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neathbound-fiends · 1 year

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A Spoiler-light Guide for Fallen London

A couple friends have recently started playing FL, or were curious about the game and setting, and I thought it would be handy to try and put together a little guide to the basic setting and lore that ground you into it, and. well. brevity is the soul of wit, but it is neither a virtue nor a friend of mine. So I figured I would post it for other people to enjoy as well!

I don’t really delve into the mechanics too deeply, and also avoid a lot of the really lore-heavy stuff (Ambitions, Parabola, the Railway, etc), and have kept it pretty narrowed on Fallen London in particular

If you see any glaring errors, let me know, and if you find it handy, consider giving it a reblog! Guide beneath cut

Fallen London is a text-based role-playing/interactive narrative browser game with gothic overtones, in the gaslamp fantasy and alternative history genres. There is art for icons for characters, for banners, and two different interactive maps, and social options with other players to help/hinder them in certain aspects, but the gameplay itself is entirely text-based and is single-player. The central conceit of Fallen London is as follows:

Forty years ago, in December of 1861, Prince Albert dies. In our timeline, his wife remains in mourning black for the rest of her life. In this timeline, however, she is approached by shadowy figures, referring to themselves only as the ''Masters of the Bazaar'', or occasionally simply the ''Masters''. They offer her back her husband's life, in exchange for one thing: the city of London. She accepts their terms, and in the beginning of 1862, the city disappears overnight, swallowed by a cloud of bats. London, now referred to as Fallen London by its inhabitants and much of the rest of the world, now resides quite cozily in a vast subterranean cavern referred to as the Neath. The above world is referred to simply as the Surface to any of the Neath's citizens

BASIC GEOGRAPHY OF FALLEN LONDON

The Neath itself is quite vast, enough so to contain an ocean of its own, and is located in rough proximity to a variety of interesting locations, which will be touched on further below. The city itself, referred to as the Fifth City, as it's the fifth to be swallowed into the Neath, has been rearranged terribly, with all the streets twisting and labyrinthine, leading to the Bazaar at the center of it, wherein the Masters conduct their business, and which is their main focus of power. Beneath the Fifth City lies the Fourth, beneath that the Third, the Second, the First. When a new City is stolen purchased, it is simply dropped atop the previous one, crushing it. There are remains of previous Cities to be found if one looks hard enough

The Fifth City itself is divided into various neighborhoods, each of which carries its own reputation, notable locations, and faction(s) it caters to. The main areas of the City are as follows:

These places, for the most part, correspond to the names of locations in their prelapsarian counterparts, but have had their names changed due to the outlawing of their continued use (along with the confiscation and ban on any former maps, or of the street signs that once made the City more traversable on the Surface.) Ladybones Road was once Marlyebone, Veilgarden was once Covent Garden, and so forth. Most of the new names are, roughly, analogous, or able to be parsed somewhat from their old ones

+Spite, a district which is known for its rookeries, its silk weavers, and primarily its Criminal elements, and housing Mahogany Hall, the notorious venue of magicians, stageplays, operas, and other forms of theatrical entertainment, the Orphanage, one of many but most notorious for something going on there, and Doubt Street, where the City's newspapers are printed

+Veilgarden, the Bohemian center of London, which is home to drug dens, brothels, bookstores, one of the most notorious pubs in all of London, and housing, on one end, the University (itself divided between Benthic and Summerset Colleges, which cater to any and everyone, including women and the infernal, and the much more posh and well-bred of Society, respectively)

+Ladybones Road, haunt of spies, Devils, and detectives, housing Moloch Street Station, which runs a direct train line to Hell, the Brass Embassy, Hell's Embassy in London, Concord Square, the base of the Constables, and the notorious home of the Honey-Addled Detective

+Wilmot's End, the true haunt of spies playing the Great Game, and housing little more than a large quantity of statues, memorials, etc, as well as the Foreign Office, an office catering to those with interests beyond London

+The Flit, knotted rope bridges and rickety platforms of scrap wood and metal, and the haunt of the orphan gangs, Revolutionaries, and housing the court of the mad beggar known as the Topsy King, and his ''court'' the Raggedy Men, used as a safe haven from the Constables who won't chase you that far

+Mrs. Plenty's Carnival, home to the City's carnival and a neutral ground in which to meet the major factions of the game (detailed further below), with the dangerous House of Mirrors, and housing Madame Shoshana's fortune telling tent

+Watchmaker's Hill, a haunt of no one in particular, and home to the Department of Menace Eradication, the base out of which the monster-hunters of all stripes take contracts, the notorious pub the Medusa's Head, run by a Criminal kingpin known as the Cheery Man, and an observatory which employs only the blind; the secret fight-rings, run by a self proclaimed Prince, are also operated out of here, though they take place in various locations across the City

+Wolfstack Docks, home to Zailors, dockworkers, and factory workers, and home to the notorious pub the Blind Helmsman, and a large quantity of the City's factories, as well as the offices of one of the Masters

+Bazaar Side-Streets, the crowded and elite establishments which cater to the well-heeled and well-connected enough to have earned a spot with such obscene rent, including a large number of social clubs, the most fearsome law firm in London, Baseborn & Fowlingpiece, Solicitors at Law, and other businesses which cater to Persons of Some Importance

+The Forgotten Quarter, ruins of the Fourth City which serve as the haunt of outcasts of all stripes, including Devils, Tomb Colonists, and Rubbery Men, and home to nothing but a Base Camp one can establish for expeditions and ruin diving, and the Temple Club, a mysterious club whose entry is nearly impossible to gain

+The Shuttered Palace, the home of Her Enduring Majesty, known most commonly and widely as the Traitor Empress, and the Court within caters to Society types, Constables, the Church, and those connected to the Duchess, and barred to anyone who's displeased the Empress or Prince Consort

BASIC ECOLOGY AND WEATHER

The Neath, due to the lack of sunlight, and owing to the nature of being a cavern, also lacks the majority of weather. It does maintain seasonality, somewhat, with the False-summer being exceptionally hot and humid, and also being the season for ''spore-fever'', when the majority of the fungal and mycological life sporulates, and is described as a City-wide allergy season. There is also a winter, in which the City is bitterly cold, and paths to lodgings are blocked by the ''snow'', an oddly textured slurry that smells of ammonia and is considered dangerous for the soul, and lasts about a month. The rest of the time, the weather is fairly consistent; a bit cold, often damp, with a tendency towards thick fog at the Docks, and along the edges of the City. Occasionally it drizzles lightly, and seldomly it will open in a violent downpour that matches the ferocity of a true rainstorm as one might encounter on the Surface

Due to the lack of sunlight necessary for most plant life, the Neath is primarily filled with species that have adapted to this. Algae blooms, insects with bioluminescence, and a vast array of mushrooms and other fungus which thrive in the dark and damp, and have been converted into all manner of commodity and service. Fabrics made of strange pelts, or woven from the silk of massive tarantulas, or feathers of the few birds that can be caught. Food made of all forms of insect, of zee-creature, of meat of questionable origin, of mushrooms turned into nearly any delicacy you can imagine. The people have adapted to the darkness as well, with an extensive use of candles, gas lamps, lanterns, and, rather sparingly due to the immense cost, electric lighting

NON-HUMAN CITIZENS

One of the changes in the animals of the Neath, aside from the physical changes which are adaptations to their new surroundings, are that cats and rats have both gained the miraculous (if obnoxious) gifts of speech and sentience. Cats guard the secrets of the City, and rats have formed their own industries and societies beneath the streets and in the forgotten corners of the City. They are granted some of the same rights as humans, though not fully. One of the former mayors of London, the very last one before the position was abolished, was a cat

In addition to rats and cats, the Neath also boasts several other species of nonhuman inhabitants imbued with sentience milling about. These are:

Clay Men, (note that not all are men), a species primarily created for the purpose of cheap labor. They do not require sustenance, can be repaired with mud, and are generally obedient. Those who are freed are free to pursue other avenues of employment, for themselves, though they are met with harsh backlash from the City, as well as their own kind. Unfinished Men, Clay Men who lack something physical or metaphysical, are often hunted for being dangerous. Notable Clay Men include Jasper and Frank, enforcers for the Masters, and the Familiar Footman

Rubbery Men, who are almost exclusively considered non-men, but are considered Rubbery. They are squid people, or at least something near to it, who are unable to speak human/humanoid languages, with a deep affinity for amber, and who are reviled by polite society, though they all appear to be incredibly mild mannered, and often skittish. They occupy an obscure and nigh inaccessible locale known as Flute Street. Notable Rubbery Men include the Tentacled Entrepreneur

Devils, who are discussed in more detail in a further section. Notable devils include the deviless Virginia, former Lord-Mayor of London

THE BASIC FACTIONS

There are twelve factions with whom you can gain Favors (used as a currency to spend using their connections for rewards), and Renown (a system ranking one's closeness to any given faction, and occasionally used as a check for certain options, and can grant special items upon reaching certain levels). There are also several additional factions that don't grant Favors/Renown, but are instead measured through Connected:, a level which you can spend points of like Favors but lacking in the special Renown items. The major factions of Fallen London are as follows:

THE UNTERZEE

+Bohemians: the artists of Fallen London, primarily through sculpture, paintings, written forms, and fashion. Known as being rather outre, and less than respectable. Often associated with criminal elements to a lesser degree, and with drugs, alcohol, and hedonism

+Constables: the law of Fallen London. They form the police force, and are often considered to be in the pocket of the Masters and the rich. They occupy Concord Square, run the prison of New Newgate, and have a large outpost in late game content

+Criminals: the organized crime of Fallen London. There are numerous heavy hitters once can back behind, running conflicting and overlapping enterprises, and in innumerable different varieties. The biggest names in the Fifth City's crime are the Cheery Man, the Gracious Widow, and the Topsy King, though it is difficult to cross any part of the city without encountering a Criminal

+Hell: the infernal denizens of the Neath, and frequent visitors to Fallen London, touched on in a later section

+Revolutionaries: the anarchists, the pamphlet-pushers, and the counter culture of Fallen London. They run contrary to the Masters, to the Constables, and to anyone else attempting to oppress them. Their influence is felt most in shadowy areas, though many of them can't agree what it is they should all be fighting for. Factions within, falling beneath different organizers and goals, leads to infighting--and bombs

+Rubbery Men: the tentacles outcasts of Fallen London, touched on briefly above

+Society: the wealthy, privileged elite of Fallen London. They are respectable upper crust, who are mostly old money (though some new), and who hold sway within the court of public opinion. Many of them are found in exclusive salons, or in the Empress's Court, and who frown upon any unseemly things (the impoverished, the outre, the daring, etc)

+The Church: the clergy of Fallen London. This is, very notably, the Anglican Church. They are opposite of Hell as a faction, and are generally regarded with a mixture of veneration and scorn, depending on one's opinion of ecclesiastical matters, and there is noted tension between the Bishop of St. Fiacre's and the Bishop of Southwark

+The Docks: the maritime workers of Fallen London. They are the stevedores, the zailors (discussed in the next session), the captains, and any other maritime occupation, and are mostly centered around Wolfstack. They are highly superstitious, and their favor is capricious with it. Many are known to, or suspected of, engaging in smuggling as they represent the connection to the Surface

+The Great Game: the spies of Fallen London. The Great Game represents powers from every country and every continent, and its agents and actors are often known for their ruthlessness with their fellow spies. They are often noted for using the game of chess as a motif, and perhaps as a more direct usage of their power

+Tomb-Colonists: the elderly, and the ugly of Fallen London. When one has gotten too old, or gained too many scars to be fit for polite society, they are exiled to the Tomb Colonies, a series of Quiet Cities which serve as a retirement community of sorts. Dusty and ancient, they are wrapped in bandages like mummies, and know the secrets of Cities past. The most famous Tomb Colony city is that of Venderbight

