#(<- again not ACTUALLY but like. just to ward off Those People i guess)

[soleadita]

me: makes a silly little teen wolf post on my silly little tiny blog

rabid sc*tt stans i literally have never crossed paths with ever in my entire life: derek hale is the devil incarnate, actually, and here’s why

[shakertwelve]

Hey hii hello hiiii what do u think was Marquis trigger backstory? Since ur the professional on him and we don’t know shit about him(besides his apparent vampirism lmfao)

Interested in your marquis backstory thoughts because his power implies a lot but I can’t quite put it together - there’s SOMETHING that he feels the bones breaking each time and doesn’t show it but idk what. Forced to play into a role even as it causes agony? Macabre leaning? What’s goin on there

SO the first big thing about marquis's background is that i really don't think he grew up with any wealth or comfort at all—his cape persona is a performance that he's putting on to get as far as possible from his much more humble origins, imo. heathcliff stuff. obvious tension of identity there that fits with a changer power and also makes sense with his pain tolerance, which suggests he's had a lot of experience bearing through pain without any help, and the way he talks; he often sounds like he's picking his words deliberately and even trying to give off an air of sophistication, but he never actually uses any words that are especially fancy or obscure. ward messes with this a bit by making him act like an actual cartoon vampire sometimes, but i think i'm still pretty close to the mark.

at one point he mentions that his father was a doctor, but i don't think the man he's referring to there is his biological father—his wish for the brigade not to put amelia into the foster system makes me think he himself spent some time in the system and didn't enjoy it (pretty plausible, especially considering this would've been in the 70s and 80s) before he eventually ended up with the man he thinks of as his father, which is why he's hopeful that amelia will be alright if she's with a good family from the start.

if anything i think he probably grew up more like rachel than anyone else in the cast, but while rachel dealt with being treated badly by human society by forming connections with her dogs instead, marquis never totally gave up on the idea that he could prove himself to be worthy. his dedication to being a "noble" villain, to me, seems like it comes from an almost childish sense of fairness; he has to believe that if he makes himself respectable, people will recognize it and respect him, if he holds himself to a higher standard he won't just be treated as another criminal, if he chooses his words carefully enough he won't be misinterpreted, and if he trusts his daughter to the dallons they'll rise to the occasion and take care of her. it's something he notes makes it difficult for him to understand amy once they're reunited, because she lacks that same internal drive; she's already seen that no matter what she did, she was never really treated like she belonged in the dallon family, so she can't make herself care enough to try anymore. my guess is that it's different for marquis because he had a father figure he actually looked up to, who (in marquis's memories) was a self-made man who was respected on his own terms, and if his father did it right, he can, too.

in a literal sense, his power is the ability to contort himself into any shape that could possibly be wanted from him, but he has to keep breaking himself over and over again to do it—and he does! his shard doesn't even need to throw in anything to protect him from the pain, because he's already willing to do anything just to become someone who can be accepted like he wants. trying to describe the exact moment of his trigger would take more speculation (i could sketch out a timeline but i'd really just be making up the details), but i think those are the underlying issues that are already cooking in his head when it happens.

[fatestayyuri]

Finished Ward Arc 5

I wish the interludes weren't so good so i could stop reading

i fucking hate this serial. I hate this serial so fucking much. if only it had the fucking decency to just be shit and incoherent all the way through instead of having flashes in the pan of good characters. on the flip side, the cluster interludes piss me off because they're good enough that i would make radically different posts if i post before them rather than after. the fork meatball platter strikes again

god. am i missing something from worm? if its two years after the apocalypse why can people make livings as interior decorators. why is there data but 'only' no unlimited data plans. if rations are so tight why are people talking about authentic italian sausage and fast food. i can buy cars and coffee being there because those are likely the two first things but like. they're building new skyscrapers? i mean the fact that they're building skyscrapers and focusing on fast food before housing the homeless in the tent cities could be biting commentary if like. it cohesed at all. why is all of NY and new england a single giant city. i don't get it. if there's strict caps and fuel rations why. why. why. why.

anyway my designated vicky bitching: she would be a fucking astology girl. i hate her so much. i hate her so much get me OUT of her fucking head

no lemme go back what kind of post apocalypse lets people make upper-middle class livings off of interior decorating and real estate. what the hell

anyway back to victoria 'cop' dallon. I hate her as she's written but like. I despise how the narrative is written around her. transplant her in a story where she can actually bounce her "i miss when we were CIVILIZED" about the city where nazis held power speech off of someone so they could punch her instead of just leaving it to fester in the air and i'd like her character a lot more. i don't know. he's clearly setting up themes and arcs and a journey of her healing past her paranoia but he just kind of. gets bored? is that the right word? it's frustrating.

it's poetry watching her fumble Ashley though. ashley 100% deserves better and i understand. I Understand why she blew that guy up. no notes. i love the way the villains went "ahh here comes the lecture" when victoria opened her mouth after though it was so fucking funny

the cluster though. god. the fucking cluster. they all deserve to kill rain so so bad.

the interplay of how they spiral while rain tries to rebuild and them all KNOWING it's the bleedthrough. I would eat my own organs, could you imagine?

the cluster dynamics are so good. I could eat this up all day. the interludes starring the villains are good too! I wish there was a web serial that just focused on the villains. Too bad it doesn't exist though, real shame

if ward was just the interludes it would be so good. I'm kind of dreading when they resolve the cluster because like. what else would i read this serial for. I guess Ashley and the rest of breakthrough? I'm not asking for all of them to be resolved as well as Snag was here just like. have them follow the narrative arcs. please. please tell me that the cluster is the one good thing about this serial and has a satisfying conclusion. I beg of you

[lockyle-and-skull]

My thoughts on the show:

(minor spoilers)

I really liked the indie feel, like even though it had production value it still felt a lot different from other, bigger, shows. Kind of like Sleepaway Camp but better? Idk.

not a lot of exposition? - I’m not talking about The Problem, I kind of liked how they showed more as the show went on, but the entire Screaming Staircase arc felt rushed to me - they didn’t even really explain why the screaming staircase was dangerous, it felt unearned the way Lucy and Lockwood rushed off it so fast. They did spend more time on the Whispering Skull arc, which I felt was executed very well.

idk if it was just me, but the episodes felt like they ended at abnormal times? Like something would happen in the middle of an episode and I’d expect it to roll credits after, and then the episode endings weren’t as deliberate as other shows’ (which I honestly kind of prefer? It made the story feel more continuous, and I feel like a lot of shows nowadays kinda abuse the cliffhangers to keep people watching - idk any way to describe it other than dystopian I guess, very calculated; so I like that it didn’t follow that trend)

the episode titles were kind of uninspired

soundtrack 11,000/10 I died and came back to life when bld played

I loved the Whispering Skull arc - I did miss the rats, but Flo absolutely slayed 10/10 get that girl an oscar. I really liked George’s performance as well, and Pamela was a very good mad researcher type.

LOCKYLE LOCKYLE LOCKYLE - it was as much as I hoped for and more. I was, in fact kicking my feet and squealing.

PROP AUCTION WHEN????????? I would spend thousands (/hyp) on a rapier (or the fucking skull, can you imagine?)

The relic columns were as impressive as I imagined

I rly want to see Kipps in those goggles, he would look so disgruntled

the Lucy and George bonding at the end was perfect

THEY REPLACED THE FUCKING LOCKET :( - I wanted something big and gold and gaudy I could buy a replica of and wear. The ring did make it more of a romantic gift, and she did keep it in a locket, I liked that part - it’s like a little easter egg if you read the books

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: ANNIE WARD >>>>>>>>>> she’s my favorite character idc idc

HOLY SHIT I just realized if we get more we’re gonna see the FEATHER CAPES!!! that might break me.

the skull’s voice was great, the skull’s cgi was great (idk if it actually was, I’m very easily impressed), the skull was great.

Lockwood being a cocky egomaniac is so fucking true (he did Lucy p dirty, but I liked that they showed his character flaws)

I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE MORE KIPPS’ CREW AND L&CO TEAM UPS (especially the department store)

I liked the one-liners, it retained a lot of the humor

it had a good amount of Flubbins (are we gonna have to get a new name for that for the show version?), which I absolutely adore, obviously

rip to that undercover agent

Portland Row is fantastic - 11/10 set design (I especially enjoyed the thinking cloth)

the cliffhanger at the end should hopefully keep non-book fans wanting more, they did a good job of building up Lockwood angsting over his dead family

I liked how they spent a good amount of time on Jacob’s agency, that was interesting

I WANT MORE

[im-657-mv]

9. "I've always fantasized about this moment, let me enjoy your presence, darling..."

[requested] 001

word count: 801

He was appearing more often and in more places. In crowds and behind flashes of cars. But never for no longer than mere seconds did he stand there, staring. You didn't understand though. Viktor, the love of your life, stuck in the past reoccurring in your daily life, why? Why now of all times? Were you going crazy? You might as well be because seeing a dead person in broad daylight is more than concerning. People have been sent to the ward for littler things than this.

But you had a feeling in the pit of your stomach. This was something of greater importance. You just knew that all of this was happening for a reason. What if... what if Viktor was contacting you from the beyond?

I guess you were a believer in those sort of things, spiritual things if you must. But never in your lived life so far did you think the occult would make meets with you. For them, for Viktor, to dip his hand into this world must mean something, right?

With these thoughts spinning webs in your head you lay awake and unable to catch the sleep you had wanted most nights. Was he really trying to get your attention? The love of your life was dead. He had died. You had mourned his ever so presence in your life, and now that he's somewhat here again... Well, you couldn't pass this opportunity up. No one would.

The next morning you reluctantly made the purchase of an ouija board. It made you anxious and hesitant to even touch it, but this was what you saw in the movies. It was a way to contact the dead, whether you liked it or not.

You set everything up with shaky hands, labored breath, and worry lacing your beautiful face. And every so often you would question all that you were doing. Was this the right choice? Because talking about it and actually doing it are completely two different things in this circumstance. You bit your nails thinking, but you knew what your answer was. Deep down you just wanted to talk to him one more time. One last time.

The lights were off and the candles flared and lit up your living room, lighting the board and your face. This was it.

"In the name of the dead, I wish to speak to my Viktor. My husband. Show me a sign if you're here." You waited with absolute dreadful silence trying to sense if the triangle was going to move or not.

But not even three counts had passed until you felt something. Shivers went up from the bottom to the top of your spine slowly, erotically, as it trailed upward to the very base of your adorned neck. Goosebumps spread onto your skin and the hairs on both your arms and neck stood straight. You gulped and gasped at this exotic feeling that was quite new for a person like you.

