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#spare time is just being an elusive beast at the moment
thepiecesofcait · 3 years
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Okay, this might sound kind of weird, but I am absolutely OBSESSED with your drawing of 'disguise'. I don't know why, it's just... the proportions are perfect, the way each little part fits together, her expression, the red highlights... for some reason it just hit something really deep inside of me so thank you for that.
I always love hearing about people’s reactions to the different pieces from that series!
It was such an intensely busy time for me, and I didn’t get to really dwell much over finished pieces, but I’ve been looking back over them recently and Disguise is one of my favourites. The quote really hit me the minute I read it, and I’m glad to hear the drawing did it justice!
Fun treat, because I very rarely share unfinished pieces: here’s the digital draft for Disguise! (featuring the rough sketch on the right that locked in the direction for the whole piece)
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I did all my drafting in procreate then used a light box to transfer the key parts to watercolour paper for inking. This saved me so much time, since I could move and resize stuff super quick before committing to pencil on paper, and also I could play around with where my lightest and darkest parts would be to try keep decent contrast between overlapping parts.
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So I actually wrote this! I’ve never written dark!Sterek before, but I saw the gifset and couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy <3
THREE DAYS, FOUR HOURS, AND twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack.
Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles realized what happened nine minutes after his pack was taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead at the countdown of three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes.
To Stiles, though, time blurred. It was a stain of colors, a snarl at the back of his throat, and the faintest ringing in his ears that made him feel like he was losing his mind all over again.
Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. It was the longest Stiles had ever been alone.
He was greeted by gunshots first.
At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. A boy who grew up surrounded by wolves, an emissary to a bunch of wild animals. There were rumors about what rested behind the amber of his eyes, but few people chose to believe them. Because he was scrawny, he was human, and it seemed like easy pickings when a group of hunters chose to go after the crumbling pack.
At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. And that that always been the easiest way to lure in unsuspecting prey.
He was greeted by gunshots first. The screams that followed were a welcome sound he hadn’t heard for far too long.
There was something about the smell of gunpowder in the air, the feeling of blood on his fingertips, and the taste of ash in his mouth that made Stiles feel alive. He could be wrapped in the darkest shadows or walking through the heat of a blazing fire and the smile on his face would never waver. At a first glance, he was nothing but a boy. A weakling. But to the hunter watching him tear through their ranks without even blinking, it was like hell had become a place on Earth.
The hunter’s name was Col Henderson. And he hadn’t wanted to take the job in the first place.
Beacon Hills was a shell of what it used to be. At first, Col hadn’t even believed the rumors were true. The rumors saying there was still a werewolf pack patrolling its borders, that is. He’d been hunting since he was old enough to carry a gun and at this point in his life, he wanted a challenge. Something to make him smile when the beast went down; something to make him feel proud when the light faded from the monster’s eyes.
The Hale pack had been fairly easy to round up. Most of them were feral to the point of being wild animals anyway.
It was the emissary that remained elusive.
“A bunch of mutts,” he told the man at his side, listening to the distant sound of snarling wolves from another part of the compound. “Good for nothing but a bullet between the eyes.”
The hunter only grunted, looking tired. And honestly, Col couldn’t blame him. They were all tired. The emissary had yet to come for his pack and they’d been sitting around all day, waiting for something that didn’t seem to exist.
Until the sun touched the tips of the trees, that is. 
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Col first saw him when the compound doors slammed open. He was on his feet in a second, loaded rifle held tightly in his hands. The already dying lights above his head flickered and briefly went out— and when they came back on, a lone figure stood in the compound’s entrance. His head was head tilted slightly and his eyes practically glowed against the faint darkness.
There was a dull spark in them that held nothing but the last remnants of humanity. Humanity that had been clinging to the boy for years now, though that hadn’t mattered for a long time now.
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. One that sent a chill down Col’s spine.
“Emissary,” someone breathed. And Col didn’t even realize the word had come from his mouth until amber eyes fixed on where he stood. The boy raised an eyebrow.
“My pack,” he said. “I want them back.”
There was a loud click as the man next to Col loaded his gun. The emissary’s attention immediately snapped to him and Col almost sagged to the floor, suddenly aware of each breath that he had been holding.
“You're going to give my pack back,” the emissary said again, the smile slipping from his lips. He took a step forward and immediately, every gun was trained on him. The boy paused, eyes flashing, but it didn’t seem to be out of fear. 
No, there was a new look on his face, replacing the amused one that had been there previously.
It was cold and dangerous. The bags under his eyes seemed to darken, holding the exhaustion of each day that he’d been without his pack. Around him, the shadows grew as the softness of his face hardened.
“No?”
In the distance, one of the wolves yelped. Loudly.
And just like that, the spark of humanity in the emissary’s eyes flicked out.
Col had faced a lot of beasts in the past. He’d gone after born wolves and those newly turned. He’d taken down a dozen packs and faced an alpha that nearly ripped him to shreds. Col told his blissfully ignorant friends that he hunted deer and then went home to a list full of names— one of every monster he’d ever killed.
He’d seen a lot over the years. But nothing added up to the boy that stood in front of him, eyes turning to stone as he caught the sound of his feral pack in the distance.
Once more, the lights overhead blinked out. But this time, they didn't turn back on. In a moment, the silence had turned to gunshots, gunshots turned to screams. And dammit, Col hadn’t even wanted to take this job in the first place.
He stumbled back, pulling his walkie from its clip on his belt.
“Backup! We need backup!”
Static was his answer. Col stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to get as far away from the screams of his fellow hunters as fast as he could. There were things he’d heard about the Hale pack’s emissary, but he’d never imagined any of them were true. In fact, he'd laughed at 'exaggeration of it all.
The job of an emissary was to keep the pack connected to themselves, to their humanity. Col hadn’t thought much of the feral pack they’d put in chains but this boy seemed to be even less human than all of them combined. Less than the alpha who had nearly bitten Col’s head off, less than the betas who had snapped and snarled the entire way to captivity.
In his panic, Col stumbled over his own feet and fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding somewhere across the floor. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and when he looked over his shoulder, all that was left were bodies.
The one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski stood among them. His eyes raked over the entire room, not a single emotion on his face. Then, they snapped to where Col had fallen and that smile from earlier tugged at the corners of his mouth once again.
Col shoved himself up and turned, running faster than he ever had into the depths of the compound.
They had come to Beacon Hills with an even number of eighteen hunters. When Col turned the corner, stumbling to a stop as a dozen guns aimed in his direction, there was some part of him that wondered if even double that would be enough.
“Henderson?”
“Don’t shoot, dammit!”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed off the cement floor. Col’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned around.
“You took my pack,” the emissary said, turning the corner. “Now I’m gonna take them back.”
Col retreated back behind the line of guns. The emissary’s gaze traveled over them all and his eyes darkened. He took a step forward, ignoring the tightening of every finger around the trigger.
“It’s doesn’t matter how many of there you are,” he said, words almost a snarl. He moved closer— Col started to tremble. “I’m going to kill every single one of you until I find them. Do you understand me?”
“Stand down, boy!”
“Do you understand me? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if I have to!”
Someone fired. Sparks flew.
Somewhere in the distance, one of the wolves howled.
It happened too quickly. Col scrambled for his spare pistol and a crackle of electricity filled the air. Something was burning, the smell like a sour acid began to fill his nose. Col's eyes burned, his hands were shaking too hard to get a proper hold on his gun as he scrambled back away from the fighting. It was like a nightmare brought to life and when he managed to make himself look back, the sight that awaited him was even worse.
The emissary’s eyes were brighter than fire. The air around him swam with the shadows and his face was so pale, it was like the blood drained right out. Distant howls collided with the chaos in the air and Col momentarily flashed back to his latest kill— a young omega, newly bitten. She’d looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper and it had made him feel powerful. Being the predator always did.
For the first time in his life, Col Henderson knew what it was like to be the prey.
The emissary flicked his wrist and Col slammed up against the nearest wall, losing all ability to breathe as the boy approached. There was something about him. Something darker than night, colder than death. 
“Big bad hunter. Where is my pack?”
Struggling for breath, Col managed to point down the hallway. The boy followed his gaze and then hummed.
“Thank you.”
Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles had realized what happened to his pack nine minutes after they were taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes ago.
The clock continued to count— three seconds on the timer. Col looked at the emissary like he was the Grim Reaper.
And at second one, the boy smiled.
-
An emissary’s main job had always been to keep a pack connected to their humanity. However, as a group of bold hunters learned the hard way after capturing a bunch of feral werewolves known as the Hale pack, the one known as Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, barely had any humanity in himself to begin with.
There was a hum under his breath as he released his pack one by one. The betas first and his alpha right after them, whose eyes glowed red as he barely contained a series of whines. The second the chains were off, clawed fingers latched onto Stiles's arms and sharp fangs skated up the side of his neck. Stiles smiled, tracing bloodstained fingers through Derek’s hair.
“It's okay. I'm here now.”
Warm breaths snuffled against his skin. “That was stupid.”
“I know.”
“And dangerous.”
“But so fun.”
Derek drew back, his attention zeroing in on a darkening red patch right underneath Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”
"Only a little."
"Does it hurt?"
“They took my pack,” Stiles said, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “Isn’t a little agony worth it?”
The red of the alpha’s eyes burned even brighter. Derek growled and pulled him into a hungry kiss— one that promised a much more thorough examination later. The man's lips were a little cracked and Stiles could taste blood. Humming at the back of his throat, he kissed Derek harder.
Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack. The longest he'd ever been alone.
But he wasn't anymore.
They left the bodies as a warning to anyone who dared cross the Hale pack again. 
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Heart of the Wild (Ch.2)
Notes: Originally it was suppose to be two Chapters, but alright, three. Apparently tigers can’t purr in real life? Well in this fic, he can bc of reasons.  I just wanted to add in Izuku being the adorable, helpful younger “brother” that he is in the fic :3
Warnings: Consensual smut. Like, right in the beginning when you first start reading, there’s some self stuff, but that’s about it.
He bit the back of his hand, pupils blown wide as he let out a growl of frustration. He was far, far away from his hut, but the lingering smell of an omega’s heat, could be carried away from miles. He tried not to let his mind wonder, to let his frustrations and pent up sexual desires get the best of him.
Of course, he had felt guilty, wanting to just fuck and claim the rabbit as his, but he refused. She wasn’t coherent, they were strangers, and he rather crawl in a trench and never see the sunlight again, than to take advantage of somebody like that.
His trousers were looped around his ankles, letting the chill of the cold air hopefully douse out the heat of his lust-filled mind. Ever since traveling far away from his parents, everyone was too scared to touch him, lest look at him in that sort of manner. Those who he was close to, he saw as sons and family, they were never close to the rabbit’s image that popped into his head, at this moment. He hissed, finding his hands wrapped around himself, tugging at the head as his hips moved on their own whim as he leaned forwards against the tree.
This was dangerous, he knew. Elbow in front of his face as it rested against the bark of the wood, he bit his bottom lip in a growl, letting the feral beast in which was his pent up lust, consume him. Although his length was barbed, it was soft flesh that didn’t hurt his hand. He knew that it was mainly a purpose to keep seed within the womb, not to hurt, and with that thought, his hips stuttered before he quickened his pace, thumbing the head as precum leaked out, letting his imagination run wild, before the guilt would settle in.
 Would she be shy? Or tell him bluntly in what she would want? He shouldn’t even be thinking of her like this, but it was tough not too, him having the primal urge to just wreck the omega in all of the right ways, preferably with a mating bite. He bit the back of his fist, hissing as his hips stuttered, painting the poor tree white with the gunk of his shot.
It wasn’t his first thought, or usual way of marking his territory, but it would have to do, for now.
…………
Sunlight had poked through the hut at this time. You, being freshly tired and worn out, had tried your best to feed the fire with what wood had been there. As for the bedding, you didn’t have an inkling on what to do with it, deciding to set it aside with your shame and guilt, and yet, relief.
A slow, slight knocking, had rung on the door, snapped you out of your thoughts as you froze with fear.
“U-um! Excuse me! My name’s Izuku! Tai-chan sent me here to check up on you!” A squeak on the other side announced, and your shoulders relaxed at the familiar name. He, like you, was a rabbit omega, if anything, he would be immune to your scent, and could help tidy up.
“Come in.” You announced after making sure that you were clothed well. The door creaked open slowly with shaky hands, a mop of green hair, eyes, twitching ears, and a freckled face peeked in as his scent, sweet grass mixed in with a slightly spicy tone, wafted towards you.
“Oh, good, you’re dressed and coherent!” He sighed with relief, inviting himself in, holding a bucket full of wool blankets, as well as a walking stick. Before you could speak, the other rabbit jumped in, first.
“Oh, gosh! I bet he didn’t say anything about this, didn’t he? I think Tai-chan knew what he was getting into when caring for an injured, heated omega, but he probably didn’t tell you that it was okay to get things a bit messy. Messes like slick are easily to clean, luckily, thus I brought the bucket. Oh! You must be hungry! There should be some leftover stew, Tai had said!” The dwarf rabbit rambled, his short ears twitching with excitement as he laid out spare blankets out from the bucket, as well as a hairbrush, twine, soap, a spare tunic, and a small jar full of a dark green substance.
He handed you the stick, rushing over towards the still bubbling stew as he hummed excitedly, introducing himself.
“Omegas are pretty rare, did you know? So I hope that we become good friends! The bucket is to drawl water from the nearest stream, and we can wash those dirty sheets, as well as you take a bath. Thus the hairbrush and twine, so you can put up your hair, if you want.” He explained, glancing at you with a sweet smile as he plopped several spoonfuls of soups into two separate bowls.
You thanked him, telling your name and your story as the two of you ate, talking between swallowing bites of food. The cheerful omega was younger than you, yet was in his late teens or early twenties, him stating that he had found Eiji, his mate, when the two of them were nineteen summer’s old.
“Are you around many omegas in heat?” You tried asking. For a second, he stilled, looking at you with surprise, and then shook his head.
“Our dynamic is so rare, it’s comical. Of course, I’ve had to find ways to spend my own heats, and found it easier when you bite somebody, or creating a mating mark. Also, when your mate covers you in their own scent, giving off your status as ‘taken, don’t bother’.” Izuku finished, setting his bowl next to your empty one, as he grabbed the bucket and used sheets and utensils.
“There’s a safe path to the river, I’ll give you some privacy, but be near enough to sense if you’re in danger. Since this forest has probably less than ten occupants, you should be safe with us around.” He explained, and you thanked him as you hoisted yourself up with the stick, avoiding to use your hurt ankle.
……….
You didn’t get a clear outside view of Taishiro’s hut, but when you did, you admitted freely, that it was beautiful and well built. As Izuku rambled, he shown you the small beaten path in which led to a clear, cool stream. Of course, he promised you your privacy as he gave you a bar of lard soap, the tunic, and the oil within the jar was to clean your hair. Laying the spare tunic and essentials on the bank of the stream bed, he rushed off, promising you that he’d be near.
You didn’t waste any time, slipping into the cool water, setting your walking stick onto the bank as you sat in the shallow stream. Being from a nomadic lifestyle, you were use to taking baths within rivers and streams with your fellow women, each keeping a lookout for troublesome snoopers. Since the forest was pretty dim, all you really had to worry about, were the smells of strangers. Feeling a sense of security, you relished in having your heated skin flushed down by the slow moving stream, helping matters greatly as you sunk lower, taking off your old wet clothing, setting it aside to lather yourself and it in soap.
When you were done, you were freezing, but cleaned and wet hair out of the way. Newly clothed and leaning on your stick, you shouted out for Izuku, and waited. Immediately, your new friend popped up out of nowhere, smiling as he held a bucket of clean, yet wet clothes.
“Let’s head back, warm up, and dress your wounds!” He smiled, brightly.
………..
Having Izuku around, had helped matters, greatly. Of course, he went home during certain times, refusing to part with his mate for a while, and you were left alone, yet safe, clean, and dry within the hut as you swore that the sweet yet earthy scent was stronger than ever. You guessed that he had came back when you and Izuku were gone, eating quickly, and reorganizing things.
Although grateful, you tried your best to help around within the weeks of your heat. You learned from the smaller rabbit, how to cook, clean more regularly around you, and even garden a little when your heat wasn’t at it’s most terrible state. Of course, you were apologizing heavily to Izuku from the other side of the door, stating that you couldn’t have visitors on some days, and he had understood, promising to be back, later.
While feeling gross and tired, you didn’t dare enter the forest, alone, opting to keep busy, tidying the small hut the best you could, and brushing out your wild hair, neatly braiding it, thanks to your new friend’s teachings. You didn’t see or hear from Tai, but his scent was always around, close and promising to protect, and that itself, comforted you at your most stressful times. Heat being heat, only lasted two weeks, and then the post-smell, had to fade.
By this time, it was safe for you to meet Eijirou, Izuku’s wolf mate, as well as Tai’s other adopted son, Tamaki, the ever elusive snow leopard who had promised to guard the area around the forest as a favor. Although strangers, you knew that they were trustworthy, putting their time and effort in making sure that you were alright, and of course, you couldn’t be thankful enough, making supper for them.
“Now that your heat’s over and ankle’s healing, where will you go?” Eijirou asked, and you felt yourself stilling. You didn’t think about that. Instead, you just smiled, and handed him a bowl of stew, telling him that you think of something. After everyone had left, you cleaned had cleaned up. The last time that you’ve seen the tiger, was when he had rescued you, and already, you couldn’t help but miss the person who was responsible for your safety.
It wasn’t right for you to stay, you admitted. Although he stated that you could find a place in the forest, if you wanted to, you had felt that you’ve already taken too much, especially his home and food. Your ankle was healing, nicely, and a week from now, Izuku had said that you could probably walk, but not run onto it.
“Somethin’ on yer mind?” Taishiro’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Quickly turning towards him, you’ve noticed that the man was holding the door open, looking at you quizzically. Seeing your surprised expression, he rolled his eyes.
“Been tryin’ to get yer attention for a bit, now. Mind tellin’ me what’s goin’ through that head of yers?” He asked, shutting the door behind him, as he sat down on a nearby stool. Your ears flickered before laying back.
“Where have you been staying at this whole time?” You questioned. At first, he had a blank look on his face, and then realization hit as his tail swished heavily, ears flickering wildly.
“You…were worried ‘bout me?”
You gave him a deadpanned look.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been living in your home, using your food- Tai, you’ve looked out for me, a practical stranger, sacrificing your own safety and shelter…do you ever look after yourself?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, but then gently asking the last question. He swallowed thickly, casting his eyes to the side as warmth spread across his cheeks.
“I usually don’t do this for others, but it seems that you’ve shown yer gratitude by helpin’ out as much as ya could. Talked to Izuku, learned that you were really doin’ well, and given that ya’re concerned ‘bout me an’ tryin’ to pay it back, I don’t regret my choice.” He finished, warm amber irises daring to meet yours in his decision. It was your turn to break away from the oddly heated stare.
“I don’t know what’re gonna do, when yer ankle’s healed, but, I’d like to get to know ya, a lil’ more. If…if ya wanna stay.” He said it so quickly, but you heard it loud and clear.
“Tai-” You began, but he hummed.
“If ya wanna live in the forest, we could always build ya a small den, or a hut. Won’t be much, but it’d be somethin’.” He admitted. Without thinking, your body acted on it’s own accord.
“Wai-wah?!” He grunted in surprise as you hugged him tightly, burying your face in his chest as heat rushed to your face as you realized in what you had just done, but you didn’t regret it, especially hearing the sound of his fluttering heartbeat, and his natural scent in which calmed you down.  
“Thank You.” Was all you could say, really. To your small surprise, you felt his arms wrap around you as you heard very, very subtle purring rumble through him.
“Notta problem, Sweetheart.”
…………….
         It didn’t take your ankle long to heal. Being in the forest for the last month, you’ve admitted that not only had time passed, quickly, but you were getting more mentally mature and physically well. Of course, you were confused by your own feelings for the nurturing man, but you didn’t mind the too long hugs, the subtle touches in fixing bandages, and eye contact. You favorite had to be a border of pillows were between the two of you, as you both laid on the big bed, talking about everything and nothing while the fire crackled and lit up the dark room. It was a platonic distance, you refusing him to sleep on the harsh wood, and insisting that a pillow wall could work on the giant bed.
You never really shared one, but you liked his company as he talked about his family, his past, and how he came to adopt Eijirou and Tamaki. You listened intently, ever so curious, learning that he wanted to find a place of his own, like his father had before him, and settle down with a mate and cubs. You were lucky that the pillows had hid you, for you couldn’t help but feel your face begin to redden as he, oblivious to your small plight, went on about how basically everyone was scared of him, or didn’t want to do with him.  
   Your racing heartbeat slowed as he hummed that he was glad that he found his boys, the small wolf furiously protecting the slightly older leopard cub against stray coyotes.
“Winter’s cruel, but so are the lousy parents who leave their pups n’ cubs.” He said icily, a spike of anger seeped into his scent.
You liked him. Even when your ankle healed, he housed you as the two of you made plans to build a small space for you to live in. Fear of rejection had kept your tongue tied into silence. Your inner demons, although small, caged your rational thoughts as time crawled forward slowly. Since you have been able to properly walk, you’ve foraged, gardened, and explored more of the forest, collecting things that could be useful, as well as venturing towards the icy cool river to wash dirty plates and blankets. It was more so of your gratitude, rather than it being an actual chore, that you didn’t mind doing these things.
Taishiro himself, not only prowled to keep the area safe, but he had a lot of times shared time with you, insisting that it was his mess, too, as he scrubbed the soup bowls into the icy water. It being winter, he wasn’t as active in the spring, yet he had wood chopped not only for his small fireplace, but to be turned into logs for a couple of buildings, one was a small house for actual chickens.
You cocked you head.
“Chickens? Where would you get those?”
 As if surprised by your answer, he palmed his forehead.
“I’m kinda dense, Hon. I didn’t tell ya that there was a village nearby, didn’t I? Well, not really near, maybe a couple of day’s journey, but I thought nothin’ of it since I don’t really go there, often.” He admitted guiltily, but you were surprised that a village was within the reach of the tundra. Speaking your thoughts, his tail twitched as his ears perked, seemingly glad that you weren’t upset of his forgetfulness of the place.
“They’re alright, a lil’ skittish. They use clothes an’ food for currency, and every once a great while, I get some trousers or somethin’ from there.” He mulled over the idea, sneaking glances at your weathered tunic.
“Might not be so bad in getting’ some chickens. Fried eggs sound great, right about now.” He murmured, instead.
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gwenbrightly · 3 years
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Redwall Falls Chapter 2
“He’s looking at me...” Brome heard his sister whisper to herself. She was not so inconspicuously watching Martin, one of the Mystery Shack’s teenaged employees, while she cleaned bobbleheads made in the image of their Great Aunt (or Graunt) Polly. The siblings had been put to work helping out around the tourist trap as soon as they’d had some time to settle in.
“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” he suggested with an eye roll. Rose stared at him.
“After what happened last time?” she cringed. Yesterday, when they’d met him (and the handy-squirrel known as Feldoh), the mouse had introduced himself before saying something about a “rosty nose”, which had taken several minutes to decipher. Brome still wasn’t sure what that was about, but it had definitely been awkward.
“Well, he’s proven that he can speak coherently,” Brome observed, nodding his head at the customer Martin was currently ringing up, “so maybe this time you guys can make it through an entire conversation without crashing.”
“I... Don’t be so pushy, Brome. These things take time. And besides-” Rose’s protests were cut off by Graunt Polly’s appearance from the back room.
“All right, all right, look alive, everybeast. I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest,” the mole announced, displaying several signs that had advertisements with question marks and directions to the Mystery Shack on them. Rose, Brome, Feldoh, and Martin all glanced at each other.
“Not it,” Rose said quickly.
“Not it,” Brome followed suit.
“Also not it. You needed me to switch out the lightbulbs upstairs, remember?” It was Feldoh, this time. Graunt Polly looked annoyed.
“Martin, go hang these signs.” She ordered. “Oh, I would, but it’s so far. And I just realized I never had my lunch break so...”
“I’d fire all of you if I could,” Polly complained, frowning at Martin’s lame excuse. Her statement didn’t seem to have the desired effect, for she looked rather disappointed when no one took the hint and volunteered as tribute.
“Fine, then. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, “let’s make it.. Eanie, meanie, minie… you,” she pointed a paw at Brome. He groaned in dismay.
“What? No. Graunt Polly, there’s something off about these woods… they’re creepy and I always feel like I’m being watched.”
“Noonvale doesn’t have much in the way of real forests, Brome. It’s gonna take some time for you to adjust to, well, the great outdoors,” Polly told him, giving his headfur a ruffle. He looked to Rose for backup, but she didn’t offer anything.
“I’m telling you – there’s something weird going on in this town. Homesickness can’t explain why the mosquito bites on my arm spell out ‘beware’.” Brome pointed out, rolling up his sleeve to show the others. Feldoh made a gagging noise. Rose raised an eyebrow and said,
“It looks more like ‘bewarb’ to me, and that’s really only if you squint.”
“Look, kid, that whole ‘monsters in the woods’ thing is just a local legend drummed up to attract more tourists,” Polly tried to assure him, but Brome wasn’t convinced. He had only been in Gravity falls for a day and he’d already seen bizarre glowing lights, heard strange noises, and been accosted by possibly radioactive mosquitos.
“But...” he protested as Graunt Polly plopped the signs into his reluctantly waiting arms.
“Stop being so paranoid and try to have some fun with this, eh, Brome?”
_______________
“No one believes anything I say,” Brome muttered to himself as he nailed a sign to a tree. It felt like he had been out in the forest for hours. All by himself. With no one to talk (complain) to. Was it even legal to send children out into the forest to perform manual labor without supervision? He’d have to check the local child labor laws once he got access to wifi – yet another thing the Mystery Shack seemed to be lacking in.
“Ugh!” he cried. “Stupid Mystery Shack! Stupid signs!”
Kathunk! Brome kicked the next tree he came to and immediately recoiled. He yelped in pain, then cocked his head. Trees didn’t make weird echoey noises… did they?
“Weird…” he commented, dropping the remaining sign on the ground so he could investigate further. Rapping gently on the tree – he didn’t want to hurt himself – Brome listened to the oddly metallic sound the tree made on impact. Something was definitely off about it. He took the sleeve of his sweatshirt and rubbed away at the trunk. Textured brown paint and a healthy coating of dirt and grime gave way to old metal. Ahah! The entire tree was fake. In full detective mode, now, Brome examined the tree until he spotted a small handle.
With slight apprehension, for there was always a chance his actions would activate an army of laser equipped robots, he grasped the lever with both paws and yanked it down. Nothing happened. No grand reveal. No explosion. Just the sound of birds chirping in the distance.
The young mouse huffed in disappointment and turned to leave, wishing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. All his Sci-Fi TV shows and books had lied to him. Cool things never happened in real life. The world just didn’t work that way. But then, the creaking of a rusty hatch forcing its way open somewhere nearby caused him to stop in his tracks.
Brome circled the area, searching for the source of the sound. The switch must have done something, after all. He checked every nook and cranny, below each bush and on top of every rock and stump. His query remained elusive. Whatever the lever had opened was clearly well hidden.  Brome took a step backwards, hoping the action would give him a different view of this patch of forest.
In a way, he got exactly what he wanted; the fallen tree he tripped over certainly forced him to see the area from a different angle. But the unexpected fall wasn’t very pleasant and Brome couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d have to hurt himself before his parents would let him come home. He lay on the ground for a moment, half tempted to sink into the dirt and become one with nature. Thankfully, such drastic actions did not end up being necessary.
