#these three are all out to get lawrence one way or another and yet they respect his title? i never understood that

[amandabe11man]

alison and adam are the only ones in the movie who refer to lawrence by his first name. one of them is his wife and the other is??? on the same level as his wife?? adam and lawrence relationship CANON

[mae-gi-writes]

Arch-nemesis . Gally (themazerunner)

There's a thin line between love and hate, especially when it concerns Gally.

A/N: I've re-watched the three Maze Runner movies and now I'm obsessed and getting back onto the TMR fantrain so bear with me and the future fics I've already got saved in my drafts TT 3 TT ------

You hate him with all your heart.

Truthfully, honestly. There isn’t anyone you hate more than this stupid asshole that thinks that he’s the centre of the earth.

You met him only when he’d been brought in by Lawrence and a few of his other guys, having been there just for a few weeks prior. Thinking that this might be your chance to make a new friend, you’d sidled over to him with a small smile as you asked for his name. That didn’t go as smoothly as you thought when he just grunted out his name in response and turned away from you like you were a pest instead.

But it isn’t just that. It’s the way he says your name in that really aggravating tone that grates at your nerves. It’s the way he always insists it’s your fault when you’re out on missions and come back with no updates. It’s the way he bullies you and calls you names whenever your paths cross and it makes you want to gouge his eyes out. It’s enough to say that you know Gally now and you know exactly what he’s made of. That, and the fact that you’d stay far away from him as you possibly could if that was an option.

“You’re loading it up wrong shank-face,” he’d tell you as you were re-filling your gun.

“Shut up Gally, I’m doing it properly.”

“Don’t come crying to me when the gun doesn’t work.”

“It’s none of your business if it doesn’t work.”

“It is my business if you’re gonna—“

“Right that’s enough,” your mentor and leader called Jared had to step in, like he did numerous times, to get you to cool off. You’d storm away in a fit of annoyance and irritation, hating how easily Gally got under your skin.

It’s been a few weeks since weird sightings of stray immunes have circulated the area and in reply to this, Lawrence had set you up for a mission with Gally to scout the outer walls of the Last City. That had only caused you to grumble about the unfairness of the situation.

“Why do I have to go?” Your eyes narrow at the familiar tall figure lingering in your peripheral. Gally is busy setting up his weapons as you try to plead your case, seemingly uncaring about your protests, “and with him of all people? We don’t work well together Lawrence—“

“Everyone else is taken or busy with other tasks. Meaning that only you two are free,” Lawrence cuts you off without a hint of sympathy, “so either you do as you’re told or you can leave Y/N. As simple as that.”

In the end you have no choice but to abide by his rules, strapping up your weapons and defenses before Gally calls out your name. You turn just in time to catch the water bottle he sends your way, yelping in the process.

“You’re looking a little distraught, shank-face,” he smirks at you from where he stands loading up the provisions, “scared of what you’ll find out there? If you ain’t good enough, just don’t come and waste people’s time.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion, ugly brows.”

“I’m just worried you might slow me down. I’m not a goddamn babysitter.”

“I didn’t ask for one, now will you shut up and stop talking?”

“I’m surprised these two haven’t killed each other off yet,” murmurs one of Lawrence’s men.

“Killed or kissed you mean,” Jared lets out a chuckle.

These words are enough to cause the others to look at him with shocked faces, “what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear?” Jared motions towards the two currently bickering, “bet that by tomorrow night these two will get together.”

“I bet they last a week before they kiss.” Another says.

“Oh come on, I’m betting two weeks. Gally isn’t that type of guy.”

“What about me?” Gally’s voice causes them all to shut up, looking at him with guilty smiles and with shakes of their heads.

“Nothing to worry about Maze boy,” Jared flicks him off with a wave of his hand, “now off you go, both of you. And I expect some good news when you return.”

“Of any kind,” someone adds quietly, to which they all cackle.

You’ve toured the city a million times before in search of any kind of entrances that might lead to the inside, where all of Wicked laid. So it’s nothing out of your depth to follow Gally around as you survey the area and scout for more sources of information.

In all honesty, touring with Gally isn’t that much different from anyone else. On the contrary, Gally’s determined nature conjoined with his natural physical ability to excel just renders him an even more ideal battle partner. Not that you’ll ever tell him that. It will surely come bite you in the ass later when you least expect it.

You’re almost at the perimeter when you notice something off about one of the citizens. It’s a little girl, her face contorted in a grimace as she holds her hands in front of her tummy. For a moment, she sways in the middle of the crowd and you’re about to dismiss it, when another figure stalks in and takes a swipe at her with a stick.

The girl yelps as the stick hits her knees, crumbling to the floor like a sack of bones.

Before you know it, you’re sprinting towards her, anger flaring through your chest as your hands steady themselves on the gun. You barely hear Gally’s voice as you stumble in front of the kid just in time to point your weapon at the older man.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You hiss at him.

The man’s eyes widen. He takes a step back, “no no, get away from her, you don’t understand—“

“Understand what? That you were going to beat her to death?” You click your gun into place, “nice try old man, now tell me—“

“Get away from her!” He yells at you, “she’s not normal! She’s—“

And a growl erupts from behind you. You swivel around in panic, eyes going wide upon noticing for the first time the dark patch close to her eyes.

The Flare.

The girl twitches. A small sob falls from her mouth. Your heart jumps to your throat, stumbling back half a step as weird animalistic noises echo from her mouth.

And then, she pounces.

You yell out something— you’re not too sure what — and are about to knock her on the head as she throws herself at you—

A bullet explodes on the right side of her brain and she falls to the ground like a puppet.

You stare at her for a minute. One more.

Your gaze slowly trails up to see familiar booted feet.

“What were you even thinking?”

Gally’s voice is usually deep. But this time, even you can’t stand up to the anger simmering in his voice. It’s dark and holds some kind of laced savagery that makes your toes curl in apprehension.

He takes your silence as guilt before grabbing onto your arm and roughly pulling you out of the crowd. He doesn’t stop and for once you don’t fight him, still not over the shock of seeing that poor girl’s face, the crazed look in her eyes. You’re so deep in your thoughts that you don’t realize you’re at your truck until Gally practically throws you against its side.

Your back digs into the metal and you grunt at the impact, the ache stinging your spine. But before you can do anything else, huge palms come to a rest on either side of your head.

Gally leans into you, so close that you can feel the heat radiate off him in waves.

“What the fuck was that about?” He growls, voice dropping even lower.

Somehow, it causes a shiver to run up your spine. Not one of fear, something else. Something that makes your stomach squeeze into knots.

“I—“ for once, you don’t seem to have any words. Instead your head turns away from Gally’s eyes as you bite down onto your lower lip, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” He scoffs, laughs to himself before his gaze hardens once more, “sorry for what Y/N? For almost getting yourself killed? Are you insane?! She could’ve literally infected you and you—“

“I didn’t know she was infected.” You tried to protest.

That seems to aggravate him even more, “You didn’t even bother to check!” His nostrils flare.

“Well I said I’m sorry!”

“Sorry’s not going to cut it if you turn into one of those Cranks you stupid slinthead! You need to be more responsible! I literally turn away for one minute and you’re—“

“Oh stop exaggerating Gally. I was trying to protect her—“

“Yeah and look how that ended!”

You snap, “why are you so pissed? It was an accident and I already said sorry!”

“It’s not just that Y/N!” He yells with such emotion that his face flushes red, “What if I wasn’t there? What would you have done then?!”

“Why the fuck do you care? You wanted me gone—“

Your words cut off in mid-conversation when his large hands suddenly cup your face before pulling you in to crash his lips against yours.

Your eyes widen, brain freezing, as butterflies erupt through your stomach.

Wow.

Is this what a kiss is?

And this is Gally, kissing you like he means it.

It's almost like time has stopped.

Heart pounding, your body slowly melts against his. You’re in a trance-like state, watching yourself crumble under his fingertips that he places right under your jaw, his other hand sliding down to your hip to pin you in place.

The kiss is surprisingly gentle yet firm. His mouth moves slowly, hesitantly, almost like he fears breaking you. And yet, when you respond with a soft movement of your own, the rumble of his chest has your stomach squeezing with adrenaline.

You’re not too sure what’s happening. Here you are, with the world’s biggest dick, kissing him like he’s your lover when all you’ve ever wanted was to kick him in the face for being a class A asshole.

But it’s weird because this, however, feels so right. Like you’re meant to be locking lips, like he doesn’t want anyone else in his arms but you. And when he cages you in his hold with even more intensity it makes you gasp, causing him to slip his tongue into your mouth with an ease that has you parting like melted butter.

Slowly, your hands trail up to his chest, grabbing hold of his dark tunic and tugging slightly as his teeth suckle onto your bottom lip. A noise echoes from the back of your throat and he growls in response, pressing you even harder so that your head tilts back against the truck’s surface.

You need air at some point and so break away from him with a small gasp, chest heaving.

Gally doesn’t hesitate. He dives down to press a kiss to the side of your jaw, down your neck, imprinting his mouth over your skin over and over again in a way that has your body shuddering with delight. Big hand sliding down to the back of your neck to pull you even closer into him, the young man’s lips find a soft spot at your pulse point, causing a whine to fall from your lips at his action.

His chest rumbles in satisfaction and before you know it he’s back to kissing you. This time it’s more heated; mouths clashing and teeth clicking and tongues battling.

And then, the reality of the situation hits you straight in the face.

You freeze. What in the shucking world are you even doing?

You’re making out with Gally, right beside your truck. In broad daylight.

The thought alone makes your hands push him away and your lips disconnect with a small ‘pop’ sound.

You’re gasping for breath at this point, eyes wide as they flutter up to lock onto his own and you’re surprised at what you find there.

There’s some sort of softness, genuine care and something more, something darker that you can’t really put your finger on.

It makes you want him.

You want him.

Shuck’s sake.

“Y/N—“ Gally starts but you’re already moving out of his hold, slipping away from his warmth and suddenly it feels a little too cold.

You shake your head at him, decide it’s best to keep your eyes away as you open the door to the passenger seat, “let’s go. We have a mission to finish.”

You don’t want to talk about it.

————

It’s been days.

Days since the incident.

Days since you’ve been trying to get Gally out of your head.

You don’t understand why he’s having such an effect on you. Theoretically speaking, you should’ve bashed his head in and turned him over to Lawrence for sexual assault.

But you haven’t, and he’s also probably questioning why.

As a result, you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him. You wake up thirty minutes earlier to eat your breakfast so that you don’t have to bump into him at the table, you take the first errands that come to you — the boring ones like refilling tanks and getting the food supplies and guarding their premises. All that so that you don’t have to deal with Gally’s bullying.

Well, not that you’ve heard from him much either.

“What happened between you two?” Jared asks one evening as you help him move the supplies fresh from the last raid from the Last City.

“What?” You stare at him blankly, “what are you talking about?”

“You and Gally. You had a fight or something?”

“When are we not?” You snort, though you can’t deny the flush creeping up your neck as the memory of Gally’s body against yours resurfaces.

“Well I know you fight, but you’ve been ignoring each other.”

“And? Why is that a concern? Shouldn’t you be glad there’s less noise?”

“You’ve got a point I suppose.”

You don’t tell him it’s because you’re nervous of all the things that keep flashing through your head. You don’t tell him about how you keep on thinking of Gally’s mouth on yours, the lingering taste of him like a ghost along your lips. You don’t have to and you don’t want to, because you know that it’s going to entertain an idea far too surreal and ridiculous for you to think about.

It isn’t until a few days after your little mishap that Gally finds you in the storage room. You’ve woken up early to help the newest recruit unpack the food supplies just loaded into the main building dock, only to find out that he had this massive crush on you.

So you’ve been trying to bat him off all morning despite his most desperate attempts.

“Just give me a chance Y/N,” he says as he takes a box from your hands with a wink, “I promise I won’t make you regret it.”

You snort, “no thanks,” and turn back to keep unloading.