"Viktor..." You panted as the feeling returned yet again. It burned into your skin as it crawled up making you itch with a new uncomfortableness across your back. Your face turned upward as a groan slipped out from between your soft lips at the experience.

With your eyes shut tight you felt the triangle move. You looked down and immediately saw it slowly sliding across the board to... 'NO'. Th-this wasn't Viktor...

Eyes widened and thoughts no longer being able to process anything the triangle flew away from your fingers, smashing violently into the wall with a loud bang.

"No no no no no..." You repeated shooting straight up from your seat as your mind raced a hundred miles per hour. You feared the worse upon your fate. Was how you were going to die? By the claws of a demon.

A chuckle echoed throughout the room filling it with a new ounce of terror and horror. And one by one, each candle burst into high flames proceeding to go out leaving you in the darkness alone with the stench of your fear and panicked breathing.

Only then did you feel it again. But it wasn't the searing pain all along your back. It was the placement of a cold unmoving hand gripping at your waist unwavering from its newfound spot on your skin. You stayed still, frozen as another hand joined it holding your body in place.

"I am no Viktor..." He whispered as he slowly turned your body to face him in his embrace. He wanted you to know of his beauty, of his presence, hence the sights of your dead husband. Even if you didn't know it was actually him it was all worth it in this underlining moment.

"But I've always fantasized about this moment, let me enjoy your presence, darling..."

taglist

@hueanhdang @zadri @whatinthefreshhellisthis @hawkinsbylers

[sasukimimochi]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (you are here). Part 4 Part 5 ...

Overall Warnings: grotesque written imagery, body horror, blood, possession(?) sort of (more like integrating), voices, loss of self (since this isn't really MCD), Darker WWX (he's not classic wwx), violence

I was very easily convinced to post part three early. (looking at you @mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess) No warnings for this part! It's a little rough, but that's what every part will be like. The Ao3 version will be fully proofread.

-

Part 3

· ✦ Excuses ✦ ·

Despite their qualms, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji both kept a tight lid on Wei Wuxian’s apparent handicap through the war and beyond. When it came to qualms over the carrying of his sword, Jiang Cheng was quick to defend and he figured this was one of the best ways to do it. Of course there were questions, but they were deflected with the best lie they could think of: the sword, Suibian, had been critically damaged before being recovered.

They both knew the sword was intact and well in Lan Wangji's custody though, and was glad the man remained silent despite their frequent arguments about his cultivation.

Wei Wuxian never made an attempt to rise up to the invasive questions, actually. Jiang Cheng took over every time he opened his mouth, and it seemed the man had no qualms about allowing the leader to take over every conversation that questioned him. The excuse of another sword being made was simply answered by “Suibian was important to my head disciple and we are working on plans to recover it after the war.”

After the war though, time ticked down quickly and the excuses were running dry. Asking about it however was like poking a hornet's nest, which was Jiang Cheng. His glares had gotten critical from the repeated irritation he showed every time the question was asked, which actually did a pretty good job warding off most cultivators who would ask.

Then, it was time for the Phoenix mountain hunt.

“Wei Wuxian…I don’t think you should go.” Jiang Cheng was shining his sword, but lifted his head to look at his shixiong as he did so.

Wei Wuxian stopped twirling his flute, tilting his head in Jiang Cheng’s general direction so they could see each other. “Okay. Why though?”

“Multiple reasons. I’m tired of making excuses for you, for one.” Jiang Cheng sighed and squinted at the other, his hand stilling on his sword. “And the eyes are going to make people ask questions too. Can’t you make them go back to their old color?”

“Not really, they're kind of stuck like this.” Wei Wuxian smiled, still as eerie as he was during the war. "Probably the ocean of resentment i'm carrying."

“And that! Why do you look like a demon now?? You’re gonna get me in trouble with that eerie grin of yours!” Jiang Cheng huffed, finishing up his sword and sheathing it again. “It was great for intimidating during the war, but you doing that nearly had sect leader Yao asking if we had bad intentions!”

“I won't deny it was absolutely great seeing him shrink back like he did. My face just looks like this though.” Wei Wuxian frowned, “I’m not sure how to change it.”

“Well then…stop smiling in public I guess.” Jiang Cheng shrugged, throwing his hands up. “We can’t have the sects thinking you’re out to get them.”

“Those sects are filled with rotten eggs.” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, baffling Jiang Cheng in the process. It still surprised him every time, considering how different he acted now. “But I will do my best to appease my shidi.”

Jiang Cheng groaned loudly and held his forehead. “Alright, I'm sick of you for today. Get out of here.” He waved his hand and pulled over a stack of letters he needed to get to. “I’ve had enough ‘help’ from you today.”

Wei Wuxian hopped up from his seat and hummed. “Alright, if you say so.” He stood there in silence a bit longer, but Jiang Cheng was used to this strange behavior that Wei Wuxian had adopted. If Jiang Cheng called him out on it, it would only be met with an irritated glare, and despite his desire to kick him into his place for it, it was a harmless behavior despite its strangeness.

As if finally deciding something, Wei Wuxian saluted his sect leader and then strolled out of the office, off on his little adventure.

[fantasyinallforms]

I’d love to see you try: “…is this a bad time?” 👀

Thank you Sunny for the prompt! ❤️❤️

I'm having so much fun with these prompts for the FotFics March Madness event! I hope you like it! Also posted on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45544498

Bagginshield-Rating [T]

Title: …is this a bad time?

Being king under the mountain came with many perks, free time was not one of them. 

Thorin stepped through the gates of Erebor and drank in the familiar smell. It had been almost 9 years since they had retaken the mountain, and Erebor was no longer the haunted shadow it once was. The mountain was well on its way to once again being the center for all trade in the north. It was one of those trade meetings that had taken Thorin away from his mountain and husband for three months. They had exchanged letters every week of those months, but letters could never do more than take the edge off of need. Thorin’s hands itched to hold Bilbo after so long. He had wasted no time returning from the Iron Hills and made good enough time that he ended up home an entire day early. A day he very much intended to spend locked away with Bilbo in their room. He just had to find Bilbo first.

Thorin got to his apartment and found it disappointingly empty. Wherever Bilbo was, he wasn't here. Still, it was nice to be surrounded by his things again. He had never cared much for having stuff in the past. It was unnecessary on the road or when his people were shifting around. Ered Luin had held no comfort for him, only obligation. Collecting things seemed too close to settling down, and he hadn't been ready to do that. Bilbo was the opposite. Settling down was in his nature, and he pulled Thorin into it easily. The room was a blend of the life they’d built over the last 9 long years. He put his things on the bed and chuckled to himself. The sheets were a mess, and you could tell that Bilbo had curled up in his spot on the bed, probably hugging the pillow. 

Before he decided to go looking for Bilbo, he opted for a quick bath to get the smell of the road off of him. When he was clean, he pulled on fresh clothes and started heading for the greenhouses.      

To his great misfortune, he ran into Balin first. 

“Your majesty! I didn't expect you for another day. This is a nice surprise and a fortunate one as well.” Balin looked excited; Thorin looked anything but. “...is this a bad time?” 

“Yes, If it was something that could have waited till I was back tomorrow, then it still can.” Thorin kept walking in the direction of the greenhouses, hoping his lack of pause would be enough to ward the old dwarf off. It wasn't. 

“I’m afraid it can’t wait. I was going to bring this up with Bilbo in your absence, but since you're here, I might as well bring it up to you.” Balin explained while keeping stride with Thorin. 

“Where is Bilbo?” Thorin asked, fixating on the one part of the sentence he actually cared about right now. 

“I hadn't yet had the chance to check his usual spots. If I had to take a guess, our Mr. Baggins is in his garden, the library, or perhaps the kitchens. I’m sure he’ll be very excited to see you.” Without skipping a beat, Balin launched into his explanation. “The king of Dale has paid us a visit and is looking to speak to you urgently.” Thorin’s trust in his advisor and the urgency in Balin’s voice was the only thing that caused him to divert his course from the greenhouse to the throne room. Sure enough, Bard was waiting for them just inside. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he seemed to have been pacing. He looked surprised to see Thorin. 

“I was told you were still traveling back from the Iron Hills?” it wasn't an accusatory question, only a curious one. 

“I was fortunate enough to arrive back just a few hours ago. What brings the king of Dale to Erebors halls?” Thorin wasted no time getting to the point. 

“I’m sorry to take your time so soon after arriving home. Things have stirred in your absence. I’ve been sending scouts to patrol the lands south of Esgaroth along the borders of Mirkwood. Most of the scouts went missing except one who returned last night. He was practically dead on his horse, but he was able to report before his injuries took him. Orcs, not just any orcs but orc riders on the backs of giant spiders. I thought him crazy at first before remembering Bilbo’s stories of your travels in Mirkwood, where you faced similar beasts. Every year the creatures coming from Dol Guldur grow bolder. The fact that they have aligned themselves with these foul creatures only makes me more concerned.” Bard had clearly spent no small amount of time thinking about this. He had bags under his eyes, and his voice was unsettled. 

“We were warned by Gandalf that things might begin to stir in that region, but I agree letting it go unchallenged would be a mistake. I’ll find Dwalin and have him send a group of warriors on rams to Dale. They can accompany your scouts in shifts and help eliminate any threats as well as gather intelligence,” Thorin said. Bard’s shoulders relaxed as he took a breath. 

“Thank you, Dale can’t afford to have its peace disturbed again. Not after we’ve come all this way. I won’t keep you any longer. I know you have people eager to see you.” Bard dipped his head and smiled knowingly at Thorin before walking towards the door. When he was gone, Thorin left as well, eager to not be waylaid any longer. He checked the greenhouses first and found no sight of Bilbo. He had the same luck with the kitchens. With each stop, he got suckered into another conversation or stopped to ask how his journey was. His responses to Bombur had bordered on rudeness, but he could apologize later; right now, he just needed to find Bilbo.

He decided to check the library next. Bilbo liked to work on paperwork and talk to Ori around this time of the day. The archives and library were just past the crafting halls, so he made sure he set a swift pace praying that the urgency in his steps was enough to ward off any questions. 

Just as he could see the exit to the hall, he overheard a very loud argument from two very familiar voices.

“Did you solder it with your eyes closed!” 

“It looks perfectly fine, Fee; you’re overreacting.”   

“Overreacting! Uncle is going to kill us when he gets back!” 