+Urchins: the orphans of Fallen London, who are commonly located between the roofs themselves and the Flit. They've formed several notable gangs, who wage warfare with eachother and against the people around them. The named gangs are the Regiment, the Knotted Sock, the Fisher-Kings, the Noughts, and the Crosses (the most bitter warfare is between the latter two)

Touching London, and the purpose of the Docks, is the Unterzee, often shortened to the Zee, a massive brackish lake originally explored by Dutch sailors, who gave it its name. Zailors, those who ply their trade on the water, are often given to dropping a nautical Z into their speech (though an overuse of this is a sure sign of a landlubber who's trying too hard). The Zee itself has numerous islands, and several ''continents'', as well as other landmarks and dangers within it. Pirates, brawling monks, and Devils are just some of the other people along the waters who will hinder your progress and pose a threat to the merchants and private vessels that plow through the dark waters of the Zee. Maps are notoriously useless in the Neath, but especially so when zailing; the geography occasionally opts to rearrange itself in a vast shifting of land, though it stays somewhat consistent as to allow experience to be a guide, and to help correct the inconsistencies

In the waters, some of the zee-beasts one might encounter include vicious seals with armored hide, massive crabs with a penchant for malice and murder, feral crocodiles, and massive icebergs that consume and destroy everything in their path. Some of the less hostile zee-life take the form of starfish with a massive eye on each of the arms, some type of aquatic life with beautiful rainbow fins, some horrible aquatic spider-adjacent creature that spits webs on you, and massive jellyfish. Also in the waters, neither animal nor human, are the Drownies, who are the victims of drownings and who are alive...sort of. They're drowned corpses, who are animate as much as any other person, but whose bodies tend to retain the dimples from being touched, who are always frigid and shivering (and complaining), and who are keen on drowning others to join them. They serve an entity known as the Fathom-king

Zee captains are the only way in which you can receive any goods from the Surface, as their heavy black cloth draped vessels navigate the canal that connects the two, at great expense. Fresh goods are prohibitively priced due to the cost involved in getting them down to the Neath, so only the wealthy enjoy anything that isn't native to the Neath

HELL

Not quite touching London, but near enough to the west to have grabbed London's attention, lies Hell. There is debate among theologians whether or not it's the Hell spoken of in the Bible, or some other region that contains some of the fanciful elements, and the Devils themselves are no help. London entered into a war with their infernal neighbors, intent on conquering them, and were defeated so terribly that the infamous Campaign of '68 still has scars on the surviving veterans and forced the City to make some concessions

Chief among these was the establishment of an Embassy in London, and a railway that runs back to Hell for any hardworking Devil to return home after a long day's work. Those who don't have apartment in the Embassy, and along Moloch Street are a number of establishments by and for the infernal, including Dante's Grill, and Abbadon and Bael (a trading company). The Embassy is also known for its extravagant masked balls, for its floors of molten brass, and for the thriving soul trade that runs through it

The nature of souls is also much debated. Souls are physical things that can be extracted, that can be sold, melted, consumed, or otherwise changed. The soul trade is strictly regulated through the Bazaar; Hell imports souls, and charges its Devils with, first and foremost, gathering them from the residents of London, and in exchange, Hell exports brass, hydrogen, devilbone, and other little odds and ends. Souls possess different qualities, and different flaws, which correspond to the appearance, as well as to the taste, of it. More experienced Devils are able (or at least claim to be able) to discern the person a soul came from just based on examination of it, and are regarded and referred to as sommeliers for this purpose. Living without a soul is perfectly manageable, though you may find yourself barred from certain well-respected establishments and persons, as they don't associate with the soulless

The Devils themselves are somewhat of an anomaly. They are not human, certainly, but they are quite humanlike. They eat, they sleep, they breathe. They possess eyes that range from shades of yellow to amber to dark orange or red, sharp teeth, and a faint but noticeable aroma of roses, rot, and brimstone. Despite persistent rumors, they don't actually have horns, nor do they have tails, but they are almost painfully hot to the touch, and their saliva and tears are both hot enough to burn

With a propensity towards law, they regulate their soul trade through the use of contracts, and can be terribly charming when they want to be. They appreciate art, they appreciate cuisine, they appreciate lavish and flashy lifestyles. They are all fake. Their affection and attentions only run so long as there is something to be gained. Their vengeance is patient, as they will inform you that the oldest among them are thousands of years old, that they will eclipse your lifespan by tens or hundreds of times. They are ruthlessly efficient, often hedonistic, and value the worst traits of people. To be beloved by the Devils is to be reviled by the upper echelons of Society, and one must be either foolish or reckless to seek their company

Just as there is regulated soul trade, there is also unregulated soul trade, which is referred to as spirifage. Spirifage, practiced by spirifers, are almost exclusively humans, who tend to steal the souls of the desperate and downtrodden in order to sell them directly to Hell for a better rate, as they're able to avoid all the tariffs and the red-tape that one encounters when going through the legal channels of the Bazaar. They often work for Hell, under the auspices of a Devil with questionable goals or needs, as anyone caught engaging in spirifage is severely punished, so as to prohibit the lucrative trade from being outside of the control they hold

One of the most notable things about the Devils, aside from their inhuman nature, is that they are also, undeniably, anachronistic. Fallen London takes place in the 1890s (perpetually. The current year is 1901 1899 III, due to a decree that the new century has been canceled indefinitely.) The Devils, however, possess fashion, technology, turns of phrases, tastes, and other features associated with the American 1920s. Their architecture and clothing are described as shockingly modern, from a time which has yet to pass, their music featuring a lot of brass, their accents thick (New Yorkers, the lot of them). The reasons behind this are rather lore-intensive, but this is worth noting (in my opinion) nonetheless

THE MASTERS

Up until now, I've been relatively vague regarding the Masters, and mentioning them but without actually explaining anything about them. They are massive cloaked figures, standing at 7+ feet, even hunched as they are, who speak in shrill voices and regulate the trade in London strictly. Despite the Parliament and the Queen, they are undeniably the ones in charge, though they tend to involve themselves mostly with infighting and legislation. The Masters, and their domains of trade, are as follows:

Some Masters are seen often, others rarely, and each, in addition to its own whims and personalities, also run various other enterprises. They range from stalls or shops in various parts of the City, to schemes with and against eachother, to factories and businesses. Regardless of one's feelings towards them, it is impossible to avoid some aspect of London which they have put their gloves hands on.

+Mr. Apples, who governs the trade over wood, fruits, breads, and immortality, among other things

+Mr. Cups, who governs the trade over tableware, crockery, relics, and clocks, and collects garbage interesting trinkets through its Relickers and their carts

+Mr. Fires, who governs the trade over gas, candles, and coal, as well as maintaining the majority of the factories along the Docks. It frequently dispatches the Neddy Men, their personal enforcers, as strikebreakers, and manages the dirigible systems

+Mr. Hearts, who governs the trade over meat, bones, organs, and other exotics

+Mr. Iron, who governs the trade over printing-presses, engines, tools, and weapons, among other entrepreneurial pursuits in the Zee

+Mr. Mirrors, who governs the trade over in glasswork, most notably mirrors and windows. It is rarely seen.

+Mr. Pages, who governs the trade over the written word, and also manages the Ministry of Public Decency, censors who confiscate offensive and dangerous materials from the public

+Mr. Spices, who governs the trade over honey, spices, and smokes, and is in vicious and contentious competition with Mr. Wines for control of dreams

+Mr. Stones, who governs the trade over minerals and gemstones of all varieties, as well as a preoccupation over "value" itself

+Mr. Veils, who governs the trade over cloth and clothing, and who resents the notion that it may be in charge of the ladies of the night attributed to it in zailor's songs

+Mr. Wines, who governs the trade over drinkables, ranging from wine, to medicine, to coffee, to other more sinister potables, and, curiously, excluding water. It is in charge of the prostitutes of the City, and is in contentious competition with Mr. Spices over the domain of dreams

Being that they are excessively large, cloaked head to toe, and speak in shrill whispers (aside from Mr. Iron, who never speaks, and only writes), the general consensus is they are inhuman, though no one is quite sure what they might be. It's unwise to be caught speculating. Their gender, also, seems to be iffy at best. No one seems to really think they consider themselves men; the title ''Mr.'' appears to be a formality

DEATH AND ITS FORMS

Death as a concept is something that is rather complicated in Fallen London, owing to the fact that it is, rarely, permanent. Most people have died at least once, some more than others (and some much more than others), but you wouldn't know it aside from perhaps a novel and dashing scar, or a story surrounding the circumstances of it.

Temporary death lands one on a slow boat in a river, headed by a skeletal man (known, quite simply, as the Boatman) who carefully steers away from the hungrier parts of the river and away from the banks. There are a number of ways for one to return to life, whether you choose to steal the breath of your fellow passengers, to play chess against the Boatman, or to think very, very hard about being alive again, or a few others

There is no consensus as to what exactly your body in the slow boat is, because your body--your real one, perhaps--is still located where it fell. People may rummage through your pockets, or do you a good turn and patch you up a bit, or drag you off to someplace less obtrusive until you return to it, but it is very much present wherever it was

Temporary death, the kind that is the most abundant by orders of magnitude, is achieved through a great number of means. One could die in the fight rings, or receive a fatal wound from an overzealous player of Knife-and-Candle, the boyish game of murder, or have caught the wrong end of Jack-of-Smiles--or, at least, one of his many incarnations; the ways to meet your end in Fallen London are many, and the consequences are generally negligible. Those who acquire too many deaths, and in so doing too much scarring, are exiled to the Tomb Colonies

Though inconvenient to die (it really doesn't feel good at all), it's regarded by the general populace as being no more inconvenient than a few bee stings, or other such troubling but trifling circumstances. Pain, and much of your day lost to attempting to recover, but little else otherwise

The biggest consequence of a death is that your first one guarantees you will belong to the Neath, forever. You will never again be able to return to the Surface, because contact with the sunlight will kill you permanently. This is also true, of course, if you have spent long enough in the Neath, but the timeline is hazy at best. No one can say for certain that it's been too long unless you attempt it, and that's a risk rarely actually taken beyond in one's daydreams. With a death, however, there is no longer any doubt about the situation. You know, for certain, that you have officially lost your chance, and that this is your new home, now and forever

As mentioned above, there are a few methods of permanent death. For example, there are a select few poisons capable of killing you permanently, though they're rare and expensive. You could be exposed to sunlight (and, in fact, some Tomb Colonists, when they feel they've lived long enough and are ready for it, will return to the Surface to allow themselves to be consigned to the sunlight and witness it one final time.) If you're chopped apart properly and dismembered, or sustain a few truly grievous injuries that destroy your body too terrible to render it repairable, you will be permanently dead

Permanent death is such a rare visitor to the Neath that there are often vigils held for the permanently dead before being interred, just to ensure there is truly no chance of their coming back. Surgeons pay citizens who are capable of lying quite still and can tolerate the pain to allow themselves to be cut open to demonstrate to their students

#fallen london #fallen london guide #fallen london lore #failbetter games

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authorandimarie · 4 months

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Pre-order now!

Shadows Dark and Deadly is my dark and steamy queer gaslamp romantasy and it's coming out June 15th!

Pre-order here!

Add it on Goodreads!

Blurby blurb:

Slowly freezing in the snow and a knife to the gut are two awful ways to die. And Cerise would very much like to avoid both. A mysterious man steps from the shadows with an offer of food, a bed, and a roof over her head. The catch? She'll have to become his assassin apprentice. Her hands are already stained with the blood of five men. What's a little more? But training to be an assassin isn’t easy and learning to control her magic even less. To complicate things, Cerise can’t fight her attraction to her mentor, Keir, or his charming best friend, Damara. It wouldn't be a problem if she wasn't a dirty street rat. Well, that and society isn't ready for two women to be together. Everything heats up as an arsonist stalks the streets. His targets? Brothel owners and Cerise's aunt is at the top of his list. Can Cerise get strong enough to help Keir hunt him down or will her aunt become another tragic death that haunts her nightmares? Shadows Dark and Deadly is the first book in the dark and steamy Red Society series. It's perfect for fans who love character driven stories, rich world building, tortured shadow daddies, deadly assassins, angst and banter in equal measure, and sizzling why choose romances (MF and FF pairings). This book is for adults 18 and over. It features mature language, graphic violence, dark themes, and explicit content. Reader discretion is advised. For a complete list of content warnings, check here.

