#RUMINATION ... GARGOYLE

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[catlantern]

Under the Mistletoe

DAMIAN WAYNE/FEM!READER

SUMMARY: He followed your gaze, and, sure enough, there was a mistletoe just above your heads. His eyes fell on you, only to find you already staring right back at him. There was a twinkle in your eye that hadn't been there before and a hint of shyness in your smile.

Damian didn't mind Christmas.

In fact, he's rather fond of the festive holiday even if he would never admit it out loud. He was especially looking forward to presents and spending time with his family. It was truly a significant change for him ever since he had been left in his father's care six years ago.

What he did mind, though, was the freezing-ass weather around this time of year.

Patrols in December are especially challenging, and though Damian has suffered worse, he would still rather be drinking hot chocolate and opening presents on Christmas Eve. Alas, his sense of duty will always outweigh his desire for comfort. And, unfortunately for the criminals of Gotham who have decided to commit heinous acts during the holiday, Robin and the rest of the Bat-clan would never allow such evil to run rampant through the streets on Christmas.

He had just zip-tied a group of would-be burglars (Damian still couldn't believe they were about to steal from a toy store) when Jason, dressed in his Red Hood gear, dropped into the alley to join the teenager.

"Aww, I missed all the fun," the twice-undead vigilante snickers. "What did these mooks do?"

He gestured over to the men, most of whom were unconscious on the ground. Frankly, Damian would have gone easy on them had he not overheard their conversation. After learning that one of them had beaten a stray dog to death, well, the current Robin didn't think the "mooks" deserved the courtesy of him holding back his punches.

"TT."

Despite the bright red helmet obscuring Jason's face, he was certain his brother was staring at him in shock. When he spoke again, Jason had taken off his helmet, and Damian was forced to look him in the eye through their domino masks. He was sure he was about to receive the teasing of a lifetime when–

"You alright?" Jason's voice softened. "I haven't seen you this pissed in quite a while."

"One of these bastards killed a dog!" Damian said with righteous anger. "I heard them laughing about it as if it were some simple, silly anecdote!"

Jason hissed in sympathy before throwing a dirty glare at the scumbags lying on the ground.

"Calm down," he sighed, muttering under his breath, "Where the hell is Dickhead when I need him?"

Hearing Jason's nickname for their oldest brother, Damian knew that was his cue to leave. He ignored Jason's calls and swiftly grappled his way out of the alley. Damian didn't want his consoling words and hoped Jason would leave him alone for the rest of the night.

After catching a few more wrongdoers breaking the law red-handed, the teenage vigilante soon found himself brooding on a winged gargoyle atop an old building. He had chosen to avoid his usual patrol route, hiding from his family. Damian resolved to thank Oracle later, more than aware that she could have already sent Nightwing or, even worse, his father, his way but obviously chose not to.

He hadn't meant to act like the self-entitled, violent child he used to be, but his heart, as usual, took over. He was so incensed by those men's actions that he had moved without thinking. They hadn't even had the chance to break into the store before Robin was on them like a dark angel of vengeance. He would certainly get in trouble for that later, but, at the moment, he no longer cared. Nothing can ever justify the killing of a defenceless animal.

Damian was pulled out of his ruminations by a sudden scream for help. As his training had drilled into him, he jumped into action and headed in the direction of the voice. Luckily, he was not too far from the alley it had originated from and found you cornered against a metal fence by several men.

Curiously, in your arms was a shivering dog that looked like it hadn't bathed in months. The canine also appeared thin, but you had wrapped it in a blanket, so Damian couldn't be too sure. What was less surprising, though, was how the dog started snarling at the men who were obviously approaching you with ill intent.

Well, that won't do.

He expertly maneuvered down a fire escape, landing on a thug before any of them could notice him coming from above. As soon as their comrade fell to the ground, unconscious, the hoodlums finally moved to attack the teenage vigilante. Unfortunately for them, they were facing off against a boy who had been trained to fight since he could walk.

With none of them possessing a gun, just flimsy knives, Damian made quick work of them. All the while, he kept you in his line of sight. Whenever he dealt with scum while there was an unprotected civilian nearby, he always made sure to keep his eye on them even if it meant lowering his guard.

Predictably, he almost took a knife to the stomach.

Before he could retaliate, however, the man, whom Damian thought resembled a gorilla, joined the rest of his friends on the disgusting alley ground, unconscious.

The thug's falling form revealed you, standing there in shock as though you couldn't believe you had just knocked a man out with a metal pipe.

"Oh god," he heard you gasp. "I'm going to jail."

"You're not going to jail," he said. "That was self-defence."

"I still hit him…" you said faintly. "And there's blood."

There wasn't.

"Do you want to go to jail?" he challenged.

"You're Robin…" you trail off, not hearing a word he said. "And you're…"

Damian saw your eyes widen, your gaze focused on him. "Oh no! You're bleeding!"

"Huh?"

It was then that he finally noticed the slight sting on his left ear.

"TT."

Apparently, one of the incompetent fools had managed to nick him in the ear.

"A lucky hit," he growled to himself, vowing not to make the same mistake again.

He saw you regard him with a contemplative eye before sighing and walking away. Curious, he watched you crouch down by a stack of crates nearby and pull out a ball of fur. By the way the fur shook, he deduced it was the dog you had been cradling earlier when he first saw you.

"It's okay, buddy," he heard you murmur to the dog comfortingly. "You're safe now, see? Robin is here!"

Damian, for some unfathomable reason, flushed at your words.

"So are you," he said without thinking, startling himself. "Safe, I mean."

Hoping to avoid your curious look, he immediately busied himself with securing the men on the ground.

What on earth possessed him to suddenly say that? It felt like someone had taken control of his body and said those embarrassing things. They were words only someone like his brother, Dick, would say; corny and cringeworthy.

He felt foolish all of a sudden. To avoid your gaze, he occupied himself with triple-checking the zip ties he had used to tie the men. Ignoring the way his heart pounded in his ribcage, he decided to face you properly.

"Allow me to walk you home," he said before addressing Barbara, who he knew was monitoring him, through his communicator. "Oracle…"

"Already ahead of you, the GCPD are on their way," she responded. "You should be able to hear their sirens now."

True to her words, Damian heard the sound of police patrol cars already rounding the corner. "If she's going to press charges, she'll have to stick around."

"Are you pressing charges?" he asked, not wasting any time.

Though the question caught you off guard, you managed to answer and even let out an unladylike snort. "Gotham, no. I can't afford a lawyer."

"There are lawyers who offer pro bono services."

"I said no," your sharp tone took Damian by surprise. "If it's the same to you, I'd very much like to put this evening behind me."

He eyed you shrewdly before accepting your request. "Oracle," he addressed Barbara again. "Inform the police that I'm escorting the civilian home and… thank you."

"Anytime, Robin."

His subsequent interaction with you was nothing short of an argument. When he tried to convince you that traveling via the rooftops would be more efficient, you refused. When he offered to call his bike, you turned and walked away.

You nearly gave him a conniption after you threw his words back at him, reminding him that he had, more or less, told you he would walk you home without even asking.

So, there he was, grumbling under his breath, as he literally walked you to wherever you lived. While there weren't many people walking around, especially at that time of night, civilians who still caught the boy wonder walking on the sidewalk had to double-take to make sure they were not hallucinating.

Some time after you claimed you were nearly at your destination, you spoke to him again. "You must be wondering why those assholes cornered me?"

"Yes," he frowned before looking at the dog in your arms. "I was also wondering how it fits into the story."

"I know it was stupid, but they were kicking him!" You burst out, red in the face as you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "I wasn't just going to stand by and do nothing!"

"You rescued…"

You stormed off, and he quickly caught up to you. "I'm done watching poor animals die because of human arrogance. I don't care if I sound crazy, I…"

Damian grasped your elbow gently to stop you. "I understand."

You stood there, completely dumbstruck. Then, a gentle smile graced your features, warming up Damian's insides. He couldn't explain why, but the vigilante, who was still just a boy, suddenly felt the urge to kiss you.

"Come on," you break the silence. "We're here."

He turned around to follow your line of sight before turning back to you in disbelief. "You live in an animal shelter?"

"No, silly," you rolled your eyes fondly. "I volunteer here, and this place is closer than my own house."

You took his hand, holding your stray with one arm, and pulled him inside. "Let's go; we need to treat the wound on your ear too."

Damian, despite the glove on his hand, could still feel the dizzying warmth of yours. The thought made his heart tapdance in his chest, and he hoped Barbara, if she was still even watching him, wouldn't mention this to anyone. But just in case, he'd have to dig out his old blackmail materials he has on his family.

You led him inside a two-story building with linoleum floors and flickering fluorescent lights. You greeted the middle-aged man at the desk; the man waved in return without looking up from his phone. He hadn't noticed Damian, who was still dressed in his Robin suit.

"You have poor security," he points out futilely as soon as the both of you were out of the man's earshot. "You should consider looking for a safer shelter to volunteer in."

"Or… the Waynes could, I don't know, maybe allocate more money to places like these," you sang, unaware of who exactly was in your company. "Not a lot of people here care about animals, and those of us who do are trying our best."

Damian, meanwhile, cursed himself internally for nearly forgetting who he was and what it meant. He listened to what you had to say, your ideas on how you would improve Park Row if you had any money. In his head, he was already planning a proposal on the changes for Park Row to present to his father.

You took him into a back room, still talking about the dogs and cats that the shelter has rescued and found homes for. Damian nearly trips over his feet (if his brothers could see him now) when you suddenly place your rescue in his arms. You moved quickly and, before he could say anything, took out a first aid kit from behind an office desk.

"I'll be fine," he finally regains his ability to speak, cursing himself for being so tongue-tied around you. "I don't need treatment."

"Yeah?" You looked at him, unimpressed. "Ever heard of the term infection?"

"Yes." He grumbles in reply, and you smile triumphantly.

"Take a seat then, Boy Wond-ear," you simpered, and Damian couldn't help but think how you and Dick might just get along splendidly if you ever met. "Don't worry, I've had formal first-aid training."

It didn't take you long at all to clean the wound on his ear, and before he knew it, you were already urging him to leave.

"What if someone else needs saving?" you told him. "I'm not going to be responsible for others getting hurt because I took up too much of your time."

"There are others…" he tried to come up with a reason to stay with you longer, but came up empty.

You were already pushing him out of the room. "And don't worry about Buddy," you've already named the dog. "I'll call the local veterinarian and make sure he's looked after."

You both end up by the open office door, and just as Damian was accepting the fact that he might not see you again for a while (because, let's face it, he'll come back to check on you), he found you looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Are you…" he began to ask, but stopped when you breathed out a word.

