#arcane tickles
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|| Jayvik Tickle Headcanons ||
A/N: in the spirit of doing what I want, I decided to grant these fruity ass motherfuckers some tickle fluff. yes it is ooc but at least they're happy :,)
I use the words "you" in this list but that's just how my brain dialogue comes out fastest. the "you" is always meant to be jayce or viktor
This list is in the context that they are married, so if this isn't your ship, you might not like this list. oh and there's tickling but whatever
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- jayce and vik are both lee-leaning switches
- but viktor gets tickled slightly more often than jayce does; he's a grumpy cat man and needs the affection
- let's start with viktor:
- very very ticklish
- wasn't touched a lot throughout his life, so his skin is very sensitive
- a few skittering fingers can have him leaping out of his skin
- most ticklish spots are his underarms definitely. unfortunately his arms aren't super strong so while he of course does try to squeeze them shut to block the spots, it doesn't keep the ler out
- his ribs are his second worst. he's so skin and bones at this point that just massaging the bone through his skin has him laughing hard
- his laugh ranges from high-pitched chuckles to near-silent and breathy hiccups. jayce knows he's hit a jackpot when he hears the silent laugh
- idea from @tickly-trashcan that jayce will scoop viktor up and plop him on a counter so he can't escape his tickle attack
- tickly kisses are his kryponite
- viktor doesn't hate tickling but doesn't love it either. before he met jayce, he didn't like it at all. he thought it was undignified. he still does, but that's kind of the fun of it. what's the good in spending your life working if you don't let yourself play every now and then?
- will go along with it for the game of it or because he's simply too exhausted to fight back
- if he senses a tickle ambush coming, he'll start waving away his attacker (jayce) with his cane, threatening to bonk him with it
- i cannot communicate how cute of a lee he is. despite the cold exterior, he is a ticklish little puppy
- VERY squirmy. CANNOT stop squirming
- said it before but I'll say it again: ✨️ hiccup-laughter ✨️
- he doesn't like the fluffy kind of tickle teasing. if you must, go for snarky comments and sarcastic quips. that'll make him blush
- can't outrun his ler, so he's in deep shit when jayce is in a ler mood
- can't chase his lee either so escaping him is pretty easy
- which is why it's so sus when jayce still manages to get caught by him. almost makes one think jayce doesn't WANT to escape hmmmm???
- but back to viktor
- he is a shockingly good ler
- his hands have spent a lifetime delicately handling machinery so you know he's got some meticulous fingers
- very observant to what spots hit you the hardest
- teases you about possibly enjoying yourself because of how little you're trying to escape
- treats wrecking you like a scientific experiment. ("let's see what happens when I touch right... here" "hm. you seem to be very ticklish there. i will need to gather more data on this, for science, after all")
- remembers every one of your tickle spots. every single one.
- laughs with his lee. it's all just so silly and ridiculous ❤️
- NOW ONTO JAYCE:
- bro isn't as ticklish as viktor but he is fucking BAD
- also doesn't have as much self-control as viktor in order to hold his laughter in in time. (I can't tell you how many times he's accidentally been prodded and he's let out a laugh in the middle of a council meeting. in an otherwise quiet room. viktor teases him about this relentlessly)
- similarly to when gets caught sneaking into his lab, jayce is terrible at talking his way out of getting tickled. he panics and says the most random shit in an attempt to distract the ler for long enough to get away. viktor is unfortunately too smart for it and it never works
- laugh ranges from adorable little deep giggles to infectious belly laughter
- does actually enjoy being tickles him but is completely humiliated by it. trying to get him to admit it is like pulling teeth
- exaggerates to viktor how much he DOESNT love it and is JUST going with it to be a good sport
- ^ says the man who sits perfectly still while getting his shit wrecked
- teases that point out how much he's having fun fluster him BEYOND SPEECH. BITCH GOES NONVERBAL AT THAT SHIT
- hides his face when getting tickled, even if just a little bit
- poor boi is so embarrassed
- most ticklish spots are his sides, which make it super convenient for viktor to jab his the end of his cane into his side at any given time
- second worst spot are his feet
- in a tickle fight, viktor is the one to call mercy most of the time
- jayce has the advantage of not being crippled and ill 🤷♀️
- most ticklings between these two happen either when they're bored or restless in the lab or in bed as they're preparing to sleep
- jayce is not a great ler, but he loves to be one
- he is so addicted to making vik laugh to the point where it starts to get on viktor's nerves if he's trying to work
- jayce has SERIOUS ler moods. he doesn't know that's what they're called or that there's even a word for it, but they're there
- prefers to tickle with vibrations and squeezes
- teases viktor with things like "what was that? I can't hear you, can you speak up?" knowing damn well vik's laughing his lungs out
- ^ other oblivious and sarcastic teases are jayces specialty
- a very fast tickler. you think he's in one spot and then suddenly he's moved to another
- uses tickle hugs
- jayce first found out viktor was ticklish one late night at the lab when viktor refused to call it a night. jay tried bargaining with him to get him to go to sleep, but he wouldn't budge. exasperated, jay tried lifting him to bed, but when he pulled him up by his armpits, vik started to giggle and pull away. let's just say convincing viktor to sleep became a lot easier after that
- viktor learned jayce was ticklish a few weeks later. the latter was so enthralled in his notes that he hadn't noticed viktor was talking to him. after calling to him several times, vik hobbled over and jabbed him, right in his unprotected side. jay jumped in his chair with a half-laugh, half-yelp and asked vik what he needed, very flusteredly. viktor, amused, asked "what was that?" and proceeded to poke fun at him. jayce, absolutely mortified, wouldn't face him until he changed the subject.
