The Local Angst Lord

| 22 | She/Her | I love to write and draw the Jacksepticeye Egos and most enjoy exploring my own AUs and ships! |

[geekyfox2]

I'm aiming to practice being efficient when it comes to my art, so I'm giving a 25% discount to my next five commission slots!

The discount will be applied to the final agreed price, and I will begin work primarily based on the order of the slots.

Feel free to DM for enquiries! <3

[geekyfox2]

Don't Leave AU Story List

Words: 4, 288 TW: Amputation phantom pain, discussion of physical recovery from acute and chronic injuries, emotional distress, panic attacks - Hurt/Comfort Summary: Still learning to live with their new scars, Marvin desperately employs Henrik's help after Jackie reaches his breaking point.

.

Henrik was a man suited to question many things, but a plea from Marvin, of all people, was not one of them. That man was pig-headed at the best of times, whose pride bit him in the behind more times than the doctor could count.

Seeing eye to eye was utterly out of the question. After so many years of going blue in the face trying to advise and sway his stubborn mind, Henrik had convinced himself that Marvin would rather die than stoop as low as to ask for his help—

So when he saw the two new texts appear in his notifications, one right after the other, he immediately sat up from his desk chair.

"Can you come over?"

"Jackie is not okay and I don't know what to do."

Henrik had the car keys in his hand before he even switched off his phone. Only seconds passed; his computer monitor locked over unsaved, mind-numbing documents, and his seat creaked as he pulled himself onto his feet. It was not until his knees wavered with a punishing ache that he realised he had almost left the office without his cane, which he had jammed between his desk drawer handle to keep it from toppling over. He turned to snatch it from its resting place, but scowled at its infuriating delight in getting its handle caught and pulling the drawer open along with it.

He managed to wrench it free after a minor scuffle, but he already heard the all-too-familiar clicking gait on the vinyl floor behind him. Damn it all. Had he not initially forgotten the blasted thing, he likely could have slipped free without confrontation.

"Uh"— that first accusatory pitch would forever enrage him, as would the reproach which swiftly followed—"Schneeplestein, where do you think you're off to?"

Henrik had no mind to pay his supervisor any more than a glance, even on a good day. He asked questions he already knew the answers to, and the ones he didn't were spoken in a tone indicative of conceited authority.

"Your lunch break isn't for another hour—"

"Family emergency." Henrik grabbed the brown overcoat from its peg beside the door and slung it over his arm.

The authority Smith had as his supervisor was irrefutable, but it held little weight when they both knew there were at least a dozen laws forbidding him from physically stopping him. When he stepped between him and the doorway, he had to swivel to one side only a moment later when it was clear Henrik had no intention of listening.

"Have you asked for permission—?" He grew frantic as the doctor strode past him, yet being unable to lay a finger on him kept him from doing little more than exclaim at his back. "Schneeplestein! You cannot leave without authorisation!"

Only the hastened rap of his cane replied to him at that.

He overheard the scowl from behind him, the frustration only one new layer to the deeply rooted contention stretching far beyond this single exchange.

"This'll be a disciplinary, I hope you know!"

"Fire me, then!" Henrik called out over his shoulder from the other end of the hall, knowing damn well they could not.

In the end, he supposed it was the one good thing about recently being shot.

.

It was almost as though Marvin had been waiting by the door, because he answered before the doorbell had even stopped ringing. When it opened, the stress in his face was evident. His hair had fallen out of its ponytail, tear streams gleamed from his cheeks, and his opalescent eyes shimmered in hues of blue and green.

Six small lines carved indents through his lips, the freshly-healed flesh reddened in places Marvin had begun to worry between his teeth.

"I-I don't know what to do..." a tiny voice uttered tearfully right then and there.

"Is he hurt?" Was Henrik's first question as he stepped inside and looked around the apartment hallway.

Marvin shook his head and shut the door behind him with a click.

"Where is he?"

"He's in the living room," he led him a few steps forward, and Henrik followed at his side. "Don't worry about taking off your shoes."

"I wasn't going to," Henrik could already spot his friend's leg from within the room, and his brow knitted into a frown before he looked back towards Marvin. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"We were sitting together, when he just stood up without thinking," Marvin lowered his voice, his sleek fingers closing around Henrik's sleeve, still trembling. "I-I think he forgot... a-about his leg, I mean, and he fell over... he was not hurt at all, but..." he looked into the living room, his heart positively aching through his gaze, "he will not get up. I tried to help him, but nothing I do is—" his tone cracked "—I-I don't know what to do." A deviant tear retraced the steps of its predecessors as he blinked.

Henrik hummed flatly. Marvin released his sleeve and instead pushed his unpainted fingernails between his teeth, allowing him to walk through the non-existent barrier of the doorway.

On the other side, sunlight poured like waterfalls through the floor-to-ceiling window and spilt across neat, comfortable furniture. Scattered dust drifted aimlessly within the golden beams, and the bustle of the city far below was merely white noise. The air smelt like fabric softener and candles. Like coffee and ointment and warm nylon from the empty wheelchair sat in the sun.

Jackie sat, crumpled, with his back pressed into the corner of their chaise sofa. His face burned red, as did the sclera of his puffy eyes. He sniffed wetly, and his entire body flinched.

He was dressed in grey gingham-patterned pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, the latter clearly making his skin run hot, as his forehead gleamed with sweat.

Jackie dragged his fingers through his hair and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. His one leg hunched into his chest while his other arm hooked around his neck to grasp at the cloth of his hoodie.

The left pyjama leg was noticeably empty, the fabric twisted upon itself in obvious agitation.

Henrik approached him, his cane pushing into the plush carpet with every step.

"Jackie..." His voice suddenly ran softer, as though one breath too loud would startle the invulnerable hero like a wild animal.

Jackie did not answer him, nor did he look up. He sniffed again, his lip trembling as a tear dripped from his unkempt beard.

Marvin lingered silently in the doorway.

Henrik closed the distance between them until he stood roughly a foot away, then his hand slid down the length of his cane as he – very gradually – lowered himself to Jackie's level. His knees gave an incredibly humbling chorus of cracks, paired perfectly an involuntary grunt.

"I am making my presence quite known, aren't I?" Henrik joked dryly, mostly to himself. Neither of them offered him even the most pitiful of smiles. That was alright – he wouldn't either.

He crossed his legs together, setting his cane down flat beside him before leaning forward with his hands in his lap.

"What's wrong?" He asked ever so gently, his perpetual frown softening as it always would at the sight of him.

No answer.

Jackie's breath hitched. He scrubbed the base of his palm into his eye, drenching it in tears.

Henrik's heart ached beyond measure.

He would be a liar if he ever breathed a word to suggest that the sight before him was not jarring. Though it was certainly not the first time he had seen Jackie cry, the sheer pain before him was a familiar enemy he had not been face to face with in many years. It hauled him back to their younger years, to a time when the correct name became a privilege to dredge for, and a haircut meant losing one's bedroom door.

Jackie sniffed again, and Henrik saw that young boy curled up beneath the sinks in the girls' bathroom, the same one who sobbed in hysterics in their classroom hideaway.

"There is little good in sitting on the floor," the doctor filled the silence when offered no response, the stretched muscles of his own legs already beginning to scream at him. "Let's get you up and comfortable—"

Yet as he reached out to hook his hands beneath his arm, Jackie did something new. He reared away from him, jerking from his grip like it was instinctive, as though Henrik's hands were made of fire, intent on searing him.

With a hitching breath, the hero croaked out, "I can't–!"

Henrik recoiled in an instant, his gaze peering over the rim of his glasses as if he could find any answers in the blurred hue of red which became his friend's face.

"Why not?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. "Are you hurt?"

Jackie did not lie when he shook his head, but it was not true.

The pain had burrowed deeper, that much he knew, far beyond the reach of the internal stitches in his cheek and leg. It was beyond even his comprehension.

"I can't..." He uttered once more, strained as he buried his brow into the crook of his elbow. His voice shrivelled alongside his body, so much so that it was like he was trying to twist himself out of existence. "I can't..."

Henrik allowed a moment of silence to settle between them, ignoring Marvin's eyes boring into him.

He wetted his lips, nodding slowly to himself as he returned to the well-known desire path his own two feet had carved years prior.

"Where are your glasses, my friend?"

Finally, Jackie responded and reached dejectedly to retrieve his abandoned glasses from the floor. He handed them to him in a shaking hand, and Henrik lowered his gaze to clean them with a cloth he kept tucked into his pocket.

After another beat of silence, he spoke again, his voice as cautious as drifting snowfall, "now, can you tell me what happened?"

Jackie sniffed, a wet, rattling sound so unbearable that Henrik had half a mind to drop what he was doing and find a tissue. Or five.

"I forgot—" he admitted with a voice drenched in shame, "—I-I was watching TV and I went to get something to eat when I just forgot! I forgot I don't have a leg – how stupid is that?!"

Henrik had no chance to answer as he hauled in a shuddering breath, which then escaped as something between a sob and a heartbroken, descending laugh.

"S-So when I got up, I fell, and..." His fingers enclosed around his tufts of uncombed hair, pulling it taut as though he might rip it right out.

"When you realised, it was like everything felt like it was a bit too much?"

Jackie nodded slowly, the acceleration in his tone simmering as Henrik somehow found the words which failed him. His other hand dragged itself upward to join the other within his hair, strangling it from his scalp. When he parted his lips, strings of saliva stretched like sinew, snapping stitches willing his mouth closed to no avail.

"I-I don't know why I even bothered to get up..." His voice grew smaller, trembling and stammering as though admitting it sent volts of lightning up his flesh. "I can't do anything anymore..."

Henrik gently scratched away the tearstains from his lenses with his thumbnail. "And why do you feel that way?"

"Isn't it obvious?" An edge of frustration seeped beyond the cracks of his voice. "I can't walk! Anytime I move, I either can't reach anything, or my hands are full with the crutches! I can't even get to the plates on the top shelf or get inside half the places I used to because there aren't any proper entrances or everything's too small for my wheelchair!"

Henrik felt Marvin's gaze leave him and pointed elsewhere. Guilt thickened the air, as plentiful as the golden sunlight.

"It hurts all the time, and when it doesn't it still feels like it's there, like my brain is playing some sick joke on me!" Those last few words broke down into a sob, and drenched his shaking voice as he continued. "If I can't even do something as easy as standing up, how am I gonna get back out in the city? I'm supposed to protect people... but how can I help anyone like this?"

"Jackie–"

"I'm basically useless now—!"

That made the doctor's heart leap into his throat.

"Jackie," Henrik spoke more clearly. Louder. "That's enough. That isn't true, and you know it."

"It is!"

"No, it is not," he sounded sterner now, but only to blockade the spiralling thoughts swarming to the surface like hornets. "Because if you deem yourself useless, then I am no better—" It was a cruel game to play – he knew that – but he could stand it no longer. The lies invading his friend's mind did not deserve a gentle hand. "—And a long time ago you wasted far too much energy convincing me that I wasn't."

Jackie let out another sob and squeezed harder at his hair.