"Mistletoe."

He followed your gaze, and, sure enough, there was a mistletoe just above your heads. His eyes fell on you, only to find you already staring right back at him. There was a twinkle in your eye that hadn't been there before and a hint of shyness in your smile.

"May I?" he asked for your permission, his heart longing to be set free from its cage.

"Yes," you had breathed out the words as though letting them escape your lips provided immense relief.

At last, he felt the softness of your lips and wondered how he could have gone on living his life without ever feeling the ardent emotions he felt from kissing you. It didn't matter that the two of you were standing in a dingy office or that a dog was watching you exchange kisses curiously. What mattered is that, now that he had a taste of your lips, he wished he could share another moment like this with you under a hundred more mistletoes.

[dungeoncrawlingwithoutprotection]

Little Plaything: Character List

A very basic list of the characters monsters with Species(with additional info as needed): Name- Gender(with additional info as needed).

Orc: Ulroc- Male

Kobold: Ringo- Male

Gnoll (spotted hyena): Abul- Male

Werewolf (silver wolf): Ralph- Male

Minotaur (Ankole Watusi): Nathan- Male

Naga (Egyptian Cobra): Clea- Female

Lamia (Lion lower half): Sellia- Ambiguous (Female human upper half, Male lion half)

Demon (Half Shapeshifter Half Succubus/Incubus): Tonie- Gender Shifter

Elf: Florian- Male

Mind Flayer: Tully- Female

Tentacle Monster: Kanyao- Female

Dragon (Gold Adult): Prin- Male

Aarakocra (raven): Nawi- Male

Ghost: Igur- Male

Vampire: Ervin- Male

Cambion (Half Demon): Kyan- Male

Drider (Christmas Jewel Spider): Fraydo- Male

Gargoyle: Hissan- Male

Harpy (Condor-like): Ry- Ambiguous (Fem-looking chest but otherwise Male)

Lizardfolk (Frilled lizard): Ruthie- Female

Weretiger (White tiger): Ruminous- Male

Oni: Ruk- Male

Rakshasa (black-maned lion): Kraness- Male

Satyr (Hejazi goat): Holen- Male

Thri-Keen (Mantispidae): Tokna- Male

Troll: Ulta- Male

Yuan-Ti (python): Shin-li- Female

Deva (close to a half Angel, but not): Nogem- Male

Solar (Also angel-like being): Hasnem- Male

Bonus! The Reader: Uh… basically the reader is based on myself. This only affects height, weight, and hair length. The rest I try to leave as “blank” as possible. And obviously; Human: [Name]- Female.

[teriwrites]

Beyond Alder Creek: Part 11

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2023 Novel

I know this one is long, it's like twice as long as any other project I worked on, but we're getting closer to the end

Chapter 32

I remember specifically writing part of this chapter on a long train ride - which is obviously one of the best environments for writing

Sucks to be reduced to your own unimportance

That's a lotta questions there, Winnie

It's so cute that she thinks this is a 'punishment'

Her rumination is so sad, made even sadder by the fact that she's wrong

OOF

Writing about siblings, man

i love a lil despair

fortunately, my protagonist does not

This whole chapter is so melodramatic but i love this stupid young woman so much

I'm so good at writing outside of my own experiences, guys - she's from a Small Town

Whoopsies! Being from a Small Town is not helpful in this situation

The opposite of sensory overload

Chapter 33

Writer Tip: if you rely heavily on sensory description and dialogue, maybe don't place your main character into a complete sensory deprivation prison

Okay, I definitely want this epiphany to get built up a little more and write it in a different way but !!!

Hell yeah winnie!

Okay, she's feeling a little more confident about her plan now

That experience of slowly regaining senses has to be so overwhelming

You know I can't resist an amphitheater

I actually forgot that i wrote the clear dread that fills this scene, love that

It's actually criminal that I decided to introduce this character this late into the game and only give them a tiny role, they're incredible

Part of me hates that Winnie is not as taken in by this fae as I am, another part of me gets that she's trying to focus rn

See, now Winnie twists the conversation towards more of an interview

Uh-oh, fae who's clearly not aligned with Winnie kinda ate with that line, actually

Writing Tip: if you have no idea how to write fae performances, have your main character very intentionally avoid paying too much attention, bc they don't want their mind ensnared

Winnie intentionally pricking her finger can mean so much to her diabetic author

Chapter 34

Maybe don't speak that thought aloud girly

Oh this place is Mean

Chill

i wrote this for the diabetics and the diabetics only

Wait, the sun is at its zenith... that's... that doesn't work lol

I have a whole thing about how the sun Has to stay in the same place in the Beyond, because to move in either direction would show preference for either the Dusk or the Dawn, and the Beyond exists in such a careful balance between them that it can't

So it rising would imply that the Dawn Court has taken control, essentially

Fun fact: there's a scene involving a little stone grotesque/gargoyle character, and said fae was partially based on the fact that I own a stone grotesque that I bought at a renaissance faire

Winnie's like 'cute! ...anyway, back to my plan'

I couldn't write a fae story and NOT include this classic 'choose between two doors' moment come on

So true bestie

!!!!!

Ending Thoughts:

I'm gonna be so fr, I'm pretty sure I improv'd a decent amount of the last few chapters of this section. Most of it, I think, winds up being for the better of the story, but I do need to look into consolidating some of Act 3, or else I have to stretch out the other two and make this like 200K long to balance it all out lol

[rayroseu]

OHHH NYGOF SIDIWJIEW WHY WAS THIS SO PERFECT IN CHARACTERIZATION LIKE I CAN PERFECTLY PICTURE THIS HAPPENING TRULY IN GAME 😭🙏✨ YOU DID GREAT HANA 😭😭 YOU MADE ME TEAR UP NOTGONNALIEEE JAJSIW

also great timing of my playlist to play the light behind your eyes by mcr like wayyy to play a funeral song about a fic about "putting down a loved one"😭😭

OKAY but the way i immediately jumped by the mention of vertiver and oak moss though I SEE YOU I SEE WHAT YOURE DOING AAAJHSJAH I IMMEDIATELY RECOGNIZED THAT AS MALLEUS' FRAGRANCE 😭😭🙏✨

i love the gifts you have chosen for them, like all of them were meant to be kept and last forever 😭

THE GARGOYLE PLUSH PART WAS SO HEARTWRENCHING THOUGH STOPPP YOU REALLY WENT ALL OUT ON THAT PART thats when i started to tear up HELP 😭✨🙏✨🙏✨✨✨

"He’ll protect you until I arrive, be it from your dreams or anyone until I arrive.” I internally sobbed OMGGG and the fact tgat Malleus has kept it since he was a kid and mended any damages it had over the years ??? GODFFF its like how Malleus treats Lilia in a way where he'll always be attentive in fixing anything "wrong" about his well being 😭✨

I also love the build up on his confession!! Like it felt like before he said it, he was fighting off this regret that he didnt say it sooner, but its too late now so he tried not to say it until the regret came off too strong seeing Malleus so lifeless around him so he still said it even if he expected that it was too late 😭 IT WAS TOO GOOD AUGHHUSHDUAU

"Never again would he see that smirk Nor calm a storm's anger Never again would he be able to pat midnight strands as they looked upon him with fondness.Never again would he be able to say-I love you" AAAAAA PEAK BUILD UP MY ANGSTY HEART WAS FEELING IT *ALLLL* UP 🙏✨✨✨😭😭😭😭😭

AND THE ENDING AAAAAAA im glad it was a happy end i wouldve ruminated over this for a week HSHAJHS MALLEUS IS LILIA'S HEART IS SUCH A GOOD INTERPRETATION THOUGH AAAAAAA like how Lilia after losing his life purpose after the war, only thought of Malleus as his reason to live, like it was his heart 😭🙏✨ ITS SO GOOD

OHHH but i really love the deleted scenes the gifts were perfect and the way they'll all wither once Malleus passes was so angsty I LOVE HEART WRENCHING SCENES LIKE THAT AHSHAJAHD✨✨✨

AND MAYBE ITS JUST MY DELUSION BUT AUGHHH THIS. THIS SENTENCE:

Tomorrow. Malleus would return home.

I love this sentence bcs it making me think of MELEANOR AND LEVAN AJSJAJSJJA I kinda thought returning home was returning to the stars so if Malleus dies it means that he can finally be together with Meleanor and Levan AAAAAAA 😭😭😭😭But I kinda know thats not what happened, i think they just brought him back home AND IM JUST THINKING TOO MUCH 😂 alas my mind gotta insert Meleanor everywhere ✨💕🙏

He would rather be quartered and shamed in front of all of Briar Valley for not protecting Malleus. AUGHHH THIS HITS AS WELLL the peak of his unconditional love was that when Lilia treasures someone he really gives it all 😭🙏 he disregards his pride or his life if it meant that they can live AND YOU PERFECTLY CAPTURED THAT AKDJWKJE

Now im just inagining Malleus' mausoleum looks like the chamber for his incubation when he was still an egg (I cant remember the name for it lol but its Mallegg's Room) 😭 It'll be kinda poetic to see a place akin to where it started (his hatching) to where it MAY end (his death)😭🙏✨

AND OHHH I LOVE THE IDEA THAT THE STRIKETHROUGH TEXT WILL BE GONE AFTER LILIA FINALLY ADMITTED HIS LOVE AJDJJWJD like a heavy burden is lifted and his thoughts became clear bcs he let go of all his restraints now that he can still be with Malleus after almost losing him 😭✨ and I also love the fact those text were most prominent when he had to put him down now but he couldnt just yet 😭🙏✨

AND AAAAA The bathing scene was quite painful too !!! its so good how you mentioned that Malleus used to be rambunctious about it but its so depressinh for Lilia to see him not protesting about it now that he's lifeless AAAA I LOVE IT THATS SO DEPRESSING 😭🙏✨✨✨

I love how the first line of the fic involved Lilia collapsing lol Thats really what he does after losing someone, when Meleanor died he also collapsed on his knees like there was a thud sfx in game which meant he kneeled after the realization as the night sky of that day slowly disappeared and all he managed to save on that day was only the egg on his hands AAA I FELT LIKE IT WAS A NICE CALLBACK

I actually also love the fact that in the end, Malleus hug didnt made it lol I felt like it was saying that Lilia's love was that unconditional, Malleus doesnt have to repay or return it with anything, he doesnt require Malleus to love him back (even if he does lol) as long as he lives on and he can see him content with his life 😭🙏

ok enough with my rambles 😂 you definitelt worked my sobbing emojis with this fic hana😭😭😭✨ I'LL BE THINKING ABOUT THIS AKJDKAKS 💕💖💕 GRAGHHH I LOVE THE IDEA SM 💕💖💕 happy 1 year anniversary to the malleus and lilia content that still crashes our hearts no matter how many times its repeated😭🙏

Excerpt: Tomorrow, tomorrow Malleus would return home. Without him. Lilia had planned to never return to Briar Valley. Now, he never would. His home lost forever. 

