#to overdo the fae thing too hard

[ruairy]

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[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #26: Freebie - Balance

(Another free write day of indulgent, soft, shippy nonsense; a companion to last year’s “Wish” in some ways. Edited 10/28/21. Now on Ao3.)

Thancred was hammering away at the training dummies, drenched in sweat, the gunblade Tataru had crafted letting out thunderous cracks with every strike. He tried to load more practice cartridges, only to find himself out.

He almost called to Ryne for more, but swallowed her name before it passed his teeth.

Behind him was a quiet sound, a step he recognized. “Radovan said you were still out here,” Aeryn said.

Thancred nodded as he turned, giving her a smile. She was wearing her red Hannish dress; a simple, pretty style that flattered her. Combined with the cute heeled boots he saw peeking out from under the skirt, she wasn’t here to practice herself.

“I am weak as a kitten yet, and I’d like to fix that. Funny thing about one’s body spending a couple moons asleep whilst one’s soul traipses about another plane.”

She made a noise of agreement as she came closer, resting a hand over his as he reached for more ammunition. “Another way to fix that is a good meal,” she said. “Such as the one I’m having delivered to my quarters about a bell from now.”

He raised a brow. “That so?”

Aeryn nodded. “I was hoping you would join me.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He asked, stepping in to brush a kiss across her lips.

“I’m hoping you don’t.” Aeryn wrinkled her nose. “Though you definitely need a bath first.”

He laughed. “I really do. Help me bring in this equipment, and I’ll get onto that.”

They packed up, Thancred taking the bulk of items to prevent dirtying her dress, or having issues with her heels–not that the latter was likely. She was too sure-footed and graceful, even in those pointy little things.

“So you’ve been back to the First since our waking,” he began.

Aeryn nodded. “Everyone’s well; Eulmore continues to carry out its reforms under the Chais and Wrenden’s steady hands. Lyna and the rest of the Crystarium council have matters under control, the city operating as smoothly as ever. Twine’s seeing an uptick in workers willing to brave the mines and run the trolleys, cooperating with Daedalus. The Night’s Blessed and Fanow work together with the Qitari to explore Ronka’s secrets. And the fae are the fae.”

They carried the equipment into the town proper and through a little-known side entrance into the Rising Stones to avoid the crowds at the Seventh Heaven. “And the girls?” Thancred asked, trying to sound casual.

Aeryn would know how he truly felt, but he made the token effort, anyway.

She helped him put the gear away, handing him the next item. “On a festival planning committee last I heard; something to do until we get back to the Empty and check on progress there. Gaia’s apparently becoming quite the seamstress as well. And Ryne studies with Beq Lugg, and on her own, and she also trains with Lyna. She misses everyone, but keeps busy. She asks about you and sends reminders to please take care of yourself.”

“Ever the worrier,” he said fondly.

“I wonder why,” Aeryn replied dryly, giggling when he mock-glowered.

“I’m going to get that bath you say I so badly need, and a change of clothes,” Thancred pretended to grumble.

She stepped closer and took his hand. “Actually, I already nabbed you clean clothes and have the bath in my room prepped.”

He raised a brow. “Did you now?”

She shrugged, blushing and looking sheepish. “I saw how you were training,” was all she said.

Too hard, he realized; she wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was getting close to overdoing it by others’ estimations. Something they watched him for, ever since Lahabrea. It could be annoying, but Thancred conceded he might still be a bit stubborn on that angle.

“Very well,” he said, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “If you insist on spoiling me, who am I to say no?”

She relaxed when he didn’t argue and leaned into his touch, then took his other hand to lead the way to her chambers.

It was, he had to admit, nice to be pampered now and again. It would grate on him if it happened often, but when he pushed himself too far, having Aeryn soothe him with her attentions was a balm he had only recently realized he needed. Especially since he just as often had to return the favor on Aeryn; she could just as easily push herself too hard, not realizing when she was doing so.

But for now, he sat in her bathtub and groaned in appreciation as she massaged his shoulders and scrubbed along his spine. He felt boneless in the steaming water, the aches of his intensive training melting away along with the sweat and grime.

“Sit back,” Aeryn said, poking his shoulder. “I’ll wash your hair.”

“I can manage that.”

“I know, but I want to.”

He didn’t argue further, enjoying the sensation of her nails raking and massaging his scalp, untangling strands.

“I can’t decide,” she mused. “If I like it better shorter or longer.”

“It’s easier to care for when shorter,” Thancred said. “Less of a bother in warmer weather, too. Never found it more helpful than a decent hat in cooler climes.”

“Either way’s good,” she replied. “Close your eyes, while I rinse you off.”

She left him to dry and dress–she’d chosen a simple light shirt and slacks, nothing fancy as they were in for the rest of the evening–while she retrieved dinner at the door, one of Rowena’s porters escorted by a Boulder brother, from the sound of the voices. By the time Thancred stepped out into the central area, it was just the two of them again. She set the food out picnic-style on the rug in front of her fireplace.

“Should get a proper table in here,” he said as he joined her on the floor.

Aeryn shrugged. “Sitting at a table’s for the main room with everyone else. This is more fun.”

He chuckled and nabbed the wine before she could. He could at least pour the drinks.

They took their time, savoring their meal–a smoky roast beef drowned in a lightly spiced au jus, with roasted popotoes on the side, and a chocolate and rolanberry cheesecake for dessert–while Thancred prodded Aeryn for more details about their friends on the First.

“So your next visit back will be to the Empty?” He asked as they gathered up the finished dishes, leaving them in the basket to be returned to the House of Splendors on the morrow.

She nodded. “That’s the plan. I had to argue with the girls to at least wait for me to go with them. Typical young adventurers, wanting to dive in by themselves,” she laughed.

“And you are certain they won’t try something while you’re here?”

Aeryn shook her head. “Ryne promised, and she won’t rescind on that. No matter what Gaia says–and frankly, I think they both prefer it if I’m there.”

Thancred nodded, relaxing. He could feel the weariness after the day’s training catching up to him, hastened by the bath and the meal, and tried not to be too frustrated by it; he had a lot of work to do yet, to return to fighting form…

Aeryn’s hand on his arm interrupted his thoughts. “We still have a few chapters,” she said, referring to the current novel they were reading together.

“I’m like to doze off before we get through two,” Thancred joked as they stood and stretched.

Aeryn shrugged. “Then you sleep and we finish it another night,” she answered.

They laid in her bed amidst her too-many pillows, Aeryn reading out loud with his head in her lap, the sound of her voice and the gentle touch of her fingers brushing over his forearm he rested on his chest lulling him towards slumber, despite how early in the evening it still was.

He couldn’t be annoyed at how she had lured him into resting. He knew he had a long way to go until he was mission ready again. And it was more than likely he would have to do the same for her–perhaps as soon as tomorrow, if the right subject caught her attention.

So for tonight, he would enjoy her consideration and be ready to turn it around on her when she needed the same. As he drifted off to sleep–had they even finished the last chapter they had paused at?–Thancred couldn’t help but smile, and considered this balancing act of a relationship more of a boon than he had once ever thought possible.

[fumikomiyasaki]

👥👥 (For RavenRose and then another for Tristan and Fabio? Feel free to list as many as you'd like!!)

Want some Headcanons?

-They met thanks to Carol mainly however in the beginning Fabio couldn’t visit NRC that much cause of Diasomnia and him being afraid of Faes given the past so it was moreso that Carol often took Tristan along to relax in RSA and so Fabio and Tristan got closer

-He still hasn’t been able to not say Sir to him even though Tristan told him its find to be informal but that is just for Fabio pretty hard

-Thanks to Tristan Fabio learned more about different foods and drinks he never knew about and each time he gets excited and his ears twitch

-Fabio sometimes has the urge to touch that hairbun Tristan has but holds back cause it looks funny.

-Can’t explain why but always feels lightly cheerfull around him

-Totally the couple that looks way too fancy for any occasion, mainly Flynn though

-Monochrome color scheme outfits that work well with each other

-Flynn always overdoes it with gifts and surprises... only the best for his dear Beryl,

-did tell Rose very early on in their relationship about his past with Nanoya and what happened as well as his inner voices... they became less since they are together however

-Is highly Protective secretly. Like he would have an arm around them and just send death stares to potential rivals, but Rose would never know

-often asks Rose in which roles they want to see them in mainly just for some teases as well as potential things where he could audition

-He never questioned once where Rose came from cause similarly he doesn’t care about who his true family was and so on

[mirkwoodshewolf]

The tale of Robin and Gale Hood; Ben Hardy x reader Chap. 1

*Author’s note*

Okay so firs the gif has NOTHING to do with the story, that was just the 1st gif I saw out of the borhap gifs that was displayed. So this came after the success of my Disney Aladdin AU fic so I decided to do a Robin Hood fic, so as a little cast list for you all here’s what I’ve got. I’ll also update the cast list as each new character is introduced so that none of you get lost. Hope you all enjoy this little AU fic starring our beloved Borhap cast.

Also on a side note, any italics written like this signifies a change in narration where the character of Alan O’Dale speaks his own narration verses what I’ll be writing.

Robin Hood: Rami Malek

Little John: Joe Mazzello

Prince John: Paul Prenter

Sir Heston: voiced by Allen Leech

King Richard (mentioned): Roger Taylor.

Alan O’Dale: Freddie Mercury (think 1975 version of Freddie)

Chapter 1,

Robin Hood and Little John

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queendeakyy​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@wormzteef​

@geek-and-proud​

_____________________________________________________________

The legend of Robin Hood.  Ahhh yes, that handsome rouge who robbed the rich to feed the poor, who led a band of Merry men and made their home in Sherwood Forest.  But there is more to the tale than meets the eye, and more people were involved in his rise to fame and glory.  Like me.

Oi I’m over here, the handsome black-haired devil with the harp. Yes hello there my darlings. The name’s Alan O’Dale, and I am a minstrel.  That’s an early day folk singer, I go about parading songs from town to town, kingdom to kingdom about brave knights, fierce battles, and of course my favorite stories, love stories.

And do I have two of the best love stories to share with you lovely darlings.  Thankfully it all takes place at the same time so I don’t need to run my mouth on for very long.  Anyways let’s first open our tale up to two dashing young men walking through the forest.

Two of the best friends anyone could ever ask for.  These two young men were known other than Robin Hood and Little John.  Now it didn’t start it off that way at first, those two chuckleheads always kept crossing each other’s paths as children and constantly argued and fought over territory, women, you name it.

But when they reached their late teens, Robin was one day captured by the despicable, ugly, and revolting Sheriff of Nottingham.  Fortunately with the help of an additional 3rd party, Robin was saved from the hangman’s noose and from then on, Robin and Little John were the best of friends. You don’t believe me, let me sing you a little something.  

Tuning the harp, Freddie then begins to play an uplifting little tune as he begins to sing.

Robin Hood and Little John walkin' through the forest Laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say Reminiscin', This-'n'-thattin' havin' such a good time Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Never ever thinkin' there was danger in the water They were drinkin', they just guzzled it down Never dreamin' that a schemin' sheriff and his posse Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around

Robin Hood and Little John runnin' through the forest Jumpin' fences, dodgin' trees an' tryin' to get away Contemplatin' nothin' but escape an' fin'lly makin' it Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Deep in the forest on top of a tree there hid two young men in their mid to late-20’s.  One was a pale white man with long shoulder length auburn brown hair.  His eyes were a mixed brownish-green and he was a handsome young man.

The man beside him was around the same age, if not slightly older and had skin that almost seemed to be kissed by the sun.  His eyes were an intense blue color that could almost hypnotize you and at the same time make you feel relaxed.  His short jet black hair topped off his head.

Together the two of them wore a similar green and brown clothes. Similar to a ranger’s outfit.  Fit to camouflage them within the forest terrain, but also enough layers to keep them warm from the elements be it rain, sleet, snow and hail.

The two young men watched as the Sheriff of Nottingham and his men gave up on the search after losing them and retreating back to the city. Once they fled the forest, the two men threw themselves back against the top of the tree branches and laughed their heads off.

“Ohh we sure showed those clowns who the real woodsmen are!” boasted Little John.

“Indeed we have Little John.” It was then Little John saw on top of his friend’s and boss’ famed yellow hat an arrow sticking right through it.

“I wouldn’t be too quick to boast my friend. Take a look at your hat. She’ll not be pleased to see that.” Robin picked his hat up and his eyes widened in surprise and he said as he took the arrow out and fiddled with the newly made hole in his hat.

“Hello. This one had my name on it didn’t it? They’re getting better you know.” He placed his hat back on top of his head. “You’ve got to admit it, they are getting better.”

“Yeah. And when that day comes the Sheriff will have a rope hanging around our necks.” Little John said gravely.  He then mimed out a hanging as he proceeded to make a brief choking sound.  “It’ll be hard to laugh hanging there Robin.”