Thorin tried, he really, really tried to ignore the conversation and just keep moving. Fili and Kili were two grown dwarves capable of dealing with their own problems. Then they had to go and say the last bit. Now it actually was his problem. Pushing his fingers through his hair with a scowl, he marched towards his unsuspecting nephews. 

“I have half a mind to kill you now and be on my way.” Both boys went rigid at the sound of his voice. They had been too engaged in their argument to hear Thorin’s steps or notice him move to stand right behind them. 

“W-welcome back, Uncle!” Kili tried to play off his nervousness, but they both knew the damage was done. “How long have you been back?”

“Long enough; what did the pair of you do?” Thorin crossed his arms, his face keeping its stern disposition. A few moments passed with just blank stares. “I have been back in this mountain for less than four hours and have yet to see my husband. Every extra moment you make me wait, I will be less merciful when it comes to punishment. Out with it!” Thorin barked, his patience wearing thin.

“W-we might have tried to set up a small prank for you when you returned,” Kili said 

“And it might have resulted in Bilbo’s crown getting damaged,” Fili added. 

“But we fixed it! Good as new!” Kili held Bilbo’s crown up for him to look at. It wasn't the worst they could have done, but it wasn't what Thorin would consider good by any stretch of the imagination. The soldering was blobby and inconsistent; they even managed to get some of it on the gems. The boys were very talented with their own trades. Fixing delicate things was not their trade. Thorin tempered his anger, pulling on 204 years of learned patience. 

“Take this directly to the jeweler and see if she can reverse some of the shoddy craftsmanship that you decided to inflict upon it. Then go back to your apartment and stay there. I’m disappointed in both of you. You’re not pebbles anymore; you're future rulers. I recommend you start to act like it!” Thorin scolded. Both boys hung their heads a little. 

“Are you going to tell amad?” Fili asked. The question almost made Thorin laugh. Whatever scolding they got from him, Dis would be so much worse. 

“I’ll leave that up to Bilbo as he’s the one you owe a real apology to. Have either of you seen Bilbo?” Thorin asked.

“Last I saw him, he was headed to the east side of the mountain with Dwalin,” Fili said. Damn, that was in the opposite direction of where he was. The east side of the mountain held all the crystal caves, and Bilbo did like to visit them from time to time. Without another word, Thorin took off. Three months had been much too long; he could never do this again. He would bring Bilbo with him next time, regardless of Balin’s advice. Just the thought of those bouncing curls and soft features made Thorin pick up his pace. Finally, he arrived at the cave's entrance and could faintly make out noise from deeper within. He thought he would hear talking as he moved further in, but instead, he only heard grunts and heavy breathing. He knit his eyebrows together and stalked along further. Thorin stopped only when he finally heard speaking. 

“Dwalin, if we don't wrap this up soon, then I’m going to be too tired for Thorin tomorrow.” Bilbo panted

“Consider this a workout for your stamina, then,” Dwalin quipped.  

“We started this little workout after elevenses; it’s almost past afternoon tea now!” Bilbo pouted   

“Come on, one more round, then we can get cleaned up and eat,” Dwalin insisted.

“Fine, but go easy on me, or I’ll be sore all over tomorrow.” 

A jealous fury swarmed over his already agitated body. All the excitement he had overseeing Bilbo felt like ice for a moment as he rounded the corner of the cave, his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. The fury burned away immediately. Bilbo and Dwalin were standing across from each other with a sparring stick in each of their hands. Thorin shook his head to clear his mind. The day must have truly wearied him if, even for a second, he thought that Dwalin might try and take advantage of his absence or that Bilbo would ever do that to him. 

Neither of them had seen Thorin, and now that he had found Bilbo, some of his urgency fled. He was content for a moment to watch his unaware husband spar. Seeing him after so long was intoxicating. Nine years of Bilbo by his side did nothing but make Thorin more in love. He watched with a smile as the match finished, and Bilbo pushed damp honey copper curls mixed with a healthy dose of gray from his face. Age had touched Bilbo very little. Minus graying hair and softer physic, Bilbo looked much the same as he did in his simal the day they met. Bilbo dubbed that day the 'unexpected party.’ Bilbo took a waterskin offered by Dwalin, and as Thorin watched drops of water fall from plush pink lips and onto Bilbo’s shirt, he couldn't keep his presence hidden anymore. 

“Is this a bad time?” Thorin said with a big grin.

“Thorin!” Bilbo dropped the waterskin and practically lept into Thorin’s arms. Thorin caught him easily, relishing in the feel of him in his arms. “You're back early; why didn't you send a raven ahead of you to let me know?” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Thorin said, shifting Bilbo’s weight so he could hold him with one arm and stroking his cheek with the other. 

“Well, you’ve achieved that! I feel bad though I’m all sweaty. You should probably put me down.” Bilbo said, trying to pull away. Thorin’s grip only tightened around Bilbo’s waist.  

“I couldn't care less. I’ve waited three months to have you back.” Thorin planted kisses along Bilbo’s neck, making his hobbit giggle and melt. 

“We sent letters,” Bilbo said through giggles. 

“Yes, we did. Some of your letters brought great comfort. Some of them just made me so hungry for you that three months felt like three years.” Thorin growled as his hand went around the back of Bilbo’s head, and he pulled him into a fiery kiss. He became utterly lost in the taste of Bilbo’s lips and the feeling of having him so close that he completely forgot there was another person in the room. 

“I’m just going to assume that you’ll be saying your hello’s to the rest of the company tomorrow then,” Dwalin said in good humor. He didn't even bother picking up the sparring sticks; he just made his way to the exit. Thorin would apologize tomorrow. Today he had better things to do. He backed Bilbo up to the nearest wall and was rapidly trying to make up for lost time when he heard. 

“Hey! I had heard you were wandering around the mountain! I wanted to see if you managed to get my letter to…is this a bad time?”

“Bofur… get OUT!” Thorin fumed. Bofur all but ran out of the cave. Thorin looked back at Bilbo. “I’ll apologize tomorrow; I’m not sharing my time with anyone else today, regardless of how dire the situation is.”   

[ssaalexblake]

In seriousness though, I hate that i’ve gotten Twitchy about talking about 13 and Tecteun’s similarities because a Scarily large number of people decided to take Tecteun’s word for it on the doctor being just like her (as in. awful) despite all evidence to the contrary. Or at least, without bothering to examine it in context of the morals of the story and the complexities of their interactions. 

Because Baseline? Yeah, they’re similar. 13 Loves science, she thinks it’s beautiful, she thinks experimentation and discovery are beautiful and glorious. they Are both scientists who love to experiment and poke their noses in and interfere (if for vastly different reasons). 

But the whole story here is expressly meant to demonstrate that the doctor’s Choices are what led Tecteun to try and pull this horror story of a plot off. Not that the doctor did something bad or is a bad person! It is explicitly canon that Tecteun is furious with her ward’s life choices to be a good person and spread that dangerous hope, and that by doing so the doctor ruined her precious plans by being a rogue element. 

Tecteun has no issues with The Doctor the scientist, the doctor the regenerator. The doctor the division operative. The doctor her child. All those things benefit her and stoke her ego. 

She just utterly disdains the doctor of hope. 

Which sucks for her, because that’s all the doctor is interested in being. 

It’s why it gives their base similarities a reason for existing. I don’t actually believe Tecteun ever bore active ill will to the child, and I think she believes she cares for the doctor because why else would 13 be the only thing on her list of things to save from this universe if the doctor is what screwed it up for her in the first place? It makes No sense unless Tecteun thinks she does care about 13. Emphasis on Thinks. She’s just the typical abusive parent who thinks they care but is actually just projecting their narcissism on their child. She ‘cares’ because 13 is, in her opinion, a part of Her and therefore worth something (it is Telling that she keeps the doctor’s life that she stole on a shelf on display. Terrible. Yet telling). 

Every thing that Separates 13 from her she expresses dislike for. The name the doctor that the doctor named themselves. The doctor’s choice to go out and explore and help. Their inability to just shut up and follow orders. Their propensity for spreading hope among those worthless ant like masses. That the moment the doctor escapes Gallifrey’s (and tecteun’s) toxicity they meet better people and choose to be more like them, to grow and to heal, to help. 

Every choice the doctor makes, all the ones that incidentally make them a good person, Tecteun loathes because Tecteun is Not a good person. It doesn’t Matter how similar they are in what they so happen to like. We don’t choose what things we like, we are just born with the taste we have, that they have base similarities only further serves to demonstrate their differences in how the choose to act despite those similarities. 

One of them tries and chooses over and over and over again to be good, and do they always succeed? No, but the point is that they want it so much they keep trying. The point is they didn’t start out good, they were taught awful things (by the other) and were a crappy person before they learnt of another way and then stuck to that other way for thousands of years, moral crises and all. 

So yeah. I guess they are similar. One of them chooses to be awful, though, and the other good, and what the story is actually saying is that That is the only thing that matters.

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Sons of Prometheus

Had to leave off last night because the migraine was too bad to start in on the hyperfocus. Feeling somewhat better today, so I figured to just get a few side quests going.

Right. Runda's Rollerback salvage. And then maybe I'll go do Handa's stuff because it feels unfair. Granted, Runda really needed help whereas Handa's just ... erm ... Handa, but y'know. Fairness in all things? I guess?

Oh. Except if I'm really being fair, I should probably check on that rebel camp the delvers have been on about.

This is ... actually useful. Show myself juuuuuuuuuust enough to lead people out of camp, and then shoot them when they're out in the open. I am such an ambush predator.

Only problem is knowing exactly how much or how little is "showing myself juuuuuuuuuuuuuust enough" because now I'm in melee. Oh, fuck you, rebel shithead.

...I ... do not know how I did that thing where I rammed Aloy's knee into her attacker's face but I doubt I will be able to repeat it. No matter how much I want to. This is part of why fighting games will never be my thing. Well, that and the fibro.

And we're in the camp and ... where is everybody else? Oh. Right. I lured them all outside and killed them.

...Oooooooh, so this is how they're overriding machines. I mean, respect to them for figuring out that whole deal of pulling remote override cores out of Corrupters and then trapping machines with the intent of performing surgery on them, but still, yeesh. Also they can't be doing very well at this if there are this many machine corpses lying around.

Welp. No more of you. Stabby-stabby.

Okay. So. Where is everybody else?

Ah. There's like three of them behind this wall. How do I get in?

Oh. Okay. Gate.

And you ... and you ... aaaaaaaand you. Sorry, Son of Prometheus sniper; I am a waaaaaay better sniper than you. Now. Let's have a look.

