#I need to draw him and Mortimer together soon!!

[sunburstkisser]

Woe, Hammy be upon you

This is Hammy, my Disney self insert 😭 He’s literally just me but as a hamster and I promise he wears more clothes than just a cropped shirt /lh

He uses he/they pronouns and is just chilling, let’s be real- Despite having one of the tooniest boyfriends in ToonTown (Mortimer), he’s pretty chill and just wants to hang out. Not one to get into fights or rivalries tbh!

[bowieandqueen11]

The Feeling of Being in Love / Dustfinger Imagine

Request: Hiii! Ok omg I just found out you also write for Inkheart and this idea popped up in my head because I love my firedancing boi Dustfinger so much.

May I request something where the reader takes Dustfinger out for ice-cream for the first time?

I love your writing so much, you inspired me to actually post some of my reader imagines on Tumblr and I just wanna say thank you for that. 💖

I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO SEND IN A DUSTFINGER REQUEST THANK YOUU @holymultiplefandomsbatman!!! I’m sorry this is terrible, it’s been a while since I read the books! Also real talk, genuinely ily you so much every time I see you in my feed it makes me smile so much you the real one b <3

Even Dustfinger was finding the day uncomfortably warm.

He stands uncomfortably by the fountain, fingers digging - scratching and scrambling at the loose frays of his faded and worn jumper. His fingers itched for you with every second that ticked by in this quaint European town, still so unused to the ways of this world. His eyes flicked around his surroundings, wind blowing the wisps of his blonde fringe lightly over his eyes as if trying to hide him from danger. He was still so suspicious, so mistrustful of everyone, that he wished more than anything that you weren’t taking your sweet time leaving him here. He cowered into himself as a couple of screaming kids ran past, chasing each other.

Despite their constant scrambling against his skin, digging into himself, his fingers itched for you more than anything.

The water is harsh and merciless in the way it dropped down from the fountain’s cupid head and rained down on the pool below, flecking the poor man’s unsuspecting back with its drops. The cobbled stone he currently perched on at the edge of the village square was a mosaic of tangled moss and verglas despite the heat, so different to the constant, intense heat of Argenta. 

He shivered a little, beginning to try and take his mind off home and back to his new one. Back to you. Despite his distaste of this world, despite his fear, he found a fond smile had somehow managed to clamber up the edges of his face in an uncomfortably familiar way. He began to click his fingers, fumbling them together and gazing into the flickering flames that arise without really seeing them. He was too busy reminiscing on how he had first met you, that damned Silvertongue’s sister. The way your eyes had lit up during that snowy night outside the Italian bookstore. 

Your brother had told you stories of course. But Dustfinger, the famed fire eater, had remained a blurred shadow, a fable, a dream in the back of your mind.

Yet, every puzzle piece seemed to fall into place in your mind when you had spotted him. You were not afraid of the hunched, desperate, ragged man standing as a begging stranger in the glowing lamplight. Not angry at the way he held out his hand for the book, standing there, intrigued, as Mortimer shoved Meggy behind his back. The way you hadn’t run away, but instead gave Dustfinger the biggest surprise of his grief-stricken life by, instead, placing your own hand in his and pulling him forward.

Tumbling, you had caught this crumbling, heartbroken stranger in your arms. Despite his protests, the way his breath raced as you held him against his chest, you still gave him the tenderness he had so desperately needed in all these years of being alone. He had melted into you almost straight away, and since then, he still wasn’t sure how his body didn’t fall to pieces when he was apart from you.

He was still so lost in his heart’s dreams, that he hadn’t realised you had returned from the blue chimneyed parlour on the corner, until he felt your hip sitting down to rest against his. He had given you his fern coloured trench coat, fancying it some sort of good luck charm while you were away from him. You had taken it off, tying it around your waist until the sleeves bunched around the front.

This, coupled with the sound of your sweet, mellifluous laughter as you held out an ice cream cone towards his raised eyebrow, was enough to send a flaming blush racing across his usually tautly pale cheeks.

His fingers tingled as they brushed against yours. He was still so unused to this feeling - this knowledge that somehow, in some other world he could never even have fantasized, he had a love so overshadowing, so powerful, that it could send chills to every nerve of his body with only the most miniscule of touches. He almost jumped away as he clumsily grabbed the strawberry ice cream, eyes flitting back to the ground, as if that would stop you from noticing how flustered he had become without you even saying a word his way.

It terrified him. You terrified him. But, by his maker, if it didn’t make his heart feel that strange mix of elation and wretchedness that only love could inflict.

‘Don’t worry Dusty, I won’t bite.’

You hit his shoulder with your own, biting your lip to stop yourself from giggling as you braced yourself for the sigh you knew was coming. It had taken a while to break down walls, despite their fragility. He was still Dustfinger, still so stubborn, still so careful and protective of his heart that making your way in was slow progress. Yet you had made some strides. You knew how much he hated the nickname you had chosen for him.

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he closed them. 

‘How many times do I have to tell you-’

‘...not to call you Dusty’, you finish, having been over this charade a hundred times already since he came to live with you. You grinned, taking a lick from your cone, content with the way his lips twitched from the corner of your vision.

‘It’s not my fault you have no sense of humour.’

‘And it’s not my fault that your world makes no sense’, Dustinger retorted, but there was no sense of malice in his words. There never would be, never could be, if they were directed at you.

‘This, especially. What is this sloppy mess, princess?’

You felt your heart rate quicken slightly, unaware Dustfinger would call your bluff and come up with his own nickname for you. You pretend not to notice, choosing instead to go back to your sweet treat before it began running down the side of the cone and making a dripping mess on your fingers.

He takes one cautious bite himself, humming slightly as the cold bites his teeth.

‘It’s called ice cream, Dustfinger. It’s like a sort of sweet, flavoured ice, but a thousand times better tasting than any way I could describe it.’

When you stop talking, you find that he is looking at you expectantly, eyes squinting slightly in the sun’s blaze, yet still shimmering with some feeling you couldn’t quite understand the magnitude of. His head is tilted slightly to the side, hair wild and free as he just gazes at you, not saying anything, not even thinking. He’s just noticing, taking you all in while he still has the chance.

‘I just thought, you were so warm all the time, it might be nice to feel something else for a change.’

The intensity of the look suddenly has you feeling a little self-conscious, noticing in the water’s reflection the little drops of chocolate that stain the corner of your mouth. Stammering slightly, you reach up to wipe it off, but are stopped by Dustfinger’s own large thumb gently reaching towards your face. You freeze, his skin brushing against your own like a thousand hot pricks as he carefully guides his burnt fingers across the edge of your bottom lip.

For a moment he doesn’t draw away. You drop your cone, splashing ice down onto the cobblestone below your feet in surprise. His hand just stays there, gently tracing the outline of your lip. His eyes dip slightly in concentration, breath ragged as you reach your own hand up to cup his.

‘I am... definitely... feeling something’, he manages to whisper out into this strange world. In this confusing, lost, unfamiliar world, it was the only truth left he had left to give.

His body trembles with the effort of trying to restrain himself, but his body pushes it’s way forwards despite him. Soon, you can feel his chest against yours, breath warm and long as he sighs against your chin, his frame leaning over you slightly.

The sight of his widened, terrified eyes are the last thing you remember seeing, before he reaches down and presses his sugar coated lips against your own.

[msindrad]

Temporal orientation is a thing

This might be one of the most unusual and hopefully also most interesting pieces of fandom meta you‘ll ever read!

I wanna talk about the perception of time by Manco, Mortimer, and Indio in For a Few Dollars More because I earnestly believe that understanding somebody‘s time perception is fundamental for understanding their modus operandi.

Here are two short paragraphs of theory, which you can freely skip if you want to.

Let’s imagine that there are four dimension of time perception: namely, past, present, future, and eternity (categories above time that can’t be influenced by it). And there are four possible positions of prioritization for each of them in a person’s psyche.

The first position is their strongest element, it’s the time that they live in and for. Their goal, their main element, the very dimension that they unconsciously filter everything else through. The second position is their consciously used instrument – they employ it to be successful in the time dimension from the first category. They’re fully in control of acting in and through it. The third position is the position of lacking control, of susceptibility, uncertainty, concerns, and fears. It’s there, but you can’t do anything about it, but you’re still desperately trying to – either to suppress it or do something impulsively. Whenever something or somebody influences you there, you’re hurt, lost, or troubled. The fourth position is the position of negligence. Whatever is there just doesn’t interest them. It’s unreal, uninteresting, and irrelevant.

With that being said: Manco’s profile is: 1Present 2Eternity 3Future 4Past

Mortimer’s profile is: 1Past 2Future 3Present 4Eternity

And finally Indio’s: 1Eternity 2Future 3Past 4Present

Now, what do I meant by it all, and why and how it can be relevant for understanding these people.

