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For week one of Stricklake month…

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@f0xwrite Thank you for the inspiration for this, I couldn't get this image out of my head and somehow more and more characters kept showing up.

and @creativenicocorner I saw you mention Walt and Nana being knitting buddies, and since I'm pretty sure they actually go way, way, way, way (waaaaay) back... I agree. But what if he's still learning? What if she's teaching him? What if he made socks for Barbara and a scarf for Jim, and they're a bit wonky, but he's got the spirit? (Nomura got leg warmers, but she refuses to wear them.)

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Snippet of upcoming work...

A small piece of something I've been working on for about a year now. Will likely convert it to past tense depending on how I feel. Rated T. Mentions of trauma and PTSD. I think we all could have used a moment more reminiscent of this in the movie--I feel like Jim would have struggled more with trying to become a normal, adjusted human again than trying to convince himself that he is still the Trollhunter without the amulet.

“No!” Walter is panting when he calls out and jumps to the edge of the bed, wings jutting out and nearly knocking over an unlit table lamp. Shaking his head, his clawed hands curl around his temples, trying to shake the strobe lights from his mind. There’s too much. A thousand atrocities from a thousand lifetimes—and now he’s projecting into the future. With a soft huff he leans against the mattress, ignoring its squeaks of protest (too much like the screams of the innocent) then slowly props himself up to a standing position. Yellow eyes flicker to the clock. It’s 8:30 at night, and Barbara is still at work.

Thank the stars. She has enough on her plate.

A small knock on the door catches his ears, and he starts.

The door creaks open a little. “Hey, you ok?” A boys soft voice floats through the slit.

Ah, right.

“Young Atlas,” he clears his throat, voice gruff with fatigue. “ I keep forgetting you are here. “

“Yeah?” The door opens further, and the hall light floods into the room, clashing with Walter’s own inner glow. “Well, It’s only been two days. I still can’t believe it myself. Getting used to being up during the daylight again is hard.”

The changeling offers a knowing nod, and straitens the ties of his loincloth.“I’ve been there. Give it a few weeks. You’ll adapt.”

A brief moment finds the two staring at each other through the warm but awkward silence. Jim’s studying him, he realizes. It’s the same look his mother gets when she’s trying to assess a wound.

“You had a flashback, didn’t you?” The boy cuts right to the point.

“Er-” Walter falters, pausing long enough to switch the lamplight on--more for the boy than for himself—before scratching at the side of his neck. “Yes Jim, but you needn’t worry.”

“I’m getting them, too.”

A cold pang runs through him at the words. “I see. How long have you experiencing this?”

“For a while, really. Pretty much ever since Drall tried to kill me, but it wasn’t all that bad, nothing I couldn’t bear until...until…”

“Until you were corrupted,” Walter finishes the sentence for him, heart wrenching when he looks to see that the boys eyes are watering, half-formed tears glistening in the ochre light of his eyes.

It’s then that the shrill cry of a baby touches his ears, and his horned head turns towards Jim’s old bedroom. “I’d better attend to that.”

“Oh, sure,” Jim coughs and rubs an eye against his sleeve. “We’ll talk some other time.”

“Hold on,” Walter’s deep voice booms just as Jim starts to turn around, stopping the boy in his tracks. “Why don’t you run downstairs and set the kettle going? I’ll be down in a few moments.”

“Yeah, cool, okay,” the Trollhunter scratches the back of his head, then points in the direction of the staircase. “I’ll do that. Need me to mix up some formula, too?”

“That would be excellent, Young Atlas, thank you.” The changeling says, smiling as the boy bounds down the staircase. Setting his pace towards the anxious crying, Walter pauses when his clawed hand wraps around the handle of Jim’s former bedroom. The line around his tusks shifts into a frown...

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Listen, I can't get enough of this sweater...

Dr. Puff Jacket and Mr. Sweater in the flesh.

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Woke up and confirmed that the only thing I will accept as canon from RoTT is Strickler wearing that nerd-ass sweater and no socks. This is peak Waltolowmew aesthetic. Congratulations to whoever pushed that through. He woke up that morning and said I’m gonna be a Norwegian dad. Went all the way. Barbara woke up and said I’m engaged to green Santa and I love it. I think Nana knit that one for him. Barbara wears the matching socks he refuses to don. NotEnrique is at home with 3000 babies wearing an identical onesie. Are those Drall shapes? You tell me.

