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warlordfelwinter · 10 months

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Tales from the Dancing Sea Dragon

Part One: Dragon Heist

Chapter One: Another Day in Waterdeep & Chapter Two: Troubled Sleep

Celeste has a normal, boring day, and then a very un-normal, un-boring night.

~4k words

Celeste was… bored.

He sighed, heavily, staring at the ceiling of his sitting room. He was lounging across a soft, green chaise sofa, one hand fiddling with the stone pendant around his neck. Devil’s heart. A blood red ruby formed in the Nine Hells, wrapped artfully in gold wire, always radiating a faint heat. It had been a gift from someone he had been missing lately.

He tried, in vain, to remember what it was his love had told him would keep him away. He had said something about it, of that Celeste was certain. He was busy. He was always busy, but he was very busy. Too busy to spend time with Celeste for a while. He had said something… about something in… somewhere… He should have listened, but he distinctly remembered being distracted by watching his mouth as he spoke. Hints of sharp teeth and a forked tongue behind perfectly sculpted lips. Really it was hardly Celeste’s fault he hadn’t been paying attention to the words.

It had been weeks, at least, since he’d seen his beloved. So most days had been boring. But this day, in particular, was killing him. He was waiting. He had rehearsal tonight, again, for the Greengrass Festival. He’d been hired alongside a dance troupe for the main performance. For some reason, the proprietor insisted on having rehearsal in the evening, so Celeste had sort of been at a loss for things to do all day and had mostly ended up just staring at the ceiling.

He got to his feet with a stretch and walked over to a bookshelf, unable to stop his gaze wandering around the room. Some might call it cluttered. There wasn’t an inch of empty space on the walls, no shelves unoccupied by books or trinkets. There were plants everywhere, some hanging, others on stands. Some of them were even still alive. Not due to anything Celeste had done, certainly. He didn’t have his mother’s way with plants, as evidenced by the ones that had been reduced to brittle brown stems in his care. He wondered if the ones still hanging on had been her favorites. Maybe some remnant of that love was keeping them from giving up. It had been enough to keep him from giving up more than once.

He should get rid of the dead ones, he knew. Just like he should clean the shelves. Dust had built up between and atop all the baubles. He just couldn’t bring himself to move them. If he did, if he didn’t put them back just right, it would feel wrong. Too much like this was his house. Too final.

Eight years.

Eight years, and he still couldn’t face it.

Coward, he thought, but he ignored himself and looked at the shelf, focusing on the books. Read that. Read that. Don’t want to read that. Read that. Definitely don’t want to read that. Read that.

He sighed which turned into an exasperated groan. He tipped back, dropping into a backbend, palms flat on the floor over his head, abdomen arched. He held it for a minute or so, enjoying the stretch, and then collapsed onto the rug.

Maybe he should eat. He was probably hungry.

He got up and headed upstairs. His steps always faltered, just slightly, on the second floor. He didn’t look at the closed door across from the studio and forced himself to move quicker, almost dashing up the next flight. He didn’t look at the closed door up here either. It was habit, by now, to get into his room as fast as possible. If he didn’t see the closed doors, he wouldn’t think about it. That strategy never worked quite as well as he would have liked.

He got dressed in something that would be decent for rehearsal. A tight shirt, sleeveless for the warm weather, and loose linen pants tied up slightly at the knee. His mothers bangles on his wrists and ankles, and the ruby pendant around his neck. He braided his hair, wrapping it up so it was somewhat contained and out of the way for dancing later, and didn’t bother with shoes. It was a warm, sunny, dry day and the streets of Waterdeep were always clean.

He dashed back downstairs and out the front door. It was bright and beautiful outside, his street alive with neighbors going about their business. Every building and streetlamp was festooned with ribbons and flowers, petals drifting through the air on a breeze that smelled like summer. He took a pause, the clinging shadows of the memories in his empty house fading away somewhat in the sunlight. Waterdeep. Home.

He trotted down the steps and then paused, trying to remember if he’d locked the door. He’d forgotten too many times. He went back up and found that no, he hadn’t. He locked it and pocketed his keys, heading back down the few steps off his front porch to the sidewalk.

Celeste started walking, trying to think of what to eat. Was he even hungry? He didn’t think so, and the more he thought about it dancing on a freshly full stomach sounded like a bad idea. So rather than find a place to eat, he just kept walking, letting his feet carry him where they may, enjoying the feeling of the warm stone of the sidewalk beneath them.

The familiar bustle of Waterdeep moved around him. There was a rhythm to it all, the music of the city. He swayed as he walked, skipping and turning and spinning, dancing to a song only he could hear. Times like this, he felt a hint of that warmth and happiness he remembered from before. A muffled echo of what had once filled his whole heart, now always tinged with a bittersweet sadness.

When Celeste came out of his wandering, aimless thoughts, he found himself at the gates of the City of the Dead and his steps came to a halt.

Celeste stared at the open gate, and through to the trees and twisting pathways of the park and cemetery. So often recently his steps had brought him here and he wasn’t sure why. He always stopped at the gate, unable to force himself to go inside.

It was the guilt, he thought. His parents, his sisters, they should be here. They were buried in Elturel, he’d been in no state to figure out funerary arrangements at the time. But he should have had them moved. If they were even still there, after the city had been transported to the Nine Hells and back. He didn't want to think about that. They deserved to be here, in their city, above ground. He knew he should have them moved, but it was just another thing he couldn’t bring himself to do. Eight years and he still couldn’t face it.

He turned away from the gates, glancing up at the sun and realizing he was going to be late for rehearsal. He raced away from the cemetery, lingering regret burning away as he ran.

---

The main market square of the city was well and thoroughly decorated for the Greengrass Festival, decked out in ribbons and flowers. There was a maypole in the center and Celeste could see the other dancers stretching and warming up for rehearsal as he approached.

Their employer, a half-elven man named Mr. Grambelith, gave Celeste a dirty look as he spotted him.

“Late again, Celeste?” he asked.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” Celeste said, not meaning the apology even a little.

“Yes, well, you need to—”

Celeste walked past him, ignoring the rest of his flustered protestations. He didn’t care for Mr. Grambelith, the man made him uncomfortable for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he needed money and the other dancers were nice.

“Ah, there he is! Late as always!” Daara exclaimed as he approached, in a much friendlier manner than their boss.

“I promise I’ll be on time tomorrow,” Celeste said, with a sheepish grin.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Fil’onin said.

“Places, everyone!” Mr. Grambelith snapped. “We’re running late thanks to someone, so you had all better be on point tonight!”

Daara caught Celeste’s gaze and rolled her eyes. He stifled a laugh and moved to his starting position.

The dance was a beautiful one, fluid and energetic, meant to bring to mind the beauty and warmth of the coming season. Celeste, these days, tried to gravitate more toward backup, but as was so often the case he was made the focal point. It was hard to find a better dancer to represent the sun than one who quite literally had a halo.

The other reason, apart from his celestial blessed looks, that he was often made front and center in performances was that he was very good at what he did. Celeste had been dancing since he could walk, and professionally for twenty years.

Even Mr. Grambelith could hardly find anything to be annoyed about as they worked through the choreography. He barked instructions that the dancers largely ignored, well aware that they knew what they were doing better than he did. Celeste helped the others master the steps they’d been struggling with, his energy seeming to give them the extra boost they needed to match him.

As always, when he danced, the world seemed lighter. Throughout the rehearsal, that ever-present weight in his chest eased and his smiles came easier, more genuine.

They danced through the routine one last time, perfectly, and Mr. Grambelith called a halt. The other dancers all gathered around Celeste, everyone breathing hard and covered in sweat.

“So, Celeste, you’ll be coming to the Yawning Portal with us all tomorrow night, right?” Fil’onin asked.

Celeste hesitated, caught unprepared. Before he could respond, Daara rescued him, coming up and slinging an arm around Fil’onin.

“Don’t pressure him!” she chided. “Celeste, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but we’d love to see you.”

“I—”

“Anyway, Fil, shouldn’t you be thinking about your footwork?” Daara went on. “You still can’t get that turn—”

“Oi, I got it well enough!” Fil’onin protested. “I’ll get it tomorrow. It only counts when we get paid—”

“You’ll get paid after the performance!” Mr. Grambelith interrupted. He went on, finding things to criticize about their efforts, but Celeste wasn’t listening he was trying to keep from laughing while one of the dancers stood behind Mr. Grambelith, silently mocking him.

He wandered off, still muttering to himself. Clearly just a small man who wished to be more important than he was.

“Maláka,” Celeste muttered, sticking his tongue out after him.

“Well I have got a very important date to get to, so I will see you all tomorrow—” Fil’onin said.

Daara looked at him critically. “A date, huh? I thought you said you were taking your mom to the spa. For her feet, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I—you—listen—” Fil’onin stammered. He wriggled out from under Daara’s arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Celeste, we better see you at the Portal after!”

“Say hi to your mom for me!” Daara called after him.

Celeste laughed, feeling strange. They were so friendly, so familiar with each other, trying to extend that familiarity to him. It was instinctive now for him to shy away, reinforcing the walls he’d put up around his heart.

“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Daara said. “And again, we’d love to have you out with us after, but no pressure.”

“I’ll think about it,” Celeste promised. He bid them goodnight and headed off, steps instinctively carrying him home as his mind mulled everything over. The sun had fully set, the streets lit by everburning lanterns. He should go out with the other dancers after the festival tomorrow. He would, he told himself. It had been a while since he’d been out, he’d earned a night of drinking. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to be doing at home.

Someone coughed from an alley as he passed, startling him out of his thoughts. He peered down the alley, but he didn't slow and the shadows were heavy even for his eyes. He doubted it was anything of consequence. He looked around, focusing on where he was and more mindfully found his way to his home. He unlocked his front door and went inside, locking it again behind him.

The house was dark, and quiet. His halo lit his way through the foyer into the dining room, giving his natural dark vision just enough of a boost. He didn’t bother lighting the lamps, just headed upstairs to his room, exhausted and sore from the day. As he climbed the stairs he couldn’t help but smell the air, hoping to catch a hint of brimstone, but he was alone.

He changed into his sleeping clothes and crawled into bed, stretching out and quickly dropping out of consciousness.

Chapter Two

Celeste was asleep, not quite dreaming yet, only aware of where he was because he felt someone else. A presence he hadn’t felt in a while but that he recognized instantly, one that had hovered occasionally at the edge of his mind as long as he could remember.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Celeste?”

The voice was formless. Celeste tried to remember the last time Hanala had actually spoken to him. He’d felt her disapproval a few times, quite sharply the first time he’d kissed a certain someone, but the last time he’d heard her voice… It must have been Baldur’s Gate. The day he’d left, when she’d helped him remember who he was.

"You're not the same man you were last time we spoke. You've come so far, but you have farther yet to go, little light… Something is coming,” Hanala murmured. As she spoke, Celeste’s vision cleared and he saw Waterdeep, being devoured by shadow and silence. Hanala spoke slowly, as if she was describing something she was seeing. “Shadows are lengthening, growing to swallow Waterdeep, the Sword Coast, all of Toril. Aberrant folk flourish in the city, horned masks and black cloaks, moving around mortals in secrecy. What is it they want? What is it they’re looking for? Something bursts from the Nine Hells, razing the world into something new, something terrible. That’s why they’re here, they need something from the city. Something for her…”

Celeste found himself standing on his street in the North Ward. The lamps were dark and the shadows heavy. The homes and businesses around him were rubble, burning. He could hear screaming and the air smelled of smoke and blood. Someone lurched past him, wailing as they burned to death. Celeste startled away as the scene shifted and he saw more people, burning, screaming, bleeding, dying. His stomach turned but it was empty. He stumbled back, almost tripping over a burning body, his chest tightening with horror as he recognized them. His neighbor, Jezzara. Efni was near them, both dead, throats slit in such a viscerally familiar way. Their own blood, pooling underneath them, sizzled and boiled away in the heat of the fire that consumed their bodies.

“Why are you showing me this?” Celeste gasped, covering his eyes. “Please, I don’t want to see this!” he begged.

The screaming stopped and he raised his head, vision blurred. He wasn’t in Waterdeep anymore, he was walking along what might have once been the Trade Way. It was hard to tell, the landscape was blasted and barren, forests burned to cinder. A harsh, dry wind flung ash and dirt into his face. Something flew overhead, a massive monstrous shadow passing over Celeste as the air shook with wing beats.

He didn’t look up, he buried his face in his hands, trying to pull himself away from this dream, trying to wake up. He felt Hanala’s essence pull him closer. He heard the croaking call of ravens and his stomach dropped.

Celeste looked up, knowing what he would see. A familiar tent through the trees, an absence of voices and song. He could smell blood. He sobbed. Mr. Grambelith’s voice echoed in his ears, past and present tangling together, “Late again, Celeste?”

Celeste fell to his knees, curling into a ball. He cried, jaw clenched, chest tight with fear and grief and confusion. He felt the dream shift around him again.

“Something’s coming, little light,” Hanala said. Her voice sounded more present and Celeste looked up, finding himself in a featureless white space. Hanala approached him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually seen her, but she looked the same. A deva in the form of a slender, dark-skinned woman with large black feathered wings folded behind her back.

She knelt in front of him, hands gently cupping his face, her solid green eyes full of love and sympathy.

