#witching hour interlude

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Memphis to Fort Hood

Timeline alterations: Spring of 1958

Theme: THAT ASKED FOR BABY ANNOUNCEMENT, sorta

So, so many thanks to all my darlings who I throw my ideas at and they in turn bolster my resolve and refine my daydreams.

Warnings: good ole fashioned 50’s misogyny, Elvis being rather poorly represented? -for the reasons of this being written as critique?…nothing explicit but themes of free use, subspace, paranoia and eating disorders (which ends up being morning sickness so no really big deal there, just wanted to be careful.

A note on the style of this particular interlude: One of my obsessions with this universe has been using multiple points of view and narrative styles, ultimately adding to my own expansive delusion that this AU really was the verified version of his life. 🤓 And see, if it had been we would have magazines and newspapers, speciations and interviews galore, all of which I’ve enjoyed fabricating in the past and intend to continue. Now I’ve cooked up something else, a faux cultural study on what would have been the massively studied and criticized impact of a couple this peculiar and idolized -Mrs. Presley and Other Martyrs:

Strangely, if one looks for the first cracks in a marriage that outlasted five decades, nine children, assasination attempts, adultery, rock n’ roll and the most publicized divorce of its time, one might find that the first fissure had begun to open by the Presley’s third week anniversary. Outlasted, that’s the key. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things to outlast. The old curse of stepping outside Graceland and finding trouble found them early on, as did their tenacity to simply ignore and surmount the witch’s brew of criticism, ego and exhaustion.

It took 38 hours by train to reach Fort Hood from Memphis Tennessee in the year 1958. Time enough for legends to be made. Dynamics to be established. A couple dozen demons to resurface.

And impressions to be formed. Lasting impressions of herself by the scrutinizing public that Elaine Presley reportedly never forgave Elvis for -a remarkable instance of a grudge in a woman so notoriously absolvent.

At the start of the journey she boarded the train at Memphis a sheltered girl tucked under the arm of the most famous man on earth, her own face captured without obstruction for the first time by the press, wedding band flashing and virginal blush staining her features at the attention and the queries hurled at her. The most envied woman in the country hadn’t known she was wanted a month before and by the time she stepped off in Texas, Mrs Presley was the doe eyed subject and demure recipient of a hundred varied opinions, editorials, fan tokens and bouquets.

What her rushed wedding may have slighted Elaine Presley of in terms of a bridal fuss, this dutiful journey made up for in sheer abundance of notoriety. What her sequestered honeymoon had sheltered her from in terms of being tabloid fodder was more than made up for on the trip as Elaine Presley got paraded on the train balcony at each stop along the route by her beaming groom:

A sauve cad in a uniform who beamed at the crowd with a cocky leer that suggested much in regards to his reserved bride and was in stark contrast to the sober and tear streaked boy he’d been when he came up this way to say goodbye to his mama weeks before. This little couple and their little rebellion of a marriage was manic in appearance and in gaiety, and even the most charitable of well-wishers found the occasion they were celebrating a bit forced, a bit dire, a bit off kilter for something as sanctified and sober as matrimony.

This was compounded by the new groom’s attitude which seemed as eager to display the varied trousseau he decked this almost catatonically pliant girl in -with a change nearly on the hour- as he was to introduce his new wife to his nation’s worth of fans that crowded the rails as they hustled south.

As Hedda Hopper unapologetically noted in her column that week “…it makes a person wonder if this sensational canary of an entertainer is too proud of having conquered a sensible girl child into being his wife to realize he just married himself off the market. America’s daydream is now a taken man and no one in the nation seems ready for that, least of all him.”

Married, to Elvis Presley, was perhaps more of a reality than Miss Hopper and her column gave him credit for, although the old spinster might’ve been aghast if she knew what marital duties the young star prioritized over others. The folks who caught sight of the flushed couple at each stop might’ve had a suspicion. Certainly Elvis’ ever present entourage of childhood friends and relations couldnt hope to be left in the dark.

Even if the close quarters on the route, the thin traincar doors and shared meals were not enlightening enough, Elvis Presley gloated too much in being a new husband to possibly retain any mystery. Love drunk and determined to stay so lest panic or grief overtake him, his friends recall his unreasonable amounts of excitement and generosity in detail regarding his “lil wife.”

-And his skills as a lover, of course.

Nothing had changed for Elvis from his time on the road with these naughty friends of his except that now all his famous drive and obsession was channeled towards one rather overwhelmed teenage girl. One who had, in typical 1950’s fashion, promised to obey his every whim. Turns out, trapped in a train car for over a day with an insomniatic sex addict uncovers an astounding amount of whims that their more placid honeymoon at Graceland had kept at a low simmer.

Whether tamed by the supposed influence of his mother’s ghostly presence at Graceland or whether in a fit of gentlemanly restraint for an untried bride, Elvis Presley had, by all accounts, played the gentleman while at home in those first weeks of marriage. While happy and smug -so much so that the story went that when the colonel appeared at Graceland to assure himself that the secret wedding hadn’t happened, one look at Elvis and the girl on his lap assured him it had both occurred and been consummated- he had nevertheless been considerate, gentle and almost tutoring in aiding Elaine to adjust to her new life.

Trapped in the claustrophobic buzz of the train car speeding south to a life of regimented discipline and obedience in the army, the antsy rebel in him found his boredom and dread peaked beyond endurance and distracted himself with the new and ever captivating charms of his new wife.

Elvis Presley with a goal could be a dedicated and diligent man but without one he was a chaotic force of nature that could catch all those around him in a whirlpool of fun or an avalanche of insanity. Pursuing Elaine Presley had brought out the best in him and so intently did he peruse her with every traditional method of wooing a typical southern girl, that she had quite forgotten the more frightening aspects of his temperament that she and her father had been witness to before. She could be forgiven for thinking he had matured past such outbursts and compulsions he had been thrall to in his early fame. Subdued by grief and spurred by ambition to have her, he had been impressively restrained upon his return to Memphis and driven by a rededication of his life to the old values of his mama’s ambitions for him, he had managed to continue it into the first days of marriage.

The upcoming reality of life within the rigorous confines of Fort Hood was too strong for such flimsy good intentions. As was the oppressive reality of his mother’s permanent absence in his life. His love, which had always been a somewhat smothering thing that required as much as it gave, was needy yet inexpressive in those early days and according to his daughter Ella, who divulged some of her mother’s confidences in her own book, Elaine was yet to learn how terrified her young husband was of a future that most would have envied.

Scared of being alone, yet suspicious that his presence was merely being tolerated, young husband Elvis Presley had every hope he could train a young girl by conjugal powers alone to be loyal to him where others failed. In a fit of hubris and optimism, he chose for this amorous experiment the one woman in town who admitted to not being in love with him. This fear and frustration expressed itself in an appalling physical demand on her bodily attentions. One that their fellow train car occupants could not ignore yet found themselves incapable of preventing, bound by the antiquated respect of a husband's rights.

“I swear he’d not leave her alone for a full hour,” Red West recalled in his book, reflecting on the times he spent in the Presley’s entourage, “and he’d be back there with her for hours at a time, then pop out and then right back again. If he couldn't sleep then he didn’t see why she should.”

Billy Smith, his cousin and a man adamant about staying on Mrs. Presley’s good side over the years, would only admit discreetly, “He was utterly in love with her, had been for years and couldn’t quite pace himself once he got the green light, so to speak. He adored her and was in a bit of a state of shock that she was even better than he’d hoped, she was like the first thing to exceed his high expectations. She was very genuinely kind to him and he ate it up. On the train ride he was bored and it was like taking a bored kid to their favorite sweet shop. And Elvis Presley had a big ole bank account to cash in.”

Big enough, apparently, that by lunch of that day the ever proper young Mrs Presley, in her perfectly starched new outfits and watery lined eyes, was having trouble sitting still at table, much to the comment of guests and friends. After excusing herself early she went back to their suite. Elvis was seen following within minutes. Thirty minutes later the train stopped and Elaine Presley, in a fresh outfit and an uncharacteristic wobble to her stride was paraded by her husband on the balcony to the roar of envious onlookers.

The train moved on, she excused herself again, as did he moments later.

“We could hear them, it became like road noise.” Red West, long used to Elvis’ various rendezvous while on the road in the past took this marital overindulgence in stride, “Initially it was kinda a laugh and a grin about it with all the folks in the dining car, but then we could hear her tiring out, and he’d keep at it and it got a bit annoying, all her pleading and him going on about bein’ able to do anything he pleased with her. He’d come out and brag to us when we told him they were being loud.”

“He was very proud of how sensitive she was,” Joe Esposito does not bother to sound impressed himself when relating this confidence, “he’d tell us how she was a squirter and she got all sensitive real fast before he was even close to done and he’d just have to hold her and make her let him finish, sometimes make her keep going when she swore she couldn’t. He said he was training her to respond the way he wanted. It didn’t occur to him maybe she was made different than the ones he’d been with before, he just thought he was a damn good husband. Figure she just wanted a nap and maybe some Vaseline. Nobody dared to tell him to give her a break.”

Ultimately Vernon Presley ventured to do just that at breakfast the next morning, after his daughter in law had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that day from a ubiquitous headache that was likely not an ache in the head at all.

“He was so timid about it as Elvis was in a mood, worn out and hadn’t slept, stabbin’ his eggs like they’d done him wrong.” Lamar Fike remembers the incident, “Vernon just spoke up real gentle like and says ‘son, why don’t you go easy on the little lady, she’s real fresh and delicate,’ Elvis just glared at him so he tried jokin by sayin’ something like ‘you got the rest of your lives for this, don’t gotta cram it all in today.’ Elvis didn’t even try to act dumb, he just got mad and stood up from the table and said ‘daddy, you mind your own business, reckon I don’t need lessons for how to take care of a wife, not from you leastwise.’ And that was a low blow, you could see it on Vernon’s face and like I said, Elvis stood up, with his napkin still tucked in his shirt neck, and went back there to her again like he was makin’ love to spite his old man. Ya just don’t tell Elvis what to do with what’s his.”

Charlie Hodge wasn’t there and in an admirable display of keeping in his lane only commented that, “Elvis told me they danced a lotta the way, had the old records on, trying to keep the cramp away. He’d get antsy on trips.”

Marty Lacker had the decency to at least be sheepish and a little apologetic about the times when relating his version of events, “Just a different time back then, ya know? Didn’t occur to us to step in. We’d say a thing or two but ultimately that’s between a husband and wife to sort out and back then wives just didn’t fuss. It all worked out, they sorted it. Elaine never breathed a word of anything and we wouldn’t think of saying anything to her. Not even after the little emergency, you just don’t talk about that stuff. It’s not fitting. Even Elvis knew that, he didn’t appreciate the advice or adminitions from his daddy. Braggin’ between boys us one thing but talkin’ about what goes on between a man and his wife beyond that it’s, it’s just, it’s not fittin. It’s just not a thing to be discussed, you know? Different times, man.”

The little emergency in question was a case of Elvis bursting out of the train car an hour or so after lunch on the second day in search of his paternal grandmother, old Dodger as the family called her, full of consternation that his young bride was unresponsive.

“I really think he rode her silly, that’s all there was to it.” Joe shrugs at this bold diagnosis, “He’d brag about how out of it she’d get when he would start again after she thought he was done. Said she’d space right out and start shakin’ and shivering and get plain stupid. I think he liked that, makin’ a smart girl feel dumb. He’d dress her up and redo her makeup and take her out like that in front of fans, and they all got the impression she was a little bozo. Then I guess he just kept at it one time too long.”

Elvis told Dodger that his wife was not fully concious, although his heightened concern was less regarding her insensibility than the fact that neither a light smack to the cheek nor a resumption of activities on his part could rouse Elaine like it had on previous occasions. Vernon dunked her head in a bowl of ice water with no success, Billy tried to give her aspirins but she wasn’t awake to swallow them down.