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calling all stricklake fans…! ヾ(*´∀｀*)ﾉ in celebration of this summer’s release of rise of the titans, as well as the return of our favorite doctor/changeling duo, you are cordially invited to stricklake month 2021!

what is stricklake month?

just like last year, stricklake month 2021 is a month-long, unmoderated appreciation event for fans, new and old, of barbara lake and walter strickler. now that the movie is here, fans of the ship have brought back this event for a second year as a fun, laid-back way to look back on and show our appreciation for the tales of arcadia series!

what’s allowed?

the event is open to any stricklake-focused fanworks centered around the following prompts:​

week 1 (august 1-7): the past / the future

week 2 (august 8-14): magic / mortal

week 3 (august 15-21): enemies / family

week 4 (august 22-28): roleswap / ruined plans

fills can be for as few or many of the prompts as you like, following as broad or narrow a reading of the prompt as you wish. we are also open to fanworks of any kind (fic, art, photo edits/manips, amvs…) and there are no “minimum standards” or hard deadlines. our only request is that you follow common tagging and warning courtesy, especially for suggestive content—even if it’s hosted off tumblr (on ao3, ff.net, youtube, etc.). 

how to participate:

reblog this post and spread the word! and we’ll have weekly reminder (and roundup) posts once the month begins, but those who’d like to get a head start are welcome to do so in advance of august 1. ;)

tag your fills with #keenswimmers2021! @nightrosebud has generously volunteered to post weekly roundups for fills tagged on tumblr; i’ve also included it on this post, if you’d like to track the tag directly.

and, lastly: support your fellow fans with comments and reblogs!

best of luck to those participating, and we hope to see you all in august! ღゝ◡╹)ノ

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Another Andaman snippet...two different scenes. One day, perhaps I'll finish them. Horace is a giant, rideable hound made of ice (the universe has fire cats, so why not ice dogs?) for those unfamiliar with the story.

Rated T for mentions of hypothermia and vague nudity.

***

The ice hound was there in an instant, hovering over them both.

Walter undid the fastening of his cape, set her down upon its surface above the snow, and without hesitation began to remove her clothing. There was no thought spared to intimacy, or awkwardness, or anything regarding their shared history-- only survival. Anxious clouds of breath puffed into the air as he pulled her jacket off, then the two layers of shirts beneath, everything soaking wet. To his surprise, she tried to help him, shaky hands fumbling to undo the button of her trousers, muscles straining against a cacophony of numbness and shivering.

She knew what was going on. She knew the clock was ticking...

“Talk to me, Barbara. Keep moving.” His gritty voice crackled through the frozen air.

Only one thought kept running through her frigid mind. “I’m s- so cold.” Her voice trembled. “My son…promise me, if I don’t make it.--”

“--I won’t let that happen.”

Whether because of his words or the cold, he could not know, but she made a flustered sound and closed her eyes, brows furrowing in frustration.

“I promise.” He finally croaked as he untied her boots and slid them off. The socks and shoes joined the pile of spent clothing, as did her pants, when he finally managed to unbuckle them with his claws.

Her expression softened, and he jolted in alarm.

“Open your eyes, love.” He said as he hastily removed the last two garments. “Stay with me.”

“Don’t,” she nearly bit her tongue with shivering. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered.

Good, he thought, irritation would spur her.

“Let me see your eyes,” he insisted, then signaled to the ice hound, who came round to him. As he stuffed her clothing into one of the satchels on Horace’s back, he watched her lids flutter.

“There you are,” he said as he folded the cape around her naked body as though swaddling a baby. “Keep doing that. Focus on your son, Barbara. Continue talking to me.”

Bending down, he scooped her up into his long, green arms, and then jumped into the ice-hound’s saddle. The dog growled and leapt into action, heading in the direction of the valley below. Stickler squeezed her as tight as he could against the bracing wind.

“I need you--” his keen ears heard her warble, despite the noise, “I need you to change,” her voice fluttered, faltering. She tried to clear her throat, “into a human. Please.”

Swallowing thickly, his yellow eyes closed. “I can’t yet. Not until we find shelter. I’ve a contact in Nepal, but night is crawling upon us. I know this body is cold. We’ll stop soon, I promise.”

For a while, all she would hear we’re Horace’s thundering paw-beats, mixed with her own rapidly weakening pulse. Numbness began to set in to the point where she almost felt warm again. A part of her was relieved by this, the other knew it was a bad sign.