But he makes a grab for your hand. You yelp, pulling it out of his grasp, “what do you think you’re doing—“

“You think you’re so tough huh?” He makes another grab for your forearm this time and cages you into his grip. You try to wriggle out to no avail, his fingers squeezing so hard that you let out a cry of pain, “ow—“let me go, asshole.”

“Not until you agree.”

Your glare deepens, “I said no.”

He pulls you closer, stinky breath washing over your face and making you want to barf, “did I tell you how sexy you are when you try to act all tough and shit? I mean that’s literally—“

“Get your hands off her.”

He freezes. You do too. You recognize that voice. You could've recognized that anywhere. Your head tilts over.

Gally.

Oh.

Eyes widening at the sight, you quickly pull your arm away when the newbie drops it in shock.

“Move away,” Gally’s voice drops an octave and causes a string of butterflies to erupt through your chest, “now.”

The newbie frowns, “Who’re you to boss me around?”

“I said: Now.”

And maybe it’s the fact that Gally seems to straighten when he says it so it looks like he’s towering over the other boy, but the latter mutters a curse word under his breath and finally relents, throwing you a scowl in the process as he ducks out of the storage room.

You can’t help but lock eyes with your savior, though quickly averting your eyes in embarrassment as you resume stacking boxes after boxes. You hope that he’s just going to turn around and act ignorant, just like these past few days.

“Y/N.”

You don’t answer, resolutely trying your best to act busy.

“Y/N.”

Maybe it’s the way he says your name that makes you turn impulsively. Your eyes flit to his face, then look back down to his chest. A safer bet, “what?”

He takes a step closer, and another, and another. You swallow thickly, feeling your throat clog up with emotion as you stumble back against the boxes until no escape seems available.

Why is it that you’re always getting trapped by him?

“W—What is it?” You stammer out in hopes he can’t hear how wild your heart is beating, "What do you want?"

He lets out a soft sigh and seems to drop his shoulders in defeat, opening up his palms in a sign of defeat, "I just--I think we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Y/N--"

"No Gally," you whip around then with eyes narrowed into slits and your fists curled beside you, "if this is about what happened in the Last City, I don't want to talk about it. It was a stupid shucking mistake and--"

"Stop using Glader slang," he interrupts like a smart-ass and you all but growl at him in irritation, "it doesn't suit you."

"Oh shut up already," you whip around and decide that it's useless to try and have a civil conversation. You'd rather focus your energy on finishing off your task.

But seems that he's determined to bug you, for you feel the warmth of his hand imprint itself on your forearm before he's tugging you. Not too harshly, gently enough that you could've stopped if you wanted to.

You let yourself turn around, cursing inwardly at how the closeness between your two bodies is rendering you a little breathless, a little weak in the knees. He's so close that you have to tilt your head up to look at him, and what you see in his gaze makes your heart skitter.

"It wasn't," he murmurs, "a mistake."

"It was a mistake," you shoot back straightaway, "we can just forget about it--"

"I don't want to. I--" he clears his throat, looks away for a second. And when his eyes find yours once again you feel your breath catch in your throat because he's looking at you in a certain way. That way. With the same kind of tenderness that makes you want to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest and smell the earthly, Gally scent that had wrapped around you back when you'd kissed--

No.

You almost smack yourself, horrified. What in the world are you thinking?!

"I like you, Y/N." Gally’s voice jerks you back to reality, “I like you a shuck lot and—“

“Don’t,” you press a finger to his lips as you try desperately to put some distance between, shaking your head in horror, “no no, you don’t like me. You like me ‘cause I’m the only girl around here and it’s just your hormones talking—“

He shakes you off, “what are you on about?” He frowns before grabbing both your hands to cage them in his grip, “I know what I feel Y/N. Don’t tell me otherwise—“

“Gally please,” you scramble for coherent thought but logic is slipping away by the second. Even more so when he’s tugging you gently to him, even more when his face is a picture of softness and affection, “we hate each other’s guts—“

“I never said that.” He pauses to read your expression, fear suddenly flickering in his expression, “do you hate me?”

“I—“ the words get tangled in your mouth. You want to tell him you hate him, loathe him with all your heart and that you just want him gone and that you hates his kiss.

But you can’t.

Because it’s a lie, the truth is that you think your heart beats for him. You’re not sure since when, but that kiss had confirmed it surely enough: you like Gally more than you think you do. And that thought is terrifying.

You’re so close to him that if you let your hands drop they’ll brush against his chest, so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your skin and the heat of his jody permeating to yours.

Ducking your head in embarrassment, you bite down onto your lower lip.

“Answer my question, Y/N.”

You swallow thickly, “I—I don’t know.”

Gally looks down at you still, not giving you the easy way out you would’ve preferred and you find yourself crumbling under his stare.

“No,” you whisper, “I don’t hate you.”

He shifts a little closer still, eyes flitting down to your lips in a silent question.

Your breath catches. Your mouth parts. His scent wraps around you like a soft cocoon.

And then you’re lifting yourself up to kiss him.

He makes a noise of surprise at the back of his throat and you grin to yourself, loving that you caught him off guard. But that doesn’t last, for his big hands quickly drop yours to wrap around your waist before pulling your body to his and kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in ages, like he’s missed you, like he wants to do this forever.

Gally, you soon realize, kisses with his entire intention, not leaving one part of your mouth untouched and adamant on making you go pliant in his hold. You allow yourself to back up as he prods you, until your back hits one of the storage boxes hazardly stacked one atop the other, and Gally doesn't hesitate to press his chest against yours as a soft moan echoes from the back of his throat.

As his lips curve against yours in the most intimate of manners, your hands seem to take on a life of their own as they travel up his chest, caress the broadness of his shoulders, before wrapping around the back of his neck and teasing the soft baby hairs found there. You feel him grinning into your mouth and soon enough you're grinning too, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath.

"Not bad at all," Gally murmurs, stealing a kiss from you and causing your face to flush deep red, "for someone who can't load a gun properly."

"I can too load my gun properly," you pinch him playfully and he responds with laughter.

That's when you hear your mentor's voice booming with surprise from the front entrance of the storage room:

"Well look what we have here! I told you guys they wouldn't last a week!"

[landing-amongst-the-planets]

After seeing Season 5 and the way Miguel beat up three different guys to protect Robby in the fight at the Cobra Kai dojo, I need more of protective Miguel over Robby, so here! It’s not a fic, more an outline xD

4 Times Miguel’s Protective Of Robby And 1 Time He Realises Why

1: Robby and a former Cobra Kai are sparring and the ex-Cobra gets way too aggressive and nearly crushes Robby’s leg. Miguel immediately intervenes and knocks him to the ground and really digs into him until Robby has to tell him to cool it and the guy apologises. Tory and Sam snicker in the background and Demetri hands Eli money. Robby spends the rest of the week thinking about that because no one’s ever protected him like that before, except Miguel. For Miguel it’s just another Tuesday xD

2: Miguel finds out Johnny didn’t tell Robby the purpose of the Mexico trip until they were already there and that leads to the loudest fight the entire apartment complex has heard, and that’s saying something. Miguel thinks it’s unfair to Robby that Johnny put him in that position without even telling him and yet again made him feel second to Miguel. Eventually he calms down after Robby pacifies him and Johnny’s impressed and kinda proud that his two sons are getting along so well that Miguel is even protecting Robby from JOHNNY. Yaya gives Miguel a knowing look and Robby a wink and they don’t know what she means but they oddly feel like they’ve been found out.

3: One of the guys from school asks Robby out and he’s so far removed from karate and Carmen tells him it’ll be nice to have a break from the constant training for the Sekai Taikai, so he accepts. Miguel doesn’t know why but he feels weirdly betrayed by his mom. He ends up recruiting Eli and Demetri to follow Robby on the date “just in case”, citing their newly formed friendship and brotherhood meaning he wants to keep him safe. Eli and Demetri exchange that look they always do when they’re communicating in their own way that no one else understands, but Miguel’s one-track mind lets it go. The date does end up going badly cuz the guy is really disrespectful and too touchy and the next day Miguel’s on TikTok for beating the guy within an inch of his life before Robby, Eli, AND Demetri all had to hold him back. The video shows up on Daniel’s For You page on his newly made TikTok and he can’t help but be glad that someone’s looking out for his mentee, because if anyone knows how rough Robby had it it’s Daniel.

4: It’s movie night at the Diaz-Lawrence household and, after an exhausting game of Monopoly where Johnny nearly throws the board out the window when he starts losing, Miguel and Robby end up on the kitchen table together once everyone’s gone to sleep. They start talking about their childhoods and Miguel learns things about Robby’s that he half-figured but never wanted to think about when he was supposed to hate him. But now, seeing the kid who spent his childhood cooking for himself in dingy apartments and having to sweep up broken shards of the bottles of beer his mom or her newest boyfriend would leave on the ratty carpets, the kid who fell in with the wrong crowd too many times and got taken advantage of, the kid who was alone and didn’t have Johnny around…Miguel can’t help himself, he hugs Robby, a full-body hug, for the first time, and says he won’t let anything or anyone hurt him again. And Robby’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe.

+1: Of course they don’t figure it out on their own. It takes separate interventions from their friends AND their senseis (yes, even Johnny figured it out eventually….ok, Daniel may have had to give him an intervention first) for Miguel to figure out he has feelings for Robby. And maybe that overprotectiveness wasn’t just brotherly love and friendship. And when he comes to this epiphany, it takes another full week for him to stop babbling nonsense when he sees Robby and finally ask him out. Fortunately for him, Robby likes him back, and fortunately for everyone else, they can finally exchange their money for the bets for when they’ll start dating😌

[dot-cant-write]

An Ice Skating Outing (Sammy Lawrence x Reader)

A little holiday oneshot for Christmas :)

It was the holiday season again in New York. And within one little animation studio, you and your best friends were planning your Friday night out. 

You were a long-time employee of Joey Drew Studios who worked as a janitor. A simple job, but a nice one because you were able to interact with all different folks within the studio. Your best friends were none other than Wally Franks and Shawn Flynn. Wally Franks was the other janitor of the studio, unfortunately tasked with cleaning up everyone’s messes (sometimes even your own, though you loathe to admit it). Shawn Flynn was a young Irish immigrant trying to make his mark in the studio. How he was going to do that with all those crooked-smiling Bendy dolls he made, you had no idea. 

The three of you gathered in Heavenly Toys, discussing your plans for the holiday season. Wally brought up walking down to Rockefeller Center to ice skate and look at the classic Christmas tree after work. It was a tradition of yours, even though none of you could ice skate to save your lives. Despite this, you and Shawn excitedly agreed to this idea. Tomorrow, the three of you would have a rockin’ time around the giant Christmas tree. 

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

It was Friday morning, and you were helping Wally clean around the studio. It was your turn to clean the Storyboard and Music Departments. You had just finished up in Story, and as you waved goodbye to a fellow coworker, Dot, you made your way down the hall towards the music studio. 

First, you made your way upstairs to Norman Polk in the projection booth. Truth be told, he never made much of a mess, but he did made good conversation. It was also just fun to watch the band perform. You and he had spent many days up in the projection booth discussing Sammy Lawrence. While Norman found Sammy strange, you found the composer fascinating. He was far from the usual cheery or simply tired employees often found in the studio. Sammy Lawrence was cranky and often pessimistic, but it was almost refreshing in a sense. Wally and Shawn, of course, weren’t glass-half-empty folks. 

Today, they were recording a special holiday edition of Bendy the Dancing Demon. The music sounded beautiful, as always. It certainly helped that the music director was the one and only Sammy Lawrence. Pessimistic he may be, but Sammy knew music. 