- but they've both grown to appreciate the laughter filled moments they spend together ❤️
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WHY CANT THEY BE HAPPY FOR ONCE?! 😭
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Look at sir giggles over here
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Caitlyn and Vi from Arcane for @mostlyticklestbh for this year’s @squealing-santa !! Thank you Hypah for hosting again yippee!
Image Caption:
[Caitlyn]: You never told me you were this ticklish!
[Vi]: C-CAIT! HA HA HA HA
#yay I hope you like it gjskfjdk#tickle art#arcane#squealing santa 2k23#squealing santa#holly scribbles
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arcane trickster riz gukgak was not on my 2024 bingo but i fear i may shit myself from happiness
#i LOVE arcane tricksters#and i love murph's character design so much#murph and emily both tickle the crunch nerd in my brain#i loveeee subclass changing to reflect character growth#he's not sherlock he's james bond!!!!#fantasy high#riz gukgak#fhjy#fantasy high junior year#brian murphy
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Tickletober Day 11 - Squeal
Fandom: Arcane
Words: 1,074
"Can you stop that?"
How Vi could make such a noise with a bag that small, Caitlyn didn't know. Pretty much everything they'd brought down to Zaun with them was strewn haphazardly across the floor of their tiny room they'd rented for the night, as Vi reached into the deepest crevices of her travel pack to find something she swore she took with her from prison.
Vi turned around to see Caitlyn sigh and bury her face in the bed's lumpy pillow. "If you don't drive me insane with that racket, you'll definitely disturb our neighbours. Just quieten down for a second, OK?"
"Relax, Cupcake. The rooms here go for basically nothing. No-one comes to this part of Zaun for a good night's sleep." Having failed to locate her trinket, Vi dumped the bag on the floor and began picking up their scattered possessions. "Our "neighbours"" - she flashed air quotes at Caitlyn - "have heard far worse than someone stomping around a room over."
Muffled by the pillow, Vi could hear Caitlyn scoff. "Well, in my house, we were raised to be considerate of strangers. You'd never hear a thing from me when we were guests." She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket over her, her eyes half-shut as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the sagging mattress.
Vi rolled her eyes. It's likely she would've ignored the Piltoveran's bout of snootiness had she not looked over and saw Caitlyn's foot sticking out from under the blanket.
"I dunno, Cupcake. When people stayed at my place..." Vi's footsteps were nearly silent on the threadbare carpet, honed from years of sneaking around her childhood playmates. "...things usually got pretty rowdy." Reaching the foot of the bed, her knuckles brushed against Caitlyn's bare sole. She wasn't sure if her touch was firm enough to tickle, but she didn't have to worry, judging by the way Caitlyn's eyes instantly sprung open and her foot shot back under the covers.