Dodger prescribed a drink of water for the young girl, a cold compress to the nether regions and a nap -sans husband. Disgruntled but terrified of losing yet another woman in his life, and with his own cheek stinging from his grandmother's wrath, Elvis Presley secluded himself to playing cards with the boys in the smoking lounge for the remaining three hours of the train ride while his grandmother watched over his bride and her precariously suggestible headspace.

“ ‘I done told her again and again to hold it if she gets so excitable after she comes that she can’t stand to take me longer. But she’s a hair trigger, couple stokes and she’s off, keeps comin’ all the same then acts like I’m skinnin’ her when I keep goin. I gotta finish man, what else am I supposed to do?” Red recalls Elvis bemoaning his bride’s hyper responsiveness like a martyr recounting his sentence -while wearing his signature sulky expression that did nothing to hide the smug pride beneath.

By the time Elaine Presley wobbled off the train onto the platform at Killeen Texas and stiff smilingly took her seat beside Elvis in a taxi to their little crackerbox house on base, the world at large had a firm opinion that the new Mrs Presley was a pretty little thing with dark features and a rosebud mouth, a nice figure and sweet charm but possessing a vacant sorta look to her. It suggested a gullibility so utterly untrue to her real nature that three decades worth of wit and shrewdness could hardly undue their initial impression of her.

Elaine Presley would ultimately have her revenge for such a first impression but it would cost her much in the process and Elvis Presley even more.

The buzz of press did not decline upon her arrival. With Private Presley busy soldiering all day, it fell to his young wife to sort the intricate social circle of his entourage and fellow soldiers, to manage the fanmail and contracts as well as set up house as best she could in such impermanent lodgings. All these precarious duties were stalked and documented beyond all sense, photographs of her and her choice of groceries dutifully printed for readers across the country to guess at what she planned to feed their idol for dinner. If the sharp glint in her eyes, captured on occasion when the intrusion became absurd, hinted at something beyond the vacant and ravished doll of the train ride, no one was eager to investigate. A sharp set to the mouth or a dangerous glitter in the eye got one called a bitch and it was better to be vacuous as a woman than to be venomous. So Elaine was caught smiling with her vegetables and spending her afternoons baking beneath a Texas sun while chatting with snide fellow housewives.

It was the first bootcamp for a lifelong grueling ordeal that Elaine Presley submitted to with grace and tenacity.

If her wit and her marital irregularities were glossed over by the papers in their eagerness to find the noble idyll amongst the immoral muck of rock and roll, what did not go unnoticed was the increasingly wane aspect of what should have been a rosy and glowing young wife. Shortly after arriving in Texas, Elaine’s already strained nerves seemed to have frazzled beyond small fits of fainting and what was once a private display of weariness kept between her and the implacable Dodger. Soon it became bouts of vomiting and exhaustion beyond any reasonable excuse.

The public noticed her figure grow slight and frail, as did Elvis. No longer was she slight but sickly instead, and a milky complexion was now waxy and unbecoming in contrast to her dark hair. The public were concerned for her, not for her health so much as for the future of the readership should her picturesque ordeals unravel further.

Battling his own preoccupation and exhaustion in the hard crucible of army bootcamp, Elvis’ one solace was the charming little haven he had created for himself with a wife and domesticity shipped in like so many plates and doilies. When this fairytale grew pale and bony and even the most cheerful of liars couldn’t convince him his “Tinkerbell” was fine, Elvis Presley grew increasingly paranoid of something fatal having cursed the women in his life. Frustrated at Elaine for allowing herself to grow so weak, his friends recall his behavior towards her vasciaiting from aching tenderness to angry remonstrances at her to eat and to rest and take care of herself. He even paced his own indulgences and begged her not to bring him the usual treats she’d sneak into barracks during the heat of afternoon. He pampered and berated, prayed and cursed.

None of these precautions were sufficient to build her up and alarmed beyond any reassurance, Elvis Presley packed his young bride into a car in the early summer of their first marriage and, having a five hour furlough from the army, drove her himself into the nearby hospital. The statement tossed to the press waiting outside was mild sinus congestion.

Twenty minutes later these two world wide famous young adults stumbled out in a daze of knowledge that they were about to be parents for the first time.

A severe case of twins -and the rigorous discipline of making them- having caused all the raucous.

No longer scared of abandonment, imminent loss or rebellion on his wife’s part, Elvis Presley softened considerably in the next months, the looming likelihood of a separation with his deployment softening him even further. It was the first case of children saving -and complicating- one of the most volatile and devoted couples of the 20th century.

By the first few weeks of the second trimester, Elaine Presley was both filled out enough and sufficiently cheery to regain the accolades lost to her by the press during her first. Finding few friends to be had amongst jealous soldiers' girlfriends and snooty Sargeant’s wives, as well as having been abandoned by most childhood companions after becoming mistress of Graceland, Elaine, never to be out maneuvered by bad luck, turned those publicized grocery store runs into social occasions, her growing belly eliciting advice and solicitations from wise old Texan grandma’s and rancher’s wives.

Accompanied by the stoically indomitable Dodger, Elaine could be found at geriatric swim classes at the local pool in a bid to stay cool during the heat of summer, at smoky poker games at Billy Bob’s honky tonk where she was the lone abstainer from the free flowing bourbon and became winner of a mechanical bull riding competition against a Navy Pilot.

It was a win for the infantry that night and even Elvis drank a cold one in celebration of her winnings that she spent on quenching the Hell on Wheels squadron at the adjacent saloon. Those Sargeant’s wives got somehow even more acrid after that.

Whether there was a correlation between this heated ride-off and said Navy Pilot’s face ending up black and blue the next day from some jealous young husband’s fist, was anyone's conjecture. Either way, Elvis Presley was likely too busy for such petty displays of insecurity, he was hiding in the lavatory most times to get away from his recently energized and insatiable young wife whose visits to Fort Hood soon became a byword and euphemism for something else besides visitation.

Altogether the Presley’s in Texas was an eclectic and occasionally damaging PR debut, but not without its merits.

The nation decided the new Mrs. Presley may have been a little short in the smarts department but she made pregnancy look fun again and that was rather charming and not a little rebellious, as was unapologetically marrying Elvis Presley right from under their noses. And Elvis? Well, it would be two long years before the world got any candid, civilian, unrepentant opinion out of Private Presley.

Hope you enjoyed! 💋

Tags: (let me know if you’d like to be added or retracted)

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

[pep-the-artemis]

while the genocide on earth raged on, humans scrambled to try and find anything that they could use to fend of the never ending hordes of Disassembly Drones to know avail. It was hard fighting an evil they did not know.

One clue they had was that at 1pm-2pm (central Aus time) every day consistent, the fighting went quiet. The humans were unsure why this was happening but used it graciously to regroup, heal, and try and figure out what was going on, hoping that this hour of weaknesses if understood could be used to end the war. The humans grew to name this hour the Witches Respite.

The cause for the 1 hour interlude (unknown to the humans), was that it was Cyn's daily designated nap time and she very much did not enjoy the noise so all DDs held back there fire and go and do there own thing. N, like his sister, joined in on the nap times, resting on an old worn out mat. V, refusing to sleep, to the time to read in secret of course as she did not wish to be seen as a nerd. Tessa was always forced to join Cyn in her room in her nap time to avoid her trying to escape, she doesn't sleep but instead secretly plays on her Switch which she hides under her pillow. J starts the hour first by making sure Cyn is tucked asleep in her bed before going of to make sure N is comfortable also with his pile of dog plushies; afterwards she would do general cleaning and maintenance which included keeping V's secret stash of books well stocked and Tessa's Switch well charged.

[choicesmc]

Rams' 4 Bands

This is a long one folks. I had so much fun with it, I hope y'all will too! I'm putting it under a read more because (and this is a warning) it is long. And all the art you'll see is mine (admittedly it's only four pieces but 🤷‍♂️)

Tagging: @choicesbookclub

Summary: A rather established band with pop rock aesthetic. Rams found them in ~8th grade and has been an avid fan since! Right now, she's listening to their latest album: Solitude.

Band Name: +Eyes+ Members:

Adaeze Okeke "Iris" Leontes Valjean "Lens" Dieuwe Antema "Optic"

Latest Album: Solitude Songs In The Album: Keep Quiet, At Night, Things Stir, With Mal Intent, Interlude, Twilight Hour, Moonset, You Know Too Headcannons:

This band exists in the magickal world and are better known there! Their Tuneless music doesn't include Phono magick which often makes the sound feel 'lacking.' When Rams discovered this, xe reexperienced all their music 'properly' and will admit that it's much better on Phono than not. It feels complete.

Summary: Still underground, Buried Alive is a new band trying to gain a little following. Rams only heard of them through a friend of his who was friends with the band members. They only have four albums so Rams is starting with their first: BROKEN BONES.

Band Name: Buried ALIVE Members:

Ji-Woo Min Gang Deadweed Nkiruka Thorn

First Album: BROKEN BONES Songs In The Album: Mary's Strange Daughter, The Pastor's Sermon, My Witch Hunt, Sticks and Stones Headcannons:

They have a very ballad/tragic style. Each of the listed is songs is 9+ minutes long. Rams isn't sure how they feel about it yet but it's... not bad. It grows on them with each re-listen. The cover is homemade. They're trying their best, okay?

Summary: This band has the oldest members of all the bands Rams has listened to. The duo is 76 and 81 years old and their still going strong. Rams started listening sometime around sophomore year of high school.

Band Name: Sickening Sugar Members:

Immy (76) Mal (72) Nia (Deceased) Tyril (Deceased) Aerin (Deceased) Valax (Deceased)

Latest Album: Coffee + Tea Songs In The Album: Filter Me Out, Divide My Mix, Stir It In, No More Cream, Pieces of Crystal, Hot Bitter Drink, Choke and Choke Headcannons:

They're an old queer band though they were only moderately known in the 50s and 60s. That changed with the AIDs epidemic which claimed four of the six members lives leaving only Immy and Mal. Post-death, Sickening Sugar released a single (the last one to feature all members voices) titled 'What Do Mean? There's Still Six of Us'. It quickly gained traction and catapoulted the now duo into the centre of the LGBT movement throughout the late 80s and 90s. Their still heavily involved in activist work even if their heyday is a shiny memory. Yes, they are named after BOLAS characters because I think BOLAS the show is sort of like what Honor Amoung Thieves is to D&D. I headcannon that in-universe the BOLAS show pulled from a nerd culture of RPG games and Sickening Sugar named themselves after their favorite characters in those collaborative RPG games. It actually caused licensing issues while BOLAS was first coming out because two major characters couldn't be licensed since this band already held those licenses. The BOLAS legal team, Immy, and Mal worked out an agreement so Immy and Mal get royalties from each item. It's pretty good money considering the show's popularity.

Summary: it's a very folk-rock song. Mainly blending religion with critical anti-capitalism themes. The members in mid-40s and are currently on a break-up tour. Rams is devasted about it, the band has been a major part of hir highschool career and none had seen the break-up coming!

Band Name: PrOvide Members:

Wally Crawford Josslyn Platt Lilac Winton Astra Jackman

Last Album: Old School Choir Songs In The Album: Hymn, Hum, Worship, Watch, Praise, Pray, Worship, Watch Headcannons:

Yes, there are two different songs named Worship in the same album. Fans call the second one 'Worship Again' to differentiate them. Rumors have it that they're breaking up over creative differences but Rams doesn't fully believe those rumors. Unlike other bands, they've have a rather flexible sound that should be able to accommodate the odd/diverging album here and there.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop Series

☆ all written works © taevebears. do not steal or copy! ☆ this series is 18+ and overall contains dark themes, minors do not interact ☆ note that most titles/summaries are not final until posted and will likely change

Main Masterlist | AO3 

I. The Mystical and Wonderful

⏤ 01 The Harrowing & the Familiar | Yoongi’s Intro | posted ♡

Your magical journey begins with a fateful encounter and a beloved companion.