“Tell me about Jim,” his trollish tone rumbled, searching for a way prompt her voice. “He has a lion’s heart, that boy. Was he always like that?”

“Yes,” she said through a breath, “yes.”

When she didn’t say more, he nudged her further, “focus on him Barbara. What was he like as a child? Did he always enjoy cooking?”

.....

***

(few scenes later)

When Barbara woke she was on a floor near a small, stone fireplace, covered in wool and fur blankets.

The cadence of long, steady breaths caught her attention., and she looked over to see Walter’s human form flickering in the shadows of the meager room. At some point, he’d fallen asleep against the nearest table, arm splayed to serve as a makeshift pillow. Dawn had not yet struck, and the pitch black outside suggested it would be hours until it did. All was quiet, still.

“Oh,” she huffed softly, and rubbed at her searing eyes, wondering if she’d managed to encounter an ember.

The changeling woke in an instant, dazed expression quickly morphing into surprise as he met the doctor’s gaze. Her irises and pupils had merged into twin orbs of cerulean light, projectingthe same glowing blue that powered Jim’s transformation.

Everything came back to him in a flash of icy water and a lady’s pale gaze:

“You were never created for darkness.” The ancient voice lingered in his mind. ”You are a child of light.”

“Your eyes,” his low voice trembled with incredulity.

“Walter.” Barbara spoke through a weighted breath. Blinking, she caught a wavering blue glow in the reflection of a silver ash bucket near her head, competing with the fire’s yellow light. She blinked again, and the blue disappeared. “What happened?” A crease formed between her brows as she lifted a hand to the air. White waves of electricity sparkled through her fingertips. “Woah,” she said weakly.

“Shh,” his clawed hand clasped hers. He ignored the shock waves it sent through his bones. “You need to rest. ”

“I need to find Jim.” Blue eyes fluttered, despite her attempts to keep them open. “We have to keep going.”

���Stay,” he brought a clawed hand to her forehead. “You’re still chilled. Here,” she felt a hand press into her back as he sat her up a little, shifting the pillows to prop her up before swaddling her in something soft and velvety. She opened her eyes long enough to watch him stand, ochre eyes teeming with concern. He left for a moment, ducking into an adjacent room before returning with a small bowl. Bending to his knees, he brought it to her face. A creamy yellow liquid frothed at the top. Sniffing it, she wrinkled her nose.

“What is this?”

“Po cha,” he explained, snorting when her brows furrowed in a way he’d always adored. “Butter tea. It’s a bit intense for the American palliate, but it will warm you.”

Arms trapped as they were beneath the blankets, he brought it to her lips.

“Mmm,” she hummed disapprovingly.

“Please try.” He tilted the bowl a little further and she opened her mouth wide enough to let some of the liquid slip through.

“Oh, that’s different.” She finally said after a thick swallow. “Goat?”

“Yak.”

She narrowed her eyes at the thought, but then he was pressing the bowl to her lips again, urging her with a quiet, “come on then,” as he neatly sidestepped any of the hypocorisms he so often slipped into around her. The respect for her boundaries warmed her, somehow, encouraging her onward. Taking a deep breath, she sipped again, and in this way, she allowed herself to be fed for the next five minutes or so, until she’d finally had enough of the musky liquid. Downing the rest of the contents himself, he set it aside on the floor.

A fire crackled somewhere behind her, slowly lulling her back into a sleep-wanton state. Feeling something shift behind the pillows, she realized that Walter was straddling them behind her,. A warm hand grasped at her shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said, though she was already nodding off. Briefly, she had the revelation that the blankets were brushing directly against her skin.

“I’m naked, aren’t I?” But she never heard the answer, drifting back into the land of dreams before he could supply it.

***

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A snippet from Andaman...written circa 2018. (Rated T for alightly mature themes)

The sound of cool, clear waves lapping against the entrance of the cave in the moonlight mixed soothingly with the subdued gusts of the ocean’s tropic breeze, lulling Walter into a sleepy daze. Somewhere in the distance,dolphins still splashed in the frothy brine, their noise mixing strangely with the steady hum of insects, and the haunting call of the occasional bird. A small and dying fire crackled along the edge of his hidden cove, charring the remains of his barely-touched dinner.