It was no wonder Brome hadn’t noticed the bizarre hole the switch had uncovered. Half buried by the log and built from camouflaged materials, he would have missed it completely if not for the fact that he’d practically fallen right on top of it. He sat up, thoughtfully. Whoever had installed this hidden treasure trove obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. How long had it been since someone sat where he now sat? Since somebeast had peered into the hole to examine its secrets? Brome gently removed an object wrapped in old newspapers, bursting into a fit of sneezes at the resulting cloud of dust that had floated into the air.
It was old. Old-old, as in more than just a few years old. The newspapers were from several decades ago. Their edges had curled with age, and some of the lettering was too faded to be legible. Fortunately, Brome had little interest in the newspaper; the item it protected was far more intriguing. A journal. And journals always had juicy secrets written in them – he’d learned that from snooping in Rose’s bedroom (though this journal would inevitably be much more interesting than his sister’s diary).
The journal’s design was simple enough. It was made of thick brown leather with the insignia of a paw print on the front cover. Brome wasn’t sure what kind of creature would have an entire extra toe. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What if the journal contained something bad? Something he wasn’t supposed to see?
It must have been hidden for a reason, after all. The young mouse sat for a moment, pondering his options. He could, of course, bury the journal and get back to work hanging Graunt Polly’s signs. He could also take his chances and open the book regardless of ancient curses or government Intel. It was a difficult choice.
“Alright, mystery beast. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” Brome muttered when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the first few pages. They were covered with sketches of creatures he had never seen before. Detailed notes and memos accompanied many of the sketches.
“It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls,” he read aloud from the page that had the most writing. Six years was a long time to be stuck in this place. The author must have had an awful lot of spare time on their paws to create such an elaborate journal. Flipping through the journal some more, Brome found himself growing more intrigued with each page he read.
Eventually, the writing and sketches grew increasingly erratic and less caretakingly organized. Notes that made no sense lined the margins in some places. One page in particular had the words Trust No One scrawled across its top in large lettering. Brome read the rest of the entry with bated breath, “Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before he finds it. Remember: in Gravity Falls there is no one you can trust." He paused, confused. That seemed… harsh. But if Gravity Falls really did have a dark side-
“Watcha doin?” someone said, sending Brome into a frenzied attempt to hide the journal behind his back. He groaned when he realized who it was. His sister gave him an awkward wave.
“Rose! Thanks for that. I really needed a heart attack today,” he stated flatly.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose told him, sitting down on the fallen tree, “Graunt Polly sent me to check on you.”
“Oh,” he said. He felt a little foolish for being so easily shaken. The journal’s tone was clearly getting to him.
“So… what were you reading that you didn’t notice me coming your way?” she asked.
“It’s nothing,” Brome said quickly. Rose hummed in response, clearly skeptical.
“Seems like pretty interesting nothingness. You were really invested in it.”
“Well… it’s not nothing nothing,” he admitted, “Just not something I should show you out here where anyone could happen to walk by. Let’s go somewhere more… private.”
“Alright. But now I’m curious. This better not be evidence of aliens, or I’m going to be very insulted that you didn’t show me right away,” Rose teased, ruffling his head fur. Brome winked at her and stood up. He waved the journal at her before taking off in the direction of the Mystery Shack as he said,
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
After all, surely the book journal hadn’t meant sisters when it said trust no one… right?
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shallow-gravy · 4 years
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Ch. 1 / Ch. 2  / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5  / Ch. 6  / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 12 / Ch. 13 / Ch. 14 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 16 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 19 / Ch. 20 / Ch. 21 / Ch. 22 / Ch. 23 / Ch. 24 / Ch. 25 /
Word Count: ~3550
Author’s Note: thank you as always to my emotional support partner in crime, @actuallyhansolo! This chapter turned into a beast so I ended up splitting it in half to make it a bit more palatable.
Warnings: naughty language, gun violence
XXVI. Smash The Control Machine
                          __________
So waterboard the kids for fun
It's all the rage
And play born-again American
Resistance is the game
Smash the control machine!
-Otep, Smash The Control Machine
                           __________
“Diana?” John calls as he makes his way back upstairs, some spare clothes he’d pilfered from a supply crate draped over his arm. Other than that bathrobe, she certainly isn’t going to touch any of his things. “I hope you've managed to put some of your fears to rest, my dear…”
The bathroom door is ajar, and no acerbic response returns to him from the other side of it. That makes him pause, quirking an eyebrow as he pokes his head in to peer around the room. The shower is still running, and the glass sliding door is open. 
The pile of dingy rags she’d been wearing is gone. 
John nearly chokes on his own spit, curses and spins on his heel back into the hallway, heading for his bedroom. Maybe she’d gone there to change and one of his men had already collected her things. Just forgot to turn the fucking shower off in the meantime…
He lets out a strangled laugh as he pushes open the door to his room; he already knows what to expect. The first thing he sees is a heavy curtain over one of the bay windows drawn to the side, letting a slice of late-morning light in to blaze a path across the floor. 
But she would have noticed quickly the windows are barred, protecting his home from any filthy sinners that should ever try to break in if the grounds were left unpatrolled. He grits his teeth, drops the clothes on the floor and spins again, back out into the hallway, to the third and last door that opens out to the second floor balcony. And it is, in fact, open.
He shoulders his way through it and out to the banister, placing his hands on it as he looks all around. “Diana!?” 
A few men down below halt in their rounds, glancing up at the sudden outburst. 
John’s mouth curls down, his knuckles whitening around the smooth wood. 
“Where...is...the deputy!?”
                                  .     .     .
“So, uh...you and the little dude are still gearin’ up to try and blow this popsicle stand pretty soon?” 
Nora looks up from the maps she’s been poring over, locking eyes with Sharky across the table. “Yeah. In about a week if all goes well. If we don’t find the deputy by then, I...well, the least I can do is make sure this story goes viral. Make sure the right people hear about what’s happening…” 
She sighs and takes a seat in the rickety old swivel chair, reaches up to scrub her hands down over her face. It’s just the two of them down in the cell block-slash-command center; everyone else is upstairs, either grabbing lunch from the caf or keeping watch out on the walls. 
Sharky fiddles with a pen he picked up, taps it against the edge of the table a few times. He purses his lips for a moment, debating whether or not to try for a kickass drum solo. Hard to do with only one pen, though.  “Yeah...I sure hope old Johnny didn’t manage to sink his claws into her, but...we ain’t heard nothin’ since Mary May and Jerome showed up-“
Sharky is interrupted by a clamor coming from upstairs. The door to the cell block bangs open and a scattering of raised voices make themselves heard blending in with a crowd of footsteps moving along the catwalk. 
They both look up to see the deputy herself, flanked on all sides by their comrades. 
“Christ, Baker, would you tell us what the hell happened?” Whitehorse admonishes brusquely, keeping pace alongside her with Grace and the aforementioned Jerome and Mary May close behind. Hudson and Tracey Lader make up the tail-end of the group. 
“Nothing happened!”
“Give her a little space, sheriff,” Pastor Jerome asserts, trying heroically to spare Diana some of the onslaught as they round the corner and descend the stairs.
“I’ll do no such thing, Pastor,” Whitehorse replies gruffly before turning his attention back to Diana. “We didn’t hear a peep out of you for damn near a week, rook—the folks holdin’ out here thought you were dead-!”
“You and Jess went M.I.A. after the radios came back online,” Grace cuts in a little cautiously as they hit the ground floor. “She never made it back here. And she ain’t with you now…” 
Diana glances back for a second as she comes upon the table in the center of the room. “No. She’s not. ‘Cause Jacob fucking Seed still has her. That’s where I was for damn near a week, sheriff.” 
Whitehorse’s mouth clamps shut. They’d all had their suspicions that her and Jess had been captured, but hearing it directly from her casts it in the horrid light of truth. 
She stops beside Nora, gives the woman a curt nod before leaning over the table and sliding the maps over so that she can peruse them. 
“What happened with John? These two said you took off after him,” Joey butts in, extending her hand back toward Jerome and Mary May. “Did you at least put that motherfucker in the ground!?”
Diana snaps her head up, her lip curling. “No. I told you, nothing happened. I gave chase but I couldn’t catch up to them in time—he made it back to his ranch and took off in that fucking plane of his before I could do anything.” 
Hudson grimaces, folds her arms and looks away. Clearly, that’s not the desired answer. 
The truth would be a hell of a lot worse. How do you explain being forced to rest, handcuffed to a bed and threatened with...what had he threatened her with, exactly, besides that half-hearted move with the revolver to get her to take a shower? Safety? Promises of protection? Promises of something else, some brainwashed happily-ever-after?
Diana closes her eyes for a moment, wills away the thoughts of what kind of hell will be wrought upon them now that she’s done exactly what he told her not to. 
It doesn’t matter. She needs to get Jess. 
She looks up at the faces of her allies gathered around the table. “John isn’t my concern right now. We need to put a call out to Eli. I have a plan, but it’s…big. Like, all hands on deck big.” 
Sharky quirks an eyebrow. “For goin’ to get Jess?”
Diana nods. She pauses, takes a breath, suddenly very unsure of how they’re going to respond. “I want to attack the Veteran’s Center.”
                                  .     .     .
“John. This is...unexpected. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 
John’s brow twitches. His knuckles are already white around the radio clenched in his hand. He didn’t want to call her, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’d sent only his Chosen to scour the sky and the roads of Holland Valley for fear of there being any more of his brother’s spies among the rest of his flock - even taken Affirmation out himself - and they’d come up with jack fucking squat. 
But he knows her little friends are all hiding in the Henbane, knows that’s the first place she’ll run to. And so he swallows his distaste, and swallows a good deal of his pride as well as he prepares to beg.
“Faith. I know this is a bit out of the ordinary,” he begins, attempting to ooze his usual aloof, holier-than-thou-ness while he meticulously twists the tip of his pocket knife into his desk. “But I have good reason to believe our...elusive deputy has slipped back across the river.”
A burst of static hits his ears and he grits his teeth against it, thinking he can just barely hear a soft hum coming from her in response. 
“If it’s not too much trouble, could you be a dear and scoop her up for me? I fear she’s still suffering from some pre-Atonement jitters. Cold feet in the face of divine enlightenment and eternal salvation. Et cetera.” 
“Perhaps she still isn’t ready. She hasn’t even walked the path…” 
“She doesn’t need to walk the path,” he retorts curtly, curling his fingers tightly around the handle of the knife. He can just picture Faith’s syrupy smile and it makes him want to stab something.
No, Diana doesn’t need to become one of his dear sister’s Angels; they may be pliable, and he will admit the Project’s work never would have been so near to completion without them, but they are empty. Hollow shells. Some say their souls have already ascended, leaving the bodies behind in service to the divine will of the Father. To Faith’s will, really, which he likes far less.
That is not the deputy’s purpose, and he will not let Faith twist the Father’s vision to make Diana her own. A little white lie on his own part surely couldn’t hurt to get the point across. “She was already partway through her Atonement when those filthy sinners laid siege on us. I’m asking you directly because I respect you too much to simply go traipsing into the Henbane after them.” 
“I...appreciate that. I will admit, my attempts at coercing them from the jail have been fruitless so far. Maybe I’ve been too soft on them; didn’t realize how blinded they truly are. I think a heavier hand might be needed to show them the error of their ways.” 
“Just...give me a ring as soon as you’ve picked her up, would you?” John grits out, trying like hell to maintain his composure, just trying to get a fucking yes out of her. “And don’t give her too much Bliss; I’m sure you know it affects her oddly. I don’t want her to be too sick to finish her Atonement. You understand.” 
There is a pause. And then a soft giggle that sends a thread of ire rippling up through him. 
“Of course, John. I’ll see what I can do…”
                                  .     .     .
After the call is put out and a rough plan of attack put in place, the jail becomes a hotbed of activity. People who’ve volunteered to join the attack file into line in front of the makeshift armory as weapons and ammunition are dispensed, while others work at putting first aid kits together with the meager supplies they’ve scrounged. Many have taken off in twos and threes to scour the surrounding areas for vehicles that are still in drivable condition.
Joey catches Diana after she’s just managed to change into a fresh pair of clothes, taking her by surprise in the bathroom just as she’s stuffing her old unsalvageable things into a trash bin.
She stops under her partner’s scrutiny, blinks and lets the lid fall back over the receptacle before straightening up and tucking an unruly strand of dark hair behind her ear. She doesn’t like feeling cornered; doesn’t want to feel that way, but that’s the undeniable vibe Hudson is giving off. 
“If all that Atonement shit happened yesterday...what took you so long to get back here? You obviously didn’t stake out that fucker’s house and wait for him to come back,” Joey accuses, folding her arms and leaning against the doorway, clearly blocking Diana’s exit.
Diana frowns. “No. I didn’t. I found the nearest bunker, locked myself inside, nursed my wounds and got some fucking sleep.”
“Unbelievable,” Joey grits out, shaking her head. “You had the chance to kill one of those fucking psychos and you just let it slide!?”
Diana scoffs indignantly. Her hackles are up now, and it doesn’t even matter that she’s defending John Seed’s actions without Joey knowing; she’s not exactly lying about getting a single decent night’s sleep, after all. And he must have put some kind of antibiotic on the wrath scrawled on her chest; she’d smelled the distinctive antiseptic aroma when she first woke up. Little deceptions pulled from truth, for the good of these people she’s made it her mission to help. 
She takes a deep breath, tries not to let her sudden and powerful resentment get the better of her; Joey was trapped in his bunker for weeks, most certainly traumatized by it. But Diana’s been through her own share of hell in the meantime. 
“Yeah, I did let it slide! I’m fucking exhausted, Joey, and there is no way in hell I could have taken him down on my own! After Nick and Kim, Mary May and Jerome—they were the last of the civilians John had hostage, and I know damn fucking well those Peggies aren’t playing games anymore,” she seethes, splaying her arms at her sides. 
“If I tried to attack that ranch they would have fucking killed me. So here’s a question for you—do you try to get revenge on someone who doesn’t even have anything left to hold over you - and probably get yourself killed in the process - or do you try to rescue your friends and fellow deputy who are still out there being held against their will?” 
Joey frowns, unfolding her arms and straightening up from the doorframe. 
“I know that asshole had you underground for too long, and I’m sorry about that—if I could’ve taken your place I would have done it gladly. But you’re free now,” Diana asserts, taking a step forward. “And what Jacob is doing...it doesn’t even compare, okay? I’ve been up there—I’ve been in his fucking cages. I have to go get Jess and Pratt. And I would’ve done it even sooner, but I couldn’t.” 
Joey’s dark lashes flutter. She casts her gaze to the ground, deflating in the wake of Diana’s tirade. 
Even full of half truths as it is, the sentiments are all sincere. John doesn’t have any more of their people; and though she fears what he may do in retaliation for her running away, rescuing the others is simply higher on her list of priorities. If she can free them, convince them to get the fuck out of the county en masse...she can figure the rest out after.
“I, uh…” Joey clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably, putting a hand back against the bathroom door. “Shit. I’m sorry. I just—I’m just so fucking angry, I-”
“I know. I get it, Joey, I do,” Diana replies, muting her voice in response to the tortured look on the other woman’s face. 
She wets her lips, hesitates for a moment. She isn’t entirely sure she wants to know the answer to her next question. “What did he do...?” 
Joey blinks fast, reaches up to angrily wipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand, shaking her head. “A lot of threats. Brought up a bunch of shit from my past I don’t even know how he knew about. Threatened to throw the fucking book at the whole sheriff’s department for not practicing correct procedure when we tried to arrest his brother. He isolated us…practically starved us. I was about to give him his bullshit confession just for a fucking glass of water. And then you showed up.” 
Diana winces. She almost reaches out to touch Joey’s arm, then thinks better of it. If Joey knew where her hands have been, she’d cut them off.
“And then you escaped. And things changed after that. You could tell he felt like—like he failed.” Joey winces, looking like she’s practically reliving the experience. “And he’d come back and go even harder than before...except all of his questions were about you. And then he...he’d just disappear. For days, maybe even a week at a time, I don’t really remember-”
“That’s okay, I...I’m sorry I asked.”
“No, I’m sorry––I came in here and cornered you. I know you’ve been out here fighting this whole time. I just...I just still can’t believe this shit is happening…”
Diana sighs. “I know. And if you don’t want to go with us, it’s okay-”
Joey shakes her head, her mouth thinning into a firm line. “No, I do. You’re right. We need to get Staci.”
Diana nods, her own anger fizzled out by now. “Okay then. We have to go soon, though, if we wanna meet up with the Whitetails.”
She can’t blame Hudson for being fixated on John. She’s relieved to hear he didn’t tattoo her or have her beaten senseless. Not that starvation and dehydration count for anything much better, but…
She is surprised when Joey suddenly pulls her into a tight hug. It’s awkward and brief, only lasts a few seconds before Joey pulls away and pushes open the bathroom door. 
“Let’s go kick some fuckin’ Peggie ass then, partner.”
                                  .     .     .
The groups converge on the St. Francis Veteran’s Center at almost exactly 6 p.m. 
Eli promised to call in all his Whitetail scouts from where they’d been scattered across the northern reaches of the county, and he did not disappoint. There must be sixty people all told, between his militia and the Resistance members from the jail. 
They need to hit hard and fast; can’t allow time for Jacob to call in reinforcements from his armory or any of the outposts he still holds. Their goal is to free as many civilian and militia prisoners as possible, and if they take him out in the process? That’s just an added bonus. 
They don’t have the element of surprise for very long when their convoy rolls in, opting instead for sheer brute force. Eli - in the lead in a commandeered tractor-trailer - plows straight through the closed gates of the Vet Center and into the courtyard, allowing some of the rest of their vehicles to swarm in behind until there is simply no more room and the rest have to stop outside. 
The gunfire starts up almost immediately. Judge wolves are let loose from their cages. Resistance members duck and dodge the animals between their trucks and some are even brave enough to climb up onto the vehicles’ roofs to take potshots and watch their comrades’ backs.
Diana brings a small group with her into the Vet Center amidst the chaos they’ve churned up outside. Pastor Jerome, Grace, Wheaty and Joey Hudson make up her main extraction team, with some others instructed to follow in behind whenever they get the opportunity. 
The sound of blaring alarms cuts through the cacophony of gunfire and the heavy whirring of Adelaide’s chopper thrumming through the sky, making them have to yell in order to be heard over all of it. 
Diana sends Grace and Pastor Jerome off to sweep the ground floor of the building while Joey and Wheaty stay with her to make their way upstairs. It’s unquestionably dangerous with so few of them, but the building is full of clutter and plenty of nooks and crannies to dodge into and hide behind. 
They have to find Jacob’s radio room; presumably it houses the controls for the alarm system, and it must be shut down as fast as possible. Eli had shared what little knowledge he had of St. Francis’s setup with them before they’d left the Henbane, and he’d seemed fairly certain Jacob’s command center was somewhere on the upper floor. 
Diana tries to keep a close eye on Wheaty as they fight their way through the bleak and dilapidated building. She didn’t want to put him in this kind of danger; despite how eager he is, he’s so young. It’s not fair that he’s here, being forced to fight.
Joey places a bullet neatly between the eyes of a Chosen who bursts from a door in the middle of the hallway they’re moving down, and then quickly steps over him to check the interior of the room.
“Ah, shit...Diana!” 
Diana immediately makes her way to the room, signaling for Wheaty to come stand guard in the doorway. It’s dimly lit, just like every other room they’ve been through; a chair and a bed and a projector pointed at the wall, just like the others. 
But there in the corner, inside a cage, is Jess. 
She’s curled up into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her trademark green sweatshirt is gone, leaving her battered frame exposed to the chill air in only a darkly stained tank top and jeans. 
Jess doesn’t respond when the two women approach calling her name. 
Diana pulls at the cage door and then yanks hard on the padlock keeping it shut tight, cursing loudly. “Hudson, back up, I’m shooting it-!”
“No,” Joey replies quickly, grabbing Diana by her elbow and pulling her back before she can aim her gun. “It’s too dangerous—if a bullet ricochets in here it could kill somebody.” 
“We don’t have time to look for the fucking key-!”
“Wheaty!” Joey calls, looking back over her shoulder toward the doorway. “Can you search the...dead...guy...?”
Wheaty is gone. 
“What the fuck,” Diana hisses, partly out of irritation and partly out of a sudden rush of fear. She brandishes the Desert Eagle she’d acquired from the jail’s armory, shoots one last desperate glance back at Jess and then makes her way for the door with Joey following close behind.
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seancerpg-archived · 3 years
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THE THIEF
Name: Lucian Riviera / The Rook Age: 41 Pronouns: He/him FC: Lin-Manuel Miranda
BIOGRAPHY
Criminals are not uncommon, but he is a cut above the rest,  a king amongst thieves. It is a reputation he has earned, over the years. His childhood was not a happy one, with warring parents often out of work and little money to spare. It was at a young age that he turned to stealing, out of necessity at first, but the thrill of it was too much to resist. There's nothing like the buzz of knowing there's a trinket in your pocket that doesn't belong to you, of braving the risk and keeping hold of the reward. The East End was his playground, but soon, he grew tired of taking from those who already had little to spare. And so, he turned his ambitious gaze to the West, venturing into the parts of the city where wealth and fortune gathered. As he grew older, the schemes he planned grew bigger and bolder, graduating from petty crime into burglary and fraud, all manner of methods for plundering that which was not his, his ambition running rampantly unchecked as he successfully made away with his prizes.
There was never any hope of earning a respectable living. With no trade, and no education, on paper, he may have little skills, but nobody knows London like he does, nobody is as light of finger as he. And what use is such a gift if it cannot be shared? It was a stroke of brilliance, in his opinion, to bestow his gifts on to the younger generation. It was a stroke of brilliance to recruit urchins from the street - there was certainly enough of them to choose from. And like a puppet master, he taught them to do his bidding, sending them out into the throng of Londoners armed with the benefits of his tutelage. They could keep some of what they stole, but most of the spoils went to him in return for safety, a roof over their head and food to fill their bellies at night. It was a fair trade, he thought, a steady, reliable earner for when he was between jobs, and a link to a whole new generation of thieves. Insignificant as the children he chose were, each had a part to play in The Thief's grand plans, and as they aged, he made certain to keep them close.
He loves what he does, but there is one aspect that's a source of contention. He's an arrogant man, only too eager to tell the world how brilliant he is - but how can he shout his success from the rooftops when it would see him hanged for his crimes? As much as he craves glory and renown, he's too clever by far to incriminate himself so. In the criminal underworld of the city, his name is a legend, but what use is that? The admiration he seeks are not from those who are like him. He has ideas far above his station, but how to achieve that eludes him. It's endlessly frustrating for somebody who can get his hands on just about anything to miss out on that which he craves the most. He often thinks of tales he heard as a boy, of Robin Hood, thieves regarded as heroes, their names remembered in history, and he often thinks he deserves the same accolades. With a killer on the loose, perhaps he will soon find his opportunity to do so.
THE GHOST
It doesn't find much time to get under the thief's skin. He jumps effortlessly from one situation to another, never staying still for a moment. But when he is alone, it certainly makes up for lost time when it does catch him alone, though, they cannot help themselves. The weep and they wail, the cries of a child clear to the man's ears. The thief should be used to the sorrow of children by now, but not the ghostly howls they produce. One day, they will be able to add words to the sobs, to let him know what they want, but for now, it is just enough to see him squirm.
CONNECTIONS
THE WAIF: He's never forgotten any of his kids, and they’re certainly no exception. He was the one who found them on the street and took her in, after all, and for that, he owes her at least some responsibility. It isn't out of the kindness of his heart that he keeps tabs on them, though, but purely to bolster is own connections. He had hoped they might come in use one day, but despite knowing they’re completely loyal to him, he has yet to have need of them. Still, his recent check-ins with them have become more and more frequent of late. He knows that their profession leaves them vulnerable to the beast stalking the streets at night, but it is not worry that spurs him into action. Rather, he harbours fantasy of being the one to catch the villain in the act, showering glory and renown on his name - and to do that, he'll need just the right bait.
THE DAME: He's been dreaming of those elusive family riches, and hanging around the street she has made her home for a while, trying to get the lay of the land. Try as he might, though, he just can't figure the place out from the outside. It's as though she's specifically designed the house to be a never-ending maze, complicating his plans to break in and steal all he can carry. If he wants to succeed, he needs to get inside - and that involves earning her trust, and wrapping her around his finger. It's a slow progress, but he's steadily making progress, waiting for the day she caves and invites him to tea.
THE TOYMAKER: They're an odd one, there's no doubt about it. Wherever the thief's kids are, the toymaker always seems to be nearby, watching them with those unsettling eyes of theirs. The thief has tried to warn them off more than once, but the other remains undaunted. He isn't sure what they want, nor does he care to hear them out. In the back of his mind, he wonders if they're gathering evidence against them, collating it all together to hand over to the authorities, and he's making plans to strike before it gets to that.
THE GOVERNOR: They've been working together for some time now, lifting and moving stolen goods, and as capable as The Governor was at the beginning, they seem to have lost that initial competency that drew them together in the first place. His patience is wearing thin now, and the thief has been pushing him ever further, hoping putting a bit of pressure on the other man will snap him back into focus. So far, his efforts have all been for naught, and he can't help but wonder if perhaps his initial opinion was off. Still, he's an asset for now, and so The Thief bides his time in order to squeeze as much from The Governor as he can.
THE THIEF IS PLAYED BY LIV
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sticky-nits · 3 years
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The Story of the Reclusive Mule
As written down sometime after the event by Matt’s Cousin.
In the early days of the band, we travelled much of the world - not gigging, that was only secondary at the time. To even call us a band when this story is set may be somewhat inappropriate, and a little overly optimistic. In fact, we were not much more than scraggly buskers, unkempt and out of work court jesters hoping to please a few passers-by to afford a scrap of food to placate the grumbles of our bellies that we thought of as band members plagued with Tourette’s. We were only just at the very beginning, just starting to write songs, still yet to develop our sound, still to refine our act to something that someone may wish to occupy their spare time with rather than gambling, drinking, smoking opium, or sleeping with porcelain skinned concubine, being the popular past times of the age.
No, our main purpose, our mission, our raison d’etre as it were, was enlightenment. We had studied the religions and beliefs from all corners of the earth, read the time-worn scriptures and volumes of thinkers past, listened to some of the most respected gurus of the generation, and considered the views of the noted men and women of all the intangible professions, be they religious, philosophical, scientific, artistic, or just plain mad.
It was in a foothill some thousand feet above sea level overlooking an Okinawan prefecture when we had an encounter that would change our very lives and, needless to say, the very future course of our musical aspirations. We had just finished supping on a veritable feast of fresh assorted shellfish and purple sweet potato that was afforded to us by a travelling group of Buddhist monks who had recently received a bountiful token of gratitude from the local warlord who had been quite impressed with their philosophical enunciations and sedating chants. Although of course the Buddhists wanted nothing in return for their philanthropical generosity, we felt indebted, and indeed quite compelled, to play them some songs that they may enjoy before their routine meditation prior to retiring for the night.
We played some of our older material, took some short breaks to chat with the monks, and played some more. During one of the breaks, we got into a discussion with them about the true nature of our journey, our search, our explorative passion for the elusive and intangible grail of enlightenment. Though they were indeed pronounced and unyielding Buddhists, we found them quite amenable in discourse on a wide range of differing belief systems and philosophical view points, and then, to our surprise and incredulity, they had a tale to tell of something that drifted into the unlikely realms of the paranormal. Now whether this tale was a local legend, a myth, a ghost story, or something altogether outside the bounds of categorisation, it kept us entranced as they told it. Now it must be stressed, it is not my intention to reveal to you the peculiar details of this particular tale, and nor could I even share it no matter how much I wanted to. We promised that night that we would never repeat the odd circumstances of their story, and though I have never been in any way especially superstitious in nature, it is like many stories of its kind, told in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, one that comes with a warning, an ominously fatal premonition to any who dare to reveal the secrets of the legend anywhere outside of the myth’s locale of origin.