Henrik set the pair of glasses aside and careened forward onto his knees. He reached out, grasping Jackie's wrists as though to snatch him from a great fall.

"So if I am not useless, then you most certainly are not," he insisted sharply.

"But that's different! You were tortured—"

"Of course it is different! But losing something you have relied on for your entire life is nothing to dismiss!" Henrik tightened his grip on his wrists, his frown casting deep shadows upon his face in the light. "Jackie, look at me."

Jackie did not look up the first time, so he said it once more. Only then did his bloodshot, cornflower-blue eyes peer up towards him, his vision undoubtedly just as blurred as Henrik's would be without his glasses.

"The fact that you have gone this long without having that fact crashing down on you is nothing short of a miracle, but just because it is different now does not mean you will not adapt." He held each word above the sorrow rising in his chest, the success in doing so swiftly fleeting when he acknowledged the sorrow in his friend's face. "When you pulled me out of that hell, I could hardly remember my own name. I could not eat or even hold my pen, and I had to use a cane before I was thirty. I had to relearn how to do everything, how to feed myself and write, and I despised every second of it,

"But I did it, because of you. Even though my physical health will never be what it used to be, I learned how to make things easier. It took years, and it's still not perfect – my hands still shake, and I have to use different pens, but I can write." His tone cracked despite his best efforts, so he hitched in a breath. "And I am still alive now – we all are – because you sacrificed everything! I am still here, I can still go to work, I can get married because of you. So you better stop using that word before I have to slap the sense back into you!" He shooed burning tears away from his eyes in a flurry of blinks.

Jackie's hands slipped out from his hair, leaving it tousled and sticky with tears, and Henrik released his wrists as they suddenly flung around his shoulders.

He fell back from the sheer force, the quiet yelp of surprise which escaped him drowning beneath the sound of Jackie's crying. Yet his hands, perpetually trembling, could only hover for a moment before finding solace against his friend's back.

He could feel the tears and snot drenching his shoulder, but he did not care.

"I'm sorry– I'm so sorry!" Jackie spluttered out breathlessly, those words holding far more depth than Henrik could begin to imagine. It was impossible to discern exactly what he was apologising for – perhaps the worry he had caused, perhaps for even crying in the first place – but it did not matter.

"It's alright, my friend, you have nothing to apologise for..." Henrik whispered into his hair, tightening his grip as though it could do anything to hold him together.

Minutes, or perhaps an hour, passed by. The sunlight began to drift up towards the wall, softening the harsh shadows and the ever-blinding glint caught in Henrik's lenses.

As Jackie's sobs softened into sniffles and hiccups, Henrik heard the padded footsteps of Marvin behind him. They were slow, tentative, and each step seemed to wonder if they even deserved to approach. The doctor glanced in his direction, warranting the magician to pause before he gave a reassuring nod. He could almost feel the sigh of relief run through his scarred lips.

An arm rested over the hero's shoulder, then a gentle hand hovered over Henrik's thin back.

"Come on, my darling, let's get you off the floor..." Marvin uttered gently as Jackie lifted his head, an unflattering string stretching between his nose and Henrik's jumper.

"Maybe we should get you a tissue first," Henrik said, and Jackie quickly recoiled, his cheeks flushing a deeper beetroot-red.

"Sorry..."

"It is nothing to apologise for, my friend."

Marvin plucked a handful from the box that sat on the coffee table, handed them over, and Jackie immediately buried his face into them.

Regardless of his words, Henrik no longer found the need to suppress the way his skin crawled at the sounds which followed.

.

"Are you sure you are okay to be doing this?" Marvin hovered anxiously a few feet away from the stove where Henrik flipped over a sizzling grilled cheese.

"I would not be doing it otherwise," Henrik said without looking up.

Across the hall, in the living room, Jackie was sitting on the sofa, busying his mind with his first pick of a film while nursing a glass of water. His hoodie was off, his sweat-soaked shirt replaced, and his skin washed over with a cool cloth, which now rested on the back of his neck. The circle-frame glasses sat upon his nose were gleaming, lenses clean, in the sunlight. They could still hear him hiccup every so often, each one pulling both of their gazes toward him with quiet concern.

"Are you going to get into trouble with work?"

"Probably, but I would love to see them try and fire me."

"I'm sorry..." Marvin wrapped his arms around himself, "for pulling you away, and for... making you do that."

"Helping him is not 'making' me do anything," Henrik glanced at him, eyeing him with a slight frown for any sign of insinuation in his words.

Rather than glare as he would have only a few months ago, Marvin practically flinched. "I did not mean it like that," he said, his voice low, "I've just never seen him like this. Even when he gets upset, I was always able to encourage him at least to drink something or take a deep breath..."

"Losing a limb does tend to be quite traumatic." Henrik replied rather bluntly, which was typically where Marvin took issue.

Just as expected, he scoffed at that, "do you have to be a smartass right now?"

"No. I mean it." He insisted. "You've never seen him like this because he's never gone through something so permanent. Even when he was gravely wounded, was he not back on his feet like nothing happened in a matter of days?"

"It was less like it never happened... he has enough scars to prove that," Marvin muttered, but even he could not help but nod, "but I suppose..."

"Though he may not regret it, we have to understand that he has lost something he relied on so heavily that it never even crossed his mind to lose," Henrik continued, and lowered the heat on the stove so he could look at him. "You both have."

"Mine aren't the same," yet his fingers still ghosted over his lips where the stitches once lay embedded, torn right through when he screamed at the sight of Jackie falling that night.

Henrik took note of Marvin's appearance. Once utterly pristine and well-groomed, the term 'dishevelled' felt all too light in describing him now.

While the majority of his hygiene remained on par, Henrik noticed that his sleek hair had become greasy at the roots – something that would have had him rushing to the shower mere months prior. His once-stiletto-shaped nails were now blunted and unpainted, and the skin around his knuckles was dry and cracking.

Dark shadows washed over his eyelids, and the make-up he typically wore seemed utterly out of the question now. He held himself differently, too, with his arms wrapped around himself and his opalescent eyes averting their gaze more often than not.

"You went through something terrible," Henrik said as if he did not already know, as if it did not keep him awake at night.

"It is not nearly comparable to what you all went through."

"It should not be comparable,"

"He never would have had to do what he did if it were not for me,"

"And you never would have been where you were if I had not called upon him." Just mentioning him made them both take pause, even for a heartbeat, despite knowing there was nothing left to follow it anymore. Once certain of no buzzing static, Henrik took in a breath. "Yet I suppose if I hadn't, you would be dead. We could push reason and blame until we go blue in the face and still end up in a circle."

Marvin nodded slowly, yet still worried at his lip. He already had the blossoming of a mucocele to show for it.

"We are all still here," Henrik then continued as he flipped the grilled cheese over once more, "and I have had to learn that accepting that is the only way forward."

"I suppose..."

"He isn't alone through all of this this."

Marvin grew tense at that and gripped the sleeve of his shirt. "I just... I just feel horrible for standing on the sidelines through all of that. I'm his husband, I should be able to help him..."

"You did help him," Henrik stated flatly, watching the cheese between the bread begin to pour down the sides and hiss. "You called in support when you felt like you couldn't provide what he needed. Understanding that isn't standing on the sidelines, it is the best thing you can do."

Marvin's eyes welled with tears at that, and his scarred lip began to quiver. Henrik only had a moment to brace his balance before the magician flung his arms around him. His note of surprise sounded far more agitated than it did with Jackie and bordered on a groan, but he did not recoil.

He stood rather awkwardly as Marvin began to weep, still holding the spatula in one hand while the other hovered over his back. After a moment, when it seemed he had no mind to pull away just yet, it settled and rubbed tentatively at his trembling shoulder.

He stayed there, eyes on the frying pan, while Marvin sniffled and held on tighter. It was only when the magician himself drew back a minute or so later that Henrik suddenly wriggled free.

"Alright, that's enough," he grumbled as if he had not stood there the entire time. "My jumper has already endured enough of an assault today."

"Oh dear, I'm sorry," Marvin gave a weak laugh and ran his fingertips beneath his eyes to sop up the tears, only to swallow his pride a moment later and fetch a square of kitchen towel.

Henrik responded with a hum and returned his focus to the grilled cheese still sizzling away, now lightly smoking. One satisfied by its golden-brown colour, he worked the spatula beneath the bottom and lifted it onto a plate he had grabbed from the top shelf. Doing so reminded him of a thought permeating his mind.

"I am going to speak to Chase once I get home. I am sure he will help you and Jackie make your home more accessible," he remarked, searching four drawers with increasing agitation before finally locating the cutlery. "I am also going to buy a swivel stool for your kitchen."

Marvin knitted his brow together at that. "A swivel stool?" He echoed.

Henrik nodded, pushing a knife through the middle of the sandwich. The toasted bread crunched deliciously, and a generous amount of cheese spilt out and onto the plate. "Chase bought me one for ours. Standing can be difficult, so it is easier to sit and use the wheels to push myself. It would be smaller than the wheelchair and easier to turn. Not to mention that you can adjust the height as needed, too. It made the kitchen accessible to me again, once I accepted that I looked silly using it."

Marvin parted his lips, an expression crossing his features that one would bear upon realising something so simple.

"That is... a very good idea, now that you mention it," he said, looking around the kitchen as Henrik dropped the knife in their sink with no intention to wash it up himself. "He wouldn't get stuck that way, and he'd keep his hands free... I'm sure I can buy one myself, there's no need to spend your own money." His eyes pulled upward toward the top shelf, a spark of disdain flickering in his chest now that he knew it proved a bother for his husband. "I do still intend to reorganise these shelves, though."

"They could do with dusting too," Henrik said as he picked up the plate, then his cane from the counter it was propped against. "It will help with your lungs. You might be too short to see it, but I'm not."

Without another word, he moved across the hallway and into the living room.

Marvin could swallow down his urge to retort, and instead repurposed it into an eyeroll. When he saw the way Jackie smiled at the sight of him, however watery it still was, it no longer mattered.

Though he knew his blunt tone would eternally vex him, Marvin knew Henrik meant well.

It was slightly harder to keep that in mind when he saw the dishes left in the sink, though.

.

Jackie's always steadfast, especially when it comes to Henrik, so imagining him in a position where they switch places is so interesting to me! This was very fun to write, it's great to dig my teeth into a nice, long oneshot again!

If you need any context as to what happened, check out the AU playlist. Be warned that the main story is quite old (I hope to rewrite it one day), but the majority of the oneshots are a little more up-to-date!

This one especially is my parallel to this fic, in case anyone was curious as to what Henrik was talking about! Spilled Ink

Thank you for reading! I apologise if there are any mistakes or messiness, I will fix them as I see them!

Reblogs greatly appreciated! /np <3

[geekyfox2]

Don't Leave AU Story List

Words: 4, 288 TW: Amputation phantom pain, discussion of physical recovery from acute and chronic injuries, emotional distress, panic attacks - Hurt/Comfort Summary: Still learning to live with their new scars, Marvin desperately employs Henrik's help after Jackie reaches his breaking point.

.