You still remember the first time you’d met. You’d been chatting with Jack Fain, the lyricist of the Music Department, during his break. (You refused to visit him otherwise- he worked down in the sewers, and it was far too stinky there.) Most of the time you tried to avoid the Music Department, thanks to Wally’s horror stories of the director. Wally forgot to mention he often got himself into trouble when he misplaced his keys, which usually led to him getting scolded by Sammy. Of course, on that particular day, yet another pipe burst while you finally had a chance to catch up with Jack. The recording room had begun to flood as a result. You and Jack had rescued as much sheet music as you could, and even a few instruments before the ink ruined the studio. You had saved as much as you could, though. Thankfully, it was more than enough to make a positive impression on the music director when he returned. Sammy Lawrence had a look of utter horror on his face as he made he way back from his break (back when breaks actually happened at the studio). You watched as Jack explained what had happened to the composer. When he told Sammy how you and him had rescued the sheet music, Sammy sighed with relief. You gently handed him the pile of music, and he simply said “At least one of these janitors is competent.” 

Since then, you’d been less afraid of the Music Department. In fact, Sammy Lawrence tolerated you, which is more than most can say. Thanks to Jack and to your rescue mission, Sammy had allowed you to hang around. He’d been borderline friendly, which is about as good as you can get when it comes to Sammy Lawrence. The more you spent time with him, though, the more you developed feelings for the director. He was, after all, a handsome man. He had longer blond hair that often fell into cold blue eyes, and despite an icy exterior, something about him attracted you. Especially since he wasn’t so frosty around you anymore. While he didn’t exactly appreciate your outgoing friends, he all but admitted to enjoying your company.

Unfortunately, the composer looked especially stressed today. Probably another deadline due. You frowned. Maybe he needed a pick-me-up. That’s when a lightbulb appeared over your head. Maybe you could be the pick-me-up.

———————————————————————

“I’m going to invite Sammy Lawrence to join us tonight.” You announced over lunch. 

“Are you kidding? You wanna invite mister grouch? The ultimate Scrooge?” Wally asked, flabbergasted at your suggestion. 

“Consider the consequences! Ol’ Sammy is too much of a party pooper.” Shawn chimes in. Always has to get his two cents in. 

“Oh c’mon, guys. Sammy can’t be that bad. Besides, I bet he’s lonely. It wouldn’t hurt to ask him to join us!” You defended, taking a bite of your sandwich. 

Shawn waggled his eyebrows playfully. “(Y/N) just wants to go sweet on him, Wally.”

And that’s what you get for mentioning that the composer was cute to your friends one time. 

Your face heated up. “Shawn, shut it. That’s not what this is about, I just think it’d be fun-“

“You can invite him, (Y/N), we’re just horsin’ around. But I’m bringin’ mistletoe!” Wally teased.

You stuck your tongue out at Shawn and Wally and made your way to the Music Department once more. It was lunch break for most, but if you knew anything about Sammy Lawrence, it was that he didn’t really take breaks. Not anymore, anyway. He was always somewhere in the Music Department, writing the next piece of music or meeting some deadline or another. Not to mention there was always the threat of a pipe bursting nowadays. Sure enough, Sammy was sitting on a stool by his music stand, scribbling into a black notebook. 

You hesitated. “Um, hi, Sammy.”

The composer glanced in your direction, then went back to writing. “Hello. Do you need something?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come with Shawn, Wally and me to Rockefeller Center tonight? We were gonna go see the tree and ice skate.”

“No thanks. Deadline to meet.”

You frowned. “Oh, okay. Are you sure? Maybe you could use a break.”

“Deadline to meet.” Sammy repeated. 

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to song writing then. Sorry to bother you.” With that, you turned away to rejoin your friends, thoroughly disappointed.

———————————————————————

Sammy Lawrence felt guilty. He wasn’t used to that feeling, save for the guiltiness of disappointing Joey Drew. Honestly, a nice stroll in the cold sounded pleasant. But Shawn and Wally weren’t exactly his crowd, and he did have a deadline to meet, even if he enjoyed (Y/N)’s company. Sammy pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag, and slowly blew out the smoke. 

“If I can finish this song…” he told himself. 

———————————————————————

At the end of the day, you met once more with Shawn and Wally. The three of you clocked out (Wally praying for no more messes) and were grabbing your coats. As you wrapped your scarf around your neck, you heard a smooth voice come from behind you. 

“Is that offer still open?” Sammy Lawrence asked quietly. 

You whipped around to face him, ignoring an open-mouthed Shawn and a smirking Wally. 

“Yeah, of course. Didn’t you have a deadline to meet, though?” 

Sammy slipped on his coat. “Finished. And it’s goddamn Christmas. Might as well enjoy the season,” he pulled out a cigarette to light. 

Wally clapped Sammy on the back, earning a scowl in return as he nearly dropped his lighter. “That’s what I’m sayin’! Now let’s get outta here!”

Together, the four of you left the studio. You noticed that Sammy Lawrence kept rather quiet during the walk. He seemed to be breathing in the cold. If he wasn’t taking a drag, that is.

“So, Sammy, you ever been ice skating before?” Shawn asked, pulling his hat lower over his ears.

“Used to on nights after Jack and I got out from the theatre. He’d drag me along before I had to drift for the night.” 

“Are you any good then? The three of us are god-awful on the ice.” You chimed in, earning a “Hey!” from Wally and Shawn.

Sammy simply shrugged. “Not sure. Don’t do it anymore.” 

“Well, we’re about to find out, music man.” Wally announced as your group arrived at Rockefeller. It was quite crowded out, but New York was always lively.   

The tree was jaw-dropping. It didn’t matter how many times you had seen it over the years; every time was like the first time. The tree was lit up gorgeously this year, ornaments climbing its massive branches. Even Sammy paused to take in its magnificence.

“Wow,” breathed out Shawn. “Never gets old, does it?”

“Nope. Gotta be the best part of the season,” Wally replied.

Slowly, the four of you broke your gaze from the tree and made your way to the entrance of the ice rink, where tickets were being sold to skate. The four of your purchased your tickets and went to change into the skates. Wally and Shawn passed you a pair of skates, then winked at you. The pair disappeared into the crowd. That left you and Sammy alone on a bench as you laced up your ice skates. Of course. You should’ve known they would pull a stunt like that. 

“Where’d they go?” Sammy asked as he laced his own pair of skates. 

“Don’t mind them, they’re just being a couple of twits.” 

Sammy chuckled. “Don’t have to tell me twice. Shall we?” He asked, standing wobbly and offering you his hand. You took it, and together you somehow made it onto the ice. Not without you practically tripping over the ledge to the rink, though. Sammy caught you. 

“Thanks. Usually that’s the part where I’d fall on my behind and Wally and Shawn laugh,” you admittedly sheepishly as you tried to regain your balance.

“It’s fine. Don’t know why you insist on skating then, though.”

“Because it’s fun! It doesn’t matter how many times you fall, because we always laugh and help each other back up… eventually.” You smile at him and start to let go of his hand in favor of gripping the rail. Instead, Sammy held your hand a little tighter. You looked up at him, confused, but he refused to meet your eye. Blushing faintly, you started to skate with him.

The weather was absolutely perfect tonight. The lights on the tree at Rockefeller Center shone brilliantly in the New York night. There was a light breeze that ruffled your hair, and Jack Frost nipped at your nose. Despite the cold weather, though, you felt warm next to Sammy. You looked up at him, only to realize that it had begun to snow. Tiny snowflakes sprinkled down and landed in Sammy’s dirty blond hair. You also couldn’t help but notice how surprisingly graceful the music director was on the ice. Maybe it was his tall and lanky stature, but he seemed to have no problem gliding along the rink. 

“Is there something on my face?”

Sammy’s question startled you into reality. A heat spread over your cheeks as you looked away. “Er, no, I just… got distracted.” 

The composer gave a rare smile in response. “Mhm. I’m sure.” He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

“Y’know, I’m really happy you were able to make it tonight.” 

“Yeah well, just don’t tell Joey.”

“Mr. Drew won’t hear a word from me,” you assured him.

——————————————————————————————

You were just starting to get a handle on the rhythm of skating when Wally and Shawn skated around. 

“Hey lovebirds!” Shawn chided.

“How’s skatin’?” Wally asked.

You gave a death glare to Shawn before quickly letting go of Sammy’s hand. “It’s going good. How’re you two holdin’ up? Bet you fell on your asses already.”

“We did!” Wally laughed. “All in good fun, I think.”

You nodded and smiled before Wally and Shawn took off again. “Gettin’ off the ice in fifteen!” Shawn hollered.

“Okay!” You shouted back. As soon as your friends were out of sight, you reached for Sammy’s hand again. He looked at you quizzically.

“So I don’t fall like a complete fool,” you explained. Definitely not because your hand was left cold without his. Definitely not because you simply wanted to hold his hand and ice skate and pretend that you were getting your happily ever after. Sammy Lawrence looked down at your hand in his, then back up at you. His lips upturned just slightly. You continued to ice skate. 

“So… Why don’t you like Christmas?” You asked suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“It’s just… It gets busy. At the studio. And everyone is so annoyingly cheery. I’m not really happy, so why should everyone else be?” He sighed, before adding “I don’t really have any family to go to anyway. Jack always invites me over, but I don’t wanna be a burden.”

This was the most honest you'd ever heard him be with you. It was refreshing. You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I’d bet Jack would love to have you. Anyone would. You don’t have to be such a Scrooge. Perhaps a little Christmas cheer is just what you need.”

Sammy chuckled in response. “Perhaps.” The two of you slipped back into the comfortable silence. Before you knew it, fifteen minutes had passed and it was time to find Shawn and Wally. That wasn’t exactly hard to do. The two of them were currently trying to make their way to the rink’s exit, and failing at it. You and Sammy made it to the bench long before they did. Finally, Shawn sat down next to you, and Wally nearly tripped onto the pavement. 

“Why do we do that every year again?” Asked Wally, tugging off his skates.

“You tell me,” you replied, grinning.

“Touche,” Wally shrugged.

Once the four of you had changed out of your ice skates, you split the scene. This was usually the part where you and your friends would head home. You all exchanged glances.

“Well, I had a lotta fun, even if I landed on my rump more times than I can count. But it’s time to head home. I’m outta here!” Wally waved to you all and started his journey home.

Shawn nodded. “Same here. Got to get some rest. Night!” 

And then there were two. You looked up at Sammy. “Well… I suppose I should be getting home, too.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Sammy asked suddenly.

You were taken aback by his question. “I- That would be lovely, actually. Thank you.”

—————————————————

The walk wasn’t too long, but it was certainly cold. You knew you should’ve brought a heavier jacket. One particular gust of wind sent a shiver down your spine. Without a word, Sammy shrugged off his coat and draped it around your shoulders. He seemed completely unfazed by the weather. 

“Thanks.” You smiled gratefully at him, tugging the coat tighter around your shoulders. It smelled like cologne, ink, and cigarette smoke. Somehow, the combination was pleasant. Or maybe it was just what those smells represented. You walked closer to the composer, feeling warmth radiate from him. Soon, you made it to your door.

“Thank you again for walking me home. And for your coat,” you said, handing it back to him. 

“Thanks for good company,” he replied as he slipped his coat back on. He said it genuinely and sincerely.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked.

“You know where to find me.” Sammy turned to leave, and you faced your door. But…

“Sammy, look at this!” You pointed upward at the overhang above your door. The composer faced you, and tilted his head as he glanced upwards. 

“Mistletoe,” you both said. You laughed lightly. Wally and Shawn strike again. You didn’t know how, but you knew it was them. 

“You know the rules, Sammy,” you continued, taking a step towards him. The music director looked at you, a deep blush spreading across his features. He looked positively flustered. Standing on your tip toes, you planted a kiss on Sammy Lawrence’s cheek. His eyes widened and he lifted his hand to gingerly touch the spot where you’d kissed him. Gosh, you wish you could take a picture of that moment. 

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.” And with that, you left the flustered composer on your doorstep. 

You couldn’t wait to tell Wally and Shawn.

[hot-illithids-near-you]

Character Bio - Benedict

Race: Ulitharid-Neothelid (Ulithelid? Neotharid??)