#preorder #coming soon #indie author #indie books #romantasy #fantasy romance #shadow daddy #queer books #queer #disaster bi mc #bisexual #polyamourous #Shadows Dark and Deadly #Red Society Series #murder batman #writers on tumblr #i can't believe it's finally coming out

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peanutsstudio · 1 year

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San Diego Comic Con 2023!

We're getting ready for Comic-Con International: San Diego, the annual comic book convention and nonprofit multi-genre event is a colossal effort. The creative team at Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates works with the licensing office in NYC, Peanuts Worldwide, to bring the booth to life. The four-day event, which opens with Preview night on Wednesday, July 19th, and then runs from Thursday, July 20 through Sunday, July 23, requires hours of work to plan, prep, and stage boxes, at our office, headquartered in Santa Rosa, Calif. We filled four pallets (labeled for specific days, so the booth has inventory each morning!), then wrapped them to ship.

The creative team at Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates prepares for San Diego Comic-Con 2023! But it’s not all work for the creative team. There’s always a little time to play around and have some fun.

From left, Caitlin Leonard, Tifanee Smith, Amanda Fagundes, Alena Carnes, Emma Harmon (front), Jewel Jackson, Cameron Nilsson (back), and Karri Kenoyer. Here’s a sneak peek of this year’s Comic-Con exclusive hat, celebrating all things Snoopy for Beagle Scouts fans, courtesy of Paige Braddock, Chief Creative Officer here at the Schulz Studio.

Patch design by Mary Shyne. On the show floor, you’ll find the Peanuts gang at Booth #1635, where you’ll be a happy camper to discover Snoopy himself, making in-person appearances throughout the con.

Preparing to set up camp on the show floor. Look for the Peanuts gang at Booth #1635.

Hope to see you at Comic-Con! Join us in the Gaslamp at the Peanuts Pop-up shop, where we’ll set up camp at 200 J. Street, Suite 105, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. daily. We have plenty of activities planned for our guests and some fun new merch for outdoor enthusiasts.

Join us Saturday for the Peanuts panel!

Discover the all-new animated Peanuts content in the works at WildBrain Studios for Apple TV+, the home of all Peanuts content. Includes a sneak peek of Camp Snoopy (2024), the adventures (and misadventures) of Snoopy and his Beagle Scouts at summer camp. Plus enjoy an exclusive reveal of some exciting new Peanuts projects. Panelists include Rob "Boots" Boutilier (executive producer/series director, Camp Snoopy, WildBrain Studios), Adam Arsenault (director, WildBrain Studios), Paige Braddock (chief creative officer, Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates), Jason Cooper (senior writer, Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates), and Melissa Menta (senior vice president, marketing and communications, Peanuts Worldwide). Damian Holbrook (senior writer, TV Guide magazine) moderates. And finally, big “congrats” and a special shout-out for this Eisner nomination! In the category of best Comics-Related Book.

Charles M. Schulz: The Art and Life of the Peanuts Creator in 100 Objects, by Benjamin L. Clark and Nat Gertler (Schulz Museum)

Schulz Studio Editorial Director, Alexis Fajardo also contributed to this project. See you in San Diego!

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defire · 22 days

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Dance of Death Chapter 11:

Druid Justice

Content: beating, choking, minor character death, death threats, restraints, captive whumpee, gang beatdown, multiple whumpers

Nife poked her head out into the miasma, and clambered out of the gaps and onto the massive pillar that had nearly crushed her twenty minutes ago. She paused while she took a couple more breaths of slightly cleaner air, feeling her limbs ache and tremble with the lack of oxygen.

She heard muffled voices above her, and from the darkness, she was pretty sure it was past dusk now.

"Alright, but nobody has seen Nife Raizden?"

"I'm not searching the bottom so I can arrest her corpse."

"Nobody asked you to, Wick. Nobody asked you to."

Nife sighed a little. She wasn't exactly surprised that they were going to try to arrest her. She also didn't want to be arrested, no matter how bad a situation she was in. When a Druid was arrested, they often came out beaten up. Sometimes they came back a few fingers short.

And if she did get out with all of her digits, they'd fine her family into oblivion for her conduct today.

She couldn't just stand there strategizing in the miasma, so she achingly found a way around, then carefully climbed back up in a side street fire escape, and finally lowered her mask and took a real breath of air.

"Oh, hell, I missed you." She said to the oxygen, finally blinking the tears out of her burning eyes as they adjusted to the very dim light of a gaslamp in the street.

"No way." Came a voice behind her.

She stiffened and glanced back. There was a silhouette at the other end of the alley she was standing near.

"Is that her?" The person said. "I see a Druid!"

Of course, he'd seen the little tops of her horns peeking out of her curls. Now would’ve been a great time to have normal Druid magic, but as always, Nife only knew how to draw attention.

Nife spun down around the corner, dashing down a ramp to escape from the voices behind her. She was dipping down into the miasma again. At least they wouldn't be able to see her--unless one of them was a Druid.

"Are you sure?" The voice had a very distinctive speech impediment that made "are" sound more like "awr".

"I saw horns!" The other one replied. "It's her! It's got to be!"

Nife kept running, hearing their voices behind her.

"Acorn, your eyes are better in the dark, you go."

Shit. Nife thought. Acorn was a Druid name. He'd see her heat easily in this night chill.

"Wick, don't leave me!"

Her boots were so damn loud. She envied Kit's tough bare soles that could dash quietly up this walk faster than anyone she knew, and for double her time too. She was already getting winded as she heard them coming behind her.

The road she was on continued downward toward the Ink Lake district, which was terrible for her, because many older roads dipped down into the flooded old residential district.

Her feet splashed into the putrid blackness of the rotted water. She looked around for something to climb, realizing that all her recreational climbing hadn't prepared her for climbing fast. She'd better get faster, right now, if possible.

Following the smell of bacteria and mold., she plunged southward, now up to her shins in water. The Druid was gaining on her. She'd only made a few blocks now, and the lights were gone.

Finally she reached a fire escape. She climbed up and the first rung in her hand broke in the middle, making her stomach lurch in terror of falling before she caught herself on the next rung with a knee. This close to the rot, she was lucky that the sides held. She pushed onward, upward.

Slowing down to collect her energy, she made it up three levels. Reaching down with her nightsight, she saw the Druid's heat, hesitating at the bottom. He had to know she was up there.

Faintly she hoped that he'd choose to leave her alone because of their shared race. He had been standing there hesitating for a while.

This was the only habitable building for several blocks in the area. She had chosen it because she hoped that the other heat blobs inside would disguise her from her pursuer’s nightsight, making her look like a resident.

Then her heart sank as she heard him call out.

"Wick." Acorn said through his mask. "Help me... I hear her."

"Don't tell me this is a heights thing again." Nife heard the other enforcer's voice quite a way off.

Nife grinned down into the misty thick air below her. Acorn was a wimp.

She pushed her toe against a pane of glass in the window to her left. She reached over to feel if it budged. It had a little give, but it was a slide-up window. Bracing against the ladder, she pushed it a bit, then got her boot-toe in it and yanked upward the rest of the way. She crawled in carefully and knelt just under the sil, panting. She didn't shut the window so she could hear the progress of her pursuers.

As she caught her breath, she brushed curls off her forehead and wiped sweat off onto her puffy shirt sleeves. She could feel her heartbeat in the wound in her leg–another bad sign–but she had started to feel like she could escape.

Acorn was complaining at Wick, who was already on the ladder. At least Wick wouldn't be able to see her slipping away.

The people who stood across from Nife were all Druids, which she could tell by the slightly warmer spots on their foreheads or temples where the horns started, and they watched her silently without even a gesture. Nife was staring back at them, not sure what to do.

The room she had entered was completely dark. But looking up, she realized that there was quite a bit of warmth here in this unheated room. Over twenty bodies were standing around at the edges and in the next rooms, and they were completely silent. All facing her.

The only sound she could hear was the rain hitting the glass window, and the muffled steps of bare feet gradually climbing up the ladder outside.

"Acorn?" Wick called back. "You got your whistle on you? Can you call backup?"

"What abawt yours?" Acorn called back. "Come awn, it's just a scrawny little kid."

Scrawny, huh. That was quite a derogatory way to describe her lanky build.

Wick sighed, looked in at the blackness where Nife was, and called back to Acorn.

"Go get reinforcements. I'll go in ahead."

Nife had to move, now. She looked across the room at the warmth of the Druids that were all facing her. They stood there, creepily silent, and she wasn't sure if she'd rather face an enforcer or the horde of silent Druids that were staring her down with unseeing eyes, watching her with their nightsight the same way she was watching them.

The enforcer fumbled at the windowsill.

"Acorn?" He called back. "Are you coming?"

"I'm coming." Came a very faraway call.

Wick hesitated, sighed and pushed himself in.

Suddenly there was a scuffle at the window as the Druid lunged right past her, grabbed the man in the window, and yanked him inside.

She heard a gagging noise, struggling and gasping in the blackness. She focused through her horns and made out the two forms--the Druid on top with his legs out for support, and Wick kicking and struggling beneath him. She knew it was Wick who was on the bottom of the scuffle, because his feet were terribly cold from being doused in the lake.

"Wait, stop," She said. "He can't breathe, man, what are you doing?"

"Choking him." Came the strained response as she saw the Druid pressing in dangerously hard on the trachea.

She stepped toward him as she spoke--

"Just let him up for a minute. Please."

The Druid let his thumbs relax a bit. The Bane gasped in a terrified breath, whimpering slightly as he tried to recover.

"What." The Druid said.

"You're just going to choke him for being around?" Nife said, searching in her mind for something that might sound reasonable to someone that seemed kind of crazy. "The other guy went for backup. Aren't you going to clear out before the other enforcers arrive?"

Now the Druid turned a bit more to face her, with the Bane struggling ineffectively to get his hands off his throat.

"You're not working with Acorn, are you?"

"Working with..." Nife hesitated. Why would she be working with the other enforcer?

"Who the hell are you?" Someone said from behind her--one of the other Druids watching this scene unfold.

"Who is she?" The man asked Wick.

"Look I was just running away," Nife interjected. "I have nothing to do with this. I just don't want to watch someone get murdered to death."

"You're a Druid, right?" The man said, betraying that he couldn't' see as well as Nife could. Most people couldn't, but there were a few exceptions.

"I am," Nife said.

"So, he's a Bane." The Druid said. "Can't you tell?"

Nife didn't answer.

"So why do you care?" The Druid said.

"Why do I care?" Nife repeated. "Why do I care that I'm watching a possible murder unfold?"

"Oh, this is definitely gonna be a murder." The man said. "Well don't just stand there, come 'ere and help if you're gonna help."

There was a harsh blow as the man struck Wick in the jaw.

Nife forced herself out of her shock and lurched toward them. At the same time the other Druids gathered around them. Nife grabbed the leader's wrist and attempted to yank him away from the victim. When that didn't work, she used the hilt of her dagger to punch the guy in the back till he turned around with a curse in Nife's direction.

As he reached to grab the offending hand, Nife ducked back under the crowd of arms and legs of the other Druids, who were all focused on Wick.

Nife realized with a sickening churn in her stomach that the man was being kicked onto his stomach and tied up tightly, his squirming body held down by a forest of feet and hands while a couple Druids tied him up.

If she kept going, Nife thought she might be able to sneak out the opposite window without any of these Druids noticing that a witness was escaping until it was too late.