There is however one element of the story that I do wish to divulge, for it is in fact the element that changed the course of our lives, altered the direction of our musical and creative sensibilities, and is the very reason why I am writing this, and why you are reading it. That element was a character that the monks described as a reclusive Zen Master Samurai. He had no name that any knew of, nor had the monks ever seen him and, judging by the nature of the story that I cannot retell, it would seem anecdotally evident that no person had ever seen him. He was a true man of myth, an unknown legend, a nobody, and a somebody or, again from the nature of the supernatural story, he could have been a ghost, or maybe he didn’t exist at all. ‘Did it matter?’ I remembered asking, as I strummed my guitar. It is often the way with creativity that one can be thinking of something else, or most likely, nothing at all, and have in your hands the tools that facilitate the transfer of artistic creation from the greater collective sub-consciousness to the realm of the senses, the emanation of a tangible quantity into the form of the world from the intangible energy of the universal unformed. It is at moments like this that something unique can be birthed, something it seems that the universe wants to create, in the same way that it wanted to create matter, the same way it wanted to create life, to create us.
In this particular moment, on that particular night, a new song began to stem from my guitar, from my fingers, from my mortal coil’s link to the deathless and the timeless. The other members of the band seemed to be synchronising on the same frequency and joined in on their instruments and we began to create something new, a sound that we as a group had not yet explored, a song that would change us forever, not in the future, not in the past, but now, in the present moment, that night, right where we were. Now whether the nature of the story that we had just heard had any bearing on our sudden creative impulse and our innovative improvisational acuity, I would do best to refer you to the academics to discuss and confer, but what happened next, I can only implore you to take my word, as sure as I stand here today, relating these happenings in honest and impartial writing. As we played, the monks also began to chant, a low drone that united effortlessly and sublimely with our instrument’s tonal discharges. As our music continued and intensified, I felt the whole world opening up around us, our bodies evaporating, our spirits dissolving, combining as one with the environment around us, into the air, into the nothingness. As the music swirled around us and carried up the mountain, we saw a shape moving from a higher elevation, a figure walking down toward us. The monks stopped chanting, leant, and knelt forward on the ground and began whispering, ‘It is him; it is him; he is here…’
As the figure approached nearer, it became clear that it was not a man. It was a four-legged animal, a quadruped in stature and stride. ‘It is his steed; he sends his steed,’ some of the monks whispered. Was it a steed? Who am I to judge, categorise, or possibly even worse, assume? I do know though that it was a beast…a beast of burden…a donkey? An ass? …no, it was a mule.
The animal came right up to us where we were now circled in curiosity and amazement, having finished playing the song to gaze in wonder at our newfound apparition. I would add a note here to say that although I and many others there that night didn’t see it, some of the monks claim they saw a ghostly figure atop the mule, a Zen Master Samurai. I would have to kindly and respectfully say that although these people were devout and near-enlightened Buddhist monks, they were still human, with human minds, human minds that can trick and deceive at any moment, but none more so than in times of extremes, times of unusual and unpredictable circumstances.
The mule stopped and lowered its head. It had strapped lightly to the base of its neck a rolled parchment, a scroll. I cannot tell you a time when I have been more nervous, more anxious, than that moment; how eager I was to know the contents of that scroll, to grasp and understand the meaning that its content possibly held within. One of the monks, outstretched hand shaking like a frightened leaf trembling in exigency from the mere potential thought of wrath from the gods of wind, managed with all his courage and inner resolve to lift the scroll from the beast’s neck and unroll the parchment. He then read:
“Your music…you know how I would describe your music? When foraging for food, always let the hippopotamus go first…unless you're just after the teriyaki beef.”
Now as I’ve said, I can only relate to you part of this tale. The story of some supernatural suspicions I cannot respectfully tell, but I do stand by the tale above, in all its detail, to every aspect. Now whether one believes or doesn’t believe one thing or another is for each and their own, in fact to each their own mind, but suffice to say that as we are all united by the one universal emanation into a form from a formless, it would seem to be of little consequence and much in the realm of triviality to argue over details such as those that seem to haunt our minds on a daily basis. ‘Are our minds even ours?’ you may ask, and if you claim them to be so, how much control do we really have over them? As much as the mind may be said to be a source of trickery, the devil itself even, all I know is, to this day, on that night, I heard an odd tale about a reclusive enlightened man, possibly even a ghost. I did not see a man…I did not see a ghost…but I saw a mule…and its message was not clear.
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Partners in crime (closed rp with the-hunter-of-teufort-rp)
@the-hunter-of-teufort-rp
Continued from the bar thread in the silver bullets and stakes verse.
Once the transaction between the hunters had been completed, Johanna had suggested that they celebrate the beginning of their partnership. While Lucas wasn’t much of a party animal, he agreed that, if there was one thing in life worth celebrating, it was this night. Against all odds, he had finally found a fellow hunter with the guts to join him for this mysterious hunt. The quarry proved to be quite elusive. In the meantime, however, they could always take smaller contracts from the network of hunters, which would allow them to build rapport as well as sharpen their claws on a wide array of foes. This could only make them more ressourceful than they already were. Still, their main objective seemed nigh impossible to hunt down. It was a miracle that she had agreed to help him. With all the field experience she had amassed over the years, she seemed more than equal to the task.
Although he was willing to make an exception and celebrate, he had made it clear that the old dingy bar was far from suitable. Thus did they agree to organize a little something that matched both of their interests. She liked the outdoors and he loked peace and quiet. The decision was rather obvious: they would spend the night stargazing and chatting around a campfire and head back when they would grow tired. Tomorrow was going to be a lazy day, anyhow, since Lucas had yet to pinpoint some exact coordinates, as well as research how to kill the shapeshifter.
When the pair arrived at their destination, they were met by a breathtaking sight thatr stretched out beyond the fragile surface of the windshield. The 1978 Lincoln continental’s motor purred for a moment while he parked at a safe distance from the edge of a steep cliff which overlooked the city where they had left that eyesore of a bar as well as the mountain range that quietly gazed back at them. The headlights flicked off and Lucas opened the door, heading for the trunk where he could get the things that he needed.
In it, Lucas had packed a wide awway of things. There was a large briefcase containing a few things, namely his favorite guns and a lot of ammunition. Underneath the briefcase, there were two folding chairs, each with their own cup holder. Since most hunts required them to set camp, he figured it was a good idea to carry around an assortment of items to make the experience more comfortable. He had brought pillows and blankets. He hadn’t brought tents, however. He figured one of them could sleep in the back seat while the other stood guard, and then vice-versa. That way, they wouldn’t waste any time taking down the tents at dawn. 
He had brought other useful things, lke old newspapers, firestarters and a few spare sticks of dry wood which he had collected in case rain ever dampened the forest. It also happened to prove useful, in case they ever needed some stakes. He also carried with him a few extra pairs of socks, just in case. 
He opened the briefcase and withdrew two flashlights. He handed one to Johanna and slipped the other one inside his rough, tanned leather coat’s pocket.Then, he withdrew a thick notebook with a rugged leather cover. A tight, elastic band, compressed . He packed it into his bag, right next to a similar looking book, colored red. He zipped his backpack and threw it on his shoulders. Afterwards, he grabbed the two foldable chairs underneath his right arm and closed the trunk before placing them in front of a circle of stones that was filled with ashes and burnt sticks.
“Make yourself at home, Johanna. I’ll be right back. Just gotta go pick up some sticks to start the fire. Beer’s in the backseat and the radio’s still on. Got a few tapes and C.Ds in the glove box. I listen to a bit of everything so i’m sure you’ll find something you like.”
He flashed a warm, gentle smile and set his bag down next to one of the chairs before whipping out his flashlight, flicking it open, flooding the foliage with light before vanishing among the tall, quiet trees that stood watch solemnly.
When he returned, he carried a heavy pile of branches in his arms. There was plenty for tonight and perhaps enough to add to his stack in the back of the trunk. He dropped the pile next to his chair and handed one to the hunter while smiling eagerly.
“Before you ask, i’m not planning to play Star Wars with you.”
Lucas chuckled and went back to the Lincoln to fetch something else from the trunk. There was one large bag of marshmallows and two packs of sausages.
“Wouldn’t be a proper campfire without these delicacies, huh?”
He set them down next to the huntress, in case she wanted to snack a little bit before the fire started. He stacked the sticks and placed a firestarted in the middle of it. He pulled out his silver, metallic zippo lighter, flicked the top open and sparked the fire. Heat began to scatter and the flames slowly, but surely surged and wrapped themselves around the branches. 
The scarred hunter brought his chair closer to Johanna’s. He grabbed a beer with his left hand and cracked it open while he listened to the rhythmic hum of the Lincoln’s radio. He took a big gulp, quenching his thirst for the time being. He placed the can in the cup holder and shuffled through his bag to find the tanned leather notebook as well as a pen to write with. The flames’ warm, vermillion glow was just bright enough to allow him to write a bit. 
“It’s good to be out in the wild.” He sighed, tapping the pen against the cover of his book.
“I don’t think I could ever live in the city full time. My parents and I used to live in a house, on the outskirts of a little village in Quebec, Canada.”
The reflection of the orange hue sparkled in his eye, along with a nostalgic glint. He smiled as his mind drifted back to a quiet, simpler time.
“We used to go camping like this rather often... Though we had tents, at the time. Much more comfortable than sleeping in the car.”
The thought made him chuckle. Those times were much more carefree. He didn’t even know about all those different creatures that lived in the wild. There were no werewolves... No wendigos... No vampires. Reminiscing on a time when he could peacefully sleep at night brought a tear to his eye and left a bitter sweet taste that lingered on the tip of his tongue.
“I know that what we’re doing is necessary, and that many, many people are saved because we hunt, but...” 
He took a deep breath, trying to understand why the words remain lodged in his throat. Why couldn’t he muster the strength to admit that he wished he could erase his memories? Why couldn’t he tell her that he wished he could have a normal life, like everyone else, blessed by blissful ignorance? Why did they have to forfeit their lives that others may keep theirs, all the while remaining unaware of these unsung heroes, weary wanderers of the highway, that were treated like vagrants and crooks? Maybe it was because he felt guilty. Unlike Johanna, Lucas’ hand wasn’t guided by a noble cause. He hunted selfishly, in hopes of quelling a deep anger and quenching a visceral thirst for blood. And every time he killed, he felt both of them grow. It became more intense. The loud ringing in his ears... The maddening screams of his tormented soul twixt man and beast... He would begin to feel dizzy and slip out of consciousness, only to be trapped in the dark, surrounded by his soul’s piercing requiem. It sliced through him like a rain of bullets and sent wave after wave of excruciating pain through his body until he came to, his knuckles dripping with blood as he stood on top the disfigured corpse of whatever he had been sent out to hunt. Every time he came back from a hunt and looked through the dirty mirror in his motel room, the distinction between man and beast became more and more subtle.
He shook his head and forced himself to smile. His quivering lips betrayed that he had just felt distraught. He simply hoped that Johanna wouldn’t mention it, for he knew that it had not escaped her astute gaze.
“Nevermind that. Tell me more about yourself. Where you’re from, what brings you joy.”
He turned to her, enthralled by her rich, chestnut gaze, which was only made warmer by the fire’s gentle glow.
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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years
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It Takes a Village, Chapter 11/12
Yandere wanders away from his babysitter for the day after a squirrel, leading him to who else but King of the Squirrels.
This is probably exactly what you expect XD
Tags: @tired-eldritchhorror​ @peribloke​ (ask to be tagged!)
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
Read on AO3!
Enjoy!
~
After the disaster that happened last time Wilford babysat Yandere, he’s surprised he’s allowed to watch him again at all. But today is lucky–for himself, that is, but unlucky for Dark (working), Chrome (charging) and Dr. Iplier (performing surgery on Bim, who managed to fall off the catwalk and wreck his leg). None of them can spare an eye to watch over Yandere today, so Dr. Iplier and Dark reluctantly entrusted Yandere to Wilford, but not without threatening him with a fate worse than death if he screwed up again.
Not that that means much to Wilford. Dropping an ice cream cone is a fate worse than death in Wilford’s book. At least if he dies he’ll come back; that ice cream is gone forever. But he figures he ought to listen and do better this time, if for no one but Yandere at least.
Wilford, though, hadn’t realized that babies were so slippery. He looks away for one moment (alright, maybe two, or several, or a couple minutes), and when he looks back, Yandere is gone.
“Bullocks,” he mutters, “Where’d you go, you slimy rascal?”
Yandere, already down the hall, is too far away to hear him. But even if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t answer anyway. He’s too busy crawling, chasing something.
A squirrel is scurrying up ahead of him, stopping every so often to adjust the acorn in its mouth, or take a nibble of it, or scratch an itch. Really, the stopping seems superfluous; anyone watching would say that the squirrel is only doing it to bait Yandere, who continues to chase the tiny beast with the unshakable determination that only babies seem to have. Yandere doesn’t think about any of that, only of catching the squirrel to pet its fluffy tail, which curls into an inviting question mark every time it sits. Several times, Yandere gets close, only for the squirrel to bound a few more feet away. When Yandere follows, the cycle repeats. Everyone must be busy today, because no one is in the hall to see Yandere’s pursuit of the squirrel.
Eventually, Yandere makes it down one of the stairwells, following the squirrel into the second floor. The squirrel seems much closer now; every time it trots away, it seems to shorten the distance between stops or let Yandere get closer to touching it. Yandere, though quite frustrated by now, is also desperately excited and eager to finally pet the elusive creature. It’s stopped again now, sitting there cleaning itself, pulling that pretty tail through its mouth to clean. Yandere’s so close now, so close to being able to put his hands in all that fluff, just a little further–
The squirrel suddenly leaps away just as Yandere’s hand it about to touch its back, but instead of going forward, it goes up, up someone’s leg, over their back, settling on their shoulders. Yandere had been so focused on the squirrel that he hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t the only person in the hall. The other person is concentrating, too, on the dozen or so squirrels crowded around, and on speaking to yet another person in front of him. The squirrel on his shoulder chitters in his ear, and the person turns.
“Agnes, what–” King of the Squirrels says as he turns to face Yandere. He blinks down at him. Yandere blinks back. “Um, hello.” Yandere reaches up towards the squirrel, Agnes.
“Wanna pet!” Yandere cries, making grabby hands.
“Is that Yandereplier?” asks the other person, Ed Edgar. His hat, full of tiny holes, is in his hand instead of on his head. “The heck’s he doin’ here??”
“I think Agnes lured him here, the little devil,” King muses as he kneels down to Yandere, shooting Agnes a look. Agnes doesn’t seem sorry.
“Well, I already got in trouble for tryna take care of him once,” Ed huffs, “I ain’t doin’ it again.” He looks around at the other squirrels in annoyance. “This ain’t over, ya varmints.”
“Hey, don’t call them that!” King yells, but Ed is already leaving. He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t mind him; he’s just grumpy,” he tells the squirrels, before looking back to Yandere.
“Pet!” Yandere shouts, reaching for Agnes with renewed vigor. Agnes remains seated on King’s shoulder, unruffled. The other squirrels begin to crowd around the scene, chirping to each other, but Yandere doesn’t seem to notice.
“No, Yandere, you can’t pet Agnes,” King says, “She doesn’t like to be pet, she just likes to cause trouble.”
“No pet?” Yandere asks, suddenly subdued. He lowers his arms and his excited smile fades.
“No pet,” King says.
Yandere’s lip wobbles and his eyes fill with tears in the same moment King realizes he should not have said that, or at least said it a bit nicer.
“Oh no, don’t cry!” King exclaims. He reaches out to pick Yandere up. His hands hover for a moment, unsure of how to go about this. It can’t be too hard to hold a baby, can it? He already knows how to handle baby squirrels. He picks up Yandere as he starts to cry in earnest, moving from kneeling to sitting and putting Yandere in his lap. Yandere sobs, crushed that he doesn’t get to pet the squirrel after all that effort. Agnes leaves King’s shoulder, still unapologetic.
“Wanna pet!” Yandere bawls.
“Shh,” King says, partly because he feels bad and doesn’t want Yandere to be upset, and partly because he doesn’t want to know what will happen if Dark finds out he made Yandere cry. He pets Yandere’s hair, just barely stopping himself from scratching it like he does to his squirrels, stroking it slowly instead.
Yandere is squirmy and unhappy in King’s lap until he realizes that he’s being watched by a dozen pairs of beady eyes. He still cries, but he lets King hold him and stroke his hair as he watches the squirrels stare at him, twitching their noses as they sniff the hair, some daring to step a little closer. King notices them, too, and thinks for a moment before speaking.
“You can’t pet Agnes,” King says, “But maybe you can pet a different squirrel!”
“Pet?” Yandere sniffles.
“Sure,” King says, wiping away a tear from Yandere’s cheek. He looks at the group that’s surrounded them. “Let’s see…Silas is old and grumpy, Homer’s nails are too long and he might scratch, Blanche is normally sweet but she’s been moody lately…Oh, I know!” He points out one of the braver squirrels, closer to the front of the pack. “This is Everett, he’s really sweet. You wanna pet Everett?”
Yandere nods, tears quickly drying as he makes grabby hands for Everett, who tilts his head and chitters.
“Hold on, now, I’m gonna hold him and you pet,” King says. He reaches out a hand to Everett, who jumps on immediately, tiny claws hooking into King’s sleeve. King brings Everett to Yandere, holding up his other hand before Yandere can grab the squirrel. Yandere whines and pouts.
“Hey, don’t cry again,” King says, “You have to promise to be gentle, okay? No squeezing or grabbing or slapping. Just nice gentle pets like this.” He strokes Everett’s back the same way he stroked Yandere’s hair earlier, long and slow (he figures Yandere doesn’t have the motor control for a scratch behind the ears). “Can you do that?”
Yandere nods, more vigorously this time, finally smiling again. He reaches out and puts a tiny hand on Everett’s back. He squeals as Everett reacts, readjusting himself under Yandere’s hand. Yandere moves his hand slowly down Everett’s back as King instructed, but can’t resist going past his back and running a hand through his tail. Everett bears it with as much dignity as a squirrel can have (which is a lot, in King’s opinion). He sits mostly still, tilting his head and sniffing at Yandere as the baby pets him. Eventually, he becomes brave enough to step forward in King’s hand and lean into Yandere’s face, sniffing his nose. Yandere laughs and tries to kiss Everett’s nose, but he moves back before he can. Yandere isn’t upset, though, he just giggles as he keeps petting Everett.
King, though ever vigilant in watching Yandere’s hand in Everett’s fur, can’t help but smile along. He and Yandere aren’t normally close; honestly, King is normally a little scared of him. Then again, he’s never known Yandere to be aggressive to his squirrels, which is more than he can say about some of the other egos. Despite Ed’s earlier annoyance (justified, if King is being honest, considering the state of Ed’s hat), he and Silver are the only egos who are not only nice to the squirrels, but actively seek not to harm them. Even the nicer egos in the building have shut a door on a fluffy tail or stepped on a paw once or twice. King’s squirrels are not shy about letting him know who’s hurt them, and King struggles to remember the last time that person was Yandere. Further, the squirrels sometimes report that Yandere has smiled at them as he walked by or cooed at them like one would a pet dog or cat.
Granted, Yandere is moody and prone to violence, not to mention in love with Dark, who would sooner toss every squirrel into a meat grinder than have one in his presence. The squirrels generally seem to be aware of this and give Yandere and his room a wide berth, which might be the only reason that King has never had a problem before. Or maybe Yandere has a soft spot for animals? Pets aren’t allowed in the building; King’s squirrels are the closest any of them will get to living with one. It wouldn’t surprise him if Yandere wanted a pet but wasn’t allowed one, and if he uses his infrequent encounters with King’s squirrels as a substitute. King has to wonder if Yandere’s current fascination with the squirrels isn’t already present in his normal form.
Suddenly, another squirrel (Marjorie) jumps from the floor onto Yandere’s shoulder. Yandere jumps but laughs brightly when he turns his head to see Marjorie’s tiny black eyes staring back. Other squirrels climb onto King’s legs around Yandere, and King realizes that all the surrounding squirrels have moved much closer over the past few minutes, encircling King and Yandere to look on with interest.
“I think they like you,” King says to Yandere.
“Me too!” Yandere exclaims.
King almost laughs, but he knows what Yandere means. The baby is clearly having the time of his life sitting in King’s lap and petting a squirrel.
“You know, it’s funny,” King says, “It seems like a lot of the fans think we’re friends. I guess they consider us both as younger egos, for some reason. But we’re getting along now, so I suppose they have a point.”
King’s never been able to wrap his head around that one. Well, that’s not entirely true; the goofy attitude he displays in his videos is probably why the fans think of him that way. And sure, King is goofy, and maybe a little childish at times, more idealistic than the other egos, even. But he’s still one of the oldest egos, beat out only by Dark and Wilford. He’s seen their group wax and wane, seen more egos appear and disappear. He remembers what it was like before they had this building, when it was half a dozen of them spread around Los Angeles, living their own lives but generally being worse off for it. King doesn’t regret living in trees like he did in those days, but he’s rather glad he has a bed to sleep in now. Yandere had it hard before he came to the building, too, King knows. He hadn’t gotten to meet Yandere until he was already healed from his brush with death, but he’d been told of his arrival, and of the fact that he might never get to meet him at all. Maybe there’s a bit of kinship between them there, in how it took them both some time and some struggle to get to a safe place.
“This is nice,” King says, “I wonder if you’ll remember this when you go back to normal.”
King sort of hopes he does.
After several minutes of petting Everett and rubbing his cheek against the squirrels that hop onto his shoulder, Yandere seems to tire out. He yawns, taking his hand away from Everett to rub his eyes. Everett, who got bored of the petting a while ago, takes the opportunity to leave. Yandere is too tired to notice, sleepily curling up in King’s lap.
“Hey, wait, you can’t sleep here!” King cries, “Why are you so tired, anyway? You didn’t do anything!”
Yandere doesn’t answer. He’s already asleep.
King sighs. That’s right, babies need naps. Yandere must have been overdue for one. King wonders who’s supposed to be watching him right now, who’s supposed to put him to bed. But it’s a moot point now that Yandere is sleeping in King’s lap. He’s sucking his thumb in his sleep, and King has to admit it’s a cute image. Not as cute as his squirrels, but close.
King decides that Yandere can’t just sleep on the floor (and King would rather not sit here for however long Yandere’s nap will be) so he starts to get up, mindful of the squirrels surrounding him. As soon as they realize he’s getting up, though, they move away, jumping off his legs and giving him space to stand without stepping on them. King gives them a grateful smile as he carefully gets up, cradling Yandere in his arms. He’s not sure he’s holding him right, but Yandere continues sleeping, and King doesn’t feel like he’s about to drop him, so that must count for something.
He carries Yandere to his bedroom, not really sure where else to put him. Can he sleep in a regular bed? He normally has a crib to sleep in, right? King supposes he’ll just have to keep an eye on him. He lays Yandere on top of the bed, not trusting himself to pull the covers back and hold Yandere at the same time. When he turns to pick Yandere up again he does a double take.
Apparently part of King’s cape was a little too close to Yandere, because the baby has some of it in his hands, bunched in his tiny fists like a security blanket. It’s very cute, but King’s cape is important; he can’t just let any old person play with it.
“Yandere,” King says, stern but quiet, “Please release my cape.”
No response.
“Yandere,” King tries again, tugging it a little, “Let go. That’s mine.”
This time, Yandere pulls back twice as hard and rolls over, pulling more of the cape over himself and wrapping himself up like a burrito. He whines softly but stays asleep.
King sighs. There’s no slack left in his cape; if Yandere pulls it again he’ll pull King with him. Unless King keeps still and doesn’t let him, but that might wake him up. King’s cape is important, but he’s not exactly keen on upsetting Yandere and potentially incurring Dark’s wrath. And, okay, Yandere’s pretty adorable, and King would feel bad if he woke up and ruined his fun.
King sighs again, not so put upon this time, and unfastens his cape from his neck. He lays it over Yandere like a blanket, and Yandere makes a quiet, appreciative noise at the feel of it over him. King smooths it out–can’t let his royal cape get all wrinkled, after all–and lets Yandere sleep while he leaves the bed to apply some peanut butter to his cheeks.
It’s not long after that someone knocks on King’s bedroom door, and King wonders if it’s someone looking for Yandere. When he opens the door, he sees he’s right, as Wilford stands before him.
“Hello, Wilford,” King says, neutral but wary. He’s too trigger-happy for King’s liking, and his squirrels seem to agree, finding places in his room to hide or scampering past Wilford into the hall if they’re particularly brave. Wilford ignores them all, though, as he addresses King.
“Hiya, King!” Wilford replies brightly. “I came to ask if you’d seen Yandere anywhere. The little scamp wandered off and I can’t seem to find him!” He doesn’t sound that worried, or sorry about it, King can’t help but notice.
“Actually, he’s here with me,” King says. He leads Wilford to his bed, explaining as he goes. “He followed one of my squirrels here so I let him pet one for a while, and then he fell asleep.”
When they reach the bed, though, King is rendered speechless. Yandere is still asleep, still wrapped up in King’s cape, but he has company now. A few squirrels sit around him, curled up and resting with him. Everett is there, too, curled up on top of Yandere’s chest. King smiles, warmth filling his chest.
“Is that your cape?” Wilford chuckles, ruining the moment.
“He grabbed it in his sleep,” King mutters, cheeks turning pink.
Wilford laughs entirely too loud, but fortunately Yandere only stirs a little and continues to sleep on. He then scoops Yandere up, cape and all, not minding the squirrels. Each one bounds away in a flash, chittering indignantly. Yandere sleeps through it all, mumbling unintelligibly and curling into Wilford’s chest.
“Well, I’ll be off!” Wilford says brightly. “Oh, and uh, don’t let Doc or Darky know about this, alright?” He winks.
“Hold on a minute, that’s my–” Wilford poofs away before King can finish. “–cape…”
A squirrel, Agnes, crawls up King’s pant leg and perches on his shoulder. King turns to look at her.
“What are the odds I’m getting that back anytime soon?”
Agnes chitters.
“Yeah, I thought so.” A pause. “This is your fault, you know.”
Agnes squeaks, offended, but King isn’t truly that bothered. He finds it hard to be annoyed about his missing cape when he remembers how cute Yandere looked all wrapped up in it, surrounded by his subjects.
It turns out that he’s right not to worry; his cape is returned a few hours later by a flustered Dr. Iplier, grumbling about how irresponsible Wilford is and how hard is it to watch a baby, really?
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One Shot: Crawling King Snake
I've been in the throes of thirst the past few days, and I've missed writing smut. So this was, um, cathartic. 🤷🏽‍♀️ I hope you enjoy it. ❤️❤️❤️
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He had made sure you were as ready for him as you could possibly be. He started with a few of his fingers exquisitely on the move inside of you, and then he left you soaked and shaking when he lapped contentedly at your swollen bud. Even so, not one second of that expert teasing prepared you for where you find yourself now.
He enters you as gently as possible, but the sensation of his dick head burrowing between your lips… The hardness and the girth… Are almost your undoing. And you've only just begun.
He keeps his movements slow and shallow. And relentless. His superficial stroke is going on much longer than necessary, long enough to make you impatient for more.
He finally obliges you by inching further and further inside of you, dragging almost out and sinking in a little deeper each time. Until he can't go any further.
There is a tiny, pleasurable whisper of pain when he settles all the way in, but it gives way in an instant to the remarkable sensation of there being no room to spare. Your breath catches before the moans resume their escape from your lips.