She must have been grinning like a chem-baron in an alchemist's lab, because Caitlyn sat up and started slowly inching away from the Zaunite. "Vi, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
Vi didn't know exactly what to expect when she dived onto the bed and swept Caitlyn up into her patented Tickle Hug (good at dealing with squirmy lees, and she had a hunch Caitlyn was one of those), digging her fingers into her upper ribcage, right below her underarms. She did not think Caitlyn would jolt in her arms and squeal so loudly she swore she saw the window frames rattle. Vi didn't even know Caitlyn could make a noise like that, or any of the frankly amazing noises that were flowing out of her now - innumerable tiny squeaks and squeals as Vi poked her ribs, deeper chuckles and snorts as Vi's thumbs rubbed the spot just below her ribcage, messy giggles and hiccups as Vi circled the small of her back, followed by her breaking out into wild, uproarious laughter as Vi's fingers wriggled past her undershirt and scurried over her belly. One of her hands was grabbing at Vi's wrist and shoving at her shoulder, struggling to shove her away, while the other was tightly gripping the pillow in a vain attempt to make this feel any less unbearably ticklish. She was smiling wider and more freely than Vi had ever seen, the gap in her teeth showing unconscientiously, her slim body shaking against Vi's bulkier frame.
"Nahahah- Vihihi, get ohofff- Eeek! Stahahap it, I said I'm soreeEEE- No! Ahahaha, don't! Get off thehere- getofftherenotthereNOTTHERE- AAAAH!"
Vi's finger had slipped into her navel, getting a squeal just as loud as the first - and an equally loud banging on the wall behind them, followed by someone growling in a language Vi didn't understand. She got the gist, though, and reluctantly withdrew her hands from Caitlyn's stomach, now shivering as she took in deep breaths. Caitlyn's face was flushed a shade darker than Vi's hair and strands of her own hair were sticking to her forehead and neck. She blinked a few times, brows furrowing and blush deepening as she took in the gently grinning face of her assailant.
Caitlyn propped herself up on one elbow and gently punched Vi in the shoulder. "You're a monster."
"A tickle monster?" Vi couldn't help saying it, and grinned even more when Caitlyn averted her gaze and started fiddling with hair.
"Whatever. You're horrible." Caitlyn rolled onto her back, and though the light was dim, Vi was sure she could make out a small smile on her face. The thought that Caitlyn might not actually mind this, or even perhaps like it, popped unbidden into Vi's head, and she had to forcibly suppress images of poking Caitlyn's sides in public, or waking her up with gentle underarm tickles, or holding her in her arms and tickling her until all their worries melted away. Of getting to see that beautiful gap-toothed smile, or hear those adorable squeals and giggles, on a daily basis....
Vi smacked herself (on the side that Caitlyn couldn't see, of course). There was no way they could stay together for that long, no way they could reach that point. There was a reason she was down here and it had nothing to do with teasing the woman that lay beside her. She shuffled in place and looked over at the clockface next to her. Perhaps she could fit in a little more. Just while they were here.
"Cupcake?"
"What is it this time?" There was no malice or exasperation in Caitlyn's voice.
"No-one ever tried tickling you when you were staying somewhere?" Vi nudged Caitlyn in the ribs. "You were loud enough back there to keep anyone awake."
"Shut up." Caitlyn giggled, then paused for a moment, licking her lips. "We didn't have many sleepovers when I was young. And even then, I was never... tickled... during one of them."
"So you've never been tickled before?" Vi inched closer to Caitlyn. The other woman squirmed slightly but made no attempt to move away.
"Not since I was very young." Caitlyn turned around to face Vi, that same small smile playing across her lips. "Why do you ask- oh nohohahah!"
As Vi predicted, Caitlyn made enough noise that night to keep the whole building up. Not that either of them minded. After all, no-one comes to this part of Zaun for a good night's sleep.
#augtickletober2023#arcane tickle#i love caitvi with my whole heart#also like writing stories in rundown hotel rooms if you hadn't guessed!#tickle fic#tickle story
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I could talk for a long time about fractal structure plots, but I think Arcane may actually be one of the best possible examples of media that layers all the different fractals together expertly. There’s
The overall three act structure across the season (act one being episodes 1-3, act two ep 4-6, act three 7-9)
The three act structure across each released act (act one being the first episode in the group of three episodes released together, act two the second, act three the last episode)
The three act structure across each episode (each episode advances the plot in certain ways, with a fairly clear dramatic question, rising action, climax, and resolution of some kind)
The three act structure across each SCENE (every scene has a goal, a conflict of some kind, and a resolution that contributes to the overall plot)
Each champion has their OWN three act plot structure, where they change and evolve over the show.