“Ha! The Sheriff and his whole posse couldn’t lift you off the ground. En Garde!” he then flicked the arrow right at Little John which went through his own smaller green hat.

“Oi watch it you bastard that’s the only hat she made for me!” Little John exclaimed as he took his hat off the arrow.

“Oh come along my friend. If she can patch mine up a hundred times, she’ll patch yours up as well. At least she won’t kill you for it.” Robin said nonchalantly as he leaned up against the trunk of the tree.

“You know something Robin I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking that’s a first.” Robin teased.  Little John glared at his friend before saying.

“I’m serious here. Are we good guys or bad guys? I mean our famed mantra of robbing the rich to feed the poor.”

“‘Rob?’” Robin tsked. “That’s a naughty word we never rob. We just—sorta borrow a bit from those you can afford it.”

“Borrow?” Little John chuckled. “Then we truly are in deep debt.” Before Robin could say another word, from the distance the sound of trumpets rang out.

He climbed a few feet higher up the tree till he reached the very top of it.  He could hear the whole ensemble of a band playing in the distance and he chuckled softly.

“Sounds like another collection day for the poor eh Johnny me boy?”

“Yeah. Sweet charity. So, what’s the plan this time my friend?” Robin slid down the trunk to meet back with Little John and together he laid out the plan.

Just a few miles along a dirt road, the royal ensemble was walking through the forest.  The royal band played an up-tempo beat, walking behind them was the royal guard all dressed in their armor and holding their spears.

Some of the guards even carried a very large treasure chest which held the taxes throughout all of England.  Then shortly behind the guards was the royal coach of pure gold, and inside it was the vile, selfish, arrogant, man-child that was Prince John, the younger half-brother of the great King Richard.

An Irish bastard’s son.  Who claimed right to the throne of England after his mother who was Queen. He was inside his coach happily running his hands through all the gold he had collected from the people as he boastfully cheered.

“Taxes! Taxes! Beautiful, lovely taxes!”

“Sire. You have an absolutely skill for encouraging contributions from the poor.” His talking albino python that he had named Sir Heston. He had Heston ever since he found him as a egg abandoned in the woods.  With the help of some magic from the faes, Prince John gave his pet human intelligence and the ability to speak.  And once he gained the throne, he allowed his snake to be his right hand man.

“The coin a phrase, my dear advisor. Rob the poor to feed the rich. Am I right?” The two of them laughed.  “Now tell me, what is the next stop Sir Heston?” Prince John asked as he held the crown of England in his hands.  Heston slithered over to the map and he hummed with interest.

“Why, the next stop is Nottingham sire.”

“Oh! The richest plum of them all. Nottingham.” Heston held a large mirror in his coils and held it up as Prince John placed the crown on top of his head and admired himself in the mirror.  The crown slid off down his face as Sir Heston spoke out.

“A perfect fit sire. Most becoming. You look regal, dignified, sincere, masterful, noble. Chival……”

“Now, now don’t. Don’t overdo it Heston.” Prince John scolded as he adjusted the crown to make it fit upon his head. “There. That does it. This crown gives me a feeling of power! Power!”

“And how well King Richard’s crown sits on your noble brow.”

“Yes indeed I—ah King Richard?!” Prince John first started off before snarling by the end.  Heston gulped and was soon choked by his master as he proclaimed again “I told you to never mention my bastard of a brother’s name!”

“A mere slip of the forked tongue your majesty.” Heston apologized. “But remember we were in this plot together. After all it was your idea that I hypnotize him…..”

“Yes. And send him off on that ridiculous crusade. Ah-ha! Ah-ha!” Prince John laughed along.

“Much to the sorrow of the Queen Mother.”

“Yes! Mother.” Prince John sobbed. “Mother always did like Richard best.” He muttered angrily before proceeding to suck his thumb.

“Your highness, please don’t do that. If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s undignified for a King to suck his thumb.” Heston said to him. He then slithered up to Prince John and his eyes began to shimmer and glow as he said in a low hiss, “Hypnotism can rid of your psychosis….so…..easily…..” Prince John began to slowly relax but he quickly snapped out of it.

“None of that! None of that!” he shouted at his snake advisor.

“Well I was only trying to help.” Heston said annoyed.

“Help. Help indeed. Now, now one more stunt like that Heston, and you will be walking to Nottingham.”

“Snakes don’t walk they slither. So there.” Heston muttered angrily as he slithered back onto his tree-like pole and lay there pouting.

Racing through the woods putting on their disguises was Little John in the lead.  He wore a long blood red gypsy dress that revealed his shoulders.  Once he got into the dress, he took out a few rings and placed them on his finger as well some anklets, earrings, and he quickly tied a purple sash around his waist to finish off the look.  

While behind him, Robin wore a long blue dress that was fit for an elderly woman and had a long black wig on.  He placed a couple of earrings on his ears and had a bandana tied to his head.

As the two of them stopped behind a tree, they saw the royal band coming in as well as the guards and the coach which held Prince John inside.

“Well this is a letdown. It’s only a circus. A peanut operation.”

“Peanuts? Why you dunce that’s the royal coach. It’s Prince John himself.” Robin snapped as his friend.

“Prince John. Alright you and her might be crazy enough to actually rob royalty but I am not having it. I’m gone!”

“What? And miss this chance to perform before royalty?” Robin said as he stepped in front of Little John. Quickly placing his hands over Little John’s fake breasts before backing off and doing a grand twirl of his blue dress.  Little John rolled his eyes as he sighed.

“Here he goes again.” They waited till the coach got closer before stepping out and waved their arms in the air trying to get the attention of the Prince.

“Oo-de-lally! Oo-de-lally! Fortune tellers!” Robin proclaimed masking his voice to sound like an elderly woman’s voice.

“Fortunes, forecasts, lucky charms!” Little John proclaimed making his voice go an octave higher to sound like a woman’s.

“Get the dose with your horoscope!” Robin called out again. Prince John pulled back the curtains hearing the proclamations of the two ‘women’.

“Fortune tellers, how exciting! Stop the coach.” He ordered the guards as the entire royal party stopped their marching.

“Sire, sire. They maybe bandits.” Sir Heston whispered to his master.

“Oh poppycock. Female bandits, what’s next? Rubbish.” Prince John scoffed.  He turned back to the two ladies who bowed before him and he said. “My dear ladies, you have my permission to kiss the royal hands. Whichever you like.” Both Robin and Little John stared wide-eyed once they saw the size of the jeweled rings that rested along the prince’s fingers.

“Hmm. Oh how gracious. And generous of you your majesty.” Robin said as he lowered his head to kiss the Prince’s left hand while sneaking off a ring from his tall finger.  Sir Heston who had seen the ring being taken whispered in Prince John’s ear.

“Sire! Did you see what…..”

“Stop! Stop hissing in my ear!” Prince John scolded as he rubbed his left ear.  Little John kissed right over the four rings on the prince’s right hand, secretly taking the jewels right off their encasement.  Heston began stammering in the Prince’s other ear which made the Prince proclaim and rub his other ear like he did his last one.

“Heston! You’ve hissed your last!” he took his python by the neck and slammed him into a basket before closing it and sitting on top of it. “Suspicious snake.” He hissed lowly.

“Masterfully done. Ehh your excellency. Now the fun can truly begin.” Robin tempted the Prince as he climbed into the coach with Prince John and closed the curtains.  He turned the lanterns down low and said to him, “Now close your eyes and concentrate.”

Prince John closed his eyes as Robin continued to tell him to close them tighter and not to peek.  He looked around the room until he found the pile of gold, he did a soft chuckle before chanting out.

“From the mists of time, I call forth ye spirits.” Outside the coach, Little John had a glass bowl tied to a string that was attached to a pole.

“Alright you little fireflies. Glow, glow.”

“We’re waiting!” Robin sung out.  That’s when Little John sent the bowl inside and he could hear Robin gasp. “Look sire! Look!”

When the prince opened his eyes, he saw three floating spirits within a crystal ball.  He was in pure awe as he said.

“Incredible. Floating spirits.” He went to touch the ball until he was slapped by Robin.  He chuckled a soft witchy cackle as he said.

“Naughty, naughty. You mustn’t touch young man.”

“Well how dare you strike the royal hand I—”

“Shh, shh, shh. You’ll break the spell just gaze into the crystal ball.” Robin took the ball with the fireflies and set it down on the table between him and the prince.  Robin then began chanting in an ancient Arabic tongue before letting out a gasp. “A face appears.”

The Prince immediately looks closer at the crystal ball intrigued.

“A crown sits on his noble brow.”

“A crown! Oo-de-lally how exciting!”

“His face is handsome, regal, majestic, loveable, a cuddly face.” From outside Little John heard all the comments Robin was laying on the Prince and could help but mime out a gag and roll his eyes.  Especially when the Prince began agreeing with everything that was said about him.

Robin then went for the treasure while the Prince was in his own head.  But as soon as he reached out his hand for the bag of gold, Heston who had found a weak spot on the basket poked his head out and actually struck out at Robin’s hand.

Biting his lip as he quickly retreated his hand to see it bleeding from the snake’s bite.  He let out a pained groaned which got the attention of the prince.

“Now what?” he asked impatiently.  Robin swallowed his pain and chuckled softly.

“I—I see your….illustrious name.”

“I know my name! Get on with it!” the Prince cried impatiently.

“Your name will go down, down, down in history of course!” Robin said as he struggled to take the bag of gold from Heston, who had it wrapped around his tail, but with a finally good tug, Robin managed to get the gold and send it towards Little John through the back curtains of the coach.

“Ahh! I knew it! I knew it! You hear that Heston!? Oh no you can’t he’s in the basket.” He then banged the side of the basket and said to his snake, “And-and-and don’t you forget it.”

Meanwhile outside, Little John slowly circled around the coach when he took notice of the solid gold hubcaps on the wheels of the coach.

“Hmm now that’s what I call pure gold hubcaps.” He looked around and stood in front of the back one and unscrewed it from the wheel and shoved it up the back of his dress.  He then moved over to the front on and did the same thing. “Oo-de-lally the jackpot.” He muttered softly as he eyed the royal treasure.

However it was completely surrounded and carried by guards.  Little John pondered for a bit but remembered a trick that he learned from a friend of his.

The one sure fire way to get a man’s attention away from their post.

He whistled out to the guards and when they turned and saw him, their mouths immediately dropped and their eyes widened.  He slowly and seductively untied the purple sash from his waist and began to do a seductive dance.

Shimming his shoulders and swaying his hips back and forth. Little John was light on his feet as he leaped and hopped about like a graceful deer.  He then skipped on over to the first guard who was just in awe.

Little John wrapped the purple sash around the guard’s neck pulling him in a little closer.  Close enough to kiss him.  But to tease him, he shoved the guard’s helmet over his face before retreating back and flaunted the guard, who was still hypnotized by Little John’s performance.

He twirled around before suddenly dropping down into a full split.  The guards now began to hoot and holler as they applauded, dropping the treasure. Little John then went up to another guard and took his spear out of his hands and jammed it into the ground.  

With the grace of a deer, Little John then began to spin and slid down the spear’s long pole before ending with a pose with his right leg high in the air and he winked at the guards who were now applauding and whistling.

“Ohh stop it. Stop it you boys are too much.” Little John spoke his woman voice.

“That was the best show we have ever seen.” Said one of the guards.

“Well gentleman. It was my pleasure to dance for you. But of course every bit of contribution helps. For you see I—oh I just can’t say it.”

“What is it?” asked another guard.

“No it’s—it’s too painful to speak about.” The guards feeling sympathetic for this beautiful woman all started speaking up and telling ‘her’ that they wanted to hear her story. “Well…..I wasn’t always like this. My husband was beating me, cheating me, then left me all alone with no money. That’s when I—I forced myself to flee even without a cent to my name. That’s when I found Ms. Olga, the elderly gypsy woman I came with. But even then we—we hardly get by with enough food for you see…..I found myself pregnant at the time I left.”

These men were falling for the story hook, line and sinker. It was then one of the guards took the treasure chest and slid it over to Little John.

“Please, take it all.” Little John gave the young guard a surprised look and he said.

“Oh no I couldn’t possibly take all this.”

“Please. My—my mum had to raise me on her own when my father left her. For you and your baby.”

“Ohh you sweet thing.” He stroked the side of the guard’s cheek and Little John dragged the royal chest away from the guards.

As he came around the corner of the carriage, he felt someone bump into him which knocked him over the chest.  He turned around and saw Robin wearing Prince John’s royal cape and surrounded by a bunch of gold pieces that had fallen out of a bag that lay on the ground.

“Nice robes your majesty.” Little John teased, his normal accent finally coming out.

“And what of you, you vulgar young hussy. I heard all the wolf whistles and cheering. I could hardly keep the Prince under my hypnosis to swipe his clothes and gold.”