Gender: Baby

Age: Baby

Alignment: Very nice and polite

There comes a time (sometimes two, rarely three) in every illithid's life when they lay their eggs. For most, this is not a time of excitement, or joy, but a matter of duty that must be taken care of to propagate the species. The mind flayer will lay their eggs, and the tadpoles will be raised in brine along with the Elder Brain, where the lucky few will mature and undergo ceremorphosis inside a host.

For Lawrence, this time came a couple years after he met Carylin and fell in love. Like for most illithids, it wasn't a time of happiness. But it was a terrifying moment for Lawrence in particular, as he knew he couldn't possibly force any of his offspring on an unwilling host. He couldn't simply let them loose either, as that would result in a horde of illithocytes or a neothelid, both outcomes just as deadly for the city.

He would have to kill someone, or something, for the first time since his own ceremorphosis. Either a humanoid, with the thoughts and complex emotions he had come to appreciate from his own girlfriend, or a clutch of mindless aberrations who felt nothing but hunger. The answer was obvious.

And yet, he still couldn't bring himself to end a life, not even the life of a tadpole. He failed to even crush the eggs, a simple task that would've dealt with the problem quickly and efficiently. Instead he waited, supposing that by the time they hatched, he would finally have the courage to do what needed to be done. He told Carylin about his plan and left the eggs to sit in a bathtub full of brine. Perhaps, he hoped, the hatchlings would cannibalize each other as soon as they emerged, and the weight of his duty would be made a little lighter.

Months passed, and the eggs hatched, even beginning to devour one another after mere days without food. They started as nearly a hundred, then dozens, then just more than ten. And as they consumed the flesh of their siblings, it was as if all the latent malevolence of the illithid race had condensed along with them. Only the strong survived - the strong and the cruel. Sensing this evil within each tadpole, Lawrence finally had the strength to do what was needed. He mixed in a pair of potions to the bathwater brine, the first to sedate, and the second to kill. When the feeble mind of the last tadpole ceased activity, he knew he had done the right thing. But he was not without some sense of sorrow, and sought out Carylin for comfort.

What she gave him was the exact opposite, however. She told him, with a nervous laugh and averted eyes, that he hadn't quite killed them all.

Immediately, his thoughts ran wild, and he began to interrogate her. Did a tadpole escape? Gods forbid, did one get inside her skull? But she quickly shook her head, and guided him outside, to a shady spot by the temple where the weeds grew thick. In the middle of the greenery, there was a bucket.

And inside the bucket, there was a tadpole. A remarkably fat tadpole. She explained to him that she had taken one of the 'babies' - a term she used with far too much of a smile - when it was just hatched, and hid it outside. Nearly every other day since then, she went to a butcher, searching for animal brains that she could feed to the thing. She apologized, and told Lawrence that he could do whatever he felt was right. It wasn't her child, after all. But the look on her face was far from indifference.

Lawrence looked at the thing - it, he reminded himself, not him, as Carylin kept calling the tadpole - and reached into its mind. Unsurprisingly, he felt nothing. No malevolence, like the others, but little of anything else either. Given that the thing was stuffed with animal brains, it wasn't likely to develop much of an intellect at all. But that same diet had also made it unlikely to ever fit into any cranial orifices.

He told her that he wouldn't kill it right away, and the way her eyes lit up made him quickly regret that decision. She bombarded him with question after question, of where they would keep him, and what they should feed him, and other little worries. Most of these she answered after a second or two of talking excitedly to herself. But one was left: what should his name be?

Lawrence pushed aside his growing fears to bring forth the first name that came to mind - and thus the tadpole became Benedict.

Benedict was dumped back into the bathtub, bucket and all (after his deceased siblings were removed, of course). Lawrence resolved to start feeding him a proper diet as soon as the next burial was needed, though giving a tadpole humanoid brain matter this late into development was unlikely to suddenly put his intellect back on track. Benedict's mind would forever be stunted, even for a lowly tadpole. Though that mattered little to Lawrence, as he would surely meet his end soon enough. Giving him a human brain to eat was more a matter of courtesy.

Carylin didn't seem to recognize the inevitable fate of the tadpole, however, instead treating the thing as if he were a human child. As if he were her child. She would sit by the bathtub day in and day out, neglecting her meager duties in favor of talking to a mindless aberration. She'd read books to him, and sing songs to him, and for Lawrence, seeing her sit next to Benedict made his heart ache, as he knew she'd have to say goodbye someday soon.

He would bring that day sooner, if he could. He tried to talk sense into her, but she'd always insist that he was just a baby, that he was still growing.

And one day, when Lawrence was about to begin yet another futile argument by the bath, his girlfriend turned to him with a smile and pointed at him.

"Look! Who's that?" she asked, in an excited tone.

And to Lawrence's astonishment, he heard an answer.

"Papa!"

It was impossible. No tadpole, and certainly not a stunted thing like this one, was capable of telepathy. And yet, the little voice that he heard in his head was just that. Benedict, the little tadpole saved from the maws of his clutch, the runt of them that had been stuffed with animal brains, was speaking to him.

It had called him Papa.

There was no question after that; Benedict couldn't be killed. Lawrence came up with any justification he could find to prove that he wasn't a legitimate danger, not really. Even if he became a neothelid, surely the guards would deal with him before he hurt anyone. If not them, some band of adventurers. The land was crawling with them.

Benedict grew over time, both in size and in intellect. From a chubby tadpole to a slightly longer chubby tadpole, and from saying 'Papa' to 'Mama' and 'hello' and nearly a dozen other little words. He was growing well, and behaving well, and Lawrence let his worries quiet down for the first time in months.

Until another cause for worry struck him. Benedict had learned, as his mother explained it, to 'stick out his tongue'. Being a tadpole, this was not his tongue, of course. It was a bundle of tentacles, long and pale, sticking out of his mouth. And to Lawrence's continued shock, there were six of them.

Tadpoles only have four tentacles. Illithids only have four tentacles. The only sort of mind flayer with six of these appendages was the ulitharid, a variant of illithid that was as far beyond a regular mind flayer as a human was beyond a beast. A creature so powerful that even the great illithids viewed them as godlike.

Normally, identifying a tadpole that would become an ulitharid was impossible. But what if it was allowed to grow outside of the usual illithid methods? What if it was near to becoming something other than a tadpole?

It could shatter everything Lawrence knew about the biology of his kind, making the impossible possible - a tadpole with six tentacles, that could also use telepathy. It answered questions, certainly, but what occupied Lawrence more was the question it raised.

How dangerous could this new creature be? He imagined the future of this ulitharid-neothelid, a massive leviathan with all the psionic power of an Elder Brain. It could destroy the city with ease - no, not just his city, but anything remotely near. This thing was a potential threat to the entire world.

And, at the same time, he was a chubby little tadpole in a bathtub. A child who called Lawrence 'Papa', and said hello to him every time he entered the room.

Lawrence would try to keep his worries quiet, and his fears pushed down. He knew what the safest thing to do would be, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Just like his namesake, Benedict's life wouldn't be ended prematurely. They would simply have to hope for a miracle.

Random Facts:

Benedict keeps the bucket he was kept in as a baby for his entire life. When he's small, he gets carried around in it. When he's too big for that, he sticks his head in it. And even when he's eventually over 100 feet long, he still wears it as a hat.

Benedict does grow significantly in size, but his vocabulary plateaus at about a two-year-old level. His personality also remains fairly childlike, but he's always very kind and polite.

He knows exactly one song, and that's the alphabet song (or whatever the Common equivalent would be). He will start singing at random and plead for his parents to sing along with him.

He's not seen as a human by citizens in the same way his father is; instead Lawrence just tries to mind control people around him into thinking a baby neothelid is totally normal. Eventually Benedict develops his own psionic power enough to do the same, and the town adopts the resident hundred foot long worm as a sort of mascot.

Benedict later gets a job delivering mail in the city. He's actually pretty good at it, since he can just scan the minds within his telepathic range to find the recipient of each delivery. His range becomes much greater than his father's by the time he's fully grown, encompassing the entire city.

[betbeton]

✃ Let Sleeping Dogs Die

Derek Goffard × Reader

Warnings - All Derek Route Warnings (From the Game) can be Applied

18 + Minors DNI

·GN Reader·

·A/N- might make a part two, though this feels sorta like rambling in fic form. Hopefully it's not bad·

Other Versions

Lawrence · Strade · Mason -WIP

・❥・ Masterlist

The hot sand stung your feet as you padded behind the bottle blonde who called himself your owner, the choke collar that hung loosely around your neck a not so gentle reminder that thankfully you weren't the poor sods being hunted. Even if the pats to your head and condescending words thrown your way were infuriating there wasn’t anything you could do aside from force your tail to smack against the sand like a damn dog. Though with as angry as the situation made you this was your lot in life, a pet. Sold to the highest bidder several years ago by someone you used to view as a friend, mentor, the damn bastard waited till another monster came in to replace you. After all those years with you and teaching you how to navigate the world as a beast of a person he sold you to some damn bastard who gifted you to his son. A prize for his twenty fifth birthday. That was how you became a possession of Derek Goffard, a violent bastard with too much money at his disposal. At first he used you as a stress reliever when he was upset or angry, beating you to the point of near death day after day, but the worst had been yet to come. The first year he had taken you to the desert trip he had been excited for was absolute hell, first you had been abused in more ways than you had imagined, all physically and mentally taxing. The only consolation to have been had Derek didn’t allow the older man named Jack to force himself on you, Derek stating he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of such abuse. After all what fun is a broken toy?

The cool metal links that made up your collar sinking into your neck and cutting off your air flow jerked you out of your head. Ears flattening to your head as you tucked your curled tail between your legs earning a cackle from your tormentor. Head jerking harshly backwards as Derek yanked on your half folded ear you allowed him to direct your gaze towards the people sat tied on the ground. Four people in total an older man with a black eye and three people who seemed to be near Derek’s age. One was a sobbing woman with blonde hair sat beside a man who was also sobbing, but unlike her he wasn’t nervously darting his gaze from person to person. The last person was Derek’s offering, poor sap had thought the person purchasing them wanted to go camping. What they lacked in the sense department they made up for with determination, if the angry glint in their eye was anything to go off of. You were so focused taking in the captives appearances that you didn’t register what Derek was yelling at you until he shoved your head into the sobbing girl’s chest, when had he dragged you over to them?

Any thoughts you had brewing were forced from your head when Derek left you after shoving you into the poor woman’s breasts like someone would a naughty puppy with its own piss. Tugging your face away from the sobbing woman you couldn’t help but to feel pity for her as you leaned in once more taking a deep inhale of her scent, sweat and something sweet peaches or maybe a flower you couldn’t pin point it. Repeating your actions you worked your way down the line until you came face to face with Derek’s offering. The intensity in their eyes had an itch at the back of you head urging you to cower away and whimper to show them you didn’t want conflict, though as you leaned in to sniff at them they spoke. The words were spoken directly into your one upright ear causing it to twitch as you listened.

“I’ll free you if you help me.”

They weren’t the first person to try and get your help, but something in their voice had your tail lightly swishing in anticipation. Sadly before you could respond the sound of someone screaming met your ears at the same time as the acidic smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne assaulted your nose, which had you reeling back away from the dead meat. Scrambling you slipped several times before coming to squat behind the closest people, the cultist creeps who called themselves Komodo and Dragon. Peaking out from behind the larger of the duo’s legs you watched as Jack dropped an irate woman onto the sand before directing his gaze to the group. A harsh whistle had you standing and taking a walk of shame back behind Derek, his hand reaching back to clip the leash back to your collar. After a brief squabble over who to use as first blood Derek dropped your leash as you struggled to suppress a whimper while you watched them drag the poor sobbing blonde woman away from the other captives, a pair of hands grasping your ears as they rubbed at them dragged your attention elsewhere. Despite finding them just as terrifying you were grateful for Komodo and Dragon’s fascination with you. They always seemed to demand your attention during first blood, at least when it was there one of their victims, almost as if irritating Derek by touching you was their revenge. Though it all came to a halt, the cold fingers rubbing your ears and the screaming, the later ceasing had your eyes darting over just in time to see Derek stomping over to grab your leash and tug you back behind him. Eyes watery as you were choked by your chain you could barely see what direction the captives ran off in. Though you were left to choke and gasp for air as Derek rummaged in his pocket snapping a tracker to your choke chain, the bastard smacked your legs with his bat when you were free of your leash yelling at you to sit in camp and be a good dog. 