Henrik was a man suited to question many things, but a plea from Marvin, of all people, was not one of them. That man was pig-headed at the best of times, whose pride bit him in the behind more times than the doctor could count.

Seeing eye to eye was utterly out of the question. After so many years of going blue in the face trying to advise and sway his stubborn mind, Henrik had convinced himself that Marvin would rather die than stoop as low as to ask for his help—

So when he saw the two new texts appear in his notifications, one right after the other, he immediately sat up from his desk chair.

"Can you come over?"

"Jackie is not okay and I don't know what to do."

Henrik had the car keys in his hand before he even switched off his phone. Only seconds passed; his computer monitor locked over unsaved, mind-numbing documents, and his seat creaked as he pulled himself onto his feet. It was not until his knees wavered with a punishing ache that he realised he had almost left the office without his cane, which he had jammed between his desk drawer handle to keep it from toppling over. He turned to snatch it from its resting place, but scowled at its infuriating delight in getting its handle caught and pulling the drawer open along with it.

He managed to wrench it free after a minor scuffle, but he already heard the all-too-familiar clicking gait on the vinyl floor behind him. Damn it all. Had he not initially forgotten the blasted thing, he likely could have slipped free without confrontation.

"Uh"— that first accusatory pitch would forever enrage him, as would the reproach which swiftly followed—"Schneeplestein, where do you think you're off to?"

Henrik had no mind to pay his supervisor any more than a glance, even on a good day. He asked questions he already knew the answers to, and the ones he didn't were spoken in a tone indicative of conceited authority.

"Your lunch break isn't for another hour—"

"Family emergency." Henrik grabbed the brown overcoat from its peg beside the door and slung it over his arm.

The authority Smith had as his supervisor was irrefutable, but it held little weight when they both knew there were at least a dozen laws forbidding him from physically stopping him. When he stepped between him and the doorway, he had to swivel to one side only a moment later when it was clear Henrik had no intention of listening.

"Have you asked for permission—?" He grew frantic as the doctor strode past him, yet being unable to lay a finger on him kept him from doing little more than exclaim at his back. "Schneeplestein! You cannot leave without authorisation!"

Only the hastened rap of his cane replied to him at that.

He overheard the scowl from behind him, the frustration only one new layer to the deeply rooted contention stretching far beyond this single exchange.

"This'll be a disciplinary, I hope you know!"

"Fire me, then!" Henrik called out over his shoulder from the other end of the hall, knowing damn well they could not.

In the end, he supposed it was the one good thing about recently being shot.

.

It was almost as though Marvin had been waiting by the door, because he answered before the doorbell had even stopped ringing. When it opened, the stress in his face was evident. His hair had fallen out of its ponytail, tear streams gleamed from his cheeks, and his opalescent eyes shimmered in hues of blue and green.

Six small lines carved indents through his lips, the freshly-healed flesh reddened in places Marvin had begun to worry between his teeth.

"I-I don't know what to do..." a tiny voice uttered tearfully right then and there.

"Is he hurt?" Was Henrik's first question as he stepped inside and looked around the apartment hallway.

Marvin shook his head and shut the door behind him with a click.

"Where is he?"

"He's in the living room," he led him a few steps forward, and Henrik followed at his side. "Don't worry about taking off your shoes."

"I wasn't going to," Henrik could already spot his friend's leg from within the room, and his brow knitted into a frown before he looked back towards Marvin. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"We were sitting together, when he just stood up without thinking," Marvin lowered his voice, his sleek fingers closing around Henrik's sleeve, still trembling. "I-I think he forgot... a-about his leg, I mean, and he fell over... he was not hurt at all, but..." he looked into the living room, his heart positively aching through his gaze, "he will not get up. I tried to help him, but nothing I do is—" his tone cracked "—I-I don't know what to do." A deviant tear retraced the steps of its predecessors as he blinked.

Henrik hummed flatly. Marvin released his sleeve and instead pushed his unpainted fingernails between his teeth, allowing him to walk through the non-existent barrier of the doorway.

On the other side, sunlight poured like waterfalls through the floor-to-ceiling window and spilt across neat, comfortable furniture. Scattered dust drifted aimlessly within the golden beams, and the bustle of the city far below was merely white noise. The air smelt like fabric softener and candles. Like coffee and ointment and warm nylon from the empty wheelchair sat in the sun.

Jackie sat, crumpled, with his back pressed into the corner of their chaise sofa. His face burned red, as did the sclera of his puffy eyes. He sniffed wetly, and his entire body flinched.

He was dressed in grey gingham-patterned pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, the latter clearly making his skin run hot, as his forehead gleamed with sweat.

Jackie dragged his fingers through his hair and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. His one leg hunched into his chest while his other arm hooked around his neck to grasp at the cloth of his hoodie.

The left pyjama leg was noticeably empty, the fabric twisted upon itself in obvious agitation.

Henrik approached him, his cane pushing into the plush carpet with every step.

"Jackie..." His voice suddenly ran softer, as though one breath too loud would startle the invulnerable hero like a wild animal.

Jackie did not answer him, nor did he look up. He sniffed again, his lip trembling as a tear dripped from his unkempt beard.

Marvin lingered silently in the doorway.

Henrik closed the distance between them until he stood roughly a foot away, then his hand slid down the length of his cane as he – very gradually – lowered himself to Jackie's level. His knees gave an incredibly humbling chorus of cracks, paired perfectly an involuntary grunt.

"I am making my presence quite known, aren't I?" Henrik joked dryly, mostly to himself. Neither of them offered him even the most pitiful of smiles. That was alright – he wouldn't either.

He crossed his legs together, setting his cane down flat beside him before leaning forward with his hands in his lap.

"What's wrong?" He asked ever so gently, his perpetual frown softening as it always would at the sight of him.

No answer.

Jackie's breath hitched. He scrubbed the base of his palm into his eye, drenching it in tears.

Henrik's heart ached beyond measure.

He would be a liar if he ever breathed a word to suggest that the sight before him was not jarring. Though it was certainly not the first time he had seen Jackie cry, the sheer pain before him was a familiar enemy he had not been face to face with in many years. It hauled him back to their younger years, to a time when the correct name became a privilege to dredge for, and a haircut meant losing one's bedroom door.

Jackie sniffed again, and Henrik saw that young boy curled up beneath the sinks in the girls' bathroom, the same one who sobbed in hysterics in their classroom hideaway.

"There is little good in sitting on the floor," the doctor filled the silence when offered no response, the stretched muscles of his own legs already beginning to scream at him. "Let's get you up and comfortable—"

Yet as he reached out to hook his hands beneath his arm, Jackie did something new. He reared away from him, jerking from his grip like it was instinctive, as though Henrik's hands were made of fire, intent on searing him.

With a hitching breath, the hero croaked out, "I can't–!"

Henrik recoiled in an instant, his gaze peering over the rim of his glasses as if he could find any answers in the blurred hue of red which became his friend's face.

"Why not?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. "Are you hurt?"

Jackie did not lie when he shook his head, but it was not true.

The pain had burrowed deeper, that much he knew, far beyond the reach of the internal stitches in his cheek and leg. It was beyond even his comprehension.

"I can't..." He uttered once more, strained as he buried his brow into the crook of his elbow. His voice shrivelled alongside his body, so much so that it was like he was trying to twist himself out of existence. "I can't..."

Henrik allowed a moment of silence to settle between them, ignoring Marvin's eyes boring into him.

He wetted his lips, nodding slowly to himself as he returned to the well-known desire path his own two feet had carved years prior.

"Where are your glasses, my friend?"

Finally, Jackie responded and reached dejectedly to retrieve his abandoned glasses from the floor. He handed them to him in a shaking hand, and Henrik lowered his gaze to clean them with a cloth he kept tucked into his pocket.

After another beat of silence, he spoke again, his voice as cautious as drifting snowfall, "now, can you tell me what happened?"

Jackie sniffed, a wet, rattling sound so unbearable that Henrik had half a mind to drop what he was doing and find a tissue. Or five.

"I forgot—" he admitted with a voice drenched in shame, "—I-I was watching TV and I went to get something to eat when I just forgot! I forgot I don't have a leg – how stupid is that?!"

Henrik had no chance to answer as he hauled in a shuddering breath, which then escaped as something between a sob and a heartbroken, descending laugh.

"S-So when I got up, I fell, and..." His fingers enclosed around his tufts of uncombed hair, pulling it taut as though he might rip it right out.

"When you realised, it was like everything felt like it was a bit too much?"

Jackie nodded slowly, the acceleration in his tone simmering as Henrik somehow found the words which failed him. His other hand dragged itself upward to join the other within his hair, strangling it from his scalp. When he parted his lips, strings of saliva stretched like sinew, snapping stitches willing his mouth closed to no avail.

"I-I don't know why I even bothered to get up..." His voice grew smaller, trembling and stammering as though admitting it sent volts of lightning up his flesh. "I can't do anything anymore..."

Henrik gently scratched away the tearstains from his lenses with his thumbnail. "And why do you feel that way?"

"Isn't it obvious?" An edge of frustration seeped beyond the cracks of his voice. "I can't walk! Anytime I move, I either can't reach anything, or my hands are full with the crutches! I can't even get to the plates on the top shelf or get inside half the places I used to because there aren't any proper entrances or everything's too small for my wheelchair!"

Henrik felt Marvin's gaze leave him and pointed elsewhere. Guilt thickened the air, as plentiful as the golden sunlight.

"It hurts all the time, and when it doesn't it still feels like it's there, like my brain is playing some sick joke on me!" Those last few words broke down into a sob, and drenched his shaking voice as he continued. "If I can't even do something as easy as standing up, how am I gonna get back out in the city? I'm supposed to protect people... but how can I help anyone like this?"

"Jackie–"

"I'm basically useless now—!"

That made the doctor's heart leap into his throat.

"Jackie," Henrik spoke more clearly. Louder. "That's enough. That isn't true, and you know it."

"It is!"

"No, it is not," he sounded sterner now, but only to blockade the spiralling thoughts swarming to the surface like hornets. "Because if you deem yourself useless, then I am no better—" It was a cruel game to play – he knew that – but he could stand it no longer. The lies invading his friend's mind did not deserve a gentle hand. "—And a long time ago you wasted far too much energy convincing me that I wasn't."

Jackie let out another sob and squeezed harder at his hair.

Henrik set the pair of glasses aside and careened forward onto his knees. He reached out, grasping Jackie's wrists as though to snatch him from a great fall.

"So if I am not useless, then you most certainly are not," he insisted sharply.

"But that's different! You were tortured—"

"Of course it is different! But losing something you have relied on for your entire life is nothing to dismiss!" Henrik tightened his grip on his wrists, his frown casting deep shadows upon his face in the light. "Jackie, look at me."

Jackie did not look up the first time, so he said it once more. Only then did his bloodshot, cornflower-blue eyes peer up towards him, his vision undoubtedly just as blurred as Henrik's would be without his glasses.