“Never mind that. Just gather the gold and then help me with this.” Robin and Little John then worked together to put as much gold pieces back in the bag as possible.  Robin stuffed the bag into his dress then both he and Little John picked up the chess and quickly raced off.

Prince John who had woken up from his dazed state, saw the two gypsy women running away from the scene, the elderly woman wearing his robes. He looked down and saw that he was in his undergarments.

“ROBBED! I’VE BEEN ROBBED! HESTON! YOU’RE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED YOU!!” Heston slithered out of the basket and raised half his body length up and looked the prince up and down. “I’ve been robbed.” He choked out as he covered himself up.

“Of course you’ve been robbed!” Heston hissed.  Far in the forest, Robin was gleefully chanting as he and Little John made their escape with the royal treasure.

“AFTER THEM YOU FOOLS!” Prince John proclaimed.  The guards now realizing they had been tricked, immediately took off running.  The carriage soon began to chase after Robin and Little John, unfortunately due to the missing hubcaps, the wheels began to pop off which made Prince John hop out of his carriage and fall straight into the mud.

Leaving him stranded in the middle of the forest trail alone with Heston.  He sobbed as he pounding the ground whining like a child.

“I knew it. I knew this would happen. I tried to tell you but no, no you wouldn’t listen. You just have to—” when Heston realized that he had angered the Prince, he began stammering as he tried to warn the prince as he now held a very large mirror, “Seven years bad…..” he then had the mirror smashed onto his head. “Luck. That’s what that is. Besides, you just broke your mother’s mirror.”

“Ahhh! Mummy!” Prince John whined as he began to suck his thumb once again.  He took it out of his mouth as he said solemnly, “I’ve got a dirty thumb.”

[delldarling]

Hi! I was wondering what monster challenges you knew of for the months - like faebruary, mermay, etc.?

Hey there, and sure thing! So there is already an exophilia list that @sugary-mystery put together here! (And I’ll reblog for good measure!) In addition to sugary’s list, here are a few others that, while not purely monster themed, evoke content that borders monsters, such as fantasy or folklore. I love seeing and collecting art themed challenges. Going through these tags on social media is generally a delight, and highly inspiring! **If there isn’t a link, I’m having trouble finding the origin of the tag, in which case I will edit when I find it, or if someone pops in to tell me!

January I know Clawnuary is on sugary’s list, but otherwise I haven’t seen much for January challenges/prompts.

February Februfairy, Faebruary, Februfae, Feevrier ; fairies and Fae of all kinds! I’ve seen more variants on the tag, but the main thing is Fae in February

March March of Robots ; robots, androids (was originally another October art variant, but moved over to March!) Magical March ; magical girl themed! But lbh, who says you can’t have monstery-magical girls??

April AdventureApril ; fantasy character designs! April Colors ; art and color theme, but can lend to writing (and is put out by Faunwood, an artist who draws a lot of creature cute/eerie art)

May Mermay ; merfolk and sea people of all kinds Monstrous May ; I did this last year and took asks for prompts! There was never a hard list though MythicMay ; mythology! monsters!

June Junicorn ; Unicorns, though I’ve seen people spread into all kind of single horned beings, as well as a more widely equine-fantasy focus such as centaurs, kelpies etc JuneBug ; Bug oriented! I’ve seen various artists use it on twitter and instagram JuneFae ; Another art heavy month used on various social media, along the same lines as Faebruary

July This is another one that’s kind of empty when it comes to challenges! 

August Taurgust ; centaurs, taurens, -taur beings! Smaugust ; as in Smaug, as in dragons! 

September Swordtember ; I absolutely salivated over the gorgeous art for this tag this year (but enchanted swords, weapons, mimics etc - this could well include all of those!)

October Elftober ; various! Orctober ; various! Witchtober ; various! Monster-Mix Challenge Monstertober Strangetober 

November Necrovember ; undead, vamps, ghouls and the like Folktale Week ; a single week of prompts featuring fantasy/folklore oriented ideas

December Demoncember ; this and a handful of other demon-y month titles came from @avedavice after a convo we had on twitter! There isn’t a prompt list though Christmas Monsters ; various monster prompts dELFcember ; elves!! 

---

Nadiarausa and many others put out several gorgeous, folklore/otherworldly type prompt lists on instagram for various weeks

More vague, idle thoughts of my own because I love alliteration, rhymes and silly themes: Mothful March or Mothful May July Fly (Flying July? Fly July?? flying creatures!! Or heck, maybe flies),  Gargo-ly (Gargoyles!!! or, oof, does that look too much like gargle??), sept makes me think of septogram which makes me think of summoning circles so September Summons?  Jotunnuary! Norse giants!!

Welp. Hopefully I didn’t overdo things, and you can find something that suits your fancy!

[detectivedreameater]

Opposites Attract||Lydia and Marley

TIMING: A few nights ago probably PARTIES: @inspirationdivine and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Just two women with secrets meeting up over some drinks. 

The Artesian. Last time Marley was here it was to investigate the crime next door. She distinctly remembered locking eyes with Evelyn outside and the feeling that had consumed her at the time. She was still working on that. It needed more time, more trust. And perhaps a little push. But Marley wasn’t here tonight for Evelyn-- she was here for a different woman. Lydia was her name. She was pretty famous and her name even sparked conversation around the station. Not in a bad way, but in a way that she was a local town celebrity. So when Marley had arrived and told the hostess which party she was waiting for, the woman had raised her brows so high up on her forehead, Marley was sure they’d disappear into her hairline. She led Marley over to the bar and told her her party would arrive soon and then they would seat them, and until then, she could order a drink while she waited. Which she did. A gin and tonic, to start off light. She’d felt odd having to dress up to come here-- it’d been a while since she’d put on fancy clothes, but she could make an exception. The dress she’d chosen was black and hugged in all the right places and she’d adorned a nicer blazer atop it, black as well. Not a lot of her clothing had much color. She’d even broken out her special pair of frames, magically enhanced to hide the red sheen from her eyes, but clear so as to not draw suspicion. Finally, across the room, a rather mystical looking woman approached the hostess. Marley grinned in anticipation.

Lydia, on the other hand, was dressed in a deep sun-dried red dress with a V neck that dropped to her sternum. The random invitation online had been a surprising one, even with a bottle of wine in her. If she’d been entirely sober she might not even have engaged, but as it was, Lydia had agreed, and her word meant plenty even to her. Maybe this Marley would be an interesting type, or maybe she’d be a dull human that Lydia would bail on after the first hour. She slid in and the hostess pointed her to the woman in the black  by the bar. “Are you Marley?” Lydia asked, with a long, appreciative look up and down that dress.. “We’re being seated in the booth back there, if you are.”

Marley nodded her head. “That would be me,” she answered, “which makes you Lydia.” She slid from her chair to greet her, holding out her hand. “Interesting choice for a first meet up,” she noted, motioning to the restaurant around them. “It gave me many expectations about you, and yet, you’ve already almost outdone them all.” Looking her up and down back with an obvious motion. Not that Marley wasn’t used to the fancier side of things, it just wasn’t something she indulged in often, and Lydia seemed like the type who frequented places like this. That was fine with her, she wasn’t picky. 

“I’ve learned by now that if someone’s dissuaded by a place like this, they’ll be dissuaded by me,” Lydia replied smoothly, taking Marley’s hand with comfortable ease. There was nothing immediately magical about her - no freezing hand, no chiming bells, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to find. Lydia preened in kind in response to the piercing eyes framed by glasses, smiling. “We have a booth back there, I believe. Plenty of privacy.” The hostess guided them both to the booth, beautifully lit already set for two. She’d have to send a gift basket to Evelyn. This place was divine. “I certainly aim to please, and I’m excited to find out how you stack up against mine. Do you often pick up people online?”

“You know, that’s a good move,” Marley commented, following Lydia back to the table she’d had reserved for them. Well lit, secluded, already set-- she was prepared. “I think I might steal it.” Smiling sweetly, a rather foreign concept to her usual smirk, she sat down across from Lydia, eyes following her every movement, downloading the data of her body language. She was a woman of high confidence, but Marley liked a challenge. “Well, I would hate to disappoint. I aim to never be disappointing, after all.” A bigger grin, head tilting slightly, letting her curls fall over one shoulder. “More and more, lately. Seems to be the way of the future, now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to it,” Lydia replied with a smile, picking up the drinks menu to find out if Evelyn had added anything to the offerins while the place had been closed. She smiled at Marley’s reply, that delicious voice and the confidence behind it. “Mhm, I’d tried to avoid it for the longest time, I grew up… used to other things, and it’s always seemed quite crass. That said, you can’t knock the convenience of online. That said, in a town like this, it’s easier to find the kind of date I’m looking for in some of the local bars.”

“Local bars, huh?” Marley said, raising a brow slightly as she picked up the drink menu. She’d never actually been to the Artesian, even though it’d been open a couple of years now. Leaning her chin in her palm, she scanned the menu before looking up at Lydia again. “Convenience is really the only draw to it. While I don’t mind cruising the local bars, sometimes it’s just easier to send a text about it. Also a lot easier to find the right type online, unless you go to those very special bars around here. Like, you know,” wondered if Lydia was trying to parse out what she was, too, “some of those ones down on Amity. 

Once done with the drinks menu, Lydia watched Marley perusing it through half lidded eyes. The corner of her lips turned up as Marley began to answer. Oh, this was good. Unless she was one of those self proclaimed monster fetishist, of course. Lydia certainly hoped not. “Yes, exactly like those bars on amity. They make it so much easier.” Lydia leant in her gaze searching. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She offered, smile deep and somewhat hungry. Greedy to meet someone like her. 

Marley didn’t often like showing her cards so quickly, but this wasn’t anything special or big or eventful. It just was what it was for her-- a meet up. A possible night in someone else’s bed. Besides, she got the feeling that if she tried to play with power with Lydia, it’d be more than the struggle was worth. So, slowly, she lifted her hand to her glasses, grabbing the frames to remove them from her face. “Don’t look too hard,” she said, eyes glowing red under the pale mood lighting of the Artesian, “I don’t wanna scare you off right away.” After a long moment, she blinked-- purposefully-- and put her frames back on, her eyes becoming a shaded brown once again. “Your turn.”

Lydia’s gaze flitted away the moment she saw the red, breathing deeply as her heart began to hammer in her chest, her fingers curling around the edge of the table and squeezing until her knuckles went white. Lydia swallowed and smiled, looking back at Marley once the shades were back on. “Incredible,” she murmured. Just as she’d been prepared to reveal in kind, the host staff showed up to take their order. Her eyes flicked to him in the mildest irritation before she placed her order for the house red, and she turned away from him as quickly as possible, with a small dismissive flick of her hand. Once they were alone again, Lydia smile. In the booth, half her face was concealed from half the patrons, so the glamour for that half melted away. On half her face, her veins disappeared, wrinkles and pores clearing too. Her eye shifted from a deep chocolate brown turned iridescent blue, glowing faintly under the light. Her ear grew, stretching up into a point near the head of her crown, and her hair iridescent from a deep brown to rich peacock colours. The next, it was gone. “You certainly aren’t disappointing, Marley.”

Marley’s eyes widened as she watched Lydia’s glamor drop. Fae. She’d been running into more and more of them lately, not that she was entirely complaining-- but she had to be careful with Fae. Not only were their words trickery (a thing she’d learned all on her own, mourning how they lacked any weight behind them like a Fae’s did), but they were some of the more devious individuals. The kind who often thought themselves above the law, above her. Good thing she’d left her badge buried deep in her jacket pocket instead of on her hip. She grinned, wide, awed. “Absolutely gorgeous,” she murmured, only truth in her words, despite her previous thoughts, “I’ve always held a bit of envy for you Fae,” she said, making sure to keep her voice hushed, “to be able to slip away from being so...human.” In fact, she was jealous of the fae for a lot of reasons, not that she’d ever admit it.

Lydia grinned, proud and unafraid to show it. Even the most cruel of hunter textbooks referred to her unearthly beauty - at least, that was what her father had told her as a child, and how could he be wrong - and she did love it when others could appreciate that too. Not everyone could appreciate it properly, too caught in what human beauty was supposed to look like. “Now you’re overdoing it,” she breathed, but her skin was flushed with the compliments. “I must admit, I don’t know much about your kind beyond the nightmare eating.”

“Maybe,” Marley said, chin resting in her palm again, “but it’s just the truth.” She grinned back, giving a shrug. “But I can tone down the compliments if you really want that, though,” a slight pause, as she made it apparent she was observing her, “I don’t think that’s what you want.” She sat back as the waitress arrived with their drinks and Marley took her gratefully. This was always the best part. Sipping it, letting it linger on her lips, using just the slightest scrape of teeth on her lip to get it off, waiting to see if the other person watched. “Mmm, not just nightmares, fear. We give the nightmares to feed on the fear,” she said, unsure of how much of her abilities she really wanted to give away. “But we’re more than just that. You know, if you’re interested.” 