Posted: Sept 27 2022

⏤ 02 The Lament of Icarus | Namjoon’s Intro | posted ♡

You were the top student of your class until he gets transferred in.

Posted: Oct 16 2022

⏤ 03 Collision of Stars | Hoseok’s Intro | posted ♡

You and Hoseok are friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Right?

Posted: Nov 04 2022

⏤ 04 Knight in Shining Armor | Seokjin’s Intro | posted ♡

Magic is the root of all evil. Or so he believed. Then, one day, he met you.

Posted: Nov 13 2022

⏤ 05 Interlude : Lost & Found | posted ♡

Something wicked haunts the halls of Blackstone Castle.

Posted: Dec 18 2022

⏤ 06 Pretty Things | Taehyung’s Intro | posted ♡

He waited a long time to see you again.

Posted: Dec 30 2022

⏤ 07 Frog Prince | Jungkook’s Intro | posted ♡

There’s only one sure way to break a curse like this.

Posted: Jan 22 2023

⏤ 08 Lavender Blue | Jimin’s Intro | posted ♡

The new neighbors across the flower shop are quite strange.

Posted: Mar 19 2023

II. The Witching Hour

⏤ 09 Prologue : 3:00AM | posted ♡

The most dangerous time of night. The witching hour.

Posted: Aug 18 2023

⏤ 10 Mortal Among Mages | Seokjin Pt. 1 | posted ♡

As the only non-magical being in a shop full of mages and familiars, Seokjin is starting to feel left out.

Posted: Sept 23 2023

⏤ 11 The Oathkeepers | Seokjin Pt. 2 | posted ♡

You find out what Seokjin calls you behind your back.

Posted: Oct 23 2023

⏤ 12 Call For Help | Namjoon Pt. 1 | posted ♡

A plea for help brings Namjoon back to the place he never thought he’d see again: his hometown.

Posted: Apr 20 2024

⏤ 13 Peril of the Night | Namjoon Pt. 2 | posted ♡

Certain magic is forbidden for a reason.

Posted: May 18 2024

⏤ 14 Smeraldo | Jimin Pt. 1

There’s a secret Jimin has been keeping from you.

⏤ 15 The Hunters | Jimin Pt. 2

Cupid can be so cruel.

⏤ 16 Fate Reader | Taehyung Pt. 1

When the future of his found family becomes murky, Taehyung seeks advice from an old lover.

⏤ 17 Love Potion | Taehyung Pt. 2

One drop is all it takes to make things right again.

⏤ 18 Mirror of the Seer | Hoseok Pt. 1

While cleaning around the shop, Hoseok finds a strange mirror. Gazing upon its reflection shows his heart’s most desired: you.

⏤ 19 Silver Lining | Hoseok Pt. 2

“You know, we could’ve been lovers.” “I thought we already were.”

⏤ 20 Wicked Witch | Jungkook Pt. 1

A curse falls upon the boys that turns them into ... cute animals?

⏤ 21 True Love’s Kiss | Jungkook Pt. 2

Happily ever after was never easy.

⏤ 22 Lazy Afternoons | Yoongi Pt. 1

Yoongi is still your favorite familiar ... right?

⏤ 23 Devil’s Mark | Yoongi Pt. 2

Contracts come and go, but a mark seared into your skin is irreversible. And so are the consequences that come with it.

[moonlight-prose]

note: because i have so many wips in my drafts to work on. i'm giving you guys the choice of what comes first.

[effyeffa]

a comprehensive list of (almost) all of my spotify playlists, sorted by theme

category 1: a bit of everything.

every feeling everywhere all at once opened by brian eno, closed by mitski, in between an eclectic mix of everything to scream cry and dance to  essentials. as the title suggests this is the music that makes up the foundation of my identity. funkadelic, air, spiritualized, y la bamba, weyes blood etc etc multitudes: similar idea but older. more hip hop in there, a little time capsule of 2017

seasonal playlists: these are closed chapters that won’t be altered

forbidden fruit february. self explanatory. aquarius season is for yearning and getting messy, thanks fiona apple idlings of march is when spring begins again, just barely but there’s a careful joy spreading. joyful tunes! this must be the place! spring has sprung and continues springing. instrumental interludes as standalone songs, everything sounds like water. the time that we wasted just hit like a wave begin again, another spring playlist. this time with childish gambino, laura marling, hayley williams, guns’n’roses, the classic combo april flowers. short and sweet, alice phoebe lou meets car seat headrest slowly come the saints of summer. do you remember when st vincent said daddy’s home well i made a whole playlist about it. mika is in there. genuinely no idea what was going on that summer. never ending summer, this IS the season of the witch. we love a strange mix of oldies and french and german new wave  i can’t believe summer is over��and oh it’s so sentimental, it’s a cherry-coloured funk winter walking. it’s giving phoebe bridgers in the graveyard, mountain goats, springsteen, mother mother winter fruits: the first big thief singles off their latest album came out and sent me down this particular spiral. frankie cosmos and mitski, niche italian indie pop

playlists i still edit/add to, first: good moods.

still you. skinshape, biig piig, kadhja bonet, julia jacklin autobahn, a roadtrip playlist, best friends laughing, mostly italian 70s/80s many moons ago: it’s pop! it’s happy things! silly goofy times golden hour! an old one. started this in 2018, sylvan esso was big, king krule, her’s, clairo will you always love like this? dream pop. lesbianism. st south.  everyday’s a holiday: okay kaya and rex orange county, steve lacy vibes maybe i wasn’t there: kendrick, dijon, rosalía come on over & do the twist. they’re love songs. aching with nostalgia but happy coffee in bed is teetering on the edge between a lovely warm soup of emotions and desperate yearning clear the fog is where the yearning begins in earnest.

moody moods.

free drinks at the local bar, we’ve got mac demarco, the strokes, girlpool. you know the drill take me for a spin: something of a continuation of free drinks a few years later now including sam cohen, kevin morby. sad-ish music that still works if played in public ring: odes to being happysad on public transport in berlin, short and sweet peel you like a fruit. THEE playlist of psychological warfare.  i would be an electrician: if you enjoy julien baker’s happy to be here, the following ten tracks might do similar damage to your psyche  no more bad news from my jorja smith phase, also greentea peng, arlo parks gloomy. it’s the end of the world, sharon van etten said, and love is a losing game, and there’s stormy weather and love will tear us apart.  calm there’s definitely a flatsound track in there. be warned.  

and here’s three completely new ones, works in progress, not yet categorised:

touch. a very specific moment in time. listening to beach house and rhye with all my friends on a big couch, drifting off together, crying a little, holding on tightly all the in between: the only place that matters is by your side, mama you’ve been on my mind, only the strong survive, don’t think twice it’s alright. songs that transcend time and space transitional. seeing angels in everything

already this post is way too long. i have so many playlists, my god. i have a whole folder sorted by genre, one by decade, more by concepts and themes. i’m currently sorting through everything and thought i’d share my process, maybe you’ll find something for yourself new in my chaos :)

[allnightlongzine]

Finding Love in Mall Goth Purgatory

"I will ride for My Chemical Romance to the grave, because, from 2002 to 2012, they rode for both you and me."

Horror Movie Marathon | September 26, 2018 | talkhouse.com

On October 16, 2005, my sister and I put on our eyeliner, slid into our mall-goth armor, and drove an hour north to Hartford, Connecticut to see My Chemical Romance for what would be our first time of many. It was still a year before their magnum opus, The Black Parade, was to be released. When the lights came down and the show began, a spotlight emerged at the center of the stage, illuminating only a microphone stand ornamented with a bouquet of dead roses. Gerard Way, the band’s flamboyantly morbid ringleader, stepped out of the stage’s dark abyss looking like a corpse priest, adorned in heavy white makeup and full-on church robes. The band opened with “Interlude,” going right into “Thank You For The Venom.” If you’re an MCR fan, you know how fucking sick of an opener this is. My life changed forever after this concert.

Do you have any idea how satisfying it feels to look a DIY-hipster-judge in the eyes and tell them, in all honesty, that in 2018 your favorite band is still My Chemical Romance? You can learn a lot about someone by their reaction to such an admission. Perhaps such a statement makes me an obnoxious judge in my own right, but the truth is, I will ride for MCR to the grave, because, from 2002 to 2012, they rode for both you and me.

MCR, in all their macabre glory, were unwaveringly dedicated to an ethos of inclusivity and honesty, love and compassion, death and rebirth—the kind of virtuosity that was frowned upon in the popular music of 2005, yet now celebrated in 2018. They flew their freak flag high and encouraged others to do the same, all at a time when that breed of non-judgmental sincerity was viewed as sin by every taste-making music critic in an Animal Collective t-shirt. Now, in 2018, I find myself a 26-year-old musician who has been deeply influenced by their music and message, getting into one intoxicated conversation after another, hoping to spread the gothic gospel of MCR to the remaining non-believers.

When MCR played live, their dedication to the audience was palpable. Like an explosion of wicked cats jumping out of a witch’s cauldron, each band member would erupt with raw energy to give an over-the-top performance of catchy goth punk songs. I believe one of the reasons MCR has retained such a loyal and dedicated fan base is because their wildly emotional performances never felt like a façade; they were keenly aware that it was a privilege to be on stage, and this cognizance of respect manifested itself through the messages of love encoded in their songs and live performances.

This respect for their audience was also evident in Way’s interviews and onstage monologues regarding mental health, accepting other people for who they are, and the hypocrisies of masculinity. Throughout the press surrounding both their major label debut Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge and The Black Parade, Way candidly discussed his struggles with depression and addiction, and his hope that their music could help save other people’s lives as it did his. MCR were always vocal that they wanted their music to save people, which admittedly sounds cheesy at first, but it’s a pretty admirable statement when you know that the majority of the band’s fan base were depressed kids experiencing the world from suburban mall goth purgatory.  

The band has earned such respect from their diehard fans that even they don’t want a reunion, unless the band feels that it’s right. As seen in the article recently published by Noisey about MCR’s still very active fan base, some even go so far to say that the band reuniting would be antithetical to their message of death and rebirth, and the positivity of change therein. Literally, how many international superstar bands have fans that are this aware and respectful of the complex relationship band members can have to their music and the message it projects? Most fans of world famous rock bands will sound off in the YouTube comments section with blustery statements of aggravation and entitlement, demanding a reunion show or a new album. But MCR fans? They prefer the band stay broken up because they want to respect the band as much as the band respected them.

Very few of MCR’s peers from the mid-‘00s gave or earned the kind of respect from their fans that MCR did. Rather, many bands that tried to align with MCR’s message and image were essentially selling counterfeit emotion in the form of trendy Hot Topic t-shirt designs, insincere stage antics, and utterly benign, and frequently misogynistic, pop music. In 2018, it is sheer fact that many of those bands were full of shit and exploited the vulnerability that their scene implied to enact gross and predatory behavior.

This is one reason why taste-making machines like Pitchfork and BrooklynVegan were justified in ignoring and condescending the mid-’00s emo cesspool as it germinated throughout malls and low-capacity venues across the country. However, that’s not to say the overly-abstracted, pseudo-intellectual ramblings of mid-’00s Pitchfork hype bands weren’t totally absurd and problematic in their own right. Both music scenes postured a kind of moral code through songs, images, and fashion that signified a certain perspective towards culture and its problems at the moment. But, the reality is that bands from both scenes hardly ever posited their morals or virtues unless the sign of the times directly requested it from them.

This was not the case for MCR. They were just a band of five dudes from New Jersey, but they vehemently promoted equal rights on- and off-stage. Their pop-gothic world of vampires and ghosts, octave slides, and tri-tonal harmony always served a greater message at hand. Their comic book and horror movie-influenced narratives always represented a power in owning the trauma of the past and moving forward towards hope. In being themselves and helping others be themselves, MCR transcended both the hip arena of art-rock coolness and the sewage of Warped Tour residue, flying high in the black sky as one of the greatest rock bands of our time.