 Let’s start with Manco and with the most obvious thing about his profile. He is absolutely uninterested in the Past. He never explains anything through his previous experiences, except for when he is unsatisfied with him and Mortimer not having read Indio’s intentions correctly when he robbed El Paso’s bank. And even then it’s irrelevant, the past is dead, he doesn’t care why they did what they did anymore. The same with Ferdinand – he could’ve punished him for how he didn’t inform him about the two other strangers in town, but the moment is gone, the Past doesn’t matter, and the only thing he needs is being informed right now. When Manco is reminded of his past actions he shrugs it off because why care about what happened? And he himself isn’t exactly somebody who can be defined through his past – he is the man with no name, after all.

He draws all his conclusions from the Present. He is a tactician who gets all his clues from the circumstances he or others find themselves in. Be it his assessment of how crazy his informant is, the fact that his wanted hotel room is temporarily occupied not by him but by Mr. Ramirez, or his observation of the actions of a smart rival provoking his targets. Somebody whose perception isn’t totally dominated by the Present wouldn’t start a card game with their targets just to find out whether they’re lucky today!

And even when Manco rushes to Indio without thinking after he and Mortimer fail to predict his plans correctly, he’s only thinking about the Present: how they’re wrong, how their plan isn’t working, how he must fix everything! He isn’t thinking strategically, only tactically.

Then, Manco’s Future. He has some vague intentions, plans, he feels that this dimension of time is there, but he also feels that it’s uncovered, and so he tries to distract himself from it while simultaneously trying to be kinda ready for it in advance. He wants the reward money but what for? To buy a farm? Does he, though, is he really the type who retires young? He realizes that he needs and wants the money in the moment, but he hasn’t everything planned out. When he is in El Paso he is simply gathering information, he has no clear-cut plan as to how apprehend Indio and his gang. And he can’t really produce any good idea on the spot when Mortimer tells him he should join the band (he simply makes a joke to Mortimer about bringing Indio a bunch of roses, not seriously considering any realistic variants), and his mental habits of a tactician provide a strong contrast to the fact that Mortimer, on the other hand, has a highly positioned, in fact, instrumental Future, but I’ll go back to it in a minute.

Manco is so bad at living in the Future that he, again, makes a really bad decision of stating his intention to collect the reward for Indio and his gang in the future – while talking to Indio himself, and Manco’s only luck then is that Indio doesn’t want to out him to everybody right then and there. What he does operate through in this scene is his Eternity. He states who he is, and who the gang are, disregarding any time constraints. The same thing he does when talking to the bought sheriff at the beginning of the film. He he makes a point that the sheriff is bad while describing his concept of sheriff to him before taking away his star.

The same with Mortimer: when he approaches the Prophet, he wants to have an idea of who Mortimer is, not what he has done or the like. When he listens to Mortimer and assesses him from all sides, he asks him, semi-jokingly but genuinely intrigued: “Tell me, colonel, were you ever young?” Which isn’t really a statement about any concrete Past, obviously he knows that sometime in the Past Mortimer was a young pup. But the question is meant to ask: “Have you always been this focused, this driven, this disciplined?” In other words, is this who you are?

 Then, Mortimer.

I love him very deeply, he is one of my all-time favorites, but I can’t deny that he is tactically crippled. He is a brilliant strategist (as his Future is in the second, instrumental position), but, girl, is in he in big trouble whenever he has to face the Present. Both his awkward encounters with Wild, the hunchback, demonstrate it.

Motivated by his loss, he uses all the information he has carefully collected over the years to come up with a plan (the dominant Past), he thinks every major strategic decision through (second Future), but whenever he has to improvise, well. He can only continue the course that somebody else sets for him in the here and now.

When Wild recognizes him in the tavern, Mortimer is lost. Should he try to leave? But he hasn’t finished his soup? Is it already too late? He didn’t think of how they would face each other again when the Future he planned would become the Present for him. And so, he waits for whoever is quicker than him to make the next step for him. It’s literally so when Manco decides to test him outside – he simply returns every impulse.

Mortimer doesn’t know how to treat him then, he is simply planning for the Future (they’ll work together) after having consulted the Past (he actually goes into an archive to try to reconstruct who Manco is). But having gathered all that information he can only follow Manco’s lead when the other provokes him. Because he is tactically short-sighted and basically helpless like a newborn kitten.

A quick contrast – when Manco is caught off guard by Indio and his gang waiting for him to descend that roof, he instantly acts in the Present, assessing the situation: he puts away the bag with all the money. And Mortimer? As soon as he feels somebody’s shoulder below his foot, he is simply panicking.

Even when Indio invites him to try to shoot him after having shot his gun out of his hand, he simply obeys, accepting that there is no choice in the Present, until Manco introduces another choice into the situation and fixes everything so that the fight is fair (second Eternity).

And for Mortimer, Eternity is a blind zone. He is a practical man and seems to have no access to it. Everybody is what they’ve done (Past), and what they could be done with (Future), that’s it. But he has no idea what to do in the goalless Present because he has no guiding Eternity.

 Finally, Indio.

He has no relationship with the Present whatsoever. He is so detached from it that he actually catapults himself from it by smoking weed to not be overwhelmed by it. (He also does it to block his weak Past from nagging at him, which only makes sense given his more than unpleasant biography). 

And he actively disregards what others might think of him in the Present, e.g. his public inspections of Manco or how he doesn’t bother to explain his thought processes to Nino before sending him to kill off one of others from his gang. It’s Chuchillio who acts in the Present for him instead when he shoots off the tip of Manco’s cigar; and from what we’ve seen of others, e.g. of Wild, they all compensate for Indio’s detachment from the Present, it’s their primary function. And Indio, well, he, like Mortimer, makes plans using his second Future (he always foresees things), but he bases them on his Eternity.

First time he sees Manco, he knows he’s a bounty hunter, and assessing him from this standpoint of Eternity, he integrates him in their robbery. If you listen to his speeches closely, e.g. the speech in the church, he always leads everything to what things are but also what they should be. He rhetorically asks his gang whether they think a carpenter can’t make good money, and also how safes work; he talks about how the people of Agua Caliente are unfriendly to strangers. 

I would even argue that he keeps the pocket watch of Mortimer‘s sister not because of any sentimental value attached to it (that’s the perspective of the Past, which is adopted by Mortimer), but because it has significantly influenced his understanding of Eternity, and is now a part of his self-image and a reminder about certain hurtful truths.

 That’s my take on it. I would love to hear your thoughts! Also, if somebody is interested in my opinion about the whole thing in the GBU, Justified, or something else, let me know. Cheers!

[yankey-doodles]

Character asks and drawing your OC???

 So the holidays start after tomorrow for me and BOY DO I NEED IT!  Another semester of teaching done and now I'm ready to get myself warmed up for art again now that I'll have some free time

 But what's that?  You hardly know my OCs because I disappear for months on end?  That's fair, so I've got a bit of incentive.

I will include here a list of my OCs with some key points about their character AND if you send me a character ask, you can have one of your characters asking/interacting with them and I will draw them together with my character.  These will likely be sketches, but if I'm really sold on a solid design, sometimes I can't stop myself from adding color

 So, keep that in mind!

Characters begging to be asked:

Doll - Her toyhouse

Orc fighter/bard - plays the "Ax" XD (as in literally an ax that doubles as a guitar)

Her music is misunderstood in its time, metal and positive

Amateur poet but golly she tries!

Scares all guys she pursues...mostly pursues dweeby elves XD

Gil's toyhouse

Cat mutant super hero by night, punny dork by day

College student/photography major

Has a collection of hats for his ears

Vita's Toyhouse

Expert rogue elf

Soon-to-be an ass-assin

She is the night XD

Loves herself big orc girlfriend that protec

Zombie's toyhouse

Necromancing zombie next door

in lesbians with a blood mage

Sporty and tol af

Drixz's toyhouse

Steampunk devil babe

Innocent and naively adventurous

Could probably be talked into anything if there is promise of adventure XD

Gyro

Steampunk mechanic for a flying ship called the Fool's Gold

Recently learned he was adopted....and also originally a cat...his witch moms are bad at communicating with him XD

Straight man of a chaotic pirate crew

Lucky

Magical girl for St. Patrick's day

Things often go well for her....almost like she's....LUCKY

Trans MTF

Morgana

Magical girl for Halloween

Loves candy too much!

sardonic af

Likes to play up the "evil" twin bit

Mortimer

Magical boy for Day of the Dead

WEEB CENTRAL

the "good" twin and proud of it

Very religious

Rocket

Magical girl for Valentines Day

British American

Trying to invent her own girly punk style

Often forgets to use her magical girl powers and just hits stuff XD

And there you have it!  ASK AWAY!