He sent them away. 

Two knights, haggard and stalwart, reluctant to leave. 

Lilia understood. 

They have sworn their life and fealty to Malleus Draconia.

Their care for him extended even beyond something as simple as duty and loyalty, 

But they needed their rest.

The journey tomorrow would be a taxing one. They’d need all the rest they could get. 

After tomorrow’s journey’s end, there would be no more knighthood for the two. They would need to look for a new path. Their chosen path too painful to continue now.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Malleus will take his final journey home. Without him. Lilia had planned to never return to Briar Valley. Now, he never would. His home lost forever.

Malleus Draconia would be returning home in a coffin carried by his two knights. 

A coffin Lillia himself put together. Made with glass and magic.

Engraving and weaving intricate designs through slightly shaken hands. 

Cushioned with the finest silk Lilia could find on such short notice. A pillow cushion made for horns for one to sleep comfortably. Given long ago. 

Not as fine as it could be as a prince deserves.

But Lilia didn’t see the reason why it should be. 

Malleus was just a boy. 

His boy.

He didn’t deserve to have his sleep cold and unfamiliar. 

He should be surrounded by that which he loves and made him comfortable.

And this was just that. 

Tomorrow. 

Malleus would return home.

Lilia would remain behind. 

It wasn’t shame or grief that stayed his hand. He would rather be quartered and shamed in front of all of Briar Valley for not protecting Malleus. 

He was simply too tired to make the journey. 

A truly cowardice move on his part.

He didn’t think he could watch them lower Malleus’ body into a special pit made for his burial; in a mausoleum made for past royalty without throwing himself into it to join him.

A Father couldn’t bury his own son. He didn’t have that strength in him. 

Trembling fingers wipes at stinging eyes. No, he can’t.

Not right now.

He doesn’t want his tears to mar Malleus.

He bathed Malleus with fragrances of evergreen and the sweetness of vetiver and oak moss.

He smelled like home.

Lilia has never prayed to a higher being before. 

Rarely believed in them.

Having seen what he had. War. Bloodshed. Death.

But he prays now.

Please 

Please.

It was too quiet. 

Bath time was never this quiet. 

Running after a spitfire. Once on four legs and then two. Stumbling. Always hating bath time.

It was loud. It tested Lilia’s speed even back then.

But they both adored it.

Lilia prays.

Please. 

It’s too quiet. 

His prayers go unheard. 

Lilia smooths the silk, tucking it close. He didn’t want him to be cold. Lilia moves the gifts lovingly given close to Malleus, knowing how he would have preferred to have them next to him.

Malleus is cold. Too cold.

He stares at the items before him:

Lilia remembers passing by Silver’s room a few days prior. Broken sobs muffled by the door. Lilia hesitated for a moment. Contemplating passing by, letting the boy deal with his grief. No. How could he? When it was restraints and buried feelings that led them all to this situation? 

When Lilia enters the room, it’s to a hunched back and shaking hands. The moon reflects silver strands but what stands out the most is the brown of acorns spread around. Lilia is quick to hug Silver and the boy breaks down in his arms. 

An acorn bracelet. 

To live a long and healthy life.

He remembers watching Sebek when the boy thought he was alone, chipping away at stone and wood.

Over and over.

At every chance he could.

Sebek had chosen to wrought a crest of his own design, to wish his lord happiness and reunion. For him to be surrounded by love.

Lilia watched him silently, supporting him from the shadows. 

Lilia’s eyes blurs as he lays a hand over the plush.

A gargoyle plush.

He had seen it during one of his travels. Had thought of Malleus right away.

Malleus loved gargoyles even from a young age. Lilia recalls the excitement he felt when he gave the young one his present.

Malleus’ smile had been worth it. His smile bright as he hugged the plush close to him until Lilia had called it a gargoyle, then he had pouted and called it a grotesque because, “It had no use.”

Lilia remembers the laugh he gave out then, “Of course it has a purpose, it’s to protect you when I’m not around. He’ll protect you until I arrive, be it from your dreams or anyone until I arrive.”

Malleus had smiled wide with fangs then, cheeks slightly red with childlike joy as he hugged Lilia.

Lilia had thought Malleus had outgrown it. Having not seen it for decades.

What a surprise it had been to find it on his bed. When he had finally, finally, taken the courage to enter his room.

A frail and old thing. Mended over and over. With stitches uneven to expertly sewn. From the nimble hands of a child to that of an adult.

Lilia recalls breaking down right then and there. Clutching the plush to his chest. Rocking back and forth as if he held a child.

His boy. His boy. Where is he now? Why won’t he awaken? Why won’t he answer?

The scent of evergreen was still fresh from where he had buried his head. A plush still in use. Lilia cried til his voice was hoarse.

A journey’s end. 

His end.

Never again would he see that smirk 

Nor calm a storm's anger 

Never again would he be able to pat midnight strands as they looked upon him with fondness.

Never again would he be able to say-

I love you 

Lilia's knees hit the floor.

I love you.

Lilia gasped. 

His breathing coming quicker, uneven. 

Malleus knew.

He had to know.

Right? 

“The Senate! Even Grandmother lied!”

No. Malleus had to have known.

“What dream would you like, Lilia? One with mother and father? One where you live happily with Silver?”

Frame shaking. 

No. 

Did he never say? 

Hands clawed into his face.

No. No. No!

He must have.

He never did.

Lilia dragged his body up, heavier than ever before.

Ignoring the stinging from the cuts he made.

Please.

Body barely holding himself over the one in eternal sleep.

A hand gently cupping a too-cold cheek.

Lilia prays.

The Great Seven.

The Thorn Fairy.

Any Powers That Be.

Please let him hear these words now.

It's too late.

It's too late.

Lilia grits his teeth against the wobble of incoming grief.

Please.

I beg of you.

Let him hear me.

"I love you."

Words spoken in a cracked voice.

"I love you, Malleus."

Lilia sobbed, clutching at the robe beneath him.

Don't take him aw-

"I love you too, Lilia."

He froze.

His heart stopped, and the very blood in his veins froze, but it was the hand on his own that had his gaze shooting up.

Soft green stares back at him as tears fall from one freshly awoken.

A desperate cry with a flurry of movement.

Hands desperately clutching and pulling Malleus to his chest. ignoring and uncaring of the damage he caused to fine silk clothes.

His Heart.

His Heart Returned.

A wail vibrated the walls alerting the heavens high above.

A sound unheard of for centuries.

True Love brought back a Son to His Father.

Happy 1 Year Anniversary to Baby Malleus hatching and to the love that changed Lilia Vanrouge forever. You both worked so hard and I’m so proud of you two. I love them both so much. True Love My Beloveds. 😭🥳💞

I’ve been working on this project for about a few months on and off (it was fighting me as much as I was fighting it; while half the time sick lolol) 😂😆. It’s a project that I was very passionate about, so I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. This fic started because of the need, the need damnit, I have of Lilia and Malleus to say “I love you” to each other verbally. You know what they say, make your own wishes come true.☺️🥰💞

Shout out to my beta reader, @world-of-hearts, Amy for beta reading this and all the feedback/ideas she indulges me with when I go to her for opinions. Some of these scenes (like Sebek’s gift) were influenced by our talks and picking at each other brains.💕🫶💚🫂

There are deleted scenes, commentary, and some fun facts that I included below that I hope you guys will like 💕🫶 (I haven’t had a fic with deleted scenes, etc. in such a long while, so you know I was going all out with my battle with this story lolol). I am rambling too much lolol. I'm just excited to share this piece. 🌺💕💚

Thank you so much for reading. ☺️🙏💚

Deleted Scenes:

Silver’s Acorn Bracelet:

Lilia shakes and recalls words that would be branded in his mind forever. 

“It was a gift that even Malleus was jealous of.”

“You always asked me if I was envious. What if I am?”

He would have been, wouldn’t he and Lilia was blind to it all. 

An acorn bracelet that could grant long life let alone bring back a loved one. 

A gift given out of love.

A gift that would never have the chance to do as intended. 

(AN: I didn’t keep this scene because I didn’t want the gifts to be ‘useless’ nor did I want the scenes to get to depressing. Because these gifts are given out of love and thought, it wouldn’t feel right for their feelings to reflect bitterness and what could have beens.

And yes if that line, “You always asked me if I was envious. What if I am?” Seemed familiar, it is. It’s from this fic. You can technically think of this fic as a sequel to that one if you want.)

Sebek’s Gargoyle Gift:

Something from Sebek, he had seen Sebek toil away at tools and books during the few times he was relieved of his watch. Chipping at stone till hands are raw and grazed with cuts. Gargoyles. Sebek had chosen to put gargoyles. Something Malleus adored. Gargoyles. Ones who are feared and misunderstood but also strong and protectors. Just like Malleus. Lilia had offered to hang the gargoyles by the sides of the coffin, but Sebek refused. 

He wanted them with his liege, so he wouldn’t be lonely.  Gargoyle who became a grotesque. Purposeless and just for show. Just like him. 

(AN: The same reasoning as Silver’s this was taken out. I didn’t want a gift that given out of love to be seen so negatively even by the characters. After all, it was their last gift to their liege and someone they loved.)

Lilia’s Rose:

His vision blurs as he looks at the flower placed right next to Malleus’s head

A dried-up flower from Malleus-a memory Lilia revisits, magic low, only glimpses of a prideful yet shy smile, presenting him with a rose he had grown. Some petals singed from excitement, but shyly given.

Lilia had kept that flower, preserved it with magic; when his magic started fading so did the spell on the rose but he kept it safe and loved all the same.

(AN: I took this out because Malleus wouldn’t want Lilia to return his flower to him. Young Malleus gave it to him out of love for Lilia. Malleus would want Lilia to keep it and likewise, Lilia wouldn’t be able to part with it. It’s precious to him, just like the Acorn bracelet is.)

Malleus's Hug:

Malleus holding him just as tight, cries muffled against a shoulder that had felt big when he was younger but small to him now.

(AN: I did initially describe Malleus returning the hug but then took it out. This whole story was in Lilia’s POV and I wanted it to stay that way. It felt as if I was breaking the narrative a bit by switching and I didn’t want that. It started with Lilia and ended with Lilia.)