He’d given up on trying to summon Morgana. Varied macabre attempts at trying to get her attention had proven futile. It didn’t matter which variety of star-lit ritual she performed, or how many times he said her name, there was never any answer save for the island breeze. He would have done better to stay in Myeik at the Hotel Grand Jade, drinking his weight in the jugs of palm wine he’d bummed off of one of the locals. The hotel was dated, but comfortable. He’d paid for his stay in cold cash--as untraceable as it was uncanny--and from the top floor he’d felt safe enough staking out until he could chart a course to North Sentinel Island. Not many would be willing to take the chance of drawing close enough to the island for him to easily swim ashore, especially at night.

The indigenous peoples of North Sentinel Island were known to be hostile, rejecting all contact with the outside world and killing anyone who stepped foot on their sands. Many had died in the pursuit of aiding or interfering with their lifestyle, or had been arrested by the Indian navy for coming too close. It would take a hefty sum to convince anyone to charter him across. Arriving in his own vessel was not an option—he’d have to sink the boat, and the risk of being spotted in unfamiliar waters was too high. Money wasn’t an object, of course, as long as he’d been around, but people often wanted something less traceable, in case the government came a-looking.

He’d purchased a motorcycle, one with a small enough engine to maneuver easily through the streets, but powerful enough to make a quick getaway if needed--Janus would be on his heels in moments if they caught wind, and he’d been in the hierarchy long enough to know that they were never very far behind. Thus outfitted, he’d traveled, often ferrying to Andaman island to search for the idea hire. To the people there, he looked relatively normal--a traveler, but one well versed in their ways and culture. Instead of his typical brown suit and jumper he wore a light tunic, sandals, and khakis. His hair had grown longer—partially induced by a spell—and the light traces of a beard cast shadows around his face. After years in clean-cut Arcadia, he’d barely recognized himself in the mirror. Barbara, even if she hadn’t been stripped of her memory, would struggle to find familiarity in this new visage.

Barbara.

For every memory Vendel’s incantation had taken from her, his seemed to have increased tenfold. Every impossibly blue wave reminded him of her eyes, every hungry fire of her flame-brushed hair, every tremulous star of her vibrant soul. Much like the water in her namesake, there was no shape he could find that she couldn’t fill, save for the gaping holes she’d left in him.

Every step of his journey, he’d been haunted.

He’d managed to track down a willing candidate to take him to the island. An younger fisherman man with a new family who was in desperate need of a new form of transportation. For the cost of a the motorcycle, he’d found himself sneaking off on a small fishing vessel in the middle of the night. There had only been one small scare with a navy boat, but they’d gotten lucky, and the journey was otherwise flawless. When he’d finally waded onto the perilous sands of North Sentinel’s shore, dry-sacks in hand, and waved his hired hand off, he was met with an eerie silence.

The bustle of the city and the boats had been some distraction, but this..he would never stop thinking about her.

And he hadn’t, not even two months later, no matter how many times he tried to summon Morgana back. Now, by his crackling fire, he thought of her again, and of her son, and of how he’d wronged them. He’d caught wind of Angor’s defeat and Jim’s disappearance into the Darklands in an internet cafe before he’d stranded himself. Oh course the boy had gone alone. Altruism at his finest. He wondered if Barbara even knew, and if she did, god help him.

To these thoughts, he drifted into a sleep-like trance, where the memories always flooded in:

He’s standing in the California breeze, two ice cream cones in hand, searching for her blue eyes in the sea of moving faces on the street.

“Walter!” he turns to see her making her way through a cluster of teenagers. School is out for the afternoon, and the world is buzzing with the excitement of Friday night. Her face is warm and bright as she strides up to him, and he spreads his arms wide to avoid dripping on her lab-coat as she slides her arms around him in a hug.

“Fresh from the parlor,” he pecks the top of her red head before pulling away to lower the cone in front of her. “Strawberry, as the lady requested.”

“I see you got the same thing.” She smiles as her hand wraps around the pointed cone.

“How could I resist?” His tongue flicks out to catch a drop of cream along his own cone, smiling when her pupils dilate.

The next few minutes are spent happily licking away as they walk through the warm spring air, making their way toward the local park.

It’s when they’re walking by the pond, that it catches his eye.

“Dr. Barbara V. Lake,” He reads aloud, pausing to stand in front of her. “I haven’t seen this coat before. What does the V stand for?”