Sadly some part of your mutt genes was fiercely loyal to Derek. How you wished you could will your feet the other direction, or maybe even sink your teeth into his throat or better yet rip out his intestines and devour them as he laid screaming on the sand gasping for mercy like all the victims he murdered.

You didn’t do any of that instead you obeyed like a good little dog, sitting down in the sand beside Derek’s bag guarding the camp as Jack liked to say. You weren’t guarding anything in truth if one of those poor sods approached camp while you were its sole inhabitant you wouldn’t stop them from pilfering it for food or water. Even if you were a dumb dog you still knew well enough someone would have to crave death to approach the camp, despite you knowing this it didn’t stop you from craving Derek’s hostage or better yet that strong looking woman Jack brought would show up. Even as Jack grabbed you collar yanking you towards one of the folding seats, mashing you head into the sand as he sat down on it only to laugh when you sputtered out grains of sand the dumb dog side of your brain held out hope someone anyone would murder these monsters.

When your hair was grabbed and you were forced face first into the older man’s crotch you fought the urge to sink your teeth into his cock as it harshly pressed into your mouth, resisted the urge to maim and kill the man before you as his erection sat heavily on your tongue. Though some idiot answered your prayers as you heard footsteps approaching the shit hole they called camp, Jack stood abruptly with a bitter laugh as he shoved you into the sand and took off after what you assumed was his captive. 

Crawling back to Derek’s bag you laid in the sun sleeping for several hours until the light grew low and the air started to chill, your que to wake and find your owner to help him with a final hunt for the day. Though as you stood up from the sand dusting off you legs you made eye contact with Derek's victim, dried blood smeared on their bottom lip and the metallic smell following them a clear indication they had an encounter with one of those bastards. Though when they rushed towards you hands grasping at your collar you panicked, clawed hand slashing at them only to stop short when the chain was lifted above your head and tossed to the ground. Even if it was just a simple loop of metal it still felt as if the weight of the world was lifted from your shoulders. As they grabbed the loose fabric of your top you couldn't deny their silent urging to follow them. On their heels you ran after them, it was all a blur even when they said you were safe to wait out the night in some dank cave you still didn't quite comprehend what was happening. Until the next day you had sat by the door like a statue, ears erect and tail stiff waiting for the final boot to drop.

At around midday was when you decided to wonder out of the cave, scrambling down the loose rocky earth to the harsh desert below. Your bare feet sinking into the hot sand as you wondered head tilted towards the earth sniffing for any traces of your bastards owner's scent. The wait wasn't long, just as you had caught the scent of something decaying the noise of a vehicle nearing startled you. Standing stock still your flight or fight response didn't register, you knew that running and hiding was your best option but you couldn't will you legs to move from their spot sinking into the blistering sand.

Head dipping down as you waited for the inevitable. And when it came in the form of a bat harshly smacking into your chest there was no resistance from your body as you buckled and landed in the sand. Mouth and nose inhaling a concerning amount of grit as you wildly thrashed once on the ground, though the thrashing and scrambling to gain purchase with your clawed hands and feet didn't last long. The tap of a bat against your back had you freezing yet again curled tail shifting to try and tuck between your legs as best it could as your terrified form laid trembling on the sand. The cackle that met you ears as you were smacked in the back of the head with that damned bat, the impact caused pain to bloom on the back of your skull eyes squinting as black spots sparked across your vision. Ears ringing as you tried desperately to comprehend and absorb what you tormentor was saying.

“Listen, I would hate to have to kill my favourite puppy. So why don’t you make it up to me?” Derek tapped at your spine harshly with his bat as he spoke.

Curling into yourself your mind disassociated, it felt as if you were floating far away from this situation. Even further away more like the past, before you had been thrust into this world of torment. Even before you met that fox bastard. Back when you were just you, a simple puppy of a person who only knew borderline suffocating joy and the normalcy of pretending to be human. That's all it was in the end even now as you were treated as a pet you still would pretend to be human when Derek brought you in public, when he paraded around like he was hot shit. Though that damned bat smacking against your spine had you rocketing back to reality, the old you who was happy and content a distant fading memory. What wasn't a fading memory though was the laboured and fearful breathing your ears had picked up. Part of you had thought that, when you first encountered the monster, catching the scent of Derek's victim had been a trick of boarder line heatstroke. It would seem you had been wrong. Very wrong. As you heard them level their breathing and stand was the moment you struck as Derek's focus shifted to his preferred victim of the moment you shakily hoisted yourself up to your feet once more. Looming beside Derek you could see the momentary fear that flashed in the eyes of his victim as they thought you might betray them.

It was absurd really. You had no loyalty to anyone. Not even yourself, you would gladly sell your soul to be free of this man. But the damn idiot dog side of your brain had you longing for the damn dead meat to reassure you, for them to say everything would be alright. It irritated you and grated at your already frayed nerves. However you didn't direct any anger at them it was all reserved for Derek.

You had turned to face him just as he had reached out to grab the back of your neck. In his arrogant and distracted state you took the moment to strike. Launching yourself at him pinning him beneath your body as he hollered and struck you. Still your didn't let up, leaning down and sinking your teeth into his neck in a panicked state of your own. The metallic twinge of blood flooding your mouth had you gagging as your head thrashed from side to side, much like a dog tearing apart a toy. The sickening gurgle of your tormentor trying to order you off of him and yelling most likely obscenities at you and the world had you clamping your jaw tighter. It was perversely invigorating to steal the life away from someone who regularly made you eat corpses on these damned yearly trips, or worse if he was feeling ... particular that day.

It felt like forever of you thrashing your head and wrenching his most likely shredded esophagus from his throat, but a set of hands grabbing at your thin shirt had you reeling back. Momentarily forgetting it was Derek you had been mutilating and not some poor sap who he had purchased. Whipping around with your ears perked relief flooded your body as you came face to face with Derek's victim. Their shaking hands frantically grabbing at your face as they tucked a finger into your bloody mouth to make sure you were unharmed. The anger and borderline blood lust you had felt mere moments ago was still very present at the forefront of your mind as you snapped at their hand, sharp teeth sinking into the meat of it in warning.

Instead of treating you with anger or annoyance they backed off which left you reeling almost craving they had struck you... If only to feel the sense of normalcy being reprimanded and punished provided. Even if they did respect your boundary they still kept a hand on your body to try and sooth you, the now bloodied hand that you had attacked. They gently rubbed at your ears cooing out genuine words, that you were safe and everything would be okay. You knew they were wrong, Jack and Machete were still out there somewhere. Plotting on how to catch and mutilate the victims who remained, but when the heat had cooled down and you sat with everyone actually engaging in conversation the topic of murdering Jack came up. And it left you hopeful, even if your face was practically cacked with Derek's blood and you had secretly gone back several times that day to mutilate his corpse beyond recognition you were still excited to finally taste freedom.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

HEY GUESS WHO HAS ANOTHER YUMMY MOTH FIC FOR YOU

(tw alcohol mention for anyone?)

you sit on your bed, arms wrapped around tucked knees, head buried in your arms. you have never been so miserable, yet you can't bring yourself to cry. though you don't normally like to cry, the pressure has been building for some time now, and you were hoping for a release.

a knock at the door startles you, and you instinctively tighten your grip until you hear a familiar voice.

"y/n? it's me."

uncontrollably, a small smile forms on your face. a small voice inside you whispers that you hope it's foul legacy. somehow, you find a moth harbinger much prettier than a redhead harbinger. shakily, you get up to open the door. just a crack, though. enough to tell him you're not interested in seeing anyone right now.

to your surprise, foul legacy is the one standing at the door. you should have known, his voice is different than childe's. it's raspier, more... moth-like. the moth, however, simply raises a bottle of wine he held in his left hand, a raised eyebrow. "you sure you want to pass on a drink with an old friend? tell me about how you've been?"

you simply sighed, opened the door wider in a silent permission, and grabbed the bottle from him, taking a big chug. you ignored the way it burned down your throat. you've heard that alcohol wipes away the pain, and that's exactly what you wanted. archons, you didn't even know why you were upset, really. of course it wasn't the streak of bad days you'd been having. why would it be? after all, you handle them perfectly, as you like to say.

without a word, foul legacy takes the wine back from you to take a sip. unlike you, however, he isn't here to drink his pain away, but merely to enjoy time with you, an old friend. he doesn't drink much, offering you the bottle again once he's done. "so, tell me how you've been?"

you sigh again. "i..."

you don't really know how to start. you return to your bed, crossed arms around tucked knees, the wine in one hand. "it's been a shit day. a shit week, really," you begin. you find, however, that once you begin, it seems almost impossible to finish. "fuck it, it's been a shit year. i've been through three jobs, two dead pets, dead family, and an apartment. i've endured the silent hatred i get simply for being a lawrence. there's a reason i came to liyue, instead of staying in mondstadt with the rest of my family. and yet, it seems that things aren't too different here. here, i'm excluded because i'm different. after all, instead of pledging loyalty to my supposed 'new Archon,' i stay loyal to barbatos, mondstadt's Archon. but can you really blame me? i was born and raised there. it is still my home nation, even if no one else wants me there..."

eventually, you trail off in a drunken stupor, having lost your train of thought. "i'm sorry. you didn't come to listen to me vent, did you? i should, stop. sorry."

"no, i get it," he replies in his calming voice. somehow, it always seems to have a soothing quality in it you haven't been able to find elsewhere. "one more drink, okay? and then i think it would be better for you to get some rest. don't worry, i'll take care of you in the morning."

you nod tiredly, wanting nothing more than that. though you would never tell him in such a vulnerable state, having him nearby was more than enough. maybe if you asked him, he'd even sleep in your bed with you. you hoped he would. after all, nothing fights nightmares quite like someone you trust with all your heart.

Izzy my comrade, i LOVE the way you write so much!!!! this is SO TASTY and you being a Lawrence is actually something i've never considered!!!

you almost expect Childe to be gone by the time you wake up, with his Harbinger duties and all, but to your surprise he's still there, the sturdy arms of his Foul Legacy form wrapped around your waist. although it's not enough to block out the incessant pounding in your temples, the soft snores coming from his Abyssal half's mouth fill you with warmth and you snuggle back down, pulling the covers up to your ears. there's a sleepy grumble as you shift and wiggle until you're nearly caged in his arms, Foul Legacy slowly awakening at your movements. he simply lets out a purr when he sees you bundled in a cocoon of blankets, pulling you to his chest and resting your head against his lilac fluff, cooing in delight when you immediately bury your face in the soft fur, trying to block out the light filtering into the room

luckily, Childe is well prepared, and reaches for a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water he had put on the table last night, when you were in a deep sleep. if your head didn't hurt so much you would've chuckled at the sight of Foul Legacy delicately holding the glass and pills, his claws dwarfing both of them. you sit up with a groan and quickly down the water and painkillers before flopping back down against Childe's fluff, fingers curling into fists as you cling to him and the comfort he gives. there's a soft croon, full of affection and longing as he strokes your hair, and your house, previously so cold and empty, seems to fill with light and love. something tells you that Childe has no intention of leaving, even after you decide to get up and start your day, and he sweeps his gauzy, glittering wings overtop of you like a starry blanket

and suddenly, your home doesn't feel like Mondstadt or Liyue or any nation in Teyvat- it's wherever Childe is or goes, even to the ends of the earth

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 36 (SPOILERS)

"Sherman Yang's chariot, which was still circling the statue's legs in a vain attempt to electrocute its kneecaps." Is this the same flying chariot that the Apollo and Ares cabins were bickering over during The Last Olympian and that the Lost Hero trio were picked up by at the start of Heroes of Olympus? I have a headcanon that the Ares cabin felt bad about their lack of participation after the Second Titanomachy and gave it back to the Apollo cabin and that's why it's stated as belonging to the Apollo cabin in The Lost Hero. Now with Sherman using what I assume is the same chariot 'cause there's no way the camp has multiple flying chariots laying around, that means they share it sometimes! Awww I love this background storytelling.