Suddenly an arm came into her path from the hallway, looped around over her shoulders, and dragged her back toward the others.

"No wandrin off naw," The Druid said in a soft voice.

"Is it illegal to use the latrine now?" Nife whispered.

"Don try dat shit wid me," The soft voice went on just as gently, but the grip was like iron. "I saw everyting."

Nife elbowed back into her ribs once, then again, harder, and all she got was a grunt. She flipped the knife down, prepared to drive it into the woman's thigh. And then her arm just froze there for a moment.

Do it, she told herself. You have to. Defend yourself.

But I've never stabbed anyone! She wanted to scream.

She was just staring around herself, hand shaking as she tried to get the will to drive it down into the muscles of the woman's leg.

"Good, she didn't leave." The leader was saying. "Get that newbie over here. That you, Breeze?" He frowned into the darkness to make out the face of the person dragging Nife.

"It's me." Breeze confirmed, and the tone sounded like a damn threat.

"Let me go," Nife said. "I don't want to have to hurt you, but I will."

Someone let out a short laugh, but Breeze seemed to suddenly notice the knife, slightly cooler in Nife’s warm hands. She lowered her arm to grab it from Nife, who jerked her hand away and quickly ducked out of Breeze's grasp.

She had ducked into a corner in a now-crowded dining room, where most of the Druids had gathered around the Bane captive. Some of them knelt by him on the mildewy carpet, some leaned against the bare walls with glances around the corners, as if to make sure they weren't going to be interrupted.

With a glance, Nife could see that even with perfect planning and speed, she'd have to get through one or two of them if she wanted to reach the sliding back door to the patio.

"Hey newbie," The leader said, delivering a booted kick to the enforcer's side. The prisoner let out a telling little sob. He was crying. "Come 'ere, newbie. You weren't a lotta help back there, but this part's an everybody game."

Another kick.

"Wait. Stop." Nife said. "You're just going to kidnap someone and start kicking them? Because... why? His race? His job?"

Aqua stepped over the Bane and grabbed her by the collar. He pushed her back a couple steps, and several other Druids followed her back. Nife thumped against the wall, looking down at the shorter man with confusion. He pressed his fingertips down roughly into her hair, rubbing a thumb up her forehead till it met her horns, as if he was double-checking that she was really a Druid.

"I don't understand." He said, through his teeth. "You're one of us. Aren't you? I don't understand."

"But you're hurting him." She said, still open-mouthed, refusing to accept what she was hearing. "Don't you hear him?"

Aqua punched her in the stomach.

Nife doubled forward, somehow not expecting that. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward the Bane, with the curse–

"Two-timing bitch."

She struggled against his grip, and finding that too strong, she resorted to the knife, slashing it around and upward toward his arm. He saw it last minute and released her, and she fell on the side of her thigh, scrambling backward as they reached and kicked in her direction.

"She kin feed the teeth too," Breeze was saying from behind them.

"She's a Druid!" Aqua kicked at her and just missed as she flattened herself against the floor and slashed her knife across a booted shin.

She'd been trained to fight Banes.

"Aqua, there's no point in letting a two-face live. We gotta waste 'er."

Nife was almost to the opposite wall of the dining room, hoping to cross into the hall and jump out the window at the end. A kick hit her in the cut leg this time and she screamed, cringing over her shin. "Rgh--not the leg!"

Their reaction to that was to start kicking her exclusively in the leg. A hand clamped hard on her shoulder to keep her from wriggling further. Another kick.

She screamed again and cursed, trying to protect her leg with the other one. It burned. At this rate they'd overpower her and "feed her to the teeth", whatever that meant. She couldn't hurt them. She couldn't hurt a person. She'd never hurt someone on purpose before.

She was seeing stars from how badly she was hyperventilating, and from the pain.

I'm going to die! She was panicking. I should really do something about that!!

She pulled a knife in her main hand–her left–and growled through her teeth.

The pain was lost in a sweaty adrenaline rush of limbs and flesh and blood. The smell of blood, rushing through her nostrils, disgusting and vibrant.

"Fuck it! You asked for it."

She was cutting, throwing, and scrambling toward the openings she made. Knives shot from her hands as she kept out of their reach.

"Hell, a knife?" Someone shouted. "She's throwing knives at us!"

She cursed as more ran down the right side of the corridor and yelped as she dodged a spear-thrust. The third dagger hurtled into the face of the spearman and she staggered back into the dining room, armed with the fourth.

She stabbed that in and had no time to retrieve it as she slipped out of their reach once more. The only remaining option was the window she'd come in by, and if she wasn't mistaken there was--

Fuck. Someone there.

Something hit her in the back of her head and she felt time slow and pause. She felt dazed and confused. Was this the fifth knife she was throwing, or the sixth?

Someone came up behind her as she tottered, almost falling to her knees, catching herself just in time. They were moving so slowly. Were they just that confident, or were they really that slow?

It occurred to her that she had been trained to fight Banes. The fast ones. She felt a short smirk cross her features. Even if she had to kill, she'd be glad to get out of here. The one behind her reached at her head and she stabbed behind herself with the sixth knife, leaving it buried just right of their crotch.

"How about I just say my farewells and leave you to it?" She panted, as the one behind her toppled.

And their answer was to laugh.

"Okay, I can work with that too." She muttered as a guy came toward her armed with something that must be long from his posture--fuck, those were short. Tonfa?!

When it whipped out and knocked into her jaw from the left, her leg couldn't take the weight and she was on her knees before she realized it.

Her stiletto was in her hand. She pressed it against her attacker's stomach and released the blade. It shot into him, and she yanked it out and mule kicked the other guy from the ground, then she was on the move.

She kicked and sliced with her last dagger, and her feet punched into either leather armor or flesh as she evaded the swings of weapons--mostly. And she found herself with her back to the wall, facing Aqua with the rest of them right around him forming a ring.

Her breath was so ragged it hurt, and she couldn't think straight, not to mention where she'd been hit, especially her leg, was about the only thing she could think about in the first place.

Aqua grabbed her by the throat with his right hand and the wrist with his left. Apparently his nightsight was at least good enough to notice when she was armed. Close up, she could see his recognizably cold, long nose. Many of the other Druids closed in around her now.

Aqua squashed her throat back into the wall, and when she kicked at him, he kicked at her wounded leg, over and over again, till she would've screamed, but she couldn't breathe in or out past the choking hand. Her leg felt like it was being ripped apart. Tears rolled down her face as her throat squelched in an attempt to breathe.

"Let go. Let go." He was saying, gripping her hand above the stiletto, crushing her knuckles. She genuinely couldn't hold on, but his hand was actually keeping her from letting go completely .

"Let go!" He kicked her again as her tears ran over his thumb.

"I am," She tried to say, lips quivering.

Maybe he saw her try to form the words, or maybe he guessed, but he twisted his grip, pinched the handle and whisked it out of her fingers. The kicking stopped for the moment, mercifully.

"Anybody hurt?" He said over his shoulder, giving her a couple wheezes of breath before choking back up on her.

Several of them answered, but several just lay on the ground, bleeding out or already dead.

"Ringa's gotta knife in 'is gut." The words came through clearly, but didn't make a lot of sense. Nife saw stars in the corner of her vision. She was tapping and straining against his grip, panicked tears pouring out of her eyes as the Druids named off two others that she'd killed.

She could see Aqua's face wrench in anger.

"You... murderer!" He said, fingers squeezing tighter into her throat. "Killing your own kind! Treble--Ringa--Melody--" He kicked her leg for every name. She choked and struggled weakly against his grip.

She couldn’t breathe. She grimaced and pried at his fingers, terrified to see the lights and heat fading from her consciousness.

"Aqua, you gonna kill her?" Someone said to him.

He let her get a little bit of air, probably to make sure he didn't kill her yet.

"A-corn..." She gasped. "He's coming."

Breeze laughed, standing across the room with her arms folded and watching her and Aqua scuffling.

"Acorn's with us." Breeze said. "You ain't got that yet?"

Aqua closed his fingers around her neck again, and Nife's chest heaved uncontrollably, trying to bust open the blocked passageway to no avail. All she could think was "I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

Her head ached and her lips began to tingle; she was panicking. She was tugging and clawing with her left hand on his sleeved arm, kicking more weakly now, and when she did, he would kick back so hard her shin felt like it was going to shatter if she got another one.

"Please," She mouthed, but he didn't let go.

She vaguely heard them talking, and then suddenly there was a release and she gasped in, and it was after the oxygen flooded her lungs that she was falling on her knees, arms trembling.

They kicked her down till her chest hit the ground. There were hands behind her, pulling at her arms. Trapping them behind her back with a painful jerk and twist to each one. She was still fuzzy as she tried to get her breath back. Aqua dug his fingers into her wrists hard enough to bruise as he tied them together so tight that the rope bit hard into her skin. He stood up and stomped on her butt a couple times, taking a statuesque victory pose.

"Job well done," He remarked.

"No no wait," She panted, keeping her head up as she tried to remember how to negotiate. "I have something you want... I think..."

"What, you got some more Banes hiding somewhere?" She heard Aqua's voice above her as she stared into the carpet.

A groan scraped out of her throat. The other prisoner was actively crying.

"Nah, we're gonna feed 'er to the teeth," Breeze said. "Aqua, she ready to go?"

"Now hold on," He said. "I think she deserves some payback first."

Nife's breath caught halfway when she heard that.

"Wait, payback for--"

"Yeah, payback" He snarled, stomping her again. "I'm gonna hurt you for every one of my friends you killed. And then we're gonna kill you."

Fuck, I knew it, She thought, closing her eyes against the despair that choked up her throat. They're going to kill me.

First chapter: Next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

Per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version of Dance of Death.

For anyone following along on this story that wants the canon NSFW version of the story, you can get the book on amazon for $0.99, but I just want to make it possible for anyone to access.

If you like this book, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review of Dance of Death on Amazon.

#lady whump #female whumpee #multiple whumpers #gang whump #whumpblr #whump novel #martial artist whumpee #whump writing #whump beating #beat down #choking whump #restraints whump #defiant whumpee #innocent whumpee #whump #whump community #whump readers

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landboundstar · 5 months

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Fit To Print - Chapter 1

Title might change but part of a Superman AU fanfic to exorcise plot demons.

This AU is a gaslamp set genderbent Lois and Clark (Or Lewis and Clara as it were) set around 1900.

Taking inspiration from history and canon, but playing til I get a story I like.

No content warning for this chapter.

“Are you lost, miss?”

Clara turned, her skirt brushing against her boots, as she moved. And nearly sighed with relief to see one of the older newsboys there, his familiar face breaking into a grin.

“See if I bring you chestnuts the next time it snows.” Her voice slipped out of the proper elocution her teachers had trained her with and into the countrified cadence that was more common around the farm where she was raised.

The boy grinned over his stack of papers and saluted her with his cap before turning back to the bustling street to hawk his wares.

And it was time for Clara to go to work.

She reminded herself that it was time to write another letter home, her parents’ words of praise and stories about the farm and town and all of the people she knew back home still ringing in her ears as if she had just been talking to them in the farmhouse kitchen and not reading them over a slice of toast and jam in the lodging house where she had rooms. Then, she wove her way to her desk, greeting her colleagues as they wished her good morning.

Her colleagues.

Most mornings when she came into the Daily Planet building, she heard some version of the newsboy's question. And most were neither jesting or particularly friendly when they asked.

She belonged here. Just as much as the typists and typesetters.

And they didn't pay her to just let her mind wander.

They paid Clara to find a story, follow it, and write it up. After all, she was a reporter.

She was typing, eyes hidden by spectacles as she glanced at her notes while finishing her most recent story. She reread it quickly, eyes scanning for errors, but her writing had no egregious spelling or grammatical errors. More than that, it told the story about the attempts to sabotage the newly completed suspension bridge that spanned the water leading to Metropolis and the arrest of the saboteurs.