Focus that I need to deal with back at base. Right. Okay. I had to go back there for a couple of bits and pieces of quest anyway. I guess this is important enough to drag me back there fairly soon.

Also ... can I just pretend in my head that the Oseram going along with this were just caught by the possibilities of the tech, and aren't blatantly evil? I usually like the Oseram.

...Well, there was Ulvund. Like I said; usually.

.........Maybe if I tell Erend about this, he can crack some Oseram heads and tell them to stop being shitheads. That'd be nice.

Anyway. Rollerback salvage. If I actually have to kill a Rollerback for this, I'm going to be pissed.

Oh. Okay. So it's just picking salvage out of a field and--

OFUCKSHELLSNAPPER DODGEROLLDODGEROLLDODGEROLL!

Right. So much for you, you subterranean pain in my ass. Now. ROLLERBACK. SALVAGE. Plus some extra Shellsnapper bits.

Oooh. Shiny close-range bow. This will be useful when I've upgraded it a little more. I should put together a shopping list.

(Honestly I'm really glad that whatever arbitrary time limit I've been given to get main quest shit done isn't really worth beans. I'd hate to think I doomed the world because I was trying to help an Oseram lady win an armour contest and upgrade my gear Because Reasons.)

Okay. I should head in a Handa-ward direction, but again I'm going for campfires and ... oh. Ruins. I should check those.

If there's a metal flower in there I am going to scream and punch things.

Nope. Just Firegleam. Now ... how am I doing this?

Huh. We're playing with water physics today, are we? Okay. A-swimming we will go.

Y'know, I didn't even look at what symbols this stupid holo-whatever was giving off. I have ceased to care. I am soggy and I would like out of the water hole, please.

(Why can't we go tell Drakka that, hey, if they want to go south a ways, there's a whole flooded ruin that might be a source of potable water while they wait for the Wound to fill up again? This feels like a waste.)

Right. More campfires and ... okay, that Thunderjaw looks upset. Oh, look, Oseram are baiting it again. Lemme see what I can do about this.

STOP. MOVING. NO. STOP. YOU ARE GETTING IN THE WAY OF MY SHOT-- uhoh.

SO glad I'm getting better at dodge-rolling. Smoke-bomb, dodge-roll, INTO the bush I go.

Okay. There. That's dealt with. Oseram, STOP BAITING THE THUNDERJAWS. YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR DEPTH.

What's all this now? Oh. Rebels. It's dark, I'm stealthy, and you're all doomed. Bye, rebels!

Ooh. Spikesnout. I can always use bits from them.

Okay. Just going to collect this shelter, because shelters are awesome and it's the best place to pause for the day. Though I should consider going back to Base later to drop shit off, and also to a settlement to dump some vendor trash.

Also I need to see if I can upgrade anything-- Huh. One upgrade on the shiny purple short-range bow. What do I need for upgrade 2? Ah. Greenshine cluster. I have fragments and slivers a-plenty, but no clusters. Lemme check my map.

Okay, new order of proceedings. Stop game, have food, see how much time I have before D&D, and then possibly go hunt up that greenshine cluster up in the mountains to the east.

I have more to-do lists for my video games than I do for my Being A Motherfucking Adult sometimes and it's weird. Ah well. At least it's more fun. And takes up fewer spoons.

On that note, food.

[feralkwe]

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

(11 on the meme) ooh! i already answered this one, but i am not afraid of a challenge, and i'll go again.

in my previous answer i mentioned minfilia warde, and i don't have time to get into the analysis she, imo, deserves, but let me summarize: i see a lot of 'she's boring' or 'i just didn't care about her' and i guess i can see why people feel that way. imo people are a little harsh on arr as a whole, and minfilia gets swept into this and disregarded for a variety of reasons. i get it, the plot feels slow to some people (it's standard mmo fare imo) and a lot of people are put off by the english voice acting. that's fine. a little cringe aside, none of that ever felt like a problem to my enjoyment, but i get it.

i found minfilia to be a genuine person, one who actually cared about you beyond your usefulness (something that i think it takes the other scions to come around to), someone who wants to help you understand what is happening to you, and depending on how you play your wol, a friend (i've even seen some sweet shipping involving her!). she's not brash or combat-focused, but smart, dedicated, and soft in a world that would see her become harsh, and i think people are more likely to overlook a woman character with those traits. she's committed to the cause she believes will save the world, and your role in it, to the point of her own demise.

while there is an essay to be written here about fridging women characters in a setting that gives us a variety of wonderful women characters, i think we can think of at least one male character with an arc reflective of this who is not as roundly dismissed. the difference is we don't get to see her actions through it. i don't think the writers did as well by her as they could have, but the bones are there if you care to see them.

idk, i enjoyed her greatly. she is definitely someone whom i think had a huge impact on kit (my wol). so that's my answer.

(and! i got through all of this without mentioning her relationship to the gunbreaker!)

here's the meme if anyone else would like to participate!

[ipsen]

touka and/or chie hori for the character asks pls pls

Touka and Chie! What a delight. (sorry about the wait. am tired)

Under the cut! I don't like taking up space.

Chie first!

one aspect about them i love

Her attitude! She's a free spirit and that's really admirable. Not a lot of people have the confidence and outlook she has to do the things she does (namely leaking CCG documents).

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

I don't do deep dives in the Chie fandom, unfortunately, so I don't think I really have anything here. I guess I wish she had more influence since she's an integral aspect of TG's overall world? Humans who aren't necessarily anti-human, but rather they clash with the "necessity" of the CCG, either through outright opposing it (she steals from them) or just overall vibes (doesn't let someone's status as ghoul or human define her opinion of them).

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

Studied software engineering, but not in college. Turns out you don't need university to gain the knowledge that a degree supposedly gets you!

one character i love seeing them interact with

Shuu "Let's Launch a Cyber Attack on CCG Servers with Piss Poor Equipment in the 24th Ward" Tsukiyama. I settle my case.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

I'd say "women" as a general catch-all, but that's kind of cheating since TG doesn't like when women speak to each other. Hm... I wonder what her relationship to Kaneki was like. Maybe it's explored in the novels, but I haven't read them, so I have no idea how they actually interact. I'd also like to see her talk to Hinami because Hinami always needs more friends.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

In the event she were to meet Urie, he'd ask her for photographs to give him inspiration for his next art piece, and she'd ask him for his art pieces to inspire her where to go next in her travels. Very tranquil type of relationship.

--

Now for Touka!

one aspect about them i love

Her penchant for observing and understanding the people around her. It goes hand in hand with her ability to reach out to people and form connections with them, regardless of any existing friction between them. Her conversation with Amon in re 117 is particularly beautiful, because of how she encourages him and how he encourages her in return. Kindness begets kindness.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

Her penchant for observing and understanding the people around her! Even Ishida himself kinda forgot that part of her (or rather, he put that part of her on hold), especially after re 125. Like, the Dragon arc could have been completely avoided if she had a bigger role in the narrative, but she basically gets put on standby (despite demonstrating a proactive attitude for those she cares about) until it's too late.

Because of that standby, I think people call her personality in re cardboard, which it isn't, but it comes off that way. I actually love her more in re because she's mellowed out a lot and has matured since the original series.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

I think I said this before in an old post, but I think she has a stash of biology books lying around somewhere in preparation for her attendance of Kamii, a thread that never got revisited from the original series. Adding onto that, she collaborates with Kimi and the science team post-re to finally achieve that dream of hers (I treated myself when writing Holometabolism as well with this).

one character i love seeing them interact with

Again, saying "women" is cheating, but I have to say Hinami, who she ties with for 2nd favorite character in TG. Big Sister Touka is my favorite brand of Touka. Also Ayato. I love sibling interactions in general.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

Kaya Irimi. This series is oversaturated with ukaku ghouls, but I wanted to learn more about Irimi after the Owl Suppression arc. Little Sister Touka would also be a good side to see.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

If it were up to me, I'd put Kaya and Touka in the same apartment, upon which they welcome Hinami with welcome arms. I just think the OG Anteiku crew would be a lot more close-knit than canon thinks they are. Minority solidarity, you know?

--

That's everything! Thanks for the ask

[adultswim2021]

The Venture Bros. #43: "Handsome Ransom" | October 26, 2009 - 12:00AM | S04E02

Listen to me, you mother fucker, I am talking. I don’t necessarily set out to recap an episode’s entire plot. It’s my downfall that for certain shows, like this one, I get sucked into recounting every single thing, because it’s a thorough way for me to make sure I’ve supplied all the context needed for some frivolous tidbit I MUST tell you. I am always in a thorough way, to my detriment. Really, this blog mostly just exists so I can keep track of my progress while I do this watch that I really could just be doing privately. There could be less bad stuff on the internet if only I had the restraint. 

Handsome Ransom is the one where the Monarch attempts to hold the Venture Bros ransom, but Hank (and not Dean) is rescued by Captain Sunshine, a Superman style guy who people talk about. You see, it’s popular opinion among the general public that Captain Sunshine is a pedophile. When a random guy on the street sees Captain Sunshine flying around with Hank, he snarkily makes an insensitive joke to the effect of “I wouldn’t let him around my kids!” causing others to laugh knowingly. 

Captain Sunshine takes Hank as his new ward, believing him to be a homeless orphan. Really, Hank was just mad at his family, and took the out when Captain Sunshine misinterpreted the situation. In one really creepy scene, we linger on Captain Sunshine whispering to his Alfred about issuing a bottle of lube to Hank, who is instructed to rub it where the sun hopefully won’t shine.

It’s genuinely troubling; I’ve watched this episode with people who seemed almost pissed off that the show was seemingly going into Happiness territory. The show even goes to commercial before letting us in on the misdirect: turns out it’s just so the Wonder Boy outfit will side on easier when Hank goes down a chute that apparently dresses him as he slides to the Sunshine mobile.

Basically the sitcom-style mix-em up of this episode is that Venture thinks Monarch still has Hank in his custody, who bluffs that he does have Hank to get a ransom from Venture. They play a game of tet-a-tet that eventually leads to all parties concerned at Captain Sunshine’s house. At this point we discover that he’s a local newscaster, and his news team are also secretly superheroes, which is such a fun idea.

The Monarch has a really twisted moment where he winds up in the Wonder Boy outfit and taunting Captain Sunshine. I forget if I said this, but Monarch killed Sunshine’s previous Wonder Boy. It’s actually mentioned in an earlier episode! The joke-to-lore pipeline is real! I get to say that again! Anyway, that's a big part of the episode: Captain Wonder's psycho attachment to the idea of Wonder Boy no longer being dead.