It's better than you had imagined. You are rooted to the spot by Robert's almighty cock, his powerful legs braided with yours, his tender hands on your face, and his troublemaking tongue, which is currently busy at play in your mouth.
You quickly acclimate to the feeling of every inch of his cock, and now you're chasing it hungrily, desperate for each time he races to the bottom of you. You tilt your pelvis upward, seeking an overdose of pleasure. It's not unlike how a plant aligns its existence with the path of the sun for life-giving nourishment: single-minded, instinctual.
He owns you; he owns the moment.
You are at the mercy of the indescribable seduction of his body, his hungry sounds, his scent, his mere alpha-male presence. He is setting the tempo, but he is constantly notching it a beast faster, faster, faster. He can't get enough. And neither can you.
Both of you are committed to going until you can't anymore. No fire, no flood, no cataclysmic event could get you to stop. Your bodies, your spirits are committed to being one until they explode under the obliterating energy of completion.
It is a risky gamble, a delightfully dangerous game to play, betting the heights of pleasure you have reached against the mystery of how much higher you can possibly go, and the uncertainty of when it will come crashing down to earth after one last, glorious burst of energy. But neither of you would have it any other way.
Your hands rove him, clutching his strong back sometimes or alighting on his slim waist, sometimes grasping the firm orbs of his ass to goad him on.
Sweat beads on your body as much of his is sopped up by the wild nest of his hair. His breath is somehow not as warm as your body; every breath of his that collides with your skin is like an elusive tropical breeze.
You feel drunk off of the overwhelming surge of dopamine rampaging through your body; you're drunk and giddy and having the best time of your life. Robert is clearly enjoying himself, too. His eyes are darkened but gleaming, and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. His arms are flexed and his veins are at attention as he holds his body over you, lords his lust over the wanton bundle of nerves that you've become.
Your senses are taxed to the limit. Your breath races, your head spins. Your stomach tightens, and your sex begins to spasm around Robert's cock. Your body trembles with a life of its own and you wail with what's left of your raw voice as you climax ferociously. His cock dances inside of you as his thrusts sputter into erratic, staccato stabs. His hips crash inelegantly against yours a few last times as he empties into you.
You can't move. Can't think. The only thing you can do is to guzzle the air with your rapid breaths and stare into Robert's glazed over, heavy-lidded eyes, stare into the depths of his satisfaction.
He kisses you and settles down next to you, draping an arm over your body. The brush of his lips barely registers as you are still recovering from the energetic tsunami of your orgasm. Later you will process what has transpired, how Robert's cock has satisfied you completely, but for now, all you can do is connect your gaze with his and flash a weak smile of gratification.
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The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary
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blankdblank · 5 years
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Morning Star Pt 2
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Pt 1
All –
@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​
Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​
X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​
Another two days had bled on and after another sleepless bout of tossing and turning on your worn bedroll on the uneven cold floor of your assigned closet of an apartment you had been assigned by the returned Dwarves still coated in frost after the early freeze turning the water seeping in through the roof to ice at the early winter chill. Still you had made your way to work and reluctantly found yourself in the sights of that same Dwarf’s path. Closer and closer he crept while you tried to back away on your way from the apartment into the orchards for a final check before joining the others for the seemingly unavoidable trip to Greenwood to see Estel leading to an impossibly painful goodbye.
His cunning path and group of friends seemed to join in his planning however, a simple compliment on your hair had grown into their cornering you until the Dwarf managed to take hold of your knee length braid. Swallowing dryly you eyed the dagger tucked into his arm guard as he purred, “Such lovely locks. I could craft you a far finer braid. If only I could compare it to those elusive eyes of yours.”
A second hand rose to hold up a section of the braid and you rapidly snatched his dagger triggering the Dwarves behind him to grip the hilt of their swords only to release them seeing you slice through your braid just above his hand and drop the dagger stating, “Keep it.” In your path forcing through the group of stunned Dwarves all eyeing the nearly three foot section of braid withering into a flaccid lifeless grey clump of hair fading into nothing more than a few wisps of dust.
In you absence their actions sank in, such awe striking hair withered to nothing all at his forcing contact. You had every right to stab him to free yourself and yet you cut your hair to do so, an unthinkable act for Dwarves, especially that length, an act they would never forgive themselves to driving you to. But the act did not go unnoticed as a group of Dwarves, including your boss in the rubble digging job realized just how poorly his kin had been treating you in particular.
Quietly on your tearful path you felt your braid unwinding and your curls pooling out over your back and onto your shoulders from its new length in the middle of your back. Hastily you reached back to braid it again and wind it up into a braid you knotted into place. Among the witnesses was the Elf King himself, who had feigned a need to speak with one of the Dwarves in charge to get past the gates, had witnessed your escape and briskly followed after you towards the orchard greenhouse. It wasn’t until he got inside he spotted you trying to fix one of the borders to the planters around a set of saplings.
A sharp gasp in your digging hand to straighten a board caused you to retract your now bleeding hand trembling before you. A few rushed steps later Thranduil was on his knee beside you with kerchief in hand pressed into your sliced palm as he ordered, “Come with me. I will mend this.” His free arm lowered to aid you in your rise to your feet and he led you through the stunned band of Elven guards noting your bloody hand and tears streaming down your cheeks. Sure to keep his eyes focused on the path ahead to remain focused on the task of healing your hand instead of staring at you longingly.
Following the path his Elves had earlier told him led to your apartment he walked inside with a duck of his head and just about screamed in anger at the six by six frost coated room without so much as a chair. No stove, no heat, no running water or lavatory he turned noting the chair one of his guards brought inside from farther down the street after having seen inside your quarters before as another fetched the water to fill the wash bowl Thranduil pulled closer to him after he settled you in the chair and knelt at your feet. Tenderly he rinsed your cut and gently dabbed it clean, wetting the cloth again to press against it fully and softly mutter an Ancient Elvish healing chant. The cloth was drawn back and your cut was gone stirring a weak grin on his face that dropped at the teardrop that fell into your palm.
In a glance up at your face his expression dropped peering up at your tearstained face, “Princess Tindómiel, you are in pain still?”
You shook your head and wiped your cheeks with the hand he wasn’t clutching then unhooked your mask that dropped lower on your neck, “My apartment is not exactly up for entertaining a King.”
He sighed saying, “This is no more an apartment than I am a dormouse.” You nodded sheepishly and his hands folded over your palm comfortingly, “Come stay in Greenwood, I will ensure you are granted a horse to work here each day if you wish. You and your Men.”
“You already-,”
“We have ample supplies. Our seers warned us to double our crops last winter. With plenty of rooms to spare.”
“More Men are coming. They will be here any day.”
Thranduil nodded, “Yes, and Lord Elrond and Celeborn have marched out armies of their forces as well. You are not alone in this. That beast is dead and we are living with the dark cloud that follows. It will diminish, we will dig in, fortify and outlast them all.” You sighed and he patted your hand, “For a night, please humor me. One night, hold Estel, share a breakfast and I will ensure you return to your shift on time.”
“Fine. One night.” He grinned and stood, helping you to your feet and chuckled, “In a fair warning, Lord Elrond has written to the Steward of Gondor of your return and heir.”
In the doorway while one of his guards shouldered your pack you halted and peered up at him only to shake you head and raise your hands to rehook your mask into place over your mouth and nose. Lowly he purred in his duck through the door, “Should you wish it when he arrives I will hold him down for you.”
“Trust me, it would fare better for all of us if he runs.” Making Thranduil chuckle to himself. “Men would never accept a Queen to rule them alone.”
Thranduil tilted his head, “When is the last time you visited Gondor?” Making you peer up at him causing his heart to skip seeing your eyes fully again, “With shadows like that they need a Queen with the blood able to lead countless Men and Elves into the Wilds in search of a glimpse of her eyes. Wandering, yet fierce and at peace. No doubt they wonder what you could do for a stationary kingdom.”
“Or perhaps my son is the only goal in sight.”
In a smirk down at you he replied, “Doubtful, even with Lord Elrond vouching for the identity of his Ada. They would not willingly claim him over you.” You glanced up at him again, “And please do not misunderstand me, Estel is greatly treasured. The identity of his Ada matters little to us past his gift to assist in his creation. You have no reason to share his identity with any of us and we will not ask you to divulge it unless you had wished to.” His eyes shifting to the ring on your finger silently confirming that he knew.
.
A tour bled into a late night of a seemingly endless battle of chess with the King all too determined it seemed to you to make you smile. A stolen moment alone to try and refocus your mind led to a shudder from you in your struggle not to touch the ring around your neck. The door opening behind you made you turn and grab the exposed chain you tucked into your jacket pocket you dropped onto a chair to your left. In his confused glance at the jacket you had dropped to your eyes Thranduil asked, “Is something wrong? I ordered tea for us and you were gone.”
Briefly he flinched down to pick up your jacket only to halt at your hand cupping his cheek in a hasty closing of the distance, “There are endless rules warning me against this.” His brow ticked up only to drop again at his eyes clamping shut at your place just barely touching his lips. Firmly he leaned into the kiss you offered rapidly growing into a tangled mess of lips with hands fisting in each other’s hair and poorly muffled low moans from the King in his blind reach up to fumble his crown free granting you access to all his hair in the backwards path of his leading you to the lounge nearby.
On his lap you clung to the King who was continuing to tug you tighter until your flinch at the crash outside. A gentle peck on your lips later he helped you up and moved to regain his crown he added again then stutter stepped to steal another gentle kiss then purred, “I will see to this, and find you after.”
Finding Estel when you added your coat and chain again you returned to your gifted chamber to hold him until he fell asleep. Carefully you transferred him into his small bed in the nursery crafted for him and you laid out on the bed in your room. Laid out you stared out the window at the distant stars finding some form of ease in that your silent voice always urging you to flee. For once it seemed you had settled into the place you were meant to find for the time being. The opening of your bedroom door brought your eyes to it finding the King in a simple robe over a near sheer flowing white shirt over his loose sleeping pants. A small cart was pulled in behind him and his eyes scanned over you when you sat up adjusting your gifted sleeping pants lower over your feet and ankles.
A hint of a grin spreading onto his face in his approaching the table at that corner of you room in front of a set of windows there, “I am glad you are still awake.”
Easing your legs over the side of the bed you settled them on the floor and stood asking, “Troubles with the populace?”
He glanced at you with a smirk, “No, Princess. The populace is just perfect. However, my council is demanding a greater detailed inventory on all trades with Lothlorien, for some reason.”
“Ah…” you shook your head and glanced out the window as he poured a glass of wine only to glance back at his offering it to you, “Thank you.” Your fingers just barely brushing his inching his grin wider, “It is surprisingly peaceful here.”
Playfully he quipped back, “Surprisingly? How did you expect my palace to be chaotic?”
“I,” You shook your head, “Just a few tales of this band of bards-,”
He lowered his glass from his lips with a mouthful of wine extending a finger, “Mmm.” Swallowing the wine he replied, “Yes. Now I see why. No, they traveled with my Naneth centuries ago.” Again you eyes shifted to the stars as his skimmed over your free curls down your back, “It is fortunate to know you still have quite a length of hair, even with that man forcing contact with it.”
“Normally when speaking of my hair others tend to comment on how it lives up to the tales of my great great grandmother Luthien.”
He chuckled, “While many comment on mine like snow.”
You tilted your head stating, “I used to imagine Elves with white hair in my dreams, hair glittering in the moonlight.”
He chuckled reaching up to slide a section over his shoulder onto his chest and out for you to examine, “I doubt it lives up to your imagination.” His words halted however as your softly glowing hand held it out into a stream of moonlight making it shimmer forcing his lips apart to whisper, “It never does that.”
Gingerly you settled it back over his shoulder again with a soft grin, “Ada used to say I was the birth of impossibilities in his life.”
Making the King chuckle, “A statement Elrond enjoys reminding me that daughters have that effect. Seeing as he has seen both sides of the coin. Would you prefer a daughter?” he asked with a curious twitch of his brow hoping he wouldn’t cross any lines in asking.
To his relief you chuckled weakly and replied, “I am not certain how my daughters would grow up if I had any. Living in the wild for so long without a care for the proper spoon or how to hold a saucer inoffensively to your host.”
He chuckled replying, “Oh that matters little these days. Dash all the spoons but one and if your host is offended by holding a saucer a certain why then he is not worth the company to begin with. Your daughters will be astonishing, I know it. Just like their Naneth.”
Sipping on your wine again you caught his eye and his adoring gaze. Steadily your wine glasses were emptied and set aside. Somewhere in the hours following fingers rose to brush your cheek sweetly with a gentle kiss to follow. Atop the King’s lap his hands smoothed across your back and cheek moaning against your lips at your hands settling across his shoulders in blind inspecting strokes at his usually out of reach muscles. An out of place horn snapped you out of your heated frenzy stirring an open mouthed gasp for air from the King at your abrupt lean back to look to the door. His warm fingers wrapped around your chin turning it so you would look at him again, “Just the changing of guard on patrols.”
You nodded and he locked his eyes with yours asking, “Would you permit me to hold your hand while we sleep? You should rest.”
Wetting your lips you nodded and his arms circled your legs carrying you to your bed where he set you down watching you fold back the covers and settle back before he moves to crawl onto the bed around your extending legs to settle down over the covers beside you. Tenderly he eased his fingers around your palm in his settling down into the pillows and covers beside you closing his eyes while you closed yours.
.
Warmly under the sunrise your eyes opened finding you clearly draped partly across the King’s chest with his arms tightly folded around you in return and his lips pressed to the top of your head. At your clear stirring his body shifted to its side humming lowly in content at having you in his hold. The tilting of your head stirred his lips onto yours again in a firm kiss ending with a low growling exhale at the knock on your door. “That would be your breakfast.” He purred against your lips then stole another kiss at his cupping your cheek again then he straddled you in a climb to his feet again off the bed where he helped you up and led you to the table where the Elleths set the table before you and left you with respectful bows of their heads.
Plates were cleared and moved to the cart when Thranduil helped you to your feet and folded a pouch of coins into your palm parting your lips. Peering up at him you caught his eye and his grin dropped for him to say, “No. Oh Eru, no!” He untied the top and pulled out a folded list, “A shopping list. If you would not mind. I am still banished from a great list of Dwarves shops in the markets in Dale.” His hands rose to cup your cheeks and his lips planted on yours again in a hopeful kiss wishing to convince you of his devotion to you together. “Please, I would never assume that of you, ever.” At your eyes dipping to his lips he leaned in to kiss you again with a low hum at your melting into it.
Drawing back again he hummed, “I should let you dress.” Withdrawing backwards a few steps to turn and then promptly turn back hurrying the last two steps to cup your cheeks again for another kiss your hand settled on his shoulder. At his inching back however a timid brush of your fingers along his jaw brought him down for another he deepened and melted into at your hand easing over his cheek. Purring lowly he stated a breath away from your lips, “I will saddle you our best steed.” Stealing another gentle peck only to chuckle at your inch higher for another before he eased your hand from his neck and kissed your palm sweetly in his back steps away until the closed doors separated you.
.
Dressed once you had greeted and stolen a hug from Estel in his race to find the other Prince in the kingdom for another bout of playtime you found the King outside the stables. A wide grin spread across his face at your soft grin up at him, “It is a beautiful steed Your Majesty.”
Playfully he smirked at you, “I take your lack of baggage to mean you will be staying another night?” His eyes sparkling at you hopefully.
“You did task me with a shopping list. Poor manners not to return with your purchases.”
He chuckled and watched as you added your mask and turned to grip the knot on your saddle feeling his hands settle on your hips to help you up onto the saddle, “Tauriel will escort your steed back again after a stop to speak with the Durins and then will return to assist in bringing the items back again.”
Each night after shared dinners with your sons, again his hand would settle into yours and each morning your would be draped across him until you stirred when he would turn to hold you tighter for a short time until breakfast and then his daily send off greatly pleased seeing your bags still left up in your room. No matter the light in your eyes and how early he ordered you to bed each night you still seemed exhausted more and more by the day. And each day the remorseful behavior of all the Dwarves you encountered grew immensely when word of your leaving the city spread drawing the other Rangers each night in a great group of travelers in borrowed Elven wagons freeing them to spend each night with their little ones as well.
Across the plains the crashing of swords drew the Elves and Dwarves out to the battle your kin was waging aided only by the sea of Gondorians and Eorlingas charging in on horseback under the raging darkening sky above. Twin blades were drawn from your boots and each slice and blocked blow you signaled just who you were even without your signature hood now resting across your back while awed Dwarves stole glances at your skilled frenzy. A dark column of clouds crashed into the ground splitting it and sending you flying to land and roll painfully to a stop only to rise slowly to your feet as a familiar figure stood wreathed in flames.
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The burning eyes of Sauron’s armored figure snarled at you from under his shadowy hood drawing a blade his eyes lowering to the ring on your hand marking your lineage and triggering his first step to you while the Elves and Men reformed their lines behind the already forming Dwarves ready to charge. “Your line will wither-,”
“As Ulmo is my witness, you will never touch my son!”
A deep cackle sounded from the fiery figure until the river on your left dipped then rose up in an icy column striking at the earth behind you making the reforming forces staggered backwards from the newly revealed stream of lava feeding out from a dormant volcano north of Erebor. A tug on the chain around your neck brought a charge from him at your easy reveal of the ring in its fall to the lava earning gasps from the wide eyed Elves and Men looking on repeating, “You will never touch him!”
Within moments the ring hit the lava and you were thrown backwards into another column of water catching you from flying backwards in the burst of wind he withered away in while the others collapsed at the force of it. Around you they looked on at the watery hand easing you back to your feet while watery columns burst out of the water to shoot icy barbs at the orcs and goblins taking out all but a third of leaving the last bit to be wiped out by the last of the forces. In a hard swing the last orc fell to the ground in front of you and at the ceasing of the Elf King’s voice calling out for you your head turned in search of him only to have his arms crash around your back sending his loose air over your chest at the warm plant of his lips to your bloodstained neck.
Lowly he rumbled by your ear, “I found you.” Disbelief evident in his voice as if he’d never imagined himself able to find you in his arms again in this tangled mess of black ooze coated dead. Again he repeated in a low whisper tightening his grip, “I found you.” Nuzzling his head to yours while the Men of Gondor formed lines and bowed deeply to you greeting you formally parting the Dwarves’ lips in shock at your naming as the Queen of Gondor and Elrond’s Niece. Thranduil’s hand remained fixed on your waist and he straightened to find his Elk trotting over to him easing his task of raising you onto the saddle to guide your mingled forces off to the forest while the Dwarves returned into Erebor bowing their heads to you along the way.
A night away you were set to wiggle into a lavish gown and circlet gifted to you by the King to attend on his arm. To pull that off you were guided back to your room right away to strip and ease into the herb laced tub until you were allowed out to be lathered in more healing creams and oils in a firm massage before being fed heartily and sent to bed. Giddy to see you early again Estel took his nap early to race in and snuggle in your arms against your chest leaving the moping King in your doorway until the boy woke and wiggled free to find Legolas again with a cheerful greeting for the King who turned and stole his chance in his absence. Straight to your bed he walked and laid out eased his arms around you grumbling, “Sleep my Love.” Nuzzling his head into the back of yours, “The longer the better.”
The Feast of Starlight went well and on the brink of midnight at your fourth glass of wine being drained you slipped out of the hall after a discreet mental whisper into the mind of the King being led around by one of the noble Elleths visiting from Lothlorien. His heated gaze lingering on your back until you left the doorway, all the way you made it back to your quarters where you eased your crown off to set on the table along the wall. Passing it you made it to the doorway of your bedroom when the front door opened and promptly closed in your lean back against the doorframe behind you. A few long strides later you were planted between that hard wooden frame and the tall Elf King hungrily working his lips against yours.
A move from the doorway to the bed brought on a fumbling of hands and above you as you pulled your gown up over your head Thranduil’s stuck button he had taken the task of undoing from you triggered him to grip the front of his robe. Tearing it open sending buttons flying while he shimmied out of the robe casting it carelessly to the floor then reached down jerking his practically sheer white undershirt off to billow down beside the tattered robe your dress fell heavily on as his lips planted on yours again. A second tear was heard and his pants shoved down, far from the docile timid approach usual for first encounters but no less gentle or considerate of your pleasure.
A pause here and a far gentler kiss to your now cradled neck in the stunned gasp at his sinking in fully your legs naturally folded around him and the hunger sparked up the roaring flame in your bellies again. Steady and sure you claimed one another knowing even in your wine soaked haze the repercussions of this act, but politics mattered little at the hands caressing and guiding your body around and under him to find the proper angle leaving you temporarily lost to the world in your euphoric haze soon followed by many more.
Underneath the covers nestled in front of the King you lay on your side stirring to the soft fingers sending your devious strips of curls away from your face. Over your shoulders, down your arm and onto your side they sank under the lush materials folding around you as his hand sank to your hip. A fidget of your head brought his blurry smile into view at your peek at him only to giggle and burrow your head into your palms. Lowering your hands at his deep chuckle you said, “I had my doubts on if I would be waking up alone.”
After a faked gasp his hand settled on your hip and he slid closer to you brushing you onto your back while his leg eased between yours and his hand cradled the back of your neck to trace his thumb against the rim of your ear. In a velvety purr he replied inches form your lips, “I may be King but even I get three days and nights off to spend with my new Bride.”
Ticking up your brow you purred back, “Only three nights?” He nodded and nipped at your lip in your ease against his chest to ghost your lips against his easing your hips closer to the pulsing muscle tapping against your stomach, “Then I should make the most of it.” Your lips found his muffling his deep chuckle in your rolling him onto his back to straddle and ease down onto him.
A head roll back and a man mingled gasp shared by the pair of you at your climax the opening of your apartment door turned your head towards it while the King managed to draw the covers up around your waist. Your hands rose to your lips at the second set of doors opening against the clear distant protests of Legolas exposing Estel in his full speed rush towards the bed. Moving a hand of his from your hip to his lips, easing his fingers across his lips trying to remain calm, your fingers lowered from yours at his stop beside you. A grin was forced across your face to hide your reaction to the pulsing muscle inside you begging you to continue, triggering your tightening in return almost stirring the King to moan again.
Estel grinned widely looking between you both saying, “I heard you are making a baby.” Your wide eyes blinked as you heard Legolas panting in his hunched hobble into the doorway trying to keep his eyes off you being seated on top of his father’s lap, a sight causing his cheeks to burn in his soft call for his new brother.
While Thranduil stared up at you feeling his cheeks start to prickle you chose not to lie to the child just accepting what had occurred. “Trying, yes.”
His grin spread and he moved to sit on Thranduil’s chest making the King cover his mouth completely trying not to laugh while Legolas turned a deeper shade of red facing the wall away from you, unable to watch the boy without disturbing your privacy any farther. Estel peered up at your face crossing his ankles at the King’s side making you nip at your lip at the next pulse inside you, “I want a sister. Then a baby brother, just one, and then another sister.”
You nodded and let out a weak giggle, “We will do our best to try and follow that plan little one.”
He nodded and leaned over kissing your cheek and hugging your neck before turning to the King, who raised his brows and lowered his hand at the small finger tapping his chest, “Sister, brother, then sister. See you at lunch.” Thranduil couldn’t help but crack an awkward grin at the lean in and peck on his cheek he returned as you had before the boy jumped up racing over to Legolas, scrambling over his back signaling the Prince to carry the boy right out of your sight. Sealed behind them the doors shut and your face twisted into a wide grin, covering your face with your hands you bent forward resting your forehead onto his chest giggling as he chuckled under you.
Squeaking between giggles you mumbled, “He sat on you.”
Chuckling again he purred, “Yes he did.”
Brushing your hair back out of your face your eyes locked with his and you bit your lip stirring a playful smirk onto his face in his inching up to press his forehead to yours aiding your lean in to kiss you again. Within moments you had tugged the covers away from your middle easing your lean in to fold against him only to giggle at his hand on your back to roll you over and wrap you around him again.
By that night you had both been moved into the King’s apartment just down the hall with a newly added nursery Estel had decorated himself. As best he could once your three days were up the King gave you as much time as he could, loving each moment he had while your people returned to Gondor with your freshly painted portrait. Your changes to the main goings on to policies long since useful intact and withheld by your Steward eager to carry out his new Queen’s demands, hoping to ready the Royal Wing in hopes you would visit soon.
Six months in an on the heels of your first three month long visit to Gondor in what he hoped to be a surprise visit to join you for lunch Thranduil passed the Royal gardens to find his Elk with head held high under a tall pear tree. Small feet were resting on his antlers reaching up into the branches to drop fruit down into the basket Legolas was holding filled with previously picked oranges and grapes. Straight to his Elk he walked peering up at his youngest son with a curious grin, “Little One, just what are you doing?”
Estel giggled sitting on top of the Elk’s head with a grin passing off the last pear to Legolas who added it to the basket, “Nana is ill so we are picking fruit for her.”
He glanced at Legolas, “Ill?” Legolas nodded and he promptly turned and walked through the palace at a brisk pace hoping that you were merely oversleeping and had been mistaken as ill by the young boy. Though at the door to your shared apartment he found it open and he strolled inside finding a healer leaving your bedroom, anxiously he moved closer and eyed the Elleth’s face hoping to uncover the verdict from her expression.
An easy grin settled on her face and her hand settled on his shoulder in a comforting pat only allowed to her as his former nurse maid when he was a baby and again for Legolas, “Relax My King, the Queen is merely tired from her travels.” He exhaled steadily and her grin spread, “After all crossing half of Middle Earth is quite strenuous, even when not with child.” His lips parted again and she left him with another kind pat after stating, “I have ordered her to remain in bed for no less than a week with doubled up meals to help regain her strength. Congratulations.”
Alone in the hall he took another deep breath and then moved to the doorway of your bedroom where he eased the buttons loose across his chest to drop the robe at the foot of the bed, cushioning his crown he dropped onto it. A few steps later he knelt on the bed and settled at your side easing his arms around you and pressed his lips to your cheek and you giggled out, “It seems Estel might get that sister he wanted.”
Deeply he chuckled nestling his forehead against yours while you settled against his chest, lowly he murmured sweet sentiments against your skin between the warm trail of kisses he peppered against your skin. The opening of your apartment door turned you both to the young Prince racing to your side while Legolas carried the tray with bowls of the sliced fruit he carried over to you.
Estel, “We picked you fruit Nana!”
With a giggle you replied, “Thank you.” Looking him over, “It looks delicious.”
Estel sat beside you putting his hand on your forehead with a concerned expression, “Are you really ill?”
Thranduil chuckled saying, “Not so much ill as needing rest.”
Estel glanced at him with a pout and you said, “It seems you will be a big brother soon enough.”
That spread a wide grin onto his face and he burrowed under your covers making you giggle at his snuggle over your middle chatting with his sibling while Legolas sat down only to be tugged down into a tight hug by his Ada. Chuckling as they joined your hugging pile as Estel stated from under the blanket, “We’re going to be the best big brothers ever! Pick you fruit every day so you go big and strong, keep you warm and cozy and when you’re big enough,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “We’ll teach you so many cool bow tricks!”
His hand patted your belly and your head turned accepting your husband’s loving kiss while the Healer spread the word. Word that soon enough was sent back to Gondor as well, the city exploded in a frenzy of cheer knowing now their Queen now had an heir with a spare on the way. Though that celebration was nothing compared to the one Elrond had planned. By noon he had begun the trip to Greenwood with all his supplies and children in tow, each eagerly hoping to witness the first signs of the growing future Prince or Princess. All compounded by the Dwarves’ gifts aiding in your nesting urges to ready for the distant birth.