This isn’t NEW of course— this kind of structure has been around for years and can be found in a ton of writing courses and university classes and YouTube videos. But Arcane just does it so effectively that it’s breathtaking. It’s what keeps everything so focused and driven and relevant. Arcane doesn’t let you catch your breath in a really satisfying way (IMO).
When I have more brain power I may see if I can break apart some of the major beats in the story and see how deep this goes, purely from a writing standpoint.
#i know this isn’t NEW but#as someone who grew up reading a bunch of wiring tips and attending acting classes and stuff#it tickles my grey matter to see it all SPREAD OUT like this#it seems both useful as a writer AND as a fan dissecting stuff#also MAJOR props to Christian and Alex for saying that they absolutely did not do this alone#and that the first few years of drafts were bad#once again not a new notion but always helpful to know that your favorite media wasn’t always what it IS now that you love it#reminds me of how beauty and the beast was LAUGHABLY bad until literally it’s last screening lmfao they had so many BLEH drafts!!#jayvik#viktor arcane#jayce arcane#sir e speaks#arcane thoughts
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Hello!
Meant to send this earlier, but alas, life distracted me. If you're still doing the character HCs could I please get yours for Grayson on 7, 10, and 13?
Thanks! <3
Can't ever get enough Grayson related asks 🥰
7. Their tickle spots
She literally has only one spot: her sides. And her reaction is awful! Her brothers used to tease her as a kid, so whenever someone tries to tickle her sides - and catches her in an inattentive moment, as it often is with tickle attacks - they most likely end up being slapped, or, worse, punched. She can't control it, it has become an instinctive defence mechanism.
10. Fears/phobia
She used to be very claustrophobic as a kid but "overcame" that to fulfil her dream of becoming an enforcer. Now, sometimes she still gets uncomfortable in tight spaces. The thing with Grayson is, that you can never truly tell what is going on. At least judging from her expressions. Those close to her eventually figure out ways to read her micro behaviour and can tell something is off.
13. What gets them flustered
Compliments of a certain kind. She's good at accepting them generally and she has an overall positive perception of herself, however, she has some connection-issues with her looks as a woman. So people, like Mel, who tend to describe her as beautiful and pretty, will find that she'll get flustered by it sooner or later.
She's also not comfortable at all with talking about things that she might not be able to solve, especially in connection to her own person (e.g. problems that'll be tough to overcome). Being confronted about them will unsettle her, so she gets flustered there in a way too.
Send me a character and a number
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Another All-Nighter {Jayce and Viktor}
A/N: Thank you for the prompt anon! Sorry it’s a little shorter than usual, but I didn’t want to add on just to add on, y’know? I miss Arcane so so much, I’ve been thinking of actually giving it a rewatch later! I hope you enjoy this one! It felt a bit blocky and rushed when I was rereading it because i wrote it over like,,, a week,,, but i didn’t want to completely rewrite it orz. Have a lovely day/night! :D
Summary: Jayce and Viktor are staying up working on their technology when Viktor gets tired.
Word Count: 878 (under the cut)
Viktor tweaked at a piece of machinery lightly with a screwdriver, trying to be precise. Jayce sat next to him, sketching a blueprint for another invention that they would try to improve with their Hextech technology.
Viktor eventually leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The two of them had been pulling an all nighter, which wasn’t very good for Viktor. Jayce could handle it as long as he had some coffee, but Viktor was already exhausted from the night before when they had stayed up late trying to finish something.
“How much longer are we going to be pulling all nighters?” Viktor said, a small whine lilting in his tone. Jayce chuckled, patting his shoulder without looking up from the blueprint.
“Not much longer. We can take a break right now, if you want.”
“I want to sleep is what I want.”
Viktor laid his arms down on the table and rested his head, breathing deeply as Jayce looked over, smiling softly. “Take a nap then. I’ll wake you up in a few minutes.”
Viktor nodded his head gratefully and rested. Hextech might have been a massive technology that was going to influence the entire world, but the two of them could take breaks every now and then. Working themselves to exhaustion wouldn’t make the product any better.
Viktor awoke to a light nudge from Jayce, yawning as he stretched his arms.
“Let’s just work for a little bit longer, then we can call it a night.”
Viktor rolled his eyes, speaking with a teasing tone. “Since when are you the boss? I thought this was a joint operation.”
Jayce glanced at him with a small grin. “It is, but I’m still in charge.”