Okay here’s some stuff I really love in this episode: the “honkey” exchange between Hank and Monarch in the opening scene. Venture complains that Hank called him a honkey and the Monarch laughs and asks “did you really?”. This is honestly in the running for one of my favorite moments in the goddang show. I also love the joke about Sunshine throwing the Monarch into a prison yard as retribution. Monarch walks on account of Sunshine’s ignorance of due process. This episode also plants the seeds for a joke later, where Hatred finds out that Billy Quizboy is 37. You’ll certainly remember that Hatred is a (reformed?) pedophile, so he'd really like a little guy.

Speaking of that: the commentary track (and the Go Team Venture book) makes it very clear that Captain Sunshine is not intended to be an actual pedophile. He’s just perceived as one by the public, and is oblivious to this fact. I guess this is parallel to Michael Jackson except for, you know, that guy probably was one?? Right?? Is that crazy for me to say??? That guy probably fucked those little kids.

Jackson and Doc also point out that a vital thing about Hatred (other than the pedophilia): which is that unlike Brock, he’s game for anything. He gets heat stroke in a spider hole and paints himself like a hundo to try and help Venture. Brock would never!

Another great commentary tidbit is that they were watching the episode on a burned DVD-R which they made originally to send to the network for internal reviewing purposes, and they always make a barebones menu and add an annoying song looping on the menu. This episode’s song was Steal My Sunshine by Len.

They also sing the praises of Kevin Conroy, who voices Captain Sunshine as well as Batman from Batman: The Animated Series. I never really watched that show, because I sorta shunned action shows at a really early age, but I do remember getting sucked into watching an episode once or twice and thinking “this is actually pretty good”. Can you blame me? Anyway, I have to respect that guy or else people will get pissed. He died! 

That’s Jackson’s dog in the live-action bit. Hey, speaking of Jackson (I started the paragraph this way just to jam in the dog bit): The concept of the Wonder Boy memorial being a golden statue of him in a motorless side-car was a gag left over from The Tick that went unused. I learned that from the book. In fact, I didn’t even recognize that as a funny joke until I read that. Like, what a pathetic monument. 

Did I explicitly say that this is very easily among my favorite episodes of the series? It’s just so goddamn funny. Sometimes this show fails to come all-the-way-together, and that’s a shame, but this is pretty goddamn perfect. 

EPHEMERA CORNER:

Adult Swim in a Box DVD (October 27, 2009)

This was a weird one. This was a box set collecting previous season/volume set releases of various Adult Swim shows. The North American release included:

Aqua Teen Hunger Force: Volume Two

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: Volume Three

Moral Orel: Volume One

Robot Chicken: Season Two

Metalocalypse: Season One

Sealab 2021: Season Two

The Australian release does what the North American release should have done: they used all first volumes for the shows. They also swapped Robot Chicken and Metalocalypse for Frisky Dingo, Squidbillies, AND The Brak Show. It came out in 2011, I think (I already closed the tab that had this information)

Both versions included a PILOTS disk, which was eventually sold on the Adult Swim webstore as a stand-alone disc (which I bought) included the following pilots: 

Totally for Teens

Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Candy Fudge

Korgoth of Barbaria

Welcome to Eltingville

Perfect Hair Forever

Very annoying for them to include Perfect Hair Forever, even though it was picked up as a TV show. Shoulda included Lowe Country with Lowe commentary. Hell, they should make every movie and TV show in the whole world have Lowe commentary. 

You’ll notice only two of those pilots haven’t been covered here yet. I’m going to cover them at another time, in early 2010, as part of my award-winning coverage of Burger King’s Big Uber Network Sampling. 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Misty, chapter viii

chapter i | chapter ii | chapter iii | chapter iv | chapter v | chapter vi | chapter vii | chapter viii | chapter ix | chapter x

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit (whole thing)

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Snowman!Ezra x f!reader (monsterfucker au)

Tags: it’s basically monster fucking but with a snowman which could technically be classified as a monster i guess?, gothic horror kind of, sorrow, dementia, anxiety, dog murder, masturbation, Frankie thirst, pet murder, racism mention, huge age gap, implied possible sexual abuse of minor, spookiness, PiV sex with an actual snowman, possible hallucinations, hypothermia, Frankie yearning, the spookiness continues, More dog murder and implied sexual abuse of a minor, implied illegal abortion, adulterous kissing, lots of crying.

Chapter warnings in addition to the above mentioned: Further mention of implied predatory behaviour.

Summary: Escaping your empty apartment after having been dumped by your fiancé, you rent a cottage at Oakgrove House over Christmas to nurse your wounds. But strange things seem to happen at the estate, where an old woman wanders around in search of old friends long gone, and snowmen appear as if by themselves on the lawn…

Chapter word count: 3,021

Tagging: @harriedandharassedsed @paulalikestuff @pazizz @lovesbiggerthanpride (let me know if you want in)

Keep falling. I'll find you.

His whisper settles around your skin like a prayer. His lips are cold against yours. His one arm is around you as he leads you out on the ledge. A feral glint in his eyes, a conceited smirk on his ruggedly handsome face, a little nudge - and you fall.

You jerk awake, nauseous the minute you leave the heavy, sick sleep you had fallen into after your breakdown on the couch. Your body is aching, itching, sweaty and shivering at the same time, and your head feels like someone has transplanted a cast iron cauldron inside the bone. You blink sluggishly against the bright embers that remain of the fire, then see how they reflect in the water on the floor.

Damn it.

Exhaustion is making your limbs heavy, and you have no idea how you'll be able to get up and wipe the floor dry from your little tantrum. Not to mention what the upstairs must look like.

You shiver and close your eyes to fight the nausea. You have no idea what happened last night, but you must have dreamed it all. The other explanation is too wild, too much like a dark fairy tale to be true. There simply is no way that a possessed snowman came up those stairs and fucked you. It must have been some insane dream, one that made you sleepwalk and open the window to let in the falling snow. The melted snow on the stairs was from Frankie's boots.

Frankie. How will you be able to look him in the eye again? Maybe you don't even have to: you're leaving tomorrow. You can just hide in the cottage until then. You groan as the shame makes bile rise in your throat, and you manage to heave yourself up from the couch and stagger to the bathroom. Bent over the porcelain bowl, you give in to the cramps of a stomach expelling its contents, but nothing comes up, and you sink down on the cold tile floor.

You want to make sense of the things Olga told you this morning, but you're afraid to go there. It's too sad, too upsetting, to think of that 16-year-old girl, enthralled by a dashing stranger twice her age, getting into the only kind of trouble that sort of relationship could lead to, then having to kill her beloved dog for him to even deign to help her deal with it. It's sickening.

Does her family even know? Not that it's your business to tell them, no, you would never talk about this to anyone, but it would be horrible if the old woman had gone all her life without ever telling anyone. And why would she tell you of all people?

The scratching on the inside of your ribcage is driving you mad, the pressure on your sternum is making it hard to breathe. Somehow, you realize that you're spiraling towards a panic attack, and that you have to ward it off, so you get off the floor, take deep breaths, and walk into the kitchen. Your hands need something to do, your brain needs a distraction. Strong, sweet tea seems to be the way of Oakgrove House, so you put the kettle on and fish out a bag of Earl Grey from the jar on the counter. There is no honey, but you find a bag of sugar. Sitting by the kitchen table, you sip your tea and gradually calm down as the beverage seems to spread warmth and sweetness not only in your belly but also in your veins. You look at the clock on the kitchen wall and discover that it is late afternoon. A glance through the window tells you that it has finally stopped snowing, and the short December day has already ended. It's not dark, however: the moon is casting its silvery light on the snow-covered world. It's almost as light as the daytime and seems even lighter, since there is no snowfall to cloud the view. You see warm yellow lights in the distance, telling you which windows are lit in the main house.

The snowman on the lawn is still gone. You wonder if it was ever there.

The tea revived you strangely, so you get up and start to clean the floor. Going methodically, you soon have the living-room floor dried off. Taking one step at a time, you work your way to the second floor, and the bedroom.

You stop when you see the bed. The sheets are still damp, and there are bits of wet branches and frozen garden on your pillow. Brown straws and moist moss that smell of forests in the fall are spread over the tangled sheets, bringing the ghost of Ezra's popsicle kisses to your lips. You pick up some of the remains, touch them to your lips, smell them, before throwing them back onto the sheet and gathering it up. Opening the window, you let the sheet out of it, and beat it forcefully several times, before taking it back in and closing the window. The sheets are now damp only. You strip the bed, wipe the floor, and leave the laundry in the basket in the bathroom, as instructed by Denise when you signed the rental contract.

Your phone is on the bedside table. It's low on battery, so you connect it to the charger, and look over the text messages you've received. Most of them are from your parents, the rest have been sent by friends. They all say the same: are you okay, what are you doing, where are you, please respond, Merry Christmas! You reply to them all with the same I'm fine. Been out walking and then sleeping before ignoring the missed calls from your mother. You let the phone stay silent, even turn off the data, and leave it on the nightstand. You have no interest in talking to anyone or seeing any more messages.

Beginning to feel more like a functional adult, you prepare a simple meal for yourself, relight the fire in the fireplace, and eat while watching the flames consume the logs, plate balanced on your thighs.

"Well, merry Christmas," you tell yourself, wishing in the same moment that you had just kept your mouth shut. The quiet little greeting to yourself sounds lonely in the empty room, perhaps even more so with the fire crackling cozily.

Your eyes start to wander over the spines of the books in the little bookcase next to the couch. The classics are all there, well-thumbed paperback copies from decades ago, along with some newer bestsellers, probably left by earlier tenants. A few field guides to North American wildflowers, fishes, and birds. One thick, older tome of birds, no doubt with drawings instead of photographs. Putting the dinner plate to the side, you stand up and pick out the older bird book. You never were that good at identifying birds, and living in a city, you mostly just saw pigeons, ducks in the park, and various corvids picking at the trash on the streets. Opening the book, you browse through it, admiring the beautifully painted drawings of small birds as well as bigger ones, read little snippets of information about the robin, grackle, and common shelduck. Turning the page, you find the Turdus merula, or common blackbird, and with it, an envelope.

Albeit unremarkable and unmarked, the envelope is not empty or sealed. Hesitating for a moment, you eventually decide to take out the once-folded paper inside.

It is a letter, and it is dated in September but lacks a year.