“Finished”. Clara sighed, and looked up to see her story pulled free from the typewriter.

“Nice work, Miss Kent. Good story.”

That might be true, but Clara was sure that was not why Lewis Lane was standing by her desk, reading her article. He was another reporter, and one who covered even more stories than she did.

“The boss asked if we could both go into their office to discuss a story.”

“Both of us?”

“That was what I was told. Shall we?”

Clara took his hand and stood, following Lewis into the editor's office.

Behind her desk, Mrs. Perry- White sat, a brass plaque with the Daily Planet's image behind her. More than a mere figurehead, she was a formidable editor, and ran the newspaper that she had inherited from her late husband efficiently. It made the Daily Planet one of the city's most successful newspapers.

Even if some of her decisions raised eyebrows.

Like hiring female reporters.

Still, Mrs. Perry-White had never treated her differently from any other reporter, either with praising her or pinning her ears back for a mistake. Or, as she had been told often enough, “Your skirts, Miss Kent, do not write for me. Your hands and your brains do.”

It always made her nervous to stand before that shining wooden desk when called into the office though.

And the next words did nothing to soothe her anxiousness.

“Ah good. Lane, if you would close the door.”

The wooden door clicked into place gravely.

Then, Mrs. Perry-White lifted her head and looked them both in the eye.

“I have an assignment for the two of you.”

#superman #au fic #genderbend #lois lane #clark kent #reporters gonna report #gaslamp #writing

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illarian-rambling · 4 months

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Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

Five Senses Tag

Rules: share a snippet to represent each of the five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, smell)

Let's see if Secrets of Salis (MG book 2) has anything good!

Sight:

Well, slather me in radium and call me a sorcerer…. Astra’s eyes grew wide as she took in the spotless streets and sculpted stucco columns. It was like stepping from hell into heaven. Fountains made flowing music on every corner and there were even decorative pines in planters along the sidewalks. Every window frame was plated in brass, turned luminous by the wrought iron gaslamps.

And the people! For once in her life, Astra saw no humans, goblins, or selkies to balance things out—just a sea of white and gray faces framed with donkey-like ears. The elves here dressed in delicate pastels, not even the ash from the foundries beyond daring to cross the inner wall. Most walked at a stately pace, shooting her vardo the sort of well-bred glares the witch was accustomed to in Yewbury.

“This place is fuuuucked,” she whispered.

Sound:

The shades giggled as she tried to breathe heavily, but the air wouldn’t come. This time, they sounded like little Agri and Twayun who’d lived at the end of her street.

At the end of this street though, Vermir could finally see her destination. She hadn’t been certain of the location, hence why she’d set down the door a ways away. It wasn’t like she’d really been in Unity for that long, despite haunting it for nearly a year. Even so, getting the directions wrong galled her.

Taste:

Astra awoke slowly and miserably. The first sensation that came back to her was, unfortunately, taste. This was unfortunate because her mouth tasted like a week-dead mushroom.

Touch:

The second sensation to return was touch. This was even more unfortunate for two reasons. One, she was tied to a chair. Two, she was dressed in the itchiest, most unflattering shift known to man.

Smell:

Mashal gave a lungless sigh. “We’re getting close…”

Astra laughed from her place within the vardo. “Sure are! When you can smell the pig shit, you’re officially within the city limits of Nakaow. I’m pretty sure that’s the law, at least.”

“I don’t have a sense of smell.” Mashal tapped his sculpted bronze and steel nose for emphasis.

The witch winced at her misstep, then suddenly took on a thoughtful expression. “You know, I could try n’ build ya one. I fixed you up with those temperature sensors and that new arm on the way down—I reckon smell wouldn’t be too much of a bother after alla’ that.”

Briefly, Mashal actually considered it, before shaking his head. “No, I think we have bigger things to focus on right now. And I though I don’t remember what pig shit smells like, I’m pretty keen on keeping it that way.”

This was surprisingly difficult with one of my two protags missing three of his five senses

I'll tag @mysticstarlightduck @abalonetea @elizaellwrites and anyone else who wants in :)

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #five senses tag

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asiogie · 1 year

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YOU MET THEM WHERE 💀

bro twitchcon badge pickup day me and ro (my twt mutual not dtblr ro) are eating at old spaghetti factory in san diego gaslamp district bc it was like just down the street from the convention centre and ro goes to pee and im like damn whats taking her so long she's been pissing for years. she comes back SHAKING like "sylvee is sitting at the entrance waiting to be seated" and we had to walk right past them on the way out and when we see them the first person i noticed was hannah (ro didn't recognize her bc she has a big gay wlw crush on sylvee and tunnel visioned) and anyways we asked for a picture and they were very nice and hannah said we were the first fans to ask them for a pic at twitchcon (bc it hadnt even started yet)

#sorry for the ted talk #i was very nervous about meeting ccs but they gave us a Very Good first experience #love them #ask

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sam4samina-blog · 1 year

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Alternate History: This subgenre of fantasy offers a fictional account set within a real historical period, often with actual historical events included although rewritten to include some element of magic or fantasy. There are often "what if" scenarios that occur at important points in history and present outcomes that are different than what's on the historical record. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell His Majesty's Dragon

Arcanepunk Fantasy: Magic and science exist in the world simultaneously—they are two separate fields, but complement each other and are used together. Unlike Steampunk, Arcanepunk is not limited to Victorian-era London. Some people use the term Arcanepunk interchangeably with Dungeon Punk and even Magepunk. Arcanepunk is a more useful term, however, as the 'arcane' refers to magic that is not divine. Shadowrun Perdido Street Station

Arthurian Fantasy: Fantasy that incorporates the tale of King Arthur in some way or set in the same period (Celtic or period English history) and the courtly romantic elements. The Once and Future King The Mists of Avalon

Assassin Fantasy: The name of this sub-genre says it all—these are stories about assassins set within a fantasy world. The grey morality of an assassin is incredibly useful in these worlds. Jhereg Graceling

Comic Fantasy: These stories are humorous and often set in fantasy worlds, and might include parodies of other more serious works. Discworld The Princess Bride

Court Intrigue: With a high level of complexity, Court Intrigue Fantasy is about power, relationships, secrets, and the conniving characters who make up the high court of the land. The royal castle is filled with important people, traditions, and rituals—a difficult place to navigate surely, but that is what makes this sub-genre interesting. A Song of Ice and Fire The Goblin Emperor

Dark Fantasy: A fantasy subgenre that combines elements of fantasy with horror. Dark fantasy is often used to refer to horror fantasy and include stories about demonic creatures, mummies, vampires, and the like. The Blade Itself The Sandman

Fantasy of manners: This subgenre contains stories that rely heavily on the Comedy of Manners, which focuses on social commentary. Often taking place in an urban setting, this type of story will contain very little magic or fantastical creatures. Rather, it will focus on morality and social structures, particularly for women, sacrificing an elaborate plot in some cases to do so. Swordspoint The Tropic of Serpents

Flintlock Fantasy: Flintlock Fantasy is set in an era where flintlock technology is used, but steam power is not—specifically, it may be Steampunk's cousin, but it is not Steampunk. What makes this sub-genre different from Gunpowder fantasy is the specificity of the gunpowder technology and that it tends to be influenced by history. Flintlock Fantasy is considered by some to be a sub-sub-genre of Gunpowder Fantasy, and others see the terms as interchangeable. The only real pitfall of using the terms interchangeably is that gunpowder was in use long before and long after flintlock technology, which creates a somewhat murky definition. Powder Mage Lightbringer

Gaslamp fantasy: Gaslamp Fantasy is a genre bending sub-genre that belongs to both Fantasy and Historical Fiction and borrows tropes, themes, and even characters from Gothic fiction—the supernatural features heavily in sub-genre. Gaslamp was coined in order to separate works from the ever-growing Steampunk sub-genre because Gaslamp works are not 'punk.' Infernal Devices A Great and Terrible Beauty

Grimdark: Grimdark is a subgenre of speculative fiction with a tone, style, or setting that is particularly dystopian, amoral, or violent. The term is inspired by the tagline of the tabletop strategy game Warhammer 40,000: "In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war." The Poppy War Prince of Thorns

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skyler10fic · 2 years

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Home for the Holidays: Evergreen Lane

By Skyler10

Summary: As Daisy and Carol’s relationship grows increasingly serious, Carol knows she can’t put off coming out to her parents any longer. It does not go well. Luckily, Daisy and her parents, Phil and Melinda, have a warm, welcoming home on a snowy Christmas Eve. A story of love (both romance and family) amidst the magic of Christmas even when things seem cold and dark.

See if you can spot all the holiday fic tropes! It's like a whole holiday bingo card in here.

Notes: There is some homophobia from Carol’s parents directly mentioned, in the flashbacks in italics in the middle as Carol recounts the story for Daisy. If that is a trigger for you, feel free to skip the section in italics and just enjoy the Philindaisy + Carol family fluff. :)

There will be three parts total: Christmas, a short bit at New Year, and then the following holiday season to wrap up. Here’s part 1!

Read on Ao3 | Listen to the fic soundtrack on YouTube

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It’s snowing. Of course, it’s snowing.

Carol’s boots crunched on the icy sidewalk as she pulled her hood up to shield her cheeks from the biting wind. Her duffle bag weighed heavy on her shoulder, but she walked as fast as she could without slipping. Her fury at her parents burned inside her against the winter chill.

Some white Christmas.

She brushed her glove against her cheek. She couldn’t cry now. The tears would freeze to her lashes.

The street lamps’ glow changed from harsh LED white to a comforting yellow. Carol paused and caught her breath as she walked past the brick sign: Evergreen Lane. The “gaslamps” of this historic neighborhood were solar-powered now, but they still held a distinctive home-like welcome. Naturally, they were wrapped in garland with wreaths at the top this time of year, and each house behind them was decorated in holiday cheer.

JOY! JOY! JOY! one yard sign blinked in bright neon. Carol winced at its blinding insistence as she passed. Others were more tasteful, making the burden she carried (both physical and emotional) a little lighter. It wasn’t until she arrived at one special house, though, that the protective ice around her heart thawed and she let herself feel the ache within.

It was just like a movie: perfectly imperfect. As the Christmas Eve snow fell, a string of lights drooped a bit in front of a big picture window with a cozy family scene, where a middle-aged dad and his grown daughter stood hanging new ornaments on an already-full tree. The girl was wearing reindeer antlers and a silly sweater, but Carol had never seen anyone so beautiful. A few of the tears escaped, but only because this was worth every one. She was worth every one.

Carol carefully made her way up the sidewalk. It was shoveled, but it’d be covered again by the morning. At the wreath-covered front door, Carol raised her finger to the glowing doorbell but hesitated. She hated to ruin their Christmas Eve like this, but she had no choice. She swallowed her pride and pressed the button. She heard the familiar jaunty bell ring and the cry of “I’ll get it!” followed by the laughter that made her heart sing. It was one of Carol’s favorite sounds in the world.

The door opened to reveal not just Daisy May Coulson, Carol’s beautiful girlfriend in full silly holiday apparel, but Phil, her dad, behind her and Melinda, her mom, coming up behind them.

“Carol?” Daisy asked, breathless laughter turning to concern. Carol opened her mouth to speak, but her lips trembled.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.” Carol shifted the duffle on her shoulder.

The family instantly understood.

“Come in, come in!” Phil ushered as Daisy opened the door wider. Once inside, Carol dropped her bag, closed the door behind her, and met Daisy’s worried expression as she took off her coat and gloves.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for coming here like this.”

This was met with a chorus of “No, no, not at all” and “Of course, you can come here” and “Anytime.”

Melinda took Carol’s coat and tucked the gloves in the pocket before hanging it on the hook next to the rest of the family’s. It didn’t escape Carol that though none of the hooks were labeled, that one had sort of become her own each winter, she’d been over here so much in the past few years. And there was a reason for that frequency.