"Hades used to love sneaking up on me that way and yelling, 'HI!' just as I shot an arrow of death." The way Apollo knows Hades is very, very different to the characterization of Hades we're familiar with. To Apollo, he sounds like the weird uncle who shows up every winter solstice and encourages the kids to participate in dangerous activities that their parents would never let them do.

"A plague arrow" That thing is a giant metal statue. It does not have organs, nor an immune system, nor any flesh whatsoever. A plague arrow is possibly the least effective weapon that could possibly be used against it other than maybe a feather on a stick. "disease to kill the Colossus's animating power" Mmm still dubious but okay.

"And... if you fail?" "I won't have the strength to try twice. You'll have to . . . Find an arrow, try to summon some sickness, make the shot" Y'ALL CONNED ME. We've all been going "give Will plague powers" WHEN IT'S IMPLIED THAT ALL CHILDREN OF APOLLO NATURALLY HAVE HAD PLAGUE POWERS ALL ALONG. Or at least it's common enough that Apollo has faith Kayla and Austin can pull it off if he fails! So all, most, or some children of Apollo can conjure up sickness, but they either don't know or simply choose not to. Maybe Will stands a chance in Tartarus after all. After all, Annabeth made it through and all she had was superpowered weaving and the ability to bruise any immortal deity's ego.

"Sherman Yang's chariot, minus Sherman Yang." Uhh, Canoe Duo, what did you do? Tell me Sherman Yang isn't dead. All y'all had to do was tell him you have a plan and you need to borrow the chariot. "Nico convinced them to disembark." You threw them off the chariot when it was dozens of feet in the sky because talking would have taken too long? Will, you're the medic! You know you're gonna have to get them fixed up and yet you deliberately cause them bodily harm!

"after that shadow travel, Nico is going to pass out any second." "'No, I'm not,' Nico complained, then passed out." First of all, funny. Second of all, Nico got seriously nerfed. There's no way he's still recovering from fading halfway out of existence. Even with the inconsistency of demigods' powers throughout this series, Nico could open a passage to Asphodel and drag someone (Bryce Lawrence) into it without even touching them. Now he tries shadow traveling within seeing distance and passes out. Yeah, he took Will with him, but that should be easy as pie after taking three people and a forty foot tall statue overseas. And it was within seeing distance. How's he gonna survive Tartarus again, let alone save one or more people from down there? With this new revelation, I seriously have more faith in Will making it through than Nico.

"Another time, in a Stockholm tavern, I met this god who was smoking hot, except his talking sword just would not shut up." My friend tells me this is Magnus Chase reference. I think. Or it might've been Kane Chronicles. I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure they said Magnus Chase. Neither of us have read either of those series.

"The arrow quivered." Do not apologize for that pun. Lol. Apollogize

"PRITHEE, SHOOTING IS NOT MY PURPOSE." PRITHEE (exclamation): please (used to convey a polite request)

"'FORSOOTH,' said the arrow." FORSOOTH (adv.): indeed (often used ironically or to express surprise or indignation)

Why does this arrow talk so loudly. Such a small thing, yet such large bellows.

"In a flash of silver light, the camp's magical barriers collapsed." Fuck.

"'You can't hear this arrow talking?' Judging from her wide eyes, I guessed the answer was, No, and does hallucinating run in the family?" This made me laugh. She really must've thought he'd gone mad. Too much time in the Grove of Dodona and whatnot.

"'I'm fine!' Kayla yelped . . . splattering drops of red all over the chariot's floor." This just about sums up the demigods' attitude toward injury.

"Only one of the missiles was unbroken, and its shaft was warped." But he's gonna make the shot anyway, 'cause he's awesome. Odd how he keeps calling them missiles, though. It never occurred to me that the word for missiles might have existed long before the missiles we know today were invented.

"STARTEST THOU: PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY, PLAGUEY." That friend I was talking about earlier: This was the line that took her out. THIS line. Can you believe...? Of all the jokes.

"My plan would take much too long, if I could even remember how to make a plague arrow. This was my punishment for breaking an oath on the River Styx." How does he know? Does he just... know? This is for using the whole anthill as a giant instrument and shooting arrows at the ants, right? So we know the geyser oath to save Meg doesn't supersede the oath on the Styx against using arrows or instrumental music and this is the punishment for it. I don't like how the Styx oath is just an excuse to do certain plot points. This plan not working could easily just be blamed on Apollo's faulty memory or human error (which is possible now that Apollo is human and really even if he weren't). Anyway, I wonder if he's ever gonna break a Styx oath and then, like it was said that Styx oaths could take a lifetime to wear you down and ruin you, the punishment doesn't take effect so soon after and he lives in fear of that coming back to bite him.

"Hey, Bronze Butt!" Classic weak Percy insult. "Over the Colossus's head" Shadow travel can't make new shadows. The volcano thing was a one-time incident and that was because the mountain gods working for Gaea interfered. Unless hellhounds have more advanced shadow travel than Underworld demigods.

"The weekend was here." I like that introduction for Percy. He's like "I got time on the weekend. Might drop by." And then the weekend comes and he shows up for this epic battle instead of relaxing weekend-related activities. Story of his life.

This post was way longer than it ought'a have been. I've written an essay. Not sorry.

[rallamajoop]

Dracula canons in Yuletide 2022

Unsurprisingly, in the wake of that whole Daily Dracula thing, there were a lot of Draculas nominated for this year's Yuletide exchange this year ‒ not just a lot of Dracula characters, but whole different adaptations of the novel. And being that kind of terrible Dracula-nerd, I figured I'd make a list and share some notes on which-version-is-which. Now, I've only seen about half of these, and can't speak to what all the other folks who actually nominated them loved about them, but I'll take any excuse to ramble on about different Dracula-adaptations at this point, so here we go.

We've got a couple of movies, a couple of telemovies, a TV series and even a musical to cover here, so I'm just gonna put them all in chronological order, starting with the novel.

Dracula - Bram Stoker (Novel 1897)

Nominated characters:  Abraham Van Helsing  Arthur Holmwood  The Correspondent  Dracula  John "Jack" Seward  Jonathan Harker  Lucy Westenra  Lucy Westenra's Mother  Mina Murray Harker  Mr. Hawkins  Mr. Swales  Quincey Morris

Damn, Daily Dracula has done it's thing: folks have nominated basically everyone. (Well... except Sister Agatha. GDI, where's Sister Agatha, people?! Has that 2020 Moffat/Gatiss version put everyone off?)

But, moving onto the adaptations-

1. Dracula (Movies - Hammer) (1958-1974)

Nominated characters:  Dracula  Lawrence Van Helsing | J. Van Helsing  Lorrimer Van Helsing

Okay, yes ‒ this nomination was me. Look, Peter Cushing's Van Helsing was being reincarnated into whole new eras and having confusing chemistry with Christopher Lee's Dracula long before anyone ever thought to do the reincarnation-thing with Mina, and I want all the fic about it, is that so wrong? (Or, you know, the excuse to write some myself. Or really anything about these versions of the characters interacting ‒ I'm not picky!)

2. Count Dracula (1977)

Nominated characters:  Abraham Van Helsing  Jonathan Harker  Mina Harker  Renfield

One of the two British telemovie Dracula adaptations to come out of the 1970's (the 70's was a BIG decade for Dracula). This one was the more faithful to the novel ‒ too faithful, if anything, since some new ideas or creative storytelling could have gone a long way to distract from the limitations of the budget. That said, I did like their Dracula: the costuming isn't much to write home about, but he has enough presence to elevate every scene he's in (and, I mean, if you're going to get one thing really right in a Dracula adaptation...)

3. Dracula (2006)

Nominated characters:  Abraham Van Helsing  John Seward  Lucy Holmwood  Mina Murray

Yet another British television Dracula, this time one where Arthur Holmwood is tricked into helping bring Dracula to British shores by a vampire-worshipping cult, in the mistaken belief the Count can somehow cure him of congenital syphilis. No, really! Seriously though, my biggest disappointment with this one was it didn't go wild and weird enough ‒ the sad soap opera life of Arthur & friends just can't hope to compete with all that high-gothic camp, and 90 minutes just isn't time for all these ideas to breathe. But it must be said, Marc Warren makes a surprisingly compelling Dracula, and his one big vampire-sex-scene with Lucy is... quite something. Basically, I can definitely see why someone might want fic about these versions of the characters ‒ there's lots in this universe left to expand on.

4. Dracula: l'amour plus fort que la mort - Ouali (2011)

Nominated characters:  Jonathan Harker  Poison  Satine  Sorci

Well, okay. This one is, er, a French musical version? XD God, do I love the stuff you'll find nominated for Yuletide! So: not a version I'm familiar with, but going by this one summary I found, what we have here is one of the (MANY) post-1991-Coppola-version rip-offs where Mina is a reincarnation of Dracula's wife... but also one where Dracula hasn't spoken since his wife's death, and now employs three very gloriously campy servants to speak for him (Poison, Satine and Sorci, from the noms above). As someone who doesn't speak a word of French and knows this thing only from 5 minutes on youtube (I mean, the whole show's up there, though the quality's not great), these three are great value, and I can totally see why someone would nominate them for Yuletide.

5. Dracula (TV 2013)

Nominated characters:  Lucy Westenra  Mina Murray  Alexander Grayson | Dracula  Jayne Wetherby

A short-lived TV series reimagining of Dracula, where the Count shows up in London posing as an American steampunk inventor called Alexander Grayson, and yet another of the (many) post-Coppola versions where Mina is the reincarnation of Dracula's tragically-dead-wife, etc. Admittedly, this is an adaptation I know only by its reputation as the show that that finally gave us lesbian!Lucy (!!!) only to have her turn around and sleep with Jonathan for dubious plot reasons (theFUCK?) ‒ but I'd be the last to judge anyone who enjoyed it as a guilty pleasure and/or just wants to run away with the characters and let them have some real fun.

6. Bram Stoker’s Van Helsing (2021)

Nominated characters:  Abraham Van Helsing  Arthur Holmwood  John Seward  Lucy Westenra

Huh. Well, okay. First point: the poster is a lie ‒ this actually seems to be a fairly-straight, (very) low-budget film adaptation of the novel ‒ just one that starts about when Van Helsing arrives (ie, when Lucy is already very ill). So, more drawing-room-drama than Hugh-Jackman-material. Have not seen it, but have a trailer! Now you know just about as much about it as I do.

Honourable mentions

In the "do I even count this?" bonus round, we've also got the 2016 Van Helsing TV series (nominated characters: Axel Miller and Catherine) ‒ a show set post-vampire!apocalypse and starring a Van Helsing descendant. There's also a character called Van Helsing nominated for the Kyuuketsuki Sugu Shinu | The Vampire Dies in No Time manga, and a "Dracula Vance" nominated for a video game called Panilla Saga, about whom google will tell me nothing very illuminating. Ah, well. Seriously though, the total number of different Van Helsings nominated in this year's Yuletide must be some kind of record.

I'd also be remiss not to mention that the original 1872 Carmilla is also nominated, as is the excellent 1970 Hammer adaptation The Vampire Lovers. And rounding out our list of Victorian vampire lit, some weirdo has also nominated Varney the Vampire, but that one really needs its whole own post...

