe Gutierrez | USA Today Sports Images

I went back and forth between Gutierrez and Russell for this spot, but in the end, had to give it to the Chile veteran because of his clear advantage in replacement value. After all, he moved out of his optimal position to bring a new flavor to Benny Feilhaber’s old spot.

He’s enjoyed easily his best offensive season since leaving his homeland six years ago while remaining one of the top tacklers in the MLS. The clincher? Sporting KC are a Supporters’ Shield-esque 9-3-3 when he starts, and a middling 6-5-5 when he doesn’t.

No. 9: Kei Kamara

The Vancouver striker is hardly a silent or sneaky guy, and yet somehow, he’s quietly put in the second-best season of his career. Kamara has given the Whitecaps the cobra’s head they’ve lacked since Camilo departed after the 2013 season, potting 14 goals (six of them game-winners, good for third in MLS) to go with five assists.

He’s provided all that production in fewer than 2,000 minutes, and the team simply doesn’t run as smoothly when he’s not on the field (1-3-2 when Kamara doesn’t play). And for all of his on-field value, it might actually pale in comparison to the advanced tutelage he’s offered to Alphonso Davies.

No. 8: Kim Kee-hee/Tim Parker/Milton Valenzuela

You know I love a good cheat pick, and this one’s a tripleheader. Let’s call it the “Wins Above Replacement” backline crew, to steal a baseball term. Simply put, their teams all would have suffered a significant amount if forced to turn to the next guy on the depth chart.

A safety officer on and off the ball, Kee-hee has stepped into the heart of a Seattle defense that had developed what you might call “Roman Torres problems.” The Sounders have logged 13 of their 15 wins and conceded less than a goal per game when the South Korea defender starts.

Over in New York, Parker has proved the perfect partner to Aaron Long on a team that often forces their center backs to fend for themselves on the run. The Red Bulls are 1-3-1 while allowing two goals per game when the hometown boy has sat this season.

Finally, Valenzuela has given Columbus Crew SC great balance in both directions. Looking north-south, the young DP is a top tackler who also stands third in the league among defenders in key passes. And by outproducing the left wingers that have played in front of him, he’s also scared opponents off of crowding Harrison Afful’s side.

No. 7: Kaku

A lot of fingernails got chewed to the quick when the Red Bulls dealt away Sacha Kljestan, but that quickly became old news once the season started. Alejandro Romero Gamarra, better known as Kaku, fit right in with the Supporters’ Shield contenders right away in his debut MLS season (no small feat), making sure Bradley Wright-Phillips would not go hungry up top.

The playmaker dribbles past defenders, hits a mean splitting pass, gives up the ball far less than one would expect from a final third operator and presses like a demon, a certain requirement at Red Bull Arena. Because of all this, he stands tied for fourth in the league with 14 assists, and all five of his goals have been game-winners.

No. 6: Saphir Taider

It has become quite de rigueur of late to moan about how underrated Nacho Piatti is up in Montreal. These complainers are not wrong, but I’ve got hot news for them: The three-time All-Star and 2016 Best XI honoree is not even the most underappreciated player on his team.

It says here that distinction goes to Taider, the do-it-all midfielder who’s the main difference in a side that has already surpassed last year’s point total by four with two games remaining. The Algeria star is second on the team with seven goals and third with eight assists by running their bread-and-butter counter, and gets stuck in defensively without fouling much. Without Taider, Montreal aren’t even in the playoff race.

No. 5: Raul Ruidiaz

The Peru striker only arrived at midseason, but his transformative powers have not gone unnoticed. Due to another Jordan Morris injury setback, Seattle coaches and fans spent the first four months of the season bemoaning the lack of an attacker who could stretch the field and unnerve defenders.

That all ended with the arrival of Ruidiaz, who give defenders fits, which in turn affords Sounders orchestrator Nico Lodeiro both space and a top target. Yeah, he’s bagged seven goals in 12 games, and that’s great. More importantly, Seattle are 10-2-0 with two goals scored per game when he plays (vs. just under a half-goal per game without him on the field).

No. 4: Borek Dockal

Borek Dockal | USA Today Sports Images

Oh boy, did Philadelphia Union fans seemingly cry out forever for a No. 10 to bridge their fine midfield and routinely starved attack. All those prayers were finally answered with the loan move that brought crystalizing force Dockal to Philly.