“If you’re accusing me of vanity, you would be completely right,” Lydia replied, tongue in cheek. She sat back when their drink arrived, realising only then how close she’d gotten to Marley, her intrigue leaving her hungry for more. Lydia swirled her wine, looking down at the colour before taking her own sip. Her eyes flicked back to Marley, and was so aware of how she was observed, and how she observed in turn, her gaze dropped to Marley’s lip as she did… that. “I am, but I don’t expect you to share secrets you wouldn’t usually. I understand what that’s like. We can talk about whatever you like.” 

“Is it really vanity if it’s right, though?” Marley jested with a smirk. She liked that Lydia was confident in herself, and that she understood how attractive she was, both in and out of her glamor. If anything, Marley might’ve preferred without, but she understood why she hid behind it. It was the same reason Marley wouldn’t take her glasses off. Monsters, the people would say. She smiled, covering up the thought. “If you say so. I don’t mind letting you earn the secrets the normal way.” Sipped her drink again, taking her time. “So how long have you been in town? I find it hard to believe someone of your--” a pause to look her over again-- “stature could be around long without someone scooping you up.” 

“Oh, it’s still vanity, it’s merely justified,” Lydia grinned. A lifetime of hunting the weakest in the room had taught her how to spot the strongest, too. The little turn in the corner of Marley’s mouth, the smile, the easy confidence of it all. She suspected Marley was in some ways much more experienced in all this than she was, but right now, Lydia didn’t mind. “I’ve been in town since, oh, October? November? Something like that. It took a while to install all my equipment, but I keep myself rather busy with work. I don’t usually make more time for this kind of… experience.” Lydia looked down at her nails, slowly tracing them over the grain of the wooden table, her silver nailpolish glinting in the light. “What about you? You seem like someone used to town.”

“Fair play,” Marley said back, listening to Lydia’s liquid pearl voice. It matched the pearl sheen of her hair, even though right now Marley only saw the dark locks, hanging perfectly around her face. Lydia hadn’t been in town long, but it seemed as if she was already ready to pick up and run it, what with all that confidence, and the way she spoke. By how she had initiated the conversation towards revealing their cards about the supernatural. Marley appreciated that, sometimes it was exhausting doing all the work. “So not long. Must be why,” she grinned, eyes dropping to watch her fingers, and silver gilded nails, trace along the table, following the wood’s grain. “I’ve been here for almost six years now. Guess that makes it home. I’ve gotten pretty comfortable here, but it’s certainly been throwing me for a loop lately. Not that I don’t mind a challenge.”

“Must be,” Lydia replied, smiling as Marley turned her gaze to Lydia’s hands, and Lydia changed the pattern of her fingers, instead circling a whorl, just so. Only for a moment, before she picked up her wine glass, listening to Marley’s answer, raising an eyebrow. “All the more surprising that someone hasn’t scooped you up. Although, I suppose that perhaps they’ve tried. What kind of way has it been throwing you for a loop? There have been so many strange happenings rather consistently much of the time I’ve been here.”

Oh, so Lydia could play this game, too. Marley watched her finger circle before lifting her eyes back up to meet Lydia’s, wishing she could see their iridescent sheen again. Wishing she had a way to turn off her eyes, without shoving a contact into them, or wearing silly glasses at night. “I suppose a few have tried,” she shrugged, “was just never my thing. To be scooped.” She sat up a little straighter for a moment, unsure of her next moves. It didn’t usually matter to others what her profession was, but she knew Fae were the most wary of others, especially law enforcement. “I suppose it’s because of all the strange occurrences. Been keeping me busy chasing after mime clones, fish rain, and strange coins. It almost feels like the precursor to something bigger, and I’m not sure I want to take a guess at what that might bring.”

There was that uncomfortable shift, just briefly, a secret withheld. That was understandable, Lydia had secrets of her own that she wouldn’t share on the first date either. Her eyes glazed right over it, finishing her glass. “Is it more often than usual, then?” Lydia asked, and the thought sent shivers down her spine. She had assumed that was just the cost of living in a place like this. This was Wicked’s Rest, after all, and all manner of creatures and people wanted to spew their nonsense here. “Something bigger? I certainly hope not. The murderous mime clones were quite enough for me to deal with, and I’m sure you felt the same.” She tapped Marley’s glass. “Can I get you another?”

Murder probably wasn’t a good topic of conversation for a first “date”, but Marley hadn’t always been the most socially aware. She shrugged. “They were a nuisance, but they’re gone now, so it’s no sweat off my back.” Lydia tapped her glass and Marley was grateful for the subject change, despite her being the one who brought it up. Sometimes her mouth got her into more trouble than she cared for, though mostly, it was good at getting her out of it. She smiled again. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, picking up the glass and finishing off what little was left in it. “As long as you get yourself one, too.”

“A nuisance is a generous term,” Lydia replied, rubbing the side of her neck idly. The skin was healed and clear now, but the ghost of it lingered. She was also happy to move forward with such things. “Of course, I can keep up, at least for a little while.” Lydia replied, waving over the host only to gesture that they’d like a repeat. He nodded with a smile that Lydia ignored as she turned back to Marley. “So, if you aren’t keen to be scooped, pray tell, what were you looking for this evening?” She asked, her eyes glittering. She was far too old to play too coy here. 

Marley chuckled at that. She liked Lydia’s commanding presence, the way the waiter almost seemed to preen for her attention with that smile, and the way she completely ignored him. It made Marley feel special, like all of Lydia’s attention was on her. Something she craved with interaction. “Well,” she said, leaning forward again, putting her chin in her palms as if mulling over the question, “mostly I’m just here for a good time and to see a beautiful woman. If that just means drinks and a conversation, so be it. But I’m never opposed to...more happening.”

Lydia shifted in mirror as Marley did, leaning forward, and twisting a lock of hair between her fingertips. Even now, part of her itched to reach across, and snatch those glasses from Marley’s face. Even if it turned her heart to stone, she wanted to see her as she really was. Lydia knew enough to quash those instincts, to remember that fear came too easily to her to be actively chasing it. Her hand slid under the table to Marley’s knee, unabashed. If she had been any other kind of fae, her pupils might have widened. “Funnily enough, I was here for the same. You wouldn’t find me opposed either, my dear. Not at all.”

Marley’s skin tingled where Lydia’s hand rested. Her forwardness was not lost on Marley at all, simply adding to the charm and revelry Marley had for her. These kinds of things were what Marley was used to, and though most interactions ended with less matching of energies and more of a simple “This will do”, it was the moments like these that Marley really loved. Even if they were a dime a dozen, it was worth all the other mundane personalities to find the one that wasn’t. She’d found a few of them here, and she was definitely adding Lydia to the list. “Then what do you say we finish up these next drinks and then head out? Your place or mine?”

“Yours, for tonight,” Lydia looked searchingly in Marley’s eyes, through those tinted spectacles, and wondered what she was hoping to find, exactly. “Although, perhaps, before we go anywhere, I should warn you that my lips are as off limits to you as your eyes are to me. I hope that isn’t a deal breaker.” If it was, they could keep talking, or redirect the electrifying tension in the air elsewhere. 

Whatever type of fae Lydia was was a little out of Marley’s wheelhouse of knowledge, but that didn’t discourage her. “Mine it is. Good thing I live close by.” The waitress came back with their next round of drinks and Marley took hers gratefully, taking a nice, hearty sip. At Lydia’s next statement, she quirked a brow. Most people didn’t understand that the fear gaze a mara possessed needed to be activated and wasn’t instantaneous-- and that it worked during the day-- but Marley was okay with that. It could be her secret. Instead, she grinned around the edges of her glass, before setting it down. “I can work with that.”

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Warning!!!! Y'all gonna be crying, maybe.

Here's a headcanon I have regarding Strife if he found out about Death being dead. Obviously this would be taking place around the time Haven was being set up and such. I also will be adding an OC version of the Arthurian character Mordred, since I'm shipping Morgen and Death it only makes sense that he's their kid. Mordred just happens to be a small toddler during these events in particular. He's only on Earth by complete accident because he was playing around with teleportation magic and his Mother Morgen was placed in a coma by Lilith around the time too. So yeah sucky all around. This whole spiel will be added into my headcanons later on, but I just wanted to get this little tidbit of the future out to see your guy's reaction.

Strife found himself confronted by one of The Suffering, a large beast that often took a long time to kill. He noticed however, that it's attention wasn't even on him, it was on a small shape trying to escape from under a tarp. Fearing the worst, Strife went into his ultimate form and opened fire on the thing. Not taking chances in the slightest. The beast chose at the last moment to flee, but didn't get far fast enough. Once he was sure it lay dead, shooting it once in the head to double tap, he approached the tarp. He heard child like whimpers from under it and gently lifted it away. Strife was awestruck by the little one he found. A tiny white haired lad with only a single but beautiful wing on his back. This wing and the pointed ears told Strife all he needed to know,

"Mordred?!" He asked surprised.

The small child nodded confirming his identity but remained where he was like a frightened fawn.

"You probably don't remember me, but I'm your Uncle. Here see?" Strife stated calmly before removing his helm.

He gave a goofy smile which Mordred giggled at. He then paused and looked up at seemingly nothing before finally huddling into Strife's arms. Strife minded his little wing and gently scooped him up, noticing him again looking back at his spot again. Confused he finally asked Mordred,

"Hey kiddo, what you lookin' at huh?"

Mordred got excited and pointed towards the spot, "Dada!"

Strife stood there shocked as he saw nothing standing there. But Mordred continued to say that word, indicating that Death should've been there. He finally dared to call out,

"Death?......Bro?"

Getting no response he sighed and went on his way back to Haven, taking Mordred with him. Mordred kept insisting, "Dada!" but Strife blocked him out now. Simply telling the kiddo,

"Mordred, I don't think he's here right now. He'll be back soon though, maybe. For now I need to get you home, if that's even a possibility right now."

Mordred continued his insistence however, "Dada here, he come now. Watching"

Strife found it plain creepy now and convinced Mordred to finally hush. Only for the kid to get a bit huffy. Sighing he picked up his pace to return to Haven. Once within the grounds, he turned into his disguised form of Jones. Making Mordred promise to keep quiet, he then finally went inside. He was welcomed by Ulthane readily, along with a few of the humans inside. They predictably gushed over Mordred and the doctor of the group quickly examined him. He found nothing wrong by human standards, but Ulthane explained that he'd be fine,

"He may be a wee lad, but he's a Faerie. I can tell by that wing. The boy should be fine enough. Though normally Fae don't come to Earth, wonder where he came from."

Jones then spoke up, "I can answer that I think, in private though."

Ulthane obliged him and let Jones follow him to a secret spot. From there he transformed back and placed Mordred down on a stool.

"So how did de wee lad get here Horseman?" Ulthane asked sternly.

"It honestly beats me, figured we could ask him. I doubt Morgen would've sent him here of her own accord after all. Oh wait.....fffffffffffffuuudge." He stated before quickly censoring himself for Mordred's sake.

"I know only one Morgen from de Fae Realm, that being the Lady Le Fay herself. I've heard rumors, as many in creation have. But to have it confirmed, now that's surprising."

"Death is gonna kill me, but yes he and Morgen did....have a thing going. Mordred is the result of that."

Strife suddenly felt something hit the back of his head. He could've sworn it felt like his elder brother whenever he smacked him upside the head. Course Mordred giggled before saying, "Again Dada!"

Strife made an annoyed face before sighing, "Did I forget to mention that kid seems convinced that Death is always around?"

Ulthane thought for a moment and observed Mordred briefly. He only giggled to himself seemingly before Ulthane noticed a bit of his hair move. He had no proof beyond this however, so he'd keep quiet for now on the matter. Only shrugging in response to Strife's inquiry.

"Uh huh, well I'm heading back out. Think you can watch him for now? Or send him home for that matter?" Strife requested simply.

"I don't think we have de ability to send him home yet. But I can certainly keep de lad safe for ye." Ulthane replied.

Strife nodded at this and headed off to make more rounds for survivors. Mordred in the meantime began to play with a piece of wood nearby. Rolling the log between his hands with little care. Ulthane shrugged once more and went back to his work. He had to make sure this gateway was finished before too long. Course Mordred eventually asked a question, one Ulthane didn't catch as his hammer struck the anvil. However, he did catch a faint whisper on the breeze. Pausing, he waited until hearing an unmistakable voice. He couldn't make out what it replied with, but did catch a low chuckle towards the end. He decided to reply back,

"Ye mocking me Horseman? It's not like I can deal with the dead readily."