“V for very, very, very happy to see you right now.” She jokes and then bites into the cone.

“Oh, come now.” They both wince as she gets brain-freeze. “Surely you’ll tell me.”

“Hmm, what do I get out of it?” Her smile grows coy.

“Dinner,” he clears his throat, brandishing his own sultry look as he finishes his cone. “Chinese. I’ll buy extra eggrolls.”

“You really know how to woo a woman.”

“I do,” he bites his lip.

“Viviane.”

Something jolted within him—a bit of memory, a quick blur—causing the foundations of his soul to settle, as though they’d been out-of-sorts his entire life.

“It’s beautiful.” He bent low to kiss the space above her ear. “And it suits you.”

He watches as his voice makes her spine shiver shiver, and she almost drops her cone. “Well, I hope so. It was my grandmothers name. I take after her in almost every regard. She was a nurse in the army, you know. Traveled the whole world. I used to listen to all of her incredible stories.”

“I should thank her for raising such an incredible spirit.”

“I wish you could. She’s gone now.” Barbara’s eyes grow heavy, “died right around the time that James left, actually. She would have <i>loved</i> you,” she smiled into his neckline.

“Oh really?” Humor bubbled from his throat.

“Well, you have an intoxicating sense of charm, and she had this massive thing for piano-hands.”

Stepping back, Walter moves to wrap his arms around her from behind as they gaze over the pond. “Couldn’t blame her. I’ve got some rousing sonatas up my sleeve.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it was just about the musical skill.” She chuckles. "Grammy was a fireball."

“In that case, I also have some ‘a’rousing sonatas,” he said in a beat.

They both laugh, melting into the syrupy sweetness of the moment, bodies swaying, pendulum-slow in a half-dance that leads them nowhere.

He woke.

“Viviane” He muttered to the silver-tipped waves, eyes blinking past the moonlight. “I’ve heard that name before. But where?” A scuttling crab distracted his gaze, and then his head fell back against the palm-fronds.

The next dreams weren’t rooted in his memory. They were silly, really, nothing of consequence--full of deep and ancient forests, bloodied horns against bovine fur, and the soft, bright bloom of a fragile flower.

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For anyone who hasn’t seen this.

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You can pry this cheesy song and the images of the Lake Family 2.0 it conjures from my cold, dead fingers.

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@stricklakeetal

The first of the snippets from WIPs (as promised!) I haven't been able to write since my mom passed, so I'm not sure if or when I'll ever get any of these done, but I thought I'd share some unfinished ideas!

This one is still in a dialogue-heavy format. I’ve tried to fill in context in parenthesis. For context, in this story, most of the babies that were taken from the cradlestone are being cared for by goblins at the old Janus headquarters, all overseen by Walter, but some are housed at the Lake residence.

***

(Douxie is walking out of a record store, humming a soft tune, when his phone rings. He answers. )

“Mr. Casperian.” Strickler's gruff voice floated out from the receiver. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from Jim.”

“Uh, yeah, no it’s fine.” The wizard scratched the back of his head, raising a brow. “Who is this?”

“I’m Jim’s--an ally of the Trollhunter’s. Waltolomew Stricklander. ”

“Ah, yes, Merlin mentioned you a few times.”

“Good, then you’ll recall that I am in possession of all of the familiars—err, human children—who were formerly housed within the Darklands.”

“Oh that’s right! You’re the one with Dr. Lake. How’s that going for you?”

“Er—well, that’s the thing. It’s—we’ve run into a bit of a conundrum.”

“Conundrum?”

“It would be best if you saw it in person. Do you know where Jim lives?”

“Yeah I do, actually." He scratched the back of his neck as he spoke. “What’s going on again?”

“Waaalt, it’s not just those two.”Douxie heard another voice through the receiver.

“I have to go,” Walter’s voice was grave, “Erm, the faster you can get here, the better. We need a wizard.”

“Right then, you got it.”

(Later, at the Lake residence Douxie opens the door and his jaw drops. There are babies flying everywhere, and magic spells being cast to and fro, bouncing off of every wall. In the middle of it all, a haggard Walter and Barbara are trying to reign in the chaos. Douxie inquires about the Trollhunters, who could be there in a moments notice with Claire’s shadow magic.)

“Claire, Jim, and Toby are on vacation with the Nunez’s in the mountains.” Barbara explained.