"The fact that you have gone this long without having that fact crashing down on you is nothing short of a miracle, but just because it is different now does not mean you will not adapt." He held each word above the sorrow rising in his chest, the success in doing so swiftly fleeting when he acknowledged the sorrow in his friend's face. "When you pulled me out of that hell, I could hardly remember my own name. I could not eat or even hold my pen, and I had to use a cane before I was thirty. I had to relearn how to do everything, how to feed myself and write, and I despised every second of it,

"But I did it, because of you. Even though my physical health will never be what it used to be, I learned how to make things easier. It took years, and it's still not perfect – my hands still shake, and I have to use different pens, but I can write." His tone cracked despite his best efforts, so he hitched in a breath. "And I am still alive now – we all are – because you sacrificed everything! I am still here, I can still go to work, I can get married because of you. So you better stop using that word before I have to slap the sense back into you!" He shooed burning tears away from his eyes in a flurry of blinks.

Jackie's hands slipped out from his hair, leaving it tousled and sticky with tears, and Henrik released his wrists as they suddenly flung around his shoulders.

He fell back from the sheer force, the quiet yelp of surprise which escaped him drowning beneath the sound of Jackie's crying. Yet his hands, perpetually trembling, could only hover for a moment before finding solace against his friend's back.

He could feel the tears and snot drenching his shoulder, but he did not care.

"I'm sorry– I'm so sorry!" Jackie spluttered out breathlessly, those words holding far more depth than Henrik could begin to imagine. It was impossible to discern exactly what he was apologising for – perhaps the worry he had caused, perhaps for even crying in the first place – but it did not matter.

"It's alright, my friend, you have nothing to apologise for..." Henrik whispered into his hair, tightening his grip as though it could do anything to hold him together.

Minutes, or perhaps an hour, passed by. The sunlight began to drift up towards the wall, softening the harsh shadows and the ever-blinding glint caught in Henrik's lenses.

As Jackie's sobs softened into sniffles and hiccups, Henrik heard the padded footsteps of Marvin behind him. They were slow, tentative, and each step seemed to wonder if they even deserved to approach. The doctor glanced in his direction, warranting the magician to pause before he gave a reassuring nod. He could almost feel the sigh of relief run through his scarred lips.

An arm rested over the hero's shoulder, then a gentle hand hovered over Henrik's thin back.

"Come on, my darling, let's get you off the floor..." Marvin uttered gently as Jackie lifted his head, an unflattering string stretching between his nose and Henrik's jumper.

"Maybe we should get you a tissue first," Henrik said, and Jackie quickly recoiled, his cheeks flushing a deeper beetroot-red.

"Sorry..."

"It is nothing to apologise for, my friend."

Marvin plucked a handful from the box that sat on the coffee table, handed them over, and Jackie immediately buried his face into them.

Regardless of his words, Henrik no longer found the need to suppress the way his skin crawled at the sounds which followed.

.

"Are you sure you are okay to be doing this?" Marvin hovered anxiously a few feet away from the stove where Henrik flipped over a sizzling grilled cheese.

"I would not be doing it otherwise," Henrik said without looking up.

Across the hall, in the living room, Jackie was sitting on the sofa, busying his mind with his first pick of a film while nursing a glass of water. His hoodie was off, his sweat-soaked shirt replaced, and his skin washed over with a cool cloth, which now rested on the back of his neck. The circle-frame glasses sat upon his nose were gleaming, lenses clean, in the sunlight. They could still hear him hiccup every so often, each one pulling both of their gazes toward him with quiet concern.

"Are you going to get into trouble with work?"

"Probably, but I would love to see them try and fire me."

"I'm sorry..." Marvin wrapped his arms around himself, "for pulling you away, and for... making you do that."

"Helping him is not 'making' me do anything," Henrik glanced at him, eyeing him with a slight frown for any sign of insinuation in his words.

Rather than glare as he would have only a few months ago, Marvin practically flinched. "I did not mean it like that," he said, his voice low, "I've just never seen him like this. Even when he gets upset, I was always able to encourage him at least to drink something or take a deep breath..."

"Losing a limb does tend to be quite traumatic." Henrik replied rather bluntly, which was typically where Marvin took issue.

Just as expected, he scoffed at that, "do you have to be a smartass right now?"

"No. I mean it." He insisted. "You've never seen him like this because he's never gone through something so permanent. Even when he was gravely wounded, was he not back on his feet like nothing happened in a matter of days?"

"It was less like it never happened... he has enough scars to prove that," Marvin muttered, but even he could not help but nod, "but I suppose..."

"Though he may not regret it, we have to understand that he has lost something he relied on so heavily that it never even crossed his mind to lose," Henrik continued, and lowered the heat on the stove so he could look at him. "You both have."

"Mine aren't the same," yet his fingers still ghosted over his lips where the stitches once lay embedded, torn right through when he screamed at the sight of Jackie falling that night.

Henrik took note of Marvin's appearance. Once utterly pristine and well-groomed, the term 'dishevelled' felt all too light in describing him now.

While the majority of his hygiene remained on par, Henrik noticed that his sleek hair had become greasy at the roots – something that would have had him rushing to the shower mere months prior. His once-stiletto-shaped nails were now blunted and unpainted, and the skin around his knuckles was dry and cracking.

Dark shadows washed over his eyelids, and the make-up he typically wore seemed utterly out of the question now. He held himself differently, too, with his arms wrapped around himself and his opalescent eyes averting their gaze more often than not.

"You went through something terrible," Henrik said as if he did not already know, as if it did not keep him awake at night.

"It is not nearly comparable to what you all went through."

"It should not be comparable,"

"He never would have had to do what he did if it were not for me,"

"And you never would have been where you were if I had not called upon him." Just mentioning him made them both take pause, even for a heartbeat, despite knowing there was nothing left to follow it anymore. Once certain of no buzzing static, Henrik took in a breath. "Yet I suppose if I hadn't, you would be dead. We could push reason and blame until we go blue in the face and still end up in a circle."

Marvin nodded slowly, yet still worried at his lip. He already had the blossoming of a mucocele to show for it.

"We are all still here," Henrik then continued as he flipped the grilled cheese over once more, "and I have had to learn that accepting that is the only way forward."

"I suppose..."

"He isn't alone through all of this this."

Marvin grew tense at that and gripped the sleeve of his shirt. "I just... I just feel horrible for standing on the sidelines through all of that. I'm his husband, I should be able to help him..."

"You did help him," Henrik stated flatly, watching the cheese between the bread begin to pour down the sides and hiss. "You called in support when you felt like you couldn't provide what he needed. Understanding that isn't standing on the sidelines, it is the best thing you can do."

Marvin's eyes welled with tears at that, and his scarred lip began to quiver. Henrik only had a moment to brace his balance before the magician flung his arms around him. His note of surprise sounded far more agitated than it did with Jackie and bordered on a groan, but he did not recoil.

He stood rather awkwardly as Marvin began to weep, still holding the spatula in one hand while the other hovered over his back. After a moment, when it seemed he had no mind to pull away just yet, it settled and rubbed tentatively at his trembling shoulder.

He stayed there, eyes on the frying pan, while Marvin sniffled and held on tighter. It was only when the magician himself drew back a minute or so later that Henrik suddenly wriggled free.

"Alright, that's enough," he grumbled as if he had not stood there the entire time. "My jumper has already endured enough of an assault today."

"Oh dear, I'm sorry," Marvin gave a weak laugh and ran his fingertips beneath his eyes to sop up the tears, only to swallow his pride a moment later and fetch a square of kitchen towel.

Henrik responded with a hum and returned his focus to the grilled cheese still sizzling away, now lightly smoking. One satisfied by its golden-brown colour, he worked the spatula beneath the bottom and lifted it onto a plate he had grabbed from the top shelf. Doing so reminded him of a thought permeating his mind.

"I am going to speak to Chase once I get home. I am sure he will help you and Jackie make your home more accessible," he remarked, searching four drawers with increasing agitation before finally locating the cutlery. "I am also going to buy a swivel stool for your kitchen."

Marvin knitted his brow together at that. "A swivel stool?" He echoed.

Henrik nodded, pushing a knife through the middle of the sandwich. The toasted bread crunched deliciously, and a generous amount of cheese spilt out and onto the plate. "Chase bought me one for ours. Standing can be difficult, so it is easier to sit and use the wheels to push myself. It would be smaller than the wheelchair and easier to turn. Not to mention that you can adjust the height as needed, too. It made the kitchen accessible to me again, once I accepted that I looked silly using it."

Marvin parted his lips, an expression crossing his features that one would bear upon realising something so simple.

"That is... a very good idea, now that you mention it," he said, looking around the kitchen as Henrik dropped the knife in their sink with no intention to wash it up himself. "He wouldn't get stuck that way, and he'd keep his hands free... I'm sure I can buy one myself, there's no need to spend your own money." His eyes pulled upward toward the top shelf, a spark of disdain flickering in his chest now that he knew it proved a bother for his husband. "I do still intend to reorganise these shelves, though."

"They could do with dusting too," Henrik said as he picked up the plate, then his cane from the counter it was propped against. "It will help with your lungs. You might be too short to see it, but I'm not."

Without another word, he moved across the hallway and into the living room.

Marvin could swallow down his urge to retort, and instead repurposed it into an eyeroll. When he saw the way Jackie smiled at the sight of him, however watery it still was, it no longer mattered.

Though he knew his blunt tone would eternally vex him, Marvin knew Henrik meant well.

It was slightly harder to keep that in mind when he saw the dishes left in the sink, though.

.

Jackie's always steadfast, especially when it comes to Henrik, so imagining him in a position where they switch places is so interesting to me! This was very fun to write, it's great to dig my teeth into a nice, long oneshot again!

If you need any context as to what happened, check out the AU playlist. Be warned that the main story is quite old (I hope to rewrite it one day), but the majority of the oneshots are a little more up-to-date!

This one especially is my parallel to this fic, in case anyone was curious as to what Henrik was talking about! Spilled Ink

Thank you for reading! I apologise if there are any mistakes or messiness, I will fix them as I see them!

Reblogs greatly appreciated! /np <3

[geekyfox2]

I finally caught up with the Witch Hat Atelier manga just in time for the anime, and to celebrate I'm bestowing it the highest honour in my mind: Projecting Marvin and Jackie into it <3

I originally sketched them closer to Qifrey and Olruggio, but as I drew I tried to focus more on how I think they would be represented individually in the universe (though I did keep Marvin's fringe because I love it)!

Since I'm amalgamating my two biggest interests together, I'll give some extra details and close-ups under the cut!

I absolutely love the sealchairs, and I can see Jackie having a "timber wolf" (haha) that I like to imagine does well on uneven terrain like grass and dirt while running at higher speeds.

I tried to reimagine Marvin's magician traits in his design without the mask to cover his face, and it was @glass-trash-bab to add the ruffles in his cloak to replicate playing cards! Yes, I did them all by hand, and yes you can hardly see them with his colour palette- but I really love how they came out regardless aaaa

I have so many ideas floating around in my head for an AU that I'd love to delve into!!

[geekyfox2]

It's my birthday! :D I'm 23 now!

I managed to find all of the older ones, too, so I lined them up under the cut!