He heard the voice whisper again, but Mordred translated this time, "Dada says he's taaankful for you watching."

"Ah, well you're welcome Horseman. Ye'd best find a way to get him home though. This is no place for wee ones anymore. And maybe let yer brother know what's become of ye, assuming I'm correct."

Mordred translated his next reply, "Dada says he's trying. But can't take me home. Veil...broken?"

Ulthane nodded, "I see, the veil around the Fae Realm must still be strong on their side. Don't ye worry though Horseman, this portal should be finished soon enough. Though again, you ought to let Strife know."

Mordred replied in his place, "Dada says Uncle Strife'll get mad. And he can't....materializ.....?"

Ulthane chuckled along with the voice, "I think ye mean 'materialize' lad."

Mordred nodded, "Mmhmm. What's dat mean?"

"It means your Da's soul can't appear right now. He's stuck bein' invisible and barely heard. If he could materialize, we'd be seein' and hearin' him." Ulthane explained simply.

Mordred cocked his head a little but seemed to understand. Ulthane noted his reaction, figuring Death must've explained why his soul is all Mordred can see of him right now. Suddenly a loud caw sounded in the air, then a black crow came down the above. In his feet, he carried Death's mask. This he dropped in front of Mordred before landing in the boy's lap. Dust cawed in annoyance as Mordred grabbed him in a hug, but didn't fuss too much. Only pecking the kid when he squeezed too hard. Mordred then let go and settled for stroking Dust as the mask was picked up by who Ulthane assumed was Death. Watching closely, he saw a force beginning to materialize before them. Before long it formed into a shadowy ball of energy with eyes the same color as Death's own. Ulthane chuckled before hearing Death's voice clearly this time,

"Don't get used to this look and don't....ah...laugh. This form actually isn't all that great...ugh....but it's all I can manage for now....woah....I just really hate the erratic movements this form has."

Ulthane watched trying not to bellow in laughter as the Horsemen's current ghostly visage spun in place and jerked about. Death soon landed on Mordred's shoulder, before confiding in the Maker.

"It wasn't easy, knowing Mordred could see me outright after I found him. He still hasn't quite grasped what me being like this means yet either."

Ulthane only nodded, "I won't pretend I know yer pain Death. But I can imagine it's not pleasant."

Death only nodded before saying, "Strife should be able to understand now though. Give my mask to him when he returns, as I can only materialize for a short time before I need to rest my energy. If I overdo it I'll get stuck in the well again. I'm only here in the first place thanks to Azreal noticing me."

Ulthane froze at the name, but quickly regained himself, "I see, yer probably right about him though. Strife may not believe me at first."

"I know he won't. But I attached myself to my mask. He'll take with him, and likely begin hunting for me. I'll appear to him when I feel the time is right." Death says simply.

With that he dematerialized and the energy went inside the mask. Mordred picked it up and hugged it. Already missing his Daddy. Dust made a few quiet sounds to comfort Mordred. Nudging his head against the kiddo.

Strife returned with a batch of more humans sometime later, and found Mordred eating a little depressed while Dust watched him keenly. Seeing that bird surprised him, and then Ulthane stepped forward.

"Yer brother asked that I give you this."

Strife eyed the mask in Ulthane's hands, and quickly took it, "He never takes it off, where'd you get it?!"

"Horseman calm down, yer brother's bird came by with it just a few hours ago. He's been watching your Nephew since then." Ulthane said raising his hands.

Strife eyed the bird suspiciously before telling him, "Dust, lead me to him. Where is he bird?!"

Dust despite being a bird, knew as much as Ulthane did how useless this was. But he flew regardless after snapping playfully as Mordred. Strife hurried after him despite Ulthane calling to him. Ulthane sighed before turning around to see Mordred sniffling to himself. He figured someone had to explain where his Daddy was, and what exactly all of this talk meant. Meanwhile Strife kept following Dust, memories of Death flashing through his mind.

"I'll be damned if I lose you now you son of a bitch! I just started to understand you! I need to know more about you! There's so much I gotta say! It can't be too late now! I won't believe that!" He shouted to himself, Death could tell he already understood clearly.

But the elder allowed Strife to keep running nowhere in particular in search of someone he'd not be finding. At least, not alive anyway. He waited, watched, and listened as Strife grew more and more desperate. He could hear fear in his voice being mixed with sadness as Strife began trying to choke back tears. Death would not judge him for this, how could he given the circumstances. Sure Strife was a turd, but Death still cared deeply about him and the other two. They were his family, and always would be even if he couldn't be there now. Finally, Strife began to make a sorrowful and slow trek back to Haven. Having finally realized that his brother truly was gone. He made it to a small clearing near the great tree and collapsed to his knees. Both exhausted from running all over the place, and just forced down by the weight of the implications that came with Death's demise. His voice was nearly lost due to screaming his name so much. As Strife broke down, Death finally made an effort to appear to his brother. This time he used more energy to appear as his true self instead of that silly, erratic ball of shadow. He waited a few seconds longer still as Strife hugged himself in his pain. Only then did Death hug his younger sibling, doing all he could to hold back his own rising pain. Strife didn't look up, but sensed the presence of his brother. His arms wrapped around Death's ethereal waist, and he sobbed deeply. Death remained steadfast for Strife's sake, trying his best to remain calm. Death's heart only began to break when hearing Strife venting apologies to him. Death hugged Strife tighter at this,

"This isn't your fault. I made the choice to sacrifice myself. For War, for you, and for Fury. You've nothing to be sorry for Strife."

Strife choked out his reply, "I-I still owe you one. For being such an asshole! For being the worst brother ever! For not recognizing your pain sooner!"

"Strife, we're brothers. We'll always get on each other's nerves. I don't blame you for anything you've ever said to me. If anyone should apologize....it's me. I was the worst brother, to all of you. I was wrapped up in my own pain....that I failed recognize pain in you. I failed to see what you were all becoming. War was losing himself in his rage, Fury was becoming bitter towards us in her jealousy, and you....I can't even begin to guess. How fucking sad is that?" Death stated, clearly angered at himself.

"Death, you do so much shit for us. We just didn't notice enough. I....didn't notice it...until it was too late." Strife said beginning to calm down a bit.

"Then we've all failed as a family then. But maybe, I can fix that now. Starting with you. I may not be capable of much anymore, but I can still protect you and Mordred. I can speak to you whenever you need me. Whatever you need from me, I'll do my best to accomplish it. I just need you to be strong Strife. Not just for me, but for Fury and War too. You don't even have to tell them what's happened to me. Just do what you can to begin mending our bond as family. And do what you can for Mordred, since I can't be there for him. At least....not truly."

Strife finally looked up, and removed his visor before wiping away at his eyes, "You know what, you're right. You're always right. I'll be strong for the others, lead em in the right direction. I'll do whatever it takes to help em out. I'll make sure Fury grows past her resentment, that War has a better chance to make it out of this shit. And I promise....I swear on my life...that Mordred will be safe. I'll watch over him like a fucking hawk damn it. I'll do anything for the tyke."

Death smiled and finally let Strife go, "Then I guess that's settled. Let's get back, you have work to do after all. Just remember that I am watching, and don't hesitate to ask what you will of me."

Strife nodded, "Yeah, I'll get on that. All of it. Maybe sometime soon, we can talk to Mordred about what's going on with you? And maybe we can also talk about what you've been through? I want to start getting to know you like I should've been, to know your pain, how you've been feeling."

"The first option for sure, but I don't think it's neccessary for you to take on my pain alongside me." Death said before dematerializing back into his mask.

"Bullshit. If we're gonna start acting like the family we are, then one sibling's pain is our pain too." Strife declared.

Death chuckled at this, "Very well, but only when I feel up for it. Right now, I still have some thoughts to put together. If you really want to know so badly."

[longsightmyth]

Chapter-by-Chapter, The Naming, Chapter 3

Intro

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

(or you can just click the tag ‘Myth Reads The Naming’)

Pellinor

In this chapter we are reminded that the author is Australian, as the word ‘dingle’ is used for a grove of trees. The word choice isn’t important, it just tickles me every time I read it. Anyway, the dingle is a very nice collection of pleasant and protective trees who may or may not be slightly aware of the world.

This chapter is, however, mostly about Maerad being scried by Cadvan, who asks for her permission and waits until she gives it. He does not try to argue her into accepting. Scying is sort of mindreading or penseive-diving?

“It means I wish to look into you and see what you are.”

“Does it hurt?”

‘Well. Yes, it does, in a way. It’s a little like my asking if you would take all your clothes off and stand in front of me while I pore over you with a seeing glass.”

…

“What if I don’t agree?”

“Then I won’t do it, and we shall continue on our journey.”

She agrees to try. We see some memories of the Sack of Pellinor and more of Gilman’s cot, and she says that it did hurt, which Cadvan expresses sympathy for and apologizes, but the good news is that Maerad doesn’t have any bad intentions or evil designs and he can now tell anybody that with 127% certainty. We also learn that Maerad has a Very Special Harp that doesn’t need to be tuned and is SUPER OLD, even if it looks like plain old wood.

Throne of Glass (pages 27-38)

By coincidence, there is also discussion of trees in this bit of Throne of Glass, as they are travelling through an ancient forest that used to be home to fae and little fae or whatever. A soldier makes a remark about how Adarlan has gotten rid of the fae. Celaena snaps at him that he should watch his mouth, since Oakwald (the forest) used to belong to King Brannon and the trees probably remember him, prompting probably my favorite bit of dialogue in the entirety of Throne of Glass.

“They’d have to be two hundred years old, those trees.”

“Fae are immortal,” she said.

“Trees ain’t.”

Celaena stalks off and contemplates that maybe it was a good thing magic vanished. They travel some more. We are given six sentences about Celaena’s suffering through bad weather with a tent and cold toes.

We are treated to a poetic description of Prince Dorian and how his crimson cape crests like a wave when he comes back to take Celaena and Chaol to get a good view of the capital. Celaena talks about all of the Eyllwe slaves who helped her, naming none, and saying how ‘each night one of them would stay up to clean my back’ of her three parallel well-healed whip scars.

Then she angsts and says she isn’t fated for anything anymore, and THEN we get Dorian angsting about how beautiful and mysterious and fascinating she is.

THE COMPARISON.

Look I’ve mentioned the discussion of suffering thing every time, but here we actually get a glimpse of Celaena’s suffering at the expense of all the brown people she was incarcerated with. She says she was ‘whipped often enough that the wounds on her back never really closed’ and then had salt rubbed into her wounds.

I hesitate to say this. I do. But now we’re focusing TOO MUCH on the suffering? For whatever reason, now we’re told that Celaena was specifically focused on for punishment and special suffering, and… why?

I am impossible to please, I know. I think it’s the language: the book is trying so hard to make this The Worst Thing that my contrary self glares at it.

Also, I didn’t mention it in the Pellinor recap because it was so matter-of-factly mentioned in the text, but Maerad and Cadvan are cold too. They can’t have a fire in the dingle for fear of upsetting the trees, they are now pursued by something, and it’s still fucking freezing. All they have are their cloaks and clothes, of which Maerad’s are slave-quality for indoor-outdoor work and Cadvan’s are super beat up from being stuck in dark places and losing all changes because he sensibly held onto the travel rations instead. They’re curled up in cloaks on the ground! Celaena has tents and fires and sleeping bags and horses and changes of clothes! PRETTY CLOTHES. Her misery kind of palls, I’m just saying. She probably gets dry socks.

Something I want to dwell on here that isn’t actually a direct comparison to Throne of Glass but is important thematically: Cadvan worries that Maerad might be a trick of the dark sent to murder him (long lost daughters of murdered Bard Schools not usually being thick on the ground and all) and still won’t scry her unless she gives permission. He gives her all the outs. She chooses to go forward. He still apologizes for her fear and hurt, and clearly feels badly about it.

Nowhere is this kind of consideration given even to the Special Main Character in any of Maas’ books. The Special Main Character’s actions are always justified, and any hurt visited on them by their love interests or any dude on their side is not only justified but explained away as being good for them. Nowhere is a woman’s choice about her body or her mind or her abilities given precedence. It counts even in things as small as what women put into their bodies: in a later ToG book, Celaena/Aelin overdoes the magic despite her mentor being literally right next to her and watching her. He fusses incessantly, blames her for not eating enough beforehand even though she told him during the whole magic use thing that she was hungry and he decided he knew better, THEN during the coddling, when she says she’s full, he tells her he knows best and she is definitely still hungry. She takes another bite and decides he’s right.

Compare that to Maerad and Cadvan’s actions here. I’m moving on.

Also, Maerad and Cadvan thank the trees for their hospitality before they leave. I think Celaena thanks somebody maybe once the whole series, and Maerad and Cadvan are thanking trees.

This chapter of The Naming had 13 pages, 9 fragments, 3 em-dashes, and 17 ellipses.