“You have a choice, to meet this darkness with your light. I believe you can change this fate, but you can’t do it alone. Pay attention to your city, things are changing and you will need help, need others,” she murmured. She leaned in, placing her forehead against his, wiping tears away with her thumbs. “It feels safe to be alone, I know. Grief and pain have hardened your heart, but that light is still there. It wants to be let out, it wants to love again. Freely. Recklessly. You have a choice to find yourself, to be someone you could be proud of. Someone Maran and Asha and Yeifah… someone Lynn would be proud of.”

A pained sob escaped Celeste and Hanala pulled him into her arms, holding him closer.

“Open your heart again, little one, and open your eyes. You won’t survive what’s coming alone.”

Celeste opened his eyes to darkness, finding himself in his bed in his room. He was drenched in cold sweat and crying. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by grief and fear. He laid awake, sobbing, for what felt like hours until exhaustion finally drove him back into a dreamless sleep.

A Tenday Later.

Celeste opened his eyes, staring at the mural on his ceiling. Swirling white and gold lines and stars against dark blue. He stretched, arcing his back up. Another dreamless sleep. He hadn’t had any noteworthy dreams since Hanala had visited him, but he was skittish to sleep now, afraid he’d open his eyes to smoke and screaming.

Those visions had occupied his mind since that night. He’d managed to perform at the festival that next day well enough, despite how exhausted he’d been. He’d declined the offer to join the other dancers at the Yawning Portal. He knew what Hanala had said about letting his walls down, but he’d been too troubled, too upset.

He fiddled with the warm stone around his neck, thinking once again about what Hanala had showed him. Something bursts from the Nine Hells. He closed his eyes, hand tightening around the stone.

“Dea… if you can hear me, I need to talk to you. Something’s coming, something bad. My guardian told me it was coming from the Hells. I’m… I’m choosing to believe it’s not you. I don’t think it’s you. What she showed me was too… chaotic. Too pointless. But if there’s something down there, you must know about it, right? Please, just… if you can hear me, I need to know what’s coming. I’m scared. Please, let me hear your voice soon, agápi mou. Mou lípis.”

He opened his eyes and waited, in vain, for a familiar voice. After a few minutes, he sat up, feeling restless. His stomach growled and he realized he had forgotten to eat dinner last night. Again.

Celeste got dressed, loosely braiding his hair, and left his house. He walked down the street, a few blocks, to his favorite bakery—Tokens of My Confections. It was where his father had worked when he’d been growing up and the smell always brought him waves of wistful nostalgia.

It was busy as ever this morning, with a line out the door waiting to order. Celeste drifted past the customers, catching the eye of Rehma, the halfling proprietor, who already had his usual breakfast waiting—a warm cinnamon roll with citrus sugar glaze on top. He handed over a few coins and she smiled and winked at him, too busy to chat.

Celeste hesitated. He usually ate in the bakery or at one of the tables outside, but it was so busy this morning he didn’t really want to stay. Before he could leave, however, someone called his name.

“Celeste!”

He turned to see a familiar face and a familiar lute and felt a smile come across his face despite himself. Mattrim “Three Strings” Mereg, a bard who often ended up getting hired for the same performances as Celeste. They had, consequently, spent quite a bit of time together over the past few years. Celeste kept people at arms length by design since he’d come back from Baldur’s Gate, but Mattrim was perhaps the closest he had to a friend. On this plane, at least.

“It’s good to see you my friend!” Mattrim said. He glanced at the pastry in Celeste’s hands. “Oh that smells incredible, what is that?”

“Best thing on the menu,” Celeste said. “Orange roll.”

“Ohh I should get one, shouldn’t I?”

“You really should.”

“I’ll try it, I trust you, though I have to say I was quite disappointed by what I got. But I’ll give this place another chance. Hey, listen, I have a favor to ask you.” As usual, Mattrim spoke quickly, hardly letting Celeste get a breath in edgewise. He was normally a bit of a shy person, for a bard, and when he’d first met Celeste he’d been quieter. Less certain of himself. Something about Celeste had put him at ease and he’d become much more confident around him over the years. He had that effect on people, he knew. They trusted him, felt comfortable around him. It made it very difficult to keep them at a distance.

“I’ll be performing at the Yawning Portal this evening,” Mattrim went on. “You know, I need the money, and it’s a busy time of year for them. All sorts of new adventurers coming around, trying their luck. I figure it’ll be a good audience. Would you come? Please? You don’t even have to talk to me, I just want a familiar face in the crowd. Moral support. Say you’ll come.”

Celeste opened his mouth.

“You don’t have to decide right now, just think about it, okay?” Mattrim said. “It’d mean the world to me if you’d be there. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your bread roll thing. See you later, hopefully!” With that, he turned, heading back toward the counter. “Rehma! I want whatever it is you gave Celeste—”

Celeste smiled to himself, shaking his head. Mattrim always brought the energy of someone who had eight different places he needed to be all at once. He quickly slipped outside around the crowd and started walking, letting his feet carry him where they may while he ate.

He would go to see Mattrim tonight, he thought. Hanala had told him to stop closing himself off. Going out to a tavern with his friend seemed like an easy first step.

Once again, Celeste’s steps led him to the City of the Dead. He stopped at the gate, hesitating again. He took a breath and kept walking, under the arched wrought iron gate. The sounds of the city seemed to drop away behind him as he walked further into the park.

The path wound under trees, around tended flower beds and shrubs and statuary, as much a sprawling park as it was a cemetery. Waterdhavians had long since stopped burying their dead, keeping them above ground in mausoleums that dotted around the park. It didn’t feel like a place of death, it felt more like an open-air museum.

Celeste followed one of the paths, walking slowly and finishing his breakfast. It was quiet here. Peaceful. It wasn’t crowded, but he wasn’t alone.

He found a bench under a tree and sat down, watching the other people around him. There were a few others here alone but most had company. He saw a few couples, some parents with children. Some were bringing flowers to mausoleums, or little trinkets. He saw a few elves bringing rocks to place instead of flowers. Others were simply walking the paths.

Celeste took a deep, slow breath. For the first time since Hanala’s visions, he felt relaxed. The sunlight coming through the trees, the smell of flowers on a gentle, warm breeze, the quiet, distant conversations of other Waterdhavians… Even his mind felt calm. At peace.

There was something about seeing the other people here, realizing that they had lost too. Most of them were still smiling. He wondered how many of them were forcing those smiles, wearing them like a mask like he did. It made him feel a little less alone. He didn’t know any of these people and they didn’t know him, but they had all lost someone.

#long fucken post but i figured i'd crosspost chapters here bc my ao3 is locked to only registered users #anyway. here's the celeste campaign #i've got like. five ish sessions written out #these two chapters are just my session 0 which is why it's only celeste #fel's ttrpgs #dnd: tales from the dancing sea dragon #as i said. not the most creative name but i think it's cute #better than 'waterdeep campaign' lmao #oc: celeste #fic

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solradguy · 8 months

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I got these together for someone over on Discord and figured I'd crosspost them here too.

Sol's Gear mark:

Justice's (mecha/Missing Link design):

Justice's (peeled/Xrd design):

Ky's (on his left hand instead of his forehead like the others):

I think these are all the Gear marks that they've shown so far. Dizzy's and Testament's are an enigma.

#photopost #gear marks #gear symbols

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mentallyshattered · 7 months

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This is part 8 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

Vil stares for a moment, just a moment, and then smiles. Grim is still looking at me weird, but says nothing.

We leave to eat. Grim's strange looks halt when he sees breakfast: poppyseed bagels with cream cheese and lox. We eat instead of talking, and I take the time to admire just how clean this place is.

Everything is so shiny. There aren't any paintings or pictures, noticeably, but there is a mirror hanging over there. It was probably put there to allow people to look at the oven without having to turn around, given the location and angle.

Looking in the mirror... Hey, it's Korrak and Mandible! And...Rook? Looks like he's intercepting them, too. At least he's giving them food first. Korrak walks toward the stairs with half a poppyseed bagel in hand.

Oh, well. That's none of my business. I'm done with my bagel, though, so it's off to the Backstage Room!

Grim finishes his breakfast on the way, and I brush him until his coat is soft and even. He doesn't complain about me stopping this time, but he does set off on a quest of magically dressing himself.

When I finish my routine, we head off to put my new phone up, and then it's off to History of Magic.

Trappola isn't here yet, surprisingly. I figured he'd've learned his lesson after yesterday, but I guess not. Oh, well. His problem! We'll snitch again if he starts today with a repeat of yesterday.

By the time we sit down and start talking to Deuce, Trappola walks into the room- with a collar on?

"I see your stares. Don't ask."

With that, he sits. Deuce stares right at him for a solid 20 seconds before speaking.

"We don't even have oolong."

"Not what happened."

I sit there, contemplating why this kid is wearing a heart-shaped collar with a lock on it to class. Very much a "Heartslabyul" look, though. Half is black, half is red, and the outlines are gold.

The bells rings, and Trein starts the lesson. I take notes and help Grim do the same with his levitation magic. He picks up on it pretty fast, and his writing is easily legible within 5 minutes.

Crewel gives Trappola a funny look when he walks in, but says nothing and the way he teaches seems normal. This is only the second time I've had him, though.

More note-taking commences. I'm rather tempted to question Trappola where he got that and why he's wearing it, but class is ongoing, so I refrain from asking and make sure Grim does the same. He shoots me dirty looks whenever I close his mouth for him, but he stays quiet.

Grim and I actually manage to stay conscious all through P.E.! That's a win for us.

"What, you think you're special just 'cause you didn't take a nap when you fell?"

"Nope! We think we're special cause we aren't the ones wearing a collar, and one of us is a cat."

Trappola turns bright red. "What the hell?!"

"Mya-ha, that's what you get!"

"He has a point, Ace. How did you get that, anyway?"

"Shut up, Deuce."

"Hey, Trappola, remember that one time you were snarky with Deuce and wound up cleaning all the chairs in Trein's room? I do."

Trappola shuts his mouth, forgets his lesson, and speaks again. "Hey, you can call me 'Ace.' I don't mind. Why do you only ever call me by my last name?"

"That's what the headmage called you during the entrance ceremony. Besides, we also call you 'entrance ceremony claustrophobe.'"

"Behind my back?"

"To your face, entrance ceremony claustrophobe."

"Okay, guys, that's enough."

"Shut it, Deuce."

"Dude, what is your problem?" Evidently, Deuce has finally had enough.

"It probably has something to do with the collar." Okay, being a dick here won't help, but I'm bored and hungry, so I'll care after lunch.

"Yeah, it does!"

"Myeh... I'd just take it off."

"I. Can't."

"Why not?"

"You say that like you don't know."

"They're first years from a different dorm, Ace. Of course they don't know. You have to tell them."

Trappola says nothing. Apparently, that thought didn't occur to him. I'm guessing most of them don't, though.

Trappola sighs, but still doesn't say anything. Deuce, clearly fed up, turns to us. "Our housewarden's signature spell is called 'Off With Your Head,' and he uses it on Heartslabyuls who break the rules. The spell places a collar around the target's neck," Deuce motions to Trappola, "and seals away their magic. I'm not sure what Ace did to get collared, but only Riddle can remove it."

I remember one of the Pomefiore sophomores explained all of the housewardens and dorms to the freshmen, me and Grim included. That's how I know Riddle Rosehearts is the Heartslabyul housewarden, a sophomore in the dorm based on strictness. No wonder, huh?

"Myaah... hey, Redhead, did you complain about yesterday in front of Rosehearts?"

Trappola looks stunned. "Yeah... How'd you know?"

"You swear when you're mad. That's probably banned."

"...You're right."

Grim appears prideful of his accomplishment, chest out and everything. Trappola looks lost. Deuce looks hungry.

"Let's go to lunch. Come on, Ace."

Grim and I wave. "Bye, Deuce! Bye, Trappola!"

The walk back to the dorm is tiring, but it's nice knowing we're just a little step closer to whatever it is we're reaching for.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #m!yuu #twst grim #twst yuu #twst ace #twst vil #twst rook #twst oc #twst disney #twst deuce #twst crewel #what if yuu didn't want to go back

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local-starry-catboi · 1 month

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𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧

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Title : "As The World Caves In"

Fandom : Honkai Star Rail

Characters : Aventurine, Seth (OC); mentioned: Sunday, Express crew, Acheron

Genre : Hurt/comfort

Content Warnings : character deaths (not overly graphic), spoilers for 2.1 TB quest ending! (and a little bit of hurt/comfort and fluff here), might be hecka rushed

Word count : 4,248

Character count : 24,724

Synopsis : Aventurine is smithing a plan of a grand final gamble and encounters various obstacles he may have to overcome, including himself.

A/n : I NEED SOME MORE COMFORT FOR THIS GUY AAAAAAA QAQ There's one specific scene I wanted in this, but I feel like this should be in a separate one, just solely comfort/fluff between Caged Hound (Seth×Aventurine) °^°

A/n 2 : Will be crossposted on Ao3 when I get around to it •3•

A/n 3 : Chapter 1 on > Page 1 for more context between Seth's and Aven's relationship (and more fluff :3)

Fic under the cut for length ✨️

Kakavasha and Seth were out on a meeting with some important figures on Penacony. Or rather, they had just come out from said meeting. The Stoneheart's bodyguard felt the watchful gaze of the Family members on them. Despite carrying his twin pistols in his chest holsters hidden under his suit jacket, he wouldn't hesitate to use them if he had to. Seth noticed that something about his boyfriend was off, though.