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The Price of Observation [1/2]
For @cullenvhenan and @star--nymph, inspired by Star’s amazing Vivienne x Blackwall art ”The Lady and her Knight”.
Read in full on AO3.
[Part One]   [Part Two]
==
First Enchanter Vivienne, Madame de Fer, is a woman of great power.
It is a fact that Blackwall respects immensely, from as far a distance as he can manage.
Her reserved haughtiness is familiar, and familiarity breeds contempt, or so the saying goes. It doesn’t matter that said power isn’t rightly hers, per se, with her being a mage and all; the world has some distinct thoughts on what mages can and cannot do, what they can and cannot have, but she knows how to get what she wants.
And when what she wants seems to be at odds with the Inquisitor’s plan, he feels rightly intrigued by the scenario. Might not be his business, sure, but he’s put himself between danger and Trevelyan more times than either of them can count; he knows that sometimes it can come from within one’s own ranks.
A powerful person displeased is potentially dangerous, even--or especially--from behind a mask, so he watches.
They’re off a little ways from the fire, pulled away from the bustle of the heart of the camp. Lady Vivienne tilts her head in that way of hers, that regal incline; it’s the one that says she’s doing you the favor of conversing with you, but there’s some new tension to it as they speak. Her hands lift, airily, but he’s heard her admonish Sera for telegraphing her meaning through her hands before.
“It’s rude,” Madame had said then. “Juvenile.” She’d earned nug shit in her shoes for that one.
Blackwall watches those slight movements now, the way she leans forward, the way her smile looks too tight, too forced, for her face.
Inquisitor Trevelyan cuts her off with a sharp shake of their head. They frown, say something unheard, and with a wordless apology walks off to speak with the camp officer. It’s the only time he’s seen her visibly shaken, when Trevelyan leaves her blinking after them.
Something isn’t right about that, but Blackwall can’t put his finger on it. He watches her shore up her defenses and adjust her hennin upon her head, like it could possibly have shifted without her say-so.
Lady Vivienne turns and catches him staring.
Her face is an impassive mask. He suspects he blushes but doesn’t look away, and she straightens the fall of her long, flowing trousers before departing in the other direction.
=
The sun is high and blazing like a forgefire overhead as they ride on toward their next destination, hours later. Blackwall takes up his customary position at Trevelyan’s right hand. He spent the day trying--and failing--not to think of the private moment he’d witnessed earlier in the morning.
His curiosity gets the better of him.
“What was that, then, this morning? With Madame de Fer?”
The Inquisitor huffs and shakes their head. “She asked me for the impossible, and I had to tell her ‘no.’ Not an experience I intend to repeat, if I can at all help it, though I stand by my decision.”
Blackwall frowns. “What was it?”
“She asked me to track down and hunt an albino wyvern. Says she needs it for something--a  spell, or potion, or something, something important. Didn’t get too specific, just that she would be ‘much obliged’ if we could put our resources behind the task. But we don’t have a lot of time, and I can’t go crawling through this whole damn region for a single wyvern, especially when our soldiers are being picked off left and right by the Freemen and the Grand-Duke’s forces and the demons and every other damn thing that thinks an Inquisition scout makes for a good lunch.”
They sigh and rub nervously at their left palm. “I try to accommodate everyone’s needs, Blackwall, I really do,” they plead quietly. “I just can’t spare the manpower for wyvern hunting. We have to secure our footholds in the region.”
Blackwall nods absently, staring ahead at the path through the desert before them. They ride together in thoughtful silence. He and the Inquisitor have rarely disagreed--for being so young, Trevelyan has a good head on their shoulders. A good person, this Inquisitor. He’s never regretted signing onto their service, and he hasn’t heard any loud complaints from the others, either. They’ve made efforts to help their companions as best as they could--Cassandra had asked for help with tracking down rogue Templar and Seeker leaders, Dorian had them accompany him to Redcliffe on some errand that had them drinking long into the night upon their return. Blackwall himself receives enthusiastic assistance in reclaiming Warden documents and artifacts as they stumble upon them.
Has Vivienne ever asked for anything more than tea together?
“She needs it?” he asks finally
“Yes, but...”
He slants a look at them and watches them shift nervously in their saddle. “Madame de Fer came to you with the request, after months of having asked for nothing more than your companionship?”
Their shoulders drop under his gaze. “...yes, but it’s a wyvern. I… I have more people to think of, Blackwall.”
He hums and lets the subject drop, thinking as they ride.
=
Two days later the Inquisitor’s party makes camp some distance away from Keeper Hawen’s small clan of Dalish elves. The Inquisitor has brought gifts, which have gone a long way toward buying the goodwill of their elven neighbors. Blackwall lets himself set up two tents in the low afternoon light before he lets himself stalk toward Trevelyan again.
“I’ll take Iron Bull, Cole, Dorian, and myself,” he says without preamble.
Trevelyan looks up from where they’re bent over the unfurled map of the Exalted Plains. “You’ll--you’ll what?”
He leans over the table and stabs a finger at a roughly sketched in grove to the northeast. “The scouts at this sector’s camp were complaining before we left this morning that they’d run into a nest of wyverns here; the Chargers and Cullen’s troops must’ve kicked up a mess while clearing out the rubble and debris. If Madame is looking for one, chances are it’ll be easiest to find here. I’ll take Iron Bull, Cole, and Dorian.”
“What? Why?”
“Bull, because I’d rather have him in front of me than anywhere else, and his bloodlust is getting the better of him; it’ll help him work off his steam and not threaten to beat anyone bloody. Cole, because he’s sneaky and can mind himself, and just because I don’t know how he does that shadowy thing doesn’t mean it isn’t useful. Dorian, because he’ll relish the opportunity to get one up over Madame and he channels fire magic like he was built for it.”
Blackwall gives a half-smile and shakes his head. “He’ll also want the opportunity to show off for Iron Bull and that’ll keep him focused; I put five sovereign on them being camp news before we head back for Skyhold. We’ll be quick and concentrated and get the job done.”
Trevelyan frowns. “You’ve thought this through,” they say. Their mouth presses into a nervous line. “And what if I say no? That I can’t spare them? Can’t spare you?”
Blackwall straightens up to look the Inquisitor in the eye. “I didn’t ask permission.”
=
It’s not for another week before the party reaches the newly-accessible area, the one that Hawen’s people called Ghilan’nain’s Grove in hushed, reverent tones. Blackwall, Bull, Dorian, and Cole all wait outside the eerie archway that separates dry land from marsh, having been given a reluctant blessing from Trevelyan and supplies to give to the sector’s camp.
“Look alive, men,” Blackwall barks, voice carrying over the brackish waters. “Looking for a white wyvern. We’re hauling it back for parts, so we need to make sure we take it down gently.”
“I don’t care if we have to wrap it in ribbons and bows, let’s just get the fucking thing.” Bull nearly vibrated out of his skin when Blackwall recruited him for the task and he doesn’t look any calmer now. His eyes almost shine, sharp and glinting in the morning light, and he strides into the knee-high water with the confidence and swagger of a god.
“Yes, yes, rush ahead and get yourself killed, would you?” Dorian snaps, taking two steps for every one of Bull’s. “Not like we need you here to take down the blasted beast. Oh, no, we can do this on our own, so please do get yourself eaten. Perhaps it will serve as distraction enough for a convenient getaway.”
He lets them move ahead, their bickering surely announcing their presence more clearly than any trumpeting fanfare. Cole melts into the space at his side.
“They aren’t really fighting, are they?” the young man asks, nodding at Dorian and Bull’s backs. “Even when they snipe and swear, it doesn’t hurt. They each hurt, sharp and thorny and heavy, but the fighting makes it... better? How does it make it better?”
Blackwall claps a hand on Cole’s thin shoulder. “You’ll understand when you’re older, my boy,” he says.
Cole only nods. “When I’m older...” he agrees tentatively, and Blackwall smiles.
=
In hindsight, convincing Trevelyan to do this with the full strength of their party would have made for an easier time. A better decision, at any rate. At the end of the day they had killed not one, not two, but three wyverns before finding the elusive white one, and stumbled into a set of sulphuric pools that served as home to a dragon.
Bull had offered to blow him right there “for such an awesome gift” when the dragon’s trumpeting screech pierced the relative calm of the fen. Blackwall had to gently--but firmly--redirect that energy toward surviving the encounter. Dorian’s gaze threatens to bore a hole in the back of his head enough on the most mundane of days and he isn’t about to get himself into whatever strange and hostile courtship they had found themselves in. Blackwall values his body parts exactly where they were and doesn’t need the pompous mage rearranging them for him.
If the wyverns were barn cats, the dragon was a full-blown lion, and they’d come to too many close calls in the fight. Not for the first time Blackwall regretted recruiting Dorian and not Solas; Dorian was absolute shit at healing magic.
“I can keep you… not dead,” Dorian had supplied through pinched lips. “Relatively speaking.”
Of course the necromancer wasn’t a healer. Blackwall prayed their potions would work.
They had left the horse and wagon at the camp earlier that morning as the ground was too uneven for the wheels. Blackwall cursed every stray rock and ridge in the fen that cracked at his feet as they dragged the white wyvern’s hulking corpse through the marshy waters. The dragon had to be left behind, as did the other wyverns, but the four of them had hauled the bodies as close to dry, accessible land as they could get. Blackwall would send the camp scouts to finish the job, to recover as much usable materials from the beasts and scatter the remains to minimize the danger of drawing attention to the Inquisition camp.
“Keeps them busy,” Bull had agreed, hacking a tooth out of the dragon’s mouth with his massive great-ax. The sight of Iron Bull halfway into the thing’s mouth left Blackwall queasy, like he’d eaten some of Cole’s cooking again, and he turned away with a twinge of his stomach. Now Bull helps carry the tail end with
Blackwall at the head, and Cole and Dorian wrangling its limbs as best they can.
“Remind me never to go anywhere with you ever again,” Dorian grouses. He curses a streak blue and salty enough to make any sailor proud when he slips into the much, adding another layer of grime to his formerly-fancy coat.
Bull laughs. It sounds like the dragon’s roar. “That aimed at me or Blackwall?”
“You, him, the Maker, anyone, everyone. I’m going back to Skyhold and never leaving my damn room ever again. Really, the things I do for you people—”
“You know you like it—”
“Camp ahead,” Blackwall calls sharply over his shoulder, and it can’t come soon enough. The sexual tension fizzles but, unfortunately, doesn’t fade when scouts run out to meet them, just as surprised and aghast at their survival as they are. His ribs and shoulder are on fire and he wonders with growing unease if today might be the day he finds out whether the Maker exists or not.
He drops the wyvern and water rushes up the length of his boots to soak his feet. Blackwall grimaces. Every bone in his back will kill him, he just knows it, and these socks and boots, gifts from Trevelyan, are both surely a lost cause after all the blood and guts he’s churned through. He helps the young men and women stationed in the grove help haul the wyvern into the canopied shell of the wagon, strapping the massive beast in as much as can be done before Dorian covers it with a thick shell of ice.
=
“So tell me, what had your panties in such a twist that we had to go kill half the creatures living in this swamp? Not that I’m complaining, of course. Been a nice change of pace.”
“You trying to proposition me again?”
Iron Bull chuckles into his stew. It’s surprisingly good, for being wyvern meat. Blackwall shudders and pushes the sudden memory of Bull drenched in dragon blood, laughing through a mouthful of the stuff, from his mind.
“Nah,” Bull says with a smile and a downright blasphemous eyebrow waggle, “though the offer’s still open if you change your mind.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Blackwall shoots back drily. He pokes at his stew. “It just had to be done, I suppose. Couldn’t let it stand. Plus,” he says, pragmatic, “our boys couldn’t hold their own against the beasts. Needed a big, bad, dragonslayer to come save the day.”
“Now see, when you say shit like that, you’re giving me all sorts of mixed signals.” Bull smiles, all teeth, his eye gleaming. He preens. “I knew you only liked me for my body.”
Blackwall laughs and earns a scowl from Dorian where he scrubs the remaining dried blood from his arms at the small bathing barrel.
=
Sleep proves to be an elusive thing. He puts his back to the smouldering fire and finds himself staring at the frozen beast laid up in the wagon. What could Madame want with it? What kind of magic uses something as impressive as a wyvern?
Why does it continue to bother him that he didn’t know, that he looked into it at all?
He isn’t sure he wants to know, all things considered. His curiosity, and the worsening pain in his side, keeps him company through the night.
=
Morning comes all too early, staining the sky a bloody pink. A raven has come in the night in answer to one sent the day before, confirming the location of their rendezvous with Trevelyan and their remaining Inner Circle. They leave after breakfast.
“Do you think there’s room for one more in there?” Dorian asks longingly when the wagon creaks in protest. Bull laughs.
Blackwall prays for a quick, quiet journey.
=
They regroup just outside Fort Revasan, which isn’t as far from the Grove as Blackwall originally counted on. The four of them brief their team on their successes. Trevelyan’s face goes pale at the description of the hours-long dragon fight.
An arrangement gets hammered out between Revasan’s commanding offer and Trevelyan: some of the wyvern meat and materials in exchange for housing at the fort, with the Inner Circle supplementing the Fort’s defenses while Marshal Proulx sends a team to haul back their bounty. Blackwall’s just glad there’s somewhere he can sit and nurse his wounds; his side is swollen and burning, and his shoulder’s not much better, even after field triage with Iron Bull. A fever burns across his brow.
“You didn’t tell me there was a dragon in the area,” Trevelyan says, cornering Blackwall at the field medic’s tent. They watch as the medic wraps his ribs and shoulder before stalking over to him. “A dragon, Blackwall! You didn’t--I could have—”
“Would it have changed anything?” he asks, and he softens when Trevelyan flounders at the obvious answer. “If it helps, I didn’t know, either. No one really expected it, but we had to put it down. It was too close to our camp to ignore.”
They shake their head. “You’re a good man, Warden Blackwall,” they say, a little mournfully. “A braver person than I am, at any rate.” Trevelyan sighs. “I’ve told Madame Vivienne about the wyvern, and how you’re to thank for it. She did that thing she does, the one with her eyebrows, and walked away like I don’t exist. I think she’s mad at me.”
“Probably. What are you going to do about it?”
They wince. “Grovel?”
“Good start. Follow that up with helping her harvest whatever it is she needs from the beast. That should go a long way of smoothing things over.”
Trevelyan looks at him with genuine fear and it’s in this moment that he remembers that, for all the responsibilities hanging on their shoulders, the Inquisitor is just barely into their twenties. Nothing at Ostwick could have prepared them for this kind of madness. He sighs. “I’ll help,” he offers, and Trevelyan shakes their head.
“I’m the one that offended her and ignored her request for help,” they say, “so I should be the one to do whatever she needs.” Their nose wrinkles in a grimace. “It’s gonna be gross, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Blackwall laughs weakly, the noise dissolving into a wheeze.
===
[Part One]   [Part Two]
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minijenn · 6 years
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Universe Falls Chapter 53
Oy, finally I get around to posting this chapter on here. I feel like this one sucked my life essence away from me, but oh well it still has some really good moments to it so I digress. Either way, hope ya enjoy this massive nerd fest, filled with references to things I don’t understand as well as jokes making fun of all of us for reading/writing UF. Have fun!
Previous: http://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/173944483439/universe-falls-chapter-51
Chapter 53: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons
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Though several days had passed since the portal’s opening had effectively raised the Mystery Shack and damaged it’s interior and exterior immensely, the tourist trap was still closed for repairs that were at last nearing their completion. Even so, its continued closure gave the Pines family a good enough excuse to take a day off and spend it however they pleased, which meant that it was being used for some proper rest and relaxation. Things that were more than welcome after the upheaval and drama of the past few days alone.
So Stan, Mabel, and Dipper had taken to hanging around the otherwise unoccupied gift shop, knowing that no business would be coming through it. While Dipper intently read journal 2 and Stan broadly leafed through the newspaper, Mabel lay sprawled on the floor, an empty bag of cheesy snacks by her side and the orange dust of their remains smeared across her face.
“I just ate an entire bag of Cheese Boodles without using my hands!” she announced with a wide, contented grin. “Lazy Tuesday, you are delivering in a big way! Almost makes me forget about all that crazy drama with the portal, and the Gems memories, and Sardonyx, and-” Mabel stopped short as she briefly glanced over at Dipper, who peered over the top of the journal to give her a staunch look of disapproval for even bringing such tension-ridden matters at all. Fortunately enough though, Stan didn’t bother to comment on any of them, despite the look of concern that briefly flashed across his face before he spoke up.
“Heh, yeah,” the conman reclined back in his seat with a casual enough smile. “Its nice to finally have a day where nothing interesting happens whatsoever.”
Of course, no sooner had Stan said this than the vending machine door leading to the portal room in the basement suddenly burst open. Ford boldly stepped out of it amidst the smoke pouring out around him, his manner fierce and resilient as he tried to subdue the small, strange, octopus like creature entangled around his wrist.
“Get down!” the author ordered above the startled gasps of his family members, especially as the creature launched itself off his arm. “Don’t let it taste human flesh!”
The kids were quick to comply, narrowly dodging the bizarre creature as it scurried around the gift shop frantically, angrily hissing all the while. “W-what is it?” Dipper asked as he climbed onto a chair, both alarmed and curious by such a strange sight.
“Can we keep it?” Mabel asked with a genuinely fascinated grin.
“Kill it! Kill it!” Stan shouted, swatting the monster with his newspaper as it skittered past him.
Ford paid none of them much mind as he deftly pursued the creature, electricity sparking from the futuristic gauntlet on his right hand as he finally managed to corner the beast. “Patience… and…” the author muttered, his movements slow and calculated as he made his approach on the still-growling monster. When it finally seemed like the monster was about to make a move, however, Ford countered it first, pouncing at the beast and easily shocking it into submission using his gauntlet. “Gotcha!” he proclaimed with a triumphant grin as he held the monster’s limp, tentacled form up for the others to see. “Haha! Now that I’m back in this dimension, I’ll have to thank Garnet for inspiring the design of the design of my electro-gauntlet. It works even better than I expected it to!”
“Great, now get that thing outta here,” Stan remarked with an impatient scowl as Ford passed him. “It smells like if death could barf.”
“Wait! Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper hurried up to the author with an eager smile, still holding onto journal 2. “Do you need any help with that? I’ve read all about these creatures in your journal and I think I know how to-”
“No!” Ford quickly interupted, his manner firm but fair as he addressed his nephew. “I’m sorry, Dipper, but the weird, dark road I travel, I’m afraid you cannot follow.” A beat of stark, rather ominous silence followed this, though the author was quick to break it a moment later with an upbeat smile as he retreated back into the basement. “Well, call me for dinner!”
“Oh, maybe next time then?” Dipper offered, though his smile quickly faltered as the vending machine closed up once more, Ford disappearing behind it. “O-or not. Or never…”
“Aw, Dipper, don’t take it so hard,” Mabel attempted to comfort her brother by placing a hand on his shoulder, only for Stan to callously interject.
“No, do take it hard!” the conman snapped coldly. “Take it hard and serious. My brother is a dangerous know-it-all, and the stuff he’s messing with is even worse. I’ve been pretty lenient about letting you kids hang around the Gems all summer, but Ford is where I draw the line. Do yourself a favor and stay away from him, ya hear me?”
“But Grunkle Stan,” Dipper protested intently, not about to let himself be deterred from asking Ford his abundance of accumulating questions any longer. “All summer long I’ve wanted to know who the author of the journals was. Now the guy lives in our basement and I can’t even talk to him. How is that fair?”
“Life’s not fair, kid,” Stan remarked, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about what’s in the basement. I’d say you saw more than enough of it the other day… A-anyway, you belong up here with me and Mabel.”
“Yeah! Besides, this Friday is the epic made-for-TV movie crossover event of the century,” Mabel smiled brightly as she held up the TV guide ad for said crossover. “Dogcopter Meets Ducktective! Steven’s coming over to watch it with us, we’re all gonna wear our official Dogcopter propeller hats, its gonna be great! It’ll be all the mystery and adventure you’ll need this week!”
“You bet it will be!” Stan remarked, just as eager for the special as his niece was. “For years we’ve been wanting to see that duck and that dog cross paths and now our dreams are finally about to come true! It better live up to our expectations or else I’ll… I, uh… huh. What do kids nowadays do when they wanna complain about something?”
“Usually they just do it online and make long whiny posts about how things didn’t turn out the way they wanted to and why the writers are wrong for not doing things their way,” Mabel noted with a shrug.
“Really? Geez, how pathetic.”
As Stan and Mabel continued commiserating over their excitement about the upcoming crossover, Dipper had all but checked out of the conversation entirely in favor of turning his attention back towards the vending machine. Unknown, but intriguing light sparked through the cracks behind it, no doubt part of whatever mysterious invention or project Ford was likely working on down in the basement below. Whatever was going on on the other side of that door, Dipper couldn’t help but want to be a part of it, or at the very least finally get the chance to finally ask Ford the questions he had been asking all summer. To finally be on the same level with someone who understood just how important and vital it was to ask those questions in the first place. To finally have the opportunity to get perspective on the elusive and exciting mysteries of Gravity Falls from someone who had spent years studying them firsthand and was enthralled by their bizarre uniqueness as much as he was.
And yet… as it stood, he couldn’t. Because just as he had been all summer, the author of the journals, or rather, his very own great uncle, was still so close but so far out of his reach.
Whenever Mabel wrote a letter home to her and Dipper’s parents, she made sure to spare no expense when it came to the finer details of their fantastical, often rather harrowing summer escapades in Gravity Falls. Of course, given Mabel’s infamously active imagination and how bizarre and flowery her accounts of such misadventures usually were, their parents never showed any signs of taking too much stock in believing her stories in their responses. Even so, that didn’t stop her from writing about them all the same, and in her latest letter to them, she had much to tell indeed.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” Mabel began, dictating the letter aloud as she sat on the living room floor to write it out. “We’ve been in Gravity Falls for the few months and so much has happened! Just the other day, gravity reversed itself, almost destroying the whole universe and wrecking the whole town!”
At that moment, Mabel happened to glance up at the TV, which was playing a fitting report on the damage the portal’s opening had caused throughout Gravity Falls as a whole. “Well, they say it was just an earthquake,” Lazy Susan said as she stood outside of Greasy’s Diner as a crane was attempting to set it back into its normal position. “But you know what I think? I think I’m gonna have to start serving pineapple upside-right cake! Haha, am I right? …Am I right?”
As the crane ended up clumsily dropping the diner, the shot cut to Mayor Dewey giving a speech downtown. “Good people of Gravity Falls!” the mayor addressed the crowd before him somewhat anxiously. “I-I know that throughout this summer, our fair town here has been plagued by a serious of, er… uh, mishaps. Like this recent mysterious earthquake… or that giant hand-shaped spaceship coming a few weeks ago… or that giant robot ordeal a few weeks before that… or the lake being stolen a few weeks before that… or that scary red eyeball appearing in the sky a few weeks before that…” Dewey paused, a concerned frown crossing his features as a beat of awkward silence passed through the crowd in light of this derailment off topic. “Wait, what was I talking about again?”
As the news report continued, Mabel turned her attention back to her letter, eager to detail the most recent happenings to her parents. “But the coolest part of the summer was when Grunkle Stan’s twin brother came out of this portal-thingy. Now we have two grunkles for the price of one! And they are adorable together!” Upon finishing her letter, Mabel drew a sketch of both Stan and Ford, their expressions surly and grumpy though they were still peacefully holding hands all the same.
“Hi, Mabel!” Steven greeted with a smile as he entered the shack a moment later. “What are you up to?”
“Hiya, Steven! I was just finishing up a letter to my parents about all the stuff that’s been going on around here,” Mabel explained, holding said letter up. “Though at this rate, with so many huge things going on lately, I think its gonna be longer than I anticipated…”
“Yeah, things have been… pretty intense lately…” Steven noted, his smile dissipating as he rubbed his arm and looked to the side. “Garnet and Pearl still haven’t talked to each other after the whole… ya know, Sardonyx thing, and I’m pretty sure none of the Gems are still really over getting their memories back… I just hope that everything will sort itself out and things can finally get back to normal again soon…”
“I’m sure they will,” Mabel reassured with a bright smile, one that was soon accompanied by a newfound rush of warmth in her cheeks as she glanced down at the young Gem’s hand, which happened to be right within her reach as he stood not too far away from her. Really, it would have been so very easy to reach out and take it in an act of solace and comfort given his downcast manner. And perhaps she would have worked up the nerve to do so too… if her brother hadn’t ended up rushing in right before she could get the chance.
“Mabel! Steven!” Dipper exclaimed as he entered the room, carrying a rather large box. “You’ll never guess what I found at the store today!”
“It looks like… a box,” Steven ventured, his small smile returning.
“Dogs!” Mabel exclaimed, forcing herself to perk up. “Dogs with hats!”
“No,” Dipper shook his head, opening the box up only to reveal another, much more decorated box inside of it, which he held up for the pair to see. “It’s my favorite fantasy-talking, level-counting, statistics and graph-paper involving game of all time: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons! Do you guys wanna play it with me?”
“Well… I do like unicorns,” Mabel noted as she looked over the game’s intricate fantastical box art. “And that hot elf looks promising.”
“Yeah, it looks like it’s a lot of fun, like Sugar Country, or Hint!” Steven chimed in. “How do you play?”
“The rules are super simple,” Dipper assured as he opened the game’s surprisingly large instruction booklet. “First you roll a 38-sided die to determine the level of each player’s statistical analysis poweroid. These orbs relate directly to the amount of quadrants your team as dominion over, which is inverse to the anti-quadrants in your quadrant satchel.”
A beat of stilted silence passed in the aftermath of this rather daunting explanation as Steven and Mabel exchanged an equally bewildered look, neither of them needing to communicate to each other that they had next to no idea what Dipper was talking about. “Uh… w-well that… that sounds, uh…” Steven’s uncertain stumbling soon devolved into exactly what he really felt. “…I’ll be honest, I have no idea what any of that meant…”
“Ok, ok, so after we do all that confusing stuff,” Mabel interjected with a wave of her hand. “Then so we get to ride unicorns?”
“Yes!” Dipper nodded, much to his sister’s excitement, which dissipated almost immediately after he continued. “And… no. First, we make a graph.”
“Ugh, this is like Homework the Game…” Mabel groaned, any interest she might have had in the game completely gone upon hearing this.
“Oh come on, you guys, its not that bad,” Dipper retorted. “Just try it for a round or two. You never know, you might have fun.”
“Ew, how can you even mention fun in the same sentence as all that gross math you gotta do just to play the dang game?” Mabel asked, sticking her tongue out in disdain.
“Well, I’d try it, Dipper, but I think it’s just a little too… complicated for me,” Steven said with sincerity. “And by complicated I mean I’d probably get a headache just trying to figure out how to set the game up…”
“I think most normal people would, Steven,” Mabel remarked, crossing her arms.
Dipper let out a small huff of aggravation at this slight, but even so, he persisted in trying to convince them. “W-well once you get going, its easy,” he assured, even if that wasn’t exactly the truth. After all, Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons was notorious for taking an extensive amount of time and dedication to learn how to play properly, but as far as Dipper was concerned, neither Steven nor Mabel needed to know that. “Besides, I need at least two people to play, so could one of you just-”
“Oh, would you look at that!” Mabel exclaimed with faux surprise as Soos happened to enter the room, giving her leeway to flee to the other side of the den. “Two people!”
“Well wait, with Steven standing here, doesn’t that technically make three?” Soos asked, unaware of the previously unfolding conversation. “Or are we using some kind of new counting system here that I don’t know about.”
“Uh, no…” Dipper frowned, slightly confused before getting back to the matter at hand. “But anyway, Soos, is there any way you’d be up for a little game of D, D, and More D?”