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Son Of Scheherazade, Chapter 4

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

The last scene is my favorite one. Had I the power and ability, I'd turn it into a broadway smash. I repeatedly had Millionaire by Cash Cash & Digital Farm Animals ft. Nelly and Lottery by Train on as I wrote it.

Summary: As Mickey falls head over heels for the magician's assistant, he learns that not every romance has the chapters needed for a happily ever after.

Romantic love was an abstract concept to young Prince Mickey. It was the sort of thing that he found difficult to believe existed because he didn't quite understand it. He knew his parents loved each other very much, but he also found love to be so embarrassing he didn't know why anyone would want to indulge it. Why would you want to make those silly kissy faces and call someone ridiculous pet names and devote so much of your time to a complete stranger?

It wasn't until that day that Mickey understood that love wasn't something you really had any say in, because if he had a choice, he would not be intently staring at this beautiful girl in a fake magic show while his parents were probably in danger. A part of him was mentally trying to drag himself away and get back to work, but the rest of him had his feet planted and his eyes wide, not budging an inch. He'd watch her for the rest of his life if he could. It wasn't his fault she was so pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty...

“What wonderful tricks will you perform for us, master?” the girl asked, hands clasped together, smiling sweetly.

“Do the monkey trick again!” one audience member cried out, and another shouted, “The card tricks, show us the card tricks again!”

Mortimer ignored these requests, taking off his coat and turning it inside out to show there were no secret compartments. “It's a little chilly today...I wish my coat was made out of...” Another pause, his tongue flicking back and forth as he tried to think of something. “...red, blue, and...gold poodle fur!” And in a puff of pink smoke, that was exactly what it became, much to the audience's surprise and delight.

“Isn't he great?” A man standing beside the prince and his companions laughed. “This guy's been to ten different cities, but he never does the same trick twice... Or at least never in the same exact way.”

“A-huh,” said Mickey who wasn't paying attention to anything being said.

Horace gave up on trying to drag either of his crewmates away, so he crossed his arms and settled in for the long haul. “I guess originality's a good thing, but that kind of seems like a stretch. Why wouldn't you do the same trick in a different town? It's not like they'd know about it.”

“A-huh,” said Mickey who would have found this interesting if the pretty girl on stage didn't exist... who, it seemed, was getting tired? After that last trick, she put a hand to her chest and her breath appeared to quicken.

“And for my next trick,” Mortimer announced after putting his new coat back on, “I will now...” He took off one of his white gloves, “Pull a water buffalo out of my glove!”

Suddenly the girl seemed to jump, and she quickly ran to Mortimer's side, tugging on his coat. “M-Master, we – you can't do that trick!”

Mortimer stopped in place, and his cheesy expression began to grow cold, glaring down at his assistant, his showman's voice now hissing. “What have I told you about interrupting the gig?”

“But, master...” the girl pleaded, trying to keep on a worried smile. “You already performed that trick in the last town, remember...?”

“So what?” Goofy chirped, bouncing on his heels. “I wanna see it! C'mon, where's the water buffalo?”

Horace looked at his captain. “Do you even know what a water buffalo is?”

“Nope! So it makes me wanna see him pull one out even more!”

Mortimer pulled his hand back as he tried to recall what trick was performed where. “Shhhoooot. Why didn't you tell me before I got on stage!”

The girl stepped back, still smiling but it was clear, at least to Mickey, that it wasn't an honest one. “I tried to, master, but you said you didn't need my help...”

“I don't need your-” But Mortimer cut himself off, realizing that this argument wasn't going to help sales. He cleared his throat and chuckled, turning back into the charming performer. “That is...an audience like this doesn't deserve a water buffalo! They deserve something better! Like... an ice buffalo! A buffalo made completely out of ice!” But when he tried to reach into the glove again, nothing came out. He shot the girl an annoyed look, and in turn she merely raised one eyebrow, and he grumbled, “I wish I could pull a buffalo made out of ice from my glove!” This time he had no problem, pulling out a miniature statue of a buffalo made out of ice. “Ta-da!”

The audience cheered and clapped, save for Horace, who was fairly sure Clarabelle was going to kill them for being late, and for Mickey, who was frowning at the mistreatment his first love – shut up, he told his head, no she isn't – was going through. It was oddly enough the right thing to snap him out of his lovesick stupor – which he wouldn't admit to having because if he turned into his mortifying parents... he would rather jump off a cliff. More importantly, Mortimer the Magnificent had no right to treat anyone that way when they were just trying to help.

Mortimer was relieved that he won the audience back over, but he needed to make-up for all the time lost during that argument, maybe even make them forget it ever happened. “And I wish for a mountain of eastern silk robes to appear!” Which, in another puff of pink smoke, appeared. “And now I wish for the robes to turn into cobwebs!” Which they did. “And now I wish the cobwebs to turn into kitty-cats!” Which they did. “And now I wish the kitty-cats were solid gold carrots!” Which they did, making the audience shout “WOW!” louder and louder with each transformation.

Because Mickey was the only one watching the girl instead of the show, he was the only one to notice how exhausted she was becoming, even though all she was doing was encouraging the audience to applaud. With every new trick, sweat began to roll down her fur, her knees began to buckle, and soon she was so overwhelmed she had to sit on the stage.

Mortimer didn't notice, didn't care, or perhaps had some combination of both. “And for my greatest trick, I wish-”

“Master!” the girl suddenly cried out, her hand to her chest, panting heavily. “I... I think the audience is... so moved by your amazing tricks, they need... a minute to let it all sink in!”

Once again, Mortimer stopped being Magnificent and became maddened, storming over and sticking his index finger in her face. “What did I just say about interrupting the show?! Your only job here is to flash those pretty eyelashes and keep the audience hyped!” The girl flinched, drawing back, but Mortimer wasn't finished with her. “Keep this up, and I swear I'll-”

“YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!”

Now everyone's attention was to the far back of the audience where Mickey stood, his hands balled up into fists. Anger like this was still new to him, so he let it flow through every vein and take over his whole mind. Beauty or not, there was no way he was going to let anyone get assaulted in front of him. He began to walk forward and the audience parted like the Red Sea, suddenly frightened by the fire in his eyes. “You will step away from her... right now.”

Mortimer straightened his back, swallowing hard. “Hey, hey, let's take it easy!” He laughed nervously, fingers pressed together. “You're taking this too seriously! This is all... just... part of the act! Right, babe?” He stared at her intensely, trying not to glare while getting the point across.

The girl bit her lip, and then she looked at Mickey – by gosh those were some deep beautiful blue ocean eyes that NO, FOCUS  - and while she had looked out at the audience before, it had been as one collective group, never focusing solely on one person. Now she was actually looking at him, and Mickey could feel his heart skipping a beat. She was still tired, her whole body sagging, but those eyes of hers were still as bright and alive as a new dawn. There was surprise here, naturally, but a sadness that couldn't be put into words. Had it been there all this time since he first saw her? What did she look like when she was genuinely happy?

Mickey offered his hand to her, his voice quiet and gentle. “Are you okay?”

The girl looked down at his hand, and for the briefest of moments she seemed to consider it, lifting her own hand up an inch. Yet within seconds any hope within her died, and her hand curled up – it was then that Mickey saw she was wearing golden cuffs on her wrist. He'd seen something like that back in his home – when newcomers would come to the kingdom, and his parents made it explicitly clear that in their laws, one crime against humanity would never be tolerated there – and his rage was ignited all over again. “Is she your slave?!” His hand shot out, grabbing the girl's wrist and holding it up for all to see. There, on her left wrist, the cuff said “Minnie.”

Collective groups of the crowd gasped, others shocked into silence, and Mortimer flailed his arms wildly. “Nooo no no no no no! It's a  fashion statement! Look, I've got them too!” He yanked down on his sleeves, and true to his word he was wearing an identical set of cuffs on his own wrists. Sighs of relief smoothed out the audience, but Mickey wasn't convinced.

“What is she to you?” Mickey let the girl – Minnie? What a nice name, pretty name DANG IT KNOCK IT OFF  - go and began to reach for the hilt of his scimitar nestled on his belt. “I'm not going to let you treat her like garbage!”

Mortimer's patience for interruptions was wearing thin. “Look, what does it matter to you? It's all a show! Who do you think you are, anyway?”

Mickey stood tall and proud, a thumb to his chest. “I am Prin-”

“Preeettyyy sure that's enough of you, mister!” Horace and Goofy were suddenly on both of Mickey's sides, clamping their hands over his mouth and dragging him away.

“Real sorry about that!” “His first magic show, he got a little too excitable!”

“Keep up the good work!” “Don't mind us!”