“What's wrong?”, he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

He was walking right next to Aventurine, if just half a step behind him, at most.

“What? Me? Wrong?”, the blond’s body was still hot with the adrenaline rush from winning the last hand in the discussion.

It was like when he’d play poker, his heart raced until the last second. Did anyone notice? Did the other players at the table notice that he was sweating? That his heartbeat was going rapidly?

“I’m fine, silly. I’m just thinking. I’m thinking of things.”.

Things like how to spoil Seth. He was going to take Seth out later and buy anything that he’s been eyeing on.

Rolling his eyes, he let out a low huff.

//Of course…//, he thought.

Shaking his head, he pulled the blond around the next corner. His brown, jagged bangs fell over his eyes. Glaring at his lover, crimson eyes piercing the other's purple-teal ones, he pinned him against the wall.

“Are you sure that you can deceive me? I've known you for long enough to notice. You may fool them, but you can't say the same for me.”.

His voice rather a low growl, warning his employer to spit it out.

Sometimes, Seth wasn't sure whether his Lycan blood or his identity as a Masked Fool were shining through. Especially in moments like these.

The suddenness of his lover's action caught him off guard. Aventurine stiffened, trying to get away from the wall. His eyes widened, a lump in his throat almost clogging up entirely. Aventurine was a bit surprised that Seth could see through him like that, but he wasn’t going to show it. Not yet.

“You know me so well…”, he said in a low tone.

“Of course I do!”, the other man huffed, with his ears pinned back, shaggy dark grey tail whipped from one side to another.

A few moments later, though, he took a deep breath. Seth leaned his forehead against his boyfriend's.

“I told you that I'd share every burden I can with you, for I am your sword and your shield. So tell me. Please.”.

There he goes again. Acting all charming after threatening him with those crimson eyes. How is this man so good at manipulating his heart, he didn’t know.

Aventurine softened, leaning back into his embrace. He was safe here. He could let his fears and insecurities flow free without being judged. He could show his true self because Cerberus was always there to see it.

The blond swallowed hard before finally answering: “I’m scared, Seth.”.

His jaw clenched visibly, even though he gently returned his partner's hug. Gently pulling the smaller man closer, he supported himself by resting his forearm against the wall. This way, the Lycan also shielded him from prying eyes. Nobody ought to see Kakavasha this vulnerable but him. Seeing him show his insecurities so openly made him feel appreciated, loved, and most of all, trusted.

Cerberus sensed how hard this was for the blond to admit.

“No need to be, for I am here to watch over you and protect you.”.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, he hugged the other man tightly to reassure him.

The wolf’s words pierced through him, so calm yet powerful. Aventurine held onto the Lycan as if he was a shield. Because he is.

The Sigonian hated to admit how scared he was since he was the type of guy that everyone saw as the confident and brave kind of guy. But it was the truth. He was scared. And he hated himself. Deeply.

“Promise you’ll never leave me”, he muttered beneath his breath, eyes squeezed shut while wrapped firmly in the wolf’s embrace.

Seth could feel hatred bubble up inside of him. Not directed towards Aventurine, no.

Far from it.

This white-hot mix of anger and hate searing inside of him was for the IPC. They were the ones responsible for making his one and only feel like this, even though they had given him this opportunity to be 'free' albeit in a golden cage with a glimmering guillotine hanging above his head, waiting to fall.

“I vow to never leave you. I'll follow you to the end of the cosmos, till the death of the stars, and even beyond. For I have pledged to be by your side forever.”.

With that, he cupped his boyfriend's cheek, gently lifting his chin in the process. He sealed his promise with a kiss on his forehead before his lips found a way down to Kakavasha's.

Seth’s kisses always made him shiver, even though they were gentle and full of tender love. The wolf’s kisses always gave him the kind of butterflies that would make him feel like his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

The kiss on the forehead made him feel safe, as if there was never such a thing as problems in the world. And finally, the last kiss sealed a promise neither of them would ever break.

Only the two of them were relishing in this moment.

Seth knew about the blond's insecurities way too well. And yet, instead of looking down on him for them, he'd repeat as often as necessary that Aventurine was much better than what the angry, evil, little voice inside his head said. Much better than what he thought about himself.

Since they were standing in a rather dimly lit alleyway clearly not used by any people around them, he could freely kiss him outside the bounds of a closed room. Bonus points could be given since it was a one-way street, and his large figure would cover the blond's smaller frame.

After what felt like an eternity, the Lycan broke the kiss.

“How about we head back to our room and order some room service?”.

He wasn't in the mood for an overly fancy dinner. This way, they could also talk about what was weighing on Aventurine's mind.

The Sigonian leaned against the muscular man, his head resting comfortably against the broad shoulders. He had no idea how his partner had already figured out that he needed time away from the fancy dinners to talk about it.

Because he really did.

“Sounds good to me. But first, can I ask you something?”.

The blond looked up and met his partner’s gaze, a hint of nervousness in his stare despite being close to the wolf.

“Promise you won’t laugh? No matter how weird my question might seem to you…?”.

Gently caressing his head, Seth's hand ran through the other's silky golden locks. With a nod, he confirmed his words to both of his remarks and questions.

“What is it?”, he quizzed, lifting an eyebrow and gazing down much more softly than before at Aventurine.

For a few seconds, he remained quiet before eventually speaking up: “…Can I have a piggyback ride..?”.

The blonde knew how corny his question was and how goofy it made him look to ask for such a thing at his age. But he didn’t care, not with his partner standing right in front of him.

Aventurine knew how tall the man was and how it didn’t matter at all, because he’d still feel safe and comfortable in his arms.

Sure, that question was not what he had expected to hear, but he didn't laugh, at least. Seth just blinked at him for a moment before nodding and turning around. The Lycan crouched down, so Aventurine would have an easier time getting on.

“S'ppose you're tired, hmm?”.

With a nod of his head, he signaled his partner to hop onto his back.

And once the Stoneheart had climbed on, he headed back to the hotel.

As soon as they had returned to their room, Seth ordered something for dinner for both of them.

He looked over to the blond and sat him down, breaking the ice: “Okay, so, what's your plan?”.

He knew that his partner was coming up with something as he set down the tablet with food and drinks the staff had brought in front of them on the little table. He knew that specific glimmer in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed slightly whenever he was coming up with a bigger plan.

Aventurine had a smile on his face that could only mean that he was thinking. The blond glanced over at the big man in front of him, who seemed so calm, with barely any signs that he was thinking hard. It was something the Sigonian wished he could be right now.

He took a sip from his expensive wine, his eyes darting at the Lycan in front of him. Seth had a calm exterior, but the man was anything but that, judging by the way his tail was wagging slightly and his ears perked up at attention.

“So…”, he began, putting down his drink, “I have an idea.”.

“Something to do with the Family, right? The way they avoid mentioning 'death' is suspicious…”, he scoffed quietly, but awaiting his love's response.

He also began eating his steak, curious about what the other's plan might entail.

The blond was surprised that his partner knew him that well. Albeit, they'd been together for a long time now, so it shouldn't actually be a wonder.

“You really do know me too well….”.

“Certainly I do.”.

A lazy smirk graced his lips, his crimson eyes glimmering as he looked at Aventurine.

Before he could answer the wolf’s suspicions, he leaned closer, his hands grabbing Seth’s.

“I have an idea. But I’d like to ask you something first.”.

“Ask away.”.

He was awaiting the other's idea and question.

The blond played with one of his partner’s fingers as he continued to speak.

“Do you trust me enough to go through with the plan I have?”.

He waited for the wolf’s answer before he could say anything else. The blond wanted the big man to trust him and believe in him.

“Well, I do trust you with everything, so... Yes. Even more so, if you don't keep me in the dark, but I don't think I need to remind you about that.”.

A husky chuckle left his throat. If he didn't trust him, why should he have chosen Aventurine as his lover? It would make little sense otherwise.

“I have an idea, but please hear me out first. I know how crazy this must sound. I know it does, but…”, he swallowed hard, his breathing becoming shaky as he continued, “I want to try and test out my theory of permanent death in the Dreamscape. I want to know if it’s possible to actually die here or not.”.

Upon hearing and processing his lover's request and plan, he almost choked on the piece of steak he was about to swallow.

“...What-? Kakavasha, you can't be serious-”, Seth eventually brought out, albeit still out of breath from his coughing fit.

“Don't you think this is a little risky?”.

He trusted Aventurine, he truly did. He just didn't know what to do with a proposal like this.

The other male laughed at his partner’s reaction, but it wasn’t a mean or arrogant laugh. It was the laugh of someone who had just proved a point they were trying to make.

The blond shrugged, as if his plan is just a normal one and not a risky one at all.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”, he tilted his head to the side, a genuine innocent smile plastered on his lips.

Realizing that his employer was serious about it, he let out a heavy sigh after thinking over it for a while. Sipping from his beer, he eventually ran a hand over his face.

“Well. I for sure know I can't stop you from anything once you've put your mind on something. Especially if it involves a high-stakes gamble.. I'll just pray for our survival.”.

When he decided that he wished to stir the peace under the Elation's name, he didn't reckon it would amount to a crazy plan like this one day.

“Well, you don’t really have a choice”, he teased, still maintaining that innocent smile on his face.

He was aware of how risky and dangerous this plan was even though he didn’t sound like he did.

“You’re coming with me whether you want it or not.”.

He smirked at the man’s comment regarding survival.

“And don’t worry. We’ll survive. I don’t mind putting my life on the line for the sake of proving this theory.”.

Seth let out a small grunt, practically meaning something along the lines of 'Figured as much'.

“Can't leave you alone in this one then. I'll join you for this experiment then. Two makes for a higher chance in probability. Did I.. get that right?”.

Aventurine smiled and his eyes lit up. Seth’s words were exactly what the blond wanted to hear. Two was indeed better than one. The chances would increase and they wouldn’t be alone in this experience.

“You’re right. There’d be a higher chance for us to survive together”, the blonde agreed, still holding onto the big man’s hand, “So, are we ready to start the experiment?”.

“Of course. Ready whenever you are”, he replied.

It meant that he wouldn't let Kakavasha do this unsupervised, and if it failed, he'd simply join him. After all, it was a shame if he failed his duty, letting his partner and employer die. Truly a shame for a bodyguard.

Even if they were meant to find a tragic end.

Aventurine stood up from the dining table, his body feeling more antsy with every minute that passed.

Was he really going to do this right now? Put his life at risk for the sake of a theory?

His eyes wandered to his partner, and he could tell that Seth looked just as anxious.

He reached over to him and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Ready?”.

The wolf nodded, before he reached for his gun, pointing it to the blond's chest and pulling the trigger.

Click. Bang. Splash. Clank. Thud. Then sparkling bubbles. Then silence.

Seth just had watched a peculiar scene: Once he had shot Aventurine, instead of blood that was gushing, it was some kind of blueish pearlescent liquid.

The bubbles and sparkling lights were from his partner's form dissolving into them as he disappeared.

His jaw clenched.

Immediately, Cerberus returned to reality through the same means as he had just done to the Stoneheart. There, he found the Sigonian sitting next to him in the Dreampool; gasping and panting from the shock, but unharmed. A heavy breath of relief fled from his lungs.

Pulling his boyfriend into a tight hug, he let out another shaky breath: “You're okay-”.

Aventurine wrapped his arms around the man, and he was the first one to break the silence after a few long heartbeats: “I’m okay…”.

The blond gulped down hard. His entire body was shaking and he could barely remember how to breath. The only thing that made him feel better was the wolf’s embrace, and even then, the blonde couldn’t shake off the fear that was taking over him.

“I…didn’t die”, he gasped as he buried his face in the big man’s chest.

Nodding quickly, he pulled Aventurine closer. He buried his face in his hair, his tail wagging and splashing the water everywhere. The emotional distress from shooting the blond and himself was lingering on his mind, but their embrace slowly seemed to soothe both of them out of it.

“Looks like one truly can't die in the Dreamscape..”.

Seeing the way Seth buried his face in his hair and his tail wagging made his heart calm down and beat slowly.

“Yeah…”, the blond finally said, after several tense moments of them holding each other, “We definitely can’t die in the Dreamscape. I wonder why that is…”.

“Good question. You want to investigate more?”. Seth asked in a low hum.

It actually piqued his interest, as well.

“Yes. I do”, he said, sounding way more relaxed now. His whole demeanor changed from tense and afraid to intrigued. He had several questions that he wanted answers to as soon as possible.

“So, why is it that we can’t die in the Dreamscape? Is there a reason? And if there is a reason… what is it?”.

His thoughts were slowly turning into theories.

Over the course of the next 48 hours, the two continued to investigate the questions at hand, as well as people who could possibly be linked to the issue.

But also, upon learning a thing or two in the process, Aventurine suggested teaming up with the Astral Express crew, which Seth figured could be a good move since they also might be able to figure something out.

Meanwhile, Welt and the others arrived at the decision to join forces with Aventurine.

The Stoneheart and Dr. Ratio played their 4D mind chess, being in on each other's plans for supposed betrayal, especially after uncovering the two murders.

And considering that Aventurine was present at the scene of Robin's murder, it would be the smartest to directly meet up with Sunday.

Although, their meeting certainly did take an unprecedented turn towards the end of their conversation.

The Harmony's powers were restricting the Sigonian, setting the moment of execution 17 system hours from that point.