[jellyfishdoodler]

In the last few days I got absolutely SLAMMED with massive payment things and could use a little help if anyone is able!

DM me if you're interested in having someone drawn as a bug/ chibi and please have (at least 3) references ready!

Alongside Kofi, I can take payment through Paypal and Venmo!

Please reblog/share if you can, I'd really appreciate it! 💛

[geekyfox2]

Jackie's Villain Logs #1 - Shadow Lord

While not as dangerous as other villains my Jackie faced in his early years as a superhero, Shadow Lord was a regular opponent who was definitely a thorn in his side due to his knack for hiding in the darkness and his abrasive attitude.

I have so much fun projecting my OCs as villains in my egos' universe. This one in particular is named Hadeon - he is the main NPC in the DnD campaign that I run! He's my mysterious loser rogue with anger issues that spins constantly in my mind. <3

I hope to draw more of these in the future! :D

[geekyfox2]

Happy Belated Valentine's Day!

Here's some Marvelsepticeye for the soul. I like to imagine that they enjoy spending their Valentine's evenings at a bench overlooking the city with some rosé.

I'm aiming to draw each of my ego ships and their respective Valentine's activities! Marvin and Jackie definitely embody the "go all out" couple with themed outfits and intricate planning! ❤

[geeky-reblogs]

Hi! I want to get into a better habit of reblogging the incredible stuff I see, so I made another side account! :D

There is so much incredible work that deserves more than just a like, and I don't want to just lurk anymore. I want to dump all of the thoughts and appreciation I have in one place where I don't have to worry about remaining organised.

I don't typically ask people to follow me, but considering that reblogs are the best way for others to see and contribute to reblog chains, please stick around! <3

[geekyfox2]

Please give this account a follow if it seems up your alley! :D

[geekyfox2]

Just reblogging this again! :D I'd really like to contribute more to reblog chains to truly appreciate the amazing work I see!

[geekyfox2]

Unfinished Business (Part Five)

Willow Mist Playlist

Words: 4, 001 TW: Allusions to mind control, character tension, arguing Summary: The egos finally arrive at the derelict manor holding Jackie and prepare to break inside, but their doubts toward Seán's abilities and the newly appointed lord's knight quickly steer their plans out of control.

.

It had taken them six hours to finally reach their destination. They were blessed that, after three of them, the rain finally grew bored enough to subside into a stubborn overcast. The path ahead may have been clearer, but the previous hours of deluge were not lost on them.

Any warmth in their bodies had practically left them, and their clothes were unpleasantly damp with the remnants of rainwater. The stirrups of their saddles resembled boot scrapers with how much mud had caked into them, and their time during the journey was spent picking it off their outsoles.

The woodland was thick with the scent of rain, moss, and pine needles. A blanket of it coated the road, which gradually grew faded and reclaimed by the grass until they had no choice but to break into the treeline.

Their time was spent following Jackie's ruby pendant and Marvin's subsequent hand signals. He held the cord within his fist to allow a steady stream of magic to flow through it, animating the pendant to point onward like the arrow of a compass.

No song accompanied their travel, no conversations filled the air. For six hours, they listened to the clop of hooves and the repetitive scraping as they each tried to clean the weight of mud from their boots.

An isolating camaraderie of identical thoughts lingered in their minds like stagnant water. The wonder of what Jackie's pendant would lead them to eventually mutated into images of anguish and the uncertainty of his safety.

As Jameson rode, his eyes glazed over as a thought invaded his head. Though Anti had insisted Jackie's kidnappers bore no brand, he could not help but wonder if his keen eye had missed the sight of their necks during the panic.

He imagined a guild with members each bearing the mark of a dragon, then tumbled into a silent spiral as his mind conjured cruel images to follow. The memories of the night they brought his mother's body home came to him first, one so old and overly familiar, yet it remained as clear as crystal. An image of Jackie replaced his mother before he could shake it away, a thought so jarring it made his breath hitch.

He remembered the way he collapsed at the foot of a locked door, releasing sounds he never thought he was capable of making. His own cries haunted him even now, for they stood for everyone he had ever mourned. They were the embodiment of pain and grief, an agonising defiance against his own body that burned his throat. After that day, he had vowed never to find reason to make those sounds again, never to lose someone he had the means to protect. The thought of hearing them again, of living a reality he knew he could be possible, made his heart sink into his ribcage.

Jamie tried to grasp onto Anti's promise and reassure himself that these people did not belong to the Dragon Branded.

Yet the possibility loomed over him alongside the knowledge that he wished he could forget. The knowledge that, should Jackie's captors belong to that godsforsaken guild, there was little chance of them finding him alive.

The dusk had painted the thick woodland into darker, twisting shapes, the seeping shadows casting a cloak upon hidden roots and stones. Without a road for safe passage, Chase had dismounted from his steed to weave the group between the uneven terrain and overgrown foliage, for the last thing they needed was an injured horse. Pine trees stood upon thick, ivy-coated trunks like armoured soldiers guarding them from whatever lay ahead, and uncontrolled thickets had laid claim to most of the ground.

Before long, even Chase's efforts were in vain, and sparks of impatience fluttered amongst them as they realised how quickly they were losing daylight.

To ignite a lantern and soften the forest's jagged edges would have garnered both illumination and unwanted attention, so they were soon forced to continue on foot. They left their horses beneath the cover of a small dirt escarpment, one which thankfully provided enough shelter and grass to keep them occupied in their absence.

Mercy looked upon them kindly enough for Marvin to speak half a mile later.

"I see something up ahead," he remarked, immediately lowering himself to duck behind the cover of some bushes. The others swiftly followed suit, glancing toward the pendant, which now pointed directly ahead.

The silhouettes of trees came to an abrupt end, stood post like knights standing at a perimeter. Beyond them lay acres of flattened terrain that were once undoubtedly pristine, yet now lay reclaimed by wild grasses and saplings. Within its centre, a crown of pine trees encircled a building that sat upon a hill, like a king upon a throne.

"It's a mansion," Anti noted from the cover of one of the trees.

"It's more of a manor than a mansion," Angus replied as he allowed Henrik to rifle through his satchel for his spyglass, "this one has land surrounding it."

"Does it matter?" The assassin hissed, "It's a house."

"There's a difference, mate. A mansion is just the house – you could have a mansion in the middle of a kingdom, this is probably owned by a lord or lady." Angus gestured to the overgrown acres beyond the trees.

"And we are most likely already trespassing on their estate," Seán added from over Anti's shoulder, spurring him to glare back at him in agitation, "so keep your voices down."

"Do you need to correct me?" Anti scowled. "You know what I mean."

Angus gave a rueful grin and nudged his knee in a light-hearted manner. "I'm just saying, you would probably only need to hop a fence and smash a window for a mansion," he continued, lowering his voice halfway through speaking as he suddenly remembered.

"Oh, whatever, smartass,"

"Will you two focus?" Chase gave them both a nudge, craning over Angus' back to catch a better view.

"I am!" He insisted with a light chuckle, the only way in which he managed such difficult situations. "We're gonna need a plan to get across that field and up that hill, not to mention it's probably crawling with people."

"Well, if there is a lord, it doesn't look like they occupy this place anymore," Henrik said as he peered through the spyglass. "I see some light on the ground floor, so there's definitely people inside, but it looks... decrepit."

He passed the spyglass over to Angus once he opened his hand for it, then watched him peer through the eyepiece. The explorer hummed softly, his deft fingers shifting the lens wheel to magnify the scene before him.

"Do you see anyone?" Marvin questioned, scanning the treeline as though someone might be lurking. The pendant remained still, pointed directly toward that house. He was unsure why part of him expected it suddenly to veer elsewhere, as though they had already been discovered and Jackie was set to be snatched away once more.

"I see a couple'a people, I think," Angus squinted into the lens, but all he could make out were vague humanoid shapes. "Looks like anyone who is in there is tucked away inside."

"Anyone guarding the outside?" Anti questioned.

"Don't look like it,"

"I could fly overhead and find us a way inside?" Henrik suggested, his feathers ruffling as though he sought to soar up into the air right then and there. However, a hand slapped onto his shoulder before he could, anchoring his feet to the ground.

"Absolutely not," Chase countered, then pointed out onto the estate, "even under night fall, it's too dangerous to fly out into the open like that – you could be shot down."

Anti nodded, peering toward the sky, "not to mention that bird thing Robbie mentioned—"

"Shaye," both Robbie and Angus interjected.

"— right," the assassin rolled his eyes. "Well whatever it is, we don't want it diving at you from those clouds."

Henrik nodded pensively, his brow knitting into a perplexed frown. He hummed a note of thought and idly passed his fingers over his beard. "So how do we plan on getting inside if we have no guaranteed entrance?"

"If there is no one guarding the perimeter, surely we could search the exterior until we find one?" Seán suggested. He looked to the others, but by their expressions, it seemed his hopeful attempt to provide a solution had ultimately become an unfortunate display of his own naivety.

"That might be too risky," Angus lowered the spyglass and collapsed it as he spoke, "I spotted an unboarded window on the right, our best bet might be to adhesive the frame to keep the glass from shattering too loudly and sneak in that way."

Yet before anyone else could agree or counter, Jameson, who had otherwise not signed a word since they arrived, shook his head and waved his hand for their attention.

"Not necessarily," he signed out, "Seán's idea might be our best approach."

"I can assure you that it's one way to approach getting caught." Anti countered, but Jameson shook his head.

"This manor looks like it has a similar layout to the one I grew up in. I can see the kitchen," his hands glided seamlessly from word to word, then pointed out towards one side of the manor. After a moment, his hand drew back in again. "There will be servant doors, or sash windows we could crawl through."

The group looked at one another, but no further argument was proposed during the beat of silence.

"Well, if we can avoid breaking our way inside by any means, it is definitely our best option." Angus remarked, speaking on behalf of the others, who each nodded or shrugged with various degrees of agreement.

Seán squared his shoulders, privately acknowledging the note of quiet vindication which ran through his chest, albeit secondhanded.

Jameson rose to his feet and brushed down his trousers, then readjusted his rapier hanger to ensure it could be drawn at ease.

"Come on, we'll skirt around through the treeline to avoid being spotted." Chase wrapped his hand around Angus' wrist and helped him up onto his feet.

With another shared look, the group could only follow in the archer's stead, creeping ever closer toward the ruins of the estate.

.

The knight stood to his lord's right side as poised as a statue. With eyes of glass and his tongue made of stone, he stood watch – silent, perfected, as all guards should be. Trained, gloved hands rested idly behind his back; one fist cupped within the other.

An orange wash of sunlight peered through the grimy window situated behind his lord, and he watched it crawl across the peeling wallpaper. Little by little, the darkness was crowned over the light, and its domain crept from the quiet corners like an invading kingdom seeking sovereignty.

Candlelight and lanterns had no hope of illuminating every threat; their flickering flames twisted and warped the shadows into perfect cloaks.

His gaze only broke as a knock came to the door, and it opened before his lord could grant permission. A lizardfolk scurried inside, flashing him a glare he held little care for.