Though it took the Czech playmaker several weeks to heat up, he eventually was dispensing fresh, tasty offerings like a Wawa. Dockal had but one assist through his first eight games, but now tops the league with 17. Thanks to his incisive link play and array of final balls, Philadelphia are back in the playoffs with a good shot at hosting their first postseason game since 2011.

No. 3: Carlos Vela

There’s no shortage of excellent pickups on the LAFC roster (see the honorable mentions above), and if we were counting head coaching hires in this list, Bob Bradley would rank near the top. Even so, Vela has truly been the straw that stirs the expansion darlings’ drink from day one.

The Mexico star has 13 goals to go with a dozen helpers, and stands near the top of the league in non-penalty goals + assists per 90 minutes, key passes, free kicks won, dribbles and shots on goal. Nearly every frightening LAFC rush goes through him, and enough of them also end with him that the new kids on the block have a great chance to end their first regular season with a Knockout Round bye.

No. 2: Wayne Rooney

Though “Señor Wayne” has only been in MLS for 17 games, the former England icon has completely changed both the look and the outlook for the Black-and-Red. Many doubted that Rooney could still star, but they’ve all been converted since mid-July, when D.C. United had 11 points from 14 games and appeared in need of a series of miracles to reach the postseason.

Rooney hasn’t walked on water just yet, but he does steal points late with an alarming frequency. The 32-year-old has done it all, dropping deep, leading the line and everything in between on the way to nine goals and seven assists. His presence has also unleashed the beast in Lucho Acosta, and the two have led the capital crew on a 10-4-3 surge that has them holding the East’s last playoff spot, four points ahead of the only foe that can still catch them.

No. 1: Zlatan Ibrahimovic

Who else could it be, right? The mighty Zlatan burst onto the MLS scene with a stunning derby double and has hardly slowed down since. The LA Galaxy superstar has had a historic debut season, chalking up 21 goals and nine assists to put the StubHub Center crew in position to pull off what rather recently looked to be an improbable rally for a playoff berth. Without him, they are nowhere near this station.

The striker’s goals-per-game rate is almost identical to that of record-breaker Josef Martinez, he’s hit for seven winners, buried all four of his penalty kicks and he’s one helper away from becoming the third 20-10 player in league history. And let’s face it: even if the Galaxy don’t manage to snare that playoff invite, Zlatan’s showmanship on the field, lion’s roar of a personality off of it and worldwide Q Rating has improved the league immeasurably.

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Ranking the top 10 personnel moves of the 2018 MLS season was originally published on 365 Football

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superstarwinningspirit-blog · 7 years

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“Little Did I Know”