“Aw, sorry, Dipper,” the handyman said, truthfully apologetic. “But I don’t really go for that pen and paper kind of stuff. I’m more of an FCLORPer.”
“…A what?”
“FCLORP,” Soos reiterated with a proud grin. “Foam and Cardboard Legitimate Outdoor Role Play. It is where a passionate brethren of craftsman bring their dreams to magical reality!”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of that,” Steven spoke up, intrigued. “Isn’t that where everyone dresses up in cardboard costumes and fights each other with foam swords? Now that sounds like fun!”
“It totally is, dude,” Soos readily agreed. “You should see us when we break the plastic ball pit balls out. That’s when things really get intense!”
“Uh… well, thanks anyway, Soos,” Dipper said, still rather disappointed that he had no one to play with. Or so it seemed, until Stan walked in.
“Say,” the conman began with an already goading smirk as he noticed the game box his nephew was holding. “Is that the game that’s mostly math and writing and isn’t anything like the picture on the box?”
“Yes, it is!” Dipper said with newfound excitement. “You wanna play it with me, Grunkle Stan?”
“Ha, as if!” Stan laughed rather mockingly as he grabbed the rule book. “Look, kid, I prefer to do my dice rolling in Vegas. Besides, only a game designed by nerds would have ‘charisma’ as a fantasy power. Heh, and check this out,” he turned to a random page in the rule book and began reading out loud callously. “When facing yon adversaries, shield thyself under an elfin buttress.”
“Ha!” Mabel chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Say it again!”
“Buttress!” Stan repeated before both him and Mabel broke down into a round of teasing laughter over the game’s rather self-indulgent manner.
“Hey!” Dipper protested petulantly, taking the rule book back amidst his somewhat flustered embarrassment.
“Aw, come on, you guys,” Steven interjected, clearly sympathetic for Dipper, though he still didn’t really get the jist of the game himself. “Just because this game isn’t really for us, doesn’t mean you have to be so mean about it.”
“Yeah, what Steven said,” Dipper staunchly and crossly agreed. “Heck, maybe you guys just aren’t smart enough to understand it.”
“Uh… actually I think that kinda undermined what I was just trying to say…” Steven noted, though both him and Dipper were overpowered by more bemused laughter from Stan and Mabel.
“Heh, sorry, dude,” Soos remarked to Dipper, somewhat caught up in the round of levity himself. “But it is kind of nerdy. Well, I’m off to lay siege to a goblin fortress.” At this, the handyman girded himself with a sloppily made cardboard helmet and sword before boldly running off to begin his FCLORPing quest. “To my grandma’s backyard!”
Since Dipper had been unable to find any human opponents to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with, he decided to resort to the next best thing he could think of. Which was how he ended up setting the game board up outside the shack facing off in a less than exciting round of the game against Gompers the goat.
“Oh nice! You rolled a 17!” Dipper said with something of a forced grin after he himself rolled the die for the goat, who only let out a dull bleat in response. “Aaaand… this is sad. Maybe I should just go back to obsessing over Wendy again…”
Dipper let out something of a defeated sigh as he leaned back away from the board, unable to keep himself from feeling just the slightest bit lonely. True, he had reconciled with Mabel and Steven following the portal incident and they were all once again on even ground with each other, as they should have been. And yet, for whatever reason, he still felt somewhat distanced from the pair, almost as if remnants of that unsavory tension were lingering behind even still. Their unanimous rejection of his invitation to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with him did make sense; after all, Dipper knew just how complicated the game must come across to the outsider looking in. And yet, the fact that neither of them really seemed very interested in learning how to play it, even if for nothing more than his sake, spoke volumes to him about exactly how much support they were willing to give him. It was abundant in times of tribulation, when they all found that they needed to lean on each other to remain standing strong; but in the smaller, quieter moments, that solidarity was, disappointingly enough, nowhere to be found.
As lost in pensive thought as he was, Dipper didn’t even notice that Gompers had gotten ahold of his 38-sided die until the goat attempted to munch down on it, much to his sudden alarm. “Hey! Give that back!” Dipper ordered, attempting to retrieve the die only for Gompers to maintain his surprisingly firm hold on it. “C’mon, Gompers, let go!” With another heavy pull back, the goat finally released the die, only for it to go flinging back past Dipper and roll under the nearby porch instead. “Ugh, seriously?” Dipper muttered to himself in exasperation as he crawled over to retrieve it. However, right after he had slipped under the porch and began reaching around for the die, the loose soil near the base of the house unexpectedly shifted, crumbling apart right underneath him. Before he could even think to catch himself, Dipper suddenly found himself falling through the newly created opening, passing through several beams and cobwebs before roughly hitting the basement floor. While somewhat shaken, fortunately he didn’t seem to be injured as he began to slowly pick himself up and finally reclaim the elusive 32-sided die, which just so happened to be sitting right next to the now-contained monster Ford had defeated in the gift shop earlier. Even so, Dipper made sure to take care in reaching for the die, lest he aggravate the dangerous creature, only to be abruptly halted right before he could reach it.
“Dipper! Stop!”
“G-Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper exclaimed, startled as he spun around to face the author, who looked far from pleased to see his nephew down in his off-limits lab.
“What did I say about coming down here?” Ford admonished, hands on his hips. “My work is far too dangerous for a single living soul to spend even one second—Wait! Is that a 38-sided die from Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”
“Uh, yeah…” Dipper frowned, somewhat bewildered as he reclaimed the die and held it up for the author to see. “You know that game?”
Ford briefly smirked at this, his manner turning bold as he began to recite the game’s iconic tagline. “With pen and paper, shield and sword-”
“Our quest shall be our just reward!” Dipper joined in just as excitably before joining his uncle in a bout of bemused laughter.
“This is my favorite game in the whole multiverse!” Ford exclaimed, still grinning brightly. “I can’t believe they still make it!”
“They do! And I’ve been looking all day for someone to play it with me,” Dipper said, though his enthusiasm briefly turned to hesitation out of fear of pressing his luck with the author like he had a few days ago. “But uh, i-if you’re too busy to, I totally understand. In fact, I should probably just-”
“Dipper, my boy,” Ford interjected, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder before he could depart. “Do you know what this means? We must stop everything I’ve been working on at once… and play!”
Upon hearing this, Dipper couldn’t hold back a small gasp of excited surprise, knowing that the last person he had expected to gain as a welcome opponent for Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons was the author of the journals himself. However, before the pair could get to playing, the octopus creature suddenly broke free from its containment unit, launching itself at Ford and latching onto his face. The author upheld his chipper smile though as he simply tore the creature off is face, which had received a rather alarming series of burns from the monster’s somewhat toxic touch. “That’s… going to leave a mark.”
Seeing as how Steven was just as big of a fan of both Ducktective and Dogcopter as Mabel and Stan were, he eagerly joined them in preparing for the long-awaited crossover between the two properties the following day. All three of them wanted to make sure that they had the ultimate viewing experience; after all, it wasn’t every day that two such incredibly loved characters and universes came together in such a unique and exciting way.
“Ok, so it looks like we’ve got everything we need to watch the Ducktective/Dogcopter crossover tomorrow,” Mabel said as her and Steven looked over the massive mountain of snacks they had accumulate. “I even made mouth-ramps so we can pour food into our mouths without taking our eyes off the screen!” She showed one of the mouth ramps she had created off, a cardboard box filled to the brim with food with a small ramp stuck onto the side, before readily demonstrating how it worked, which was surprisingly well.
“I brought my Ducktective and Dogcopter collectable figurines down here with me so they can be part of this historic event!” Steven proclaimed as he held the figures up. “Ironically enough, I already had these two sitting next to each other on my shelf, so in a way its kinda like I almost predicted them meeting up for real like this!”
“And I used some spare taxidermied parts to mash the two of them up together the flying mystery solver: Dogtectuckcopter!” Stan proclaimed, holding the rather nightmarish amalgamation of fake duck and fake dog he had created up.
“Whoa! Its like a fusion…” Steven mused in amazement.
“Only a super messed up one!” Mabel laughed, amused. “Dipper would love that!”
“Heh, yeah, where is the little squirt anyway?” Stan asked, briefly glancing around for his apparently missing nephew. “I haven’t seen him all afternoon.”
Completely unbeknownst to the group upstairs, Dipper was merely in the basement below them with Ford, just as he had been ever since he had accidentally fallen down there. Since both of them were very well acquainted with the intricate rules of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, they had wasted no time in setting the game up and getting their campaign started. And as was usually the case with the fast-paced high fantasy game, it didn’t take very long for said campaign to build up to the epic (albeit imaginary) intensity it was known for.
“Alright,” Ford began, deftly passing the 38-sided die between his fingers as he laid out the ongoing scenario for his nephew. “You’ve entered the chamber. Princess Unattainabelle beckons you. But wait! It’s a trap! An illusion cast by Probabilitor the Annoying.”
“You know his weakness, right?” Dipper asked with a knowing smirk before they both proclaimed said weakness in unison.
“Prime statistical anomalies over 37 but not exceeding 51!” The pair exclaimed in unison as Dipper rolled the die, fortunately landing on exactly that.
“Aha! Yes!” he cheered brightly as he progressed along in the game past Probabilitor. “Take that, you cardboard wizard!”
“Hm. The old boy looks quite a bit different than he did back in my day,” Ford noted with a nostalgic smile as he looked over the wizard’s in-game artwork.
“Yeah, they change the art every few years,” Dipper said. “Thankfully you missed the period when the creators of the game tried to make it ‘cooler’ by painting everything neon and making the characters rap spells instead of just saying them. It must have been dark times, those 90s.”
“Yeesh,” Ford remarked with a bemused grin as he rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a good time to be stuck between dimensions.”
Upon hearing this, Dipper took pause, his focus on the ongoing game waning somewhat in favor of something he hadn’t really thought much about since him and Ford had begun playing. Something that was admittedly a good deal more important than scouring fake dungeons and defeating fictional wizards. “Great Uncle Ford,” he began evenly enough, hoping that would help him finally answers this time. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Where were you before you came out of that machine? And… what have you been doing down here these past few days? Are you working on something behind that curtain?” he nodded towards the curtain covering the window that led to the portal’s cavernous chamber, which was now intentionally kept out of sight for whatever reason.
A bout of uneasy hesitation crossed the author’s expression at such pertinent inquiries, and upon that alone, Dipper’s hopes for getting any concrete answers abruptly sank. Of course, they only ended up sinking even further when Ford all but confirmed he had no intentions of giving any. “Dipper, its best if you and the family stay away from that subject…” he replied, casting a brief, somewhat worried glance behind him. “Honestly, I’m not sure any of you could handle the real answer.”
For a moment, Dipper wanted to argue that he could handle it. That, based on everything he had been through during the past several months alone, he could understand and comprehend whatever was lying in wait beyond that curtain. That he wasn’t just the naive, innocent kid that Ford no doubt took him for upon a first glance. But in the end, he knew that arguing the opposite would likely prove exactly that, which was why he decided to pursue an entirely different tangent instead. “Well… what about the Gems?” he asked, glancing aside. “You guys did used to work together way back when, right? Does that mean you’re gonna let them in on, um… everything?”
Once again, Ford hesitated, his manner clearly remorseful and conflicted even as he answered, despite his relative discomfort with the topic in general. “Under normal circumstances, I… might have, but my current relationship with the Gems is somewhat… uneasy, so to speak,” he explained as eloquently as he could. “It’ll take some time before things between all of us will even remotely resemble how they used to be, especially since Rose is… no longer around. In a way, I suppose that the falling out between us all was my fault…” The author paused, his expression sad as he let out a small sigh before shaking his head to clear it. “B-but even if everything was smooth sailing between myself and the Gems, to my understanding, now really wouldn’t be the best time to bother them with external affairs. I hear they’ve been having plenty of problems all their own lately…”
“Oh yeah…” Dipper agreed with a concerned frown. “Things have been pretty tense between the Gems ever since they got their memories back, but Pearl lying to Garnet so they could fuse into Sardonyx really didn’t help anything.”
“So that’s what happened,” Ford mused thoughtfully. “To be perfectly honest, I can’t really blame Pearl for going to such… extensive lengths. I can only imagine how losing Rose might have effected her in particular.”
“From the way she always talks about Rose, it seems like the two of them were pretty close,” Dipper noted.
“They were very close,” the author smirked somewhat nostalgically at this. “It’s part of the reason why Pearl didn’t really care for me too much for me when Rose and I first became research partners. That is, until…” Ford trailed off as he glanced down at the gameboard still sitting between them, a small, brief chuckle escaping him before he diverted away from it. “Well, never mind. I’ll save that story for another time. Certainly things between the Gems will work themselves out in the end.”
Though it seemed as though Ford intended on getting back to the game, Dipper didn’t exactly want to leave it at that, especially as he happened to remember something, or rather someone, that he had regrettably not thought too much about since before the portal opened. And now, given that he was sitting right across from the wise author of the journals himself, he figured now was a good a time as any to finally, hopefully, get some help with it. “Uh… speaking of things working out…” he began rather tentatively. “Great Uncle Ford, you’ve studied a lot of Gem stuff, right?”
“But of course,” Ford said with a somewhat proud grin. “The mysteries of Gemkind were always a highlight of my research. In fact, if I had had the time, I would have started a fourth journal completely dedicated to Gem-related topics. And… depending on how things turn out, I might still run with that idea in the future perhaps… hm…”
“Um, yeah, s-so… did you ever figure out a way to, uh… split a really unhealthy, really dangerous fusion up?” Dipper asked anxiously, trying his best to mask how desperate he really was for a ‘yes’ to this longtime question.
Yet a ‘yes’ wasn’t what Ford gave him, at least not right away as he instead looked to his nephew with slight concern. “Why do you ask?”
“W-well….” Dipper began, unsure of how to really explain this story in a way that wouldn’t remind him of how painful it really was. But upon realizing that was nigh impossible, he decided to just get on with it anyway, knowing that if Ford really did hold a solution, then that pain would be more than worth it in the end. “Near the beginning of the summer, Steven, Mabel, and I met this Gem named Lapis Lazuli. We helped her out and then she went away for a while, but when she came back, me and her hung out a lot and… w-well I guess you could say we became pretty close friends. But then… these two Gems from Homeworld showed up: Peridot and Jasper. They tried to take Steven and the Gems back with them, but we ended up stopping them and crashing their ship near the lake, and it seemed like everything was going to be ok, until…” Dipper trailed, off hesitating as he stared at the ground in front of him as he realized that, even though weeks had passed since that fateful, awful dawn on the lake’s shores, the reality of what had happened there still hadn’t gotten any easier to swallow. “U-until Jasper… forced Lapis to fuse with her so she could take all of us out. So they fused into this huge, powerful monster of a fusion named Malachite, b-but before they could attack us, Lapis took control and dragged them both into the lake, a-and… and she’s been stuck down there ever since. She’s keeping herself trapped down there and fighting Jasper pretty much every second of every day just to keep us safe… to keep me safe…”
Though Ford had been silent for the sake of intently listening to his nephew’s solemn tale up until this point, upon noticing the tears just starting to well up in Dipper’s eyes, he found he could keep quiet no longer. “Dipper…” he began gently, only to be quickly interupted.
“It’s all my fault…” Dipper muttered, the guilt in his tone palpable as he wiped his eyes dry. “And the worst part of it is, I have no idea how to save her, but I have to. I owe it to her, and e-even besides that, she doesn’t deserve to be trapped again. And that’s why… I-I was hoping maybe you could maybe help me with that?” he asked, looking to Ford with almost pleading sincerity. “The Gems have been too busy with trying to track Peridot down to do anything about this, b-but if you know how to split a fusion like Malachite up, then we could finally free Lapis!”
Ford’s expression was already full of both sympathy and remorse before he even said anything. And when he speak up on the matter as his nephew eagerly awaited his response, he decided to be completely honest; after all, there was really no point in being anything else on a subject as sensitive as this. “Dipper, I… I’m sorry,” the author began evenly, yet sincerely. “Most of my research concerning Gem fusions tended to focus more on how they were formed and functioned rather than how they fell apart. So… suffice to say my knowledge on the topic is rather… limited, at best.”
“O-oh…” Dipper was unable to hold back a disappointed sigh upon hearing this, knowing that, as usual, he was right back to square one when it came to freeing Lapis from her watery prison. “Ok, I understand… thanks anywa-”
“However,” Ford interjected with a small smile of reassurance. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to figure the solution to such a complicated problem out. After all, I’d like to think that working through the impossible is something I have a certain knack for.”
“So… you’ll help?” Dipper asked, a sense of rising hope filling him.
“Yes,” the author confirmed, his smile widening. “It might not be an easy task, but I promise, I’ll do anything I can to help you rescue her.”
“Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper caught Ford quite off guard with an unexpected hug, one that the author awkwardly returned as he realized just how important this matter apparently was to his nephew. Which was why, for whatever reason, he felt a strong obligation to keep the promise he had just made, no matter how difficult doing so might prove to be. “Oh! Uh, s-sorry!” Dipper exclaimed, clearly flustered as he broke away from the hug.
“Don’t be,” Ford assured with a small laugh. Even so, the author paused for a beat, knowing that while they couldn’t exactly do much to save Lapis at that very moment, there was perhaps something he could do to help raise his nephew’s no doubt still lowered spirits, even if it would be a rather small attempt at best. “You know… while I can’t tell you much about where I’ve been the past 30 years, I can show you something I brought back with me.” The author’s grin turned wry as he reached into a small pouch tied to his belt and fished out a tiny, unassuming black box, which he opened to reveal something quite incredible. Upon a first glance, it seemed to be a many-sided die, the same kind that was often used in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, yet this one was quite different in many ways. Firstly, its crystalline surface emitted a faint, almost magical glow, but even more fascinating was the fact that the various cryptic symbols on its many sides seemed to be in a state of continual flux, constantly shifting and changing on their own accord to the point that the same symbol rarely ever appeared twice. “An infinity-sided die,” Ford proclaimed, quite proud of such a rare interdimensional find.
“Whoa…” Dipper gasped, his eyes wide with amazement as he looked to the special game piece. “That’s so cool! And… impossible!”
“These things are outlawed in 9,000 dimensions,” Ford explained, clearly just as excited as his nephew was. “You wanna know why? Look at those symbols. Infinite sides means infinite outcomes. If I rolled it, anything could happen. Our faces could melt into jelly, the world could turn into an egg, or… you could just roll an 8. Who knows? That’s why I have to keep it in this protective cheap plastic case. Now, let’s get back to the game! You’ve got Probabilitor on the ropes, though his power level ranks far above yours. You’d need to be accompanied by a level 19 paladin at least in order to get past him.”
“Ugh, of course,” Dipper groaned in exasperation. “If only we had one more player. That would make this so easy!”
“Hm…. Another player, you say?” the author mused, glancing down to the game board, or more particularly, an image of a knight in the background of its artwork. He had considered this idea earlier, when Dipper had first invited him to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with him, in fact, but the author had put the thought aside for obvious reasons. Though now, after giving it a little more thought and with the opportunity that had just presented itself, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. “I think I know just the Gem…”
Pearl let out a small, sad sigh as she sat on the living room couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared down at them solemnly. Only about a day had passed since Garnet had discovered her deception, and as far as the white Gem knew, nothing had changed concerning her leader’s disposition concerning the situation. Or rather, concerning the massive, rather inexcusable mistake she herself had committed against her. A mistake that, despite Pearl’s best efforts, she had been completely unable to distract herself from. Not that she thought she really deserved to have a break from the memory of her wrongdoing anyway; as far as she was concerned, she deserved to carry the oppressive weight of this guilt around with her. After all, it was only fair after she had absolutely betrayed the trust of someone she respected and cared for as much as Garnet.
And so, in light of the unsteady relations between the team and a lack of any pressing missions, Pearl expected that her day would be rather uneventful as a whole. What she hadn’t been expecting, however, was for both Dipper and Ford to suddenly show up at the temple quite out of nowhere.
“Uh, hey, Pearl,” Dipper greeted somewhat tentatively as he entered the temple first.
“Oh, hello, Dipper!” Pearl replied with a warm smile that quickly fell as Ford followed in after him. “And… Stanford… What a surprise…”
“G-greetings, Pearl,” Ford offered a somewhat awkward smile and wave, one that Pearl met rather coldly, as he had honestly been expecting she would. “I simply came by to—I mean, we came by to see if you wanted to… o-or rather, if you had the time to join us in… I mean-”
“We wanted to see if you were up to playing a game with us,” Dipper interjected, getting the point across much more concisely than Ford could in his apparent discomfort in interacting with the white Gem in light of recent events.
“A game?” Pearl tilted her head in confusion as she looked between the pair skeptically. “… What kind of game?”
Ford was quick to properly collect himself at this, a small grin crossing his features as he took a small step forward and presented Pearl with a 38-sided die. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to remember Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, would you?”
Pearl was unable to contain a gasp of surprise at this, a brief smile of excitement coming along with it, though she was quick to press it away. “I-I… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she claimed, crossing her arms as she sharply glanced away. “I’ve never even heard of… what was it again? Dungeons—something? W-well, whatever it is, I’m sure its completely ludicrous and not at all engaging or immersive or anything of the like.”
“Oh, but don’t you remember, Pearl?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “30 years ago, you and used to spend many a night embroiled in epic rounds of slaying ogres and challenging each other with labyrinthine dungeons and quadratic equations. I always used to think it was a treasured pastime between the two of us. You know, after you stopped thinking I was competing against you for Rose.”
Upon hearing this lightly teasing jab, Pearl let out an appalled scoff, her cheeks lighting up in a blue blush as she glared away hotly. Dipper on the other hand, was quite surprised to hear this news. “You guys used to play D, D, and More D together?” he asked curiously.
“N-no!” Pearl exclaimed, though at the very same time, Ford offered his own enthusiastic response.
“All the time!” the author assured brightly.
“W-well, I certainly don’t remember anything of the sort!” the white Gem protested crossly.
“Perhaps you just haven’t managed to recall those memories yet?” Ford theorized thoughtfully.
“Yeah! Maybe playing the game will end up jogging your memory of it!” Dipper suggested, offering the white Gem a hopeful smile.
“I… don’t think so, Dipper,” Pearl denied gently enough, not wanting to upset her pupil, though it seemed as though she didn’t have the same consideration for the author. “After all, I have much more… important matters to attend to… You can see yourselves out.” And with that, the white Gem abruptly turned on her heel to head towards the temple gate, her arms still folded as she resisted the urge to turn back around, even as Dipper and Ford continued conversing.
“Aw man… how am I gonna get past Probabilitor now?” Dipper asked, clearly disappointed by Pearl’s rejection.
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Ford reassured, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Still, it really is a shame… Pearl is one of the best players I’ve ever met. After only a few hours of me explaining the game to her, she had already managed to catch up to me in almost all of her categories. And don’t even get me started on her incredible strategic abilities! One time, we were cornered against four ice dragons with essentially no magic left between either of us, and she managed to beat them back and get us out of that dungeon in only seven rolls! It was spectacular!”
“If I recall correctly…” Pearl suddenly interjected, glancing over her shoulder with a hint of a wry expression on her face. “It was five ice dragons in six rolls… Though of course,” the white Gem turned fully, finally cracking a bit of a sardonic smile. “I could be wrong. After all, my memory might still be a little hazy…”
“Well, regardless of the specifics, your tactics still were always very impressive back in the day,” Ford professed with a fond, genuine smile.
“But of course they were,” the white Gem shrugged, smirking. “After all, I learned such tactics in the uproarious intensity of an actual battlefield thousands of years ago. Applying those strategies to theoretical monsters and warlocks really isn’t that different when you think about it.”
At this, neither Pearl nor Ford could hold back a shared warm laugh, one that seemed to spark up the playful camaraderie they used to share in the past, one that they now both fully seemed to remember. And upon seeing things starting to repair themselves between the pair, Dipper felt inspired enough to present his initial offer to the white Gem yet again. “So… does this mean you’ll play with us?” he asked, hopeful.
Pearl took pause, hesitating briefly as she remembered that she deserved no such distraction from the mistake she had made against Garnet. Which meant that she didn’t deserve to enjoy herself in a pastime that she now remembered she really did enjoy quite a bit. And yet… upon meeting her young pupil’s expectant glance, she found that it was just about impossible for her to say no. “Oh, alright,” she chuckled softly. “I suppose I can join you two for a little while… “
“Pearl, I think we all know that a ‘little’ while is rarely ever little when it comes to Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons,” Ford remarked rather coyly.
The white Gem let out a genuine laugh at this, rather happy to follow after Dipper and Ford as they lead the way down to the Mystery Shack for what was bound to be an intense afternoon of dungeon spelunking and equation solving. “I can’t argue with you there.”
Sure enough, a little while had turned into an all-day campaign as Dipper, Ford, and Pearl hypothetically set out on their grandiose, mathematical quest. True to the author’s recounting, the white Gem was surprisingly skilled at the game, her recollection of its intricate rules returning to her memory practically the moment she sat down to play it. And with that recollection came a renewed enthusiasm for the playful pastime her and Ford used to share, one that showed itself in every roll of the die and move across the board she made. Seeing as how both Ford and Dipper already had plenty of enthusiasm towards the game themselves even before Pearl had joined them, this made for an air of genuine excitement as they all congregated in the basement lab to carve out their intrepid victory.
“Excellent work, Dipper! You finally managed to defeat that troublesome fire golem!” Pearl proclaimed with a congratulatory grin.
“Yeah,” Dipper said with a slightly exasperated sigh. “Now if only I could have stopped those woodland imps from stealing all my healing potions…”
“Heh, speaking of imps,” Ford remarked, sending Pearl a wry, reminiscent smirk. “That reminds me of the time Amethyst snuck down here and attempted to steal just about every morsel of food I had in the house.”
“Oh, that was a mess,” Pearl chuckled heartily upon hearing the familiar tale. “I remember there was a trail of food leading all the way between here and the temple! No wonder that horrific moth man creature attacked us that night when we were trying to clean it up!”
“A moth man?” Dipper asked, quite intrigued. “Like the one in the journal?”
“The very one,” Ford nodded in confirmation. “It was so dark that we barely even saw him coming until he jumped at me out of nowhere to try and get my lantern.”
“Oh, you should have seen it, Dipper!” Pearl laughed openly. “The bold, brazen ‘author of the journals’, cowered in fear against a tree, crying for mercy against a cloud of moths, of all things. It was hilarious!”
“I-in my defense, that ‘cloud of moths’ just so happened to be in the shape of a man, and a very intimidating one at that!” Ford protested, clearly flustered.
“Ah yes, so intimidating that it only took one toss of Rose’s shield to completely dispel it and save you, yet again,” the white Gem remarked, her tone still coy and playful. “Then again, I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault, Stanford. After all, you were rather danger prone back in those days.”
“Well, if I was, then I suppose I was able to consider myself lucky to have such reliable friends like you, Rose, and the others,” Ford remarked with a warm, genuine smile, one that seemed to carry an underlying layer of unspoken remorse to it as well.
Pearl seemed to mirror this, her own expression somewhat sad and hesitant before shifting into a soft, nostalgic smile, a smile that she didn’t try to chase away this time. “Friends… right…” she muttered, glancing away briefly before quickly perking up and returning her attention back to the game once more. “Now, where were we? Ah yes! Chasing down those pesky imps…”
At this sudden change of gears, Dipper and Ford exchanged a brief glance of confusion, but even so, they were quick to follow Pearl’s lead and get their heads back into the game. After all, from where they stood now, they were bound to have an entire untold adventure ahead of them.