Mickey kicked and yelled, but he couldn't free himself from their grasp until they were in the way back of the crowd, the audience beginning to mesh again. Mortimer cleared his throat, brushing down his long coat. “Maybe it's about time I wrap things up! Two more tricks, and then Mortimer the Magnificent's gotta move on out!”

Meanwhile, Mickey finally wrestled his way out of hands and fingers. “What are you two doing?!”

“Saving your hide, thank you very much,” Horace whispered, trying to encourage Mickey to do the same. “You can't go around telling people you're a P-R-I-N-C-E!”

“And why not?!”

“First off, not everyone is as nice as we are,” Goofy explained, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. “Some folks may look good enough, but the moment money enters their mind, it's like they become a different person. They might think they could hold you for hostage, or try to follow you and steal all you've got!”

“Secondly,” Horace continued, “You've got no authority outside of your kingdom! Even if we run into places that use slavery, you've got no power to stop it! And we can't liberate every single person we find, or those higher-ups will make sure we can never enter their lands again! I know it's rough, but if we're gunna try to find your parents, we gotta play it smart!”

Mortimer scanned the audience to find the richest looking individual, which happened to be a short lady covered head to toe in expensive jewelry. “You there, ma'am! What's the most prized possession you own?”

The woman tapped her chin with her finger. “Why, that would have to be my Ming vase, it's worth millions!”

Mickey knew his friends were making sense, but his heart was still burdened by the ethics and morals he thought applied to the entire world. “But if she's really his slave, we can't just leave her with him! It's not right! You can't expect me to just abandon her!”

Mortimer drew himself up, wiggling his fingers. “I wish this woman's Ming vase would appear in my hands!” A puff of pink smoke, and there it was, with the woman laughing gleefully at what she thought was an amazing fake knock-off and the audience clapping.

“Mickey, you have to think real carefully,” Goofy spoke as kindly as he could, kneeling down to meet Mickey at eye-level. “Right now, it's a choice... that girl, or your parents. You can't save everybody.”

Mortimer eyed the vase, drooling at the sight of something that would make anyone owning it rich for the rest of their lives. “And for my last trick... I wish this woman's Ming vase would reappear where I think it belongs.” He smirked as the vase vanished, and the audience burst into wild cheers for his last trick, though they were begging for more as they threw coins at his feet. Minnie began to pick them up one by one, eyeing the boy in the back.

Mickey shook with anger, and he snatched Clarabelle's list from Goofy's hand. “Maybe you can't, but I won't be that kind of person! I refuse! If you can't save everyone, then maybe I don't want to sail with you!” He then ran off as fast as his feet would take him, blinded by anger, frustration, and the horrible realization that Goofy was possibly right.

Horace was about to go after Mickey, but Goofy placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head silently. Horace slowly nodded in understanding. Mortimer had also noticed the boy taking off, and he was still burned by embarrassment. “And I wish that boy's most prized possession would reappear where I think it belongs,” he growled under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began to leave the stage.

Minnie heard this, dropping a few coins in shock. “Master!”

“Don't lose a single one,” Mortimer huffed as the crowd began to disperse. “Then get to the shopping and chores. We're out of here tomorrow.”

Goofy tilted his head, watching Mortimer storm off the stage. “I wonder why, with all his magic, he doesn't just poof himself home.”

Horace put a hand to his face, deciding that it was pointless telling Goofy that Mortimer had no magic.

Which, in a sense, was true.

~*~

Mickey ran and ran until his feet were crying out in pain and he was hopelessly lost. Yet as tired as his body was, he was still surging with anger and hopelessness. People were going back and through the marketplace, no one stopping to bless the Son of Scheherazade for years to come. It was just what he needed, since he didn't want anyone to see how close to tears he was. He really couldn't do anything to help that girl? He had to choose between doing the right thing and helping his parents? Could he live doing that every day? Could his parents understand that choice?

He had taken Goofy's list to prove he could get all the supplies he needed all on his own, but he also needed something to vent himself out on. He ripped the list to shreds, and once it was all gone, he slammed his fists into the wall of a bricked up shop, slammed again, slammed it three times before pressing his forehead to the bricks. What had he been expecting? He was still useless. He'd never be able to do anything. He was nothing but the Son of Scheherazade. A stupid, weak, naive little boy that couldn't do anything on his own.

Mickey sniffled, fighting off tears again, and pushed himself off the wall – just in time to bump into someone carrying so many bags and packages that it covered their face and head. Both shouted in surprise, and all the supplies sprawled out onto the ground. “Oh no! I-I'm so sorry!” Mickey apologized, kneeling down and scrambling to try and pick it all back up.

“No, no, it's my fault, I wasn't watching here I was going.”

“I was the one who...” Mickey trailed off, recognizing that familiar voice. He looked over, and there, now kneeling at his side, was Minnie. He made a most undignified “UH!” sound, feeling his tail snap up straight. What were the odds?! His usual depression and self-loathing were set aside because she was now much much MUCH closer to him than before and she even smelled nice wow...

Minnie blinked twice before her own recognition hit. “Oh! You're the boy from the show!”

Well that nice moment ended quickly. “I'm not a boy,” Mickey insisted, despite mentally calling himself that a minute ago, “I'm a man! I'm an official man, I'm eighteen years old.”

“Official man?” Minnie repeated with a hint of amusement, picking up her things. “So there was paperwork and laws involved?”

Mickey got the sense he was being teased. “Of course not. It just... happens, when you turn eighteen.” He was tempted to ask how old she was, but even he knew that was probably dangerous territory when it came to women, especially women you weren't 100% certain about their names. “I mean, I'm pretty sure that's how it goes... is that not what happens in other kingdoms?”

“Lots of lands have lots of different rules about ages.” Minnie shrugged, her arms full again.

“Sounds like you've been to a lot of places.” He was almost jealous.

“I've been here and there.” but Minnie didn't add anything more, as if reluctant to go into details. “...Thank you for helping me. Is that what official men do?” Another hint of a tease.

“I think this is what anyone with common decency does.” Mickey retorted, his arms also full of all kinds of goodies. “This is a lot of stuff for one little lady!”

“It's not for me, it's for my master.”

Once again, the good mood was snuffed out, and Mickey's face went dark. “You still have to call him that even when you're not performing?”

“It is my duty,” Minnie replied with a tired sigh, not wanting to explain this either. She took a step further to try and take her things from Mickey, but he took a step back.

“If Mortimer the Megalomaniac isn't going to help you,” Mickey insisted, “then I will. Just show me the way, and I'll help deliver it!” He finished with a smile, always happy to help.

Yet Minnie was wary, eyeing him up and down suspiciously. “He won't pay you for your trouble.”

“Okay.”

“...And I can't pay you either.”

“Okay.”

Minnie waited, and then pouted. “Well, then what are you expecting to get out of this?”

Mickey looked at her as if she'd just asked why fish in the sea were wet. Wasn't the answer obvious? “I'm not expecting anything, I just wanna help! Besides, if that jerk gave me a single coin, I'd make him eat it.”

Minnie watched him carefully, a puzzle forming in her head until she seemed to solve it with one nod. “Oh, I see... very well, come along.” She began to walk, and Mickey followed, his own questions unanswered. Why did she seem to distrust him even though he had stood up for her? Had Mortimer corrupted her worldview that much? Boy, if there was anyone in the world that deserved a kick to the shin, or somewhere a little more up north...

“My name's Mickey.” he said, trying to steer the conversation towards something more pleasant. “What's yours?”

She hesitated, but it didn't take long for her to relent. “My name is Minnie.” She paused in her walk to let some playing children pass by.

Mickey had been right, her name was Minnie. Minnie, Minnie, he wanted to practice saying it on his tongue but there was no way he could do it in front of her without sounding nuts. “Have you been in this town long, Minnie?” There, he got away with it once, and it felt pleasant. Minnie Minnie Minnie.

“We've only been here for a few days, and we're leaving tomorrow.” One of the children dropped their straw doll, and Minnie tried to return it while juggling her armload of packages. “I think we're headed for Attalaa next, it's very close.”

Mickey pondered if he could get away with putting that location on their map. “I've never been there... guess you could say I've never really been anywhere. I'm a little bit sheltered.” This got a curious and confused look from his companion. “What?”

“Why would you admit that?” Didn't this boy – man, heehee – have any sense of self-preservation? Who stated their faults that easily?

“...Because it's the truth?” Mickey answered with a big shrug. “Maybe I never had too many normal conversations myself. No one really listens to what I have to say... they care more about what I am than who I am.”

Minnie's eyes went down as much she'd allow without tripping over herself. “I know what that's like. After a while, you wonder what's the point of speaking up.”

“Y-Yeah, exactly! Like, why bother learning how to speak at all if no one listens?”

“But if you never said anything, people act like you're the one with the problem.”