In the winter of 2003 I experienced this aching pain around my left eye. I initially thought, “must be my sinuses aching”. After almost a week, the pain had not changed, and if anything it became more intense and more consistent. I decided I should see my doctor. After being thoroughly examined, my doctor was sure that the pain was not a result of a severe cold or sinuses. He then recommended that I see an “eye specialist”, not my regular eye doctor, but an “eye specialist”! Red Flag, right! My immediate thought too! However, after seeing serious concern on his face, I sort of knew why he did not want me to waste, what was then, valuable time going to my regular eye doctor. “What’s your concern”, I asked. His reply was this, “Clearly the problem is with your left eye. Normally, I would send you to your opthamologist, but because your right eye is a prosthetic, there is some urgency required. I want to make sure things are okay with your vision.” {Backtrack: As a result of a lawn mowing accident, I lost my right eye when I was 5 years old. It was too damaged for the doctors to save. I have been wearing a “darn good” and “beautiful” prosthetic since I was 5.} So, I too saw a need for urgency in seeing an eye specialist. I would be lying if I said that fear did not kick in at that point. Needless to say, I was referred to an awesome eye specialist, Dr. Todd Goodglick, in Chevy Chase, MD. By referral, I was able to get an appointment with Dr. Goodglick the following Monday! I had seen my doctor on a Friday, so had to wait until Monday to see Dr. Goodglick. That weekend seemed like the longest time in the history of “waiting”! Before that Monday arrived, I remember driving and every car’s tag #, and directional signs were blurry to the point of not being able to read them. It was a complete blur! I became more alarmed. Alarmed is an understatement! I was seriously frightened! But, I remained calm. I know now that it was God, never leaving me, that kept me strong. Monday arrived and I don’t know if I was more relieved, anxious, or frightened. I may have been all three simultaneously! Dr. Goodglick was awesome! After examining me thoroughly, I was diagnosed with optic neuritis. “What is that!”, I asked. Dr. Goodglick, explained that it is inflammation of the optic nerve and if left untreated will lead to blindness. Wow! He too understood the urgency of my situation and immediately started me on a treatment which consisted of 3 days of intravenous steroids, followed by 11 days of oral medication. The treatment worked and the optic neuritis went away. Dr. Goodglick also highly recommended that I see a neurologist. Why? Because in some cases, optic neuritis is a symptom of multiple sclerosis (MS). I thought, “Oh Boy!” But, I remained calm. Again, God never leaving me! Dr. Goodglick referred me to a neurologist, Dr. Heidi Crayton. I saw her shortly after the optic neuritis treatment. How amazing she was (and is), is a whole separate post on another day! She examined me and based on my physical examination and my history of good health, she did not immediately diagnose me with MS. She explained that there are some single cases of optic neuritis, and that mine may not be associated with MS. She sent me home, and said to call her if something changed. Well now, about a month and a half later, in addition to realizing that I had been feeling more easily exhausted, something weird started happening to my body. Whenever I would lower my chin toward my chest, I would feel this powerful buzzing (like the vibration of a pager against your body, but 10 times stronger) from the top of my body to my feet. I knew something was not right. I called Dr. Crayton and she immediately scheduled for me to have an MRI of my brain and cervical spine (with and without contrast). Needless to say, the MRI results were not great! The results showed a reasonable size legion on my cervical spine and a few small ones on my brain. I was then diagnosed with MS. Now, here’s where an amazing blessing manifested. After diagnosing me, Dr. Crayton explained my results, we talked about my symptoms, and she asked me a series of questions about my life. One of things I told her is that I had been trying to become pregnant for a long time, and I still was trying. This sparked level of concern and importance from her. She said that because I was trying to become pregnant, she did not want to start me on medication immediately! She did not think I was at an alarming enough stage that required medication at that time. For me, this confirmed that she was an awesome doctor. She wanted to monitor me for about 6 months. The symptoms did not go away, but Dr. Crayton had discussed some things that may help them not occur frequently, including watching my body temperature and most importantly watching my level of stress! I left her office that day determined that I was not going to ever be on medication for this MS and that I would always beat it, rather than it beating me! Well, that 6 months of monitoring has now turned into 14 years of annual MRI’s and annual monitoring. Dr. Crayton calls me her poster child and her superstar MS patient. Thanks be to GOD, I have never been on medication for this MS. I have loved and respected Dr. Crayton from day 1! Not seeing the need to put me on medication was the beginning of my journey to win over this MS by managing it through my diet, exercise and a healthy lifestyle. Has it been an easy journey? Absolutely no! Is it an easier journey now? Absolutely yes! Why? Because after 12 long years of struggling to manage this MS through trying to eat the right foods, keeping my body temperature low, and watching my stress level, I am now living a lifestyle where I feel better than I have in many, many years; I have more energy, and I am performing great! And, let me not forget to boast about the most amazing thing! Those horrible symptoms have occurred a lot less frequently!!! This lifestyle change has been going on for almost 2 years. I thank God that I had the wisdom to make a choice to change my lifestyle. Ones attitude and determination makes a world of difference when you are dealing with what can be a “beast” of an illness!! I am beating this MS by adding the right nutrition to my body and at the same time adding value to my lifestyle! I am a Superstar Winning Spirit!

Stay tuned to my blog for details on the exact changes I made, and other great things going on in my world of “Living An Awesome Life, Beating MS, and Impacting Others”! Or, message me if you have questions. I am sharing my journey with hopes that I will encourage others, and help them to take a leap of faith. A lifestyle change starts with making a choice. I want to impact others to make that right choice, while living with MS! My motto is “Live To Give”! My blog is a tool that will allow me to give more of ME in so many inspiring ways! Thank you with all my heart for tuning in and sharing my blog!

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paladin-andric · 6 years

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Character Bio: Lexius, Priest of the Order

Lexius stood silently, staring the soldiers down as they turned the monastery inside out. Relics overturned, incense on the floor, cloth torn and tossed about...the entire scene shook the priest. How could they do this?

This was the house of God.