Dear E,

I will expect you at Christmas. Thank you. Your Blackbird.

After that simple message follows a poem, and you realize that it's the same one you heard in your strange summertime dream, the one in which you could see Olga as a young girl read for Ezra. Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall...

It's heart-breaking, this little note from a young girl to her first love. You wonder if Ezra ever even got it. And if he did, why did he leave it behind? Where did he go, and what promises did he make about returning?

Your imagination is running wild. Ezra, a feral predator smelling fresh blood, seduces the rich, protected daughter of the house, gets her pregnant, forces her to have an abortion and to drown her own dog to make sure she'll never talk, then leaves her with false promises of returning for Christmas. You yourself were a love-struck teenager once, yearning for the big romantic love story that you had been assured by media and society would soon befall upon you, and you can just imagine what the torture of waiting.

"Where the fuck did you go, you asshole?" you mutter to yourself, closing the book but keeping the letter. "What did you do?"

Putting the papers back into the envelope, you fan your face with it as your anger rises.

"Men are such shit jerks," you say out loud, remembering Sandra Bullock's inability to call out her incompetent coworkers in some action comedy. "Just shit jerks. Shit jerk dick fucker assholers."

Suddenly filled with holy rage, you leave the letter on the coffee table, pull on your outerwear, and go out in the garden.

"Where are you?" you call out into the night. "Where are you when I actually need you?"

There is no trace of the snowman, but you feel the change in the temperature, and when you grab a handful of snow, it forms easily into a ball. With an almost manic sense of purpose, you start to roll a body from the snow in the front garden of the cottage. Fueled by anger, you quickly proceed to the second ball and, eventually, the third. There is no longer any chance of digging up anything from the lawn that would serve to model your snowman's face, but you form ears and a nose for it, and make indentations to suggest eye sockets.

It is a poor substitute, but it is something you can punch as you start screaming at it.

"Why? You fucking child molester, why?" You kick at the soft mass of white where the crotch would be, finding grim satisfaction in the total annihilation of the area, before hitting the face until the head falls off. You proceed to kicking at it in the snow before stomping on it until pressed into the ground.

"What on earth are you doing?"

You turn around and see Olga standing in the wet snow, rubber boots on her feet but no coat. Catching your breath, you lean towards what is left of the snowman. The old woman's blank face tells you that she is once again trapped in some past that you so unwillingly have been granted glints of, and you don't know whether or not it's a good thing.

"Olga..."

"He came to you last night, did he not?" she accuses, her voice filled with envy and sadness. "He came to you but not to me."

"I didn't want him to," you defend yourself. "I don't want anything to do with him!"

"I told him not to come back, it was too dangerous for him here. Every Christmas I waited for a sign, and he built me a snowman so that I would know he had been here..." Olga's voice trails off as she moves closer. Reaching the beheaded snowman, she caresses her bare hand over what would be its shoulders.

"Poor Ezra... dear, poor Ezra..."

"There's nothing poor about him," you object weakly. "He was a terribly person."

You might as well be speaking to the dead balls of snow between you two, because Olga does not react to you at all. She keeps patting what remains of the snowman, mumbling to it. You just watch in exasperation while you fight the urge to grab her by the shoulders and just shake her out of this misplaced grief, shake some anger into her instead.

You snap out of it when you realize that she's not wearing a coat.

"Olga," you say, now with a gentle voice, "why don't we go back in?"

There is no reaction, so you try again. "Olga?"

Her head snaps up and she stares at you, fear and shame shining in her eyes, like she has been caught doing something bad. You try to present a friendly smile to settle her, but she regards you with such suspicion that it almost makes you feel guilty for something you have not done.

"I don't want to go back to him," she pleads. "Don't make me go back there."

"You never have to go back to him," you promise, taking a tentative step towards her. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"Mother and father didn't know. I couldn't tell them." A tear runs down her wrinkled face, and your heart aches for her.

"I know," you nod. "Olga, it's okay. You're safe, but you need to go back inside."

"That's where he is!" she yells, agitated and retreating when you try to get closer. Not wanting to scare her, you stand back, a little lost as to what to do. Your phone is upstairs so you can't call Denise without leaving Olga. You have a feeling that if you turn your back at her, she'll be gone, just like the ghosts that haunt her mind.

"Olga," you try, "what would you like to do?"

She frowns, as if trying to remember, and you choose your following words carefully:

"Would you... like me to help you with something?"

Olga hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

"Yes."

"What can I help you with?"

She blinks and looks around her, as if looking for the right words in the snow around her.

"Find... find him. Find Ezra. Tell him to come back and take me away from here."

"Mom!"

Denise comes running from the main house, another woman in tow. You guess it's one of the sisters. Olga seems disoriented and frightened, but you close the small distance between the two of you, and take her hand.

"It's going to be alright, Olga," you tell her just as Denise and her sister reach you.

"Oh my God, thank you!" Denise pants, taking off her coat and putting it over Olga's hunched shoulders. You mumble a reply and nod at the sister, but both she and Denise are too busy fussing over their mother to do any introductions. It suits you well, and as soon as the trio are on their way back home, you return inside the cottage and head straight for the fireplace to rekindle the embers and load more wood into it. When the crackling flames are licking the sticks and logs, you stand up, at a loss for what to do. Turning around, you regard the bookcase for a moment before stepping up to it.

Something about what Olga said has sown a seed a suspicion and doubt in you. That disoriented sadness of hers in combination with her words; it just did not add up. Something was telling you that there was more to this than you initially thought. You still had no idea what had happened last night, but it had felt real and moreover: you had not been afraid. You had been calm, aroused, curious. You had enjoyed it, whether or not it really happened or was only the queerest of wet dreams. The snowman that you had come to call Ezra was not a threat. Ezra was not a threat.

Methodically, you start to pull out the books and check each and every one of them for more letters, notes, cards, any little thing that would tell you more, tell you that Ezra got what he deserved, that Olga had a happy, healthy life until dementia decided to throw her right back into her adolescence and the abuse that she was subject to.

An atlas of North America finally yields something: a card drops out, and another one is pressed between the old pages. You pick up the card and retire to the couch with it and the atlas. The card shows the rather boring-looking main street of a small town in Arkansas. Frowning, you turn the card but find that it is empty, save for Olga's name and address, scribbled by a hand that knows how to write elegantly, but lacks the time. You put the card to the side and pull out the next one. Another dime a dozen small town postcard, this time from Nevada. Nothing written on it except the same name and address, in the same hand. You browse through the atlas and find three more cards, all of the similar kind. Looking at the pages where you found them, you see that each page corresponds to the place the card was sent from: Arkansas, Nevada, Montana, North Carolina, California...

You get up and fetch your phone from the bedroom and turn on the data. Googling the names of the towns, you soon realize that they all have one thing in common: they are, or have been, mining communities. Each one has a gemstone mine of some kind.

You chew your lower lip in contemplation. There is nothing that suggests that these cards are from Ezra, but the post stamps are from the 1950's, which would correspond with Olga's age, and you just have a feeling. You are not exactly Miss Marple, nor did you ever aspire to be, but you know you are onto something here. These cards are from Ezra, and they are his way of signing to Olga of his whereabouts. Her parents did not approve, Olga had said the other day. Had Ezra written a single word of greeting on these cards, they would have been intercepted by her stuck-up parents.

But why are the cards here? And are there more?

You realize that have seen a hatch in the ceiling above the second-floor landing. The cottage has an attic, and the attic is where old secrets go to die.

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Chapter 11- Part 7

Oooh, I get it! We’re making a Swirlix! Again, doesn’t seem too complicated- not like it’s one of those sliding tile puzzles or anything.

See, nothing to it! Already getting the face down! And now we…hm…what’s the deal with the top of its head again…?

Not me desperately trying to remember everything about how Swirlix looks, and I refuse to look up a picture-

Well, on the bright side, you can manipulate the yet-to-be-placed tiles off the side there, so you can like…plan out which tiles connect to which. As you can see, I’ve figured out the formation of Swirlix’s tail, but…not sure where it’s actually supposed to go in the wider puzzle. It needs two, maybe three tiles of height, and we don’t necessarily have that? At least not in a spot that would make sense for Swirlix’s body…

Oh, wait wait, but I think I see the actual next part of Swirlix’s head! I think I see it now, hold up-

Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, I’m seeing it now! It’s all coming together!

Yeeeeeah, there we go, now it’s making sense!

Oh! And now I see what’s going on with the tail- I had the pieces correct, but they were rotated in the wrong direction! The tail’s not supposed to be pointing down like that, it’s pointing to the side!

There we go, how do you like that, candy people!?

And with that, we earn ourselves a Swirlix of our own!

“Sucre”, you know- the French word for “sugar”! I wasn’t expecting this chapter to have so much French in it, but “Azucar” and “Sato” (the Spanish and Japanese words for sugar, respectively) went a bit too hard for this goofy piece of cotton candy, so Sucre seemed like the most normal alternative.

See, I’m not the only one calling it cotton candy!

Anyways, there’s one last event to take care of before we move on to other things, and it’s over here!

That Lillipup from before! All we do know is go up and interact with it, and…

Plot twist, we’re not able to catch it just yet! But we will soon, there’s a reason I saved the Lillipup thing here for last.

Now, you might have noticed- throughout all of this walking, all of these shenanigans…

The Egg…still hasn’t hatched yet. Well, no issue, we’ve still got other stuff to do here before moving on to Onyx Ward, we can make up those Egg cycles quickly enough. 

And the first order of business is to explore the rest of this part of Obsidia Ward, now that the park is open again!

Behold: a brand new path, with brand new NPCs to bother for exposition! Like this girl!

Midterms? Is she, like, from the Onyx Trainers’ School as well? The way to Onyx Ward is in this direction, so…

And so is this street sign! And these big buildings that we’re not gonna go inside of just yet!

Huh- that’s…certainly a choice. Other regions have the Department Store open fully just by default, no membership required, but okay Reborn City, you do you.

Ah, right, I remember that being foreshadowed earlier on in the game. And that’s still something I’m all for, as someone with only a handful of friends, none of whom play this game I think, and thus no one to naturally trade with! 

Now let’s- OH GOSH BATTLE JUMPSCARE.

NOT SO MUCH? ANYMORE??

Okay, well, I guess we’re doing this now, here we go-

Previous

Next

[innocentlymacabre]

Dorks out of Death

15.05.23

Note: if you'd rather read the story in proper script format (like I would, to be honest), you can grab yourself the formatted PDF right here.