“And you don't know what to do, it's like you can't do anything right! You're useless, you feel like... like... like...”

“You shouldn't exist?”

The mice stopped their walking to have their eyes meet. Despite the conversation starting off nicely enough, neither of them had expected to find a similar suffering. They weren't sure what to do with this information, but it wasn't unwelcome. Minnie shifted the packages in her arms a little, eyes shyly looking back and forth between the ground and Mickey's face.

“I didn't think anyone else felt that way,” she murmured after a moment, perhaps lost in a time of ageless memories. “Maybe I thought no one could ever understand... but...” She then shook her head to dismiss herself of the notion. “I shouldn't...”

Mickey leaned in, wondering what the matter was. “Minnie? What is it?” It was if she was almost admitting something but then had punished herself for daring to try.

“It's nothing.”

“If it's important to you, it's not nothing.”

A stretch of silence passed between them, and then Minnie quietly chuckled low in her throat. “It'd be nice if you stayed this way.” Her eyes saw him again. “The way you were at the show... if you're like that everywhere you go, I don't think you're useless at all.” Then she did something so spectacular, so amazing, so heart-stopping wonderful that Mickey could have died happy right then and there.

Minnie smiled. An honest, true, sincere smile that emphasized the pinkness of her cheeks and the beauty of her face, as if it was one she hadn't given to anyone in a long, long time. Nothing in his mother's stories could have ever described what Mickey was seeing. It wasn't just the fact that she was good looking that made it so special – this was a special smile, a rarity, something she didn't get to do too often, a hidden treasure that had been carefully unlocked. This was a smile that only one person could get to see.

Mickey wasn't prepared for it, and it stunned him so deeply that he dropped all the packages in his arms and said, “Wow.”

Minnie jumped. “What are you doing?!”

“Wha-OH! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Mickey wildly tried to salvage what had now met the ground twice, hoping he hadn't broken anything. “I'm sorry, it was just, you're so pretty-” No!” “I didn't mean that! Not that you're not pretty, of course you are, I-” Nooo! “I'm sorry, I don't know how to talk like a normal person, not that I'm weird or strange or anything you should be afraid of-” STOP TALKING! “I don't know how to talk to pretty girls!”

Mickey continued to decompose verbally in front of Minnie, flailing and hyperventilating while trying to pick up what he'd dropped, yet dropping it all over again as he kept saying more embarrassing things. Why hadn't his parents prepared him how to talk to girls?! … Oh, right, because Mickey would have run out of the room. Minnie just blinked slowly at this odd spectacle, having never seen anything quite like this in all her years. Because this was something she'd rarely seen, it caused a rare reaction.

Minnie's lips twitched, then quivered, and then she burst – she began to giggle loudly, almost losing her own packages. Her body shook and trembled, and she had to take a step back to make sure she didn't collapse from giggling fits. Mickey's face reddened to  bright tomato red, but on the plus side, he had made her laugh, which was worth losing whatever dignity he had. He flashed a toothy grin, chuckling quietly. People passing by stifled their own snickers, thinking that a couple of silly kids were having a very unusual first date.

Minnie finally managed to catch her breath, though a few giggles still slid in between her words. “I-I'm sorry, it was wrong to laugh...”

“I think we both needed it.” Mickey did feel more relaxed after it had all passed, since things probably couldn't get much worse from here on. Besides, he got her to smile and laugh, he was feeling very accomplished. “Besides, if Mortimer gets mad his stuff is busted, he should have used his fancy schmancy magic to poof it up himself.”

“He doesn't want to waste the magic on little things.” Minnie waited patiently as Mickey lifted everything back up a second time.

“That so.” Once Mickey was up and at 'em again, they walked. “So answer me this... If he's so magnificent, why put on a show? Why not just poof up some money and enjoy the high life?”

“He craves attention.” Minnie walked with him, a little closer this time. “He wants people praising him all the time. He can't stand not being the center of attention... even if life would be easier otherwise...”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, curious as to how much she'd now allow herself to say. “And I guess he doesn't listen to you when you tell him that.”

Minnie nodded, but her eyes were growing distant, seeing a horizon that Mickey couldn't imagine. “I don't know why I bother. In the end, everyone is the same.”

Mickey furrowed his brows, this once pleasant chat now growing uncomfortable. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She didn't bother to look at him this time. “I'm sure there are lots of good, decent people in the world... but...once someone gets a dose of power...they change. They tell themselves they'll use it to help people, but greed always wins. Deep down, everyone only really cares about themselves, and power brings that out. It's just a matter of time.” It almost sounded like a speech, something she'd said to herself time and time again in an effort to learn.

It also sounded similar to what Goofy had said earlier -  Some folks may look good enough, but the moment money enters their mind, it's like they become a different person – and this too didn't sit right with Mickey. No matter how lovely Minnie was or how much he wanted to stay on her good side, this was not something Mickey could let slide. “That's not true.”

Minnie made a tiny scoffing sound. “Is that right?”

“It is right,” Mickey insisted, walking a little faster now. “Not everyone in the world has a greedy person ready and waiting to pop out! There are people who are good all the way through! And you can't let a handful of bad people ruin how the world looks! There are people who will do what's right without rewards or money or power... they'll do it because in their hearts, they know it has to be done!”

Minnie stopped walking, standing in front of a very small clay house that leaned to one side, with all the windows boarded up and big DO NOT ENTER signs plastered all over. “And do you think you're one of those people?”

Mickey almost said “yes” immediately. But would a good person be struggling with the decision between a trapped girl and their own parents? Wouldn't they know the right choice instantly? “...I'm not perfect,” he decided, “And I know sometimes it's just easier to walk away and let things be. But...I am who I am. And I'm not the sort of person who can just ignore someone in trouble, even when there's not much I can do about it. Maybe it makes me good, or dumb, or naive, but there are things about us we can't change. And, honestly, I don't think I want to become that kind of guy who walks away when someone is being threatened. Power wouldn't change that. And I'll tell you that as many times as I need to until we get to Mortimer's place!”

“This is his place.”

“...Oh.” Mickey glanced up. Huh, it sure was a crummy looking house for a magnificent magician. Did he spend all his money on shopping so he didn't have any leftover for a decent place to stay? “...Still meant what I said.” He placed the belongings down beside the front door.

Minnie wasn't entirely touched by his heartfelt words, emptying her own hands beside the house. Mickey glared at the house, clearly wanting to have words with whoever was inside. Minnie stepped to Mickey's side, and her fingers brushed by his arm – he felt a spark fly through his arm and again his anger was put aside to embrace a good old mind malfunction.

“Mickey, whoever you are...” Minnie looked up at him, her fingers now laced together. “I hope that you stay this way forever... and I hope I never see you again.” And Mickey would have probably asked why she said that if she hadn't done what she did next.

She kissed his cheek.

Minnie probably then said something like “goodbye” or “have a nice day” but Mickey didn't hear it, or really pay any attention to her picking up her things and entering the house. He had stopped moving the moment her lips touched his face, and for the next minute he didn't move. He didn't move during minute two either, nor three, nor four.

On minute five, he inhaled. On minute six...

“WHOOO-HOOO!”

This gigantic shout of love-induced euphoria echoed all across the town, which helped José and Panchito locate the mouse, as they had been assigned to find him after something happened on the ship. As they followed the subsequent hooting and hollering, they found Mickey dancing up and down the marketplace, climbing up poles and swinging from curtains, grabbing startled shopkeepers and spinning them in circles. “Aw, he's so happy,” Panchito lamented, “I don't want to tell him the bad news now.”

Mickey turned his head upon hearing that voice, and he sprinted towards the birds, hugging them both. “Guys! GUUUYYS! She kissed me, she kissed me, she kissed me!”

“Huh?” Panchito asked, trying not to drop his guitar.

“Who?” José asked, trying to keep his hat on.

“Minnie, kissed me, on the cheek!” Mickey let them go to break into an impromptu dance routine. “She kissed me, she kissed me, she kissed meee!”

José and Panchito looked at each other, shrugged, and then joined in the dancing and singing, with Panchito strumming the guitar and José miming the action with the umbrella. “She kissed him, she kissed him, she kissed hiiim!”

“She likes me, she likes me, she likes meee!”

“She likes him, she likes him, she likes hiiim!”

“She said she never wanted to see me agaiiin!”

“She said she never wanted to see him agaiiin!” But the birds at least had some common sense, stopping the broadway musical after that lyric. It was José who held up a finger. “Uh, Mickey, mind repeating that?”

Mickey was still making up his own samba, the actual words not hitting him just yet. “She said she never wanted to see me agaiiin-” … Oh, wait, now he heard it. “...She said she never wanted to see me again?” he repeated, frozen in mid-tango, too confused to be heart-broken right away. “Huh? But... she...” Why would she kiss him and then say that? Didn't they connect? Didn't they have a good time? How could things get worse?