“Young Atlas needs a break. They all do,” the changeling admonished. “I know Claire could be in and out quickly, but it would be best if we didn’t interrupt them. ”

“What on earth is going on with these babies?!” Barbara yelped as she barely dodged a ball of light being thrown her way. A crash sounded from the kitchen, and with a resigned huff, she strode off to discover its source.

“They’ve been exposed to Morgana’s magic for too long,” Douxie explained. “Creatures like that, like changelings,” he gestured towards Walter, “are naturally more inclined towards magic.”

“How do we keep them under control?” Walter’s voice was desperate. “This house, and the entire Janus base will be destroyed!”

“I don’t know!” Douxie exclaimed, “I’m not used to dealing with magic users this young. I’ve never even seen it. They have no idea what they are doing.”

“You were Merlin’s protege,” Walter growled as he tried to grab two babies that had landed on his horns. “Figure it out!”

“Waaaahh!” NotEnrique screamed from another room.

“Fire! Fire! Baby on fire!” Barbara came running down the hallway towards Walter, who grabbed the child before the flames could spread up the little one’s arms to burn her.

The baby itself giggled as the flames danced around Walter’s clawed and heat-resistant fingertips, seemingly unharmed. He sighed as the charred diaper fell away.

“This is madness!” Douxie held out his arm, and in a flash of blue, put out the flame. Grimacing, he pulled his phone from his pocket, running through his list of contacts. “We need back-up!”

Diaper-less, a stream of yellow came bounding out from between the baby’s legs, promptly splashing Walter’s face.

“Ugh,” he blinked and sputtered as he tried to clear the urine away, “and here I thought Battle of Marengo was hard.”

“Buh, buh, buh--” the baby tried to imitate him as he held it at arms length.

“Hello, Zoe, lovelet, I have an address I just texted to you, can you, uh--” Douxie held the phone to his face , trying to grab a different baby's leg as it floated by, "--do you mind popping by? There's a bit of a situation."

“What situation?” came her voice from the other end

The child escaped the Wizard’s grasp, babbling gleefully while wearing a tricorne.

“Waltolomew Jr, get over here this instant!” Barbara went chasing after the baby with outstretched arms.

“It’s a bit hard to explain…” Douxie’s voice trailed off as three other babies crawled after the doctor, sparks flying out from behind their knees like toy race cars.

“It’s mutiny, I tell ya!” NotEnrique came scurrying into the room, body covered in roots and flowers. “they’ve been savin’ it all for the big day! Oi, Jazz Hands, you mind givin’ me some help here?”

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” Douxie said as he fiddled with the gauntlet. “C’mon, c’mon...” he grumbled to the mechanism. “Ah! There.”

Geometric shapes of light appeared along the floor, bursting out and upward in a cacophony of blue. The babies who were airborne dropped to the ground, and Douxie watched as Walter lunched to catch two or three with his wings.

A thud upstairs indicated that another baby had dropped, followed by a piercing wail.

“Hold this,” Barbara said, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and Douxie found himself with a sudden armful of Walt Jr. as the doctor bounded up the staircase, NotEnrique went scurrying up behind her, shedding petals and brambles in his wake.

“Ah, hello mate,” Douxie quirked a brow as he looked down to the child in his arms, “so you’re the chip off the old rock here.”

(Douxie tries to cast a few spells with some success. For a few moments, the chaos stops and all of the floating babies come back to the floor. Strickler filters back into the room.)

He heard Walter snort, and then yelp as the first baby lit itself on fire again. The children nestled in his wing began to cry at the sudden flash of light.

“I thought you put a stop to this.” Walter growled as he held the baby away again.

“There are limits to my powers,” Douxie asserted, “I’ve got the airborne babies under control, but the other one’s will take longer. “

The changeling grabbed a crystal from a pouch along his loincloth and held it to the baby’s chest, cradling the child in his arms while the others remained in his wing. He muttered something that sounded low and quick, like snapping coals, and extinguished the baby once more. Not seconds later, a different baby with bows in it’s hair shot a beam of frost towards Walter’s head, covering his hair and horns in snow. Uttering, he tried to shake it away.

“They all have different abilities,” Douxie remarked in wonder as he stepped closer to the changeling. “We have fire, frost, earth--” the lights flickered above them, “--electricity,” he added, “and who knows what else? Heaven help us if one of them is in tune with Shadowmancy.”