“You’re always welcome here,” Melinda reassured. “But I have to ask as a mom, does your family know where you are?”

“I think so,” Carol began. Melinda didn’t seem convinced, so Daisy jumped in.

“Carol was going to come out to her parents tonight and tell them about us. They—well, they aren’t like you guys.”

“Oh,” Phil exhaled in sympathy as Melinda nodded in understanding.

“It went bad,” Carol explained and closed her eyes. “So so much worse than I…” She inhaled and Daisy wrapped her in a warm hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Daisy mumbled into her hair. Carol just held her girlfriend for a minute, aware that Phil and Melinda were looking on in sympathy. Carol pulled away from Daisy’s embrace and quickly wiped away the tears that had started to fall.

“But at least now it’s over.” Carol tried to put a shinier tinge on it to lighten the mood.

Daisy concluded, “And you don’t have to wonder anymore. And if they can’t see how freaking amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

“Yeah,” Carol sniffled a teary laugh. “Yeah, exactly.”

Phil jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “We’re not experts or anything, but some hot cocoa might help?”

“Yes, please.” Carol smiled a sad but genuine little smile and followed the family out of their entryway into the kitchen.

“I’ll make up the guest room,” Melinda said as her way of indicating Carol was welcome to stay as long as she needed. Phil got the cocoa ready while Daisy sat by Carol on the bar stools at the kitchen island. Daisy wrapped an arm around Carol, and Carol laid her head on Daisy’s shoulder.

“I was really hoping for a Christmas miracle,” Carol sighed.

“I know, babe.” Daisy gently rubbed Carol’s shoulder in comfort.

“I should have known.” Carol straightened as Phil approached with the cocoa mugs.

“Give ‘em time,” Phil encouraged. “You never know. And if not, I know it’s not the same, but you always have us. Whatever you need.” The sincerity in Phil’s steady gaze was nearly too much for Carol to bear. She nodded and said thank you and blew on her still-too-hot cocoa to avoid tearing up again at the contrast between the love in how Phil looked at her and the disgust on her own father’s face from an hour ago, a mile away.

Eventually, after they had cheered Carol up a bit and it was clear she was going to be okay, Phil glanced at the clock on the oven, then turned to Daisy. “Your mom and I are headed to bed soon. Can you turn off the tree lights when you’re done?”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad. I got this,” Daisy said. Carol knew the “this” in question meant herself and the coming conversation, not the tree.

Phil nodded once. “Special Christmas pancakes in the morning. You’re gonna love ‘em, Carol. Goodnight, girls.”

“Night, Dad!” Daisy called. Carol almost echoed it but corrected herself. “Night. Thanks again!”

When Phil was out of earshot, Daisy took a sip of her cocoa and asked the inevitable question. “So…?”

Carol exhaled and started at the beginning of the evening.

—-----------

Her parents’ voices still echoed in her ears.

“Honey, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. What will our friends think? You can do whatever you need to do, but, well, just be careful. Don’t let anyone see you.” Her mother patted her hand. “It’s for the best.”

Carol rolled her eyes and removed her hand from the kitchen table.

“Carol, stop it.” Her dad huffed and scowled at her. “There’s so much you don’t know yet. Don’t call yourself… THAT. I won’t have it.”

“I do know.” Carol pled. “And I don’t care what your friends think. Don’t I matter? I’m not asking. I’m telling you, this is me, this is who I am.”

“No, you aren’t. It’s just not right. It’s not natural,” her dad concluded.

“Wasn’t there that one boy, the athletic one, in high school?”

“Mom,” Carol sighed, exasperated. “That was a long time ago, and I didn’t like him. He liked me.”

“Well,” her mom drew out the word as if Carol should reconsider. “I thought he was a very nice boy. He wanted to take you to prom. His mom told me so. I bet he’s home for the holidays too. I could…”

“MOM!” Carol shouted. “I just told you I have a girlfriend. I love Daisy.”

“I knew you were good friends, and she’s very nice,” her mom conceded. “But you can’t possibly think those things about such a sweet, normal girl. She’s your best friend, Carol. Isn’t that enough? Friends are so important.”

Carol stood up and groaned into her palms. “She’s queer too, Mom. I would know!”

“Don’t say that word in this house!” her dad demanded.

“It didn’t seem like it to me.” Her mom got up to clear the table and wash the dishes.

Carol wasn’t done. She slammed her hand on the table. “Why can’t you hear me? Why don’t you believe me? Tell me you’re disappointed, tell me you’re angry, whatever. But at least trust me that I know my own girlfriend. I AM gay.”

“No,” her dad said quietly but definitively.

“I am,” Carol turned to her dad, fire in her voice. “Merry Christmas, Dad. Your daughter is a lesbian.”

“No. I will not have a …” His bellows faded off, unable to even bring himself to say the word. “Not in this house.”

Her mom wrang a dish towel worriedly in her hands. “Just calm down, everyone. Carol, say you’re sorry and we can have a nice, family Christmas. Your brother will be home tomorrow…”

Carol turned to her mom in disbelief. “Say I’m sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry I’m gay?! Well, I’m not. I’m not sorry. I’m only sorry you’re too scared accept it.”

Her mom wouldn’t meet her eyes, but her dad did. He jumped up from the table, chair knocking out behind him.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “You should be ashamed. Ashamed of all of it. I will not have this in MY house on Christmas. Look at your mother! After all we’ve done for you, you’re gonna talk to her like that? Shame on you!”

“Are you? Are you ashamed of me?” Carol rose from the table and met his fury in equal measure, a snarl to her lips.

“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out, you ungrateful little bitch. Until you can apologize, you are not welcome in this house!”

“Joe!” her mother exclaimed in surprise. “Language!”

“No, he’s right.” Carol backed away. “It’s clear I’m not welcome here. Maybe I never really was.”

She made it to the doorway as she finished, then turned to run to her room.

She heard shouting from the kitchen, but she didn’t look back. She stuffed the things she’d unpacked back in her duffle bag: Daisy’s gift and cards for her parents, clothing, her phone charger, her travel toiletry bag… She looked around quickly for anything else of hers. She didn’t grow up in this house, so there wasn’t much in this frilly pastel guest room she would miss. Mementos of her childhood and teen years were either back home at her apartment or in storage.

She rushed to the back door, put on her winter outerwear, shoved her feet in her boots, and slipped out the side gate while her parents were still shouting. They never even heard her leave. No cries to come back. No offers to reconcile or urge her to stay so they could work it out.

Then again, she never expected her parents to take the news easily.

“That’s over the top, though,” Daisy finished her thought as Carol trailed off. “God. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Carol sighed. “And the thing is, it wasn’t just tonight. They’ve been like this my whole life, but hearing it so head-on, you know, so out there. At me….”

“It’s a lot.” Daisy rubbed her girlfriend’s back soothingly.

“Not just that. It’s almost a relief. I’m not crazy.” Carol sat up straighter in realization. “All of my life, I’ve been just taking it. Hiding myself to keep the peace. But when I left for college and they moved here, I thought maybe things would be better. Dad’s retiring, no Air Force appearances to keep up; Mom has new friends. But it’s just a different neighborhood with the same them. It’s like, me being gone most of the time made them even more controlling when I am there.”

Daisy nodded. “They feel like you’re slipping away from being their little girl?”

“I guess.” Carol rested her elbows on the counter and rubbed at her eyes. Then, to Daisy’s surprise, she let out a bitter laugh. “They really thought we were both straight. 100 percent convinced.”

Daisy giggled a little. “I mean, me, sure, I can blend in, but you?”

Carol gestured to herself and laughed again. “Really? This? You should have seen me in high school too. I even had the haircut.” She mimicked a short swoopy cut with her hand.

“Mmm,” Daisy hummed as she pictured it. “I like it this length. And when you tie it back and this part falls out…” she softly twisted a lock of a short front layer of Carol’s golden hair around her finger.

“Yeah?”

“I had purple streaks,” Daisy confided.

“That’s hot.” Carol was impressed, mainly that Melinda would have allowed it.

“Reward for my black belt,” Daisy explained.

“Ah.” Yeah, that made more sense.

Carol yawned, which made Daisy yawn and stretch.

Daisy stood up and gathered their now-empty cocoa mugs to rinse in the sink.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Daisy reminded, then whispered conspiratorially, “We better get to sleep before Santa comes.”

Carol smiled at Daisy’s silliness and joined her in sneaking down the hallway to not wake up Phil and Melinda.

They reached the lamp-lit guest room, where Phil had moved Carol’s duffle bag and Melinda had set out a fresh towel on clean bedding.

“Well, looks like this is my stop.” Carol shrugged, hands in her pockets.

“Yeah, looks like it.” Daisy echoed but didn’t move to go to her own bedroom.

Carol sat on the bed and stretched a hand out to Daisy, who eagerly took it but stayed standing in front of her. “I know it’s weird with your parents, like, right there, and we wouldn’t, you know, do anything, but I just…” she paused in her rambling and found the right words were the simplest. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Daisy read the vulnerability in her eyes. “Okay. Let’s sleep in here though. My room is a mess.” She grinned. “I cleaned the rest of the house for my grandparents coming tomorrow for Christmas lunch, but I wasn’t expecting bedroom company.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Carol exhaled a tired laugh. “If your parents find out tomorrow morning that you slept in here, we’re not going to be in trouble are we?”

“Nah, they just wanted you to have your own space, if you need it.” Daisy looked around the room. Her eyes landed on something Carol couldn’t see behind her at the moment, but later realized was in the vicinity of a photo of Daisy’s parents on their wedding day. “They really like you, you know.”

“Glad someone does,” Carol joked darkly. Daisy gently brushed her fingers through Carol’s hair in concern, helping Carol relax. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I’m really grateful for you guys and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Daisy opened her mouth and looked like she was going to say something serious, but closed it and started over, more teasing. “We should get ready for bed. Christmas at the Coulson house starts early. You have never seen two complete children like Mom and Dad on Christmas morning.” She shook her head in faux disapproval. Carol’s lips turned up in a hint of a smile, which accomplished Daisy’s goal. Satisfied, she walked to the door.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

As Daisy left, Carol got up and lifted her duffle to the bed to unpack what she’d need for the night.

She joined Daisy as she was brushing her teeth and they moved through their bedtime routine together. Carol took a brief shower before putting on a soft shirt and pajama pants and joining Daisy in bed.

Lit by the lamp on the bedside table, sleepy Daisy was irresistible. Carol drew her close under the covers and kissed her deeply.

“For real,” Carol whispered, “thank you.”

Daisy traced lightly down Carol’s face, from her forehead to the swell of her cheek to her jawbone. “Thank you for coming here, to me. Of all the places in the world. I’d understand if you didn’t after all your parents said.”

“That doesn’t matter. None of it,” she insisted. “I’d choose you, and being the real me, every time over the daughter they wish they had.” She kissed Daisy again before reaching to turn out the light.

“I love you,” Daisy whispered into the dark.

“I love you.” Carol pulled Daisy’s body close, and they held each other in silence until they drifted off.

—------------------

Daisy grumbled as the sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains in the guest room. It was extra bright this morning as it reflected off the snow and icicles hanging from the roof. She stretched and tried to remember for a second why she wasn’t in her room.

Voices sounded in the hallway. “Not in her room” and “should we knock or just let them…?” and “The pancakes … cold!”

Daisy woke up enough to roll over and kiss Carol’s shoulder. “Wake up, babe.” She kissed her exposed neck. “It’s Christmas!”

“Mmm… Daisy?” Carol mumbled, still half asleep, and turned over, squinting against the brightness of the light.

“Morning,” Daisy greeted. “Christmas morning.”

Carol’s face fell as it came back to her, why she was here, in Daisy’s guest bedroom instead of her own at her parents’ house.