[montammil]

oh my godddd that's so sad. tw again: talk of withdrawals and alcohol/drug abuse

how would lawrence handle withdrawals if he just immediately takes them off it? especially if his kids get weepy and beg, or even violent and angry. and the sickness!!! sorry can u tell i'm a sucker for drug whump haha

speaking generally now since we r on the topic: would he allow the occasional glass (or even a sip) of wine to the kids? occasional edible/blunt/etc? why is he so against them drinking?

Sorry this is so long again!!

CW: Parental whumper, drug whump, drug addictions, mentions of alcohol

He would call the best medical professionals he knows to either help him or give him advice, including mental health professionals. He'd be much more patient and understanding once his kids start going through the withdrawal, because he remembered how awful it was for him.

Surprisingly he'd be pretty good at helping them, but of course he'd have his flaws. He'd be hella manipulative and get overly emotional, especially for Marshall, since he knows how well he can be guilted into doing/not doing certain things.

Another big flaw is his overbearingness. He wouldn't give them any privacy whatsoever, and would check their rooms often for any leftover drugs he might've overlooked.

The only way any of the three would get drugs in the first place is if he gave them some sort of freedom outside the house.

Sadie and Nathan would be the best in this scenario since they could've been addicted shortly after he kidnapped them.

Maybe that was even the reason why he kidnapped either of them in this hypothetical AU, "because they were suffering and needed my help!! It'd be cruel of me just to watch them slowly kill themselves. My actions are 100% justified!" In this AU, I could imagine he'd be a little less sensitive to drug addictions.

And onto the alcohol...

I could imagine he'd let them have one or two sips, but only if he's sure they wouldn't like it so they'd spit it out with disgust. Sadie and Marshall would be most likely to give these reactions.

He wants to them to think all his wine is gross or tastes bad, just so they'll stay away from it.

"Hey, Marshall! Wanna try this new wine I got?"

"You're actually letting me try wine? Oh wow, thanks! I-- oh my god, what is that?!"

"Snake wine! You said you always wanted to try wine, right? This is probably my best-tasting one yet!"

"...what do you usually drink? Never mind, I actually don't want to know..."

He is against them drinking because not only does he have some unsavory experiences with getting drunk and seeing others get drunk, but also because he still views them all as children.

It's hard to say if he'd be 100% okay with anything marijuana-related, but maybe an occasional edible or CBD gummy would be fine if it were for medical purposes, like for Marshall's migraines.

He does support recreational marijuana use, but he still thinks it's very different when it applies to his kids.

[anoctoberpepper]

Grant Offers Lark Art

Grant finds three books. There is only one with any of Lawrence Baker’s works in it, but Grant gets the idea of what other art Lark likes from the 200 + pages of pictures the man sent him in the middle of the night on a bender, wikiwalking through the whale’s art expertise. 

Lark had had better nights. 

And two weeks after that night Grant has something to offer. It’s not Lark and Sparrow’s birthday, or a holiday, but Grant knows Lark, and knows he appreciates gifts more on days that don’t matter. He appreciates someone, anyone, thinking about him on a day that doesn’t matter. He appreciates anyone thinking about him at all.

Grant finds Lark’s car parked at the shooting range at the edge of the city. If he didn’t see the location tracker on his phone showing Lark heading out, Grant would have gone right in. The man at the check in knows them all on sight. Knows what guns they prefer, and chats them up about the latest in lock boxes and sniper scopes. It’s disgusting, and rewarding, and Grant tries not to think too hard about all the information he’s amassed about guns since his childhood. 

Grant watches Lark walk out of the range in a semi-daze.

“Lark-” Grant calls out before Lark can get spooked on his own. 

“Grant?” Lark shocks himself out of a deep space-out, squints for a second then pulls out his phone. Grant knows the habit. He and Lark were paranoid enough several years ago to stab trackers into their arms, and now they use it to double check that the other one is who they say they are. They have yet to find out if Scam Actually knows about the trackers or if he can mimic the signal. They’re hoping they never have to find out. 

Lark’s fears seem somewhat allayed when he sees Grant’s small tracker beeping in the same spot that Grant stands, leaning up against his minivan’s hood.

“Still me, unfortunately, ” Grant says, self-deprecating in a way he can only be with Lark.

Lark hmphs with understanding. 

“How was the range?” Grant asks.

“Got most of my shots. Wrist’s back to normal.” Lark holds up his right arm and twists his wrist in a loose circle. His wrist got pretty well smashed three months ago when an incursion was trying to stomp a crossbow out of his hand. The stomping stopped Lark, but it couldn’t stop Grant from piercing a bullet right through one of the things ten eyes. Down went the monster, and curled over screaming went Lark. Three months later and apparently Lark is finally back to 100%.

“Crossbow and automatic?” Grant asks. “All good,” Lark says. “You going in?” He nods toward the range. He and Lark sometimes go shooting together, but they’re way more likely to wander there solo. For Grant there’s something raw and stripped away about who he is on the shooting range. It feels too much like being naked when a grin smears across his face as a rifle recoils. He doesn’t like people seeing it. 

Lark, well he would take someone with him, but they’ve all gotten too spooked at one point or another at Lark’s manic look when he makes a perfect shot, or gets six rounds in rapid succession. The man’s bloodlust can be hard to stomach. 

Out of everyone, they’re still the most likely to go to the range together.

“No,” Grant says. He pushes away from the front of the car and opens his passenger door.

“Brought you a gift.” He grabs the three coffee table art books and walks back around the front of the car to Lark.

Lark frowns and takes the small stack from Grant when it’s offered. He opens the cover of the first and looks a few pages in. Grant gets the feeling he’s looking for a hidden compartment or trick.

“This isn’t a gun safe,” Lark says, confused. 

“They’re books, Lark.”

Lark goes ahead and checks the other books for hidden compartments then frowns harder. Grant doesn't know how to respond. Doesn’t have to when, after another moment of looking, Larks stops flipping around on a Jackson Pollock piece, turns a page and stares at a Joseph O’ Sickey painting. His confusion melts slowly. His finger lets one page drop. Then another. Each small move reveals piece after piece of artwork. He can’t pull his eyes away. It’s like watching Lincoln turn his attention onto a tablet, slowly disappearing into another world. Grant doesn’t know if he should pull him back. Lark looks at one picture, slowly lets the page drop, stares at the next, then again. He’s peaceful. Still in a very unLark way. And then Lark realizes it and shuts the book. “You know I hate reading.” He holds the books back out to Grant, shoving them like they might hurt him. “Not for reading,” Grant says, pressing them back. Lark never really caught onto reading. He’s dyslexic as hell and there are days Grant has to text Sparrow to get translations of his brother’s texts. “It’s just paintings, you can just look.” 

Lark scratches his scraggly beard, and looks uncomfortable with the situation. Grant momentarily worries that he’s done something wrong. Then he realizes that Lark had said This isn’t a gun safe. Grant thinks back to every gift he’s seen someone give the man, tactical vests, silencers, hunting knives, a rare black-powder scented candle from Sparrow in a well meaning but fruitless attempt to soften Lark’s rough edges. 

“It’s art,” Grant repeats. “There’s a bunch of the paintings you sent me in them. Here-” Grant takes the middle book from the stack and flips through until he finds the Lawrence Baker drawing. It’s a tall landscape sketch of a tree and log and undergrowth, but none of it is quite finished or maybe it just morphs into something else before it ever really forms. Your eyes can’t land on or finish anything. 

Lark reaches out a hand, runs his finger down the page, reverential. 

“It’s the first thing that looked right,” Lark says quietly. He glances up at Grant, back down again, clearly unsure if he should be saying this out loud. 

“What do you mean?” Grant offers. He’s never seen Lark’s exterior crack like this. He wants to make sure he’s gentle now that it is. Lark deserves that. 

“It’s what I looked like inside, when it all happened.” Grant looks down at the drawing. It looks just like any other drawing to him. Detailed, subtle but not simple. It means something to Lark though. No one’s ever given him anything but guns, and no one’s ever given him anything that describes what it felt like to fall apart all those years ago. Grant gently puts the book back in Lark’s hands. He doesn’t close it, just hands it over and waits. 

“Sorry I barrage texted you,” Lark says. He still doesn’t take his eyes off the art.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grant says.”Text more often.”  He tries to think of the right thing to say. Grant is messy, but he tries to be honest. Lark bottles it up, breaks down in fits and bursts and giant explosions. This is nothing like that. This is like finally seeing the world of Lark, but only through a stained glass window. Not stark or clear, but at least there’s some light getting through.

“You should enjoy those,” Grant says, hoping Lark will take the books without another fuss, get into his car and take them home. Maybe he’ll look through them without also chugging his way through a bottle of Everclear. 

Lark runs his finger around the edge of the open book. Grant doesn’t know where to go or what to do. He and Lark get into fist fights, and scream at each other about their feelings, they don’t usually look at art.

After going back and forth, Grant slaps Lark’s arm.

 “I’ll catch you later,” he says, flinches internally. With anyone else he could at least fake his way through an emotional conversation. For some reason he can’t seem to pull it off with Lark. He pulls his car keys out of his pocket and turns to leave.

“Grant-”

Grant stops in his tracks. Braces himself and turns. 

Lark’s practically clutching the books to himself. “Thank you.” The sheer genuine appreciation in his friends eyes is a punch to the gut.

“Anytime,” Grant says. He rubs his neck, then adds, “Text me anytime. I mean it.”

I love the idea of Lark being moved by art since his mom was a painter (painted that giant mural on the side of their house growing up).

[zenezene]

throwing this out there because maybe someone is as obsessed with invested in this character as I am and maybe wants to talk about it okay thanks

yknow what honestly I feel like if mc were to taunt Ren at all or just be cheeky and sassy with him, his composure would break. I don't think he'd even know what to do. his mind probably functions in "dominant/submissive" mode all the time (because of the things strade taught him) and it would freak him out if mc didn't automatically submit because it doesn't follow the pattern. of course insults and outright defiance make him angry, but if mc acted with playful indifference or even sarcastic flirtation, he'd probably get too confused to keep up the dominant facade. it'd be so fun to play those little mind games with him to see how fast you can get him to break.

basically if you respond with fear or anger in his route, it just turns him on. fear makes him feel like he's in control, and anger gives him the opportunity to exert his control. deep down he desires love, but his view of love is so warped by trauma that what he actually craves is control.

I don't think Ren even knows what he wants. maybe having someone who dominates and hurts him will make him feel "normal" again.

the three different outcomes in ren's route (the 3 different outfit changes) are symbolic of the crossroads Ren is at in his life moving forward. he could continue the unhealthy pattern created by strade's presence in his life in one of two ways: becoming his version of strade to replace him, or subconsciously finding a different replacement for strade, (side note: it might not actually mean anything but has anyone else noticed that when u choose to take Ren to the basement and start cutting him, his affection meter stays at purple? you'd think, if anything, it would at least go to zero or be in the negatives.), OR as a third option, taking a potentially healthy approach (when he comes back in his normal clothes after killing Lawrence). the ending "you helped Ren" (which still toxic because if someone kidnapped you from an alleyway, you probably shouldn't stay in contact with them lmao) suggests that Ren COULD very well have normal-ish relationships with people following strade's death, he just needs the right person who is dedicated to meeting Ren where he's at and taking it slow. Ren obviously has a normal conscience buried somewhere underneath all that trauma; he's fundamentally different from Strade in that way. for example, when ren brings mc to their room, if mc asks "how long are you going to keep me here?" or stays silent, he gets uncomfortable. he doesn't think what he's doing is right, he just doesn't know another way. at one point he even tries rationalizing his behavior in the same way strade most likely did, saying things like "you don't understand yet" or "lessons hurt but you learn to appreciate them".

honestly now that I think about it, I think green shirt Ren is Ren's take on who strade was, tank top Ren is him regressing back to who he was in captivity, and grey sweater Ren is his actual personality. I think Ren probably simultaneously blames himself for what happened to him AND is convinced Strade did what he did out of love, or some twisted version of it. but neither of those are true, so his perception of reality is severely skewed.