Fun Facts:

Malleus’ Scent

Vetiver, Oak Moss, and Evergreen are the scents described in Malleus’ Valentines 2024 room fragrance. It smells like the forest and while strong, it’s also has gentle tones. It smells like home to Lilia because it’s smells like the forest surrounding the cottage. The woods that protect his home and also the very lands Lilia has always known and grew up on.

It smells like home because it smells like Malleus since he was small to how he’s grown now. To Malleus, Briar Valley has always been his home; but most of all, it was that cottage that he felt the most comfortable and free.

You can read more about the scents and their details here

Lilia’s Heart = Malleus

There’s this special analysis that I will write based on this that I’m really looking forward to releasing. But essentially, as a preview for you all, it’s how Malleus is the reflection of Lilia’s heart. He is Lilia’s heart. Malleus, who is the reason why Lilia finally manifested his UM, is also the reflection of his soul.

You can kind of get the idea of what I mean UM wise through this fic. (Which you can also think of this fic as a sequel to if you choose.)

The Bathing Scene

The bathing scene is inspired from my culture. We bathe our dead loved ones and then wrap them in cloth. Of course in this, Malleus wasn’t wrapped in cloth but he was bathed by a loved one. In my culture, only those close to the one who passed away/family can do this ritual. During this bath, you’re not allowed to cry because that would take away “the purity” of the bath. So that’s why Lilia didn’t allow any of his tears to fall or touch Malleus.

I thought it was very fitting and a perfect way for Lilia to reflect his grief/cherished memories to show. When else would you wish for your prayers to come true the most? Except at this most vulnerable time?

Strikethroughs Texts

I don’t normally use too many strikethrough texts in my fics because I worry if it’s readable/hard to read for the audience. But for this fic, I made an exception.

I felt for Lilia and the story it was needed. My thought process was that the strikethrough texts was a part of Lilia that was keeping him together. A part of him that was in denial but also that part that is the last bit of strength and that inner voice in your head.

I don’t know if I’m explaining it well but when Lilia says, “I love you.” You’ll see the strikethrough texts are gone from then on. In this way, it shows he’s overcome that last bit that held him back. He was finally able to express himself and his love fully which leads to Malleus waking up from his True Love.

“Lilia’s knees hit the floor.”

This was the first scene written and literally everything came after. I had nothing else planned besides this line. This scene was the start. Something about the shock and impact of Lilia falling to his knees in realization. It just…it hits you? You know? Because it’s Lilia. And eventually, I was able to find the right ending to continue from there/end the story. It really is about trusting the process.

[charlesreeza]

Beasts of Lausanne - Photos by Charles Reeza

[thecreaturecodex]

Primordial, Ogrémoch

Image © Wizards of the Coast

[Commissioned by @tar-baphon​. Of the various demigods I’ve statted up, Ogrémoch is the one with the oldest pedigree, having first appeared in the AD&D Fiend Folio in 1981 as one of the Princes of Elemental Evil. I remember seeing that title as a child (in the AD&D 2e Monstrous Manual, which didn’t explain the context) and being fascinated. As is fitting for a creature that has appeared in all five numbered editions of D&D, I wanted to incorporate a little bit from each. I gave Ogrémoch 24 hit dice because he strikes as a 24 HD creature in 1e, and some of the spell-like abilities come from the 2e Planescape Monstrous Compendium III. Ogrémoch got stats in 3rd edition only through Dragon Magazine, and that article had the most flavor about his personality and greed, which I followed up on here. The 4e version provides the art and the jagged earth aura ability (and is where he picked up the accent mark, BTW), and the 5e version has a faerie fire like ability and rock throwing, which I combined into one attack in mine.]

Primordial, Ogrémoch CR 21 NE Outsider (elemental) This creature appears to be a humanoid hill, more than fifty feet tall. Its body is studded with green crystals, two of which are set over a gaping maw as if they were eyes.

Miser of the Black Earth, the Mountain That Walks NE Primordial Elemental Portfolio endurance, gemstones, greed Domains Destruction, Earth, Evil, Strength Subdomains Caves, Greed*, Hatred, Resolve Worshipers gargoyles, stone giants, subterranean humanoids Minions carnivorous crystals, evil earth and magma elementals, magma dragons Obedience spend 1 hour counting and cataloguing your precious stones. During this time, ruminate on those that have wronged you. Gain a +2 profane bonus to your CMD. Boons 1: soften earth and stone 2/day; 2: spike stones 2/day; 3: wall of stone 2/day

Ogrémoch is the Miser of the Black Earth, a powerful primordial elemental who covets all of the fine things in the earth and hates those who would claim them. He is especially protective of gemstones, and views all of the gems in existence as being his personal property. His worshipers may keep them, knowing that this is on a temporary basis, and that they will be taken by Ogrémoch whenever he sees fit. Obviously this universal ownership is a delusion of the highest order, but it does not stop Ogrémoch and his followers from collapsing mines, stealing precious stones and killing those that would dare to possess such treasures.

Ogrémoch is an overwhelming physical combatant, striking with outsized fists or simply trampling enemies beneath his feet. If enemies keep their distance or use magic to conceal themselves, he can fling crystals from his body that explode and coat the survivors in glimmering light. Ogrémoch is capable of casting powerful spells as well, shaping the battlefield to his advantage or petrifying especially interesting-looking enemies to claim them as trophies. If the tide of battle turns against him, or if he is bored by his opponents, he summons elementals or a magma dragon to aid him. Despite his size and physical appearance, Ogrémoch is a patient schemer, and would rather flee a combat to plot revenge than fight to the death.

Ogrémoch’s fortress is a massive plateau in the Plane of Earth called Stonemire. Stonemire rises over a scorching hot plain that abuts the Plane of Fire, and magma elementals, thoqquas and other such creatures are commonly his subjects. Ogrémoch counts among his allies the pit fiend Jazra, who is slowly attempting to urge Ogrémoch to embrace law and shift alignment. Ogrémoch plays at being a good vassal to Ayrzul, the Fossilized King, but both of them know that the Mountain That Walks desires control of all of the Plane of Earth in the long run.

Ogrémoch             CR 21 XP 409,600 NE Colossal outsider (earth, evil, extraplanar) Init +7; Senses darkvision 120 ft., detect good, detect magic, Perception +31, see invisibility, tremorsense 120 ft. Aura jagged earth (30 feet, 6d6, Reflex DC 28) Defense AC 40, touch 11, flat-footed 37 (-8 size, +3 Dex, +6 insight, +29 natural) hp 396 (24d10+264); regeneration 10 (epic or sonic) Fort +19, Ref +17, Will +20 DR 20/epic; Immune ability damage, ability drain, charm, compulsion, death effects, elemental traits, fear, fire, petrifaction; Resist cold 20, electricity 20; SR 32 Offense Speed 50 ft., burrow 50 ft. (earth glide) Melee 2 slams +32 (5d10+16/19-20 plus push) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft.                                                    Special Attacks crystal throw, morphic strikes, overwhelming trample, push (10 ft.), trample (Ref DC 38, 5d10+24) Spell-like Abilities CL 21st, concentration +27 Constant—detect good, detect magic, see invisibility At will—dispel magic, greater teleport, soften earth and stone, spike stones (DC 20), stone shape, transmute mud to rock, transmute rock to mud, wall of stone 3/day—earthquake, quickened flesh to stone (DC 22), move earth, stone tell, telekinesis (DC 21) 1/day—freedom, imprisonment, summon (9th level, 3 elder earth elementals or one ancient magma dragon, 100%), unholy aura (DC 24) Statistics Str 42, Dex 16, Con 33, Int 20, Wis 23, Cha 23 Base Atk +24; CMB +48 (+50 bull rush, +52 sunder); CMD 61 (+63 bull rush, sunder) Feats Blind-fight, Critical Focus, Greater Sunder, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (slam), Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Intimidating Prowess, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (flesh to stone), Staggering Critical, Stunning Critical Skills Appraise +30, Diplomacy +28, Intimidate +47, Knowledge (arcana, nature, religion) +27, Knowledge (dungeoneering, planes) +30, Perception +31, Sense Motive +31, Spellcraft +27, Survival +31 Languages Abyssal, Common, Infernal, Terran, Undercommon, telepathy 100 ft. SQ earth mastery, earth walker, primordial elemental traits Ecology Environment any (Plane of Earth) Organization unique Treasure triple standard Special Abilities Crystal Throw (Su) As a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity, Ogrémoch can tear a shard of crystal from his body and hurl it up to 300 feet. It explodes at its destination, dealing 24d6 points of bludgeoning and piercing damage to all creatures in a 20 foot radius (Reflex DC 33 half). This overcomes damage reduction as if it were silver, cold iron and adamantine. Creatures that take damage are limned in luminous crystalline dust, acting as a faerie fire spell, for 1 minute. The save DC is Constitution based. Earth Mastery (Ex) Ogrémoch gains a +2 bonus on attack and damage rolls if both he and his opponent are touching the ground. If an opponent is airborne or waterborne, Ogrémoch gains a -4 penalty on attack and damage rolls. Earth Walker (Ex) Ogrémoch ignores all difficult terrain and damage from mundane or magical earth or stone. Jagged Earth Aura (Su) The ground within 30 feet of Ogrémoch is difficult terrain. Any creature entering or moving through this area must succeed a DC 28 Reflex save or take 5d6 points of slashing damage and have their speed reduced by half for the next 24 hours or until they receive magical healing. Creatures with the earth subtype ignore this aura, and Ogrémoch can activate or deactivate it as a move action. The save DC is Charisma based. Morphic Strikes (Ex) Ogrémoch’s natural weapons overcome damage reduction as if they were silver, cold iron and adamantine. As a swift action, Ogrémoch can change the type of damage his slams deal to piercing or slashing, or back to bludgeoning. Overwhelming Trample (Ex) A creature that takes damage from Ogrémoch’s trample attack must succeed an additional DC 38 Reflex save or fall prone. Primordial Elemental Traits (Ex/Su) Ogrémoch is a primordial elemental, a powerful unique creature similar in power to a nascent demon lord. A primordial elemental has the following traits:

DR/epic

regeneration (epic or a thematically appropriate element)

immune to ability damage and drain, charm and compulsion effects, death effects and petrifaction

summon 1/day of 3 elder elementals or 1 thematically appropriate monster of CR 19 or less

a primordial elemental can grant spells to worshipers. It gains four domains and four subdomains

[fairlyabookie]

Prince and Swan

Author's note: Happy October, everyone! This is my piece for Promptober Day 1: Dancing! If you'd like to participate in this event, please check out @/yumewithyou on Twitter! This may or may not be a piece dedicated to the very exciting masquerade event we'll be having in twst! Enjoy!