The knight noted the dried stain of what appeared to be tonight's stew, as though he had somehow managed to tip the entire contents of his share down himself in an attempt to eat it. What an unsightly mess.

"What is it?" His lord sat behind a desk, his boots perched upon its aged surface so he may recline into an equally worn chair. He jutted his chin up toward the lizardfolk, still chewing idly on a stubborn piece of fat from his dinner.

"They're here, sir," he spoke, a frown furrowing into his scaled features. "Coursing River's spotted them in the treeline."

"Ah! Good." His lord leaned forward, yet did not rise from his comfortable position, instead wrapping his hand over the top of a wine-filled goblet and taking a lengthy sip. After seemingly giving up on chewing apart the fat and instead swallowing it down, he parted the goblet from his lips and clicked his tongue. "Jackson?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"It appears we have some intruders invading the premises – go deal with them, would you?" His lord waved a hand in his direction and sank back into the torn padding of the chair. A smile played on his lips as he took another sip. It was not his place to question it.

"Yes, my lord."

"And use lethal force if you must."

"Yes, my lord."

The knight broke free from his stasis and stepped forward, his passive expression darkening as the shadows cast across his face. A hand wrapped around the hilt of his appointed sword, the will of his master etched into its concealed blade.

.

Darkness shrouded the land by the time they reached the treeline directly opposing the west wing of the manor. Even as the curtain of night rested upon the sky, they noticed no light from within. Their final scope confirmed the exterior to be devoid of guards and seemed to suggest the inside was much the same.

Once satisfied, Anti collapsed the spyglass and promptly tossed it to Chase, who caught it in one hand. "Seems clear."

"Perfect," Angus turned back towards the group, "Chase, Robbie, Seán, y' stay here and keep a lookout, alright?"

The prince's determined gaze broke from the manor, his expression shifting into bewilderment, then agitation. "What?"

"The less numbers we got goin' in, the better—" Angus was quick to counter, then paused. A note slipped past his lips as he seemingly stopped himself from speaking, then carefully reconsidered his wording. "There's gonna be some fights, and we need you safe, mate."

"Your argument hardly holds weight when those entering the building outnumber those keeping watch, Angus." Seán argued rather sharply.

"You'll only get us caught, Seán." Anti retorted as he readied a throwing knife between his knuckles.

Before Seán could hope to argue further, a gentle hand rested upon his shoulder and pulled him from his frustration. When he dared to glare in its direction, the sight of Henrik snuffed out his expression like a candle flame and replaced it with guilt.

"I understand your worry, Seán, and we do not mean to restrain you." Though Henrik's voice was half as loud, it still somehow reached down to the depths of one's soul with only a tender embrace. "However, your safety is paramount. Jackie would never forgive himself if you got hurt, nor would we forgive ourselves."

The prince's shoulders sank, and Henrik squeezed them.

Seán lowered his head as he conceded in defeat, though his mind continued to protest. Despite his objective authority over each and every one of them, he could never bring himself to call upon it in times such as these. It would be so very easy to disregard their orders in place of his own, yet he knew it to be foolish.

His strength lay in diplomacy. It was a truth that he knew well, yet it did nothing to soften the blow when he stepped beyond the realm of paperwork and negotiation. A dull pain as old as his conscious mind lingered in his soul, aching each time he was set aside for fear of his position putting a mission at risk.

He saw it in the way the others looked at him. Though they may insist otherwise, he was as much a clinical liability as he was royalty. Anti seemed to be the only one who said it aloud.

Seán knew better than most that it only stemmed from fear. He had proved time and time again that his combat skills were lacklustre at best and detrimental at worst. It was fear he saw in their eyes – memories of knives to his throat and countless near misses that they could not bear to relive.

Regardless, he wished he were more than a pebble in their boots. A stubborn child whom they brought along out of obligation or pity.

Yet what hurt the most was equally just as ironic. Jackie did not regard him as such; he never had. His word was typically final in the face of rising adversity, yet it seldom pushed the prince to one side. If Seán wished to stand beside them, then he would, and the man he chose to protect him would ensure his safety as he did so.

But Jackie was not here. He was inside that collapsing manor, forced to endure things they had no comprehension of. Every moment Seán protested, it could equal another bruise, another cry, another drop of blood.

Shaking the thought from his mind, the prince gave another brisk nod. "I... I understand. Just be safe," he then warned, lowering his gaze further until it rested upon his boots, "and, please, bring him home."

"We'll keep watch from here," Chase said, taking his other shoulder. It was almost as though the pair of them hoped to keep him as anchored as a wayward ship in a storm.

Henrik nodded, then looked toward Robbie. "If trouble rears it's head on either side, Robbie and I have our whistles."

The faun brandished his as proof, the tin instrument dangling from a twine necklace. Equally, the angel reached beneath his collar and presented an identical one in return, but they had not a chance to even smile at one another before someone else interjected.

"They are moving him," Marvin announced without warning, the ruby pendant still clamped within his fist. Alarm filled his emerald eyes, and his head shot up toward the manor. "Quickly!"

Their group split in two in a heartbeat.

"Shit– Alright, c'mon!" Angus hissed with rising anxiety as he stuffed his supplies back into his bag and took off, but Marvin and Anti had already vaulted over the bushes as though they were in a frantic race to reach the closest window. Jameson spared the others a look of acknowledgement, slapping Henrik on the back to spur him forward before his slim legs carried him beneath the open sky.

Henrik released Seán's shoulder, then briefly took his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before breaking away. He pressed a swift kiss into Robbie's temple, nodded to Chase, then tailed after the others who were already halfway there.

Seán stepped backwards, watching how the moonlight morphed and flickered across their running forms. Chase gave his shoulder another squeeze and silently urged him to crouch down into the shrubbery, his gaze unbroken. The prince lowered his gaze, resting his sky blue eyes upon an amber sweet that now rested in his palm. He ran his thumb across its paper wrapping, rubbing the creases smooth as he exhaled.

"It'll be alright, Seán," Chase said without looking at him, "they'll get him out of there, and he'll be fine, I promise."

He wanted to believe him.

.

As Jameson had said, they were almost spoiled for choice when it came to windows. They counted four in this branch of the kitchen alone, boarded up from the outside, yet clearly the sash variant the horologist had predicted.

Anti crouched down in what were once flower beds, then scrubbed the grime away with his cuff just enough to peer inside. It seemed to be some form of scullery. He had to wince to discern the moonlit shapes inside, craning his head for a better angle against the dusty clutter stacked into numerous, nauseatingly tall towers. Once he confirmed that the various shapes were merely abandoned kitchenware, he turned toward the overgrown topiaries and signalled his hidden companions forward.

Four shadows scurried through the grasses, huddling together beneath the cover of the architecture.

"The door's too barricaded," Anti whispered. "We'll have to go through the window. Angus, you still got that crowbar on you?"

"Always," The explorer flashed him a grin in the dark, his bag rustling before he procured the tool in his hand.

Anti nodded in return, and the pair of them made quick work of the rotten boards hammered into the window frame. It only took one heave before the brittle nails either snapped or pulled free, letting the planks topple into the assassin's hands without the slightest clatter before being set aside.

Angus then stuck the claw into the base of the window, prying apart the years of water damage and debris which had otherwise glued it shut. It crackled open, and the wooden frame sighed in relief as he relieved it from its strain and steadily slid it upward.

Anti went first without even waiting for confirmation, slipping across the work counter and onto the tiled floor as silently as a breeze. Marvin followed, albeit with far less dexterity. As he reached to pull himself through, his elbow nudged against a pile of old pots. The mistake was no more than a mere graze, yet it sent it veering off the counter quite suddenly, with cobwebs snapping apart like rope lashings. Anti's hands dove to catch them.

He grasped the tower in one arm just before it could topple, his other hand snagging two more between his knuckles before they could hit the ground.

Anti said not a word but instead flashed him a glare, set the objects aside, and swiftly helped him onto his feet. Marvin tugged his arms free of his grasp the moment he regained his balance, earning a jab in his ribs with a knife-sharp elbow as though to taunt him for his own clumsiness.

Jameson and Angus climbed through with little issue, yet Anti still watched the clutter with unblinking, fixated eyes. All seemed well until the time came for Henrik to climb through, and they watched as his large wings caught in the window frame with a grunt.

"Scheiße–!" Henrik hissed under his breath, trying to pin his wings against his shoulder blade with little success. Marvin peered anxiously towards the pendant, then back up towards him. His heart itched as though his very blood were made of sand, imagining all the ways Jackie could be injured in that very moment. Nonetheless, he still reached out to try to help, but the angel swiftly waved his hands away. "Go on ahead, quickly!" he then whispered hastily, practically shooing them like stray dogs. "You cannot waste any time. I will be right behind you!"

"He's right – you three go ahead, I'll help here!" Angus insisted, eyeing the darkened doorway which led further into the kitchen wing. Before any of them could utter or sign a word of response, both he and Henrik ushered them onward. "Go!"

Jameson took Marvin's arm and gave it a quick squeeze before his protests could try to consume him. The mage stumbled backwards, nodded, and promptly turned on his heel, his attention darting to and from the pendant.

Its inner pulse grew stronger, a steady buzzing like a honey bee clasped in his fist. It steered them into what was once the great kitchen, where cooking utensils were scattered wildly across the floor. Anti noted the servant's passage in the very corner, and a crossbow bolt embedded through its rotten surface winked back at him with a fresh metallic eye.

An air of dread invaded his lungs, but he pressed it down into his gut.

The pendant veered right like a compass needle finding its true north, and they followed it out into a central hallway with growing haste.

No sign of guards invaded their view, which only pushed that unease back up Anti's throat like bile. Beneath his cloak, he switched his throwing knives for one sickle. Jameson already had a hand on his rapier.

In their years together, they seldom even had to look at one another to share in the same well of trepidation. With hardly a thought, both the assassin and the horologist began to slow their pace, their very chests burning as though they were sprinting toward a bonfire.

Marvin was already three paces ahead of them by then, but abruptly stopped within the centre of the excessively grand rug. He spun his head, searching the endless hallways for any sign of life to seemingly no avail—

"I don't see him—" he said just as the ruby pendant steered upward toward the mezzanine balconies framing the hall.

"Marvin—"

The dread hit him all too late as something in that very direction snapped, snaking rapidly up the wall and ceiling until it was suddenly directly above him.

"MARVIN!"

A rusted chandelier's suspending rope fell slack, slashing wildly through half a dozen mounting anchors in the blink of an eye. At the very same moment, both Jamie and Anti bolted towards their brother.

.

Don't worry, your highness, I'm sure you'll get your chance.

It feels wonderful to delve back into writing again, so I hope this long-awaited chapter was alright! I apologise in advance for any mistakes or messiness, I will fix them as I see them!

Thank you for reading!

Reblogs greatly appreciated! /np <3

[itsonlyparker]

Yall don’t understand how much I love this little bird that came from mine and @kalcifers-blog brains

Art by @geekyfox2

[geekyfox2]

It's always a pleasure!!

I loved hearing about this guy, he's so intriguing to me and I LOVE his design! It was so fun, and I especially enjoyed working with the yellow hues and incorporating the pearls!