INT. BAR - NIGHT

A low cloud of noise disperses itself over the room. There’s a strong crowd of people clustered around the bar, vying for the bartender’s limited attention. The bartender’s species isn’t very clear. It seems to flicker from moment to moment.

Around the room, elves, vampires, werewolves, trolls, and more freely mingle, save for faeries and pixies, who sit in opposite corners of the room, occasional seething glares being cast between them. A humanoid wizard is playing with coloured fire at one of the tables, much to the bedazzlement of the more drunken patrons.

Just off to the side, two necromancers have a table to themselves, occasionally regarding the light show with passing intrigue.

MORRIGAN downs the rest of their glass in one go, signalling for another as soon as they set it down.

MORRIGAN My dead heart died again. Double dead dead.

MORGAN Hmm zombie death, yes. Very hard to circumvent. Only the most advanced of us have a chance, really.

MORRIGAN Yes, and those ones are looking for a career change right about now. It’s a stressful job.

MORGAN Come now, necromancy can be fun!

MORRIGAN Yeah, to someone watching the show, maybe. The ‘mancer is stressing.

MORGAN It’s like being a doctor but without all the stress. You really can’t do any wrong - no way to go put up. (Brief pause) Except for the soul, I guess. Hey, did we ever get that whole afterlife thing sorted? Do we know what actually happens?

MORRIGAN Oh, last I heard people were still squabbling. Baffles me that the returned just have no memory of the place though. Not important, anyway. What is important is bringing back the right soul. That is something we can do wrong. Bring back the wrong one and you gotta switch up into murder lane REAL QUICK.

A member of the waitstaff brings over the drink Morrigan had asked for. He sets it down, and looks to Morgan, silently asking if they want anything. His eyes flash a shade of deep purple for a moment before fading back to their natural whites.

Morgan declines with a smile and a slight shake of their head. They still have a drink in front of them and intend to nurse it for a little while longer. They grip the glass to punctuate their point and involuntarily glance out the window, eyeing the setting sun bobbing just above the horizon.

Morrigan hasn’t finished their point.

MORRIGAN You don’t whack ‘em quick enough, you’re gonna be the one being brought back. And then pretty soon there won’t be any ‘mancers left. Then what? Anarchy!

MORGAN Hey, hey, let’s take a beat. Mix ups are an easy enough fix. You just gotta thump ‘em in the chest and send the soul flying out. The body dies again and you repeat until you’ve got the right soul in the right body.

MORRIGAN NOT if the soul is prepared. And when you get just bored enough - maybe you’ve had a couple failed attempts, maybe you’re having an off day, I don’t know - boom! You need to be ‘manced by another ‘mancer. Nothing more embarrassing.

MORGAN Oh, only necromancer souls are prepared. They usually come back with a vengeance too. I do not mess with those, no matter how much the client is offering.

MORRIGAN What if it’s the soul of a lover?

MORGAN (With a teasing smile) A paramour?

MORRIGAN Yes.

MORGAN Love transcends all rules. Besides, why would they attack me?

MORRIGAN Hmm. Enemies to lovers to betrayal.

MORGAN Hmm.

MORRIGAN And the soul is, you know, righteously mad. You’d need a hand.

MORGAN Hmm, well I might still try in that situation. But I’d be prepared too. Ward spells, basic weaponry, that stuff.

MORRIGAN I’m thinking of getting security.

MORGAN I wouldn’t use my security on a lover though.

MORRIGAN No, of course not. I meant in general. You know the kind of shit that we have to watch out for.

MORGAN Yeah, fair play on that.

MORRIGAN I’m considering investing in the Werewolf Squad. You seen their posters? I’ve heard they’re not that stealthy though. Noise makers.

MORGAN Eh, they’re only useful once a month. What are they gonna do the rest of the time? Growl at someone until they get weirded out and leave?

MORRIGAN What would you suggest?

MORGAN I use vampires. They’re great. Down with the whole undead thing too, and can help returned souls readjust if needed.

Liking the story? Consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience!💜 Continue reading below :)

MORRIGAN Vamps can’t help during the day though.

MORGAN I mean, these things are usually done in the night. Power of the moon and whatnot, but for break-ins and stuff, they’ve got protective gear.

MORRIGAN Hmm, I suppose. What about the rehabilitation centres? Those things have vampires too right?

MORGAN Yeah but they’re underfunded and there aren’t that many of them out there anyway.

MORRIGAN We need more people to understand that coming back might be a severely traumatic experience. Especially when they’re freshly back and they’re in that loop of reliving their last moments and emotions again and again. (Shudders) God, can you imagine?

MORGAN Oh, that would be…well, not good, to say the least. I give the more agreeable returnees the number of a vampire friend who’s volunteered to help out. The vamp gets a little blood bank and the returned soul gets a coach - it’s a win-win. (Brief pause) Unless, of course, you pick the wrong vamp and they drain the returnee. Terribly hard to bring someone back twice. Like your heart!

Morrigan ignores the tongue-in-cheek comment.

MORRIGAN Have you ever experienced a case where the vamp turned a returnee?

MORGAN You know, not yet. Wonder how they would work.

MORRIGAN I’ve only heard rumours. What would you call them? Zombie vamps?

MORGAN I don’t think returnees count as zombies though. They’re not the undead now risen, they’re people who used to be dead, brought back to life. Brought back slightly to the left usually, but mostly alright.

MORRIGAN You know I have this returnee friend (I wasn’t the one who brought her back, that was Fayhew down south, and I met her on her second time around), she needs to shake her soul back into alignment every now and again. Spring cleaning days are the worst.

MORGAN Ah, that sounds like a right chore and a half. Almost lost my soul once. Didn’t sit right for a week.

MORRIGAN Did you, like, jump off a cliff to realign it?

MORGAN Nah, it was like the cold - just had to give it time. Was about a day out from trying that though.

MORRIGAN Wait. Oh no, never mind.

Morgan pulls an inquisitive expression.

MORRIGAN I thought of “undead vampires” for their name but that’s rather chai tea, if you know what I mean.

MORGAN Yeah, no. That gives me the ick. Not sure what you’d call them. I expect the vampires would just call them vampires. They’re a surprisingly tolerant bunch.

MORRIGAN All those people from all those different times living together, I suppose you’ve kind of have to be. Plus, they get the best news and the juiciest gossip.

MORGAN Oh yes. All those detectives try to get information out of bartenders when they’re usually just elves. Sure, they might hear a thing or two here and there, but the vampires are the real ones to go to.

MORRIGAN A little vial of lamb’s blood and they’ll get drunk enough to tell you anything.

MORGAN Oh no, that’s actually a myth. They only pretend they can get drunk. It’s actually impossible ‘cuz they’ve got no blood in their veins.

MORRIGAN Then why do they frequent bars so much?

MORGAN For the social scene, of course. And to gather more intel, I guess. I know a lot of them who make a living off secrets. Trick is, you gotta have something to trade. Something of value to them. Most try offering money, but for the older ones, that doesn’t mean much.

buy me a coffee, if you're so inclined 💜

MORRIGAN I mean if you’ve lived that long and you haven’t saved anything, what are you even doing?

MORGAN Exactly. So you gotta find what your vamp in question wants.

MORRIGAN Most want their favourite designers to live a millennia.

MORGAN Yes, they are strangely particular about their style. I suppose I sympathise, though.

Morgan picks at their jacket sleeve, the denim covered with so many patches, it seems to be made up of it. They adjust the scarf tasselled around their neck to edge it back into their signature windswept, devil-may-care look. A pair of orange sunglasses rest in their hair, having only moved them from their face at Morrigan’s repeated instance at the ridiculousness of wearing them indoors.

They could just do that themselves though. I mean we can bring them back, but they’ll die again eventually.

MORRIGAN They try not to intervene with the magic of the strangeness of death.

MORGAN Isn’t that, like, their whole thing though? How else do they get new vampires?

MORRIGAN Some deaths are more absolute than others. The ones on the precipice, that’s where they shine. Crazed lovers, the taken-too-soon sick, and ironically, feverous unsuspecting victims who are not ready to die; that sort of thing. Other deaths are more absolute.

MORGAN That’s where we come in.

MORRIGAN Yes, our reach extends a little further, but if the soul doesn’t want to return, there’s nothing anyone can do. If it’s at peace with its situation, it’ll stay there.

MORGAN (Scoffs) Yeah, try telling that to a grieving family. I swear, why do all of them have guns? Do you even know how many times I’ve been shot at?

MORRIGAN Oh, them lot need a clairvoyant. Give them the number, I’ll give you a card later.

MORGAN Ah, pawn them off on some other sucker. I like your style.

MORRIGAN Oh no, I know one that’s legit. Oddly enough, her name’s Claire Vons. Those gun nuts can hear for themselves that the soul is sick and tired of their shit and wants them to leave them alone. Or the soul will return, but as a poltergeist and then the family will have bigger problems than shooting you.

MORGAN Yeah but those souls tend to be cowards, or just don’t care enough to deal with the problem. They’ll rarely tell the family that they don’t want to deal with them anymore.

MORRIGAN Nah, they’re dead. What do they have to worry about? Most dead souls I’ve spoken to don’t give a shit about the living.

MORGAN Spoken to a lot of dead souls then?

MORRIGAN Claire invites me over sometimes. Family dinner with the Vonses are fun.

MORGAN Oh, I’d love to go some time.

MORRIGAN I’ll ring you up next time I’m headed over. The Vonses won’t mind in the slightest.

MORGAN Oh, fantastic! Say, have you ever hung out with the faeries?

MORRIGAN They’re so literal. And bothersome to deal with.

MORGAN Aye, they’re a tricky lot, what with their binding word and literal deals, but if you can get the wordplay down they’re a right laugh. Great for an amazing night you’ll probably forget.

MORRIGAN I always go to a faerie speak lawyer before engaging with one. The only faeries I see often are the ones on stage. And they are a riot, you’re right.

MORGAN On stage?

MORRIGAN Talented beings. Their stories are riveting - amazing grasp over the spoken tongues. And they wield such lovely glamours too.

MORGAN I’ve found elves to be the better storytellers.

MORRIGAN Okay, the elves do actually have excellent stories, but I must confess, I enjoy the bling the faeries bring.

MORGAN Strange that creatures of truth would use glamours so often.

MORRIGAN I think people are blinded to believing what they want. Even if the truth was blasting them in the eye, they would refuse to see it. I think the glamour helps them believe somehow.

MORGAN What a paradox.