This lovely, radiant temple dedicated to the Lord was nearly being desecrated. It looked as though a raiding party had swept through the place! Every room, every floor...all was in tatters.

And all because of their paranoia! Their disbelief that only humans resided in this monastery. They just HAD to search every nook and cranny in the hopes of finding a non-human stowaway.

...well, to be fair, they WERE correct. The servant was well concealed, however. Lexius could only watch in silence and hope they didn’t find the-

The priest felt his heart sink as a soldier pulled a rug away, revealing a trapdoor. The man smirked at the priest.

“Gotcha.”

Lexius quickly recovered, maintaining his emotionless mask of a face as he replied. “Just a storage room. Hasn’t been used in years.”

“Hah, we’ll see about that.”

While outwardly he was the essence of stoicism, inside the priest was in a panic. They were going to find him! Oh Lord, the little thing would give himself away, squealing in terror when he heard the soldiers...

Lexius slowly followed the soldier, climbing down the ladder even has he heard the other priests shouting at the rest of the soldiers. They were most enraged at the treatment the levies were giving this place. Of course Lexius was as well, but he had to maintain his calm facade...for HIS sake.

Lexius stood by the ladder, arms folded in front of him as he coolly eyed the soldier. The basement was small, musty, dark, and full of dust. It was quite true that no one ever used this room; the attic was far more appealing with its many candles, stairwell and larger size. This room was filled with old shelves, sacks and crates no one ever found any need to come and use.

The soldier quickly began opening boxes and knocking bags over, scouring the room for hiding spots. He went through the area feverishly, quickly going from one place to the next.

Lexius could feel his heart pounding in his chest. If he found the stowaway, no doubt the priests would be in just as much trouble as the servant.

Lexius gritted his teeth. It felt like hours had passed! How much longer would he be at it?!

The priest’s eyes widened as the soldier found a barrel in the corner of the room, having tossed all the junk in front of it aside.

“End of the line...” Lexius thought to himself.

The man opened the barrel, looking inside of the container...and then tossed the lid aside and turned around, eyes gazing back and forth.

“Satisfied?” Lexius asked, hands on his hips. The soldier walked up to the priest and leaned in close, staring into the priest’s eyes, face scrunched up in thought.

This strange standoff was driving Lexius mad with worry, but still he held his deadpan gaze.

“...hmph.” The soldier turned and climbed back up the ladder.

Lexius broke his cover for the first time since the soldiers had arrived, widening his eyes and wiping his forehead. How terribly close that was!

He followed the man back up to the main floor, putting his “mask” back on as he climbed out of the basement.

“All clear here, lads!” The soldier shouted, “We done?”

“Yeah, move out!” Another soldier replied, “We’ve still got more places to hit!”

Lexius crossed his arms as the men marched out of the monastery, other priests walking up to the door to watch.

As the soldiers got back on their horses and raced away, the priests approached Lexius.

“Lexius!” A woman cried, “Is he...?”

The priest smiled for the first time today. “Still tucked away safely.”

“Oh, thank the Lord.” One of the men muttered.

The group descended back into the basement. Lexius quickly grabbed the barrel the soldier had searched and pulled it away from the wall.

The priest was met with a terrified meep from the crevice under the wall.

“Whoops, probably should have made myself known...” Lexius thought, grimacing.

“Hey, it’s all right, Rascal. It’s me.” The priest smiled and crouched down, looking into the crevice.

A terrified looking kobold gazed back up at Lexius, eyes lighting up as he recognized the man. The little creature quickly scuttled out of his hiding spot, latching onto the priest’s robes.

“Haha, it’s alright, Rascal. They’re gone. They don’t know about you.”

“Can’t believe they got that close, though...” One of the priests chimed in.

The kobold made a distressed trilling noise, pulling the priest’s robes tighter.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Lexius cooed, “Everything is okay! You’re safe now.” He patted the small servant on the back, eliciting a smile from the creature.

“Now than!” The priest said, standing up, “We’ve got some work to do. I know you usually just tidy up, but those men left this place a pigsty. You’re going to be busy today, as we all are!”

The kobold nodded and started walking, continuing to clutch onto Lexius’ robes as he and the other priests began walking away, ready to repair the devastated monastery.

Lexius excelled in holy arts. Blessing, healing, sanctifying and calling forth God’s power...he was quite skilled, though he rarely found use for these abilities in the monastery. It was very quiet and peaceful, with not much to occupy his time with.