Whispers of a masquerade floated around campus ground around the days when the leaves turn fiery orange and rusty brown. The students, albeit unfamiliar with masquerades, gather about in anticipation of future plans for this masquerade. They contemplate on bringing dates, woes on setting up, and their attires for the event. However, one who didn’t hear about this was Malleus Draconia. 

A pale sun rises in a background of gray skies, rays of sunlight piercing through fluffy gray clouds. Light footsteps crunches on leaves, leading to a towering figure admiring a decrepit column of gargoyles. 

“Malleus,” 

“Lilia,” 

Malleus spares a glance to the elder fae who greets him with a brief smile. 

“Is there something the matter?” 

“Glad you asked,” 

Lilia titters mischievously. 

“Headmaster Crowley announced that we’ll be having a masquerade event here in Night Raven College. He says that every student is welcome, including you, Malleus. I made sure to personally tell you about this, so you wouldn’t be carried away by your temper on the day of the masquerade.” 

Bitter resentment creeps up in Malleus’ chest, a sentiment he was too familiar with. Tendrils of magic coil about his fingertips, dangerous and relentless. Lilia watched, keeping a stern eye on the younger. Moments later, that magic vanished - Malleus’ internal turmoil quelled after a while of rumination. 

“Well, I thank you, Lilia, for the gesture. When will this masquerade be?” 

Emerald orbitals darken with intrigue. 

“By the end of this month!” 

Malleus returns his gaze over to the gargoyles, his demeanor more contemplative than vexed.  

“Have you thought of someone to bring in as your partner?” 

“I’ll think about it. Thank you, Lilia.” 

Before the elder fae makes his departure, he notes a presence nearby. Here, a mischievous snicker curls on his lips. Perhaps Malleus will ask [Reader] out for a dance. 

~ ~ ~ 

A few students approached Malleus regarding the dance, not on the pretense of dancing with him. They hoped to be on his good side by informing him, or at least, inviting him to such a prestigious event. He responds with grateful smiles, touched to have such kind classmates who thought of him. Yet, the only trouble he had in mind about this dance was finding someone to accompany him. Sure, he could go along with his guardsmen, but that wouldn’t do. 

Should I invite [Reader]?

To him, [Reader] was a close resemblance to a friend. He wouldn’t mind asking them out for this masquerade dance. 

What could be the best time to ask them out?

He ponders to himself. 

~ ~ ~ 

The day came quickly, twilight tinging the horizon of peachy hues and radiant orange. Malleus had yet formulated a proper question for [Reader], the words lost in the fog of his mind. However, a promise to walk together with them after classes did aid in mustering bits of courage for the big question. May the time come for me to ask them out, he muses to himself.

“Malleus, you looked a little preoccupied. Is there something wrong?” 

[Reader] had taken the fae’s silence as a sort of pent-up anger inside him, his eyes darkened from unfathomable emotion. They eye the fae in concern. 

“Nothing is the matter, [Reader]. Let’s proceed.” 

He quips lightly, any indication of his anger from before quickly vanishing with a pleasant smile by his lips. The two continue to walk down their usual route, one that winds around the perimeter of Ramshackle overlooking the campus. 

“Recently, a lot of people are excited about the masquerade. Have you asked anyone out yet, Malleus?” 

A question from [Reader] caught the fae off guard. Their silence was perhaps an indicative of a keen eye; they were perhaps observing his behavior ever since they started walking together. 

“No, I have not. On the contrary, I was going to ask a good friend if they’d be so willing to accompany me.” 

“Oh? You’re not going with Lilia, Sebek, and Silver?”

A frown creases the fae’s lips, irritation quite evident on his pale features. 

“No, going with my usual entourage would make this event too formal. I’d like to go with a friend.” 

His green eyes glint emerald as he gazes at [Reader], who in turn returns the gaze with curiosity. 

“Who would that be, then?” 

“Why, you.” 

“Me?” 

[Reader] echoes, astonishment evident in their expression.

“Yes, you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.” 

Their expression turns more of a bashful one, a nervous smile curling by their lips. 

“I.. Yes, I would love to, Malleus!” 

“Good.” 

He underestimated the simplicity of asking - how foolish he was to be worrying in the first place. Is this how humans went about their affairs? 

“You’re smiling, Malleus.” 

[Reader] points out. 

“Indeed, I am.” 

Smiling he was, a job well done for a dance with [Reader]. 

~~ 

“Well then, how did it go?” 

Malleus returned to his dormitory with a curious Lilia. The elder appeared to be genuinely curious, floating around the dorm leader in a carefree manner. Was this a supposed “rite of passage” Lilia was always talking about, inviting someone else other than his own retainers for a social outing? Malleus disregarded the nagging sense of annoyance and answered, 

“It went well, Lilia. Thank you,” 

“Fufu, look at you being all grown up~ Well then, I’ve told the others about your little ‘date’ with [Reader] and they plan to work on a special suit for you in time of the masquerade! Can’t believe that little Malleus is growing up!” 

“Lilia, please don’t call me ‘little’. I’m not that young.” 

“You are, compared to this old bat! Fufu!” 

Malleus heaved a sigh, a strange sensation bubbling by his chest. This wasn’t the bitter resentment he had often felt whenever he wasn’t invited to events, but rather, a warm gratitude and relief. Yet, if he truly wanted to proceed with this masquerade alone, he had to ask on one thing. 

“Do you have any more questions, Malleus?” 

Lilia inquires the fae once more, glimpsing a flash of doubt across his feature. 

“May I ask for a favor, Lilia?” 

Magenta eyes twinkle in delight as a smile graces the elder’s lips. 

“Why, of course, Malleus. What can I do for you?” 

~ ~ ~ 

He dreamt of [Reader] dressed in creamy whites, decked in precious pearls and glittering diamonds, skirts billowing as they waltz together in a wide pavilion. Their silhouette, as he had envisioned it, glowed in pale white light emanating from a chandelier. He could make notes of their voice, giggling cordially as a quartet plays a romantic piece. 

If this were real or a dream, a part of him yearned to preserve this memory - dancing with a good friend, void of social status, regalia, and formalities. A memory worth cherishing. 

~ ~ ~ 

The day of the masquerade arrived with fanfare, students dressed in splendid suits and attire, their masks a dainty touch to their attires. Malleus arrived alone, his entrance parting a sea of students who immediately saw him. Amidst the grandeur of golds and oranges, he stood out in his onyx studded midnight suit, emeralds and jade glint by his cuffs and his hair slicked back for a deadly charm. His mask, a majestic portrayal of a dragon with scales, partially covering half his visage. The Prince of Darkness, a Masked Dragon, had arrived to the masquerade. Awed and confused whispers flit across the room, some of them eyeing the Diasomnia students mingling amid themselves. What happened to Malleus and his guardsmen? Should he be with them all times? From across the room, Lilia meets Malleus’ gaze, a wink signalling his message. Good luck, young one. 

Sebek and Silver, who remained by Lilia’s side, anxiously watched their Master from a distance.

“Do not intervene, you two.” 

Lilia whispers sternly to them. Sebek looked visibly distraught. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Malleus.” 

“[Reader].” 

A breathtaking dream was standing right in front of him. Snow-white satin skirts billowed down to their ankles, iridescent pearls and diamonds decorate a bodice of off-white hue, and earrings of quartz decorate their ears. [Reader]’s mask, a gentle swan indicative with feathers accented by the corners, complete the look. Beautiful wouldn’t properly describe the aesthetic [Reader] had worn that night. Malleus was indeed in a loss of words. 

“May I have this dance, my good Swan?” 

Graciously accepting his hand with a gloved one, [Reader] grins, softly uttering: 

“Yes, my Dragon Prince.” 

[red-hemlock]

"If luck holds-out, perhaps that little shudder will turn into a quake, in due time." C'est la vie, a murderous maiden can still dream.

She chuckles, soft and oh-so-very genuine, but the assassin's eyes remain a cool contrast firmly locked-on to the other villainess. Credit should be given where it was due, though... Most 'rabbits' wouldn't dare approach a 'wolf' of any kind, let alone one who who's discerned so many probable injection spots to exploit. Such 'silly' intrusive thoughts, however, are quickly quieted by the offering of that business card; The simple act causing River to cant her head in a curious consideration.

Rumination, then. The Rabbit's already gone to so much trouble to not seem like a threat... Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give just a little back? At this point, good business about demands it. Now beaming in satisfaction, the mask is quickly re-affixed to River's face; and with a fire of her gauntlet's grappling gun down into the skull of her gargoyle-chair, the fixture is used to deliver herself straight down to Vienna with a swing, and the sound of a hefty landing.

The card is accepted. Turned this way and that, with the inquisitiveness of a cat being gifted a sparkly new toy, "You know, I've never put much thought into the whole 'assistant' thing. More bodies means more variables to consider for plans, and-"

"...I'm sorry, did you just say 'love charms', dear?" River's gaze has returned to Vienna. Was that a gleam in her eyes, or just the nightlife light catching off her mask's lenses? "And they really work?"

"Understood. Not all plants are friendly. I must admit to having a fondness of herbology myself. I make teas and home remedies, rarely a poison," the white-haired vixen responded in a soft British accent.

Rounding the corner to get closer Vienna's eyes showed more pink by the sconed lighting that marked the skyscraper. Being called interesting was flattering, but at the same time it made her fearful to know in what way. Cautiously she reached down into her top and plucked out a business card of sorts with a number.

"You have made quite a name for yourself. The second a woman showed up with poison, it made the underworld shutter. Up until now, Ivy's been the queen bee when it came to killing by this method."

Handing her card over, she second-guessed her motive when she was bartered with. "Ohhh Noo... you misunderstand or rather I miss understand? I'm a free agent. Rather an assistant of sorts. Distractions, Breaking and entering, and pheromone-induced love charms... are my speciality. Other services will require a higher down payment and progressive planning."

[grottweiler]

The Common Gargoyle

Kingdom: Animalia Phylum: Chordata Class: Mammalia Order: Artiodactyla Family: Bovidae Subfamily: Caprinae Tribe: Grotini Genus: Gargula Species: G. pteracheirus

Gargula pteracheirus (wing-handed cave-dweller) also known as the common gargoyle, is a species of sapient, winged, even-toed ungulates found on every continent except Antarctica. They were originally classified under the genus Pseudochimera because their physical appearance suggested they were an amalgam of several distinct species, but genetic testing has confirmed that all of their features are examples of convergent evolution in the 20 million years since they split from other bovids. Their back armor and tails most closely resemble the scuta of crocodilians, with defensive clubs resembling those found on stegosaurine dinosaurs, and their front hooves have evolved into winged hands more similar in appearance to those of pterosaurs than extant flying mammals.