MORRIGAN I wouldn’t know. I don’t intend to get too close to faeries to find out. Not without a fae lawyer, anyway.

MORGAN Ah, well, they’re a fun lot. We go out every now and again. You can tag along if you like.

MORRIGAN Dang.

MORGAN Just be careful with what you say. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.

MORRIGAN Not going to lie, I’m very curious.

MORGAN Just remember: if you get a little too drunk and a little too overconfident and tell someone you’re going to fuck ‘em up, be prepared.

MORRIGAN Why?

MORGAN Let’s just say you might wanna pack some sort of birth control.

MORRIGAN I’m going to carry several immunity bands.

MORGAN Most of them are fake, you know. And if they see you with one, you won’t be allowed within a hundred feet of them, so be careful.

MORRIGAN I’ll get one from a vamp friend.

MORGAN Who do you think makes the fake?

MORRIGAN (Incredulously) No way! How do you get the authentic ones then?

MORGAN Well, elves and vamps, but elves tend to generally be a little more honest.

MORRIGAN But elves aren’t exactly the most generous. I’d have to pass through ridiculous trials and tribulations and questions for them.

MORGAN Yeah, and I still couldn’t be too sure about authenticity. I learnt about immunity bands after I already made my mistakes so haven’t looked into them much.

MORRIGAN OH DEAR.

MORGAN Ah, what’re you going to do? Last I heard though, the pixies were the ones to go to.

MORRIGAN But them lot practically invented ADHD. It would be absolutely impossible to wrangle enough attention from one to get a band.

MORGAN Hey, no one said it would be easy. Immunity bands, the real thing, are very hard to make, and so very hard - and expensive - to obtain. Hey, you know, the pixies and faeries really don’t like each other.

MORRIGAN I think they just find them supremely annoying. Like, I think the more fun-loving beings like pixies. More serious beings, not so much. What’s the specific faerie-pixie deal?

MORGAN Oh, no one knows. Some ancient hatred or the other. If I had to guess, it might have something to do with the fact that pixies are devious little liars and the fae literally can’t fib.

MORRIGAN Oh, I can see that actually. The fae are creatures of truth. On the other hand, some say the pixies are behind the myths of Loki.

MORGAN Oh, to hear them tell the story, he was very real. Less of a god, and more just a cool, chaotic, disaster of a guy though. Still, the descriptions, hmm. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that guy.

Morrigan laughs. They’re well-versed with Morgan’s wants; picturing the person from the stories even without any information is easy.

MORRIGAN Okay, what kind of being would you be down to bang first?

MORGAN I mean, I’ve gotten around.

MORRIGAN Okay, let me rephrase. What beings are on your NEVER AGAIN list?

MORGAN (Without missing a beat) Werewolves.

MORRIGAN Ayeeaayyaaiii!

MORGAN Yeah, no, I’d much rather stay away.

MORRIGAN Did you not discuss cycles before trying?

MORGAN The first time, no. The second time, yes. Still not my idea of a good time.

MORRIGAN You went a second time? Dang.

MORGAN I figured the cycle was the problem the first time, so got that cleared up the second time. It helped, but…never again.

MORRIGAN Ah. I personally try to avoid sirens. The way they can lull you in?

MORGAN Kind of hot, not going to lie.

MORRIGAN You disaster.

The door to the bar opened, a low clinking coming from the bell hung over it. Morgan had tuned out the steady ringing signalling the sea of patrons going in and out, but their eye caught on the latest entrant: a man with a gruff build, even gruffer body hair poking out over his person and under his clothes, and criminally long sideburns.

Morgan gulped and downed the rest of their drink whole, setting the glass down heavily.

MORGAN Yeah, speaking of, we’ve got to go.

MORRIGAN Huh? What?

Morgan nodded to the door.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow.

MORGAN A certain werewolf just walked in.

MORRIGAN Part of the reason you avoid them?

MORGAN Yeah, and I’d like to avoid this one in particular.

MORRIGAN (Shaking their head) What did you do?

MORGAN Can we just get out?

MORRIGAN But I want to hear the stupid story!

Morgan rolls their eyes.

MORGAN Get us out of here without him seeing and I’ll give you all the details your twisted heart desires.

MORRIGAN (Gets up laughing) Come on, we can cut through the kitchen. I think a buddy of mine might be back there tonight so shouldn’t be a problem.

MORGAN (Getting up to join them) You godsend. Or I guess, your friend technically.

MORRIGAN Do you want the shortcut or not?

MORGAN Fine, fine, you’re the godsend.

↝✧↝

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[the-narwhals-awaken]

I'd like a treat featuring some dad!Halt, please :D

Apologies in advance- after reblogging, I got hit with several major assignments, tests, and quizzes all in a row, so that plus general shenaniganery meant that I had not enough time and motivation in combination to actually write out prose, so instead you get bullet-point fic so you'll actually get something. This is entirely stream-of-consciousness written around the time I took my sleep meds, apologies for any confusion. I'd love to elaborate more if you'd like!

The fic's under a readmore to try and aid in not clogging any tags. Enjoy!

This is in an AU where some people have powers- it's relatively normal, most people just get small things like good balance or a sense for weather or the ability to clean mud off of boots well. Almost all of them can't be weaponized, so while there's some discrimination- like there is for everything- it doesn't affect too many things.

There's a lot of legends about what powers the Rangers have- some people say they can dissolve into shadow or have supernatural sight or hearing or aim or never run out of arrows.

And true, a few do have enhanced senses, but what people never think about is that those senses are enhanced all the time, and are as much a detriment as a blessing.

Halt, incidentally, can tell whether plants are harmful or helpful, but nothing else. Not use, just whether it's harmful or helpful, and certainly not how- he learned, given time and motivation, but that was separate.

The Ward kids were normal, in the sense that they all had little gifts- perhaps ones more suited to their lives than normal, yes, but normal, little ones that would impact their lives hardly at all.

George couldn't get papercuts, Horace had perfect vision no matter what, Alyss had enhanced lung capacity, and Jenny had a good memory.

Will was the exception. The Recorder- one of the ones whose power was to tell what others' power was- looked incredibly sad when she saw him, and said his power was Clear Sight. She'd told Will a little more about it in private, of course, but she wouldn't say anything more like she usually would.

This didn't affect Will's life too much- he was a quiet child at times, staring at nothing, but then he'd be bright and cheery again and people would put it aside. Horace did torment him a little, as they both had vision-related talents and they could be pitted against each other, but most of the time he was a normal child.

The fact that he could see Ranger Halt whenever the man wasn't actively trying to stay hidden was never noticed, mostly because nobody else could see him and the Ranger did often try to go unseen around Redmont, whether for his own amusement or for practice nobody knew.

Regardless, nobody knew what Clear Sight entailed beyond Will until well after his graduation- all he'd said on the topic was 'it's not important and won't affect any of the skills needed to be a Ranger'.

Technically true, but not really.

Anyways, it remained a secret- one that nobody thought to ask- until he, Horace, and Halt stood in Dun Kilty in Clonmel.

Horace had left- looking for food, training, Will didn't know and he didn't care.

Normally he'd have tried to look for privacy for this, but it was too late and really, he'd been half waiting for something like this, something he couldn't hide, for years- a way to tell Halt, at least, what had happened.

The woman he could see was very similar to Halt, all things considered- they had the same hair color, the same face shape, although her hair was longer and worn in braids. She'd clearly been one for smiling more, though her face was still marked with stress like Halt's was.

He tilted his head slightly. Though his gift was called Clear Sight, sometimes- only sometimes, he still hadn't quite figured out exactly why, even if he could guess- he could hear as well.

The woman- she introduced herself as Caitlyn- had lit up when she'd realized he could see her, but had remained steadily waiting by Halt the entire time they'd been in the castle, only taking steps away when they'd met with Sean or when Halt was by Abelard- and even the latter had only been far enough away that the horses couldn't reach her.

She'd started talking when the pair had sat in silence, giving Will a message to pass on, then just chattering about things she'd seen and noticed.

When she'd finally finished talking, Will smiled faintly, finally looking away from her. Halt had been watching him, staying quiet while he looked to be paying attention, but speaking up when he looked to be done.

"Will, what are you looking at?"

Will kept smiling faintly. "Have you ever wondered about the nature of Clear Sight, Halt?"

Halt had, of course, but after the disaster of the first two years of Will's apprenticeship, he'd not asked- he didn't want to push Will away, and from how he'd reacted whenever asked about it before that was all that that would have done. Still, it had been an idle curiosity that had nestled in the back of his brain for a very long time.

"I can see the dead, sometimes. Hear them, too, if I'm lucky."

Halt sat there, frozen, staring at Will.

Will kept smiling, though it was even smaller, barely a ghost of one.

"Your sister's here, Halt. She wanted me to tell you she loved you always, and told your nephew about his uncle."

Will passed on the rest of the message, along with Caitlyn's commentary as Halt reacted, till she faded from view.

Halt smiled sadly, grieving but still content.

When they returned to the inn that night, he waited until Horace was asleep, then told Will more stories about Caitlyn. Good ones, bad ones, funny ones, sad ones. The stories kept coming through their entire stay in Clonmel, though generally they were when Horace was away- it was nothing against him, but this was something just for the two of them.

Even as they hunted Tennyson down, the stories kept coming- little ones, now, mostly just memories of what Caitlyn did, but ones that could brighten a mood slightly or make the next hours easier to pass through.

Afterwards, when they'd made it home, Will asked why Halt had told those stories- some of those were truly embarrassing, some had held things that perhaps might not have been meant to be shared out of the Hibernian royal families, some of them he'd only been able to tell in Hibernian and it was only the lessons Will had had with Halt during his apprenticeship that had let him keep up.

Halt had given a slow, sad smile.

"Since you couldn't meet her in person, I thought I'd tell you of your aunt. Your uncle was a terrible person, after all, and you deserve at least one decent family member."

Will, of course, claimed Halt was far more than decent on his own.

Still, the admission was nice, warming him from the inside out. He and Halt were family, of course, that didn't need to be said, but the fact remained that it was rare that Halt admitted it, let alone labelling it like he did.

The fact that he did so, and brought in the extended truth of what that would mean, touched Will deeply.

That night he made cranachan from the recipe Caitlyn told him as she hovered, far more immaterial than she'd been in Dun Kilty, over his shoulder.

And there you go! Thanks for the ask, it's nice to write something that, by the nature of this format, is short. I'd love to elaborate more or do other story snippets in this world- I've got a few churning around, most involving a younger Will. Thanks for your ask and hope you enjoyed it!