“Shadow magic I can deal with, to a degree,” Walter’s golden eyes fell on the boy, “I am a creature of shadow, after all. It’s the others I can’t handle.”

Douxie laughed, something wry and time-worn passing across his gaze. “You’re not made of shadow magic, pal.”

“Come again?” his wings tensed.

“You may have been exposed to it in the Darklands, but the creation of life...that requires light.”

Walter stared at him for a long moment, gaze flickering in the dim.

“Shadow magic is what Gunmar was using to create his mindless drones, you’re not that.” Douxie went on. “I may not be as all-knowing as Merlin, but I know that much.”

“Forgive me for having a hard time believing you.” A baby was pulling in his tusks. Gently, he patted it back down. “But I have known nothing else.”

“You’ll see one day,” Douxie offered pale and knowing smile. “I don’t doubt it.”

It was then that Barbara came back onto the scene, hair completely unraveled and soaked, toweling her face.

“Oh dear,” Walter quirked a brow.

“She’s in the bathtub, living it up.” Barbara sneered. “Imagine a baby with a super-soaker.” Water still dripped from her arms. “NotEnrique’s entertaining her for now. I had to change twice.”

The sound of a motorcycle entering the driveway caught their collective attention, and Barbara gave Walter a curious look.

“That’ll be Zoe,” Douxie explained as he headed for the door. The moment he opened it, the power went out, and with the sun setting, the house became shrouded with darkness.

“Fuzzbuckets,” the wizard moaned through the burbles and gurgles and wails.

(Zoe walks up, fascinated to know what the heck could be going on. There’s some light banter, then Douxie introduces them to Walter and Barbara, who are surrounded by babies.)

“Remember the Trollhunter?” Douxie gestured to the couple. “Well, these are his parents.”

Walter tensed, “Er, well, I’m not actually Jim’s--” his words trailed off when Barbara put an arm on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey.”

Looking between the two of them, Zoe cocked a brow. “Well, there’s a story." It was well known that changelings couldn’t reproduced and equally known that they didn’t pursue relationships with...well, anyone.

“One we don’t have time to unpack, I’m afraid.” Walter said, curling a wing into a makeshift hammock before adding three or four babies to it.

.......

(And that’s all I had! Obviously there would have been a resolution, and I remember planning to have Steve show up at some point, but I hope you enjoyed the concept! Forgive any typos. Will post more int he next couple of days)

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Dragging this back out of the mud for St. Paddy’s day.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Trollhunters (Cartoon) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Warnings Apply Characters: Barbara Lake, Walt Strickler Series: Part 12 of The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles Summary: Horses, and flowers, and shamrocks, oh my.

If you’re under 18, run like mad away from here! 

[f0xwrite]

K.O.

Summary: Strickler ends up in the hospital, and guess who's on staff that evening? Based on rumors of a lost scene...

“Dr. Yen is getting off his shift a little early,” Wanda walked into the hospital break room where Barbara sat at the table, phone in hand, drinking a glass of water while preparing for her next shift. “Here’s a list of incoming patients,” the woman placed an iPad in front of the doctor. “We’ve got PAs covering the minor cases, but there’s no one else to handle the big stuff. You wanna go ahead and get a head start this evening?“

“Yeah, sure.” Barbara said, biting her lip as she gave one last longing look at her phone before pocketing it in her lab coat.

“You okay?” Wanda quirked a brow.

“Yeah, my lunch date was a no-show. Just checking to see if I had any messages.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason, “ Wanda assured. “I can’t see why anyone would want to pass up a date with you .”

“Alright,” Barbara cocked a brow. “What are you buttering me up for?”

“Dr. Jenkins sort-of called out sick again.” Wanda gave a pained smile. “Mind covering the next shift too? At least until we get someone else to come along.”

The doctor sighed, and gave Wanda a knowing look. “Alright, I’ll call Jim in a little while, and let him know I won’t be home,” she looked down at the iPad and began to scroll through the list with one finger, head poised in one curled hand. “What do we got here? Asthma attack, dehydration, drug overdose, dehydration again, chest pain...multiple trauma suspect?” She blinked at the screen. “Walter Strickler?”

Her eyes were wide when they looked back to Wanda, already she was pushing the chair away to stand. “That’s my date!” she proclaimed, and went flying out the door...

CONTINUE HERE

[f0xwrite]

sometimes you just gotta draw dumb stuff

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