Sometime in between, Veritas handed Kakavasha a vial of sorts with a ‘doctor's prescription’, as he called it.

And together, the couple made their way to the final stage of the plan.

The announcement invited everyone to witness the spectacle at Clock Studio Theme Park.

And exactly there, albeit a while later, a group of five finally stepped through the curtains and into the stadium-like structure.

Acheron, Welt, Himeko, March, and the Trailblazer readied their weapons.

“The dice are cast - Ladies and gentlemen, ready to unveil your cards?”, Aventurine greeted through a projection onto the massive screen suddenly lighting up.

Glancing out from under the rim of his fedora, he smiled slightly: “The Architects’ flawed stone…”.

Straightening his posture, he started laughing.

Now that the camera had zoomed out a little, Seth also got visible behind him, reloading Crime and Punishment whilst mockingly grinning into the camera: “You better run while you can, little rabbits..~”.

Aventurine threw a set of dice, they ended up actually rolling over the ground in front of the Express Crew and the supposed Galaxy Ranger.

“Of no value at all.”.

The green and golden dice all ended up with the spades symbol facing up; even the one that bumped into the Trailblazer's shoe.

“I'm putting down the bet. I'm taking the gamble. I'm claiming the win.”.

Bathed in a blinding, golden light, the Sigonian descended from the top middle frame border of the screen, having activated the Aventurine stone's powers.

His form had changed a little consequently; with his fedora being a top hat now, a golden, blue and turquoise mask covering his face, claws on his hands, and an upside-down, heart-shaped cutout on his chest, among others.

“I'll let fate spin the wheel, a daring gamble. Walking the brink of death… for rebirth. All for the Amber Lord!”.

Whilst he was speaking, he seemingly crushed his Cornerstone in his hand, and the cutout on his chest began to glow in a blue light.

The next moment, Trailblazer charged forward, dashing at Aventurine to attack him. Alas, he pushed them aside with ease.

Instead, Seth shoved himself in front of his partner, firing at the Express crewmember inhabiting the Stellaron to keep them back.

A red light flashed high above their heads, cutting through the dark clouds of the night sky. A massive laser beam was fired focused on the duo’s current position. The huge explosion kicked up dust and dirt, sending debris flying. Himeko hoped that her satellite had hit its mark.

Cerberus had reacted just in time, giving his partner a little shove into the direction he ought to evade before he’d leap out of the way himself. He returned the fire and just barely missed her from a full-blown hit instead just a little scrape on her side.

“Ah, so close… Pretty tricky with this handicap.”.

“Always hide your ace with a straight face…”, Aventurine sighed and with a swipe of his arm, the smokescreen seemed to clear up.

He grinned behind his mask for a moment when he noticed that his watchdog positioned himself in front of him, kneeling and yet pointing his guns at the Astral Express crew. His left hand found itself on top of the wolf’s head, akin to how proud fighting or hunting dogs would pose with their pet.

With the other hand’s extended index finger, he was pointing at the group in front of them, he clicked his tongue in irritation: “I’m starting to get a bit impatient with you all.”.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed to illuminate the darkness once the dust and smoke had settled. It showed the worry and fear in the Express crew’s eyes. What a beautiful painting.

As he rose further into the air, he chuckled arrogantly. Aventurine held onto his mask for a moment, his head tilted back. He spread his arms shortly before he was as high up as he had planned. The coat tails fluttered in the strong winds at this altitude.

“Friends, to fully relish this- I’m betting every last chip!”.

Playing with a golden and green coin, he eventually lifted the arm he was holding it with until he threw it higher up into the air.

“Only by casting aside reason does one truly gamble..”

Even though Seth’s expression had been rather cold and aloof, yet somewhat tense before, it relaxed a little bit now. He trusted his partner. Cerberus was prepared to die here tonight if fate had planned it this way and they’d lose the gamble.

Coincidentally, he had never seen Aventurine use these powers before either, so it was a first for him too. He had to admit that the glittering gilded sphere extending around and above them with golden-white chips was quite the breathtaking sight, even if the wind blowing could be compared to a storm rather than a breeze.

He simply relished in the apparent fear displayed on Trailblazer’s and March’s faces at this point.

“Haha! ‘Emanator’ - I know you’ll match my wager. Right~?”.

Laughing, the blond launched the various stacks of chips at the scene before him. He didn't care what the collateral damage would be.

When Himeko lifted her satellite for another attack, accompanied by Welt summoning a quasi-black hole, with each of them having one of the young ones behind them, Seth took the chance to shoot at them in an attempt to distract them.

“Don't focus on just one target.”.

After all, they were both equally lethal.

Crime and Punishment both spat out shell after shell that landed on the ground with a quiet clink, practically drowned out by the loud bangs and rumbling around them.

Cerberus used the descending chips and other objects as jumping pads to elevate his position all whilst he continued to shoot his projectiles as their opponents. He intentionally missed his mark by just a millimeter, just as planned.

That is until Acheron stepped forward.

Time felt like it was slowing down. Something sinister yet melancholic sent a shiver down everyone’s spine.

“I wish to mourn the departed, weeping like rain, to swell the crossing stream…”.

Her voice sounded calm, her steps alike. Her hair turned white, her arm red, skin paling. She raised the arm she held her sheathed sword with. A bloody tear rolled down her right cheek as she drew the blade.

“...as the tide arrives, leading you back home.”.

Red static crackled in the electrified air, a black domain swiftly extending with her in its center. The crimson blade dragged across the ground with a metallic clink, until she aimed a vibrant red slash mainly directed at Aventurine. The impact created a shock wave, and a bright white light blinded anyone present.

The slash cutting through the massive gilded dome also sliced through the ground and any buildings in its path, wreaking havoc and leaving destruction in its wake, blasting a thick smokescreen through the area.

Only once Acheron pushed the blade back into its scabbard, time seemed to flow normally again, heavy rain falling and drenching everything.

Alas, for the two men, everything went black. Pitch black.

Seth didn't feel nor see nor hear anything. He could barely form a coherent thought. He didn't know where he was, nor whether they were alive or dead. It simply felt like a void.

As for Aventurine, he found himself in some kind of pocket dimension, standing in front of a black sun, as he bidded farewell to a projection of his own self as a young boy before striding towards the sun where he’d expected to be reunited with his beloved wolf or find his salvation.

Or rather, the barrier’s end, appearing a subspace that requires to be either shattered or breached, at least, as according to Acheron’s information.

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collidescopeeyes · 2 months

Text

Time is a Roulette Wheel

Viego: Pt 3

League of Legends | Viego x F!Reader

Chapters: Prologue | Viego: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Crossposted on AO3 here

SFW

Summary: Turns out that Runeterra isn't the only place that has a Void. Plucked from your world into one of a video game with nothing but stolen time powers, an inability to die and a middling recollection of lore, you're prepared to do just about anything to get back home again. You just have to find the right Champion to help.

Viego doesn't follow you while you're in public. That's probably a good call, considering his past, and especially considering you've found yourself in Bilgewater. You finally tracked down Ryze, and he had approximately fuck all useful to say. You spend the week trying to decide whether you should just steal the World Stones and hope they magically give you some insight on how the fuck to get out of here, but you're also pretty sure taking those things out of this world would end it, and you're not that far gone. That doesn't mean you’re not so miserable about the decision you spend the next few days drowning your sorrows in the most moderately priced swill Bilgewater can offer. If there's anywhere a girl can get bed, board and booze for a reasonable fee, it's here.

After Viego showing up almost daily for the last two months, you kind of miss him. Maybe that's why you get shit faced drunk on overpriced wine alone in your tavern room that night, instead of going to a bar like you have been. You have no idea if Viego has some way of knowing what you're up to before he shows up, but you're halfway through the bottle by the time his boots appear in your periphery.

“What are you doing?” He asks dryly. You blink up at him.

“Is it not obvious?” You drawl, taking a sip from the bottle before offering it to him. He stares at it, brow furrowed. “Oh, don't tell me you've never tried getting drunk, either.”

He rolls his eyes and takes the bottle. “I have. It didn't work.” He drinks, then grimaces. “What is this swill?”

“Maybe you just didn't have enough?” you suggest, ignoring his other comment. Of course he'd have opinions on wine, the elitist. He drinks again, so it can't be that bad.

“What I meant was, what are you doing drowning yourself in cheap wine?” Viego reiterates. You make grabby hands at the bottle, and he passes it back to you empty. Bastard.

“It was not cheap,” you insist, and then have the bright idea to rewind the bottle to full. “Aha!” You crow when it succeeds.

“Iso,” he says, in a tone that is attempting to be patient.

“I'm just–” you stop, take an excessively long swig, and then slump back against the wall. Your cramped room doesn't have anywhere to sit save for the bed. Maybe you should've gone to a bar. “I'm stuck. I'm stuck in this shitty world and I'm never going to get back home because no one fucking knows anything and I have tried everyone. I've tried the mages, the Voidspawn, the chosen of the fucking gods, I've tried you–” you gesture agitatedly at him. “--and no one knows a single goddamn thing that can help me! And even if I could figure out how to get back into the Void and survive a second trip, I'd probably just end up in some other shitty fucking world!” You fail your arms out emphatically, and Viego takes this opportunity to snag the bottle from you before you spill it.

“How did you come to be here?” He asks. “In this world?”

Your lips thin with discomfort. “I can't tell you,” you say reluctantly.

He looks almost offended. “You have been inexplicably aware of my most painful and humiliating moments, even ones I myself do not remember, and you refuse to share your own story?”

“That's not–” you cut yourself off with a frustrated noise. “I mean I literally can't tell you, it doesn't…” he looks like he doesn't believe you. You sigh deeply. Maybe it'd work this time. It's not like he's alive, after all. “Alright, have it your way, but I'm only trying this once. I was–” and there it is, the burning, stabbing pain rending your throat into ribbons. You gag on your own blood, and Viego lurches towards you as you begin to cough up the shard. His hands are on your arms as he drops to his knees before you, looking so fearful you almost feel bad for him, even though you're the one eating glass right now.

It passes quickly enough. You grimace as you wind your timeline back to before your little demonstration, the blood and pain vanishing in a heartbeat. Only the mirror shard remains, which you cast aside with disgust.

He looks stricken. “I–are you injured? What was that?”

“I'm fine now,” you assure him, a little sheepishly. “It's just…my powers have rules. That's one.”

He lets out a breath, hands lowering from your biceps to rest on your forearms. “Do not do that again,” he orders harshly. “I do not care what the circumstances are.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” you say with a shrug.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Don't I? Why in the name of good sense would you possibly do that, simply because I asked?”

You shift uncomfortably. “I thought it might work this time,” you say, and your voice sounds small. “And if anyone could understand what I went through, it'd be you.”

He just looks at you for a moment, but you can't quite bring yourself to meet his eyes. Then, he stands, only to throw himself onto the bed next to you. The wine is in his hand again, though you have no idea where it went before. “Have you tried writing it?” He suggests.

“Doesn't work,” you say morosely, only to squint incredulously at his big armored boots. “Boy, get your fucking boots off my bed.”

He blinks at them like he's only just remembered he's wearing them. “Apologies,” he says, passing you the wine. The whole armored shin debacle is apparently held in place by a few buckles, and somehow seeing Viego's socks is more surreal than the fact that he's here at all.

“Have you considered wearing something that isn't what you died in?” You suggest, poking at a frayed lapel.

He blinks at said lapel, picking at the tattered clothing with a frown. “Is that what happened?”

Right. He didn't remember. “I mean, I assume you weren't rocking the half shirtless look for fun,” you say, poking him in the exposed midriff. He's not cold like you were expecting–save for being as pallid as a ghost, he feels perfectly human. You do it again, because huh, he's actually built, which you knew because of the shirtless thing and the abs and all but it's a little different when his abdomen feels like a fucking rock–He catches your hand, and you realize that oh yeah, you're drunk and should probably be thinking better of harassing the guy with the giant sword.

“Iso,” he says warningly. That's a new look on his face–Viego is no stranger to inner turmoil, but this time he also sort of looks like he can't believe this is a situation he actually has to deal with. Which, same.

You pull your hand back with a shrug, sipping your wine instead. “Just saying.”

He gives you an unreadable look, then demands the wine with an imperious beckoning gesture. “I must be able to summon the Mist unimpeded in battle,” he says before taking a sip, gesturing to the pitch cavity in his chest.

“So we bring you to a tailor who can make you a titty window,” you say easily. Viego chokes on the wine and then on his laughter. He's handsome when he's happy, you note.

He's looking at you oddly, his expression somewhere between strained and flustered. “I said that aloud, huh?” You note.

“How much of this have you had?” He asks, holding up the bottle and swishing its contests. You're grateful for the change of subject.

“Uh. Most of it?” You shrug. “I don't hold my alcohol well, historically.”

“Can't you just…” he makes a spinning gesture you realize is meant to evoke a clocks hand.

“If I wanted to be sober I wouldn't have gotten drunk,” you point out. To prove your point, you snatch the bottle back.

He does a little mouth shrug. “A fair point.” For a moment, he just looks at you, and hell if you've ever known what goes on in Viego's head but he looks almost discouraged. “Is it so bad, staying here?”

You slump. “I…” you don't know how to answer that. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to find an answer you're allowed to give. “The only thing that's kept me going is getting back to them. To my family. Everything, the pain and the endless fighting and all the times I thought I couldn't get back up again and then I did, it was for them. And now I…” your breath catches.