Now, it’s 2018. The lot of mid-‘00s hipsters and scenesters has mostly evaporated and come back as other representations. Most of the members of MCR are parents and focus on their own projects: Gerard Way is about to launch a Netflix show based on his comic book series The Umbrella Academy; Mikey Way has been performing as a voice actor; Frank Iero has a punk band that records and tours; and Ray Toro is helping other musicians shred to hell and back as a producer and engineer in his New Jersey studio.

For me, and many fans like me, I am no longer just a fawning teen, but a 26-year-old musician. I use the passion, conviction, and love I learned from MCR as fuel for my own project, Horror Movie Marathon. Very few of the people I collaborate with or know are big fans of My Chemical Romance. Sometimes, people will tell me one of my songs reminds them of this pop group or that folk artist, which is usually very accurate—I essentially make pop-folk music. My admission of MCR’s influence on my music will either be met with a resounding “Hell yeah, ‘Helena’ is tight,” or a recoil and a facial expression that says, “I wish I didn’t just give you the honor of comparing your music to Jon Brion.”

I can’t hide my love for the band, and why would I? Their songs meditate on the horrific beauty of tragedy, and in the tradition of true tragic storytelling, there’s always a viscerally moving message gleaming through the metaphoric language. MCR worked their asses off to make those messages as potent as possible; it was an energy you could hear in their songs and see in their live performances. Through all the morbid metaphors, spooky stories, and dazzling stylizations was an indestructible foundation of love and gratitude for the life-saving spirit of music. Even though the externalities of my music don’t resemble MCR’s very much, their message of love and respect will forever influence the core of what I create.

[kiwibirdlafayette]

generally comprehensive list of my nonsense (ongoing and discontinued)

mostly just for my reference. i jump back and forth between them all on a whim depending on what my brain wants to hyperfixate on

OCs/Original Adaptations/Worldbuilding

Arcadia of Avalon (Arthuriana retelling w/ Sioga; currently on hiatus)

Nightmare Spectrum (dream dimension stuffs)

For Good Measure (origin story for my sona but also monty python but make it chaotic knights. takes place in the past of AoA)

Non est Ad Astra mollis e terra via (Multiverse dev for SMPs but also my OC lore)

Wide Awake in the Witching Hour (Main sona Monty Jone’s lore)

… and i have a lot of OCs who are currently storyless. uh. also ophi in mianite RPG

MC SMP-Adjacent

Starborne Kingdom of Dianite (Mianite x Origins headcanon that gives backstory to OSMP Sparklez; involves stuff based on mianite lore + original story)

Death’s Scale of Justice (cEmeraldDuo in Mianite canon prior to SMPEarth/DSMP)

Chaos and Balance (cSyndisparklez interludes during S1/S2 + post mianite storyline based around a bunch of oneshots in my head)

Gays on a Boat (Embersduo + ZombieCaptains; post Isles shenanigans)

DSMP Sparklez (post Isles Jordan ends up stuck in the DSMP’s End with GeorgeHD, eventually is freed, works for Wilbur for a bit, joins the Syndicate and reunites with Tubbo. temp discontinued for reasons)

Mianite Godswap (Mianite but Jordan is team dianite, Tom is a mianitee and Sonja/Tucker are ianitees. wag and fyreuk are priests)

ToA (All discontinued)

Trollhunters Roleswap (cast but all swapped. doesnt include the 3B or Wiz characters)

Blinky on Broadway (Musical theater AU meets a murder mystery; i technically finished writing the whole plot of this it just never made it to prose form)

Multiple Amulet AU (More amulets than just daylight; corresponds to elements harmonic to the main one)

MB Heartbeats (ext. of Rocky’s Marching Band AU; focuses on Troll Dads, and the history of the band)

Heart of Gold AU (Blinky crystal limb angst. iykyk)

[ao3feed-hitoshi-shinsou]

A Brief Interlude

A Brief Interlude by Danny2312

Hitoshi receives a witching hour visitor and comforts a friend through a Midoriya-special, aka your life being upended because of an offhand comment made with the kindest of intentions.

Words: 1012, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of Shinsou-centric BNHA

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Shinsou Hitoshi, Todoroki Shouto

Relationships: Shinsou Hitoshi & Todoroki Shouto

Additional Tags: Mentioned Midoriya Izuku, Hitoshi may be the MC but it's the Izuku show, Todoroki Shouto is a Dork, Shinsou Hitoshi is a Dork

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46751044

[koorinohebi]

Revamped Tags

So I remade my long-ass list of tags. They are under the cut because long. Anyway, I'm also going to remake my current shipping tags because I think they need to be revamped as well. So if you want a ship tag with Kiomi or any of the muses of this blog, feel free to like this post. Only requirement is that our muses have interacted.

=== Mun Tags ===

Beyond the Bounded Field || OOC Craft Essence || Commissioned Piece Limelight || Commission Drawing Board || My Art

=== General Purpose Tags ===

⩤ Throne of Heroes ⩥ Gallery ⩤ Unprompted ⩥ ⩤ Starter ⩥ ⩤ The Meme ⩥ ⩤ HQ Report : Dash Comm ⩥ ⩤ Simulation Room : Dash Games ⩥ ⩤ The Grind : Memes and Games ⩥ ⩤ Order Restored : Answered ⩥ ⩤ Dailies : Anon ⩥ ⩤ Attention : PSA ⩥ ⩤ Mystic eyes of .Crack. Perception ⩥ ⩤ tw : ⩥ ⩤ Inbox Call ⩥ ⩤ Preparing to Rayshift : Queue ⩥ ⩤ Take my Hand : Wishlist ⩥ ⩤ Drums of War : Music ⩥ ⩤ War Council : P . R . O . M . O. ⩥ ⩤ Loyalties : P.r.o.m.o ⩥ ⩤ Stashed ⩥ ⩥ Cont'd from x

=== Muse Tags ===

⩤ Blog Shenanigans ⩥ ⩤ Muse Commentaries ⩥ ⩤ Visage ⩥ ⩤ Saint Graph : Headcanons ⩥ ⩤ Battle Records : Aesthetics ⩥ ⩤ To each their own reveries : Musings ⩥ ⩤ Chaldea Lunchtime : Conversations ⩥ ⩤ Interlude : Drabbles ⩥

⩤ To each their own devices : Kiomi ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Kamo Serizawa ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Mitsuhide Akechi ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Takechi Zuizan ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Tanaka Shinbei ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Chen Gong ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Okuni ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Lanlan Fang ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Major Magatsu ⩥ ⩤ To each their own devices : Major Reiter ⩥ ⩤ Echoes : Guest Muse ⩥

=== Verse Tags ===

⩤ Singularities : Main ⩥ ⩤ Remnants : AU ⩥ ⩤ Event Horizon : Crossovers ⩥

=== Friend Tags (Ever growing) ===

Arai-chan ⩤ Sarutobi Arai : Sister-in-Arms ⩥

Assortedsnacks ⩤ Touken Danshi : Kikkou Sadamune ⩥

Aurivore ⩤ Gilgamesh : Majesty Defined ⩥ ⩤ Kogil : Decadent Exuberance ⩥

Caemthe ⩤ Demon King of the Sixth Heaven : Oda Nobunaga ⩥

Gemsofchaldea ⩤ Jack : A Child Beloved ⩥ ⩤ Da Vinci-Chan : The Universal Beauty ⩥

Getsuruito ⩤ Momochi Tanba : The Great Ninja Master ⩥ ⩤ Pang Tong : The Fledgling Phoenix ⩥

Historias-Multorum ⩤ Hinata Hyuuga : Delicate Breeze ⩥ ⩤ Tsunade : Densetsu no Hime ⩥ ⩤ Izuna ⩥ ⩤ Shizune ⩥

Homeport ⩤ Sakamoto Ryouma : The Miracle Worker ⩥ ⩤ The Evil Mastermind : Takasugi Shinsaku ⩥ ⩤ Hizen Tadahiro : The Sharpest Edge ⩥

Kiicho ⩤ Kicho : Enchanting Pearl of Mino ⩥ ⩤ Nohime : Ties Severed ⩥ (Mitsuhide)

Lovedloyalty ⩤ A Saber Among Shadows : Okada Izo ⩥ ⩤ Alter Ego : Okada Izo ⩥ ⩤ Mori Nagayoshi : Blood Soaked Loyalty ⩥ ⩤ Beowulf : The Grendel Buster ⩥ ⩤ Leonidas : The King of Sparta ⩥ ⩤ Phantom : Angel of Music ⩥ ⩤ Shuichi : Spiral Bound ⩥ ⩤ Mephistopheles : Deals with the Devil ⩥

⩤ Hitokiri Izo : Hound of the Kinnoto ⩥ (Tosa) ⩤ Okada Izo : The Ghost of Tosa ⩥ (Redline) ⩤ Mori Nagayoshi : Demon of the Battlefield ⩥ (Blog Servants, Redline) ⩤ Old Man Li : Old and Strong ⩥ (Blog Servants, Redline)

Moonlightmagus ⩤ Yuuki : Friends Forever ⩥ ⩤ Na'amah : A Demon Dancing through Emotions ⩥

Mysticallities ⩤ Tristan : A vicious fairy knight ⩥ ⩤ Strange Amalgamation : Rintsuka ⩥ ⩤ Liber : The Ancient Arbitrator ⩥

Nobuverse ⩤ Chacha : A Radiance of Warmth ⩥ ⩤ Nobunaga Oda : The Avenging Fool of Owari ⩥ ⩤ Summer Nobunaga : Blazing Rockstar! ⩥ ⩤ Nagao Kagetora : The Dragon of Echigo ⩥ ⩤ Lancer Class : Mei Fan ⩥

⩤ Nobunaga Oda : Enemy at Honnouji ⩥ (Mitsuhide)

Nulltune ⩤ Hakuno : Shards of Moonlight ⩥

Madamhatter ⩤ Sophie : A Dutiful Heart ⩥

Soulsbetrayed ⩤ Avenger Class : Izou the Manslayer ⩥ ⩤ Touken Danshi : Tensho Koshirae ⩥ ⩤ Hosokawa Gracia : Beloved ⩥

Spookums ⩤ Witching Hour : Gabriella ⩥

Summoned-Anima ⩤ Ashiya Douman : The Humble Priest? ⩥

Super-Kame-Love ⩤ Aina Kichida : The Turtle Sage ⩥

Tenkoseiensei ⩤ Assassin Class : Yan Qing the Wingman ⩥

[noxtms]

dear rachel ; we are pleased to inform you that your application for ASTORIA GREENGRASS has been accepted to 𝐧𝐨𝐱 ! go min si is now taken. you have twenty four hours to submit your account, or else your role will be reopened !