[geekyfox2]

Unfinished Business (Part Five)

Willow Mist Playlist

Words: 4, 001 TW: Allusions to mind control, character tension, arguing Summary: The egos finally arrive at the derelict manor holding Jackie and prepare to break inside, but their doubts toward Seán's abilities and the newly appointed lord's knight quickly steer their plans out of control.

.

It had taken them six hours to finally reach their destination. They were blessed that, after three of them, the rain finally grew bored enough to subside into a stubborn overcast. The path ahead may have been clearer, but the previous hours of deluge were not lost on them.

Any warmth in their bodies had practically left them, and their clothes were unpleasantly damp with the remnants of rainwater. The stirrups of their saddles resembled boot scrapers with how much mud had caked into them, and their time during the journey was spent picking it off their outsoles.

The woodland was thick with the scent of rain, moss, and pine needles. A blanket of it coated the road, which gradually grew faded and reclaimed by the grass until they had no choice but to break into the treeline.

Their time was spent following Jackie's ruby pendant and Marvin's subsequent hand signals. He held the cord within his fist to allow a steady stream of magic to flow through it, animating the pendant to point onward like the arrow of a compass.

No song accompanied their travel, no conversations filled the air. For six hours, they listened to the clop of hooves and the repetitive scraping as they each tried to clean the weight of mud from their boots.

An isolating camaraderie of identical thoughts lingered in their minds like stagnant water. The wonder of what Jackie's pendant would lead them to eventually mutated into images of anguish and the uncertainty of his safety.

As Jameson rode, his eyes glazed over as a thought invaded his head. Though Anti had insisted Jackie's kidnappers bore no brand, he could not help but wonder if his keen eye had missed the sight of their necks during the panic.

He imagined a guild with members each bearing the mark of a dragon, then tumbled into a silent spiral as his mind conjured cruel images to follow. The memories of the night they brought his mother's body home came to him first, one so old and overly familiar, yet it remained as clear as crystal. An image of Jackie replaced his mother before he could shake it away, a thought so jarring it made his breath hitch.

He remembered the way he collapsed at the foot of a locked door, releasing sounds he never thought he was capable of making. His own cries haunted him even now, for they stood for everyone he had ever mourned. They were the embodiment of pain and grief, an agonising defiance against his own body that burned his throat. After that day, he had vowed never to find reason to make those sounds again, never to lose someone he had the means to protect. The thought of hearing them again, of living a reality he knew he could be possible, made his heart sink into his ribcage.

Jamie tried to grasp onto Anti's promise and reassure himself that these people did not belong to the Dragon Branded.

Yet the possibility loomed over him alongside the knowledge that he wished he could forget. The knowledge that, should Jackie's captors belong to that godsforsaken guild, there was little chance of them finding him alive.

The dusk had painted the thick woodland into darker, twisting shapes, the seeping shadows casting a cloak upon hidden roots and stones. Without a road for safe passage, Chase had dismounted from his steed to weave the group between the uneven terrain and overgrown foliage, for the last thing they needed was an injured horse. Pine trees stood upon thick, ivy-coated trunks like armoured soldiers guarding them from whatever lay ahead, and uncontrolled thickets had laid claim to most of the ground.

Before long, even Chase's efforts were in vain, and sparks of impatience fluttered amongst them as they realised how quickly they were losing daylight.

To ignite a lantern and soften the forest's jagged edges would have garnered both illumination and unwanted attention, so they were soon forced to continue on foot. They left their horses beneath the cover of a small dirt escarpment, one which thankfully provided enough shelter and grass to keep them occupied in their absence.

Mercy looked upon them kindly enough for Marvin to speak half a mile later.

"I see something up ahead," he remarked, immediately lowering himself to duck behind the cover of some bushes. The others swiftly followed suit, glancing toward the pendant, which now pointed directly ahead.

The silhouettes of trees came to an abrupt end, stood post like knights standing at a perimeter. Beyond them lay acres of flattened terrain that were once undoubtedly pristine, yet now lay reclaimed by wild grasses and saplings. Within its centre, a crown of pine trees encircled a building that sat upon a hill, like a king upon a throne.

"It's a mansion," Anti noted from the cover of one of the trees.

"It's more of a manor than a mansion," Angus replied as he allowed Henrik to rifle through his satchel for his spyglass, "this one has land surrounding it."

"Does it matter?" The assassin hissed, "It's a house."

"There's a difference, mate. A mansion is just the house – you could have a mansion in the middle of a kingdom, this is probably owned by a lord or lady." Angus gestured to the overgrown acres beyond the trees.

"And we are most likely already trespassing on their estate," Seán added from over Anti's shoulder, spurring him to glare back at him in agitation, "so keep your voices down."

"Do you need to correct me?" Anti scowled. "You know what I mean."

Angus gave a rueful grin and nudged his knee in a light-hearted manner. "I'm just saying, you would probably only need to hop a fence and smash a window for a mansion," he continued, lowering his voice halfway through speaking as he suddenly remembered.

"Oh, whatever, smartass,"

"Will you two focus?" Chase gave them both a nudge, craning over Angus' back to catch a better view.

"I am!" He insisted with a light chuckle, the only way in which he managed such difficult situations. "We're gonna need a plan to get across that field and up that hill, not to mention it's probably crawling with people."

"Well, if there is a lord, it doesn't look like they occupy this place anymore," Henrik said as he peered through the spyglass. "I see some light on the ground floor, so there's definitely people inside, but it looks... decrepit."

He passed the spyglass over to Angus once he opened his hand for it, then watched him peer through the eyepiece. The explorer hummed softly, his deft fingers shifting the lens wheel to magnify the scene before him.

"Do you see anyone?" Marvin questioned, scanning the treeline as though someone might be lurking. The pendant remained still, pointed directly toward that house. He was unsure why part of him expected it suddenly to veer elsewhere, as though they had already been discovered and Jackie was set to be snatched away once more.

"I see a couple'a people, I think," Angus squinted into the lens, but all he could make out were vague humanoid shapes. "Looks like anyone who is in there is tucked away inside."

"Anyone guarding the outside?" Anti questioned.

"Don't look like it,"

"I could fly overhead and find us a way inside?" Henrik suggested, his feathers ruffling as though he sought to soar up into the air right then and there. However, a hand slapped onto his shoulder before he could, anchoring his feet to the ground.

"Absolutely not," Chase countered, then pointed out onto the estate, "even under night fall, it's too dangerous to fly out into the open like that – you could be shot down."

Anti nodded, peering toward the sky, "not to mention that bird thing Robbie mentioned—"

"Shaye," both Robbie and Angus interjected.

"— right," the assassin rolled his eyes. "Well whatever it is, we don't want it diving at you from those clouds."

Henrik nodded pensively, his brow knitting into a perplexed frown. He hummed a note of thought and idly passed his fingers over his beard. "So how do we plan on getting inside if we have no guaranteed entrance?"

"If there is no one guarding the perimeter, surely we could search the exterior until we find one?" Seán suggested. He looked to the others, but by their expressions, it seemed his hopeful attempt to provide a solution had ultimately become an unfortunate display of his own naivety.

"That might be too risky," Angus lowered the spyglass and collapsed it as he spoke, "I spotted an unboarded window on the right, our best bet might be to adhesive the frame to keep the glass from shattering too loudly and sneak in that way."

Yet before anyone else could agree or counter, Jameson, who had otherwise not signed a word since they arrived, shook his head and waved his hand for their attention.

"Not necessarily," he signed out, "Seán's idea might be our best approach."

"I can assure you that it's one way to approach getting caught." Anti countered, but Jameson shook his head.

"This manor looks like it has a similar layout to the one I grew up in. I can see the kitchen," his hands glided seamlessly from word to word, then pointed out towards one side of the manor. After a moment, his hand drew back in again. "There will be servant doors, or sash windows we could crawl through."

The group looked at one another, but no further argument was proposed during the beat of silence.

"Well, if we can avoid breaking our way inside by any means, it is definitely our best option." Angus remarked, speaking on behalf of the others, who each nodded or shrugged with various degrees of agreement.

Seán squared his shoulders, privately acknowledging the note of quiet vindication which ran through his chest, albeit secondhanded.

Jameson rose to his feet and brushed down his trousers, then readjusted his rapier hanger to ensure it could be drawn at ease.

"Come on, we'll skirt around through the treeline to avoid being spotted." Chase wrapped his hand around Angus' wrist and helped him up onto his feet.

With another shared look, the group could only follow in the archer's stead, creeping ever closer toward the ruins of the estate.

.

The knight stood to his lord's right side as poised as a statue. With eyes of glass and his tongue made of stone, he stood watch – silent, perfected, as all guards should be. Trained, gloved hands rested idly behind his back; one fist cupped within the other.

An orange wash of sunlight peered through the grimy window situated behind his lord, and he watched it crawl across the peeling wallpaper. Little by little, the darkness was crowned over the light, and its domain crept from the quiet corners like an invading kingdom seeking sovereignty.

Candlelight and lanterns had no hope of illuminating every threat; their flickering flames twisted and warped the shadows into perfect cloaks.

His gaze only broke as a knock came to the door, and it opened before his lord could grant permission. A lizardfolk scurried inside, flashing him a glare he held little care for.

The knight noted the dried stain of what appeared to be tonight's stew, as though he had somehow managed to tip the entire contents of his share down himself in an attempt to eat it. What an unsightly mess.

"What is it?" His lord sat behind a desk, his boots perched upon its aged surface so he may recline into an equally worn chair. He jutted his chin up toward the lizardfolk, still chewing idly on a stubborn piece of fat from his dinner.

"They're here, sir," he spoke, a frown furrowing into his scaled features. "Coursing River's spotted them in the treeline."

"Ah! Good." His lord leaned forward, yet did not rise from his comfortable position, instead wrapping his hand over the top of a wine-filled goblet and taking a lengthy sip. After seemingly giving up on chewing apart the fat and instead swallowing it down, he parted the goblet from his lips and clicked his tongue. "Jackson?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"It appears we have some intruders invading the premises – go deal with them, would you?" His lord waved a hand in his direction and sank back into the torn padding of the chair. A smile played on his lips as he took another sip. It was not his place to question it.

"Yes, my lord."

"And use lethal force if you must."

"Yes, my lord."

The knight broke free from his stasis and stepped forward, his passive expression darkening as the shadows cast across his face. A hand wrapped around the hilt of his appointed sword, the will of his master etched into its concealed blade.

.

Darkness shrouded the land by the time they reached the treeline directly opposing the west wing of the manor. Even as the curtain of night rested upon the sky, they noticed no light from within. Their final scope confirmed the exterior to be devoid of guards and seemed to suggest the inside was much the same.

Once satisfied, Anti collapsed the spyglass and promptly tossed it to Chase, who caught it in one hand. "Seems clear."

"Perfect," Angus turned back towards the group, "Chase, Robbie, Seán, y' stay here and keep a lookout, alright?"

The prince's determined gaze broke from the manor, his expression shifting into bewilderment, then agitation. "What?"