“You don't know how to live without a purpose,” Viego says like he understands, and you guess he would. “Without someone to live for.”

You rub your face. “I just…what was the point of it all? Why am I still here at all, if I can't go home?”

“There is no point,” he says calmly. “Life is cruel and senseless, and there is no reward for enduring the pain it so keenly inflicts on us. But we are not yet dead, so we must go on.”

You slide a sideways glance at him, at the hole in his heart. “I don't think I can die,” you say morosely.

He gives you a crooked half smile. “Then I suppose you and I will just have to find something to live for, hm?” He reaches for the bottle, and then grimaces. “Starting with some better wine.”

—

You smuggle him into a wine shop, using an oversized cloak (turns out he can turn the magic crown thing off, but he does not like it and will not specify why beyond making a face) and a pair of sunglasses you picked up on a whim in Piltover (“What are these things? Iso, I cannot see.”). Once you get to the shop, he spends the next forty minutes trying to explain the difference between a dry and sweet wine to you. He then spends another twenty arguing with the sommelier about trying to pass off a Malbec for Merlot. You're pretty sure his shitty disguise does not hold up for the time he spends leaning over the counter emphatically gesturing at the man, but this is Bilgewater, and if the sommelier knows who he is, he doesn't give a shit beyond the fact that he's trying to haggle.

You walk back with Viego at your side, still grumbling about the sub-par availability. You point out that they are under constant siege not only by huge murderous fish, but also by undead armies, which probably affects trade routes. You ask whether that's something he can, y'know, stop, and he sighs.

“The mist is as alive and hungry as the rats in that gutter,” he says, nodding at said gutter. “It is outside my control, unless you want me to usher in another Harrowing and make things worse. I'm very talented at making things worse, you see.” He spreads his arms with a self depreciating grin. The bag of bottles he's carrying clinks concerningly.

“Can't you, iunno, command the wraiths to chill out or something?” You try.

You can't see his eyes past the ridiculous sunglasses you have him in, but you're sure he's rolling them. “Can you command the gutter rats?”

You shoot him a reproachful look as you open the door to your inn room. Luckily, it faces out to the street, so you don't have to go through the attached tavern. “Hey, have some respect. They're trapped in eternal undead torment because of your fuckup, remember?”

He seems abashed for a moment as he follows you in. “I did not mean…” he sighs, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them on the table. “If you took the rats and put them in, say, someone's house, they would panic and start biting, yes? Because they are scared and hungry and all they know how to do is to hurt or to run. It is the same with the wraiths. I can bring the mist to a place, and the mist brings them, but I can only directly control a scant few from a horde.” He gestures up at his crown, which he apparently rematerialized when you were distracted. You suppose that's how the possession thing worked in the game, too. He hesitates a moment, then continues in a reserved tone, “I know their plight is because of me, but I have no way to undo what I have done, for them or myself–” and then he pauses, fingers on the clasp of his cloak, staring at you.

“Can I help you…?” You say slowly as the silence drags on.

“Yes,” he says. “I think you can. When we met, you made me human.”

Your eyes widen. “Is that…something you want?”

He pauses as if he's not sure how to answer that, then shakes his head. “Not for me, for the wraiths. If I bring their souls to you, can you restore them?”

“I…” you pause, considering. “I guess? I mean, it'll be harder the longer they've been like that, but if it worked on you I don’t see any reason it wouldn't on them.”

He nods sharply, and all of a sudden Viego is on one knee in front of you with a beseeching look on his face. “Come back to the isles with me.” You stare, and the look he’s giving you is almost pleading. “You were looking for a purpose, and I am looking for redemption. We could find it together. Please.”

“Why?” You say, blunt as anything.

His brow furrows. “What do you mean, why?”

You lean forward, looking him dead in the eye. “Viego, the Shadow Isles are ancient and the dead are countless. What you're asking of me will take years, and making them human again doesn't undo all of the suffering they've already been through.”

“Do you think I don't know that there is no fixing this wretched mist?” He shoots back, clearly affronted. “You restored my humanity, once, and my heart ached no less fiercely for it.”

“So why? For Isolde? Do you think she'll somehow forgive you, if you ‘undo’ what you did?” you persist. You know you're pushing too hard, but somehow the thought of him asking this of you for her irritates you.

“Isolde is gone!” He snaps, and you realize he's trembling. “She is gone, and every day my traitorous heart forgets a little more of the pain of losing her. I know there is no forgiveness for what I have done, in the dead or the living, but is it so wrong to do as she would have wanted in her memory?”

“I–” you realize, looking at his shaking hands, that you're being an asshole. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You…you know you can't be mad at yourself for moving on, right?” You ask gently. “You’ve grieved for long enough. Not hurting when you think of her doesn't mean that you didn't love her, that you don't love her still.”

He looks up at you for a moment, gaze oddly vulnerable, and then rests his forehead on your knees. “I know this in my heart. It is my mind that thinks it is a betrayal.”

“Well, stop it,” you say, and he gives a laugh that is almost a hiccup. “If you're betraying your wife by being happy then I'm betraying my family by not suicidally flinging myself into the Void on the vanishingly slim chance that I'll end up back home.”

He rolls his head to the side so he can give you a narrow look. Incidentally, this also means his head is now fully resting on your lap. “That's ridiculous.”

“Exactly,” you say. “But if you're going to hold yourself to an insane standard of authenticity in pain then you're going to have to hold it against me too, so checkmate.” He smiles ruefully, and before you can think better of it you card your fingers through his hair. It is insanely soft, and you can't help but be jealous because there's no way there's hair care products in the Shadow Isles. Does that mean you'd have to import some? Wait, why are you assuming you're agreeing? You had some great ethical standpoint about this a minute ago–oh, right, not letting him use you for free moral absolution. “Tell me again. Why do you want me to come with you?”

His eyes, which at some point closed while you were playing with his hair, slide open. “Because it is within our power to help. Because they were my people and my responsibility, and I failed them. And, to be very honest, because having you with me eases my heart, and I am at my core a selfish bastard.”

You laugh disbelievingly, and he smiles hopefully up at you. Maybe it's the look in his eye. Maybe it's the lingering wine in your system, or the fact that he's right and you have nowhere else to go. Maybe it's just that you inexplicably have a soft spot for him. Whatever it is, you say yes, and he smiles so brightly you instantly understand why Isolde married him on the spot.

Then he insists on trying to educate you on wine, and you get through 3 out of 4 bottles before he is forced to admit you simply have no taste.

(You also get so shitfaced drunk that you fall asleep on his chest, trying to see if he still has a heartbeat. He must also be, because he lets you.)

—

You give Viego a week to find a dozen of the most recently reaped souls, while you make other preparations. It's difficult to convince any ferry to come to the Shadow Isles, but you need a way for the freshly risen to make it back to civilization. You agree that he'll wait offshore for a day, and when you light a lantern he'll come to shore for the passengers. He makes you pay half upfront because he thinks you'll die.

When you appear at Viego's castle, he is instantly by your side. “Iso,” he greets, as if he's relieved you came after all. You think he's made some sort of effort to clean up, because he shows you to a room that is downright nice. He's clearly gone to some effort to find furnishings mostly unravaged by time and the Ruination, including the bed you restored; if the lost kingdom of Camavor had one thing going for it, it was apparently talented carpenters supplied with good quality wood. He assures you that he'll provide everything you need to assist with your work–he still has access to the coffers, after all, and Bilgewater merchants don't ask questions if there's gold on the table. He doesn't know what kind of food you like, but if you let him know he'll do his best to acquire it. His posture is ramrod straight and his accent is out in full force, and you are inexplicably reminded of coming over to a friend's messy apartment while they scour through their pantry looking for something edible to serve because they're too embarrassed to admit they've been getting takeout for a week.

“Viego,” you interrupt his stream of courtly assurances as you walk back to the main hall. “What are you so nervous about?”

His nose wrinkles, affronted. “Nervous? Me?” He repeats skeptically.

“Iunno, whatever you want to call the fussing,” you say, waving a hand at him.

“Fussing–” he repeats, offended. You give him an unimpressed look, and he relents. “I…suppose I might be a little on edge. If I had hosted such an important guest with such poor hospitality when I was a prince, I would be a laughing stock.”

You mutely point at yourself, baffled. He rolls his eyes, and there's the Viego you know–haughty, single-minded, and a little bit of a bitch. “Yes, of course you. You are healing the wound I made in the world for no reward but the deed itself. If the kingdom of Camavor still lived, you would be lauded as a saint and courted as an asset to the kingdom.” He pauses, looking into the middle distance. “If I am remembering correctly, I believe father would probably have tried to marry us.”

You blink, utterly unsure of what to make of that information. “He would've?”

Viego shrugs. “I was quite charming then, and seducing you would be a convenient way to secure your allegiance to the kingdom.”

“What, implying you're not charming now?” You tease.

He stops and turns to look at you, and you almost run into his shoulder. You brake in time to avoid a collision, but it leaves you much closer than anticipated. When Viego looks down at you there's an oddly searching look in his eyes, but it quickly vanishes from view as he leans down to murmur in your ear. “Should I be, to keep you by my side?”

You shiver without meaning to and hope he doesn't notice. “Alright, point taken, heartbreaker,” you say, quickly stepping past him and praying to any god who will listen that he doesn't see the flush on your face.

---

The first lot of souls Viego summons for you aren't hard. You lay your hands on the filmy substance of their being and spin their time back, back, to the sharp rending tear where they became something else. There is a strange ripping sensation you can't describe as their physical bodies snap back into place around their souls, summoned from whatever flotsam graveyard they were in at Bilgewater, and then there is a trembling woman in front of you. She immediately begins to weep, thanking you profusely and begging incoherently to be allowed to go home, and you cast Viego a deeply uncomfortable look.

He looks no more at ease with the situation than you are, but he steels himself and says in a far gentler voice than you expected, “You are safe now. No harm will come to you here. I cannot give back the time and pain that was taken from you and for that I am sorry, but you will return to your home and your family unharmed.”

She looks up at him, voice choked and shaky. “Y-you're him, ain't you? The Ruined King? Y-you’re letting us go?” Her eyes flick to you, and a realization flashes in them. “T-then you must be the Queen he was looking for! C-congratulations, your majesties, I'm happy, I'm truly happy for youse–” and she dissolves into hiccuping sobs that you don't feel comfortable interrupting just to say ‘no, actually, we're just friends’. At the same time, you're stricken with the completely inappropriate realization that that wouldn't even be entirely true if you did say it, because if he wasn't grieving his double-dead wife you probably would've tried some horrendous pickup line on him by now.

None of those are thoughts you're ready to deal with however, so you turn and restore the next soul.

—

After the shaken crowd is delivered to a shellshocked ferryman, it occurs to you that he didn't correct her, either. You ask, over a dinner of roast meat and veg (he's very remorseful about you cooking your own food, but you flat out refuse to leave it in the hands of a wraith he's pretty sure used to be a chef).

His eyes slide away from yours uncomfortably. “I thought it might be easier for them to believe in my intentions that way.” He looks down, idly pushing a wedge of potato with his fork, which is very unlike him because Viego usually has impeccable table manners. “And it is true, in a way. I am a changed man, because of what Isolde said to me, and because of what you have done for me.”

“What, are you gonna propose to me?” You joke, your mouth running ahead of your mind in a desperate attempt to break whatever this strange tension is.

He blinks at you. “Would you like me to?”

You try for a smile. “I’m joking, Viego.”

“I am not,” he says evenly.

You squint at him, trying to figure out which of Viego's insane personality traits you're up against now. Maybe he just didn't know how to have close relationships that weren't, in one way or another, legally family? Then you recall your conversation in the hallway earlier. “You don't have to marry me to get me to stay, calm down. Plus, can you imagine trying to get a priest out here?” You try for humor, and then belatedly remember that you should probably track down Yorick while you're at this ‘freeing the damned’ thing. Though he's been dead for a long, long time, and he could probably wait until you've found everyone who still has living relatives. “Wait, is that even how weddings work here?”

“Yes. At least, it was in Camavor. A priest and a ceremony and a grand party,” he says, looking almost wistful. “What does courtship look like, where you are from?”

“I mean, the same as here, I guess?” You hazard. “You meet someone, you spend time with them, go on dates, y'know, get dinner and walks in the parks and stuff like that?” He seems oddly unsatisfied by that answer, and you shrug. “I wasn't exactly royalty, so my relationships were probably a little more casual than whatever you were imagining.”

He raises a brow. “I have had my share of casual relationships in the past, you are aware?”

You almost choke on your food. The smile on his face is almost rogueish, and when you look at it like that, you can perfectly picture him flirting his way through the castle staff. “So you were perfectly capable of being normal about it, but you just decided to immediately propose to Isolde on the spot?”

He shrugs. “I know my heart, and I knew I wanted to give it to her. For now it, and all the weight it carries, is mine alone once more.” You're about to ask about the for now part, but he looks up at you seriously. “You know that they will not all be so receptive, the wraiths. There will be those who are angry and vengeful, and those who have been so broken by the mist for so long that they will not know how to be any other way.”

“I know,” you say. “I did think this through before I agreed to it.”

“You were also very drunk, and reportedly part of your reasoning was that I am ‘cute when I'm begging’,” he makes air quotation marks to ensure you know that he is directly quoting you, and his wolfish grin lets you know exactly how much he's enjoying your obvious dismay.