⧼   go min si, cis woman, she & her   /   dead girl in the pool by girl in red + once upon a time, 호랑이 담배 피우던 시절에, latha bha seo, a gallant king and beautiful queen long thought to be barren finally welcomed three bonny daughters and their kingdom rejoiced with the ringing of the bells. the king held a christening feast unlike any seen before and invited the three fairies in the land to join in the celebrations, secretly hoping that they would bestow the most magical gifts upon his children. a great storm rolled in on the eve that the owls were sent to deliver the invitations and one was blown off course ; it was a harmless mistake. the youngest fairy stepped forward as the eldest child was presented to court and bowed low. "this princess," she proclaimed, "will be wealthy in wisdom." the king and queen, of course, thanked her greatly. the middle fairy stepped forward as the middle child was presented to court and bowed lower. "this princess," she said, "will have the courage to change." the king and queen, of course, thanked her profusely. only when the youngest child was presented and the eldest fairy was nowhere to be seen did the king and queen realise the blunder, with the dawning horror that there would be no more gifts to give. "this princess," the eldest fairy might've announced, "will be the fairest of them all." i say might because, of course, the eldest fairy found herself busy elsewhere on that particular day. this is the part of the story where everything goes wrong. fairytales always have rules ; if one princess is clever and the other is brave, the last will almost always be doomed. sorry - beautiful. but also doomed.   /   INTERLUDE #1 : anne carson wrote, "a golden flower of a girl; a precarious girl."   /   spoiler alert : that girl is going to die. at least that's what they're saying on the internet. have you ever heard of a little trope called 'fridging'? don't let yourself get too attached to the most unfortunate princess, now, because there's a world of ways in which the narrator can and will take her from you ; a wicked witch burst in to place a rotten curse on her, her mother's love smothered her in her sleep, the goddess of love was in a particularly bad mood that day, a man needed some character development and no one could think of anything better than a slow, painful end for the unlucky lady. god forbid she looks pretty in pictures - extra, extra, read all about it! 'BEAUTY SLAIN!'   /   INTERLUDE #2 : ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD, ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD, ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD, ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD-   /   even her name tells her what you need to know. derived from the german surname 'astor' or perhaps the name of the titan goddess 'asteria' in greek mythology. from the latin astur, meaning a species of hawk ( a hawk is a predator with good eyesight and a short, hooked beak ; a predator is a creature that hunts, kills and eats other animals, known as prey ; this, to a hawk, would be small birds and rodents easily clasped in the death trap of sharp talons ; this, on second thought, is rather unpleasant to think about, but you can already sort of see the irony ) or the ancient greek aster, meaning star ( a star is an astronomical object comprising a luminous spheroid of plasma born from the gravitational collapse of a gaseous nebula - that's a mouthful, isn't it? try again ; a star is a luminous ball of gas, mostly hydrogen and helium, held together by its own gravity. the sun is the closest star to earth ; the sun is the star at the centre of our solar system ; our solar system is a gravitationally bound system of objects, meaning the planets, circling the sun ; someone told me once that by the time the light of a star reaches us here on earth it's already dead & if the sun ever happened to change its mind about shining and collapse in upon itself then we'd all die, too ; bottom line, they're all beautiful, but doomed. ring a bell? )   /   INTERLUDE #3 : in the words of friedrich nietzche, "you have always approached everything terrible trustfully. you have wanted to pet every monster."   /   the princess wants a better story. who can blame her, right? it begun so promisingly. what if the bells at the start of the story woke a sleeping witch? the storm still rolled in and the owl still got blown off course and the eldest fairy still decided she had something better to do with her time but on the day of the grand christening feast, this witch got curious and wandered into the midst of the celebrations in time to see the king and queen exchange terrified looks. she's a bit rusty, but surely something, maybe even anything, is better than nothing. "this princess," she says, and all eyes turn to look at her, "will have the strength to persevere." still doomed, then, but given a fighting chance. maybe that's the best they could hope for.   /   FINALE : in a dream you saw a way to survive and you were full of joy.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that ASTORIA GREENGRASS? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY FIVE year old pure blood WITCH is a HUFFLEPUFF alumnus who has gone on to be an OWL POSTAL WORKER. i’ve heard they can be quite WHIMSICAL & EBULLIENT, but i don’t know… they came off very SCATTERBRAINED & HEDONISTIC in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?   [   rachel, twenty four, gmt, she / they   ]

[starstruckwillows]

JESS!! FOR THE BOUQUET 💐 IM SENDING U AL MY FAVOURITE SONGS!!!!! (i'm only listing a few from each band/artist i like or else this list would be rly long) <- this ended up being rly long anyways so u can pick n choose songs instead if u want <- THIS ENDED UP BEING A LOT MORE LONGER THAN I PLANNED LMFAO SORRU

my own summer - deftones

red flag - slipknot

custer - slipknot

iron man - black sabbath

war pigs - black sabbath

into the void - black sabbath

fight fire with fire - metallica

one - metallica

master of puppets - metallica

for whom the bell tolls - metallica

enter sandman - metallica

creeping death - metallica

ride the lightning - metallica

there is a light that never goes out - the smiths

how soon is now? - the smiths

government hooker - lady gaga

just dance - lady gaga

judas - lady gaga

Do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys

505 - arctic monkeys

Heavenly - cigarettes after sex

romantic lover - eyedress

she - tyler the creator

whats good - tyler the creator

lumberjack - tyler the creator

IFHY - tyler the creator

one more hour - tame impala

stargirl interlude - lana del rey

salvatore - lana del rey

norman fucking rockwell - lana del rey

ultraviolence - lana del rey

brooklyn baby - lana del rey

season of the witch - lana del rey

liquid smooth - mitski

twist - korn

y'all want a single - korn

freak on a leash - korn

the great gig in the sky - pink floyd

paint it, black - the rolling stones

jack the ripper - screaming lord sutch & the savages

red flags and long nights - she wants revenge

rabid - mortician

scourge of iron - cannibal corpse

living dead girl - rob zombie

west end girls - pet shop boys

zero - the smashing pumpkins

wake up dead - megadeth

girls on film - duran duran

enjoy the silence - depeche mode

never let me down again - depeche mode

cheri cheri lady - modern talking

space junk - wang chung

aleph - gesaffelstein

dazed and confused - led zppelin

engel - rammstein

laichzeit - rammstein

dicke titten - rammstein

sonne - rammstein

te quiero puta! - rammstein

no more tears - ozzy osbourne

walk - pantera

domination - pantera

chop suey! - soad

brackish - kittie

spit - kittie

get off (you can eat a dick) - kittie

- 🐍

oof sorry bby i'm just gonna do the ones i know already off of this list 💗💗

💐

my own summer (deftones) - 7/10

iron man (black sabbath) - 7/10

war pigs (black sabbath) - 7.5/10

into the void (black sabbath) - 6/10

master of puppets (metallica) - 6.9/10

ride the lightning (metallica) - 7/10

there is a light that never goes out (the smiths) - 16/10

how soon is now? (the smiths) - 10/10

do i wanna know? (arctic monkeys) - 9/10

505 (arctic monkeys) - 9/10

heavenly (cigarettes after sex) - 9/10

she (tyler the creator) - 6/10

stargirl interlude (lana del rey) - 7/10

norman fucking rockwell (lana del rey) - 10/10 goddamn, maaaan child

brooklyn baby (lana del rey) - 8/10

liquid smooth (mitski) - 7.5/10

twist (korn) - 5/10

the great gig in the sky (pink floyd) - 8/10

paint it, black (the rolling stones) - 7.5/10

zero (the smashing pumpkins) - 8/10

girls on film (duran duran) - 9/10

dazed and confused (led zeppelin) - 7/10

no more tears (ozzy osbourne) - 6/10

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter ten: the kind of love we gather

word count: 7.5k

rating: m for mature

warnings: there is an interaction with an abusive ex-husband that eludes to physical/domestic violence. also, i think it's fair to warn against joseph himself--whatever argument there is to be had about the sincerity of his feelings, there's a few times where it feels like there's definitely some emotional manipulation happening.

notes: this is an interlude chapter, a little flashback/prelude going through isolde and joseph's relationship--or, at least, a significant part of it (still some secrets to be discovered!). i've had this chapter drawn up for a while and i thought this would be a great cliffhanger/changing point in the story to give their relationship and their dynamic a little more context, so i hope that's alright with y'all!

some of you folks who follow me here on tumblr may recognize a part of this chapter as a smut oneshot i wrote for them; that was the alternate universe to this instance in time, which is firmly rooted in their canon. lmao

it should go without saying that i have yeeted canon out the window for all of ancient names and witching hour, and the way that the seed brothers were pre-reaping and hope county is subject to much the same.

—Before—

The first time that Isolde saw Joseph, she knew she was in for it.

If he had been any other man, she thought, it wouldn’t have been so clearly a disaster waiting to happen. She would have been able to crash and burn with him as she pleased: but he wasn’t just any other man. He was John’s man, his older brother, the one that he tried so hard to live up to and impress. She had only heard of him in passing, but that was all it had taken. Isolde knew exactly how John felt about him.

“Who is that?” she asked, when she spotted the cleanly dressed man across the room. The office was dimly lit with the lights lowered; people mingled and chatted, drinks in hand, as everyone celebrated that they’d been able to move into a nice, new office downtown, with a whole floor to themselves.

John’s gaze followed hers. His expression flattened. “Stop it.”

No fun. Isolde feigned innocence. “Stop what?”

“That’s my brother Joseph, Sol,” he hissed. “Do not try to fuck my brother.”

“You have a couple, don’t you?” she asked. “What’s the one?”

“Fuck off.”

She sighed, taking a sip of her drink. Just her luck. A Seed boy, and yet, so fine. What a waste. “Fine, Johnny,” she said, patting his shoulder. Across the room, she saw Joseph’s gaze land on hers as he politely smiled at one of the other partygoers, and then stay locked, right on her. “I won’t fuck your very hot brother, who is very plainly making eyes at me from across the room.”

“He’s never had great taste in women.” John grimaced. “Off-limits, Isolde, I mean it.”

“Scout’s honor.”

So much for that, anyway, she thought later, when Joseph crossed the party and made his way up to her. He was even more handsome up close, and though long hair wasn’t typically her type, it looked good on him, pulled back and slick. Just enough to look polished.

“You’re Isolde?” Joseph asked, and his eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Are you the authority on Isoldes?” she replied. She arched a brow loftily at him. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.”

“Well, it’s just that John rarely complains about beautiful women,” he countered easily, the flirtation slipping so seamlessly from his mouth that she might have missed it. “They’re his greatest vice. Yet, he complains incessantly about you.” He paused. “I’m Joseph, his brother.”

That did sound like John. Isolde wrangled a smile, leaned comfortably back against the wall as Joseph sidled over to her. With him in front of her, he almost completely eclipsed out the rest of the party, like he’d suddenly bubbled her and it was just the two of them in the entire room. He was so very good at that—with his eyes on her, it felt as though nobody else in the entire world existed.

“I’m flattered,” she murmured, “that I’ve managed to break John of his greatest vice.”

“I did come to thank you for that.” Joseph’s mouth ticked up into a smile, almost playful, if the rich timbre of his voice wasn’t so soothing. “And for taking good care of John. He’s a...”

Isolde watched Joseph through her lashes. He had no alcohol in his hands, but kept them tucked easily into the pockets of his slacks; he held himself without the easy arrogance that John carried himself. It was more like Joseph knew, exactly, his place in the world, and so didn’t feel the need to assert it. It simply was.

“Handful,” Isolde supplied.

“That’s a good way to put that,” he agreed. A quiet moment stretched between them—an easy silence, and she got the impression that it was going to be like this with him; no pressure to fill the silences—before she shifted on her feet.

“So, how are you going to do it?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. Joseph’s gaze, which had drifted to where John was chatting with Jacob and another guest, flickered back to her. The inquisitive tilt of his head followed after, and when she didn’t supply further questioning, he didn’t bother smothering the amused little smile on his face.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Thank me.”

The smile didn’t quite leave his face yet. “Didn’t John give you the same speech about how off-limits we are to each other?”

“Well,” Isolde relented, “whatever is he going to complain about if his brother doesn’t take me out for dinner? I’d be failing him as his vice breaker if I didn’t keep my game fresh.”

“Is that what I’m doing to thank you, then?”

Joseph’s voice was a low, rich sound, rumbling straight through her, vibrating in the cavity of her chest. She thought, instantly, that she’d like to know what it felt like to have him say her name into her skin. Isolde’s lashes fluttered; she hummed thoughtfully and polished off the last of her wine.

Dinner isn’t sex, she reasoned. So technically, I’m not really breaking John’s little agreement.

“It’s an option,” she offered after a moment. And then, in an act of what John would surely describe later as pure spite for his well-being and mental health: “Though you’re welcome to do more, if you feel inclined.”