A knock sounded at the bedroom door. “Girls? Pancakes are ready!” Melinda called through the door.

Daisy sat up and stretched more. “We’ll be right there, Mom!”

“Pancakes sound good.” Carol yawned and moved to get out of bed.

Daisy watched, indulging herself in a favorite sight: Carol getting dressed. Second, of course, to Carol getting undressed. But that was more fun at their own apartments with no waiting family members.

“Enjoying yourself?” Carol winked between pulling on soft yoga pants, a sports bra, and an Alumni Winter 10k snowflake hoodie from their university. Last winter, Daisy had said a hard no to running in the 10k but had provided a warm reception at the finish line, including buying her the hoodie and a cup of cocoa.

“Just remembering.” Daisy scrambled out of bed and touched the snowflake on Carol’s chest as she passed her on her way to the door.

“Hey.” Carol caught her and pulled her in for a brief good morning kiss. “I have better clothes for later, but is this okay for now?”

“It’s perfect,” Daisy confirmed, then sighed happily. “I’m sorry for why it happened this year, but waking up with you on Christmas morning…”

“Yeah. Me too.” Carol squeezed her hip before letting her go. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Daisy changed in her room while Carol got ready in the bathroom and then Daisy took her turn. When Daisy arrived in the kitchen, she couldn’t help how her heart warmed. Christmas music played from the living room speakers, but the smell of bacon and sound of conversation beckoned from the kitchen table. Carol fit so naturally here in her life, chatting with her dad as he flipped pancakes with red and green sprinkles and her mom as she poured the coffee for Carol and Phil and made tea for herself.

A lump formed in Daisy’s throat as she wished on all the magic of Christmas that every year would look like this, with the four of them together. She knew Carol’s lease was up for renewal soon, and a question burned in Daisy’s mind, but with everything going on with Carol’s parents, it didn’t seem like the right time, so Daisy let herself simply wish with all her heart that the people she loved most would wake up every Christmas morning for pancakes together and left it at that.

Serious adult discussions of leases together and making commitments and taking steps in their relationship could wait until after breakfast and gifts and a family photo that Carol would definitely be peer-pressured into later.

Daisy took her place at the table next to Carol and caught up on the conversation.

“Carol, we have to warn you,” Melinda began seriously, pulling her tea bag out of her mug and laying it neatly on her plate. “My dad can be a handful. And my mom might ask some questions. If it starts to sound like a job interview or an interrogation, we’ll keep her in check.”

“I don’t mind if they don’t mind me being here.” Carol shrugged and picked a slice of bacon from the serving plate. “I just feel bad that I’m interrupting your family time.”

Daisy shook her head and swallowed a mouth full of pancake. “They’ve been asking to meet you anyway. I already told them you weren’t coming and they were disappointed, so they’ll be thrilled to see you here.”

Phil chimed in, “In case Daisy hasn’t explained it, they are divorced, but they still take care of each other, as friends.”

“Friends is maybe stretching it,” Melinda quipped.

“But it’s still cute,” Daisy countered. “They live close by and drive each other places, to appointments and the country club. It works for them, better than marriage did, and we still get to see them together for family stuff.”

After breakfast ended, they made their way to the living room with that picturesque tree in front of the window looking out at a white Christmas. A family across the street was already out playing in it, with a half-built snowman and new sleds with bows still attached. Daisy sat on the floor near the tree as Phil sat in his chair and Melinda curled up on the couch, mug of tea in hand.

“Oh! I need to get your gifts.” Carol was gone for a moment, and Daisy had a moment with her parents as they waited. Melinda rose and wordlessly brought out two gifts from behind the tree, one addressed to both Daisy and Carol and one for Carol alone. She placed them next to Daisy’s gift for Carol in the front of the tree.

“Thank you,” Daisy said. “For all of this.”

Phil darted his eyes to the hallway to make sure Carol was still in the guest room. “We had a feeling she’d be over at some point this weekend now that her family lives so close. She’s a keeper, Daiz.”

“Yeah, she is.” Daisy smiled mischievously. She checked the hallway too to make sure the coast was clear. “I’m going to ask her something important very soon.”

Melinda sent her a knowing look. “Give it time. Not yet.”

“Mom,” Daisy groaned. “I know.”

“Wait, like?” Phil mimed putting on a wedding ring, eyes as big as saucers.

“No! I mean, ideally, yes, eventually, but first…” She mimed a roof, then turning a key and opening a door.

“Oh, okay,” Phil exhaled and sat back in his chair.

It’s not that Daisy hadn’t thought about doing it all at once, but she knew they needed to take things one step at a time. Learn how they worked as a unit 24/7, not just in between other things in their busy lives. Slow adjustments. Carol just barely came out to her parents, after all. Her mom was right. She needed to give it time.

Carol emerged with two cards, one for Phil and one for Melinda, and a wrapped gift for Daisy.

They thanked her as they received them and she urged them to open them as she sat on the floor next to Daisy. The cards held gift cards: a spa gift card for Melinda and a Top Golf gift card for Phil. Daisy and her parents knew those gift cards would be swapped, with a pain-relieving massage for Phil’s bad shoulder and golf for Melinda to get her own dad out of the house, as they did some Saturdays.

They were coincidentally great gifts, if mis-assumed as to the recipients. Carol’s gift to Daisy however, was truly perfect. Daisy realized what it was as she unwrapped it and saw the fabric. And then a box plopped out of the middle.

Carol watched her, ready to explain, “I saw the way you always hesitated by that shop window. If it doesn’t fit, they said they do exchanges with any size…”

It was a dress, or rather, The Dress, as Daisy referred to it in her mind. Soft and yet well-shaped, with a tasteful but deep v-shaped neckline. She’d pictured herself surprising Carol in it for a date.

Though the look wasn’t really complete without the necklace paired with it on the mannequin…

She looked to Carol and then to the small box in her lap. “Is this?”

Carol’s anticipation turned to delight. “Just open it!”

Sure enough, the silver necklace sat in the jewelry box on a long chain. “It’s perfect. Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.” Carol preened, confident she’d won at gift-giving. Phil urged them together for a photo with his phone camera.

Phil and Melinda opened gifts for each other, and Daisy opened gifts from them, all discussing and joking and explaining back stories behind them, with a few photos with significant gifts, but then it was Carol’s turn.

“Oh you didn’t have to…” Carol said in surprise as Daisy handed her the gifts from her parents. The one to Carol alone was a nice set of running pants and a moisture-wicking running shirt, not all that surprising given they knew she was a runner but very appreciated as this brand was out of Carol’s normal budget when it was full-priced.

“This one is for both of us,” Carol read on the tag of the remaining gift bag.

Phil and Melinda just exchanged knowing glances.

Daisy dramatically tossed a piece of tissue paper out of the bag and away. Carol followed suit. They peered inside in unison to find an envelope. Daisy took it out and opened it, giving her parents inquisitive eyebrow raises as she did.

She unfolded a piece of paper with a romantic lake cabin getaway voucher.

“Aw, guys,” Daisy said. “That’s so sweet.”

“Wow,” Carol took the paper and read the text there. “This looks amazing.”

Phil smiled to see their reaction. “It’s not for a specific date, but if you get on their website soon, they might still have availability for Valentine’s, or you could go sometime warmer like this summer. Up to you. You have all year to use it.”

“We’ve stayed there before in the fall,” Melinda added. “It’s a nice place and not too far of a drive.”

That answered a question in both Carol and Daisy’s minds. With Carol’s job in aerospace engineering plus grad school, and Daisy’s job in cybersecurity with its long hours, they had to be careful to plan their time off, and the less travel time the better to maximize that.

They’d have to look up the details on the location later. Carol still needed to open Daisy’s gift.

They watched as Carol tore open the wrapping paper and revealed a brand new pair of ice skates with rainbow laces. Carol held them up in pride as Phil took a photo with his phone.

“So you don’t have to rent them when we go,” Daisy explained. “It may hurt to break them in at first, though.”

“It’ll be worth it to not have to wear the ones at the rink.” Carol grimaced. “Thank you!”

Daisy knew that later in the day, the skates would come up in conversation and could already hear her grandpa telling Carol about Melinda’s ice skating competitions when she was little. Melinda had taught Daisy at the local public rink, and Daisy had taught Carol when they were in college. Daisy now pictured them skating hand in hand with their matching Pride-laced skates, maybe even at that lake for Valentine’s if they booked the cabin soon…

Her daydreaming was interrupted by her mom urging her to help clean up the wrapping paper and trash, as her grandparents would be here soon enough and they needed to get lunch ready.

Four cooks in the kitchen was too many, so Daisy and Carol put on winter gear and shoveled and salted the front walk and sidewalk in front of their house. They noticed the Coulsons’ elderly neighbors hadn’t done theirs yet, so of course that became their next task, and the neighbors to the west were out of town, so that became task three…

Soon enough, they had company as other neighbors saw them and joined in. In an hour, they had the whole block clean and safe to navigate. Exhausted, the girls headed back inside to warm up and rest before changing for the family lunch and Carol’s introduction to Daisy’s grandparents.

As soon as they opened the front door, the scent of lunch cooking was heavenly.

“They will be here soon!” Melinda shouted as she heard the girls enter and take off their winter outwear.

“And take your gifts to your room so they have somewhere to sit,” Phil added, poking his head out of the kitchen. “When you’re both ready, we could really use a relief crew in here so we can get dressed too.” He gestured to his Santa T-shirt and matching PJ pants and slippers.

Daisy giggled. “No problem, Dad. We won’t let Grandma see you like this.”

Phil explained to Carol, “My mother-in-law isn’t really the pajama day type.”

Carol laughed. “We’ll try to make it quick.”

—----------------------

By the time the Mays arrived, everyone was wearing appropriate clothing. While Daisy wore a red sweater dress and black leggings, Carol decided on khakis and a (coincidentally matching) red and black Buffalo pattern button-up flannel.

“Is this formal enough?” Carol asked, straightening her collar in the bathroom mirror.

Daisy clapped her curling iron’s clip rhythmically. “Yes, if you let me curl your hair.”

“Do we have time for that?” Carol met her eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah, I’m faster on you than on myself since I can see what I’m doing.”

The result was well worth it. Both dressed with hair and makeup done, Daisy knew they were ready for the upcoming traditional photo session.

“Much better,” Melinda voiced her approval upon seeing them in the kitchen. She tossed Daisy her apron. “I’ll be back soon.”

Phil filled them in on where they were, meal-prep-wise, and ceremonially graced Carol with a festive-patterned apron. Daisy grabbed her matching one as she watched in amusement.

“I dub thee, Carol of the kitchen,” he said, slipping the neck loop carefully over her slightly bowed head.

“I’m honored,” Carol laughed and tied the apron strings the same way Daisy was tying her own as Phil hurried out of the kitchen to look presentable for his in-laws.

“Ready for this?” Daisy said with a challenge to her tone and hands on her hips.

“Oh, I was born ready,” Carol confirmed. “Let’s get to work.”

They were just in time, too. The Christmas ham was ready, oven timer beeping, as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” three Coulsons shouted at once.

“Phil, ham,” Melinda assigned. “Daisy, door.”

Daisy obeyed with Melinda behind her.

“Merry Christmas!” Grandpa William shouted as they opened the door.

“The roads were a mess,” Grandma Lian complained as Melinda took her coat. “And he drives like a maniac.”

Grandpa William shrugged and caught sight of Carol.

“Ah! Is this the famous Carol?” he held out his arms and Carol found herself embraced in a firm grandfatherly hug while Grandma Lian scrutinized her.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Carol Danvers,” Grandma Lian said neutrally.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. May,” Carol said and held out her hand.

Grandma Lian shook it with a confident grip that Carol returned. “We hear you work with Daisy, for Mr. Stark, and you are earning your graduate degree.”

Carol kept cool as she realized the questions were beginning, still in the entryway. “Yes ma'am. My specialization is aerodynamics and composite vehicles. I'm studying the way spacecraft shape affects flight needs, especially using adaptive materials."