You blanch. “I said that part aloud too, huh?” He responds by laughing at you. You groan. “Look, be that as it may, I had a whole week to change my mind, and here I am.”

“Here you are,” he agrees, and there's something so terribly affectionate in his voice you think you must be imagining it, but it's there in his face when you glance at him too. Gods, he really is handsome.

You hurriedly return to your food, before you can say anything stupid like, say, suggesting he show you the other other blade of the Ruined King. Viego is your friend. Viego’s defining personality trait is being a widower. Viego is not someone you can casually proposition, even he's decided that teasing you is a form of high entertainment, the fucker. God, maybe you just need to get laid–spending all your time around the near-shirtless ghost king was doing numbers to your psyche.

—

You do not find the opportunity to seek a no strings attached hookup, because your time is taken up either sleeping or restoring the souls of the damned. Viego was right when he warned you–in the next lot, a burly man waits long enough to get used to having limbs again before throwing himself at you with a howl. You barely have time to blink before Viego intercepts him, blade at the ready. He swings, and you cringe, expecting a spray of blood, but at the last second Viego glances at you and twists his blade so that he strikes the man with the flat of it instead. It's still an incredible amount of force behind solid (ghost?) steel, so the man goes sprawling, wind knocked out of him.

“You will show her respect,” Viego hisses, standing over him. “I understand your rage and your hate towards me, and I cannot blame you for that, but she has saved you from damnation and you will not raise a hand against her.”

The man spits at his feet. Viego lets out a hissing breath, but otherwise doesn't react as the man picks himself up–only to once again throw himself at Viego, who easily bats aside his wild swing before grabbing him by the throat. “I do not want to do this, but if you cannot behave yourself–” Viego says in the approximation of calm, mist curling up and around the man's head into a glowing crown. All at once, the man stops struggling, and as Viego releases him he complacently goes back to his place in the crowd. The others look at him nervously, an uneasy whisper circling through them.

A woman in a heavy woven shawl steps forward. “Um, your majesties,” she begins nervously, because apparently something about you and Viego just screams ‘married couple’ to the newly risen, “Is he…okay?” Her eyes flit between the crown on the man's head and Viego’s sword, as if she's not sure which is more worrying.

“He will return to himself after you leave the Isles,” Viego explains placidly. You nudge his side and give the sword a significant look, and he glances at it like he forgot it was there before vanishing it into mist. “I will ask the ferryman to keep an eye on him, do not worry.”

She looks at the man for a moment, then ducks her head gratefully. “Well, I thank you for your graciousness. I'm sure he will too, after he comes to his senses.”

After that, he stands a little closer to you while you raise the shades.

—

“How does it work?” You ask, after Viego has seen the risen off to the ferry and you've had a chance to stop swaying on your feet. You like to sit in the gardens, and Viego thins the mist enough to let a soft glow of sunlight through. Viego sits next to you on the stone bench, so close you're almost touching. He’s by your side pretty much constantly these days, save for when you're sleeping or bathing–though, you also wouldn't be surprised if he watched you sleep just to have company. “The whole…possession thing?”

Viego looks up at you from the book he was reading. “It simply does.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “What, that's it?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “I cannot explain how I summon my sword or compel the mist to move, and the crown is the same. I wish it to be so, and so it is.” You squint at him, and he shuts his book with a soft sound. It always boggled your mind that he perfectly remembered what page he was on without any bookmarks. “How does your manipulation of time work?”

You open your mouth, and then realize he's got you cornered, because you're not sure how to explain that either. ��You could find out,” you challenge instead.

His brows knit. “You don't mean…?”

“I do,” you confirm.

He frowns. “No.”

“What, you'll marry me but you won't put a crown on my head?” You joke. “C'mon, I'm giving you my explicit permission.”

“That is not–” he begins, then shakes his head. “Everyone I have used my crown on seemed quite distressed by the experience. I would not do the same to you.”

“Was that because of the crown, or because of the sudden and unexpected loss of bodily autonomy paired with you using them to try and kill people?” You say dryly. He frowns, but doesn't answer. “Look. I'll admit, I'm curious, but more importantly…if I'm unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, and we need my powers, I want you to be able to use them. So, please.”

He goes very still, and you belatedly realize exactly what he's picturing–you, unconscious and hurt, unable to rewind your own wounds. “If I were able to deny you anything, it would be this,” he says, sighing deeply. You eagerly turn to face him, crossing your legs on the bench like a kid. For a moment he just looks at you like he's regretting all the choices that brought him to this point, and then begins to strip his gauntlets off. You're sure he could avoid stabbing you with their pointed ends, but Viego also treats you like you're made of glass sometimes.

He cups your face between his palms, and his hands are so much warmer than you expected. You're suddenly stricken with the intimacy of this pose, with you two so close. His eyes flick down to your lips, and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you–

And then a cold sensation snakes it's way into your blood, like drinking ice water. It spreads throughout your limbs until you feel numb from it, and Viego’s eyes glaze as the crown forms on your head.

“How strange,” he says distantly. “It's as if the entire world is singing a song only you can hear.”

You try to move your hand, but nothing happens. Still, you can still distantly feel his hands on your face, as if your skin was so chilled it barely recognizes the touch. You try to project the thought that you're fine, that it's a bit weird but honestly not that bad, but you have no idea if it gets through. “I can feel it, when you struggle against me,” he says softly, and, hm, maybe it's for the best that he can't hear your thoughts, because you've gone somewhere absolutely filthy with that. “I have never held a soul that trusted in me so, that did not rail to reclaim itself.” There's a strange look in his eyes, somewhere between awed and something much darker and deeper, and it occurs to you that you have willingly placed an insane amount of power in his hands. Then again, you already offered him everything you could think to give, and he said no.

Viego sits back, and unbidden your hand raises to one of the shattered pots in the garden. You feel second hand as he fumbles along its time, his brow furrowed in concentration, before slowly winding it back. When it sits whole again, the chill fades, and your body is your own once again. You flex your hands and wiggle your toes, feeling sort of like your limbs had just fallen asleep but without the pins and needles. You then realize Viego is looking at you anxiously.

“If we ever go to Shurima, you're doing that to me,” you say casually.

“Excuse me?” He says, bewildered.

“It was like going into a nice cool swimming pool,” you describe, tapping your chin as you try to find the words. “Or opening a fridge. Wait, you don't know what that is.” You frown. “Also, I hope you recognize how good I am at this time stuff now, it is not easy.”

He laughs, instantly relaxing. “Of course, my heart, I am forever in awe of your talent and grace,” he gives you an exaggerated little head-bow, and you're so busy preening that the pet name doesn't even register until a moment later. Then, you promptly find it very important to start rambling about how, you know, you should try replanting something in this garden, since it's getting sunlight anyway. The indulgent look on his face as he agrees yes, whatever you want, does nothing to still your heart.

—

“Are you sure–” Viego begins.

“Where do you intend to find a chef who's gonna come to the Shadow Isles?” You ask pointedly.

He blinks. “I'm sure that for enough coin…” he catches the look on your face, then sighs. “Very well, I see your point.”

“If you want to help, I'm not going to say no,” you suggest instead. He looks down at the carrots as if he's never seen one before. “You've never cooked before,” you realize, and he has the grace to look a little abashed. His discomfort with you cooking your own meals makes a little more sense–he must feel like he's making you do servants work, from his lofty frame of reference as literal fucking royalty. “Okay, here. Wash your hands.”

He blinks. “You want me to…?”

“To wash your hands and then help me cook,” you confirm. “I'm not a guest, Viego, I live here. I know you've got your own ideas about what hospitality looks like, but where I'm from, if you're cooking for someone they damn well better help you chop the veggies.”

He looks bemused, but complies. You gesture for him to take your place in front of the cutting board. “Hold the knife like this, cut off the ends, slice them like so.” You demonstrate, hip bumping into his as you lean across to the board, and then hand him the knife.

The concentration on his face as he tries to match your cuts is rather endearing. He glances at you for approval, and your nod and smile seems to bolster him, so you start on cleaning the mushrooms. The ingredients aren't exactly the same as what you're used to, but you've managed to put together a respectable assortment for a stir-fry. Your ferryman, Captain Brigg, was very skeptical about the crates of fresh produce you procured him to haul back, but him and his crew also treat you with an odd sort of reverence now that stops them from asking questions. Still, you've got enough of a stockpile of ingredients frozen in time to last you for a few months.

You talk Viego through what you're doing, why you should cut the carrot thin and the bell peppers thick, how you're hoping this soy-sauce like substance from Ionia works the same way as what you're used to, but it's also made from a nut so you're not sure. He asks you about food from your home, and you spend fifteen minutes complaining about having to cook rice manually. He doesn't seem to mind when you automatically slip into bossing him around–your mother always said that idle hands in the kitchen were volunteers who didn't know it yet. He does stiffen slightly whenever you pass behind him, and it takes you a bit to realize it's because you're automatically putting your hand on his lower back so you can squeeze behind him–not that the kitchen is particularly small, but rather that he is not a small man. It also takes you a bit to realize that that part of his back is bare, because he's still wearing nothing on his torso but that ripped open doublet. You've long since figured out that Viego likes being touched, but maybe that was a bit much even for him.

He hovers around even after you don't need his help with prep anymore, watching you stir and experiment with the ranges of sauce you have on hand. “Okay, try,” you announce when you're satisfied, taking a spoon of your hard work and blowing it cool before holding it up to him. Viego doesn't hesitate, and you're momentarily struck with the sensation that this, spoon feeding the Ruined King stir fry you press-ganged him into helping with, is a ridiculous situation to be in.

“It's nice,” he says, touching his lips. You try not to be distracted by the motion.

“Does it need anything? Salt, pepper?” You prompt, scooping some up for you to try yourself. Needs pepper. You look at him expectantly, and his face creases like it does when he's thinking hard.

“Pepper?” He says hesitantly, and you beam at him. He was teachable, and that was better than a majority of your exes.

—

You struggle with the corset for about three minutes before you give up. “Viego?” You call, because he's never far these days. The air goes cold on the back of your neck, but there's a suspicious silence. When you crane your neck around, he's there staring at you.

“Can you help me lace this?” you prompt, gesturing at the partially done back of your corset. The dress is a deep navy color with silver embroidery on the long flowing sleeves and skirts, and the silvery ribbons that make up the back have been making themselves a true pain in the ass.

He blinks, as if just realizing you're there. “I suppose,” he says tersely, sounding almost puzzled as he examines your work. “What have you done?”

You shrug, turning back to the mirror. “Corsets weren't common in my world, and all the ones I've worn came pre-laced. I didn't think it would be this complicated.”

He hums, and you repress a shiver as his fingers brush the space between your shoulders. He's taken to wearing his gauntlets off, when you're just around the castle. “How strange. Why the change from your travelling attire, then?”

You shrug. “This might sound strange to you, but I get tired of wearing the same things all the time, even if I can keep them clean and fresh forever.” You smooth down the front of the dress, admiring the fabric. “And this is such a nice dress.”

“It was made with skill,” Viego says. You glance back at him, and he makes a tutting noise as your hair falls across your back. You do not succeed at suppressing the shiver as he brushes it back over your shoulder. “And you look lovely in it,” he continues, and you're sure you're imagining the husk in his voice. You meet his eyes in the mirror, and they're hooded with a feeling you don't want to name, so you cast around for something to say while staring fixedly at your reflection.

“I look like I'm going to a ball,” you blurt.

“This is a dinner dress, not a dancing one,” Viego says, blessedly accepting your sudden change in subject. “At least, not in Camavor. The skirt is too long and the bodice too stiff.”

You shrug. “I've never been to a ball. Can't even dance.”

He spins you around so you can see his offended expression. “Excuse me?”

You blink at him. “We didn't really have them, where I'm from? Unless you were really rich, which, I most certainly was not.”

He waves a hand. “No, no, not that. You don't know how to dance?”

You blink, taken aback. “No?”

“Outrageous. Give me one moment,” he says, and then disappears into mist.

“What–” you have enough time to say to the empty room before he reappears, this time with a dented hunk of metal in his hand.

“If you would be so kind?” He asks, holding it out. You touch it, and the tarnished metal flickers back into the shape of a music box. “My thanks. Now…” he winds it, places the box on your dresser, and lifts the lid. In it is a beautiful figurine of a bird in flight, and out twinkles a lilting melody. You stare, flabbergasted, as he dips into a very princely bow and offers you his hand. “Lady Iso, may I have this dance?”

You laugh disbelievingly, but take his hand. “Viego, I don't know what I'm doing.”

“That is why I'm showing you,” he says easily, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and keeping the other held aloft. His other hand goes around your waist. “This one is simple, just follow my steps.” It's similar to what you vaguely remember a waltz to be, except you seem to be stepping in a pentagon rather than a square and there's a lot of spinning. Still, you feel like he's overestimating your abilities, because you struggle to match his steps.

“Eyes up,” he chides when your gaze drifts to your feet. You blink up at him, offended.

“How am I supposed to see where I'm stepping?” You ask, offended.

“Do you need to look at your feet to walk?” He retorts. You stick your tongue out at him, and you're so close you can feel it when he laughs. “Don't think so hard about it. Just listen to the music and stay with me.”