“Okay, now we can tell him the bad news!” Panchito pushed his guitar over his back.

“We just got back to the ship...”

“... And Clarabelle told us that Pluto's gone missing!”

[mcrtimersmith]

Memory 10

“Is this doing much for you?” Her voice is pure silk, her eyes the color of a million interdimensional sunsets, and her smile...it was a shame, Mortimer decided, that this relationship was only for one thing. “Do you like the look? The weight? The TOUCH?” Her hands slid over his, holding them in place. Had he actually thought more of her, Mortimer would have flushed. 

“Yeah....Saronia. The gun is fine. But I still want to do this without raising any alarm.” The beauty pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Mortimer lowers the weapon into his lap. “We don’t want everyone KNOWING what we’re up to until it’s time.” His reasoning seems to please her, for Saronia leans back with a content grin easily taking over her earlier pout.

“So you’re thinking...a knife?” A knife? Yeah. That would work just fine. It would be HIM who would be getting the closest to her tonight. Mortimer only had ONE CHANCE to do this right. “Because I have plenty of those too.” She slid off the bed, smoothing out her clothes as she approached her dresser. Her long braided hair, blue as the ocean, was pulled into a loose bun. It showed off the tattoo...no, the BRAND on the back of her neck. It was a solid, painful reminder of why he agreed to do this.

For the DEATH of the woman who did this to her.

“I have a few serrated ones. I have one that can take in a TOXIN that’ll kill them slowly if you miss the first stab. Oh! And this one is my FAVORITE!”

“Ma’am...” A voice pops up from behind the door, timid and nervous. “I-It’s time.” Mortimer and Saronia share a knowing look. It’s time.

---

“Thank you all for coming tonight!!” Her voice BOOMED across the expensive ballroom. Saronia’s mother was just as beautiful as she sounded. Her hair was cut to the scalp, a missing leg replaced bionically, and her eyes were razer sharp and GOLDEN. She was dangerous. She was ONE to be FEARED.

She was going to die tonight.

“As you all may know, my successor has taken on a mate!” The horde of murderers cheered, clashing their bodies together as they yelled. “And he’s been with us for nearly a MOON now. Tonight, he will be joining our ranks!” Another roar sounded from the crowd, louder than before. It made his ears ring. Saronia gave his hand a squeeze to calm HERSELF down.

Why was she nervous?

“Approach...” Talia’s voice commanded him; Mortimer drops a kiss to Saronia’s hand, to play the part, before approaching the feared LEADER of this Branch. “Mortimer Smith, human of Earth, to you pledge your ALLEGIANCE to the Million Moons until your dying BREATH?” His eyes caught the iron tool in her grip, the end BURNING hot and red.

Soon....soon...

“Until my dying breath, I do solemnly swear...” He breathes his reply, BARING his arm out to her. Talia draws close, all but TOWERING over his shorter frame. “-I pledge my LIFE...” The branding tool grew close; the heat of the iron threatened to SEAR his flesh. To the Million Moons was what he was supposed to say. But a light flashed near the upper window.

Now.

“-To Saronia.” He’s barely able to catch Talia’s look of shock before he’s GRABBING the iron tool, using it to RIP the older woman closer.

Just in time to BURY his knife right through her chest.

All Hell broke loose. Guns were ripped into view, rebellious FIGHTERS turning their weapons on each other, and a hand tangled into Mortimer’s shirt. Blood splattered her black-painted lips, golden eyes wild and filled with RAGE. No emotion flashed in his own brown eyes as he CRUELLY twisted he knife in deeper as the war raged on around them. He sees the life BLEED out of her, form falling limp as she joined the past rulers of the Million Moons.

“...Walk with them...” Comes his whisper.

“ENOUGH!!!” Saronia’s voice ROARED, accompanied by a flurry of gunshots. The hall fell quiet, deathly so. “Talia is dead.” A ripple of fury went through the crowd. “Either you answer to me now, or DIE. Your choice...”

                --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Merty?”

The co-president JUMPS at the sound of Mortimer’s voice, hand SMACKING the laptop closed as his boyfriend enters their shared basement. Mortimer cocks an eyebrow when he spots Merty sitting at his desk. “What’cha watching-”

“NOTHING!!” Merty interrupts immediately, getting only a grin from Mortimer in return. The other Morty seemed to grow a bit nervous as Mortimer approached him; his footsteps were slow and DAUNTING. He was taunting him with every STEP as he came up on his side.

“Nothing huh?” His hand lays over Merty’s own, carefully prying the lid upwards to focus on Saronia’s face, much younger and just as deadly. "Saronia?” Merty flushes red in embarrassment, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you worried about her?” Merty doesn’t reply. “There’s nothing you need to worry about Merty. You know why it was important that I help her out...”

“Yeaaaaaah, I guess so Mort-ii-mer.” Merty huffs finally. “I still better be your favorite.” 

“No contest. She doesn’t even come CLOSE.”

[victorineb]

Fic Recs Mega Post

More fic recs for you fabulous fannibals, this time round there’s rare pairs a-plenty, actual devil Will Graham, and a fabulous Pacific Rim crossover AU

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: Volume 1 by @fragile-teacup (fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)): So what are the chances that Will and Hannibal emerge from the Atlantic with all their issues resolved, finally a stable unit, murder husbands for life? Pretty much none, right? Certainly, in this beautifully-written post-TWotL fic, there is still a massive amount of that typical Hannigram miscommunication, obfuscation and downright stubbornness that keeps our boys from their happy ending. None of which is made better by Hannibal keeping Will sedated while he recovers from his injuries, or by sequestering them in the house of the one person guaranteed to drive Will out of his mind with jealousy… Centred on that dinner hinted at by the post-credits scene in TWotL, this winds the tension between Will and Hannibal (and Bedelia) to a fever pitch, in an absolute riot of bitchiness, resentment and pining. And then busts everything wide open when Will just can’t keep his emotions under wraps any longer…

Tomorrow, More Sun by @shiphitsthefan: Beardogs (Nigel/Lee) is a new pairing for me but it took precisely five paragraphs of this fantastic fic to make me fall in love. For those who aren’t aware, Lee is the Hugh from the infamous “I like bears” gif, and more specifically is an adorable ball of sass and joy who loves wine and is suffering from terminal cancer (but don’t worry, this is very much not an angsty story). Anyway, our tale begins when Lee is suffering from the worst post-chemo effects of his life and, desperate for relief, begs his dealer – a certain formerly very bad man from Bucharest – to drive out in the snow and provide him with a hit. Now, I mentioned the part where Lee likes bears, right? And there’s no-one more bearlike than Nigel – even “New Nigel,” who’s had to reform his ways (a little) as a result of the bullet in his brain landing him in a wheelchair – and Lee is, unsurprisingly, infatuated. There follows a charming and romantic tale of getting high, telling wicked jokes, and maybe, just maybe, falling in love (but definitely getting the best shag of either man’s life).

To Fuel Your Radiance by @fancybedelia (GoldenUsagi): Mischa Lecter should have died. Should have… and did, except that her brother made a deal with the devil. Hannibal’s soul in exchange for Mischa’s life. Some forty years later, the devil pays Hannibal a visit (disguised as a rather handsome, blue-eyed man named Will) in order to see what he’s done with his life. And, as is the Hannigram way, a mutual interest quickly turns to something much more twisted and obsessive. The brilliant thing about this AU is that, despite being a devilishly sexy (literally), self-assured, phenomenally powerful version of himself, Will is still Will. He’s not some malevolent, flamboyant devourer of souls, he’s still conflicted and weighed down by the nature of what he is. Which leaves Hannibal to take up the role of tempter (yes, even to the Devil himself), drawing Will into killing with him (which, admittedly, takes much less effort with this version!) and falling helplessly in love with the beast that emerges.

Ugly by @slashyrogue (nightliferogue): We as a fandom should be immensely grateful to count slashy as one of our number. She turns out a frankly staggering number of AUs and rare pair fics (in addition to her wonderful Hannigram works) and they are all, without exception, imaginative and beautifully written. Recently she’s been writing a lot of Basic Chickens and this, her most recent (at the time of writing) might be the best yet. When Elias finds a strange, black egg in amongst the chickens, his superstitious brothers order him to smash it, fearing it contains a demon. Elias (of course, this is Elias) refuses, and tends to the egg until it hatches, revealing a small, black, winged monster, which Elias decides to keep,  christening it “Ugly.” Which is all well and good until it turns out that Ugly also sometimes takes the form of a man (quickly renamed Adam) whose determined seduction of Elias has worrying, potentially dangerous side-effects. This is Basic Chickens with a brilliant supernatural twist and the story is sexy, sweet, constantly surprising and very, very much worth your time.