While Mabel knew from over 12 years of firsthand experience that Dipper usually kept rather late hours, most of the time that fact didn’t upset her own normal sleeping routine too much. However, this particular night was an exception to that, as she was finding it just about impossible to fall asleep with her brother intently plotting out his ongoing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons strategy only a few feet away from her.
“Ok, so if I had a dragon here…” Dipper muttered to himself as he sketched out his plans amidst several pieces of graph paper. “Oh, and then a plus the fire mode over here-”
“Dipper, are you ever going to sleep?” Mabel asked as she rolled over in bed to face him, finally exasperated to the point that she couldn’t keep silent on it any longer. “You’ve been saying dork words for hours…”
“Sorry, Mabel, but I’ve got to finish this dungeon,” Dipper countered, not even bothering to glance up as he continued working. “It’s gonna totally stump Pearl and Great Uncle Ford tomorrow, I can’t wait to see the look on their faces!”
Mabel took pause upon hearing this, her already present frown deepening as she sat up. “You’ve, uh… been spending a lot of time with old Fordsy lately, huh?” she asked, her tone innocently curious enough. She didn’t see much of a reason to mention Pearl in her question, namely because she knew that Dipper already spent a good deal of time with the white Gem through his sword lessons, which meant that this was nothing really new. His recently developed comradery with Ford, on the other hand was. And for whatever reason, Mabel wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
“You have no idea,” Dipper said with an enthusiastic smile. “I knew the author must have been cool, but he’s better than I imagined! And… he doesn’t make fun of me like you and Grunkle Stan do.”
“Ha! Give him time!” Mabel teased, though she instantly wished she hadn’t upon seeing her brother’s expression sour at this remark. “Nah, you got me,” she faked playfulness, though once more Dipper offered her no response. Her own brief smile faded as she lay back down, letting out a small, worried sigh while staring up at the ceiling. True, the painful gap between them torn asunder by the portal had been mostly repaired, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still holes left behind all the same. Holes that she was only now starting to notice and had essentially no idea how to fix. “You got me…”
The Mystery Shack was abuzz with excitement the following day, all in anticipation of the long-awaited, massively hyped-up Ducktective/Dogcopter crossover that was set to air that evening. Steven had already arrived about an hour ago, and in that span of time, him and Mabel had gone through just about every theory and wish they had for the special, both of them more than eager to finally get a chance to see it. It was easy to say that they had sufficiently prepared themselves emotionally and mentally for this grand crossover by the time Grenda arrived to view it with them.
“Thanks for coming over to watch the crossover with us tonight, Grenda,” Mabel smiled as her and Steven greeted the larger girl at the door.
“Of course!” Grenda exclaimed in her usual boisterous way as she held up her Ducktective and Dogcopter flags. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for these two characters to meet my entire life!”
“Same here,” Steven nodded in agreement. “Or, ya know, at least ever since they announced the crossover last month.”
“Hey hey, look at you!” Mabel smirked as she noticed Stan coming downstairs, wearing his finest suit and tie. “Someone’s all dressed up.”
“It’s a big night,” Stan remarked as he adjusted his tie. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where a dog with a propeller on its back meets a duck who solves murder mysteries for a living. It really is a wonderful time to be alive.”
No sooner had the conman finished speaking than the alarm on Steven’s phone suddenly went off, eliciting an excited gasp from everyone. “It’s time!” the young Gem announced happily.
“Viewing positions, everyone!” Mabel ordered, pointing to the living room as they all began making a mad dash towards it. However, the entire group stopped short just as they passed into its threshold, surprise and disappointment hitting all of them as they caught sight of the graph paper and extensive notes regarding Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons strewn about all over the room. And, sitting in the very center of the den, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl were all completely engrossed in their ongoing game, all three of them clearly having a fun time as they were all but oblivious to the group that had just walked in on them.
“Ah! Graph paper! Kill it!” Grenda shouted, furiously stomping on the nearest piece of it.
“Uh… what’s going on in here?” Steven asked, much more calmly. “And wait, Pearl? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know…” Pearl began, sending her young ward a casual smile. “Just completely decimating these two in a duel for the mystical forbidden treasure of old.”
“Not for long, you won’t,” Dipper challenged brazenly as he rolled the die, though Mabel interupted before the game could go any further.
“Uh, Dipper? Could you guys maybe move this to another room?” she asked, only thinly veiling her annoyance.
“No dice!” Ford said. “We ran out of room in the basement and we’re going for a world record. Now… dice!” And with that, the author rolled, landing exactly the number he had been hoping for to advance. “Ha! 32, yes! 7,000 points damage!”
“Oh man! You got me!” Dipper laughed, accepting this setback gracefully.
“Hm… lucky roll…” Pearl mused, offering Ford a coy grin of defeat.
“Ugh, why? Why with this?” Stan groaned, not bothering to hide his aggravation with the trio as he sent Ford and Pearl an irritated glare in particular. “You two wanna break some records? You’ve already broken two for world’s nerdiest old man and world’s nerdiest… rock person?”
“Ugh… why am I not surprised that you don’t understand, Stan?” Pearl crossed her arms. “Amethyst used to crack her sarcastic little remarks about myself and Ford back in the day when we used to play this game together, just like you are now. You and her really are two of a kind.”
“Yeah, I can’t say I really blame her,” Stan retorted just as dryly, though he did briefly glance away at the remembrance of how much things had soured between him and Amethyst recently. “It’s not like you two don’t have it coming.”
“Hey, at least we’re not all keyed up to watch some kid’s show,” Ford countered, meeting his brother’s unimpressed expression evenly.
“Hey! I’ll have you know that this Ductective/Dogcopter crossover is gonna be legendary!” Stan snapped defensively. “People will be talking about how hilarious and tragic it is for decades! Or at least for like, a week or something.”
“I don’t get a lot of either of them, but I like animals in human situations,” Grenda pointed out.
“Plus, the music is really good,” Steven added. “And don’t even get me started on those crazy plot twists in both shows! They have so much in common, its like they were made to be together!”
“A-and its starting soon!” Mabel urged fretfully. “Grunkle Stan, do something!”
Stan complied, letting out an exasperated huff as he reached to remove the graph paper covering the television, only for Ford to intercept him by suddenly grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Move that and pay the price,” the author warned, his tone surprisingly grave. Startled, Stan took pause for a moment, only to instantly regain his previously sardonic attitude.
“Oh what? Fifty magical elf dollars?” the conman deadpanned, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t mock our fantastical monetary system!” Ford snapped fiercely.
“Honestly, Stan, you’re just being childish about this whole thing!” Pearl said just as sharply.
“Yeah, I’m the one being childish, not you guys and your game about knights and fairy princesses and unicorns,” the conman remarked coldly. “And you know what? I’ll mock it all I want; it’s my TV room.”
“It’s my house!” the author argued, clearly angry by this point. However, he did make something of an attempt to calm down by letting out an evening sigh as he relinquished his brother’s hand and instead pulled his bag of many-sided die out instead. “Listen, Stanley, did it ever occur to you that if you joined us, you might have fun?”
“What?” Stan scoffed, clearly caught off guard by this offer. Despite his brief surprise regarding it however, he was quick to reject it, refusing to let his brother have his way, which, as far as he was concerned, always seemed to be the case. “Now you listen to me!” the conman began, snatching the bag right out of the author’s hand. The bag that, as both Ford and Dipper knew, contained something potentially very dangerous inside. “As long as I live I will never-”
“G-Grunkle Stan!” Dipper attempted to warn, though by this point Stan was far too incensed to really listen.
“Ever-”
“Stanley! Don’t!” Ford gasped in alarm as he saw the conman raise the bag up high.
“Play your smartypants nerd game!” Stan finished his harsh proclamation by throwing the bag down onto the ground hard. Unfortunately, out of it rolled a plastic black box, and out of that rolled a glowing die with ever-changing sides.
The infinity-sided die.
For a single, anxious moment, the die was still in motion as it rolled across the carpeted floor, but once it finally came to a stop, it did so on a symbol that had only just appeared: the outline of a powerful wizard. And, just as Ford had said would happen, the die’s power instantly brought its outcome to life. In a flash of blinding light, four mystical figures materialized right out of the box art of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, brought to life and to reality in front of the shocked group who could do nothing more than watch as this impossibility unfolded right before their eyes. The assemblage of characters consisted of a massive golden griffon, a lumbering, bulky ogre, a attractive, bow-wielding elf, and finally, a cackling, bearded magician, clearly the leader of the crew as he spoke up first.
“Mortals of dimension 514÷Y! Kneel before me and-” the wizard interupted himself to roll his own die to see what threat he should dole out. “Snivel! I am Probabilitor! The greatest wizard in all of mathology! Give or take an error of 0.4.”
“Eh? Is this… normal?” Stan asked, aptly confused.
“Probabilitor?” Pearl also questioned, bewildered in a different way. “As in the one from the game? How is this even possible? Stanford, what did that die of yours do?!”
“That’s a… long story that there may or may not be time to explain all the details of later,” Ford said, his manner stiff and defensive as he kept a hand tucked away inside his trench coat. Just in case.
“Uh, are you here to send us on the quest of a lifetime because we’re the smartest players you’ve ever met?” Dipper asked the intruding wizard, hoping that his intentions weren’t as sinister as his sudden appearance came across.
“You are the smartest players I’ve ever met!” Probabilitor acknowledged with a sinister grin. “That’s why I’m going to eat your brains to gain your intelligence! Its what I do.”
“It’s his thing,” the wizard’s ogre companion added pointedly.
As everyone reacted to this news with alarmed surprise, Probabilitor took advantage of the moment as he ordered his mythical cohorts into action. “By the power of math, seize them!”
“Your math is no match for me gun, you idiot!” Ford retorted, finally pulling out the powerful laser gun he kept tucked away inside his coat. The author readily took aim, paying no mind to Pearl as she summoned her spear beside him or Dipper as he discreetly slipped away to retrieve something, fortunately without the wizard taking notice.
“Math ray!” Probabilitor shouted, a burst of mathematical power shooting out from his staff. The blast was more than enough to knock the gun clean out of Ford’s hands, leaving him essentially defenseless and opening things up for Pearl to take charge.
“Looks like I have to come to your rescue yet again, Stanford,” the white Gem remarked confidently as she rushed forward. She swung her spear widely, aiming for Probabilitor, though before her strike could land, Pearl suddenly found herself heavily pushed to the ground and pinned there by the griffon and its large, sharp talons. Her spear fell out of her hand and disappeared in its usual burst of sparkles, and with her arms as restrained as they were, summoning another one was nigh impossible.
“You were saying?” Ford remarked much more harshly than he had intended to, though given the circumstances, such stress was reasonable enough.
However, before either the author, the white Gem, or anyone else for that matter could try to thwart Probabilitor’s intentions, Dipper suddenly dashed forward seemingly out of nowhere, the Ancient Sea Blade tight in his grip. Ford in particular was rather startled to see his young nephew not only wielding such a weapon, but to see him running headfirst into obvious danger with a fearless battle cry. Unfortunately, much like Pearl, Dipper’s valiant attempt to cut the hostile wizard was ultimately put to a swift end as Probabilitor lashed out, a burst of his mysterious, dangerous magic spiraling right towards the sword-wielding boy.
“Dipper!” Mabel cried fearfully, though luckily, her brother reacted accordingly. At just the right moment, Dipper twisted his sword in front of him, pulling off a rather risky block that only worked to partially protect him. The Ancient Sea Blade took the brunt of the hit as Dipper was knocked back, and in practically an instant, the wizard’s magic destroyed the elegant sword, causing it to explode in an array of sparkles and mathematical symbols until nothing was left of it at all.
“Enough of this!” Probabilitor exclaimed hotly, pointing his staff in a commanding gesture as the griffon spread its wings and quickly worked to gather Pearl, Ford, and Dipper in hits talons. “I’m not here to play games!” With this, the wizard sent another blast of magic out, this one towards the nearest wall of the shack, which he easily blew a massive hole into. With an insane cackle, Probabilitor flew out through the hole, his band of companions following right behind with their captive trio in tow. “Now to the forest, for the ultimate game!”
“Oh no! Dipper! Pearl! Mr. Ford!” Steven cried worriedly as he rushed up to the hole along with Mabel as they both watched in dismay as they all disappeared into the forest, out of sight and out of reach.
“So…” Grenda spoke up after a beat of worried silence. “The room’s free now. Who wants to watch Ducktective and Dogcopter?” Another moment passed, this one much more awkward as Steven and Mabel looked to her in appalled disbelief at such a callous suggestion. “Nobody? Oh well! More couch for Grenda!”
“Oh, this is really bad,” Mabel said, both her tone and expression very fretful. “That crazy wizard is gonna eat Dipper and Ford’s brains! And… Pearl’s? I think? Isn’t that technically her gem?”
“W-we have to save them!” Steven interjected with a much more pertinent concern.
“Eh, maybe let ‘em get a couple of bites in Ford’s brain first,” Stan remarked, leaning against the side of the hole casually. “Even things out smart-wise.”
“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel scolded, nowhere near as accepting of this alarming kidnapping as he seemed to be.
“Alright, alright,” the conman quickly folded upon meeting his niece’s troubled manner. “I guess if we have no other choice, we’ll go on a… ugh, epic wizard quest.”
“Yay!” the trio of kids exclaimed in unified excitement, all more than ready for such a harrowing adventure if it meant saving their family and friends.
“Now before we hit the road, everyone grab a weapon,” Stan said, still far from enthused from having to go on this journey. After all, he wasn’t particularly excited about having to rescue Ford again, only to no doubt be denied proper thanks once more.
Everyone easily found whatever they had on hand to use as a weapon in their quest. Steven already had one on hand in his shield, as did Stan as he pulled out the baseball bat he kept tucked away in the porch couch’s cushions. On impulse, Mabel grabbed a rake, though Grenda was by far the most heavily equipped as she hoisted a recliner up, more than ready to use it as a weapon if needed.
“We’re coming for you, Dipper!” Mabel boldly proclaimed as everyone prepared to set off on their daring, magical rescue mission. “And Grunkle Ford! And Pearl! And possibly that hot elf, if he’s got anything to do with this.”
“Let’s go!” Steven exclaimed, leading the way as they all rushed headlong into the forest, unsure of what they’d encounter on their journey, but ready to face it all the same.
Probabilitor and his companions had wasted no time at all in setting up a camp deep in the magical forests of Gravity Falls. While the elf and the griffon stood guard in the event of any unwanted intruders, the wizard took the time to taunt his three captives, all of whom were attempting to struggle out of the rather tight bonds that kept them restrained to the large tree in the middle of the clearing.
“With each brain I eat, I shall increase my enchantelligence!” Probabilitor chortled as he used a magical tape measurer to get a count on Ford, Dipper, and Pearl’s heads.
“If my hands were free, I’d break every part of your face!” the author threatened fiercely.
“Not if I get to it first!” Pearl added just as sharply as she sent the wizard a cold glare.
“Squabble all you want,” Probabilitor chuckled darkly. “Either way, the time has come! Hot elf! Ready the brain-cooking pot!”
The elf let out an exasperated sigh, flipping his hood off to reveal his luminous silver hair. “Yes, Probabilitor,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as he took aim at the nearby caldron and ignited it with a flaming arrow.
“Haha! According to my calculations, your brains shall be a delicious part of my balanced wizard breakfast,” the wizard concluded to his captives with a triumphant smirk. “Or lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever mealtime it currently is.”
“Hmph, then clearly it seems that you’ve miscalculated,” Pearl retorted, turning her nose up haughtily. “Even if your ridiculous plan succeeded, you’d only have two brains to snack on anyway since I’m a Gem. Which means, I don’t have a brain.” A beat of curious silence passed at this as both Ford and Dipper sent Pearl questioning looks before she realized what she had just said. “Wait… I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh believe me, I’m well aware of your relative brainlessness,” Probabilitor remarked with a knowing grin.
“Again, not what I meant!”
“Which is why I plan on grinding up that pretty little gemstone of yours into the perfect seasoning for brains à la carte!” the wizard finished before breaking down into yet another round of wild laughter.
“Well that’s… dark,” Dipper noted exchanging a concerned look with Pearl.
“You know, I’d almost rather be back at the temple, moping about how upset Garnet is with me…” the white Gem groaned, slumping against the ropes restraining her to the tree. That is, until she remembered just how unbearably tense things actually were between her and the Gem leader in light of what she had done. “Then again… maybe not…”
Though the mystical forest was quite dense, Mabel, Steven, Stan, and Grenda didn’t have a particularly hard time finding their way through it, mostly since they were easily able to follow the trail of griffon feathers that had unintentionally been left behind. So far, the group hadn’t encountered any obstacles or threats along the way, but even so, they were all still on high alert in the event that they did, their makeshift weapons at the ready to defend themselves from any dangers Probabilitor might put in their path.
“We must be getting close,” Stan noted, flinching as he slapped a past on his back. “These fairy bites are getting more frequent.”
“H-hey! Look! Listen!” the now squished fairy cried in pain as she lay crushed against the conman’s shoulder in a pile of glitter.
“I hope we’re not too late,” Steven said fretfully. “I’m not really sure how I’d be able to go back to the temple and explain to Garnet and Amethyst that Pearl got eaten by a crazy board game wizard. A lot of bad things have been happening lately, but I have a feeling that would probably take the cake…”
“Halt!” The group came to an abrupt stop as the massive, threatening ogre suddenly emerged from the nearby greenery, stomping down in front of them and barring the path ahead. “Yon interlopers are trespassing on the ancient forest of Probabilitor the wizard! If ye wish to pass, first, ye must complete seven unworldly quests, each more difficult than the-”
“NO!” Grenda suddenly shouted, brutally hitting the unsuspecting ogre with her heavy chair. The monster fell to the ground with a mighty thud, easily defeated and apparently unconscious, though based on his lack of breathing, he could have possibly been worse off than that.
“Is he… dead?” Mabel asked, poking the downed ogre with her rake.
“He’s magic, sweetie, I’m sure he’s fine,” Stan assured casually enough before turning to Grenda with a serious whisper. “There are no cops in the forest, we take this to our graves.”
Grenda nodded in agreement with this resolve, but even so, Steven and Mabel pressed onward, still clearly worried about their primary mission. “Well… I guess that’s one way to clear a path,” the young Gem noted as they passed by the supposedly unconscious ogre. “Maybe not the best way, but still, a way.”
It was clear from the increasing frequency of Probabilitor’s manic chuckles that his preparations for cooking his captives’ brains were nearly complete. Unfortunately though, despite their skill in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl had yet to think of a way out of their very real plight, one that could very well cost them all their lives if they didn’t escape from it soon.
“W-what do we do? What do we do?!” Dipper asked in a sharp, panicked whisper, hating how relatively defenseless all three of them were in this situation.
“Stop thinking, Dipper!” Ford retorted, trying to be as calm as possible, something that Pearl also tried to maintain, despite her own dread in this tight spot. “The more wrinkly your brain gets, the more he’ll want to eat it!”
“And now, a little math problem,” Probabilitor said as he stepped up to his trio of captives, a hungry grin claiming his face. “When I subtract your brains from your skulls,” he began, tapping both Dipper and Ford’s heads with his staff. “Add salt,” he lightly poked Pearl’s gemstone at this, causing the white Gem to cringe from the unexpected vibration. “And divide your families, what’s the remainder?”
“Your butt!”
“What?” the wizard asked, startled as he turned to face this unexpected voice. “My butt isn’t part of this particular equation!”
“And neither are we!” Mabel boldly proclaimed as her, Steven, Stan, and Grenda suddenly jumped out of the bushes, all of them still wielding their makeshift weapons brazenly.
“But here we are!” Steven chimed in before waving to the trio tied to the tree. “Hi, Dipper! Hi, Pearl! Hi, Mr. Ford!”
“Well, at least someone came to rescue us…” Pearl noted, though her tone alone conveyed her uncertainty about the group’s effectiveness in actually saving them.
“Drat! How did you get past my one guard?!” Probabilitor scowled, gripping his staff tightly. “Very well… There is one way you can save your family. You must defeat me in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons: Real Life Edition!”
With a wild cackle, the wizard raised his staff, magic pouring out of it as a large, ornate game board, one that floated just a few feet off the ground just as Probabilitor himself had begun to.
“What? Oh come on!” Stan groaned, knowing that him trying to avoid having to play the complicated, rather boring game was what started this mess in the first place.
“I choose my characters…” Probabilitor continued, snapping his fingers to create three miniaturized, identical ogres on the game board. “Vs… yours!” Upon another burst of mathematical magic, the wizard pointed to his trio of captives, all of whom disappeared from their spot against the tree as he did. They reappeared an instant later, shrunken down themselves as they stood upon Probabilitor’s outstretched palm, unanimously startled by this unexpected shift. However, their size hadn’t been the only thing to change; each of them was now clad in the archaic attire befitting Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons characters, with Dipper and Ford both dressed in earthy adventuring clothes while Pearl had received something of a sparse knight’s armor.
“Ah! My ears! They’re so pointy!” Ford exclaimed, flicking his now elfish ears.
“T-there better be something protective under this tunic,” Dipper remarked before briefly turning around to check. “Oh no, there isn’t!”
“I don’t know what you two are complaining about,” Pearl smirked as she looked over the crimson cape her armor came equipped with. “I could get used to this…”
“Aw, you guys look so adorable!” Steven gasped with delight upon seeing the tiny trio.
“I know, right?” Mabel agreed just as brightly. “Makes me wish I had me camera on me to get a pic of how cute you guys are in your little fantasy outfits!”
“Ok, seriously, you guys, now is not the time!” Dipper scolded, sending a petulant look up at them.
“I’m with the kid, can’t we just arm wrestle or something?” Stan asked, far from enthused.
“Come on, this game is a lot of fun!” Probabilitor urged. “I even had my mom pack me a lunch,” he continued, pulling some apple slices out of his paper bag lunch. “Ew, apple slices? I’ll eat you last.”
“Ugh, just make with the rules already, ugly,” the conman rolled his eyes as him, Mabel, and Steven took a seat on the other side of the game board.
“The game is a battle royale,” the wizard began to explain. “We help out characters by casting spells determined by rolls of the dice. If you win, I’ll go back to my own dimension.”
“Hooray!” Steven and Mabel chimed in unison, hoping for such a peaceful outcome.
“But if I win, I eat their brains/gem!” Probabilitor grinned as he let Dipper, Ford, and Pearl down into the game board itself.
“Well,” Pearl remarked, crossing her arms. “That certainly seems like a risky gamble that only an absolute fool would-”
“Deal!” Stan exclaimed daringly.
“Oh boy…” Dipper sighed as Ford and Pearl shook their heads, all three of them quite concerned about their fate in what would no doubt be a dangerous game.
“Then let the game… BEGIN!” Probabilitor proclaimed, raising his hand before bringing it down and letting his dice roll out of it. The wizard landed a 13, giving him the perfect opportunity to dole out his first move. “Attack!” he ordered his trio of ogres as large, spiked clubs appeared in each of their hands. The creatures rushed towards Dipper, Ford, and Pearl, more than happy to swing their weapons at the group as they narrowly managed to dodge the heavy strikes.
“Oh come on!” Pearl exclaimed in severe annoyance as she tried to summon her spear, only for nothing to emerge from her Gem as a result of Probabilitor’s spell. “As if this entire thing couldn’t get any more aggravating!”
“Oh no!” Steven exclaimed worriedly as he watched this chaos unfold across the game board. “We have to help them!”
“W-what do we do? What are our moves?” Stan asked just as frantically.
“There are no moves!” Dipper shouted up to them as he barely managed to jump out of the way of one of the ogre’s bats. “You make them up!”
“What? Really?” the conman asked, surprised.
“But wait, isn’t this game super complicated?” Mabel asked, just as confused.
“No!” Pearl informed as though it was obvious. “Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons is actually quite simple once you get the hang of it!”
“That’s what I tried to tell you!” Ford added just as intently. “This game involves math, yes, but also risk, enthusiasm, and imagination!”
“Risk?” Stan asked as a smile slowly started to spread across his face.
“Enthusiasm?!” Steven asked, already quite pumped up.
“Imagination?” Mabel finished with a cheerful gasp. “Grunkle Stan, make something up! It’s just like lying!”
“Uh, then I cast, um… shield of… shielding?” Stan ventured, rolling the die and miraculously getting a 14. It was just enough to counter Probabilitor’s roll, and as such, a large, magical shield materialized in front of Dipper, Pearl, and Ford. The ogres’ clubs bounced cleanly off its sturdy surface as the trio crowded behind it, fully protected from any and all harm. “Ha! We’re doing it!” the conman exclaimed in triumph.
That triumph was short lived, however, as Probabilitor quickly made his next roll to cancel Stan’s out. “Shield of shielding reversal spell!” he shouted, and just like that, the magical shield disappeared into thin air, leaving the trio defenseless yet again. They scattered as one of the ogres brought his club down, but fortunately, Steven wasn’t about to leave them unprotected for long.
“I cast, uh… Crazy Fast Lightning Roller Skates!” the young Gem exclaimed, coming up with something off the top of his head as he rolled. Almost as soon as he did, Dipper, Pearl, and Ford all received their own pairs of electrically charged skates, ones that instantly propelled them forward at lighting-fast speeds. The skates were more than enough to get them past the slow, lumbering ogres and their bulky weapons, giving them ample space to prepare themselves to go on the offence as opposed to defense.
“Hot Flamey Sword!” Mabel proclaimed as sharp, fiery swords materialized in the trio’s hands. “Super Hot Flamey Sword!” she added a moment later, and each of the blades extended and the flames surrounding them grew even hotter and brighter.
As the swords solidified themselves, the trio skidded to a stop, their electrified skates still at the ready to send them zooming forward once more. The ogres charged towards them, their expressions fierce as they raised their clubs once again, ready to attack. Only this time, their assault would not go encountered.
“Dipper, stay behind me and Pearl!” Ford ordered his nephew, concerned for his safety amidst this massive beasts. “We’ll handle-” The author was cut off by Dipper’s own battle cry as he swiftly skated forward, flames bursting from his blade as he lashed out in a bold, fast move as he zoomed past one of the ogres. His attack struck true as the creature let out a sharp cry, disappearing into a puff of smoke mere seconds after the flaming sword sliced through it.
“Excellent form, Dipper!” Pearl exclaimed to her pupil brightly. “I can see you’ve been practicing!”
“Thanks!” Dipper called back as he prepared to take on one of the othe ogres. “I have!”
“H-how… where did he learn how to fight like that?” Ford asked, rather amazed at his nephew’s impressive skill with a blade.
“Where do you think?” Pearl asked with a proud smile. “I taught him everything he knows. Now, come on. Dipper can certainly handle himself against those brutes, but it just wouldn’t be fair to let him have all the fun, now would it?”
The author didn’t get much of a chance to respond as the white Gem hurried on ahead, jumping into the fray alongside her pupil. Ford wasn’t far behind and Steven, Mabel, and Stan cheered them on as they worked together to take out the remaining two ogres in record time, much to Probabilitor’s fury.
“No! Drat you! You’ll never outrun my-” the wizard paused as he rolled the dice, grinning wickedly as he made his next move. “Ogre-nado!” With this spell, a massive, spiraling tornado struck up, disembodied ogre heads flying around it as it chased after the trio and blew their swords away. “Ha! It is what it sounds like!” Probabilitor guffawed, watching with twisted delight as the trio ran from the monstrous storm.
“I cast: CENTAURTAUR!” Mabel shouted out of the blue, tossing the dice down onto the board to conjure up a rather nightmarish creature: a centaur with another horse for its head.
“G-goodness! That’s… alarming…” Pearl remarked, rather put off by such a bizarre amalgamation.
“Mabel, I am so confused and so proud right now,” Stan said, sending his niece a bewildered, but warm smile.