He's talking about the dance, you remind yourself. Suddenly, keeping your eyes on his is difficult, so you stare somewhere off his left shoulder instead. “How do you remember all of this?” You ask, brow furrowed as you try to match his steps without looking.

“I’ve always loved dancing, ever since I was young,” he says, sounding pleased he remembers the fact. “I remember my brothers would tease me, because I preferred my dancing lessons to my swordsmanship ones.”

You look up at him curiously. He doesn't talk about his family often, though you're not sure if that's because he doesn't want to or because he doesn't remember much about them. “I suppose you've had a lot of practice, then?”

He spins you, and you think that returns you to the first part of the steps. “Yes. I attended whatever balls I could, even the ones hosted by those on poor terms with the Crown.” He reels you back in with a little flourish. “My brothers teased me for that, too.”

You're about to ask more, but you trip over your skirt. Viego catches you easily, though you smack your face against his aggravatingly solid chest. “That is why this is not a dancing dress,” Viego says, and his tone is light but his expression when you look up at him is tinged with want. You realize you're very, very close, his arm still around your waist and your hands on the bare skin of his torso. Your chest is pressed to his, and you're abruptly aware of how much this corset emphasizes your cleavage. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted and looking oh so soft–

Whatever this moment between you is, it's interrupted by the dissonant click of the music box playing it's last note. Viego steps back and bows. You clumsily mimic a curtsey, and he looks up at you with a crooked smile that makes your heart ache. You staunchly refuse to examine why.

#x reader #reader fic #f!reader #my fics: tiarw #league of legends x reader #leauge of legends #league x reader #viego x reader #crossposted on ao3

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kogarashi-art · 1 month

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It's the last previews for Falling Into Darkness!

Important note before I go into some details on the pictures: I will, in general, not be doing this for other fanfics I post. The main reason I did this series of illustrations was as something of a treat for finally crossposting this 10-20-year-old story to my AO3 account. I don't really plan to draw a ton of illustrations for other fics I do.

That being said, I may do occasional images that will be posted with future stories on AO3 (I have a quick one for the first chapter of the next fic I plan on posting, for one), and if I do other fanart, related to a fic or not, I still plan to post art here.

But I'm glad for all the kind comments and everyone enjoying this series of illustrations with me. :D You guys are awesome.

With that, description-stuff (including more behind-the-scenes than usual) below the cut. 'Tis long; be forewarned.

First up, arguably the easiest illustration to do in the whole set. It's a silhouette, so the foreground wasn't really an issue (other than trying to get the edge glow just right, and I still don't think I quite managed but I'm definitely telling myself not to mess with it any further). The background was already painted for the second illustration in the whole set:

I just fixed up the paths and the treetops and added a little lookout stand to the building on the right, now that Sonic and Sally weren't blocking those spots. After all, it's supposed to be the same view anyway, so I figured I'd make it easy on myself and not have to completely repaint the scene.

The second image employs some little cheats here and there. Here's the original sketch from my sketchbook for comparison:

Very loose, lacking detail. Straight lines are more like suggestions. The robots are spiky blobs. I have a literal note next to a stick figure and a hollow shape telling me to get some references. There's the barest hint of the alcoves the robots are standing in.

I didn't show this level of behind-the-scenes off with other illustrations in this series (though I suppose if anyone's ever interested, I could do a process post about how I worked on these), but one of the first things I did with this series of illustrations was sift through the roughly fifty individual sketches I'd drawn to illustrate various parts of the story (not counting redraws of portions), ranging from vague shapes to much more detailed drawings, to narrow it down to the ones I was actually going to finish for this project. I ended up with 27 total images, including the two I'm previewing today, focusing on having at least one but no more than three images per chapter.

Once I'd determined which sketches, like the above, were going to become a finished piece, I then went through each and every one of them in Photoshop with a sketch pencil brush and filled out the sketches to a point where I could reliably ink them. That meant things like swapping out figures that didn't work with redraws of them or making size adjustments, like so:

The first image is the second illustration, and you can see I redid Sonic because his initial pose didn't work. The redraw was actually a pose of him I did to draw his post-Mobianization robotic elements from the end of the story, but the stance was actually good for what I needed, so I Photoshopped it in and then sketched the rest of the replacement drawing digitally. The second image is Sally watching Knuckles walk away, and you can see that I changed her left arm, and also reproportioned her body prior to inking (bigger head, smaller body).

And for pieces like the final one in this illustration series, I sketched in all the details that were missing from the initial sketch (which, as I said, was pretty barebones; in my defense, it was the last one I drew, and by that point I was pretty tired of drawing robot hedgehogs so Sonic was something of a stick figure in most of the last chapters' sketches).

And here's where one of the cheats comes into play. I drew one robot hedgehog. Specifically the one you see the most of, near the tip of Robotnik's cape by the drafting table. I drew it on its own layer in Potoshop, then copied and pasted it into all of the other holding bays, erasing parts that wouldn't be visible as I went along. I also went and found those references I needed for Robotnik and Snively and drew the two of them properly.

And then, because I much prefer physical pen-to-paper inking over digital (my tablet is not one of the fancy screen ones, and I've yet to really get comfortable digitally inking with it, despite owning it for nigh on twenty years), I colored all of the sketches red, assembled them in groups on letter-sized images, and printed them out onto cardstock (my preferred medium when I'm going to be traditionally inking). I inked them with my various inking pens (some Sakura Microns, some Faber-Castell PITT pens), scanned each sheet back into my computer, and cleaned up the lines in Photoshop (the reason for the red printout was to make it a bit smoother removing the sketch from the inked lines, though it wasn't as clean as I would've liked; oh well).

That left us with the above. Because I inked them each by hand individually, the robots don't look copy-pasted, because it was the underlying sketch that had been, not the ink work. The tables and holding bays also have straighter lines thanks to using a proper ruler for those (though I didn't concern myself too much with things like perspective and right angles), and after drawing the straight line, I went back freehand over spots to give them a bit of that hand-inked wobble.

From there it was a matter of laying down the flats in Photoshop, then shading, adding effects, etc. I like the cold yellow light I've got on the robots, and the overall shading on the yellow cape. Also that sense of satisfaction when I called this one done, because it was the last one. Huzzah.

I'll see you on Monday for the last chapter!

#drawing #artwork #sth #sonic the hedgehog #sally acorn #doctor robotnik #snively #behind the scenes #LOTS of behind the scenes #like seriously I went on a bit of a ramble #I regret nothing

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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I'd love to hear more Bat social media thoughts if you have any

Oh I absolutely do

Civilian

Twitter:

Bruce, Dick, Cass, Tim, Steph, and Jason all have twitter. The first four have verified accounts (like proper verified, not the shit Musky introduced). Jason's twitter is just something like litlover666

Tim has an extra anonymous account to post absolute shit in and pick fights with. Steph picks fights on main and makes fun of Bruce constantly. Jason posts mostly book reviews with the occasional photo of whatever he's eating right now and recommendation for some mom and pop restaurant in the worst parts of Gotham. He has a cult following

Bruce's account is entirely PR. He doesn't even have the password. Not because he can't be trusted with it but because he doesn't give a fuck. Every once in a while his social media intern asks him for some photo or he texts them about a charity he wants to promote and that's the extent of his involvement

Dick is sporadic with his use. He tweets happy birthdays to everyone including members of the batfam who aren't on Twitter (see Damian) and responds to random @ s a lot

Cass mostly uses it to crosspost videos of herself dancing from Instagram and retweets Steph's shitposting

Instagram:

Duke, Cass, and Steph all have Instagram. Only Cass is verified, because Duke is too new to the batfam. It irritates him more than he'll admit

Again, Cass's insta is mainly photos and videos of her dancing. She also posts a lot of photos with her family tho, especially in embarrassing situations nobody knew she'd managed to capture on camera

Steph uses it mainly to lurk but her friends only stories are a LOT of fun

Duke posts his poetry on there sometimes, but mostly it's a casual Instagram with pictures of friends and family and selfies. He also posts pictures of Damian's pets every once in a while cause he thinks it's a shame Damian is too young to join the platform and post them himself (Damian is like 11 or 12 at most in my mind and Alfred actually enforces the no social media before you're 13 rule)

Tim deleted his finsta when he became Robin cause it was dedicated to Bat content and that was Embarrassing

Tumblr:

Only Steph and Tim have tumblrs. Jason would thrive on here, but he doesn't have time to figure out any other platform beside the one he's on. Neither Steph nor Tim told each other outright they have tumblrs, but they found each other and became mutuals anyway. Tim doesn't use the platform so much anymore, he was way more into it when he was like 13 or 14, but Steph keeps up with ALL the memes. Both accounts are anonymous but Tim has a HUGE following for telling random stories about his life that sound entirely made up except he always provides photographic evidence or some other kind of proof

Tiktok

WE PR made Bruce start a TikTok and he insisted it be a Wayne family TikTok because, again, he Did Not Want To Deal With It. Tim's supposed to be in charge of it but Dick is addicted. He has his own account too but he only ever posts on the Wayne family TikTok account, mostly to brag about his siblings' accomplishments

Cass, again, has a dance-focused account. She once posted herself dancing with Jason and everyone freaked out over who this giant dude is until he was legally brought back to life. Nobody in the batfam knows how she managed to get him to agree to participate but he was actually really good

Dick's personal account is not as active as the Wayne family account but he posts gymnastics there sometimes

Neither Alfred nor Kate are on social media for very different reasons. Babs is on every platform as a lurker, but on Twitter she interacts with Dick and Cass sometimes. Damian isn't allowed yet but once he turns 13 he becomes an absolute TERROR on twitter

Vigilante

Twitter:

The JLA, Titans, and Young Justice teams all have team accounts of various diplomatic quality. Diana runs the first for the most part, basically every member of the Titans team gets their chances with it at some point for theirs, and Cassie and Tim have learned their lesson about letting anybody except the two of them tweet from the YJ account

Nightwing's account is excessively popular. A lot of people thirst follow him but also sometimes he eviscerates someone horrible and it's extremely funny

Spoiler's account is also popular for being just as feral as her civilian main

It's a recurring joke among the superhero community that everyone is very lucky that Robin doesn't have an account

Signal's account is low-key

Oracle's account is vital, she provides a lot of early warnings for civilians when there are Arkham breakouts and the like. A lot of people have notifications turned on for her account

TikTok:

Just like the Wayne's account, the batfam has an account. It's mostly funny bits from cowl cam but Red Robin has posted a series of videos triggering Red Hood into talking about his various interests (literature, proper gun maintenance, the actual programs that would benefit crime alley) all of which go extremely viral

And that's everything I have right now!! If anybody wants fic recs for social media aus or wants to know my hcs for other heroes' social media just shoot me an ask 🥰

#social media #batfam #dc #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #barbara gordon #gail speaks #ask #anonymous

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coffee-writesthings · 6 months

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Intro post + all the things I've written

Hi there, I've used this account for a while now and I feel like posting more of my writing here-- Thus, this post! I'll do my best to keep it updated as I go.

I've been writing, both original and fanfiction for ~5 years at the time of making this-- not all of which has been posted ofc. I'm always trying to improve and practice, so I think that putting it out there will give me more drive to actually do it if nothing else.

Currently, the stuff that I write for is TF2, but I also love me some unhinged crossovers. And over on my ao3 account I have posted a few things as well. I'll be crossposting stuff from here over there. (It's set up so that my stuff can't be seen there if you don't have an account though. I would prefer to avoid my stuff being included in web scraping)

Fics below the cut, in chronological order + separated by fandom with a couple of notes

TF2 fics:

MHA x TF2 crossover: Part 1

Under the pretext of lung replacement (Spy & Medic)

Exculpate (one word prompt, Medic & Spy) (CW: intrusive thoughts)

Nyctophilia (one word prompt, transmasc Sniper)

Man sees kitten, explodes into a billion pieces (Soldier and Heavy) (made for a mutual) (no tws)

maybe sometimes showing a spy your back is a good idea (Engineer/Spy) (WIP (both are trans here) (I'm head clown here i run the rodeo) (and i say that an ultimate show of trust is showing your bare back to the guy whose whole thing is backstabs)

Cinderella retelling but it's engiespy (Spy/Engineer) (WIP, ch 4/7) (spy is the cinderella, engie is the prince) (cw for the whole stepmothers and stepsisters thing but it's a cinderella retelling i figure that sort of comes with the territory) (Oh yeah also engie it trans i honestly forgor about that)

Running for your life from tf2 med, normal Tuesday night for cannibal med (Heavy-centric. Medic is the horrors but that's honestly only in my head) (horror) (mild tws for gore, cannibalism, and nausea-related things)

Heavydemo propoganda cus i saw a thing and thought i'd contribute

Like real people do A cross-team Engiespy drabble where they have a first kiss and get all vulnerable with each other

An EngieSpy prompt from Jamison! Short but sweet ficlet

Choir headcanons

Putting his life together with duct tape a dadspy fic with an implication of engiespy but it's rly tiny. The main meat is about Scout and Spy having EDS and their ways of dealing with it

Merc Headcanons: Escape rooms - what it says on the tin

ORIGINAL WORK

A bard's first steps - Part of an original thing I'm working on, character study of Basil the tiefling bard

How she became an oracle - Backstory stuff of Lilah, surrounding the deity who gave her the abilities she has now (Avandra, though it might be subject to change later on)

#writeblr intro #writeblr #tf2 fanfiction

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uncle-dusknoir · 10 months

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i explained Skorna to someone on gliscord so i figured I'd crosspost it here. in case anyone was nosy

#basilblogging

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thesurohhorus · 1 year

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Figured I'd crosspost this adopt gacha. If anyone wants to help me out with utilities this month (and possibly next month) all money from this 100% goes towards living

20$ for a roll, 30$ for autobid

Here it is on toyhouse as well

available:

x o o x o o o x o x x o o x o o x x x o o o o o x

#my internet is due... tomorrow #dm / reply if interested

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inevitably-ineffable-husbands · 10 months

Note

Is this Steph...? Is this a side blog? I get confused.