"The less numbers we got goin' in, the better—" Angus was quick to counter, then paused. A note slipped past his lips as he seemingly stopped himself from speaking, then carefully reconsidered his wording. "There's gonna be some fights, and we need you safe, mate."

"Your argument hardly holds weight when those entering the building outnumber those keeping watch, Angus." Seán argued rather sharply.

"You'll only get us caught, Seán." Anti retorted as he readied a throwing knife between his knuckles.

Before Seán could hope to argue further, a gentle hand rested upon his shoulder and pulled him from his frustration. When he dared to glare in its direction, the sight of Henrik snuffed out his expression like a candle flame and replaced it with guilt.

"I understand your worry, Seán, and we do not mean to restrain you." Though Henrik's voice was half as loud, it still somehow reached down to the depths of one's soul with only a tender embrace. "However, your safety is paramount. Jackie would never forgive himself if you got hurt, nor would we forgive ourselves."

The prince's shoulders sank, and Henrik squeezed them.

Seán lowered his head as he conceded in defeat, though his mind continued to protest. Despite his objective authority over each and every one of them, he could never bring himself to call upon it in times such as these. It would be so very easy to disregard their orders in place of his own, yet he knew it to be foolish.

His strength lay in diplomacy. It was a truth that he knew well, yet it did nothing to soften the blow when he stepped beyond the realm of paperwork and negotiation. A dull pain as old as his conscious mind lingered in his soul, aching each time he was set aside for fear of his position putting a mission at risk.

He saw it in the way the others looked at him. Though they may insist otherwise, he was as much a clinical liability as he was royalty. Anti seemed to be the only one who said it aloud.

Seán knew better than most that it only stemmed from fear. He had proved time and time again that his combat skills were lacklustre at best and detrimental at worst. It was fear he saw in their eyes – memories of knives to his throat and countless near misses that they could not bear to relive.

Regardless, he wished he were more than a pebble in their boots. A stubborn child whom they brought along out of obligation or pity.

Yet what hurt the most was equally just as ironic. Jackie did not regard him as such; he never had. His word was typically final in the face of rising adversity, yet it seldom pushed the prince to one side. If Seán wished to stand beside them, then he would, and the man he chose to protect him would ensure his safety as he did so.

But Jackie was not here. He was inside that collapsing manor, forced to endure things they had no comprehension of. Every moment Seán protested, it could equal another bruise, another cry, another drop of blood.

Shaking the thought from his mind, the prince gave another brisk nod. "I... I understand. Just be safe," he then warned, lowering his gaze further until it rested upon his boots, "and, please, bring him home."

"We'll keep watch from here," Chase said, taking his other shoulder. It was almost as though the pair of them hoped to keep him as anchored as a wayward ship in a storm.

Henrik nodded, then looked toward Robbie. "If trouble rears it's head on either side, Robbie and I have our whistles."

The faun brandished his as proof, the tin instrument dangling from a twine necklace. Equally, the angel reached beneath his collar and presented an identical one in return, but they had not a chance to even smile at one another before someone else interjected.

"They are moving him," Marvin announced without warning, the ruby pendant still clamped within his fist. Alarm filled his emerald eyes, and his head shot up toward the manor. "Quickly!"

Their group split in two in a heartbeat.

"Shit– Alright, c'mon!" Angus hissed with rising anxiety as he stuffed his supplies back into his bag and took off, but Marvin and Anti had already vaulted over the bushes as though they were in a frantic race to reach the closest window. Jameson spared the others a look of acknowledgement, slapping Henrik on the back to spur him forward before his slim legs carried him beneath the open sky.

Henrik released Seán's shoulder, then briefly took his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before breaking away. He pressed a swift kiss into Robbie's temple, nodded to Chase, then tailed after the others who were already halfway there.

Seán stepped backwards, watching how the moonlight morphed and flickered across their running forms. Chase gave his shoulder another squeeze and silently urged him to crouch down into the shrubbery, his gaze unbroken. The prince lowered his gaze, resting his sky blue eyes upon an amber sweet that now rested in his palm. He ran his thumb across its paper wrapping, rubbing the creases smooth as he exhaled.

"It'll be alright, Seán," Chase said without looking at him, "they'll get him out of there, and he'll be fine, I promise."

He wanted to believe him.

.

As Jameson had said, they were almost spoiled for choice when it came to windows. They counted four in this branch of the kitchen alone, boarded up from the outside, yet clearly the sash variant the horologist had predicted.

Anti crouched down in what were once flower beds, then scrubbed the grime away with his cuff just enough to peer inside. It seemed to be some form of scullery. He had to wince to discern the moonlit shapes inside, craning his head for a better angle against the dusty clutter stacked into numerous, nauseatingly tall towers. Once he confirmed that the various shapes were merely abandoned kitchenware, he turned toward the overgrown topiaries and signalled his hidden companions forward.

Four shadows scurried through the grasses, huddling together beneath the cover of the architecture.

"The door's too barricaded," Anti whispered. "We'll have to go through the window. Angus, you still got that crowbar on you?"

"Always," The explorer flashed him a grin in the dark, his bag rustling before he procured the tool in his hand.

Anti nodded in return, and the pair of them made quick work of the rotten boards hammered into the window frame. It only took one heave before the brittle nails either snapped or pulled free, letting the planks topple into the assassin's hands without the slightest clatter before being set aside.

Angus then stuck the claw into the base of the window, prying apart the years of water damage and debris which had otherwise glued it shut. It crackled open, and the wooden frame sighed in relief as he relieved it from its strain and steadily slid it upward.

Anti went first without even waiting for confirmation, slipping across the work counter and onto the tiled floor as silently as a breeze. Marvin followed, albeit with far less dexterity. As he reached to pull himself through, his elbow nudged against a pile of old pots. The mistake was no more than a mere graze, yet it sent it veering off the counter quite suddenly, with cobwebs snapping apart like rope lashings. Anti's hands dove to catch them.

He grasped the tower in one arm just before it could topple, his other hand snagging two more between his knuckles before they could hit the ground.

Anti said not a word but instead flashed him a glare, set the objects aside, and swiftly helped him onto his feet. Marvin tugged his arms free of his grasp the moment he regained his balance, earning a jab in his ribs with a knife-sharp elbow as though to taunt him for his own clumsiness.

Jameson and Angus climbed through with little issue, yet Anti still watched the clutter with unblinking, fixated eyes. All seemed well until the time came for Henrik to climb through, and they watched as his large wings caught in the window frame with a grunt.

"Scheiße–!" Henrik hissed under his breath, trying to pin his wings against his shoulder blade with little success. Marvin peered anxiously towards the pendant, then back up towards him. His heart itched as though his very blood were made of sand, imagining all the ways Jackie could be injured in that very moment. Nonetheless, he still reached out to try to help, but the angel swiftly waved his hands away. "Go on ahead, quickly!" he then whispered hastily, practically shooing them like stray dogs. "You cannot waste any time. I will be right behind you!"

"He's right – you three go ahead, I'll help here!" Angus insisted, eyeing the darkened doorway which led further into the kitchen wing. Before any of them could utter or sign a word of response, both he and Henrik ushered them onward. "Go!"

Jameson took Marvin's arm and gave it a quick squeeze before his protests could try to consume him. The mage stumbled backwards, nodded, and promptly turned on his heel, his attention darting to and from the pendant.

Its inner pulse grew stronger, a steady buzzing like a honey bee clasped in his fist. It steered them into what was once the great kitchen, where cooking utensils were scattered wildly across the floor. Anti noted the servant's passage in the very corner, and a crossbow bolt embedded through its rotten surface winked back at him with a fresh metallic eye.

An air of dread invaded his lungs, but he pressed it down into his gut.

The pendant veered right like a compass needle finding its true north, and they followed it out into a central hallway with growing haste.

No sign of guards invaded their view, which only pushed that unease back up Anti's throat like bile. Beneath his cloak, he switched his throwing knives for one sickle. Jameson already had a hand on his rapier.

In their years together, they seldom even had to look at one another to share in the same well of trepidation. With hardly a thought, both the assassin and the horologist began to slow their pace, their very chests burning as though they were sprinting toward a bonfire.

Marvin was already three paces ahead of them by then, but abruptly stopped within the centre of the excessively grand rug. He spun his head, searching the endless hallways for any sign of life to seemingly no avail—

"I don't see him—" he said just as the ruby pendant steered upward toward the mezzanine balconies framing the hall.

"Marvin—"

The dread hit him all too late as something in that very direction snapped, snaking rapidly up the wall and ceiling until it was suddenly directly above him.

"MARVIN!"

A rusted chandelier's suspending rope fell slack, slashing wildly through half a dozen mounting anchors in the blink of an eye. At the very same moment, both Jamie and Anti bolted towards their brother.

.

Don't worry, your highness, I'm sure you'll get your chance.

It feels wonderful to delve back into writing again, so I hope this long-awaited chapter was alright! I apologise in advance for any mistakes or messiness, I will fix them as I see them!

Thank you for reading!

Reblogs greatly appreciated! /np <3

[geekyfox2]

Just like last year, I took part in a couple of Secret Santa's - this one in particular being the one I hosted for my D&D campaign! I was assigned @mona-mk-monakaliza so, as their almighty DM, I decided to give them what they truly desire: their character ZuZu, puzzles, and secrets.

ZuZu is desperately trying to find evidence of other firbolgs, his species that mysteriously disappeared and left him behind. Though he recently found Ko, another lonely firbolg, the pair of them are still left with old furniture and dusty portraits belonging to a society that they seem to be the only living remnant of.

This drawing stole my will to live three separate times but I just love it. I stuffed it full of campaign-secrets and codes for them to pick at, and there's still one or two they haven't found!

Close ups under the cut!

[geekyfox2]

Just like last year, I took part in a couple of Secret Santa's (this one was quite belated for me, haha!) and this year I had the wonderful @tracobuttons !

This is their amazing D&D character, Oakley! I had so much fun with this one, especially the background! I wanted to tie in their red hair to the scene, and I thought snowy maple trees were perfect!

[jellyfishdoodler]

"Hi, sweetheart..."

So. Davey finally met his daughter for the first time last session... problem is, his wife Annie is currently trapped in a nearby city with a angry, blinded ice dragon threatening her life as well as all of the citizen refugees hiding out under ground. It was incredibly bittersweet- He's been fighting so hard to get to his family only to find he was a few days late to having both of them in his arms... But hope isn't lost just yet! Once the party makes a plan, they're all going to go save her. In the meantime, Davey is spending as much time as he can with Holly-Anne.. Hopefully not for the first and last time.

[jellyfishdoodler]

Beach Day Photo!

Here's a piece I did of @honey--dream and @geekyfox2 's DnD characters Yule Belrose and Frygg Wisteria having a beach date! (Featuring Hadeon and Viola in the background <3)

I may have gone a little crazy with the detail and rendering, but Im still pretty dang proud of this one! :D

[jellyfishdoodler]

They're so sweet,,,,,, they make me SICK

Secret santa gift for @lilsprout-exe ! I love these two so big and had so much fun losing my mind with the details on that patchwork cloak!

Flat color versions under cut!