Stricken by @crossroadscastiel (peacefrog): So say, instead of landing on the rocks at the bottom of that cliff, Will and Hannibal instead land in a completely different universe, one where everything seems to be the same, except that they’re not dead from their horrifying injuries. Seems like a win, right? Oh, except there’s the little issue of Hannibal suddenly producing slick and the pair of them needing to shag like bunnies every five minutes or they’ll explode. Yep, the boys are not in Baltimore anymore, they’re in an omegaverse, Hannibal’s in heat, and if they can stop knotting each other’s brains out for long enough, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about feelings. Wanna bet how well that turns out? This is such a fun exploration of the omegaverse concept, with our intrepid murder husbands utterly baffled by what’s happening to them and how they can deal with it. It’s also sexy and sweet as hell – if you’re not into a/b/o, give this a shot, I’d be surprised if it doesn’t change your mind.

Ananta by @unicornmagic (canis_m): A what-if fic, with the what-if in question being ‘how might things have gone, had Hannibal not rubber-stamped Will back into the field but instead recommended he receive further treatment. Oh, and asked him on a date while he’s at it.’ Well, in this ‘verse, it means Will stays away from murder scenes while Hannibal takes his place, that Will starts therapy with a certain blonde ice-queen, and Will has to navigate the beginnings of a relationship with Hannibal while contemplating when he should reveal that he’s asexual. This is a beautifully-paced, patiently crafted exploration of the complex relationship between these two characters and the ways in which they fit together with each other unlike with anyone else. Will’s asexuality is written with grace and sensitivity, as the writer explores the other, less obvious intimacies that he and Hannibal share. If you need something lovely in your life, read this.

The Best of All Possible Worlds by @desperatelyseekingcannibals (TigerPrawn): Mortimer (from Hysteria) is one of my favourite Hugh roles, so I’m always delighted when the adorable, slightly bumbly doctor turns up in a fic. And this one is so much fun, pairing Mortimer with Galen from Rogue One (via some timey-wimey shenanigans that land Galen back in ye olde England) and developing a very sweet romance between the two, even as they try to figure out how to get Galen home. These are two of the most decent characters in the madancy back catalogue and they work really wonderfully together, Mortimer’s eager earnestness nicely grounded by Galen’s steadiness. Plus I was very pleasantly surprised by how much chemistry the characters have together – not to put to fine a point on it, but they’re wicked hot XD. The rare pairs phenomenon is truly the gift that keeps on giving and this is one of my favourite ships to come out of it, please do hop on board and prepare to be totally charmed.

A Way to Live by @sugarmaus (Sugarmouse): Hannibal Lecter is in the market for a new slave. He goes through them quickly, always on the lookout for some elusive something that even Hannibal doesn’t seem able to define. When he spots Will Graham in the dealer’s catalogue, he thinks there’s a chance he may have found it, and when he sees the man in the flesh he is almost certain of it. But Hannibal soon learns an important lesson: Never Underestimate Will Graham. And so begins a complex, high-stakes game of shifting identities and hidden desires between master and slave, with Hannibal’s rigid control slipping further and further as he loses himself to his fascination with getting inside Will’s mind. Essentially an AU in which Hannibal can buy and dispose of murder interns instead of influencing them via therapy this is a sharp and intense character study of our darling cannibal. Hannibal’s ennui and loneliness are front and centre here as he both strives to gain control over Will and hopes that he will not be able to. It’s fascinating, compelling, intelligent stuff, with more than a few surprises up its sleeves.

Fais Do-Do by @moku-youbi: Will is on the run. He has lost control and shot a man, and now he’s tasted blood for the first time and Jack Crawford is on his tail. Which is how he winds up staying at The Little Bear Inn, owned by Mischa Lecter and currently being run by her brother while she is unwell. Of course, this is an establishment run by the Lecters, so nothing is quite as it seems and it may not turn out to be the safe haven Will is looking for. Even if Hannibal is unexpectedly easy to talk to (and not too hard on the eyes, either). Then again, Will’s got some secrets of his own, and we all know what happens to people who underestimate Will Graham… This is a really fun trip through some classic horror tropes, stylishly fusing a Hitchcockian vibe with supernatural elements as Will’s paranoia grows in the face of the Lecters’ strange behaviour and the threat of Jack hunting him down. It’s atmospheric, sexy, and thrilling – old-fashioned horror at its very best.

An American Empath in London by @legohanniballecter (MaddyHughes): In this (very slight) Sherlock crossover AU, Jack loans out Will to Scotland Yard in order to aid them in investigating a series of horrific murders involving Tory politicians (seeing as their normal consulting detective recently jumped off a roof…). Except here, Will hasn’t met Hannibal Lecter, not until he sits next to him on the plane to London, that is, though it doesn’t take long for the pair to become intimately acquainted. Yeah, ain’t no slow burn around here, and Will finds himself in a strange city, attempting to deal with a case that frustrates him, a police force that doesn’t understand him, and an intense, overwhelming attraction to a man he barely knows. Not to mention that Hannibal’s up to his usual tricks: murder, manipulation, and winding Will Graham up to see how he goes. Two years in the making, this densely-plotted, highly intelligent case fic also features some seriously intense Hannigram, with its trademark mix of sexual tension, blood and mind games turned up to the nth degree. I highly recommend giving it a shot – once I started, I found it nigh-on impossible to put down!

And Do Abominable Things With Grace by @thedancingwalrus-blog (The_Dancing_Walrus): I love and adore Pacific Rim, let’s get that out of the way. That said, it’s not exactly the subtlest movie ever made and I always kind of wished they’d done more to explore the concept of drifting. Well, wish granted and with Hannigram into the bargain in this fascinating crossover AU. Set sometime in s2, after Will’s mistrial but before his release, things diverge sharply from canon when Beverly and the FBI arrest Hannibal for his crimes. And then leave canon in the fucking dust when the first Kaiju arrives and Will and Hannibal are kidnapped by the government to be used as guinea pigs in the development of drift technology. Of course, it turns out that fusing the consciousnesses of two people like Will and Hannibal – who are pretty much inextricably bonded from their first glance anyway – has some interesting, and not altogether pleasant, side-effects. This is a genuinely stunning piece of work, playing with POVs and levels of consciousness to portray the invasive intimacy of being forcibly mind-melded with another person and written with a lyrical, experimental style that is both effective and highly memorable. It also has one of the most interesting, insightful depictions of the relationship between Hannibal and Will I’ve had the fortune to read – by turns sad, hopeful and endearing, and never less than utterly beautiful.

Caging the Beast by Vulcanmi: How many have us have begged pleaded wondered how things might have gone if Will had called off his Mizumono dinner plans with Jack and Hannibal? In this AU the stupid idiot our intrepid empath does just that, and, having realised that he doesn’t want to live in a world where Hannibal is behind bars, sets about constructing one in which he can tame the beast and put it in a cage of his own. His decision sets everybody on an unfamiliar path but while some things change (no Florentine jaunt for Bedelia this time), others just can’t be avoided (Mason still needs to be someone’s bacon, and Will and Hannibal still dance around each other like a pair of nervous teenagers). Or put off forever, as Will’s growing awareness of the nature of his feelings for Hannibal shows. Many Mizumono fix-its focus on the murder fam running off together and trying to avoid capture. This takes the opposite approach, keeping everybody in Baltimore with the inherent dangers and tensions that involves, extending the game between Will, Hannibal and Jack, even as the former two inch their way towards true Murder Husband status. It’s a fascinating reframing of canon, retaining many elements from s3 but with Will and Hannibal acting as a team and a family. I lost count of the number of times I sighed “If only…” while I was reading this – if you still dream of what could have been that rainy night in Baltimore, this is definitely the fic for you.

Yet Another Hannigram S1 AU (series) by @coloredink: Fans of intense, complex, drawn-out conversations between Will and Hannibal (which is… all of us, right?) will be in heaven with this two-part series set sometime post-Tobias Budge in s1. Both instalments see the boys thrust into close living quarters and exploring the powerful but confusing nature of their relationship. In and built a little house that we could live in, Will takes Hannibal up on the offer of using his vacation house for a week, on one condition: Hannibal comes with him. There follow seven days in which two solitary men begin to realise they might not want to be solitary anymore, and tentatively negotiate how that might work. By contrast, there’s nothing tentative in follow-up a tower to broadcast all our dreams, in which Will and Hannibal have to pretend to live together as a couple in order to draw out a serial killer. The pretence soon gives way to something else, but when you’re the Chesapeake Ripper, deciding you want a boyfriend comes with extra complications… This series is a beautiful riff on some favourite tropes, the second instalment in particular playing on the “fake date” with brilliant results. It also lets us see a charmingly domestic version of Hannigram, investing time and care in building up the relationship without sacrificing the dark and twisted aspects of their story. And really, does it get any better than domestic fluff with a bit of murder on the side? Nah, didn’t think so…

As ever, if there are bad links, or I’ve misattributed anything, let me know and I’ll fix it lickety-split. Happy reading, lovely fannibals!