Hi Lovely!

IT IS! Same Steph that runs @inevitably-johnlocked :) I figured a long time ago that I should have a separate Good Omens blog back when S1 aired. Glad I have it, though lowkey regret it sometimes since I want to write meta and my audience is bigger over at I-J, so a lot of crossposting happens :P But figured having them separate is good for those who don't want to see the Sherlock content anymore, so here we are :)

I'm trying to keep several things consistent between the two blogs so people know I am the same person (like the "inevitably" branding and the blog tags). If I had the time and energy I'd run this blog as meticulously as my IJ one, but for now, it's mostly a reblog blog and, lately, home to my current meta about S2.

I have multiple blogs, and both "Inevitably" blogs are sideblogs, LOL. IJ just turned into a primary sideblog, which I regret I did since I can't "ask" things under the name everyone knows me as, LOL.

But yes, Hi Hello, I have a brand and it's "Inevitably" dorky lol.

*HUGS*

#steph replies #my blogs #chatting with lovelies #tumblr things

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fallenrocket · 4 months

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#OurFlagMeansDeadloch Watch Party - Episode 3

(crossposted from my twitter)

"Oh yeah. I wasn't sure how long I'd be down here, so I started a piss corner."

This has a ring of, "We may need to start eating some of the crew."

***

"This body could be 50 years old, could be 100 years old."

"It's wearing a bomber jacket, James, so I don't think it's *100* years old."

I love Dulcie coming at James's pretension with logic. Get his ass, Dulcie!

***

"Shedding evidence like a snake, with a secret!"

Confirmation that Archie would definitely get along with Eddie!

***

McGangus calling Eddie "inspectress" is so gross.

***

It cracks me up that Eddie is still just walking around in one sandal.

***

omg, now Eddie traced her foot on a piece of cardboard, cut it out, and duct taped it to her foot for a new sandal! I just love her particular brand of mess.

***

"Apols, forgot who I was talking to."

So far there's been a distinct lack of James's face being punched. Who's gonna remedy that?

***

"Is this a date? Is this a restaurant?" lol!

***

I knew there was something going on with Eddie back in Darwin and figured it was related to her partner--glad we got some details on this sooner rather than later.

***

I like the recurring gag of Dulcie trying to pretend she understands about sloops.

***

Ooh, twist! And once again, Abby's investigative curiosity is the key!

#our flag means deadloch #adopt our crew #save ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd #deadloch #madeleine sami

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sylveoncare · 11 months

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Figured I'd boost this here since this is really the only site im active on for now (should prob crosspost our stuff to cohost) (also in case anyone saw the multiple posts took me a few tries to get the link to embed right)

#mutual aid request #queer mutual aid #trans mutual aid #disabled mutual aid #mutual aid

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mentallyshattered · 4 months

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This is part 22 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

Sam's shop. I've never been there before, but it's about time to change that, I'd say. We need the distraction. Grim is enjoying it fully, probably thinking about the tuna he's sure to get.

And here we are! Admittedly, I'm not sure if we can afford anything that's not on sale, but it's worth a shot, right?

The shelves are stocked high, but not too high- many students are a bit short, so the items are only about two and a half meters off the ground at the highest. Despite that, there are stools along the ends of the rows, magically attached to their paths along the edges of the isles. I don't need them.

"Okay, Grim, can you smell the tuna or anything? I don't know where to look."

"No need, dear customers! I'll show you, just follow me."

Grim and I follow the man in the patchwork top hat through the expanse of items and prices, recognizing him as Sam, the owner. As he leads us, an odd feeling settles itself into my being. What is it? Oh, that's it- though the shelves are short, the store is vast, stretching onward like a neverending maze. Following Sam through all this feels a lot like I'm walking through a limnal space, guided by a supernatural entity of unknown origin.

"Here we are!" In front of us, Sam is motioning to a shelf with stout cans of tuna stacked one atop another. Sure enough, the price tag on the edge of the suspiciously strong plastic reads "SALE" and is followed by a slashed-out price displayed above a price that's worth half the original, written in larger font. I don't need to look to know Grim's reaction.

"Thank you!" I wave to Sam, grab some tuna, and turn back. He's gone by then, so I just move Grim to my other shoulder and walk to the counter. Sam is waiting there, smiling as usual, and sends us off with an enthusiastic "Thank you!" When we pay and leave.

How unusual. Oh, well. I'll let Grim have a can of this now, and the rest can be saved. Now, where's a trash can?..oh, over there!

...huh. There's a spot in the trash bags over here that's cleared out, about the size of a first-year student. Why? I can't see any reason someone would clear this out. Other than boredom, but this looks like it's been here for a while now. How odd. Meh.

I trash the lid and walk away. We have better things to do. Say, for example, hiding pencil erasers in Ace's bag until he notices and says something, or trying to figure out what the hell is up with Korrak.

"Myeeh, do you hear that?" I stop walking, merely two steps from the indent, and attempt to fine-tune my ears. When I hold my breath, I hear it. Music.

I'm a sin, but I'm half of the hourglass, glass, glass

I don't recognize the song, but I hear it. There is definitely some kind of music playing. But from where? A quick glance at Grim's ears tell me it's toward the pile of trash.

I turn around, slowly, silently, and look a little closer. The music is decently loud now, but I can't see its source.

"Hold my can." I take the half-eaten can of tuna from Grim with one hand and lower the other to allow him to jump down. He ignores the platform entirely and jumps down without my help, landing on concrete and quickly deciding he'd rather move the bags with magic than with his paws or face. The one right in front of him glows somewhat, rises, and reveals a pair of beaten-up headphones plugged into a strange, once-white rectangle.

Grim looks at me. I reach in with my free hand, grab the headphones, and Grim releases the trash bag the instant nothing is under it anymore in favor of hopping onto my arm. When I'm fully upright again, I pass Grim his tuna.

"Myeeh, thanks." He returns to eating. I try and examine the device. It resembles a rectangle when viewed from the front or back, but looking at the top gives it a more almond shape- if almonds were pointed at two ends and not rounded at one. It's very thin, too, much thinner than an almond.

The music still plays. I can't identify the song, but this is probably on a playlist, so I wait for the song to end. It loops.

Dah dah dah dah, da-dah dah dah, dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah

The music kicks up. I still don't recognize the song. The headphones don't fit over my head, but, in my endeavors to put them on, I see him, on the edge of my vision. Barely visible.

Korrak. I don't see Rook. Why is he here?

Ok, Yuu, hold on. You don't want to sound suspicious. That's your roommate and friend. He doesn't know I've seen him yet. So...

I turn to face him and ask, "Hey, are these yours?" He startles. Okay, maybe that wasn't the right move. Still, he attempts to reply- a series of quiet chitters and chirps I can't understand, yet still too loud to miss for my now cat-level hearing, even over the wind and faint music.

"Yeah," Mandible nods, presumably translating for Korrak, "those are ours. Thanks for finding them." I can't be sure as to why Korrak stutters and Mandible doesn't.

"Well, here you go. Your song is still playing." Indeed it is, the singer's voice calling out to be remembered for hundreds of years. Korrak, upon seeing my outstretched hand, visibly relaxes and reaches out to take it.

I've seen that reaction before, on videos, in photos, and in the mirror- not the magic one- when I realized something I saw as precious hadn't been stolen or lost, but was being returned to me.

I saw it in Grim's eyes, reflected from my own when I saw him before the entrance ceremony.

These must be important to them. They've probably had them for years and years, a persistent source of comfort through tough and easy times alike.

Grim was like that for me.

"Thanks," speaks Mandible. It takes me a moment to register his words as his, momentary confusion clouding my judgment of Korrak's voice vs. Mandible's jaws moving. The confusion clears with a single word rushing into my mind: ventriloquism.

Another question rises from the ashes of my puzzlement, burning like a Phoenix: why doesn't Mandible stutter?

Just as quickly, the question abandons me, and nothing more comes of the interaction- rather, a new one begins at the moment's end, with Rook walking up and playing a hand on Korrak's unoccupied shoulder. Korrak briefly panics, a flash of intense fear taking root in his eyes, but that fear is pulled up when he realizes whose wrist the black-gloved hand is attached to.

"Monseurs," Rook begins, nodding at me and Grim as well as Korrak and Mandible, "Come with me. You are going to brew potions in class soon, and I have been instructed to ensure that you all know the basics and how to apply them."

I approach when Rook motions with his free- well, not really, he's holding his bow with that one- hand for me and Grim to follow his lead. A short-feeling walk later, we're back at Pomefiore's main building, through the lounge, down a flight of stairs, and standing in a dark, basementy room that reminds me of medieval castles- if they were cleaned and the atmosphere of a damp, uneven-floored chamber were intentionally crafted. Rook leads us over to a cauldron, and I see the nearby bench against the wall. Epel is sitting there, head slumped a little to his right like he's drowsy, but not yet asleep.

Rook snaps his fingers. Epel jolts upright, his head turning rapidly from side to side until he spots us and hurries from his seat to a spot beside the cauldron. He's in his labwear, and, with a flick of his magic pen, so is Rook. Korrak follows suit, swapping his neatly-buttoned jacket, dress shirt, and Pomefiore-purple vest for a dull white lab coat and a pair of the goggles every Pomefiore student has. Mandible chitters something I don't know at him, and, a moment later, me and Grim are the only ones not in labwear- a fact soon made false. Clearly, my practice is paying off.

Rook waves his magic pen again, filling the cauldron with a shimmering liquid I initially fail to recognize as water in the opalescent lighting of the room. Epel looks at us all, moving his goggles down his face to sit over his eyes once Grim taps the clear frame of the cat-adjacent familiar's protective eyewear.

"Now, then," the vice housewarden speaks up, his voice steadfast, "Every Pomefiore student worth their salt needs a flawless pharmalogical grounding." He briefly moves away to fetch a cart with three levels, the upper two of which are covered in a thick, single layer of small glass vials with corks. The top jars look to contain herbs, judging by the faded green and slightly-wilted brown reflected and refracted by the smooth, light-bending surface of their containers. The ones on the middle level, however, appear to contain a collective rainbow of various spices, rocks, furs, and everything else Crewel hasn't let us touch yet, with the exception of equipment.

I squint at the sudden, unmistakable scent of mint wafting off the cart, in spite of the fact that it's on Rook's right and I'm on his left. Grim moves to cover his nose with his paws, but stops when he remembers he's wearing lab gloves and that might not be a bright idea. Looking over, Mandible's nose is twitching like mad- he and Korrak must be getting the brunt of it.

In asingle half-second, I realize Rook is holding his breath, his chest steady instead of slowly moving with his lungs, and then he pushes the cork down onto a vial I hadn't noticed him reaching for, closing it. The aggressive scent of mint wanes and blows away. Rook exhales and inhales, clearly relived. He's a hunter; his sense of smell is sharp. Too-strong oders must be overwhelming to him- they are to me.

A memory surfaces in my mind- falling asleep in a bed of mint, wild mint, dug up and moved to one spot, with Grim in my arms, and then it fades, vanishing like clear gel tossed into the sea. Another event rises into the forefront of my attention, more solid and vivid than the last. The mix of disappointment and sorrow that rose then comes with it, soon yet gradualy overtaken by the sense of apathy that settled into my being back then. That numbness stuck around for years until fate dragged me into this school to reunite with Grim and feel again.

Why did that particular memory surface? What is it that ties then to now, only now? Laying in a bed of mint- oh! My nose is sharper now, much sharper. Back then, I could lie in a bed of it and rest well, but now a meter and a half away is too close.

My familiar stands on all fours and stretches straight up, claws digging ever-so-slightly into the surface of my skin and coat. I snap back to the present. That's right, I'm busy. Busy doing what? Oh, that's right, Rook's helping with upcoming potionology work.

"Now, then..." Rook doesn't talk too much, evidently favoring the act of guiding us by our hands and arms, only commenting when the herbs become involved. Contrawise, he hums near-constantly, one of the melodies bringing the earlier encounter with Korrak and Mandible to my immediate attention. It's the same song.

Rook was there. Good. That means Korrak had some other company. I was a little worried, but now that I know Rook was there to keep an eye on them, some tension I was previously unaware of dissapates like smoke set free from a jar and into the cool evening breeze.

Soon, though, we are back upstairs, in the Backstage Room, discussing as we usually do. I hear someone say the time and our roommates leave me to complete my last two steps with ease, choosing to brush Grim until we're both off to bed. Korrak is asleep by the time we get there, and, soon, Grim curls up in his cat bed as I curl up in my human bed, and then we both close our eyes for the night. My dreams are a single, simple phrase:

"Memory Lane"

#twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #m!yuu #twst yuu #twst grim #twst rook #twst epel #twst oc #twst sam #what if yuu didn't want to go back

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