“Adaptive materials?” Grandma Lian hummed.

Daisy jumped in. “So they can land on planets or moons with different atmospheres. It’s really cool, but let’s sit down for lunch first before we get too far into outer space.”

Grandma Lian was undeterred by the change in venue. The dining room arrangement worked out so Carol was next to her. Thankfully, Daisy was on Carol’s other side and could provide support and praise for Carol’s many accomplishments as the conversation continued.

The ultimate compliment was saved for dessert, however, as Carol served Grandma Lian her slice of pie with perfect table etiquette.

“Hmm,” Grandma Lian assessed Carol for final judgment, fork poised above her pie as her eyes narrowed. “So a master’s degree in engineering and a very impressive career with high ambitions. Polite and respectful of her elders. Smart and well-spoken. Daisy, why can’t you be more like your Carol?”

Daisy grinned. “I try every day, Grandma.”

Carol received the compliment with a gracious nod to Grandma Lian but had to hold in a laugh at Daisy’s reply. In truth, Daisy had helped Carol loosen up after growing up under the thumb of the intense Danvers family. Both girls had high expectations on them going in to university, but the difference in freedom and unconditional love that the Coulsons had provided Daisy that Carol didn’t have had been a revelation as their friendship grew. Now as a couple, they helped each other stay grounded, setting boundaries around their work time and parents’ pressure, so those high ambitions didn’t carry them off into a cloud of achievement anxieties.

The girls were assigned dish duty, clearing the plates and cleaning up in the kitchen as the Coulsons and Mays exchanged gifts and conversation in the living room.

“That went incredibly well,” Daisy informed Carol as they washed. “Grandma was intense today, but you impressed her. I honestly didn’t know that was possible.”

“She’s nice! In her way,” Carol conceded. “I’m good with grandmas; it’s my superpower.”

“She’s also not a bad connection to have,” Daisy hinted while rinsing off a serving dish.

“Hm?” Carol knew there was more to that comment.

Daisy pulled Carol in and said quietly, “She’s retired CIA. Still has a ton of networks in the industry.”

“Wait, she’s?” Carol pointed out to the living room.

“Yep.” Daisy popped the p.

“So, you’re in cybersecurity. You’re basically set for life, any job you want,” Carol deduced.

Daisy shrugged. “I haven’t needed it, but then, I also haven’t impressed her the way you have.” Daisy bumped Carol’s hip.

Carol rolled her eyes, but then had an idea. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we did?”

“Did what?” Daisy scrubbed at a patch of stuck-on food.

“Became, like, secret agents. I’d, I don’t know, design and fly drones or something, and you’d do all the hacking and coding. We’d be a great team.”

Daisy raised her dish-glove-clad hands into a Charlie’s Angels gun pose. “Agent Daisy Coulson and Agent Carol Danvers, reporting for duty.”

Carol laughed. “We’d be so good at it.”

“Yeah,” Daisy sighed, “but it’s nice being home like this. She wasn’t around a lot when my mom was growing up, and the worst part was, she couldn’t ever say why. Decades later, things would get declassified and she could tell us more or where all she’d been, but there are still things she can’t talk about. And only a few people even know that’s where she worked anyway. Especially back then, everyone just thought she worked for ‘the phone company,’ but that was just a code name.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Carol dried another plate and stacked it with the others. “Corporate life has its advantages.”

Daisy paused and turned off the water. “If you ever did want to sign up though, for real, I would too. If we were together, it would be easier, same clearance level and all that.”

The unspoken end of that thought hung in the air unspoken between them: And maybe we wouldn’t end up divorced like they did.

“Thanks, but I like our life,” Carol concluded. “It’s just something fun to think about. In another universe, you know?”

“Oh yeah, totally.” Daisy turned the water back on and started rinsing glasses. “We’d be so badass.”

Grandpa William came in just in time to hear her swear. “Dah! Language! What would your grandmother say,” he teased with a wink.

“If you’re not telling, I won’t,” Daisy returned. Carol could tell this was a game they played between them at Grandma Lian’s expense.

Carol focused on drying the glasses, trying to remember her grandparents. She’d been so young when most of them passed, one before she was born and the others before she’d graduated high school. Tragically young themselves, accidents and violence and illness taking them one by one. She wondered if any of them would be accepting of her now. It wasn’t likely, she had to admit to herself.

“I’ve been sent to tell you it’s photo time,” Grandpa William continued.

“Oh,” Carol looked at the few remaining dishes. They were down to the end now. “I’ll finish up here. You go ahead.”

Daisy turned off the water and took off the gloves. “Unh uh, you are getting in these too. House rules.”

“It is required,” Grandpa Wiliam confirmed.

Carol gave in and followed them into the living room. Phil had set up his phone on a tripod and was adjusting it using Melinda as a model for lighting.

“Maybe by the tree?” Phil suggested.

As they decided, Grandma Lian gestured to Daisy. “I have a gift for you. In my purse. Come with me.”

Grandpa William engaged Carol in conversation, preventing her from following Daisy out of habit. Carol tried to peek around the corner, but it was no use. The entryway was at the wrong angle from here for Carol to see where Grandma Lian’s purse hung with their coats by the door.

Daisy returned after a few minutes, blushing and pleased, but Carol didn’t have a chance to ask her about it as Santa hats were plopped onto their heads and everyone lined up for the traditional photo. Carol did insist on taking a few of just the five of them without her, and some of just Phil and Melinda and Melinda and her parents.

“And you two!” Phil urged, switching places with Carol. She placed an arm around Daisy as they stood by the tree and Daisy smiled up at her and then pecked a quick kiss to her cheek.

“I couldn’t resist,” Daisy said simply. “Okay, we’re ready now.”

“Good, looks good,” Phil said from behind the camera. “Ready, 1, 2, 3.” He took a few, counting each time, and repositioning them as his amateur photographer muse led.

“Those are going to turn out very nice,” Grandpa William remarked to Melinda, who agreed. Carol thrilled at the clear approval from all fronts. The Santa hats came off and, eventually, the grandparents went home before the roads got icy again and the sun got too low.

“I think it’s time for movies,” Daisy declared as they waved the grandparents’ car away from the front stoop.

Phil made his way back up the front walk from helping his in-laws to their car. “Yeah, we haven’t done Charlie Brown Christmas yet.”

They divided and conquered: Daisy and Carol would get the movie ready to go, and Phil and Melinda would get movie snacks from the kitchen.

“It’s a tradition,” Daisy explained. “After the grandparents leave, we sometimes need time to, uh, decompress. This year was actually pretty peaceful though.”

“Still, Peanuts at Christmas is a must,” Carol replied.

“Hey,” Daisy turned away from the TV menu to Carol. “I didn’t even think to ask. What are some of your traditions? Maybe we can do them here?”

Carol thought for a moment, picking at the corner of her flannel. “Well, when my brother is home we usually play a board game. He subscribes to all the game websites for the new ones and a lot of them have complicated rules, so usually it ends up being my mom and I left at the table doing a puzzle of a little village or mountains or something.”

“Hmm.” Daisy flung open one of the cabinets near the TV in a game-show-esque reveal. “Like this?”

Three packed shelves of games and puzzles awaited.

“We haven’t played these in ages, so nothing new here, but if you want, we can play one of these first and then watch Charlie and the gang after dinner?”

Carol scrunched her brow. “But you were so excited for your tradition.”

“We’ll still do it later.” Daisy waved her off as her parents reentered the room. “We’ve been doing our traditions all day. It’s time for us to share one of yours.” She gestured to the shelves like she was displaying the prizes as a game show host.

Carol looked to Phil and Melinda, who confirmed.

Phil approached the cabinet and pulled out a puzzle with a lake and cabin scene. “Funny you should mention it, but we got this at the same place that you two now have vouchers for. What do you say?”

“Sounds perfect. It’s beautiful.” Carol instinctively reached out a hand and traced a finger around the artwork on the box.

“Ooh, a little dusty.” Daisy laughed as a path formed where Carol’s finger had been. “All the more reason to break it out of the box.”

Conversation flowed as they assembled the puzzle. It wasn’t exceptionally large or hard, and with four of them at work, they managed to finish it in a few hours, just in time for a dinner of leftovers from lunch.

The sun had long past set and the tree lights came on with an automatic timer by the time they were done and ready for the movie.

“Wait.” Daisy stopped them as they headed to the living room again. “It’s cozy pajama time.”

Changing allowed Daisy an opportunity to clean up her room a bit a well before inviting Carol to see it. Photos of high school were still scattered around, but there were a few from college, and two with Carol as part of Daisy’s friend group.

“Ha, your birthday at the restaurant with the karaoke bar.” Carol pointed to one. “I remember that. God, I’m so glad I stayed for summer term with you. You know, I only took that internship on campus because I knew you were going to be there.”

Daisy grinned. “Do you remember what I sang?”

“No, just that you were really good. Like, objectively good.” Carol tilted her head in thought. “Huh. Okay now it’s going to bug me, what was it?”

Daisy hopped back and grabbed a hairbrush for a mic. She sang the chorus of “All for You” by Janet Jackson and shook her hips.

“Ahh yeah, I remember now.” Carol danced along until they were laughing too hard to continue.

“I… uh, may have had a crush on you too,” Daisy admitted.

“Are you saying you were singing that song at me while all I could think about was how talented you were and how I didn’t deserve you for a whole summer?”

Daisy batted her lashes coyly. “Maybe I was. But you figured it out when we drove back for Christmas. You needed a ride, and I was more than happy to volunteer. I practically begged you to let me drive you.”

Carol took the hairbrush and set it down before entwining Daisy’s fingers with her own. “Okay, yes, I’m slow to pick up on things.”

Daisy laughed. “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

Carol slipped her other hand around Daisy’s waist and they began to sway despite not having any music playing. “It’s funny; it was the drive back to college that Christmas that finally gave me the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend, and now here we are.”

“Here we are.” Daisy’s voice was low and smooth. She moved in to kiss Carol, but they were interrupted as Phil’s voice sounded from down the hall.

“Uh, I thought we were going to watch a movie. Anyone ready?”

“Coming!” Melinda called from somewhere else.

“We better go before they come looking for us,” Daisy warned.

“Thanks for showing me all of this though.” Carol looked around Daisy’s room. Posters of bands, string lights, multiple rows of martial arts medals, and a few trophies lined the walls.

“Uh, ignore that.” Daisy threw a blanket over a hunk of metal.

“Okay, now I have to know,” Carol insisted as stopped in the bedroom doorway.

“Did you ever see that show Robot Wars? Or like, Big Hero 6?”

Carol blinked. “Are you telling me that’s your battle bot under there?”

“Ehhh, the remains of its corpse?” Daisy slowly removed the blanket to reveal a tangled chunk of metal and wires. “I tried to start an underground battle club at my school. It didn’t go well. But! It did get us a real robotics team. With less violence.”

They laughed, and Carol said, “Of course.” Not simply of course the official club would be more academic than fighting, but of course Daisy would have been the ringleader. Of course she would have had the brains and the guts to run something like a robot fight club. Of course she wouldn’t have the heart to get rid of it after so long and it’d still be sitting here in her childhood bedroom like a well-loved stuffie or a doll on a shelf.

They settled in on the couch with Daisy’s parents to watch Charlie Brown Christmas and the sequels, and Melinda passed around a plate of cookies. Daisy made sure they all had pillows and blankets and were comfortable as Phil hit play.

The ache of Carol’s Christmas Eve, only 24 hours earlier, faded for a moment with the overflowing joy of this Christmas Day. It was nothing fancy, just sharing meals and gifts and family photos and spending time together in their ordinary suburban home, in a simple historic neighborhood lined with warm lamps welcoming all who came there. But by the magic of Christmas, they had found each other and an enduring love that shined brightly through the dark.

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