Note: only the adults of the species can achieve powered "flight," here in quotation marks because they can't get very far off the ground nor fly for long distances, though they do make excellent gliders. Juveniles (and under-developed adults) do not have fully developed keels, so the muscles anchoring their wings to their torsos do not have enough leverage for flight of any kind.

Unlike other ruminants, gargoyles are opportunistic omnivores, like their distant cousins the pigs, having lost the need to chew cud and ferment their food in multiple stomachs. They evolved intelligence long before primates, though they never spread beyond their ancestral homelands in the Caucasus Mountains and Central Asia until early hominins spread out of Africa. Since first contact, the two lineages have developed a close symbiotic relationship, gargoyles acting as shepherds over a burgeoning humanity, teaching them, nurturing them, helping them thrive. In modern society, gargoyles are honor bound to protect the lands they inhabit. Adults who have proven themselves fit for duty may be granted a duchy/principality/estate called a grotto to live on and dedicate their lives in service to. It is important to note that gargoyles are not sovereigns. They do not rule over their grottos, they simply defend them like watchdogs.

Famous grottos include Notre-Dame de Paris in France and the Chrysler Building in the United States.

The individual known as Grottweiler, nicknamed Grott, is the equivalent of a young adult human (late teens, early twenties), though his diminutive size suggests that he is a late bloomer. Maybe he'll have a growth spurt someday, maybe not, it's too soon to tell. Without his horns, he is roughly the size and shape of Danny DeVito, but with them he is exactly as tall as a dude-bro who thinks it's impressive to put his height in his tinder bio.

Grott is a guardian-in-training, so the elders have assigned him a practice grotto, a vacant lot behind a 24-7 gas station mini mart in the outskirts of Miami, Florida. It is his sworn duty to protect that vacant lot from the forces of evil, which is a considerable undertaking for a trainee who lives in an evil city in an eviler state. His wards are mostly wild animals (armadillos, raccoons, possums, crabs, iguanas, the occasional human teenager who got kicked out of the gas station for loitering), but he would die for each and every one of them. He wants nothing more than for his community to thrive, and though his legal responsibilities extend only over the half-acre of his grotto, he has taken it upon himself to serve the needs of the entire neighborhood, perhaps one day even the entire Miami metropolitan area; the journey of 1000 miles starts with a single step. He often butts heads with cops and politicians because they think he's a menace. They don't need a meddlesome goat trying to "help people" and "improve lives" and "do good for the community." The local leaders would never stand for such subversive behavior!

[limerental]

ficletober day 3 - philippa/dijkstra

Busy pulling strings in Redania from the shadows, Philippa Eilhart receives a visit from a promising young spy. content warning for canon-typical Philippa Eilhart and grooming of teenaged boys with referenced/implied underage sex. Takes place ~30 years before the events of the saga with some fudged details about Redanian kings and politics. Given who Philippa is, I like to think it's pretty likely she was the one who originally recruited Dijkstra to the intelligence service and also given who she is, she was probably a little bit yucky about it

The boy planted both his hands on his knees, still huffing and puffing from his less than coordinated clamber up the trellis outside her window. She didn't bother to tell him he could have come in through the servant's door. Things were more amusing this way.

He was a clever lad and tripped over himself to bring her anything she needed, which these days was the comings and goings of the Academy, where one political unrest or another always seemed to be brewing.

But she had some suspicions that he withheld details here and there, simply so he had another reason to visit her the next night.

"You have news then?"

The boy straightened up, his breath finally returned to him. To her surprise, he had managed to hit another growth spurt, towering like a gawky gargoyle before her. He was certainly no looker and never would be. Not yet seventeen and his dark hair had already receded well past his temples.

"The Master Troy has taken a leave of absence. But some say he may not return for the next semester."

"Yes? And?"

"There's word that his retirement may not be wholly his idea."

Philippa sighed. She poured herself another few fingers of dark liquor and watched the boy follow her hands with his pale eyes. He was clearly hopeful that she would pour him a glass as well, ask him to sit in the high-backed chair beside her.

She did neither.

"Of course it's not his idea. He's an ancient old bat who still claims the sun circles around us and that we descended from amphibians. The Academy has wanted him out for years."

"Ahem," said the boy. "I only thought… I thought you might want me to figure out who wants him gone. Like with Vysogota of Corvo. He was officially exiled for religious heresy but less officially–"

"How old were you when he was exiled, boy?"

His cheeks pinked. He hadn't been born yet.

Under the aging rule of King Radovid IV, father to the present King Heribert, some poor sod was exiled once a week to appease one interest group or another.  The winds of the Redanian court had blown to and fro more times than she could count. At the moment, King Heribert was publicly wary and derisive of mages and spies but privately unwilling to dismiss them. 

Her doe-eyed young prince Vizimir showed far more promise. In a few years, Philippa imagined he would grow into a handsome, level-headed young man. Level-headed enough not to forget the rewards of allowing her and her agents influence over him.

"Thank you for the report," said Philippa. "But I'd prefer you leave any speculation to me, boy. You're still only seeing half the picture. Manuscripts and boring old professors can only teach so much. When's your graduation again?"

"This winter."

"Early?"

The boy's grin was full of crooked teeth. 

"Top of my class," he said with arrogance. Philippa did not bother to dissuade it, not yet. If all went well, she knew he would become a terrifying force for the Redanian Secret Service someday, and one needed a certain smug confidence to clash with kings and dissidents and uglier characters than that.

"Come here," said Philippa, and the boy visibly brightened with eagerness. At least, visibly to her, who had learned to read the slightest twitch of a man's face and glean his emotional state. 

Most men were too proud of the piddling things they felt and thought to learn to conceal them. Even a subjugated peasant man was likely to believe that his dopey ruminations meant something and mattered more than the mud and piss he slogged through.

Women, thought Philippa, will inherit all of this some day. And the men will not even wake from smug daydreams of their own importance long enough to realize.

The boy's expression barely shifted, and he did not move too swiftly. Admiring his subtlety, Philippa kicked off her heels and propped her legs up on the arm of the chair beside her. She watched the boy follow the curve of her long legs, limned in bronze light from the fireplace. "Well? Sit. They won't rub themselves."

"Yes, Madam Philippa."

The boy sat and took her feet into his lap, his clever thumbs pressing into the taut ache of her arches. He had nice hands. Big and smooth-palmed and exacting in the pressure they applied.

Perhaps after a bit more to drink, she would teach him a thing or two about using them in other ways.

"Sigismund," she said and touched the crown of his head. His hair there was soft and thin. "Pour yourself a glass. No, not so little. We're celebrating your graduation. And don't stop the rest in the meantime."

Dijkstra ducked his head to hide the burn of his cheeks and managed not to choke on the deep swallows of liquor. His fingers dug with surety into the meat of Philippa's heels.

[renegadewangs]

Enigmatic Gnomance

Last night was movie night in my Discord server and we watched Sherlock Gnomes. Needless to say, things escalated very fast and I wrote a 2000+ words one-shot regarding the ending. Everyone liked it for some reason??? So here it is! (I’m not an expert on the gnome cinematic universe, please forgive me if I got a little detail wrong.)

Characters: Sherlock Gnomes, Watson Fandom: Sherlock Gnomes Pairings: (Lord help me,) Gnomes/Watson Warnings/rating: None. Summary: With the movie’s events behind them, Sherlock Gnomes ruminates on difficult matters.

Enigmatic Gnomance

The sun had set on the backyard when at last, Gnomes and Watson returned to their little home. Mrs. Udderson was nowhere to be seen, for which Watson found himself quite grateful. After all that'd occurred tonight, he wasn't in the mood for her invasive mooing. Gnomes hobbled over to the nearby armchair and settled himself down there. The deep crack in his leg instantly caught Watson's eye. He wasn't really a doctor- such a title was no more than an accessory in the world of gnomes. Even so, he found himself yearning to fix the injury somehow. He was responsible in a way, he felt. He'd been weak and he'd gotten cocky, which had made him a blind and unwilling pawn in Moriarty's little scheme.

But there was nothing to be done about it now; porcelain would never heal. Even with glue, Gnomes ran the risk of losing his leg forever if he were ever reckless.

Watson hesitated for a moment, then approached the armchair. His gaze wasn't being met. Gnomes had folded his hands together and was now peering towards his own feet. "Gnomes, ah... Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" he asked awkwardly.

Even with their reunion atop the bridge and their agreement to continue being partners, Gnomes still hadn't quite acknowledged the betrayal. It was maddening. Why wasn't he scolded? For Gnomes to come to terms with his rude dismissal of others had been the entire point, that much was true. However, to not see the gargoyles' true nature and be used by their master... That had been worthy of a good scoff, surely. Or at the very least an indignant sniff. Gnomes could have died, all due to Watson's own naivety. Sure enough, Gnomes didn't reply. The silence was worse than anything else he could have said.

"Gnomes..." Watson trailed off for a moment. Then he decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping his feelings bottled up. That was what'd caused this whole mess in the first place. "It's only us, now. Please, just talk to me."

"... I was ruminating, Watson," said Gnomes, still staring at his feet.

"Oh?"

"Yes, indeed. Ruminating. Quite deeply, I might say. My mind palace lost an entire dimension, attempting to process these hectic thoughts of mine. However, I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank. Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you might refresh my memory?"

The sober, forward nature of Gnomes's words caught Watson off guard. He hadn't known his friend to be so earnest, nor so willing to ask for help, for a very long time. Perhaps the day's events had made a difference after all. But then... Had it been Watson to make Gnomes see sense, or had it been Moriarty's doing? It was best not to think too hard on that, so he attempted to force the notion out of his mind.

"Of course, old friend." Watson placed a hand on the back of the armchair, smiling meekly. "If you need my help, you need only ask for it. Though perhaps... A bit more politely than you used to."

Gnomes uttered a chuckle, bitter as lime(stone). "Hah, quite right," he admitted. "I was wondering... Whether I actually took the time to say how sorry I am."

Watson felt his eyes widen and his body stiffen. Had he heard that correctly? Surely not. "Sorry" was a word not uttered aloud by Gnomes in a long time, short of demanding it from others.

"... What?"

"Quite a bit happened tonight. Moriarty is nothing if not a distraction. I'm certain I said quite a few things- to him and to you. However, it's all a bit of a blur, you see. Did I? Apologize?"

Watson shook his head fiercely. This was all wrong. This was what he'd wanted, and yet... No, he didn't deserve it, did he? "Gnomes- You aren't the one who needs to apologize. I put innocent gnomes in danger- I put you in danger. Moriarty could've won, all because I-I... I thought you'd..."