This finally (finally, a part of her said) elicited a laugh out of Joseph. His eyes slipped from hers, lingering on her mouth before pulling away to the rest of the party, almost reluctantly.

“Tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Are you free?”

“Technically I’m working,” Isolde drawled, “but lucky for you, I’m the boss and I can make my own hours.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Joseph replied amusedly. “Six, then.”

“And don’t tell John,” Isolde said, as though making a pact. The man inclined his head a little, reaching up and sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and made a low noise of agreement.

“And don’t tell John,” he reiterated. “Yet.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I asked you for one thing, Isolde!”

John was, as to be expected, upset.

“That’s not true,” Isolde defended, busying her hands with gathering up a few files and tucking them into her bag. “You ask me for a million things, every day. Namely, tolerating your ego. Not to mention keeping your head from exploding every time someone pays you a compliment, and—”

“You know what I mean.” John exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temples as though Isolde had inspired in him the greatest of headaches. She hoped that she had. It would be the least he could suffer, after all of the brainpower she had to expend on the daily to keep him in check.

Leaning back in her chair, Isolde said, “It was just dinner, John.”

“Do not pretend to be stupid all of a sudden,” John snapped. “Joseph does not date around. He doesn’t ever do something that’s just dinner."

"Funny," she mused, "it feels like that's exactly what it was. Eating food together, at a restaurant, during the evening."

John’s head cocked to the side. He leveled her with a singular pointed look and said, “Oh, yeah?”

She squinted at him. “Yeah.”

“Is that so? Then what did you do after dinner, Isolde?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall as he waited for her answer. She kept her face wiped clear of emotions even though John’s question instantly inspired in her a flurry of memories; Joseph, snagging her hand on their way out of the restaurant, leaning in and kissing her; and kissing her, and kissing her, keeping her pulled close against him until she thought she was going to go dizzy from it all.

And then, well—

“We’re two consenting adults, John,” she said at last, and he threw up his hands.

“I explicitly said not to!”

“Yeah, well!” There was no good excuse; she knew that. The excuse was that Joseph was incredibly attractive, and Isolde had wanted him, and so that had been the beginning and the end of it. Still, she kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. “I made that agreement before I got a good look at him. John, I’m actually trying to get some work done, so if you could—”

John scoffed. “One, Joseph is related to me, so of course he’s hot, and two—you’ve got the impulse control of a toddler. I hope you know that.”

He pushed off from the wall and started collecting his things to leave her office; a blissful departure, to be sure, but there was something sitting and stinging in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t let her leave it to rest.

“Rich,” Isolde said demurely, “coming from the man who can’t stop an endless chain of making-up-breaking-up.”

His movements paused. He stared at her for a long moment, before he said. “Hey, Isolde?”

“Yes, John?”

“Fuck you.” John’s movements resumed to the door. “Fuck you, and see you in the conference room in twenty.” Another pause, and then thrown over his shoulder: “If you’re not too busy letting my brother—”

“Alright, point made!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “It’s really not anything serious. Okay? It was just dinner and a date, that’s all.”

This had him stopping again, paused in the doorway with a bit of frustration welling up in his voice when he said, “You don’t know my brother, Isolde.”

“But I know me. Alright?”

He sighed. “Yes, alright. Twenty minutes, then.”

For a moment, it felt like things had been settled between them. John was still young, she thought; younger than her, and the baby of his brothers, which she knew meant he held on tighter to things that maybe he needed to all the time. Too tight, or too loose, to make it hurt less when something didn’t work out.

But the peace only lasted for a moment, because a few minutes after John had settled back in behind his desk across the hall from her, their secretary came around the corner, her arms filled with a fragrant bouquet of lilies.

“Ms. Khan, you have an admirer!” she exclaimed delightedly. Isolde met John’s eyes across the hall, staring at her with an expression that could only have been described with the phrase I told you so. “It looks like they’re from a gentleman named Joseph S—”

“Thank you, Laura,” Isolde interrupted, clearing her throat. “You can set them on the table there, I’ll find them a vase.”

Laura nodded and smiled, laying the bouquet delicately on the coffee table and then making her way out of the office. Isolde left the flowers untouched for about an hour, unable to stand the thought of John catching her keeping them alive (because she would never hear an end to it), but it was killing her a little bit. She had mentioned once, in an off-hand comment, that she didn’t like the typical flower bouquets like red roses or carnations; lilies were her favorite. One tiny comment, and this was the result?

There was only a note with the flowers. It said, Hoping John isn’t giving you too much trouble. Be by at six for you.

It felt a little treacherous; just enough to make it a bit harder to look at John with a serious face and not burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Thankfully, close to the end of the day John made the dramatic announcement that he thought he was going to kill himself if he had to spend even another second sitting across from the elaborate bouquet.

“I’m going to go home,” he said, shrugging into his coat, “and try to retain at least half of my brain cells.”

Isolde hmm’d. “So just the one, then?

“Ha-ha. Goodnight, Sol.”

“Have a good night.”

It seemed like there were only a few moments of quiet between John’s departure and Joseph’s arrival, though in reality it had been a few hours; focusing felt like a chore, like it took a little extra work to get through the depositions she had to prepare and the emails she had to answer.

Just dinner, she thought. Just dinner and a date, and whatever happened after. And just one more date tonight. Not a big deal; adults go on dates all the time. I’m an adult. It’s fine.

But it wasn’t just that, because she was sure her heart rate had plateaued at a solid one hundred and ten since Joseph’s I’ll pick you up from work text. Because Isolde wasn’t the kind of woman who took a man back to her place on the first date, and yet.

By the time Joseph did swing by to pick her up, John had been gone for a few hours and she’d gotten almost no work done, instead completely consumed by the predicament she’d planted herself in. It did break the rules to date Joseph. No business and pleasure, first and foremost. Normally, Isolde would have considered herself a woman of incredible discipline, able to turn down temptations of varying degrees—but when Joseph rolled through her office door with those stupid, hot yellow aviators on his face, she thought maybe she had overestimated herself.

“You look tired,” Joseph said lightly, brushing some snow out of his hair. Isolde’s expression flattened.

“Thanks, Romeo. ‘Hi, Isolde, how was your day?’ ‘Oh, just fine, except for your brother throwing a baby temper tantrum every five minutes’. ‘You poor thing, Isolde, but you have to tell me how you manage to be so exceptionally beautiful still’.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t look beautiful still,” he replied. His eyes followed her as she walked around her desk, having slid her coat on and collected her purse; they stayed trained on her all the way up to when there was no space left between them, until he was gazing at her with amusement dragging his mouth into a smile.

She said, lightly, “You didn’t say I was beautiful at all, actually.”

Joseph reached up. Though the room was empty of everyone except the two of them, somehow it still felt special when he looked at her—it still felt like nothing else in the entire world mattered to Joseph in that moment except for her. The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip, his gaze drinking her in, admiring and hungry in equal amounts.

“You are,” he said, his voice low, the timbre of it rattling something animal inside of her. “Beautiful.”

Kiss me, she wanted to say, because he was so close and yet seemed to refuse to actually finish the job. She didn’t think she could have mustered the words even if she wanted to; Joseph was a wildfire, eating up all the oxygen around her, sucking it right out of the air until there was nothing left but for her to feel swallowed by it.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, the other night,” Joseph continued, dragging his thumb from her lip down to her jawline, “when I said that John’s greatest vice was beautiful women.” He paused, his head tilting. “They’re mine.”

Isolde’s lashes fluttered. She glanced up at him, and she said, “Well, that’s not the greatest sales pitch for yourself. How many red flags should I be looking for?”

He laughed and brushed his lips against her temple. “I get the feeling you won’t miss a single one.”

It shouldn’t have been quite so endearing, his casual reference to any red flags that he might have. Even his confidence that she’d pick them out (she would; if finding red flags was an Olympic sport, Isolde would have been a gold medalist) didn’t inspire the greatest feeling in her, though if she was playing devil’s advocate she knew that there were things about herself that didn’t make her so very well acquainted with healthy relationships.

“I’m glad I was able to come and pick you up today,” Joseph continued casually as they left her office and headed down the stairs. “It’s been snowing all afternoon. I’d hate for you to have to drive in this weather.”

And then he did things like that—uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, to not want her to drive herself home in adverse weather. “I think I would have been fine,” Isolde replied. His fingers brushed hers at her side, snagging them and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss.

“Undoubtedly.”

It hadn’t been a lie, his remark about the snow. By the time they were pushing the doors to the lobby open, bidding the security officer goodnight, at least a solid foot of snow had collected and was pushed up against the lip of the sidewalk.

She grimaced. Winter was her least favorite season. Holiday cheer and Isolde Khan were not two concepts that melded well—not that she was a scrooge, per se, but with her only family halfway across the world and, on top, a tenuous relationship at best, it didn’t make Christmas very fun.

As they walked down the sidewalk, passing Joseph’s car in favor of pursuing a nearby restaurant, the blonde kept their fingers tangled together. The gesture was light, and didn’t demand anything, but it was enough to say something: I want you close to me.

“Does your family come here for the holidays?” Joseph asked lightly, disentangling their hands in favor of giving her hip a squeeze, keeping his hand there as they drifted into a warmly-lit wine bar. “I remember you saying they live in Turkey.”

So Joseph did just have that good of a memory. She’d have to be more careful about the things she said to him. “No,” Isolde replied, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. “It’s too far. And I don’t go there.”

“Then what do you do on Christmas?” he prompted. He tugged a seat out for her at a spot farthest away from the door and then planted himself across from her, absently reading over the list of wines.

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely. And then, in an effort to redirect, again: “You, if you’re around.”

Joseph’s gaze flickered up to hers from across the table. She could tell he was trying to stifle a smile. “You’d have to come all the way to Hope County if you had that penciled into your planner, Miss Khan.”

“Oh, Miss Khan, am I? We’re suddenly very formal with each other.” Isolde grinned. “And what does Joseph Seed, in Hope County, do on Christmas?”

“We haven’t spent many holidays together, but this year I’d like have a big family dinner on Christmas Eve, the handful of us.” He settled back in his chair a little, like he was getting ready to be there for a while. “Since John’s moved out here for work, Jacob’s been out of the country, and we only recently found each other again, we don’t get a lot of time together.” He shrugged. “And you, of course. If you’re around.”

Before she had an opportunity to respond, caught off guard by how easily he wielded her own flirtation against her, she felt a few bodies brush past their table and then pause, only to be followed by a dreadfully familiar voice: “Isolde?”

Something sharp and hot brought her pulse to a grinding stop—or it felt like it, anyway, like all of the breath had been sucked right out of her and she had ceased to be alive anymore, a cadaver sat up to play pretend like in those old photos. No, she thought when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, nausea welling up inside of her. No, I don’t want this, not right now.

“It is you,” Alec said, his voice blooming with warmth. “I thought I recognized you. I know you like this spot.” His hand slid from her shoulder and she felt, without even looking at him, the way he turned his eyes to Joseph. “Who’s your friend?”

“Date,” Isolde bit out. “He’s my date.”

Her ex-husband let out what she could only describe as a comical exhale of breath. Joseph was watching her, inquisitive but ever-so-composed, before he turned his gaze politely to Alec and offered his hand.

“Joseph,” the blonde said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The sight of the two men shaking hands made her want to puke. Everything Alec touched in her life was rotten, putrid—brimming with bile and spoiled, forever. She didn’t want it to be like that with Joseph, too.

Alec began, “I’m—”

“Alec is my ex-husband,” Isolde interrupted, her voice hard, punctuating each consonant of the words that came out of her mouth with violent intent.

Joseph settled back in his seat. Suddenly, Isolde was reminded that he had a penchant for remembering even the smallest throwaway details, and that she’d probably let him in on more than she would have liked about how her relationship had been with Alec without even saying anything. Yes, Isolde thought absently, her brain careening like a plane on fire as she watched Joseph fix his eyes on Alec, yes, he can tell.