“Come on!” Dipper shouted to Pearl and Ford as they all ran for the centaurtaur. Though it was a bit awkward getting onto its double backs, they managed to get a good hold onto the creature long enough for it to carry them away from the approaching ogre-nado as Stan, Mabel, and Steven cheered them on all the while. As the centaurtaur passed into a smaller chamber on the board, both it and the ogre-nado abruptly fell apart, leaving Dipper, Ford, and Pearl safe once more. Or so they thought.
No sooner had the trio picked themselves up off the ground than they suddenly found themselves all pinned to the wall once more, this time by a large, grotesque winged creature with several limbs, tentacles, and two intensely fanged mouths. “Haha, yes!” Probabilitor laughed over his latest move. “I was saving the worst for last!”
“The Impossibeast!” Ford exclaimed in apt surprise. “Hey, I thought they banned this character!”
“Think again!” the wizard grinned deviously. “I’m playing the controversial 1991-1992 edition!”
“W-well this is ok!” Steven reassured as he prepared to roll the dice again. “We’ll just come up with some new weapons and-”
“It’s not that simple,” Pearl interjected fretfully, struggling to break free from the Impossibeast’s iron grip. “From what I remember, this monster is the most powerful creature in the entire game!”
“He can only be defeated by rolling a perfect 38,” Ford added, his tone just as grave. “But the odds of that are-”
“Hey, long odds are what you want when you’re a world class gambler,” Stan cut in with a sly smirk as he took the dice and shook them in his hands. “Alright, Stan, you can do this… Papa needs a new pair of… twins!” Wirth this, the conman tossed the die onto the board, the others taking in a collective deep breath as they hoped that luck would be with him, as the entire game depended on this one singular roll. In an instant that seemed like ages, the die struck the board, rolling across it before finally, fortunately landing on that sought after 38.
“NO!” Probabilitor cried, dumbfounded by disbelief over this effective turn of the tide.
“Ha! Sorry, nerd wizard!” Stan laughed in triumph as Dipper, Pearl, and Ford all let out a shared sigh of relief. “But all your smarts are no match for dumb luck!”
“We cast DEATH MUFFINS!” Mabel and Steven proclaimed in excitable unison, knowing that this move would certainly be for the win. At this, glimmering muffins with an explosive edge to them appeared in each of the trios’ free hands. They didn’t even have to think twice about what to do with them as they simultaneously launched them into the Impossibeast’s wide-open maw, watching with anticipation as the creature swallowed all three of them whole. The effect was almost immediate, for mere seconds later, the death muffins exploded, taking the Impossibeast out along with them in a blinding flash of light.
“Yes!” Stan, Mabel, and Steven cheered in elated unison at this hard-earned win as the game concluded. In a flash, the board disappeared and in its place, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl all reappeared, restored to their normal sizes and clothing with only non-explosive death muffins remaining. An air of celebration rang throughout the group, especially as Steven and Mabel both caught Dipper off guard in a sudden, but welcome hug, glad to have finally rescued him as well as Pearl and Ford.
“The game is, like, over,” the hot elf remarked, shutting the rule book amidst Grenda hugging him tightly, as she had been doing for most of the game. “Excelci-whatever.”
“No!” Probabilitor cried in defeat as him and his companions began to dematerialize. “I’m returning to my own realm! I’m turning into pure math! What are the ooooooooddds?!” The wizard’s final cry hung on the air as he disappeared into equations and grids until nothing remained of him or his wicked intent at all.
“Hmph, serves him right,” Pearl remarked with a satisfied smirk as Steven caught her legs in a sudden embrace, which she gladly returned. “Wanting to crush my gem is one thing, but wanting to use it as a mere seasoning? That was simply absurd.”
“Grunkle Stan, that was amazing!” Dipper exclaimed with a wide smile. “How’d you know you would win?”
“Heh, a gambler never reveals his secrets,” then conman winked as he retrieved the 38 sided die, which he had happened to stick a bit of gum to the side of in order to ensure his perfect 38 roll.
“Man, that really was fun for ages 8 to 80!” Mabel noted with a grin. “Or a million. Or however old you guys are.”
“Yeah, I wish we had tried actually playing the game earlier,” Steven agreed. “I didn’t know what we were missing out on! Electric skates and centaurtaurs and death muffins… What more could anyone want?!”
“Indeed…” Pearl chuckled, though her smile faded somewhat as she turned to Ford. “Er, um… Stanford? I, uh… well I just wanted to say… thank you. Things have been rather… difficult for me lately, but… your offer to pick up our old past time again gave me a much-needed distraction and a reminder of how much fun we used to have together back in the day. I have to admit… I missed this.”
“As did I,” Ford returned her warm grin with complete sincerity. “By the way… I’ve heard about… what happened between you and Garnet. And if there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, then please, don’t hesitate to ask.”
The white Gem sighed somewhat sadly at this, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked down briefly. “I’m not sure if there’s anything anyone can do but… I appreciate the thought.”
“Uh, hey, Pearl?” Dipper cut in after this exchange, somewhat hesitant as he averted his teacher’s gaze. “I’m, uh… sorry about the Ancient Sea Blade. I know I promised I’d be carefully with it, but I guess I was kinda reckless back at the shack, and I did what you always tell me not to do in a fight and I acted too quickly and… well, you saw what happened to it…”
“Oh, Dipper,” Pearl laughed once more, her tone gentle and reassuring as she placed a hand on her young pupil’s shoulder. “I’m not angry about the Ancient Sea Blade. I’m just that you’re safe. And that you managed to fend off those ogres as skillfully as you did.”
“Well, I learned from the best,” Dipper shrugged, glad that the white Gem didn’t take the loss of her sword harshly whatsoever.
“You certainly did,” Pearl smiled proudly. “Though of course, this means we’ll have to outfit you with a new sword at some point, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, right?”
Dipper happily nodded in agreement with this, though unbeknownst to him or Pearl, Ford was already busy at work pondering on what the white Gem had just said. “A new sword…” the author muttered to himself, an idea striking him as he thought of what would be an excellent way to show his nephew his genuine appreciation.
“Y’know…” Stan began somewhat sheepishly as he garnished his nephew’s attention next. “I’m sorry to you too, kiddo, for making fun of your game. Sure, it might be too nerdy for me, but its just the right amount of nerdy for you and my brother. And Pearl, I guess, but we all already knew she was a huge nerd.”
“Oh wow, thank you, Stan,” Pearl deadpanned, though all the same, she had a smile on her face.
“Anyway,” the conman continued after sending the white Gem a brief cursory look. “If you wanna hang out with Ford sometimes, I won’t get in your way.”
“Actually, after all that, I think I could use a little mindless fun,” Dipper remarked with a small laugh, more than ready to rest after such a harrowing adventure.
“Guys! We can still watch the second showing of the Dogcopter/Ducktective crossover!” Grenda interjected boisterously. “It’s not too late! Now let’s GO!”
Sure enough, everyone made it back to the Mystery Shack just in time to catch the start of the crossover’s second airing. Steven, Mabel, Grenda, Dipper, Stan, and Soos all crowded into the den, disregarding the hole still present in the wall as they watched Ducktective and Dogcopter get into a heated argument as the third act of the special began.
“Oh no! Dogcopter and Ducktective shouldn’t fight!” Steven cried fretfully as he watched the animals’ subtitled quarrel. “They were getting along so well, what happened?!”
“The usual late in the game misunderstanding,” Soos shook his head disapprovingly. “Ya see it all the time in just about everything these days.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe they’d do something so cliché and predictable!” Mabel huffed, unwittingly spilling her snacks all over Stan’s lap. “We waited so long for this?!”
“What a rip off!” Grenda exclaimed, far from pleased.
“Seriously, what kinda two-bit hack wrote this junk?” Stan asked, though even despite the collective anger in the room, they all still watched the rest of the special intently, all of them secretly curious to see where it might lead.
Later that evening, after the thoughts of insane mathematical wizards and zany animal crossovers had been put to rest, Dipper ended up finding himself down in the basement lab once more as per Ford’s request. While everyone else had been watching the crossover, the author had apparently been collaborating with Pearl on something, but whatever it was seemed to be a surprise that Ford didn’t reveal, at least not immediately. Instead, he greeted his nephew warmly and presented him with the infinity sided die once more before sealing it tight in its case and locking it away in one of the many compartments of the basement’s large glass cabinet.
“Well, this ought to be safe and sound now,” Ford concluded with a satisfied grin. “It’ll be here if you ever need it.”
“Really?” Dipper asked with a frown. “Even after it got us into that huge mess earlier?”
“Eh, we both got carried away,” the author remarked with a hint of warmth in his tone. “I guess we’d both gone a while without a friend.”
Dipper couldn’t help but smile upon hearing this, feeling genuinely grateful for the solidarity and camaraderie that had been unexpectedly given to him by none other than the author of the journals himself. In light of the apparent hints of distance he had been feeling between himself and Mabel and Steven as of late, he appreciated the chance to be in the company of someone who not only shared similar interests to him, but truly respected him for his intelligence and verve. And in the end, not only had he gotten what he had wanted in finding a place for himself under the author’s wizened wing, but he had managed to form a solid, comfortable bond with his newfound great uncle. A bond that he had no intentions of every trying to break any time soon.
“Speaking of which…” Ford continued after a beat of silence, a small, sly smile spreading across his face. “I must say I was quite impressed with your surprising ability with a blade that you demonstrated earlier.”
“Oh, w-well, its nothing,” Dipper remarked somewhat bashfully, not really liking to play up those aforementioned abilities too frequently. “I’m still sort of a beginner after all…”
“Well, from what Pearl told me, you’ve progressed marvelously,” the author said, now holding something he had retrieved from his desk behind his back. “Which is why I asked her to help me put a little… something together for you. And the result of our craftsmanship is something I think you just might like.” Ford could no longer contain his full smile as he held out what he had been hiding for his nephew to finally see. Even upon a first glance, Dipper let out a surprised gasp at the sight of the beautiful falchion sword laid across the author’s outstretched hands, its blade covered by a simple sheath as its hilt presented a comfortable-looking grip and a curvaceous, well-designed guard. Ford noticed his nephew’s hesitance in taking such an exquisite gift, which was why he let out a small chuckle before nodding him on ahead. “Go on, my boy, take it. It is yours after all.”
Dipper mostly let go of his hesitance at this, finally taking the sword and carefully unsheathing it to find that its sharp, metallic blade contained hints of intricate technology to it, with bright lines of circuitry running across it in neat, organized lines. “Whoa…” he mused, his eyes wide with amazement as he looked over it. “It’s… amazing…”
“It certainly is, and in more than just looks too,” Ford remarked proudly, his hands behind his back. “Do you see that small dial on the pommel?” He pointed to said dial, which was divided between four vibrant colors: red, blue, yellow, and green, with the first of those being the one it was apparently set on. “Press down on it and see what happens.”
Curious, Dipper did so, only to gasp in alarm as the circuitry on the sword suddenly lit up, the blade igniting itself in bright, hot flames. “W-whoa!” he exclaimed, holding the fiery sword far out from him. “I-is this supposed to be happening?!”
“Yes, it works exactly as intended!” Ford chimed as he reached to turn the knob to the next setting. As soon as he did, the fire quelled itself, the blade glowing blue as its heat was replaced with a bitterly cold aura of misty frost. “You could say that I was a bit inspired by our rather… fantastical adventure earlier today when designing this. Those ‘flamey swords’ Mabel came up with in particular helped me envision the direction I wanted to go in with this invention. As did Steven’s ‘electric skates’.” With another turn of the dial, the sword burst into bright yellow sparks, lightning cackling from it, but fortunately never leaving the immediate surface of the blade itself. Ford turned the dial one last time, shifting the sword’s color to green as a powerful gust of wind, almost akin to a controlled tornado, struck up around the blade before it ultimately dissipated into nothing as the author pressed the pommel again, shutting the sword down. “It was quite an interesting project to take on in such a short notice, but I think I did a rather exemplary job, if I do say so myself,” Ford continued brightly. “The modifications were entirely of my design, but I do have Pearl to thank for giving me the base sword, as well as thinking up a name for it: the Sword of Seasons. Fitting, isn’t it?”
“The Sword of Seasons…” Dipper repeated with a smile as he looked to his new blade with immense satisfaction before properly sheathing it. “Yes, it is. And thank you so much, Great Uncle Ford. This thing is seriously so cool!”
“Yes, well, I’m glad I could equip you with a new one after what happened today,” Ford said, still beaming. “And of course, I’m sure you’ll use it wisely, so it was more than worth the trouble.” A beat of warmth passed between the pair, one that the author felt was far too short lived as he took the smallest glance at the curtain-covered window behind him. Behind which were secrets that he knew he finally had to come clean about, at least to someone. “Dipper… can I tell you something?” he ventured, his manner turning serious, almost grave even.
“Y-yeah, of course,” Dipper nodded, noting the author’s sudden shift in behavior, his own shifting right along with it.
“You asked me what I was working on earlier. Well…” Ford began, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling back the curtain to reveal the portal on the other side of it. Or rather, what little now remained of it. “I dismantled the portal. To be honest, I should have done this from the very moment Rose told me to years ago… An interdimensional gateway is too dangerous for the world it feeds into. That’s why I was mad at Stan for using it. He saved me, but as I feared, the instability of the machine created this:” The author pulled out a small, spherical glass globe, its appearance fortified but rather unassuming. What was contained within the globe, however, was much more fascinating: a formless, shapeless cloud of what almost looked to be the radiant depths of space itself, swirling within its petite containment unit without any sort of rhyme or reason. It was in a state of constant change, its glow casting light throughout the dimly lit basement as it seemed to pulsate with an unknown power. A power that felt both intriguing and catastrophic all at once. “Its an interdimensional rift,” Ford explained, keeping his voice low as he held onto the base of the glob tightly. “I’ve contained it for now, but its incredibly dangerous, which means it must remain safe and secure and most of all, secret. Dipper, I don’t want you to tell anyone about this. Not Stan, not the Gems, not even your sister. Understand?”
For a moment, the most Dipper could do was remain silent in light of the incredibly heavy weight Ford had just unexpectedly put upon his shoulders. Sure enough, the author had let him in on an incredibly guarded secret, one that could, as far as he knew, put the town, maybe even the entire world at risk if not well kept. But to keep such a secret from those he trusted most, to hide something so monumental and so important from his family, his friends, his sister? If he was perfectly honest with himself, Dipper wasn’t sure if he could withstand that kind of pressure to uphold such a vow of untold silence. And yet… he knew that he would ultimately have to. The amount of genuine trust and reliance Ford was placing in him, to tell him and no one else, not even his old research partners, the Gems, about this rift could not be betrayed. In fact, Dipper refused to let himself betray that trust out of sheer conviction alone. It wasn’t a matter of trying to prove to the author that he could handle this; it was a matter of protecting this incredible important, incredibly fragile object before him. And as far as he knew, the only way he could really protect it, was to remain silent about it, just as Ford had said.
“I—uh, o-of course,” Dipper nodded a moment later, putting as much resolve into his tone as he could as he met the author’s expectant gaze squarely.
Ford nodded in acceptance at this, letting out a small sigh of relief as he pulled the rift a bit closer to him. “Thank you,” he said with genuine gratitude. “In my time, I’ve made many powerful enemies, but I trust you with this secret. Now, get to bed. I have much research to do. And as I said before, take care with that new sword of yours!”
“I will,” Dipper promised just as sincerely, gripping the Sword of Seasons tight to his chest as he turned to head back upstairs, as if it alone could protect the immense secret he had just sworn to keep. “Goodnight, Great Uncle Ford.”
“Goodnight, Dipper,” Ford called back with a warm smile, one that disappeared as soon as his nephew left the room. The author let out a tired sigh, looking down to the rift in his hands once again, its relative weightlessness seemingly making it feel all the more heavy in a way. He knew he ran a risk telling just about anyone at all about this dimensional tear that could just as easily rip its way through existence itself, but he firmly did believe that Dipper would keep this secret well. Just as he readily believed Rose could have if she were still around today, though Ford figured he’d just have to make to with whom he had.
So, the author put the rift away, tucking it safely back in its hidden place in the compartment at his desk, hoping to get some peace of mind with it put out of his sight. But even so, the rift continued radiating its hauntingly beautiful glow, its ever-shifting clusters of stars carrying the fate of existence itself upon them. An existence that could just as easily come to a violent, destructive end if it ever fell into the wrong hands…
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sanguinesorceress · 6 years
Text
Marked for Death (Part 2)
[Part 1]
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“Porter?! Another cask of Peaked Dalaran White, when you have a moment please!”
Porter.  It had supplanted his real name in people’s thoughts, but Oneth Sagestriker didn’t seem to mind the nickname at all.  Polite to a fault, the Kaldorei with boyish good looks and eyes as silver as a beam of moonlight always wore a smile despite the burden he carried on his broad shoulders.  “Coming right up!” he chirped, springing to his feet with the vigor of a Brewfest wolpertinger being chased by drunken buffoons to fulfil his coworker’s request.  Sure he had been offered a position as a bartender in the Ledgermain Lounge, but he declined for ‘personal reasons.’  Which his employer attributed to the rumour that his wife was sick and the change in his work schedule would conflict with visiting hours.  It was not entirely false, as there were other reasons for him to actively seek refuge in anonymity.  The busboy is but a thread in the Bartender’s tapestry.  It was the perfect cover for moonlighting as a hired assassin.
Waiting between two specially designated crates in the back stockroom was his next assignment, and Gods knew he needed the gold.  His current position didn’t exactly pay the best wages and the expenses for his wife’s treatment were piling up.  It wasn’t honest work, but it was a means to an end— or so he had hoped.  The recent diagnosis was handed down with the condemnation of a life-sentence unto an innocent soul.  Why did it have to be her?  If anything, he should have been the one to fall ill as a form of penance for his unconventional profession.
Closing time was just around the corner, and with the cask tapped and fitted in its proper place, Oneth excused himself from his shift.  Finding a moment of solitude, he peeked at the hidden piece of parchment that would direct him toward his next ‘target.’  Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, the porter closed his eyes and took a deep breath to still the hammering in his chest before withdrawing, not one, but two papers stacked neatly together.  He recognized the first, it was from his usual employer, but the other was foreign in both penmanship and vellum.  Postponing the first in favour of the second, Oneth unfolded the note to read its contents:  
Despite what the doctors have convinced you to believe, your wife’s terminal condition is indeed reversible.  Meet me on the easternmost island in Stormheim and be sure to come alone.  Your every move henceforth is being monitored closely.  Breathe a word of this to anyone and she dies today.  I trust you will be discreet.
The other contained a name and a location written in code, so if the paper was discovered it would read as meaningless jargon to untrained eyes.  Oneth glanced up at the clock, his eyes darting from one number to the next as he calculated the time it would take to fulfill his given assignment as well as the impromptu directive.  If he left this instant, he would have enough time to complete both.
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Off the coast of Morheim a long and narrow enclave hugs a large portion of the shoreline.  Comprised of mostly rocky terrain, the island is largely uninhabitable save for lichens, crustaceans, roosting birds, and a small colony of bilgefin murlocs who are to credit for its namesake of ‘Bilgefin Shore.’
Oneth arrived by nightfall on the back of his trusted nightsaber, Whisper, who was every bit as quiet as her name implied despite the hulking cat’s size.  When traveling through a murloc colony, it was best to bring a predatory feline with a healthy appetite for amphibious beasts, since these little monsters tended to move in swarms.  Blades drawn and ready to strike, he anticipated an unprovoked attack from the territorial fish-men wielding rudimentary spears as weapons.  It did not sound like much of a challenge until one found themselves to be overcome in an instant by a swarm of carnivorous halflings.  Razor sharp teeth, webbed digits, and bulging eyes offered a great advantage under water, but on land the only safety found was from gathering in overwhelming numbers.  Whisper’s experience took over, and with meals on flippers waddling all around her, she knew she would have her pick of the platter.  Already she was licking her chops and crouching low, her tail ticking like a metronome, waiting for the signal to pounce.
A rain of spears swiftly followed the aggressive battle cry of “Mrglmrglmrglll!!!” and one did not need to be fluent in Nerglish to know they had been spotted.
Whisper sprang into action, snatching a cerulean murloc with iridescent green stripes and snapping its neck in her powerful jaws.  In a single bound, the nightsaber had pinned five of them to the sand, where they met a violent end delivered mercilessly by sharpened teeth and deadly claws.  Oneth dismounted, and immediately jolted from the barrage of frigid water bolts hurled by one of the magic weilders.  Before he could retaliate, however, Whisper was on top of the violet murloc in an instant.  “Save some for me, will you?!” he teased as he sliced through rubbery flesh, inflicting them with a lethal dose of poison he had anointed his blades with earlier.
“Aaaaaughibbrgubugbugrguburgle!” came the cry of their chieftan, and it was followed in unison with a resounding “mlargh!” from the rest of the tribe.  It was unusual behavior for a territorial species, but it appeared as though the angry mob was now... retreating?
The murlocs’ diet consisted primarily of the crimson rockshell crabs co-habiting the area, whatever marine life they managed to spear, and the occasional traveler who wandered too close.  As a direct result of their lifestyle, the air surrounding a murloc dwelling was laden with the nauseating stench of rotting fish caracases.  Freshly added to this revolting bouquet was the odour of spilled blood from their fallen brethren, and in an attempt to diffuse some of the smell, Oneth pulled his mask over his nose.  Shiny bobbles strung into sun-catchers dangled everywhere around the shanty-town, which was the product of repurposed cargo that had washed ashore from passing Vrykul ships.
A chilling breeze blew in from the eastern shore, and with it came a low-rolling fog that chased away the worst of the fetid stench with an aseptic gust of salt sea air.  The sudden onset of this nearly impenetrable mist grounded the seagulls overhead, and had murlocs scrambling up the stilts of their grass roof huts in search of shelter.  Whether their behaviour was driven by instinct or experience, there was an unsettling change in their mannerisms that could only be described as sheer terror.  With a hand resting on the pommel of Whisper’s saddle, the assassin placed his absolute trust in her ability to lead him through the mist using her sharpened senses.
On the horizon, an ambiguous silhouette made manifest within the fog.  At first he believed it to be a ship in the distance, but as it neared the shadow gradually took on the form of a tall, feminine figure.  “Oneth Sagestriker,” she murmured while approaching the assassin, and her words echoed amidst the waves until they too collided with the inevitable shore, “I do hope the murlocs were not too troublesome.”  Her voice was a siren’s song, alluring, yet perilous to those who ventured too close to the water’s edge.
“I have come alone as you have requested.  Now tell me what I must do to spare my wife.”  Taller the silhouette grew, until the woman stood looming over him with the majesty of a Vrykul warrior, a race native to Stormheim whom are believed to be descended from giants.  “Who are you, and why have you called upon me?”  Was he, by some fortuitous chance, in the presence of a Val’kyr, a winged spirit capable of resurrecting the dead?
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“I have been given many names,” crooned the mysterious woman, “but you may simply refer to me as the Tide Seer.”  Slowly, the mists parted to reveal a robust woman with seaweed in place of hair and scales shimmering across her verdant skin.  Barnacles clung to her dress, which appeared to be fashioned from the tattered sails of sunken ships.
“I know what you are,” Oneth growled, and the hair on Whisper’s back bristled in response to the contempt seething from her master’s lips as he spat the word, “Kvaldir.”  Not only did it explain the mist’s abrupt arrival, but the reaction it garnered from terrified murlocs as they scurried away from the danger it heralded.
“Tisk, tisk,” she chided while focusing a stare toward him as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself.  “We wouldn’t want your wife to fall into sudden cardiac arrest over a bit of prejudice, now would we?  Mind your manners, assassin, and sharpen your hearing instead of your blades.”  Although thought to be folklore, the Kvaldir were actually a ruthless and barbaric race of corrupt Vrykul who had taken to the seas as opposed to the land.  Primarily elusive humanoids, the only other location they could be found was on the blistering cold isles off the coast of Northrend.
Oneths’ moonlit eyes narrowed into waxing crescents as he countered with a pointed glare.  “Alright, sea witch, I’ll entertain you with an honest question. What makes you so confident you can cure my wife when she has already seen the best doctors gold can buy?”
“There is a way,” she hummed, “ although unconventional as it may seem, the outcome is guaranteed, I assure you.”  A slow smile crept across her pale blue lips as she watched his expression transform from malice to intrigue, “and for a man of your profession there should be no contest.  A life for a life.  Your dearly beloved will live a long and healthy lifespan free of illness, and all you have to do is add one more target to your roster.”  Could it really be that simple?
“How do you plan to accomplish that?”  By this point, his feline companion had nearly doubled in size.  Everything about this encounter rubbed her the wrong way, causing the fur on her body to stand fully erect and tingle with electricity.  
“It is a simple equation of give and take, really.  By trimming lifespan of one individual, it allows the opportunity to transfer the remainder to another.  As for the details, let us simply agree that I have my area of expertise just as you have yours.  Do we have a deal or not?”
Oneth gave pause as he weighed his options, studying every possible aspect and outcome of the business transaction.  “What sort of guarantee do I have that you will keep your word, Tide Seer?”  While he found her offer tempting, the assassin also had enough experience not to bargain blindly.
The creeping mist swirled to life, demonstrating its omnipresence by swallowing the entire coastal shore and the murloc village housed therein.  One by one, each of the aquatic monsters burbled and gasped like fish on dry land before flopping to the sand with a lifeless ‘thud’.  “The only guarantee I am willing to give… is the promise of carrying out my threats.”
A wave of dizziness swept over him and he leaned heavily on Whisper for support.  Unfortunately, the feline was also feeling a bit unsteady on her paws and she hissed, wide-eyed and panicked as her limbs betrayed her, forcing the nightsaber to fall on her belly.  A triumphant smirk pulled at the witch’s lips as she watched him choke on the fog; coughing like a man with a fish bone stuck in his throat, as he collapsed to his knees while clutching his neck.  Without so much as lifting a finger, she had asphyxiated nearly everything within her realm of influence. “Would you doubt my abilities at the cost of your own life?  Perhaps your beloved wife’s?  Or are you not motivated enough to save her?”  
“Alright!” he wheezed, “You have made your point!”  and with his yielding the mists slowly receded.  Oneth gulped down several breaths as though he had discovered the only break in a wall of ice trapping him beneath a frozen lake.  “Who do you want me to kill?”
“He who hails from the floating city, Magister Jadex.”
“A Kirin Tor magus?”  Every burning breath he took scraped like sandpaper against his ribs.  “What would a Kvaldir such as yourself hope to accomplish by killing someone like him?” he puzzled while massaging the center of his chest.
“The Violet peace keepers have overstepped their boundaries.  I intend to send a message for them to cease meddling in Vrykul affairs.  I do not care how you accomplish your task, only that you adhere to the following conditions.”  For each directive she named, the seer counted by peeling back one of her knobby fingers.  “First, he must suffer a slow and excruciating death, and the second is that you deliver a personal message.”
“What is the message you wish for me to convey?”
“One day I will return and he won't be around to see me rise again.”
“Very well,” he sighed reluctantly.  It wasn’t as though he had been given a choice in the matter.  “I shall do as you ask.”
“Take these pearls,” she directed, “place one in his home, and the other next to your wife.  When the elven magus dies, the disease will depart from her body and the remainder of his lifespan shall become hers.  You have precisely twelve hours to uphold your end of the bargain or I shall keep my promise and send her to an early grave.  The shifting sands begin their descent… starting now.”
Before he could protest or request more time to carry out such a daunting task, the Tide Seer dispersed with a splash of salt water and collapsed into a lifeless heap of seaweed on the shore.
Desperation was a cruel motivator, and Oneth understood he needed to make every second count as though it was his wife’s last.
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