[theinquisitivej]

The New Century Multiverse Reactions – Let Them Go: Episode 10, A Man’s Work & Episode 11, Preparations

You can listen to the full episodes here, and here. 

After a brief hiatus, we are back! We’ll be looking at two episodes this time just so that we’re all caught up. Everything I’ve written is based on notes I took at the time, meaning nothing I write for Episode 10 is based on any knowledge of what happens in Episode 11. With that in mind, let’s dive right in.

Episode 10 – A Man’s Work

We pick up where we left off at the end of Episode 09, with Dawson just having slammed the front door on the two Barghest that attacked Aunt Cleo. The danger is certainly not over yet, however, as a quick, vicious scramble for the shotgun unfolds between Dawson and Rebecca. Each of the important motions and little developments in this tug-of-war are narrated in impressive detail, making this a memorable scrap. Dawson using the butt of the gun to hit Rebecca in the ribs and wrench the weapon away from her is odious, especially as the gun has gained the added significance of being Cleo’s final gift to Rebecca before she died. Dawson isn’t just exercising his toxic masculinity by acquiring undeserving control of the most vital weapon in the household, he’s taking something with personal meaning away from Rebecca. Oh, and before we move on, being told that Rebecca can hear Aunt Cleo being eaten was a twist of the knife. Not cool Alex.

         A little detail that reinforces Dawson’s role as the unwavering sceptic who foolishly doesn’t place any stock in anyone’s opinion except his own is when Rebecca asserts that these attackers are suffering from Egyptian Rabies, and he rejects this and immediately goes for another drink of the brandy. Of course, his wound is getting to him, so he might be doing this to alleviate the pain. Nevertheless, it also comes across as Dawson instinctually turning to alcohol when he’s failing to cope with reality. This is emphasised when Rebecca suggests the Barghest might be spreading their infection to the people they assault, and she realises her “mistake in discussing the realities of this” with Dawson. Clearly, Dawson is not the person you want to be with when you’re dealing with harsh realities.

         Sharon Shaw has done a great job bringing Rebecca to life throughout this whole series, but her vocal performance has gone from strength to strength over the course of this story. As she delivers Rebecca’s dialogue, you can feel the character’s determination and impressive reasoning as she takes in her surroundings and makes astute observations about their predicament and what the best course of action should be. However, you also feel how utterly shaken this experience has left Rebecca, with the full weight of what she’s lost coming through Sharon’s performance. At times, her voice shakes, sounding like Rebecca is moving ahead out of fear that she will collapse if she pauses for a moment. But when she needs to show Rebecca’s strength, she says her words with an iron resolve which tells you not only that Rebecca won’t back down, but she won’t give you a goddamn inch if you’re against her. The delivery of “Look at me. LOOK. AT. ME.” even made me stop in my tracks as I walked down the road listening to this episode. Sharon has played numerous strong female characters throughout New Century, and Mortimer being the slickest character in The Princess Thieves is almost entirely down to how she brought that character to life. Even so, this has undoubtedly been her best performance in New Century thus far.

         After Rebecca takes a stand against Dawson and makes it clear there’s no way in hell he’s hurting Amanda, a long moment passes, and we observe Dawson’s exposed wound. What we see is reminiscent of what happened to Amanda, reminding the listener of the ticking clock before Dawson starts suffering from the same illness plaguing Amanda. They concoct a new plan together to hold out until daylight, when Dawson can leave and send transport to Rebecca and her sister. I have to say, as uneasy as this regained co-operation between the two of them is, I didn’t expect Dawson to actually back down and agree to Amanda’s plan, even if he does so begrudgingly.

         When Rebecca sits against the bedroom door with Amanda on the other side, I was reminded of the way Frozen similarly depicted a bond between sisters and the distance between them when Anna and Elsa are on opposite sides of the same door. In this case, however, you’re not so much hoping that these sisters can reconnect and find happiness together but are instead unsettled and afraid of what Amanda is turning into on the other side of the door, painfully aware of the inevitable sad conclusion to this tale. Rebecca gets an obscured, unclear look inside the room through the keyhole, reflecting the incomplete picture she has of the true nature of what her sister is becoming. I have to commend Alex Shaw’s delivery of the narration, the picture the words create of the silhouette of Amanda and the only visible thing being the glint in her eyes, and the breathy, ethereally disconnected performance of Theo Leigh as Amanda. They all combine to make this section feel unbearably eerie.

         The way Rebecca tearfully responds to Amanda’s seemingly incoherent babble and what she believes to be her descent into madness is an all too familiar pain for anyone who knows an elderly relative suffering from dementia, or indeed any illness that slowly erodes the person you once knew. It’s difficult enough to suddenly lose someone, but it’s another thing altogether when the person slowly fades away, and their identity becomes more and more fragmented. You’re haunted by the incomplete picture of their past self which this person has become. It’s a terrible thing, and this moment taps into that heartache.

         As an ominous banging noise from below suggests that Dawson is up to something, we head downstairs with a feeling of awful trepidation.

         The credits epilogue this time gives us a neat story about James Penrose, a character that newcomers will get to know later on in the series. The benefit of these mysterious epilogues is that they expand the world of this story without compromising Let Them Go’s intimate, claustrophobic setting. We get the impression that what is happening here is likely happening in many other places like this, or, if it hasn’t reached them yet, it soon will do.

Episode 11 – Preparations

I’m noticing that the chapters of Let Them Go often follow directly on from what came before, as this chapter begins with Rebecca reaching the bottom of the stairs to see Dawson hammering away at some barricades near the window, clearly in a manner which doesn’t fully block them, making his efforts futile. Starting the chapters like this keeps the momentum going, which makes me think that this story will be great to listen to or read all the way through once it’s all over. It will draw you in, and keep you immersed as you experience this one terrible night alongside these characters.

         The sound design and narration as Rebecca reaches the cellar door to fetch the nails is very disconcerting, as they both capture that sense of dread you experience whenever you go to that dark, hidden area of your house you rarely visit. The “echo of her arm” is an imaginative description of the shadow cast by the flickering candle and conveys the paranoia you experience as you jump at your own shadows. The cellar itself is also an unsettling place, as it houses items connected to old memories which have since become rusted, broken, or consumed by the damp mould. It’s as if every positive memory associated with this place has become corrupted, even if they weren’t already by Timothy’s death.

         When Rebecca returns to Dawson with the pitiful number of nails, she makes an excellent point when she says that there are too many windows to barricade with their limited resources. What’s more, with the Barghest howling to one another outside, Rebecca suggests that it may not be wise to carry on loudly hammering away when the attackers are potentially communicating to each other and could alert other Barghest to their presence. Her suggestion that they stop focusing on the barricades and focus on being more vigilant as they face the darkness together not only seems like a practical plan of action, but also invites comparison between this situation and the attitudes of people in the real world today. There are many who would far rather make an “infernal racket” as they put up walls to keep others out and focus only on clinging to what they have while their selfish actions actually end up bringing harm upon themselves and others. Rebecca represents the antidote to this kind of behaviour, being someone who takes the time to think and reflect on a bad situation and adapts her mind to the task of vigilance and readiness, not letting her fear drive all her choices and get the better of her.

         However, just because Rebecca has a solid head on her shoulders doesn’t mean she’s invincible. In fact, Rebecca is in a very bad place right now. She’s looking after and protecting her little sister who is slowly losing herself and becoming something unfamiliar and uncomfortably frightening. At the same time, her one remaining source of help is Dawson, and he’s the last person you’d ever want to be in a locked room with in a stressful situation. Rebecca is clear thinking and has a talent for managing difficult things, but this is beyond what many people will ever face in their entire lifetimes. She is already being pushed to the limit; how much more can she take before she reaches a breaking point?

         As we are let into Rebecca’s thoughts, Dawson makes a heartless, though reasonable enough observation that the Barghest will likely attack when hungry, and they’ve already eaten twice tonight. Rebecca carries on thinking about the nature of their attackers, recalling that one of the Barghest that killed Cleo looked like her housemaid. Thinking on how the infection spreads from person to person, Rebecca finally asks the question that many of us have been thinking since Amanda was first bitten – will she turn into one of them? And has she passed the infection on to Dawson? “What was inside had begun to manifest”. The penny has dropped, and Rebecca must find a way to deal with Dawson, who has been described as snarling and growling his words throughout these last two episodes, suggesting that the transformation might already be under way. Not only that, but Rebecca must ask herself the impossible question of whether Amanda can really be saved from this infection…