“Fresh on the dating scene, and only six months divorced,” Alec remarked lightly, his infuriatingly handsome face the only thing filling up her peripheral. “I’m happy for you, Isolde.”

“So leave,” Isolde snapped. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and naturally he looked perfect; dark curls, stubble neatly trimmed, eyes bright and amused. There were a few thin, gossamer scars on his face from the last time they were together— but he must have paid quite a bit of money to smooth those out.

He lifted his hands in a show of surrender, his gaze sweeping over her. Just that one gesture felt like a violation—she wanted to smash his face into the table and tell him he didn’t get to even look at her anymore.

“Good luck with this one, Joe,” Alec said, his overly-familiar use of a nickname that Isolde had never heard anyone use with Joseph sticking to her ribs like a heavy dinner. “She’s a wicked little thing.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Joseph replied serenely.

Alec paused; his gaze lingered on her neck and suddenly he was grinning. Isolde knew what it was he was looking at—a bruise, a remnant of the night before, left by Joseph.

“Yeah,” Alec agreed, “it looks like you’ve already figured out how to handle her.”

Who’s going to pity you? If you were me, you would have seen that you were begging for it. You fucking asked for it. 

Isolde stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the wooden paneling of the floor. Sick, she thought, her stomach rolling. I’m going to be sick. “Leaving,” she managed out, only vaguely aware of Joseph also coming to a stand across from her, albeit more composed. “We’re leaving.”

I’m your husband, Isolde. It means it’s my job to keep you in line.

“Not on my account, I hope,” Alec sighed. “You’ve always been so dramatic. Anyway, Joseph—a pleasure to meet you, and—you know, call me if you need help with her. I’m always happy to lend my expertise.”

Everyone knows what it takes to get you under control, and I’ll tell anyone who asks.

She pushed past him, stepping around the table and clutching her coat and purse in her hands. There wasn’t time to put them on; there would never be enough time to get as much space between herself and Alec as she wanted.

I should have killed him, she thought viciously, taking in lungfuls of frigid air, snow dappling her face and sticking to her eyelashes. Right then, I should have bashed his fucking skull in.

Fingers brushed her arm. On instinct she startled, whirling to face the impending threat, half-expecting Alec to have chased her out into the street in an attempt to corner her—a thing that he had taken great joy in before, sweeping things off of the counter to grab and pull and rip—but it was Joseph. He waited two heartbeats before he reached again, his fingertips cradling the crook of her elbow.

It was a question: can I? Will you let me?

“I wish he would die,” she said, without thinking, the words spilling out of her like a poison she just couldn’t hold in anymore. Whatever information Joseph had gleaned about her tumultuous marriage with Alec made him unbothered by this statement; he tugged her closer to him, the hand not holding her arm reaching up to brush the pads of his fingers across her pulse point.

He said, “I know.”

“Joseph—”

“Isolde.” His voice was low, the words murmured against her forehead. “Don’t explain.” Because I already know, is what he meant. Because I already understand what’s going on here.

He tugged her coat out of her hands and pulled it around her shoulders. Bent like he was, leaned into her with something that she thought might be adoration, Joseph brushed their noses together. She felt tension flood her body; she was afraid that he might try to kiss her right then, of what she might do if he did while her body was brutalized by adrenaline, but he didn’t. 

He just held her.

“Here,” Joseph said, taking her hand and bringing it to his neck until she could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his pulse under her fingers. “I’ve got you.”

It should have frightened her. Joseph’s intensity was an intimidating kind, but in these moments, the intensity was required to cut through the panic. It overwhelmed her fried senses, the neurons firing rapidly stifled and swallowed up by the looming responsibility to recognize his closeness. The smell of his cologne, the bump of their noses, the feeling of his stubble under her fingertips, his hands closing the jacket around her shoulders. All of it meant that her brain could no longer panic, and had, instead, something to occupy itself with.

“Can you take me home?” Her voice felt small coming out of her, like it belonged to someone else. A different Isolde, at a different place and time. The girl she might have been or perhaps was before Alec.

Low, Joseph murmured, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

A sick, macabre part of her wanted to look back behind Joseph at the wine bar. It wanted to see Alec again—the way that you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking through your hands at the monster in a horror movie, the way that you couldn’t look away from a brutal car crash on the highway. Sick, she thought dizzily. He made me sick.

“Take me home,” she said, more firmly this time.

“I’m trying,” Joseph replied. His voice was so soft that she almost had to strain to hear it over the pounding of her heart. His hands came to her face, cradling. “You have to let me.”

Isolde nodded, swallowing back what adrenaline insisted on leaking into her brain. She hadn’t realized that she was bolting her feet to the floor, gritting her teeth against the gentle pressure of Joseph’s hands, until he said, you have to let me. 

“Okay,” she murmured. He nodded and brushed the hair from her face. This time, his guiding pressure actually registered in her brain; when he nudged her away from the bar and down the street to his car, she moved, instead of digging her heels in.

When they reached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her and waited for her to climb in before he leaned down.

“I’m—” Isolde started, the words shredding in her mouth before they got out of her. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. “About—the bar, I—”

“I told you, don’t explain yourself,” Joseph insisted, tucking her hair behind her ear. There was something almost earnest about his gaze now as he watched her, her heart thrumming violently in her chest with a different mantra now. Same, it said, when Joseph’s fingers grazed her cheek, tilted her chin up. Same as us. Ours, too. He’s our kind.

“There’s plenty of people I wish were dead, too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shoes, clothes, charger, phone. No phone?

“Where did he put my phone?” Isolde muttered, searching through the suitcase on the bed. An array of clothing was laid out, but not yet folded; in fact, the only things that were packed yet were all work things that she’d have to take with her. Joseph would probably be furious—he had, in fact, specifically insisted that no work come on the vacation—but better than anyone he knew what it was like to rely on John for things. Which was that, if you liked things done to the standard that Joseph and Isolde wanted them done to, you didn’t rely on anyone else. Least of all John.

“Soli…” It was Joseph’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, not questioning but asking. Beckoning. You’re taking too long. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

“Where’s my phone?” she called back, pacing around the other side of the bedroom. “I’m trying to pack it up for tomorrow so that I don’t have to worry about it.”

A beat, where Joseph was likely collecting his patience, passed. “It’s down here. You left it on the counter.” And then: “Come eat, won’t you?”

He was doing that thing where he phrased it as a question and meant it as a statement. Joseph had learned, in a very short period of time, that she didn’t like when someone told her what to do; as petulant as it was, she’d buck against something like that desperately until it felt like her idea all along.

Isolde sighed. “Yes, I’m coming, Joseph.” One more up-and-down the stairs, ten more minutes of packing, and then she’d be content enough to sit down and eat.

“Full first name?” came the leisurely reply from downstairs. “My, you are in a mood tonight.”

Isolde busied herself with folding clothes, a smile fighting its way onto her face in spite of Joseph’s insistence that she was “in a mood”. She wasn’t; if he wanted to believe that, he was certainly welcome to, but she wasn’t in a mood. She was thinking.

So she put folded clothes over the work files and said, “Joseph, light of my life; the sun which my planet orbits; the fabric by which the stars are made…”

“This sounds more like the Isolde I’m used to.” His voice was closer now, coming from the doorway, and when she looked over her shoulder at him he said, “And definitely not coming to eat.”

“Do you go by Joe?” she asked lightly, dropping the last of her clothes in the suitcase.

Joseph wandered across the master bedroom until there wasn’t any space left between them; his hand came up to her face, trailing the slope of her cheekbone. “I certainly do not.”

“So, definitely call you that, then.”

“You are testing my greatest virtue,” Joseph replied, leaning down and kissing her. Just the once, though; long enough for her to want to lean into it, and not long enough to be satisfying. He pulled back just so far as to let their lips brush when he said, “Come sit down.”

Skimming her fingers along his chest, she asked playfully, “What are you going to do if I say no?”

The blonde eyed her amusedly. “John was right. You really don’t like being bossed around, do you?”

“How dare you say those words, in that order, in my presence,” Isolde murmured without heat. “You know I can’t stand to have someone stroking his ego by admitting he’s right about something.” A low laugh slipped out of Joseph and he carded his fingers through her hair, letting the pads of his fingers skim the back of her scalp as he kissed her temple.

She loved it. She loved when he did this; Joseph was so tactile, taking every opportunity to connect them through touch, like she grounded him. Like she was something precious that he wanted to enjoy every chance he got.

“You are the only one I’ll say something to more than once,” he said, his voice pleasantly low. “But luckily for you, I find your obstinance endearing.”

“If it helps,” she countered, “I don’t mind if you boss me around. Mostly. Why don’t you give it another try?” That wasn’t true. She did. But she liked the way it made Joseph’s ego inflate the second he did, even if it was for something stupid.

“Sweet girl.” His voice was a pleasant purr against her skin. “Always threatening me with a good time.”

This made her laugh. Joseph kissed the slope of her cheekbone, and then the corner of her mouth, his fingers sliding through her hair affectionately. She finally relented and allowed him to nudge her out through the bedroom door, making her way down the stairs. It wasn’t her first time going on a vacation with a… Friend of the romantic persuasion, but it was her first time going on vacation with a friend of the romantic persuasion back home. She’d never introduced her parents to any man that she’d dated—not only because they were eleven hours away by flight, but because there just hadn’t ever been anyone.

Joseph was—different. But she had always known that; she had always known that he was an exception to a lot of people’s rules, not just her own, and she was violating cardinal rule number one of her own personal regiment, which was “don’t mix business and pleasure”. Pursuing a romantic relationship with your business partner’s older brother didn’t exactly adhere to that, did it?

“It’s going to be hot,” Isolde said, “and the flight is long, and the traffic is going to be… Well, insane. But my parents will definitely insist on feeding us the second we get there—”

“That’s fine.”

“—so what I’m saying is, if I blink at you five times in rapid succession, we need to make up an emergency to leave. What’s the emergency? We have to have one ready and on hand, otherwise my dad will see straight…”

Her voice trailed off. The kitchen was not as she’d left it, a little over an hour ago, to pack. In fact, it was dimly lit by candles, the dining table sporting a bouquet—not roses, like someone might have expected out of a scene like this, but calla lilies. Her favorite.

“What—” She stopped in the doorway, but Joseph sidled up behind her, hands on her hips and nudging her forward. “Joseph, what…?”

“I told you.” He kissed just below her ear, reaching for her left hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles there, too. “You’re the only person that I’ll say something to more than once—”

Isolde felt something—something both hot and cold, sharp and too soft—whip through her immediately at the leading tone. “You’re not making any sense,” she managed out, trying to dig her heels in, but Joseph wasn’t trying to push her in any further so it didn’t matter.

“I want you to marry me.” Joseph said against her skin, and he slid something cool and metal along her finger. “I want you to be my wife, Soli.”

A ring, her brain said, the alarm bells ringing immediately. That’s a ring. Holy shit, that’s a really big fucking ring. On your finger. Holy shit.

“Isolde.” Joseph turned her around to look at him fully now, brows furrowing at what was surely a look of panic on her face. What she thought had to be the assumption that they were only nerves, he continued, “I know that—”

“No.” The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it, the single-word-statement fleeing her mouth in her panic. She thought she’d feel regret about it, but she didn’t; only about the way Joseph looked at her when she said it.

He seemed to be gathering himself for a moment, like maybe he didn’t think that she meant it, that she was playing some kind of joke on him.

Joseph began, “If this is your idea of—”

“I mean it,” Isolde interjected. “I won’t marry you, Joseph. So—no. Take this—” She fumbled the engagement ring off of her finger and put it into his hand like it was a cursed item, like she couldn’t get it off of her finger any fucking quicker. “Take this back. And—that’s it, I just don’t want it.”

His eyes were fixed on her, no longer soft in their romanticism, but hard, steely. “And why not?”