Viktor folded his arms and drawled. “After I made all of this possible? We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
Jayce knew Viktor was just teasing, and he also knew that he had a good point. If he hadn’t helped Jayce that night, they wouldn’t have been able to work on Hextech. Jayce played along with Viktor anyway and, Jayce being Jayce, decided to step it up a notch.
He put a hand to his chest in an offended manner. “But it’s my invention! I’m hurt, Viktor.”
Viktor chuckled and elbowed Jayce lightly. “Our invention.”
“Oh, you’re so gonna get it,” Jayce said suddenly, setting down his pencil.
Viktor glanced at his hand, then back at Jayce and chuckled nervously. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Viktor hardly had any time to react before Jayce was out of his chair and grabbing Viktor, scooping him up, making Viktor gasp. “Put me down!”
“Okay,” Jayce said, setting Viktor down on the table. Viktor immediately went to escape, but Jayce cornered him, grabbing his hips and giving them a soft squeeze. Viktor jumped and quickly stared at Jayce with wide eyes.
“Not that,” Viktor whined, but Jayce only smirked.
“You deserve it.”
Before Viktor could protest, Jayce was squeezing his hips in earnest, making the poor man shriek and double over against Jayce, laughing in that pitchy, slightly raspy laugh that Jayce adored. He couldn’t help but chuckle along as Viktor laughed.
“Nohoho! Whahat did I eheheven do!?” Viktor giggled out, squirming and shoving at Jayce.
“You know what you did! Don’t take credit for all my hard work!” Jayce teased, and Viktor only laughed in reply.
“I didn’t! It wahahas a johoke! Plehehease, not thihis!”
“Not what?”
Viktor squealed when Jayce found a particularly sensitive spot near the dip of his hip. “You knohohow whahat!”
Jayce made a dumb face that only made Viktor laugh harder. Jayce quickly broke into a smile and climbed up from Viktor’s hips to his ribs, digging in lightly as Viktor pulled his arms back and clamped them against his sides.
“Ahaharen’t we supposed to behehe wohorking??”
“Says the one who took a nap.”
“You sahahaid I cohohould!!”
The two of them continued to bicker lightly, though it was harder for Viktor since he was laughing. Jayce snuck his hands under Viktor’s arms just as he was about to curse at him, making him squeal loudly instead.
“Time ohohout! Jahahahayce!”
Jayce listened to Viktor and slowed his fingers, giving him a chance to breathe. He coughed a bit after he caught his breath and Jayce furrowed his brows in worry.
“Did I go too far?”
Viktor stared at him and quickly shook his head. “No, no, I didn’t mind.”
Jayce stared at Viktor and Viktor stared back, his jaw hanging open slightly. Jayce’s face slowly twisted into an amused grin and Viktor quickly shut his jaw with a click and shoved Jayce away. Jayce laughed and Viktor grumbled, sliding off the table and shuffling to the chair he was sitting in before. It was close, luckily, and Viktor sat down before going back to work, mumbling.
Jayce smiled and put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, reaching over and taking the piece of machinery out of his hand. “No more, Viktor. We’re gonna call it a night.”
Viktor looked up at Jayce and sighed. “Eh, works for me.”
Viktor grabbed his cane from the table and the two of them walked out of the laboratory together, already discussing what work they would do next.
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I don't know if I had anyone fooled, but I actually still haven't finished rottmnt yet. But I'm finishing it today!
#personal#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt#i think i started it about a week ago and i'm sad it's almost over#send good vibes because i have reason to believe that this show might hurt my feelings#i still haven't recovered from turtle-dega nights and now all this?#please feel free to message me about this show i love talking about it sm#i haven't been so obsessed with a show since my arcane days#anyways#non tickling
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all i do is find these v specific kinds of arcane edits and send them ur way
IVE WATCHED THIS A HUNDRED TIMES HELP OH MY GOD I FUCKING
#THANK U FOR SENDING ME THESE IM SCREAMING#these are so satisfying they tickle my brain so good#> box !#> msg from lior !#> an arcane curse !
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I'm falling back into my jayvik bullshit again (headcanons soon???)
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Viktor (Arcane) tickly rambles
Society win i’m posting my. Thoughts. Yes
I think. He never got tickled as a kid. Perhaps as a faint memory when he was 6, but it’s so long ago. And none of the other kids ever played w/ him because he was “weird” (disabled).
So hypothetically he knows what it is, but he’s never experienced it, and he’s never really thought about it either, there are much more… Urgent things to do (help his people).