This section of Throne of Glass had 11 pages, 17 fragments, 20 em-dashes, and 3 ellipses.

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

1, 14 and 19 for the main three.

Thank you!! :D

What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)?

Honestly I have no idea what this question even means or what sort of answer I’m supposed to provide, but I’ll just ... guess. 

Sidra: With Sidra, I had a hard time figuring out both her name and appearance. She started out as someone named Teagan who was very similar visually to Vex’ahlia from the first Critical Role campaign. It took a while for Sidra’s name and appearance to fall into place.

Sinéad: Sinéad was actually created alongside a scrapped older sister, Siobhán, who hated Sidra for various (and kinda justified) reasons. I’m a little sad that I ended up removing her, because she was interesting as a character, but slightly kinda got in the way of the plot.

Val: This isn’t really specific to Val but the Fae initially had only four fingers on each hand, for ... reasons? I dropped that eventually once I worked out the lore, but the trait eventually went to the gnomes and goblins instead. Val specific things, tho? He was, as I mentioned, a prince initially. I don’t even remember where I was going with that whole thing, but I didn’t have much of an idea for a plot when I started writing the first first draft.

If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?

With my OC? I’ll just interpret this as what I need to keep in mind while writing them because that’s a more interesting answer than any fantasy scenarios of me meeting my OCs.

Sidra: I have to pretty much always keep in mind that Sidra a) shouldn’t want too many things (and if she does she has to feel guilty about it) because she always puts others before herself and b) shouldn’t be too wordy. I always get carried away while writing dialogue and Sidra is supposed to be not only awkward but also illiterate, so I can’t have her use too many fancy words, or too many words in general. I tend to go back and rewrite some of her dialogue if I find that there are words I can remove while keeping the meaning intact. (But I try not to overdo it. There has to be a balance that makes character voices distinct without breaking the rhythm of the dialogue.)

Sinéad: With Sinéad, I need to remember that she’s naive, but not stupid. She understands more than she lets on. I also have to remember that she’s not a “pure innocent bean uwu”, because she might be inexperienced but she’s also flawed and can make mistakes just like anyone else. 

Val: Writing Val’s dialogue is a bit hard because I always have to figure out how he’d speak without lying but also seven layers removed from the truth. I also need to keep in mind his past and his trauma when writing certain scenes and interactions, and view them from different perspectives based on what he feels. Sometimes two completely opposite reactions are both in character for him, and I have to convey that confusion while also making a choice.

What is your favorite fact about your OC?

Sidra: Strong hands.

Sinéad: Is trying to teach Sidra how to read when everyone else gave up years ago.

Val: Stubbed his toe once and didn’t cry. 

[tyrwinthyr]

Episode 2, act 2

Full episode 1 on e-reader for visitors, and episode 2 and beyond, available over on my patreon (https://www.patreon.com/tyrwinthyr) for a buck.  Like it, support it! 

The home of Sheila Marie Whitehart had been vandalized. If the light music playing with scented candles decorating nearly every exposed surface told the story, by bohemians. If the bourbon soaked vanilla smell coming from the candles was an indication, horny bohemians. First, the miscreants had removed both her dirty dishes, as well as the clean clothes on her cycle trainer.  Afterwards, they had made off with the selfsame exercise machine! There was, of all the outlandish things, fresh fruit in a basket on her counter, plus flowers in a vase near the TV stand.  There, next to the porch screen… was that a succulent in a flowered pot?

Pausing at her door, still holding her sack of dirty clothes in her hand, the satyr could do little more than blink.  Her key had opened the door, but still she had a sudden need to check the number to make sure she hadn’t wandered into some hippie boggan’s house.

A gasping moan from behind her bedroom door informed her that the evil-doer, or doers, were still there.  Instead of moving quietly to the door to catch them in the act, she stomped her hooves loudly across the linoleum.  

“Oh no,” came a voice she knew too well, so she was not surprised to find Gaspar in her bed holding the sheets up to his nose. Were those new sheets?  Was that a stylish new comforter?  

Were those antlers?

“Oh. My. God!”  It was all she could really think of to say.  Not only had she caught her best friend with her brother in bed, but they had desecrated her holiest of holies.

“Sheels, baby, it just happened!” Gaspar exclaimed, dropping the sheet so he could hold his hands out to her imploringly.

“What, smashing my brother, or fucking up my décor?”

“If by décor you mean the hoarder style you were attempting,” Simon said, sitting up next to Gaz. “I think we improved way more than we fucked up.”

“I’m not ready to deal with you yet, Simon, so… just put some damn clothes on!” She grabbed the carefully folded jeans on her nightstand. Sheila could feel her cheeks flushing angrily. “How could you do this to me, Gaspar?  This is like the ultimate violation!” Wadding the jeans up, she flung them at the pair.

After a concerned look was exchanged between the men, her friend put his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry, Sheels,” he apologized quietly. “My roommate was being an ass, and you were supposed to be gone for a lot longer… but you’re right… it’s a terrible thing I’ve done.”

“He’s not your roommate, he’s your boyfriend,” she corrected.  His voice had always calmed her, and this time was no different. “Couldn’t you have rented a hotel room to clean and violate?”

“I am supposed to be staying with you,” Simon interjected. “If I had put a rental on my account, Father would have had questions.”

Sheila could almost hear the capital letter he put on that noun, but it didn’t help make her feel any less angry.

“Clothes, now,” she reminded, turning her back on both of them. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this, Gaz.”

“By this… do you mean cleaning your apartment, or being accommodating of your brother?” She didn’t turn back, ears twitching their direction as the sound of sheets moving reached her.

“Overly accommodating,” she grumped, tapping her hoof against the wall in agitation. “You promised me.”

Gaspar blew on the back of her neck before wrapping his arms around her from behind.  He’d only had to startle her once from behind to learn never to do it again.  It’d taken him weeks before his black eye healed.

“I didn’t have you, silly goat,” he whispered, laying his forehead against her hair. “Things have gotten bad at home… you know how I get when I’m stressed.  I clean, and I make terrible decisions.”

“The worst decisions.”

“Awful, nasty, highly suspicious decisions.”

“So, Terrible Decision has his pants on, and is going to walk past you to get some coffee now,” Simon said, doing just that. Sheila glanced at him as he walked past, upset as always at how beautiful her siblings were.  Hair as white and fine as silk, finely toned muscles, hooves that seemed to be made of amber.  Unfair.

“G’off me,” she grunted, thrusting her tail backwards. A turn, a slap across his face, and a stomp of a hoof next to his bare foot, all made her feel better about his betrayal. “You smell like sex… with my brother.  Shower, dooshnozzle.”

“I am sorry,” he said, doing his best doe eye at her. When she didn’t answer, he took up a sheet as a temporary toga, walking to the bathroom.

“Scrub your dick!  You don’t know where my brother’s been!” she called after him, before heading to confront said brother.

“Save it,” he said as she clopped across the floor towards him.  Even the way his body arched as he searched her cabinets for the coffee angered her. “You can chide me all you want, but you know I will not regret a single moment of it.”

He was right, she knew all about it.  Growing up as an emotional satyr in a house of emotionally stunted harts had been very hard on her.  She still fought with keeping hers in check.  One slip of the tongue when emotions were high would cause catastrophe.

“Maybe it will just make me feel better?” she said, sitting on one of the bar stools on her kitchen island.  Candles sputtered one by one as she blew them out.

“Then, by all means.  Have at.” Finding the coffee, Simon filled one of her reusable Keurig containers. “Feeling better is all we really have, hmm sister?”

Anger flashed through her, which she expelled by exterminating another loose flame.

“You are as infuriating as Father,” she grumbled weakly, fanning the thin line of smoke rising from her latest waxy victim.  

“I highly doubt that,” her brother commented wryly, watching the liquid fall into a mug.  After a moment of silence between them, he continued, “I do like him.”

“Father? Of course you do.  You’ve been his proud little boy since you were old enough to be proud.”

“No… Gaspar.  I like him.”

Sheila could only frown before rubbing her face vigorously. “Shit, Simon, that’s some dangerous stuff right there.”

“You like him, obviously,” the hart stated blankly, searching her fridge for cream.

“I’m not fucking him, idiot.” It was her turn to make coffee, so she rounded the counter to clean the container.

“I was wondering,” her brother said, doctoring his coffee carefully. “He talks about you quite a bit.  It can be rather infuriating to hear about how amazing your sister is while you cuddle post coitus.”

“Don’t use words like ‘coitus’ when we’re talking about Gaz, please.” After making a few gagging sounds, she wrinkled her nose in Simon’s direction. “And now you know how I’ve felt my whole life.  He may be enraptured with me because we’re bonded, but I’ll take it.  Humans have never needed to be enthralled to gush about how wonderful you full harts are.”

Simon sipped his coffee, making a face at the taste before sipping it again. “Being demigods has a benefit or two, I dare not deny it. You lost your virginity well before we did, though.  They may gaze with stars in their eyes at our magnificence, but you appealed to their more base natures.”

“Who wants to fuck a statue?” she quipped, adding only sugar to her coffee.

“Gaspar.”

Sheila let their conversation die out after that. Her siblings were also better at verbal banter than she was, knowing just how to strike a painful chord with the simplest statements.  The two sipped their coffee in silence, neither looking at the other, until Gaspar erupted from the bedroom.  

“Look at the two of you,” he crooned, still drying is hair with a towel. “All droopy faced and adorable… how long do we have you, girl?”

“Until tomorrow,” she answered mellowly. “Then back into captivity for me.”

“Hows‘bout we drop the sad sack act, put on our dancing… um…” he glanced down at their cloven hooves, “Is shoes still correct, or is that a horse thing?”

Sheila was about to fling the last of her coffee at him before she noted a strange, terrible thing on her brother’s face.  A smile.  Some of the color drained out of her own face, causing Gaspar to grab her around the shoulders.

“What’s wrong, besty?” he asked, giving her a shake. “Whatever it is, save it for the army.  We need to get you drinking, dancing, and hopefully, dicked down!”

With a smile, she kissed him on the side of his face before glancing around her apartment.

“Gods… I hope he has his own place, because I am NOT bringing him back here.”

 After a few hours of washing, primping, dressing, re-dressing and then fighting off attempts to overdo her makeup, Sheila found herself escorted to one of her favorite places to dance.  It was a little underground bar next to the bus terminal downtown called ‘The Station,’ and it catered to a good amount of the Spring’s LGBT community.  It was also one of the first businesses to open their doors to Fae customers.  When a local paper asked them why they’d let such creatures into their establishment, the owner replied, “Our community knows all too well what it is like to be hated for being different. There was a time when being gay was punishable by death.  Who better to support our freaky brethren than us?”

Sheila blew a kiss on her way in at that article, which still adorned the entry way to the Station.  The response from the LGBT community across the country was tremendous, and she always thought it would do the Folk good to remember that support.

The bar had three levels, two above and one below street level, but her crew was only interested in going downstairs.  It was where the comfortable couches were, where the most Fae gathered, and, of course, housed the dancing pit.  Set up acoustically so that the music outside the pit didn’t overwhelm conversation, it was the best area to be.

The patrons of the Station had never seen a hart before. They crowded around him with questions, or simply to watch him breathe. Sheila had seen in it too many times before, but to see what she considered ‘her crowd’ so pulled in by him made her uneasy.  With drink in hand, she left them there to wade into the dance floor.

It only took one song before she was out of her head and consumed by the dance.  There were only a few people interested in her physically, so she even let desire go. Around her, people of all fashions, colors and sexes danced together for the simple joy of the dance itself.  Her Fae nature allowed her to feel their emotions so long as they moved to the music.  Her satyr cousins could influence them by playing songs of their own, but Sheila had never been musically inclined.  She could dance, but that was as close as she could get to the melody of Pan.

It wasn’t long until she felt a hand on her hip. If this had been someplace else, she would have reacted instinctively, violently, to such a touch.  Here, in this club, on this dance floor, she felt safe. Glancing back, she was glad she hadn’t swung on the hand’s owner.

He was handsome, brown, and shirtless.  Dark tattoos adorned his bare chest, each expertly highlighted with white ink. On his head, at an angle, he wore a white hat with a shock of bright red hair dangling from the front.  Sheila knew from previous encounters most of the rest of his head was bald.

“Torrid!” she greeted him with a hug, which he accepted with one arm.

“Hello, lovely!” he shouted back, leaning in to be heard over the music. “I’m so glad to see you out! Will you be here for the drag show later?”  She nodded enthusiastically, which made him smile.  For perhaps the millionth time she cursed the fact that he wasn’t into anyone without dangly bits.  