A hand on Watson's wrist caused any other words to vanish. He looked down to meet Gnomes's eyes. Even more out of place than the gnome's apology was the expression on his face, which Watson couldn't recall ever having seen once in all their years of partnership. What was it? Some sort of turmoil, certainly.

"My dear man, you were right to confront me with my attitude. To treat others in such dreadful a manner is already mortifying to me, in hindsight, but you... You deserved so much more and I fear I took your companionship for granted for the longest time. I'd forgotten just how brilliant you are, and so, you played the game quite well."

"Gnomes... Truly, you don't need to-"

"I am sorry, Watson. More sorry than even my own brilliant mind could ever begin to formulate."

Watson sighed and placed his own hand atop Gnomes's own. "I know. And I'm sorry as well."

For a long moment, nothing was said. Gnomes's eyes merely flitted towards Watson's hand and lingered there. Then, at last, he found his voice again. It had cracked almost as badly as his leg. "... I don't deserve a partner like you. Should you follow Irene's example and find your luck elsewhere, I would not blame you."

"Don't be a fool," Watson replied straight off the bat. "I did not go through so much trouble to teach you a lesson, only to toss away the benefits before I could reap them."

"You were perfectly content to abandon our partnership earlier."

"Well... It wasn't quite a partnership earlier, now was it?"

Gnomes appeared dumbstruck, though only for a moment. Then his lips carved themselves into a grin. "... Fair enough."

Watson took another shuffling step closer to the armchair, leaning forward and eyes narrowing into a bit of a squint. "Are you alright? Your leg... It looks quite damaged."

"It's only a few surface cracks," Gnomes replied, sticking his nose up in the air. "Nothing to worry about. The great Sherlock Gnomes is nothing if not resilient. It is a shame, though. That was my favorite leg."

Watson chuckled dryly. "I don't believe there's anything in this world you love more than yourself."

But Gnomes didn't reply. He merely stared ahead blankly at the wall. Had he gotten lost in his own thoughts again? Watson hadn't thought he'd said anything worth contemplating, nor blocking out.

"... Are you certain you're alright, Gnomes?" he asked.

"I... Yes." Gnomes blinked fiercely and rapped the fingers of his other hand against the armrest of the chair. "It's curious. You are quite clever, Watson, but then... Perhaps, unable to decipher the very same enigma which plagues me."

"An enigma, Gnomes?" Watson repeated. What was there still left to solve, at this point? It must've been significant, if Gnomes himself still struggled to put a finger on it. How tragic, then, that he would assume Watson would be unable to decipher it also. Were the learned lessons being foregone already? He hoped not.

"The time I spent with Irene... Well, surely you recall. It was a jolly good romp for a while, but I always knew she would come second place to the mysteries and the chases. And she came to know this as well. So in the end, a jolly good romp was all it was. I did not think I could ever love someone the way she expected me to."

Indeed, Watson did recall those 'jolly good romps'. He remembered the pain on Irene's face, which grew more severe with every instance where she'd been snubbed. He also remembered her resolution on the day she decided she would get over him. It was so very easy to rope her into his plans because the two of them related to one another. They both knew just how painful it was to be dismissed by Gnomes. They both agreed that the lesson had needed to come sooner and there was nothing left to salvage, but then... Watson hadn't given up quite as much hope as Irene, it turned out. It was a good thing that he hadn't.

"Indeed. But what's that got to do with another puzzle?" he asked.

"When I saw you fall and I heard that dreadful smashing sound... Well, I didn't want to think about it, really. I pushed it from my mind before it could ever take root there, because if I'd allowed that... Well, I'm sure I would've been quite useless for the remainder of the investigation."

"Oh, Gnomes, I didn't mean for you to-"

"It was a clever ploy, of course. I fell for it. Didn't even stop to consider you might catch yourself. That warrants another apology, I believe."

"No, really, it's fine. Perhaps I'd gone too far with that."

Gnomes's hand curled around Watson's wrist more fiercely. He turned his head upwards once again, brow furrowed, features pleading. "Watson," he began softly. "If I'd lost you... If you were truly gone, what would I do with myself? That's what I was ruminating on, you see. It pains me simply to envision the hypothetical, which is to say nothing of what would happen if it were a reality. I've never felt anything of the sort for Irene. So will you tell me, please?"

The situation was surreal. To hear words like that coming from his old friend... Well, the plan truly had been far more effective than Watson had expected it to be, though the result was overwhelming. Perhaps even unnerving. To earn Gnomes's respect and partnership was one thing, but to hear that his presence would've been missed so very dearly... That was more than he'd ever bargained for, or even dared to wish for. He didn't know how to feel now. He didn't understand what was being asked of him.

"... Tell you what, Gnomes?"

"Isn't there someone I love more than myself, or the thrill of the hunt?"

Watson's mind went blank. He felt quite cold, all of a sudden. But then... Also hot at the same time, as if he were standing out in the blazing sun of a warm summer's day. Gnomes's eyes were still on his own, waiting, perhaps deducing. Watson didn't dare look away. He was cornered now- trapped in Gnomes's intense stare.

Before tonight, his response would have been clear. He would have laughed bitterly at the question, then turned away from it. But then... Before tonight, it never would have been asked. Gnomes had never taken such things into consideration until he'd been forced to. To have Gnomes reflect on how much he'd always relied on Watson, that had been the goal. An unexpected side-effect, then, was that Watson now had to reflect on how much he'd relied on Gnomes. He'd wanted be looked at, to be acknowledged, to be praised- to be close to Gnomes, the way he used to when they first began to solve cases.

"I think that... The only one who could ever answer that question is you, Gnomes," he ultimately said.

"I... I need a hint, I believe," Gnomes replied in a bit of a stammer. "Just a clue, a morsel. The tiniest bit of guidance when it comes to deciphering these feelings."

"I'm not much help there, I'm afraid. I may be just as lost as you are."

"Oh... Are you really?" Gnomes paused for a moment, lips pursing and nose crinkling as he mulled it over. "If we're both lost in the same manner, does that not imply we both experience these same feelings?"

"Ah..."

And still, Watson had no true answer to give. Just as Gnomes's brilliant mind failed to form an apology strong enough to do the sentiment justice, so too did Watson's own fail to translate his feelings into words.

-Feelings? Were there feelings after all?

After about ten seconds, Gnomes tore his attention away from Watson's eyes and returned to gazing at his own feet. "Perhaps... It would be presumptuous to expect an answer to this riddle this very night. We are both taken by exhaustion, I'm sure. Delirious with it, perhaps. So..."

Still, no cohesive sentences came to Watson. Even so, he did have a reply, he thought. It wasn't a very clever one, but it was a reply all the same. He leaned forward to press a kiss against Gnomes's cheek. The gesture clearly shocked his friend, for he made a rather funny noise and attempted to jump up out of the chair. His bad leg, however, had other plans. Gnomes slumped backwards before he could ever fully stand upright and Watson caught him by the shoulders with both hands on instinct, cushioning the fall.

"Whaa- Whaaaat... son....!" Gnomes tilted his head backwards to peer up at him. "What...?"

"That was the small clue you were searching for, which ought to help you decipher these feelings of yours," Watson explained with another wry smile.

Gnomes appeared stunned. However, he soon relaxed in Watson's hold and eased himself back into the chair properly. "Indeed, that was quite helpful," he said. "Whatever would I do without your assistance, dear fellow? You truly are indispensable."

"It's good of you to say such things out loud, Gnomes. I expect to hear much more praise in the future."

"Of course!"

Indeed, they were both exhausted and had more than enough time to continue 'ruminating' on their feelings. For now, Watson was quite content to leave it that. Immense progress had already been made, and aside from that... Mrs. Udderson was still lurking high above them.

[symbi0sis]

Francis listens as they go about getting her a drink and something simple to eat. He wants to state the obvious, that she can't change her lot - but that wouldn't be the right thing to say at the moment, however true it was.

Gargoyle simply listens and ruminates as Francis trots back over and offers her the glass of water. The simple sandwich is placed down on the table, within reach but not pushed into her lap.

"We know you didn't, Feli." He murmurs gently, sitting beside her and gently putting an arm over Feli's shoulders. "But that was out of your control as much as Gargoyle and I meeting wasn't in mine. Remember what you said to me? That what matters is what we did with our newfound power. I'd say the same applies here."

He exhales softly, thinking over his words.

"Nobody - and we mean nobody - would begrudge you for stepping away. But we think you can do better than that. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel, and there is always a chance to help. Too many people have pushed you into thinking you are useless, that you can do nothing, that the fact you are not perfect means there is no point to what you do at all."

He shakes his head.

"But you cannot help everyone. You can try, but you are only one woman. You cannot be everywhere, you cannot do everything. The fact the Society has you wasting away doing paperwork is another matter entirely."

BE FAIR TO YOURSELF, FELICITY PARKING. DO NOT ASK THE IMPOSSIBLE.

Gargoyle speaks from his skin, then, and Francis can only nod.

the action gives her no comfort, but it's not their fault; if anything, it's a grim reminder of how HOPELESS the situation feels. how INCOMPETENT AND INEPT SHE IS, to rely such a heavy load on someone else's shoulders, when it should be hers. THIS GUILT SHOULD BE HERS TO BEAR.

félicité, un grand pouvoir implique tant de chagrin.

❝ i don't know, i just— ❞ it started with johnathon – her spot. then there was the occasional cat in a tree, the lost kid, the random bodega thief. then there was MORE, and MORE, and MORE. always more.

❝ I NEVER WANTED THIS. ❞ she remembers what the news said, years ago. SLOPPY. UNFIT. they didn't know she was but a child, not that it was an excuse. they didn't know it was her just by pure misfortune. THE SPIDER DIDN'T KNOW IT HAD TO DIE FOR SOMEONE SO INCOMPETENT. ❝ i never-- i never a--asked to be bit. ❞

[marylamode]

Mary, Annabelle, and Todd; Gargoyle Apartments || @solitaryspirits​ & @sin-tentional​

— “It makes me think of what happened to mom,” she admitted. Mary shut her laptop. It was coated in colorful stickers, many of them logos or references to her favorite pop culture mediums. Staring at the familiar, albeit silly, collection eased her stress. She’d spent the last few hours setting up bots on social media to boost awareness of the disappearing sisters’ case. Not that they needed much boosting. Their famous relative -- who’d graced a certain daytime soap opera that Mary had been glued to since its pilot aired -- had enough star power that news on the missing girls weren’t swallowed up by other headlines.