[darshanoftheories]

Secret Summer Paradise Event

So I’ve started the new event, secret summer paradise and I want to talk about it.

First Idyia. Idyia is not a courageous person. We have found out that she doesn’t like to face her problems head on, she was really fine to be the team’s mascot, but she still does not want to feel useless (relatable). She is the caretaker of the domain, but, she also said that she did not make the domain. It isn’t hers. That opens up the question, who made this domain? The most possible answer would be Alice, Klee‘s mother. She already made the first summer domain, so it’s sensible that she set up this one, too. But as Alice is somewhere far away, Idyia agreed to invite Klee. I’m wondering what exactly the relationship between Idyia and Alice is. The letter said she was an old friend and I can’t help but be bothered by the way she looks. She looks like she fits a bit too perfectly into the domain. The water theme on her clothes, the glowing blue eyes, the wavy blue hair (I’m guessing you won’t get bleach and hairdye in that domain (unless maybe with the projectors)). I’m wondering when she begann to look like that. Because if she’s an old friend of Alice, she’s gonna be old too, and I don’t believe she had the water theme before she went into the bottle.

That is our cue to go to the next part, the three brothers. Now I can’t really go into detail about that family relation, but I do want to focus on their backstory. The brothers have had that relationship since before they got into the bottle. The youngest had already been sick and the others have always argued with each other. I think it was out of concern for each other, but whatever. Fact is, they got lost in the desert, the youngest passed out somewhere and the older ones argued until they went their separate ways. They shouldn’t have survived that. As far as I could tell based on their story, at the point where they found the bottle, they all were at different places, and yet they’re all in the bottle now. My best guess is that they won’t be able to leave the domain again. Lidyia has said that they have known each other for a longer time now, in which they probably haven’t left the domain. They are even working here, maintaining one part of it. Maybe they had (almost) died in the desert and the bottle took pity on them.

We know that the domain regularly gets visitors, such as that lawrence cousin (hard guess on who tried to take the parts), or even Kokomi and us, but we haven’t had a colour change. That’s another thing that makes me stop. Those brothers have the same blue eyes and hair like Lidyia. Even if before, you could chalk it up to Lidyia just happening to like the colour blue, with the brothers, it’s clear that the domain did this to them (or at least they wouldn’t look like that if they weren’t in the domain) funnily though, they don’t share the blue clothing, no it’s identifiable as an adventurer’s clothes (and clash horribly with the hair and eyes), so maybe that’s a mark that they haven’t been in the domain for as long as Lidyia, maybe they still can get out if they choose to do so. (I find the look of the domain a bit suspicious, too happy)

Anyway, I can’t wait for the story to progress, I’ll update this when I’ve got more.

[msfbgraves]

All the three main men in Daniel’s life (Pop, Michael, Terry) all love him intensely, and all hurt him deeply, and all truly suck. 

He’s his Pop’s favourite pup, he totally adores him (to a disturbing extent) and he dotes on him and spoils him. Lavishes him with love. Yet Pop’s the one that bartered Daniel off to Terry. Used him as a living, breathing pawn to save the family. His youngest, his baby, only 18, looking 14, hardly more than a child—sold to a man 10 years his senior who threatened murder. That’s a promise broken on so many levels. 

Then there’s calculating, reserved psycho Michael. I get the impression that Daniel is his favourite sibling, yet he’s also totally willing to use him to further the family’s means. He encouraged the match with Terry, he thought it best, and he was partly responsible for the horrific night and what came of it. Indirectly, he caused/causes(?) so much pain and misery in Daniel’s life. 

And Terry. Good god, Terry. Loves and adores and craves Daniel to a psycho amount, more than anyone or anything and is also the one that wounds him the most, and the deepest. The rape, the cheating. The constant undercurrent of lust and violence, love and cruelty towards his own spouse. Buys him jewelry and a collar to thank him for letting him fuck him like a whore. His, again, willingness to use Daniel and his own pups to gain an empire, despite Daniel not particularly wanting this for himself or his babies. Forcing Daniel over and over to take a more active role, controlling him in every way, ruthless in his loving and his fucking. The definition of the monster is in your home. 

I mean!!!!!!!!!

This poor, sweet boy. Just always going from one mess to another, and never allowed to truly make his own choices. Any choice he makes is just such a small defiance it hardly counts. He really is someone’s son, someone’s sibling, someone’s mate—and always a pawn in someone else’s game. Sometimes I wish he had just run away with Kumiko. Hell, even Johnny Lawrence, haha 😭 Daniel needs to be petted and loved, and not given love at the sharp end of a knife. He’s such a sweetheart! 🥲 Lmao but despite saying this I still want Silverusso to  be together forever. 

😭 What’s wrong with me 🙃

Beautiful analysis.

I think it would make Daniel sad to hear that his choices "hardly count", though. The problem is more that he has very little space to manoeuver, and every choice would have enormous consequences.

I don't know who of you actually play chess, but Daniel's position is like a pawn deep at the enemy's end of the board. If you get a pawn there, backed up well - even when it can hardly attack anyone far and not move unless the other player allows it, man, can that pawn make it hard for the enemy to play or attack well! If that pawn could say (and it can't) "nope, I'm out! I'm just a pawn anyway!" the King would be like "What?! You're keeping the enemy at bay simply by being there, doing nothing! You aren't going anywhere!"

That's Daniel. All around him, war is raging, and he can't move, he's blocked from all sides, but if the enemy makes a wrong move or two suddenly he becomes a Queen, which is as close as chess has to a weapon of mass destruction. And he isn't safe, but at this point he can usually only be killed at insane cost to the enemy so a smart player will try to avoid that. So he's all position and great potential threat. So, how do you deal with that position? Become a weapon of mass destruction? Sacrifice yourself to take on a far grander enemy? Or bide your time, hoping the big shots fight it out themselves?

And Michael - Daniele is his brother, his blood, and inside information on a potential enemy. He loves him. And he sometimes needs to tell him things straight when Pop won't. He knows better than anyone how to play the game while not being Alpha, but he doesn't know how deeply his little brother loves. He loves too, but it's always power he seeks without really asking why. And that is lethal. Nessa is not on the game by choice, Louie is a hands on guy, Michael is an excellent Don but he needs his little brother where he is for maximum impact. And Daniel has had to grow around this impossible position. He knows his potential, but he has to be very careful on how to use it and in what phase of the game.

[keyleth-clay]

I was planning on doing this on this coming Saturday, but then I realized that there’s a non-zero chance of getting at least one of these this week, so I figured I’d better do it sooner rather than later.

Also, in case it isn’t clear by now, I’m doing these 30% because it’s fun and I want to, and 70% because if/when they do happen, I can have this in writing and therefore have bragging rights.

KC’s Top 5 CR Player Character Classes Wishlist

(Note that this says “classes” and not “subclasses”. The options on the list should make it clear why, but also I Don’t Actually Know DnD That Well, and don’t have particularly strong opinions re: subclasses.)

Number 1. Literally Any Artificer. There’s been exactly 1 player character artificer in all of Critical Role, and that was Taryon way back in campaign 1. We only got him for 15 episodes, he rarely actually gets included as a member of Vox Machina (even though he absolutely is, dammit), and back then artificers were still Unearthed Arcana. I was SO sure that we’d be getting one in EXU: Calamity, but things didn’t work out that way. Also I just think they’re cool.

Number 2. Literally Any Ranger. Fun Fact: There have only been two player character rangers in all of Critical Role. Vex’ahlia in campaign 1, and Sam Riegel in Liam’s Quest parts 1 & 2. I know Rangers in 5e are Not Great, but there’s some really cool stuff depending on subclass choice. Swarmkeeper, Horizon Walker, Fey Wanderer – there’s so many really cool & creative options. It mostly just boggles my mind that there have been so few of them, across main campaigns and mini-series and one-shots, despite being a core 5e class.

Number 3. Monk (but not Way of the Four Elements). In a very similar vein, there have only been a handful of player character monks. Beau, Farriwen, and Fy’ra Rai are the only monk PCs in Exandria canon, two of which are genasi Way of the Four Elements monks and the other of whom is a homebrew subclass. The only others are Marisha in Liam’s Quest (no subclass given), The Headmistress in CelebriD&D and D&Deisel (no subclass given), and Mezzek in the goblins Pathfinder one-shot from way back when.

There are so many other cool monk subclasses to explore, and while I know that we just had a monk as a main campaign character, that hasn’t stopped them from having a barbarian and a rogue and at least one cleric in every main campaign party. Also Liam would rock Way of the Long Death or Way of Mercy, and you know it.

Number 4. Any Blood Hunter that isn’t Order of the Lycan. Have you figured out the theme of this top 5 yet? :p

But seriously. There have been six player character blood hunters so far, and five of them have been Order of the Lycan (Tova, Chetney, Portia, Benicio, Lawrence). Thank all the gods for Mollymauk Tealeaf for at least attempting to be an Order of the Ghostslayer. I certainly don’t begrudge Travis his manic pixie werewolf dreams, but some variety would be nice, y’know? I’d particularly like to see somebody play an Order of the Mutant, but I’d be fine with any of the other three subclasses.

Number 5. Lingering Soul. Very shortly after I started watching Critical Role, I found out about the plethora of homebrew stuff that Matt has up on DMs Guild. Of course, I purchased and read through all of it, and of course I immediately loved the Lingering Soul class/post-death option that he created. I know it’s a really tricky thing to try to work into a campaign, and it’s something that he’s barely talked about (pretty much everything else of his on DMG has been used by either a player character or an NPC). Right after Molly died in C2, Taliesin was asked on Talks Machina if he would bring him back as a Lingering Soul, but he chose not to. I just… really fucking wanna see someone play this it’s so fucking cool.

DIShonourable mention goes to yet another fucking fighter or rogue. Across campaigns, mini-series, and one-shots, there have been 23 rogue player characters and 19 fighters. I have no problem with either of them, but holy shit pick something else.

[leguin]

12, 20!

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

hmm good question. let's see... 1) this louis/lestat thing i'm writing via thinking of an argument writing it in my notes app at work and then not looking at it for three days. 2) the last chapter of the long winter fic which is...so close to being done. i don't think i'll manage to both finish it and get it beta'd in a month, but i am tentatively hopeful that it'll be done by...february? that seems pessimistic enough to be possible. 3) the last half of the elsewhere, which i could probably finish tonight if i wanted to, but i need to be in the zone. the evil succession zone. it'll come to me. 4) long winter fic 2: 2 long 2 winter. planning proceeds apace. i need to actually rigorously outline it bc otherwise it'll turn into a multi-chaptered thing and i deeply want it to be like a 20k oneshot. we'll see... 5) untitled kajillionaire fic. i have 2 or 3 of these on the backburner at all times, and i think i will manage to finish one soon. 6) kady/julia space au which i have now rewritten 3 times. i actually have figured out what i need to do to fix it structurally, but i am feeling very lazy. 7-50) many assorted magicians fics, most of which i look at once a month, write a sentence of, and then don't think about until the next month. 51) part 2 of the johnny lawrence high school era series, which i regret making a series bc now i feel honorbound to complete the sequel. another case of knowing what i need to do to finish it but not wanting to.

anyway tl;dr too many things, and that's not counting all of my vague 'currently this is a horrible concept but at any moment it will sprout legs' vampire show ideas...

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

in terms of fics published this year, definitely making mountains out of molehills is a good habit to get into, mostly bc i compulsively read and re-read the first 4 chapters while writing the final chapter this summer, trying to figure out if any of it was going to make sense in a way that wouldn't lead to a small avalanche of angry anons with opinions on psychiatry. not that that was likely to happen, but....prelest is also coming in as a late entry, bc i keep accidentally reading it a few times in a row. i like it, but it's got some issue that i've yet to figure out, so i keep reading it thinking i'll discover it this time around.