With a kiss to her cheek and a wave he drifted off into the crowd, greeting anyone he knew with equal passion.  After that, it seemed like a floodgate of acquaintances came to her, each with a smile and a hug.  All of them were on the fringe of her life, but they were happy to see her, so she was happy to see them.  There were few other Fae in her ‘club’ circle, and she didn’t see any of them.

When it was clear to her that she wasn’t going to be able to dance in peace, she found Gaz on the couches.  He was, as usual, draped across Torrid.  His hand, however, still held Simon’s.  Her brother’s face was as placid as usual, his gaze drifting from person to person as they spoke.

“Tell us, tell us, what has the BNC’s newest dolly been up to?” Torrid asked, drawing her near.

After giving a glare of accusation at Gaspar for spilling the news, she shrugged. “We rescued a troll…” Her voice caught in her throat as it tightened, viscerally reminding her of Zbrozek’s commands.  After a cough, she took a long sip of her drink, apologizing, “I guess I can’t really talk about it.”

The few there who didn’t know what she meant nodded as if they did.

“Secret stuff,” Gaspar said, sliding off of Torrid’s lap to sit pertly next to Simon. “Gov’ment.. hush hush.”  

Keno, Torrid’s main boyfriend, giggled, “Do they have a lot of other fairies there?” he asked, crossing his legs.

“You’re a fairy, she’s Fae,” Gaspar corrected proudly. He enjoyed lording his ‘insider’ knowledge of the Folk over people.

After gasping dramatically at Gaz, Keno adjusted his question, “So… other Fae then?”

Sheila gave him a thin-lipped smile, “A few.”  When that answer didn’t magically strangle her, she added, “No fairies, though.  The winged bastards don’t work well with others.”

“Ah-hah!” exclaimed Keno, pouting at Gaspar. “See, there could have been fairies.  Shows what you know.”

When her best friend rolled his eyes, Sheila pushed a hoof against his knee, “Be nice.  They’re just curious.”

“What about you, pretty pretty,” Torrid asked Simon. “Are you a Fae, a fairy, or both?”  The hart turned his gaze on the man stoically.  Conversation paused as they waited for him to answer, leaning in expectantly.

“Sometimes you feel like a nut,” he said, flatly, “Sometimes you do not.”

It took a moment for everyone, including Sheila, to realize he was joking.  Other than the satyr, everyone exploded in laughter.  She exchanged looks with her brother, confused.  Had he changed this much in only a few years, or was he up to something?  Given her family’s history, she thought probably the latter.

“I like your new boo, Gaspy!” Torrid laughed.  The use of such a private childhood nickname drew the satyr’s wrath.  The two had been together when she’d first met them, and he still held it over Gaz’s head.

“Yeah, I do too,” came the reply, a kiss pressed against Simon’s cheek.  When Sheila saw the look in Torrid’s eyes at that kiss, she let her own anger go. Someone was still holding a torch.

She was just about to head the man off at the pass, opening her mouth to say something shrewdly acidic, when he whistled low.

“Sexy het alert,” he said just loud enough for those around him to hear, indicating with an eyebrow raise that everyone should look.

“Please tell me he’s at least curious,” Keno added, leaning forward in his seat for a better angle.

Sheila shrank down in her chair some when she saw the man in question.  It was Greg, the guy she was dancing with when the big incident happened.  He was with the same two girls from that night. Worse in her opinion, he seemed to be looking for someone, head lifting above the small crowd to scan the corners. When his gaze fell on her he smiled wide, waving his hand at her.

“Gaspar… tell me you did not tell him I was here,” she growled, pushing at him with her hoof again.

“I will gladly tell you I did and offer you many quarters to go ride that ride,” he grinned, grabbing her ankle to give it a shake.

“Git it, girl,” Keno giggled, waving for Greg to come closer.

The ride in question did not seem the least bit uncomfortable being examined by her small group.  When he got closer, he nodded to each in turn, offering a small smile.

“Hey, you,” he said, light eyes dancing when he finally greeted Sheila. “Can we talk?”

“Whatever you say, you can say in front of all of us,” Torrid said, leaning back and touching a finger to his temple. “No secrets amongst us fairies.”

“Stop it, bitch,” Gaspar said, exasperated. “Don’t mind him.  You two go on, we’ll entertain the ladies.”  

Someone pushed her to her feet, and before she knew it, Sheila was in a corner with Greg.  The music was louder here, so it gave people an excuse to get closer; she took full advantage of it.  She savored the smell of him, just like she remembered… cologne over copper and salt, like lightning had passed through the men’s department in Macy’s.

“Hey, just wanted to say I’m sorry for how things went down the other night.” He placed his fingertips against her forearm lightly as he leaned in. “I should have stopped that guy.”

“You’d have started a fight, so I’m glad you didn’t interfere,” she responded before chewing on her lower lip lightly. “Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”

Her words seemed to startle a laugh out of him, “After they took you away, Gaspar and I talked for a while at the station.  He’s a great guy.” Sheila admitted to that fact with a nod, watching Greg’s eyes for clues. “So, to be honest, when I saw you at the club I wanted to score.”

“So… I’m just points on your scoreboard?” Sheila moved her arm away from his touch, her long ears lowering slightly.  It wasn’t a new thing, humans wanting to experience a Fae without the relationship, but it was the first time she’d heard it put so bluntly.

“Not really,” he stumbled some, glancing away from her towards where his friends were laughing. “I mean, who doesn’t want one of you, right?” Two of his fingers rose to rub between his brows. “I am messing this all up.  So much for my swagger, right?”

Sheila didn’t encourage him, wordlessly watching his eyes.  She kept her face as blank as possible.  He’d figure it out, or he wouldn’t.

“So, yeah, it was totally about getting you back to my place.  Sarah and Jet were encouraging me to go for it, so I was stoked when I saw you coming over. Then that guy came over, treating you like that…” Greg rubbed his face, then lowered his hand completely. “It was terrible, the way he treated you.  Then I realized that’s how I was treating you, like a trophy.  Just something to hang on my wall.”

“Hanging on the wall costs extra,” Sheila said, offering him a light, empty smile. “I understand… it’s how it is with Fae.  The government treats us like the same consideration they do your toaster or couch, so how can you imagine us any other way?” Her stomach twisted into knots as she spoke.  She was trying to let him out of the guilt trip, but every word she said hurt.

“That’s just wrong.  It is wrong that it took that asshole to get my mind right.  It’s even worse that I had to talk to your friend to see you as a person.  You have a job, a home… what the hell was wrong with me?”

She searched his eyes for the truth in what he was saying.

“So… can I start over with you?” His smile seemed hopeful, “Give me a chance to treat you like any other girl?”

Sheila hesitated, her hand drifting in mid-air between them like a bird looking for a solid perch to land on.  When he took it, she let him take some of her trepidation away as he brought her hand up.

“A beautiful, amazing, wonderful girl…” he kissed her hand before moving closer to her.

“With horns, hooves and fur in places you don’t want to know about.” When you can’t think of what else to say, self-deprecate.

“See, but I do.  I do want to know about that, and everything else.  Please?”

Sheila’s heart rabbited, even as her mind raced through fields of suspicion.  His face seemed true, and his closeness appealed to the needy satyr in her, but this was how Fae girls got hurt.  Trusting humans.

“He’s Got A Boat!” Gaspar shouted across the room, standing on a table in his high heeled boots.  Trust that human, though, to know when she was holding back.

“Could you, would you, on a boat?” she whispered, looking down at his hands wrapped around hers.  It was an inside joke between her and Gaz.  Leave it to him to use school kid rhymes to force her to make up her mind.

“What was that?” Greg asked, lifting her chin to look at him.

“Nothing, Sam I am…” she replied, stretching up to kiss him before he could ask more questions.

[randomidiocyncrazies]

i found a wip!changeling fic when digging through my google docs, and finished writing it as best as i could. it was longer than i expected it to be, but then again i’ve been playing this character for a long time so i suppose it’s inevitable (also, it’s not actually that long) details start to get really hella vague near the end thanks to my inability to remember relevant plot details also, if you feel i had grossly misrepresented anyone’s characters please tell me and i’ll rewrite it (it’s mostly lolcat’s perception of other characters so it’s not Super Objective, but still.) i’m glad i finally finished this. even though it’s no longer relevant in my life, the 4 years i spent with this character and the community was incredibly meaningful, and something i’ll remember fondly

what do now (or, LOLcat tries to make sense of things)

Making choices can be tough when you don't know shit, like, 99% of the time. set after the doritoes bombed/allowed a friend to bomb a gas station in east gilead, and up to lolcat’s geist powers coming into play.

Warnings: alcohol, violence (ment.), murder, captivity and other standard fae things

Alcohol is a weird wobbly thing. It makes your nose twitch, it tastes bad, and if you have too much you feel gross and smell funky and everything hurts the next day. But people drink it all the time. She has no idea why Frances likes this stuff so much. It for sure doesn’t make her feel better about -- what just happened.

They shouldn’t have forgotten about that human guy. It’s their fault.

She takes another nasty sip. Maybe it’s punishment, she decides, coughing a little the way she does when there’s a hairball itching to get out. Maybe people drink it when they’ve done something Bad. But that doesn’t quite explain Frances: she drinks pretty much all the time. Besides, someone told her that Good and Bad all depends on what else is happening anyway (like people asking for Frances because they want her to shoot things; like maybe adding magic leaves to make people happy isn’t the best thing to do. Sooner or later, Banner said, she’s gonna have to make her own decisions.). If she wants to have a say, if she wants what she thinks to matter -- and she does, though she knows most people write her off, and wait a minute, how exactly do people write others off anyway, with magic ink? Or maybe they’re all really just squiggly lines in a book? Maybe she’s not even alive. Maybe she’s just a pigment(?) of someone’s imagination, maybe she’s not real --

But she feels real, with the slide of liquid fire down her throat and the memory of burning metal and salt water churning in her gut. The heavy feeling around her heart when she met Frances’ eyes amidst the flashbang of glass and too-late realizations that there was someone still inside the gas station had felt real too.

Anyway, back on topic. Booze as punishment doesn’t really make sense for Frances. If LOLcat knows anything (and there isn’t a lot that she knows, but she’s sure of this) it’s that Frances is Good, that Frances takes care of things she and Luna doesn’t understand, that Frances tries to help, that Frances does not deserve punishment like this.

Or maybe it’s not punishment. Maybe it’s some kind of test, because after a while it makes everything warm and nice even though it tastes gross. The coziness is maybe like a reward for pushing past the ickyness, like the difference between There and Here and Friends and Masters, like something that is not-real but real.

Maybe as long as they don’t overdo it, as long as they’re Good enough, there’s still hope and a happy ending for them.

---

Luna left to see the world, or something, with Rain, though LOLcat isn’t quite sure how Luna’s gonna see it all exactly -- unless maybe she’s gonna go on a spaceship? Sexy John could probably give her one, because he’s really rich and he’s nice like that. Kind of hard to understand sometimes (all the time) but he’s a pretty okay guy aside from the time he made Luna cry. But Luna forgave him, so he’s their friend now! They had dinner and everything, even, in his big underwater house-castle filled with shiny things. The fish was really good, as was the cheeseburger, and Sexy John has really tasty fruit punch too. Fruit punch that makes everything look and feel sorta wobbly, but in a fun, exciting way.

Anyway, the roadtrip is something Luna really wants to do, and she’ll meet up with Kate later anyway, so there’s that. LOLcat hopes she has fun -- maybe she can introduce the Avatar to other people, which would be neat.

And then Frances left too, looking for her... law-brother? Brother inside the law? LOLcat thought they’re running from the law in most cases, but whatever. It was someone in some place far away, called Ironland. She’s not really sure how Frances’s gonna deal with all the iron around, but Frances is smart so LOLcat’s sure she’d be able to figure something out. And apparently Ironland has tons of guns and things that go boom from the way Frances tells it, so Frances should be okay. (There’s also something about potatoes, but by that time all LOLcat really paid attention to was the fact that it’s very far away.)

Like Luna, Frances doesn’t know when she’ll be back, either, so it’ll just be LOLcat on Teh Bukkit for -- a long while, at least. It’s a little scary, because Frances was the one who found her on this side after LOLcat sneaked past the unlocked door and ran, thorns scratching bloody lines into her when she stumbled too close. Frances was one of the first Doritoes along with her and Bryce. After Bryce got kind of weird and left, after Luna arrived, after they all did something that LOLcat’s still trying to make up for, Frances is still here, a constant in LOLcat’s post-Master life. (But not her postmaster life, because she hasn’t got one of those; she hasn’t worked a day at the post office. All those squiggly lines and all.)