Ruminating on what’d happened to the girls was eating up the majority of her free time. Mary hunched over on the couch, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them close. Even though they’d been given the key to their father’s apartment and told to make themselves feel at home, it felt unsettling to be somewhere so unfamiliar while such fear and uncertainty blanketed the town. “Doesn’t it bother you guys, too? If they never find those girls, there’ll never be anything for their sisters to bury,” she said, quietly. “This is just my personal opinion -- I mean, I don’t know if you guys feel the same way-- but, this feels just as fishy as mom’s death. There’s something really, really wrong about all of this.”

[grrunks]

daily rumination: i think people get hung up on the idea of cartoons as kids shows in that like, people will see an animated show for teens that deals with heavier themes, or is darker or scarier in content, and be like "i cant believe they put this in a kids show," etc. like, i dont wanna believe people would watch like, gargoyles for example, and think "i cant believe we let kids watch this" bc its obviously meant for an audience thats like 14+ rather than 6 or 8 or whatever age people are thinking of when they think of "kids shows," but ik they would and it just seems ludicrous to me, esp since teens notoriously want to be consuming things that are for older audiences. it just seems like people forget about teens or older kids when they make these comments like, ya, im thinking about this re: that comment on that hirsch post from earlier about gravity falls kids show and ya it is, two of its protagonists are 12, but it feels like underestimating this age group to me to look at shows that are for them and be like "wow, this is too much." and like, i had a brief convo with a coworker the other day where she said one her friends wouldnt let her own kids watch the simpsons until they were 15 which was Astonishing to me. and i just, idk, like bart n lisa are 8 n 9 right, which makes that age group part of the target audience and it is parental preference but thats partly who the show is being made for and its wild to me that ud wait that long (its also wild to me to presume that a kid would know ur not letting them watch a show until theyre a certain age and believe they wouldnt purposefully seek it out when ur not looking) on the other hand, dip n mabel are 12 but hirsch has said before that they were never really thinking about writing for kids, they were just trying to make each other laugh, but the arc of growing up that the show is based on is literally for that age group. Idk. Idk idk i just think people underestimate what kids can handle when it comes to the media they consume, i think people have a tendency to look at media for older kids and teens and assume its for a younger audience and get worked up about it, and i think people should be talking to their kids about the media they consume if theyre really that concerned about it, rather than trying to hide it from them bc its not going to stay hidden, they Will find it if they want to, and then u lose the opportunity to talk about it and process it with ur kid

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Rose Puppetry Ch3: Grimm

Summary:

A century ago or so, Atlas set out to conquer the world.  Penny was built to be a spy, an infiltrator meant to find weaknesses in Vale’s defenses before the invasion.

She did.  Then she fell in love.  And rebelled against the kingdom that had created her.

Ch1.  Ch2.

.

No thick, pollution smog billows over Atlas.

As they emerge out from the service tunnel onto the streets, Penny and her team stop to gaze upwards.  They don’t have the time to spare, but they can’t help themselves.  It’s not often they get to see the sky like this, sprawled out above them like some great, sapphire painting.

Penny grimaces.  Beautiful as it is, the sky is a reminder of all that’s been taken from her too.  Even after this mission, even if it’s successful, she won’t be able to simply relax and enjoy a peaceful, sunny day.  Not so long as she has to always look over her shoulder for the Atlesian Military.

At least she’ll have Ruby back, Penny quietly reminds herself, so, perhaps, being haunted by the ghosts of her past won’t be so horrible.

Setting a determined, brisk pace, Penny leads her team down the street.  She glances at each and every person they pass.  Sure, they have a well-prepared cover story for why they’re there and what are likely some of the best fake IDs in existence, but those things were attained for the eventuality of them being stopped and questioned.  They do nothing to prevent that happening in the first place.

The first pair of eyes that avert their gaze when they accidentally look in Penny and her team’s direction she doesn’t think much of.  The second, and then the third, though, indicate a pattern.  No one wants to notice them, Penny realizes.  She observes as fancily-dressed Atlesians see them, and then abruptly cross the immaculate street.  Businessmen in finely tailored suits push past like Penny and her team don’t exist.  Elegant ladies in silky dresses huff and avert their gaze as if coming marginally close to resting their eyes on maintenance workers will sully them.

Penny and her team are invisible.

It shouldn’t bother her.  It makes traversing the streets of the city unchallenged that much easier.  Still, an uncomfortable feeling settles in Penny’s gut.  She remembers a time, long ago now, when she was treated like an object.  A robotic toy with no mind of its own that simply did as instructed.  One that could be flaunted like a trophy.

Maybe not today, because today she needs to be focused and covert, but one day, one day, Penny will make sure they see her.  They really see her.

Atlas Academy rises above the rest of the city, a verifiable stronghold of sleek, ivory towers, unmarked by the dirt and grime of the world that sustains them.  Originally, the academy was meant to be a symbol of brilliance at the heart of Atlas.  The crowning jewel of the flying marvel itself.  A declaration of all the greatness that Atlas encourages its people to aspire to.  

To some, namely the heirs and heiresses of the wealthy elite who can afford to enroll them as students, the academy remains so.

Maybe once the less fortunate believed in the school, too.  But then, the gates were closed to them.  Access to the hallowed halls where so much knowledge lies in wait restricted, unless they first enlist and fight in Atlas’s war of conquest.  After all, the wealthy elite fund the academy.  Why should the mostly the poor of Mantle be given the same privileges, without offering something in return?

A small handful of such hopeful, would-be students lived through their tours of duty and were granted a place at the academy for their service.  Many more did not.

Stories are told in Mantle, of the ones who don’t come back, and the hardships faced by the ones who do.  Very few make the attempt anymore.  Not that the General King needs them.  Years have passed since he ordered the first unit of Atlesian Knights.  The Atlesian Army is far more robotic than man these days.

Penny and her team stop in a forgotten library.  Tomes of their kingdom’s history before Atlas rose sit in wait, gathering dust around them.  Seeing these books makes Penny sad.  Since joining the Rebellion, she’s met so many who would be eager to come here, read them, and learn from them.  She doesn’t have much time to ruminate on the books, though.  They’re only here for a brief stop, a final preparation before their move to infiltrate Watts’s laboratory.

Penny checks her connection to each of the daggers she has on her person and their battery charges.  All of them, as expected, are primed and ready to go.  The daggers are far smaller than the blades Penny uses as part of her main combat weaponry system, but far easier to conceal and faster to activate if the need should arise.

Penny thinks back to that last night with Ruby, and how her swords had been far away, on the other side of the room, useless, during the attack.  She forged her daggers at the first opportunity she got after joining the Rebellion, and seldom takes them off her person.  Never again will she be caught off guard without means to protect herself and the ones she loves.

Once everyone is ready, they set out for the laboratory.

Contrary to the mental image Penny created for herself, the building housing the laboratory of Arthur Watts looks like any other on the Atlas Academy campus.  Penny knows this, has always known this in fact, but, since Ruby’s capture, she’s started to think of it as a darker, more sinister place, similar to the villains’ lairs she’s read about in storybooks.  A looming castle-esque fortress with intimidating battlements and twisted gargoyles.  Not a squat, clean, whitewashed building lording over an out-of-the-way courtyard.

They make their approach, careful not to let the security cameras capture a full view of their faces.  Inside the building, there’s a small reception area with a front desk, which an automaton is stationed behind.  They hand over their fake IDs, the robot makes an affirmative sort of noise and directs them to an elevator bay.

It’s when they’re riding down, waiting for their lift to finally arrive at their destination, that Penny truly begins to worry about the ease of it all.  Sure, Watts’s lab has never had as much security as other sensitive locations at the Academy.  The idea anyone would break into a place where, if they were caught, they’d be left at the scientific mercy of its master, has long been considered unbelievable.  But, Penny doesn’t think it should be this easy either.  They planned for so long, gathered so much intel.  To just walk in, find Ruby, and get back out, it doesn’t feel right.

As the elevator dings its arrival at the laboratory level, Penny switches her daggers to ‘combat ready’ mode.

No one’s there when the doors open.  No soldiers, robotic or otherwise.  No lab techs or assistants.  Not even Watts himself.  No one prevents them from approaching the heavy steel double doors of the laboratory.  Their loud, echoing footfalls go unheard.

Penny stops when she reaches the door.  The others stand behind her, waiting for her to make the final decision.  She stares at the doors’ gleaming handles, sucks in a sharp breath she doesn’t necessarily need, wraps a hand around the cool metal, and tugs the door open.

The laboratory, surprisingly, is in a state of utter and immaculate cleanliness.  Penny blinks at the space, reseting her optical receptors to ensure they’re working correctly.  She expected something grittier.  Bloodstains splashed across surfaces.  Pieces of horrific experiments left out to rot.  Something to indicate the gruesomeness of what goes on here.  But there’s nothing.  It’s as if Watts simply packed everything up and neatly stored it away.

Well, almost everything.

At the very back of the laboratory, pushed against the wall is a throne-like seat.  Given its location in such a place as the lab and its resemblance to the other stools scattered about, it wasn’t built to be of great importance.  Someone had gone through the trouble of attaching a back and armrests to it, as well as acquiring thick, deep scarlet, velvet cushions for the person upon it to sit comfortably.

The only indication that that person doesn’t have the power most would assume belongs to someone in such a seat are the clasps firmly locking her wrists and ankles down.  Her helplessness doesn’t seem to bother her.  The person—a young, recognizable girl—doesn’t try to fight or break free of her bindings.  She simply sits on her throne, with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and calm.  Waiting.  Like a puppet whose master has put its strings to rest for the time being.

Upon her head is a pitch black crown of mechanical spikes and thorns.  It is this that Penny’s eyes go to as she approaches, and the blood red ruby precisely centered in it above its wearer’s forehead.  The jewel could have been an amazing, priceless treasure, if not taken and used for such a horrid-looking device.  Now it is naught more than a cruel mockery.  Beauty taken and warped into something deeply unpleasant.

Penny reaches out.  Her hand trembles as it closes the distance to Ruby’s cheek.  She hesitates, gulps, and then allows her fingers to touch her beloved’s cool skin.  The moment Penny makes contact, the spell holding her back breaks.  She lets out a relieved, little laugh.  She cups Ruby’s cheek fully in her hand and affectionately runs her thumb across it.

“I’m here,” Penny tells Ruby.  “I came for you.  I’m so sorry.  I’m going to get you out of here.”  She reaches for the clasps keeping Ruby in place.  Before she can touch them, Ruby lifts her head up and away from Penny’s touch.  Slowly, almost mechanically, Ruby opens her eyes.

The denial Penny has been able to drown herself in these few, precious moments dissipates completely.  She looks into Ruby’s eyes.  Rather than the friendly, loving silver she knows so well, bloody crimson irises in a sea of charcoal black gaze back out uncomprehending at her.

“Ruby?”  Penny’s voice wavers.  She barely manages to keep it from breaking completely.