He never got much physical attention either. So that helps (it does not). I can only imagine getting physically touched by people makes his skin shiver- When he's willingly receiving it, that is.
I think this all Changes once Jayce got into his life. Jayce, who’s constantly putting a hand on his shoulder, or his lower back, wrapping an arm around Viktor, etc. He’s so touchy-feely and warm.
When getting tickled, he turns around a lot, real squirmer to the best of his abilities. He probably tries to cover his mouth when laughing too. I think, when it’s Jayce, he gets really flustered at cooing and compliments during tickles.
#arcane tickles#arcane tickling#tickle talk#ghost talk#this ghost is disabled and is projecting on viktor
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Rewatching Arcane and I’ll never get over the fact that there is no indication that Caitlyn returns to Piltover to get paperwork to break Vi out, doubled with the fact that Jayce clearly had no idea she had done so, which means while she’s still healing from the bomb attack she ran away from home, impersonated an officer (dressing as an enforcer despite being freshly fired) and brought paperwork with her with the intent of forgery originally just to hopefully get a name from a prisoner because she was obsessively overconfident of the fact she’s a better detective than anyone else. Absolutely tickles me.
“My crimes are justified because I’m right.” This woman is insane.
#arcane#Caitlyn#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi#learns her bestie has been given power#immediately abuses it
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it always tickles me that despite the fact that falin wields a literal mace as an arcane focus it's five-foot-something noodle-armed elven waif marcille with her delicately woven branch staff and bare minimum strength and constitution who is categorically more violent and destructive and unhinged. falin touden can tenderize a walking mushroom with one hit and still marcille "i cast explode your brain point blank on reflex when threatened" donato is truly something else
#and that's yuri#dungeon meshi#falin touden#marcille donato#farcille#bc it's yet another hilarious dimension to their already unhinged dynamic#(yes faligon is an unstoppable killing machine but those were extenuating circumstances)#forever thinking about marcille obliterating the roof of thistle's house with a spell she aimed at mithrun's head from two (2) inches away#mine
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EXCUSE ME
0______o
….I’m about to f🐬ing lose it. 🫣
#tickling#tickle#tickle blog#tickling community#vi caitlyn#vi league of legends#vi lol#vi arcane#violyn#arcane caitlyn#vi x caitlyn#vi and caitlyn#caitlyn league of legends#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi#tickle content#foot tickling
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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]
Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia
Word Count: 6.7k
Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'
🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]
As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.
You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.
The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.
“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.
“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”
Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.
Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’
“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.
“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”
Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”
‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”
Your brows twitched irritably.
Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.
“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.
Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.
“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”
“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.
Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.
“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.
You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”
Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.
“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”
“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”
Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.
“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”
And then you were gagged once more.
The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.
“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”
You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”
He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”
You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.
You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.
Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.
“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”
You took a deep breath in through your nose.
“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.
Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.
“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”
His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.
And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—
Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.
Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.
You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.
‘Wait,’ that look said.
And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.
The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.
You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.
There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.
Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.
“What’s going on?!—”
With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.
And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.
With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.
“Not so fast, you little cretin.”
And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—
There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.
Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.
“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”
Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.
“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.
“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”
“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”
“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”
“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”
“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”
You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.
“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”
“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”
The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.
“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.
“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.
“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.
You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.
You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.
The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.
He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.
From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.
And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.
You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.
He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!
And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.
But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.
It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—
You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.
“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.
You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.
Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.
“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”
The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.
“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"
“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”
You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.
“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.
Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.
“What white teeth you have?” you tried.
He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.
You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.
And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.
Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.
You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.
A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.
Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.
He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.
“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”
The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.
And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.
You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.
You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.
“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”
“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”
“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”
When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.
“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”
He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.
You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.
“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.
“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.
“A what?”
“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”
You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.
“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”
“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”
He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.
“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”
Then why—
You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.
“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”
“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.
“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”
You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—' was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you.
“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”
You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.
“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”
“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”
Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”
“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”
“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”
You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.
“Uhm, hello?” you tried.
“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”
“It talks,” you blanched.
“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”
“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”
“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”
Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.
“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”
Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.
“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.
.
.
On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.
“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”
Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.
The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.
The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.
Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.
He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.
One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.
And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?
“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.
“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”
You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.
“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”
Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.
“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”
“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”
However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.
“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”
Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.
“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.
You shrugged.
“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”
Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”
The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.
“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”
There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—
“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.
And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.
But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.
“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”
“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.
You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?
“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”
.
.
.
[TAG LIST] CLOSED
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