But Frances wanted to go alone, so there’s that. LOLcat still has to take care of Tom and be the best mom ever, now that Frances is gone, except three days after Frances left Tom vanished, with a note of squiggly lines on his pillow. Nonna told her what it said, feeding her cookies without happy magic leaves; there’s been a lot less of them ever since Banner had that talk with them, and anyway Tom has always been really smart and kind of more like a mom than LOLcat anyway, so maybe this is for the best because while Frances is busy looking after everyone -- people like Bryce and LOLcat and Luna and probably her lawful brother who is... younger? But older than her too, faery time is weird like that -- someone should look after Frances. And when her friends are away LOLcat will keep Frances’s room and workshop the way it was, and Luna’s too, which doubled as Tom’s (it’s kind of funny how they’re never in the same place together), in case they come back early. She takes a look at the furry rainbow blanket in Luna’s room, smells the lingering scent of gin and heated metal in Frances’s workshop, and slides the doors shut.

It’s alright. They’ll be back before she knew it.

(If only Frances didn’t take all the booze with her; LOLcat thinks she’d like some fuzzy-headed reward now, even though all she did was seal the rooms up.)

---

Things were quiet, without the others around. Nonna moved out a while ago with Pookie, found at last, and Echo, who stitched his soul back together. They have meals together sometimes -- well, Echo and LOLcat does in any case, though Echo seems like she’s in trouble again so it’s a little random. She talked with Tim (who is really shiny and a used big words sometimes, but he makes it easy to understand and doesn’t make fun of people) and the Spring court a little, and they told her about this thing called Fight Club. It’s hard work and it hurts a lot sometimes, but it’s also fun. Besides, you get to learn stuff and they heal you afterwards. She thinks Frances would like it, even though weapons aren’t really allowed in fights. She meets some new friends who aren’t so new, like Nak, and some friends who are new, like Vexalot, though she doesn’t meet him meet him, since they talk on the interwebz and all (see, Fight Club teaches you things like how to read, and now she can actually go read what the Avatar wrote to her before they all left East Gilead). She’s back to feeling a little queasy by the smell of booze because it’s weird, not because it reminds her of Frances on the couch giggling at that painting man in the TV while she and Luna stuffed themselves with candy. All in all things are looking pretty good right now. She still misses Luna and Frances and Tom everyday, but she’s doing okay.

She hopes they are doing okay, too.

---

Finding strippers for the Frost Father was kinda annoying to the max. Nothing like the interwebz said it’d be like. People thought she was lying when she said she’s an adult, and they didn’t even give her a captcha to prove it or anything. At least she got to drink a teeny tiny bit of expensive boozy grape juice with Vex and Nak; it still smells kind of strange, but it doesn’t, like, burn her throat. Frances wouldn’t like it (too sweet), and neither would Luna (too much burn).

Also, the new Summer king scares her a little. She doesn’t get why people want to be king or queen (or that word she can’t pronounce but basically means the same thing) in the first place, and shooting a court member who’s, like, 10 or something really takes the cake, except the cake’s a lie because there was no cake. It’s pretty awesome that he can still be king even though he’s a human though. The Frost Father used to call the Doritoes baby horses, which is silly, and banned them on the island just because they believe in the Avatar and the Ceiling Cat, so LOLcat used to think Summer is very hard -- no, that’s not the right word, is it, even though the feeling fits. Words are confusing -- and maybe kind of against new things in general. But he let them onto Summerset after Cleo talked to him, and he let a human take his place, so obviously he’s nicer than she thought. He’s nice to Cord too, even though Cord was kind of maybe definitely evil for a while, but they’re almost husbands, and husbands should be nice to each other, so that’s good. And! He shared his booze, so he’s kind of a bro now. The wedding’s going to be fun!

---

The wedding is the opposite of fun; SEEDs attacked and kidnapped a bunch of people, Celeste included, and when she came back there’s something not quite right about her, something scary. Maybe if Frances was there she could’ve shot the thing holding Celeste back -- shooting people is technically bad but it’s the kind of thing people asked Frances to do before, and besides Celeste is kind of their friend even if she never knows if Celeste is making fun of them or not -- or Luna could’ve got to her and took her back sooner. Tom might be able to stop the fighting before it even started, but Tim tried that and it didn’t exactly work.

There’s something not quite right with what Celeste has with Anon either, since Anon seems to spend more time being scared than happy when he’s with her. LOLcat kind of shipped them for a while, but she’s not sure how she feels about it now. At least hide-and-seek buys him some time away from her, though they don’t actually pay or anything (most people would say taking stuff for free isn’t right, and that’s kind of true, but who were they supposed to pay anyway, goblins? No thanks. She still remembers the whole thing with Inanna missing bits of herself. Goblins are seriously scary.) Thinking about Celeste like that is mean though, because it’s not her fault she got taken away, and it sounds like something as bad as most people’s time with their Masters happened to her. Maybe Celeste needs some booze, because it helped Frances, but Anon -- who’s having his Dude Talk with Vex while Celeste’s still counting -- would probably skin her alive if she gave Celeste any, and there’s enough trouble around town anyway.

---

Sexy John dies (they say he’s helping the Masters; maybe that’s true, but… he’s so nice to Luna, after the first time, and being nice means he’s good, right? Or maybe he’s one of those Affably Evil guys, even though LOLcat’s not quite sure what ‘aff’ means exactly; does it mean the same thing as ‘arf’? Is he secretly a dog?) and after a while crazy things are happening on the island everywhere -- for example, voting for an Official Leader at Seahold.

Yes, people on the Seahold voted sometimes, and yes, there’s always an unofficial leader around, but not like this. The Seahold isn’t supposed to be like a court -- sure, the leader’s supposed to make sure nothing important goes KABOOM, but each fleet is free to do as they please. What you do is your business, and as long as you don’t bring your mess into the Seahold nobody really cares, because everyone is their own person. Everyone here is their own King, or Queen, or that other word. Everyone is free. This is pretty much the reason why she and her friends (who are still gone) chose to live there in the first place. Having one leader to steer everyone just seems... wrong, somehow.

It’s good that there is more than one leader by the end (she’s not quite sure if the Burger King was cheating, because he’s Winter’s King and not Courtless, but then again the Seahold is not a court so it’s okay???), though she doesn’t know how she ended up as one of them -- she doesn’t really know what to do next, but she knows she wants to help the others fight for their islands. She wishes her (long gone) friends are here instead. Frances would know what needs to be done, Tom would know what to say, and Luna’s friends with everybody so she knows what they’re like. LOLcat, like always, is just guessing at everything.

“Hell no,” Captain Nope declares when they start talking about SEEDs, “I’m not going to wait around for the inevitable -- we’re up against them, it’d be a bloody miracle if we’re still alive by the end of this.”

LOLcat lived through miracles, if not here then in East Gilead; she remembers beating the Masters together with her friends, though the mess with Sid feels less like winning and more like the heavy feeling in her chest after the gas station incident. It’ll be okay, she wants to tell Captain Nope when he orders his men to flee the area, stay and fight and together we may win! But she doesn’t try to stop him either, or Captain Hammer for that matter, because this is the Seahold, and everyone is free to do as they pleased. The fact that she is one of the leaders makes no difference. (But maybe they would’ve stayed if it was one of the others instead.)

Squeaker scuttles towards the Burger King -- he’s kinda sketchy, and not the drawing kind of sketch either, but he’s pretty helpful even though she’s pretty sure he thinks they’re all idiots -- while Captain Obvious whirls around to rejoin his crew, making plans for the war ahead. She watches them go, wishing Frances and Luna are here with her.

(But maybe it’s for the best; it’s probably safer, where they are. Don’t be selfish. She sends a quick prayer to the Ceiling Cat to watch over them.)

---

She narrowly avoids the mouthful of teeth snapping at her, bringing His Fishyness down onto the creature’s head with a thwack. People from the other islands think the Seahold is full of pirates (the Jack Sparrow kind, not the downloading movies kind), but that’s not true. Sure, most people know how to work a boat or swim, because it’s not fun living in the Seahold otherwise. But these boats are mostly for living in, not fighting with, so after a while people started loading flowerpots and silver spoons and empty rum bottles into the canons when they ran out of ammo to fire at the hedgebeasts.

The water around them is red and smells like metal. Gabriel, newly Turned and growling, fires another shot as Feorra smashes her hammer on a huge fish with rows of pointy teeth when it jumps out of the water. A croc (not the shoes) bites at LOLcat’s ankles, and she swings His Fishyness down until it lets go and looks for an easier target. She pants, shifting her grip on the oversized boomerang, trying to ignore the sharp sting of salt water on open wounds as she staggers towards one of the newer Summer Court changelings being ambushed by two crocs when something throws itself at her suddenly, like a jumpscare. She sees long, shining teeth, and --

Everything goes dark.

---

When she wakes up she’s floating above the ground, and all she wants to do is go back to sleep again; but no, she feels herself pulled towards Autumn island --  maybe she’s going to meet the Ceiling Cat? -- and she wonders if she had made up for the gas station, if she had done more Good things than Bad. (She doesn’t want to become a faceless chili pepper.) She misses Luna and Frances, and she wants to see them now -- where are they? Are they safe? Why aren’t there here by her side? Will she ever see them again? (I just want to see them one last time.) Will she even know them in the next life? What if she’s too Bad to have a next life?

But then she sees Nak, and Claire, and Ceiling Cat. Not the Ceiling Cat, of course, but she calls herself Ceiling Cat, so maybe she’s kind of like an Emissionary or whatever. She certainly seems powerful enough, and offers a Deal: go on a treasure hunt for her, and she’ll let LOLcat live again. Kinda. The details aren’t 100% clear yet, but LOLcat’s pretty sure she gets to keep being herself and not end up as a rotting zombie, which seems okay, though a lot of stuff that seems okay actually aren’t, come to think of it. Claire’s smart, and she thinks this Ceiling Cat is dangerous, so that means she’s probably right. Besides, Deals with a big D are generally bad ideas anyway.

But.

LOLcat wants to be there when her friends come back, so. Yeah.

She takes the Deal. (The smile Ceiling Cat gives her is as sharp as the glass her Master used to feed her.) She prays to the Avatar -- hoping that she chose well, that she isn’t making a mistake, that Frances and Luna would be proud of her. She takes Ceiling Cat’s token, closes her eyes...

And wakes in the land of the living.

---

The war is over, but nothing is the same. There’s a weird bubble thing around the islands, and also Ceiling Cat is living in her head now. Does this mean her head is now a ceiling? It still feels like her head, but where else would Ceiling Cat live, if not in the ceiling? If Ceiling Cat lived somewhere else she wouldn’t be Ceiling Cat anymore, would she?

Then again, LOLcat moved from East Gilead to the isles, and LOLcat is still mostly LOLcat, so. (BUT! LOLcat doesn’t live in a place called LOL, where she lives isn’t part of her name, not like the way it’s part of Ceiling Cat’s. BUT BUT! The Ceiling Cat in her head isn’t the Ceiling Cat, so maybe the ceiling part doesn’t really matter that much?? This is confusing.)

Anyway. Being roommates with Ceiling Cat -- brainceiling-mates -- is kinda fun, because she’s never alone now, there’s always someone in her head even when she’s the only person on Teh Bukkit (though Ceiling Cat can get a little catty sometimes. So what if LOLcat still doesn’t really know how these new death and dying powers work, they’re kind of over 9000 on the scary scale okay?)

And speaking of scary... She knows about what it’s like to be beaten to death now, when she walks past the body of a dead human woman on the street with a few of her teeth pulled out, and she knows the burn of black smoke in weak lungs and split blisters along running feet when she walks around a house firebombed a few days ago; she knows what it’s like to have someone stab you, over and over again, and the snap of sharp teeth on your neck. She’s been lowkey feeling the deaths on the islands ever since she came back with Ceiling Cat sharing her head, and there is so much of it.

Still, she tries to go about her business, srs or otherwise, but everyone is unhappy. Things are hard, people are dying, and she is weak and hungry all the time. Everyone is hungry all the time, even the humans. (Especially the humans.) A group of them is yelling at the people LOLcat’s with, picking a fight, and by the time it’s over both sides are bleeding, red like her Master’s favorite drink once upon a time, and oh.

One of the humans is dying from a sharp stick through his tummy.

Banner told her a long time ago that sometimes you need to decide between what’s Good and what’s Bad. Nobody else can do it for you. Something normally good might be bad sometimes, like too much of Sexy John’s yummy fruit punch makes you wake up with a headache the next day, and sometimes Bad things can be good, like when Frances shot people trying to hurt their friends.

Killing is Bad, but he’s not like the gas station guy back on East Gilead. This human would’ve died anyway, with or without her. She is hungry and he is in so much pain, it’s better that he doesn’t have to suffer all the way through, right? The feeling of all your blood dripping away through a hole in your tummy is something dark moving through the bushes. It’s so, so cold, it drags on forever, you’ll never be warm again, you know you’ll just get colder and colder and there’s nothing you can do about it, and nobody who isn’t dying or dead really knows how it feels.

But LOLcat knows, now, so she does something about it.