She swallowed up a sound that probably would have been close to agony. It was agony, having to explain to him; her mind vibrating at an entirely different frequency than his, the panic settling into her bones. She needed to say, I’ve been married before you and I know what it’s like to give yourself over to someone, she needed to say, I won’t fucking let someone own me, Joseph Seed, she needed to say, I told you two months ago I never wanted to get married again, and you just apparently didn’t listen, which is reason enough.

“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” is what she said instead, going to step around him. But his hand caught her wrist, the carefully manicured and polished exterior fading into something that hit an edge of tension, pulling pulling pulling until she thought she was going to watch him finally snap.

But he said, “You do.”

“Fuck. You,” Sol bit out. The anger flared hot in her chest. It was, at last, a familiar emotion; anger and not panic, filling her up. Drowning out the sadness that tried to rip through her like a wildfire. “I told you. I told you I wasn’t doing it again.”

“I’m different.” Now it was his turn to sound almost petulant, his grip on her wrist like iron. “You said that yourself. That we’re—”

“Not different enough,” she snapped. “Apparently, anyway, since you couldn’t wait longer than two months to try and put your name on me, could you?” Trying to pull her wrist out of his grip proved futile, and she managed out with the timbre of her voice vibrating with poison, “And get your fucking hand off of me, Joseph.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he finally loosened his hold on her wrist. Enough to let her pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Isolde stayed firmly put, willing her legs to carry her somewhere else—back home would probably be the best thing, driving the hours it takes between Hope County and the nearest lick of civilization.

You said that yourself. I’m different. 

He was. She wanted to say, you are, Joseph, but she didn’t, because she knew that it would only start them in another circle again, a snake swallowing its own tail in an endless cycle. 

So they stood there for a moment: neither of them saying anything, her last threat hanging, jolts of anger fizzing and popping in the air between them. Isolde’s hand slid just enough to catch at the wrist in Joseph’s grip, and he took her hand instead, then, tugging lightly to draw her close to him.

Testing her out. Feeling her boundaries. She’d basically said I’ll tear your hand off if you don’t listen to me, but he didn’t think she would. And now he was going to slam those buttons—slide his fingers under her edges until he found the exact farthest he could push her.

“I won’t,” Joseph said, very low and quiet, “let you do this to me, Isolde.”

She had been expecting something else. Something sweet, maybe—Joseph liked to do that. Sweet girl, he’d say to her, and if anyone else had tried to call her girl they would’ve gotten dumped, but with this viper it was different. It didn’t feel condescending when Joseph said it to her. It just felt covetous. 

And that’s what he was best at: bite, and then soothe. It made his sharp edges more tolerable. It made them nice. But now he was all sharp edges, only hard lines, catching on her and tearing every time the two of them made contact. It had always been this way; John had said that he thought they were poorly matched, and at the time, she’d written it off as John not liking to share even his business partner with his older brother. 

Now more than ever, she thought that he was right. They were both too unwieldy, too wretched, to let someone else sway them from their opinions.

“You are so fucking dramatic,” Isolde said, pulling her hand out of his grip at last and turning on her heel. “We don’t need to be married to be together. And your antiquated notion—”

“There are things I want to accomplish, and they’re best done with a wife—”

“I’m sorry, did you hear a period punctuating the end of my sentence? Don’t fucking talk over me, Joseph,” she snapped. For one split second, she saw something vicious flicker over Joseph’s face—just for that one, tiny second—and then he cleared his face. 

After a second of silence, of waiting for Joseph to try and get the last word in, she finished, “You don’t know me well enough to want to marry me. And—marriage is a scam, anyway. I would know, I handle nasty divorces every day at work.” I’ve handled my own nasty divorce. “If you’re looking for a pretty housewife to sit around statuesque and have dinner ready for you when you come home, then—well, then you really don’t fucking know me.”

Joseph was silent. His jaw worked, his eyes sweeping over her, tension radiating off of her until he said, “I guess I don’t.”

“I guess so,” Isolde agreed. Another moment of silence, where it felt like they were circling each other like wounded dogs, and she said, “I’m going to go—”

“Fine,” he interrupted, the thing that he knew she hated. “When you’ve calmed down, we can discuss this like adults.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she said, gathering up her coat and keys and walking up the stairs. “I’m not going to change my mind, Joseph.”

From the kitchen, she heard him agree, “Not yet.”

“Shut up,” Isolde snapped. “You make me so fucking mad.”

He didn’t respond to that; she heard him moving around in the kitchen, gathering things and putting them away as she hauled her suitcase down to the front door. He met her at the door, opening it for her—which pissed her off half as much as him putting an engagement ring on her finger.

It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was like he was saying, I know you’ll be back, so go on. Feel free to leave whenever you’d like.

Like the gentleman he was, he carried her suitcase out and loaded it into the car, lingering around the driver’s side as she threw her coat inside. And then she was the one waiting, unsure of what to do; the muscle memory of her body said, kiss him goodbye, the fury in her brain screaming to get in the car and leave.

“When you change your mind,” he reiterated calmly, reaching up and brushing the hair from her face, “you know how to get in touch with me.”

Isolde’s gaze flickered at the touch, Joseph’s warm, heady cologne washing over her as the space between them vanished. She said, the amber and vetiver of him welling up inside of her and filling her like a wineskin, “I won’t.”

His lips grazed her temple, fingers brushing her jaw. “I love you, Isolde.”

Fucking narcissist, she thought, venomously, pulling away from him. Her gaze drifted over his face, trying to find something familiar, something that reminded her of the man she had thought she had loved—but who had clearly proven he was incapable of thinking of anyone but himself.

So finally, she bit out, “This is what you think love is?”

She wanted the words to sting. She wanted them to wipe the tranquility off of his face. He had always been so composed; the wretchedness in her wanted to shake it out of him, making him squirm like he was so good at doing to her.

But he didn’t; his mouth ticked upward in a serene smile, eyes fixed on her as he stepped back from the car. He seemed confident in himself—that it was love, that she would see it was. One day.

I won’t let you do this to me, he’d said.

“Have a safe drive,” he called, when she slammed the door. It was an hour to the airport; an hour, and then however long of a flight, however long she’d have to wait for the next flight heading out to Georgia.

Joseph turned and walked back inside as she pulled out of the driveway, as carefully as she could through the snow; in her rearview mirror, she saw him stop at the door and turn to look, eyes fixed on her.

There are plenty of people I wish were dead, too.

[k1ttykatsu]

INTERLUDE

she a starphucker wanna run shit

★THEE STARPHUCKER? KAY! 2002, she/her, black writer! l katsuki’s good girl, toji’s baby mama, gojo’s whore l @ tags

#KATSUKI’S PLAYLIST ☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°｡

#TOJI’S PLAYLIST 🎧🪐⭐️🫧

#GOJO’S PLAYLIST ♫₊˚.🎧 ✧

witching hour ‘23 kinktober ‘22

©️kittykatsu! all works on this blog belong to k1ttykatsu! pls do not plagiarize my work and act like it’s yours or translate my work without my knowledge!

[scatteredstrings]

May Wrap Up - Things I read

Completed

A Hell of Our Own Making by Anastraa

A Safe, Devoted Darkness by HeyJude19

Atonement by Lunamionny

Brew of a Kind by In_Dreams

Catalyst by RoseHarperMaxwell

Draco Malfoy’s Heartbreak Bouquets by magical_traveler

Love a Lie by ambpersand

Till the End of the Line by sweetestsorrows (katschako)

Trust Me by smokyquartz

One Shots

A Thorough Defense by HeyJude19

A Mutual Interest in Ice Cream by In_Dreams

Bad Habits by dreamsofdramione

Because He Loved Her by forgotten_traveler

Boston by rizzlewrites

commit this to memory by skitter

Counting Days by dreamsofdramione

Gelato by rizzlewrites

Hippogriff Homewrecking by mightbewriting

In Search of a Husband by sweetestsorrows (katschako) for Roseheira

in your sacred air I am full of light by AdAsttra

i've nothing but the means to break your heart in two by AdAsttra

Pegged by Misdemeanor1331

Purple Sky by its_banannaz

Saving Grace by rizzlewrites

Tall Drink of Water by In_Dreams

The Clinic by Catmint and Thyme (Languish_Locked_in_L)

The First Time by forgotten_traveler

The Eyes of the Forest by rizzlewrites

The Witching Hour by rizzlewrites

Three Words, Eight Letters by abrilas, niffizzle

you still know of dawn but you always return by AdAsttra

WIPs

All Live To Die by Musyc

Anywhere by alexandra_emerson

Benefits With Friends by In_Dreams

Case Closed by KeerthiWrites

Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm

find me, my silhouette by viridianatnight

Garden of Eden by Roseheira, sweetestsorrows (katschako)

Let The Dark In by senlinyu

Probably A Scam by Catmint and Thyme (Languish_Locked_in_L)

REBORN by its_banannaz

Sweet Disarray by Pia_Bartolini

Teach me, Draco by Ramelle_Kammae

Ten out of Ten by morriganmercy

This Bitter Earth by ikorous

Currently Reading:

Bending Light by scullymurphy

Ghosts by rizzlewrites

Interlude: Eighth Year by alexandra_emerson

Meet Your Match by morriganmercy

The Debt of Time by ShayaLonnie

The Fallout by Sage/Everythursday

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Sorry, I know you probably get these a lot but could we recap

(The posts tagged with “#tsrpgau recap” summarize the events of the comic and asks, and lore that has been revealed thus far!)

inter-comic recaps: First  /   Prev  /   Next  /   All.

Contains: (Recap #24) Asks 123.2 (Interlude 3) - 125

~~~

(The Main Story)

While Logan and Virgil are still in the party, you ask them about Roman’s Werebear status; what Virgil called a “guy'ya athiyk.” 

Virgil explains that the bear Roman turns into is sort-of the same person, but also a completely different consciousness; a ghost-bear made of Fae magic who is possessing his body. He has the same personality as Roman, but a different brain and different memories...

Essentially, who Roman would be if he was born an animal.

Virgil, as a Ranger, is able to communicate with these Fae animal-ghost-things, hence his ability to talk to Robear! Annie can as well, since she is also a Fae magic-spirit creature. (she’s just the personification of an element, sea water/foam, instead of a beast)

Logan has done some research on the curse, and he has good news and bad news. 

Good news: Roman should have some cool new powers! His lycanthropy basically got an upgrade after he killed Jasper, the werewolf who turned him.

Bad news: The “upgrade” also means that Roman’s lycanthropy will be significantly harder to cure. PLUS, if he doesn’t learn to cooperate with it soon, eventually the Bear will take over his body entirely. This will erase his humanoid memories, and Roman will, essentially, die.

.

Logan and Virgil discuss some plans on how to continue Virgil’s sorcerer training!

Even after Elistraee’s warnings, Logan doesn’t seem keen to let Janus help in their lessons. (01, 02, 03, 04)

Logan doubts that Janus’s personal experience as a Sorcerer will be much help. There is no way to prove he and Virgil are even the same kind of sorcerer, and Janus isn’t trained to teach other people magic, which is a very dangerous field of work. But, he is persuaded to let Janus observe their classes, at least.

Janus seems to have a similar opinion towards Logan, assuming himself to be the most qualified teacher. It does not look like these two are going to get along...

.

You take a break to talk to the Empress for a moment, worried that something dangerous might be stalking the boys tonight. (01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07)

Virgil had mentioned feeling watched in the ballroom, and you caught Marissa somehow scrying in on him and Roman earlier... Could there be a minion of the Dragon Witch with us tonight?

The Empress thinks its possible, but...

They would have to be a team; one accomplice/minion wearing a Touchstone magic item (like Logan’s earring or Virgil’s insignia) who is in the party tonight, and a magic user as powerful as the Empress or even stronger who is using that magic item as an antenna.

The accomplice would either have to be relatively weak and nonthreatening themselves, or if they were a powerful creature, able to cloak themselves under the radar of another creature of the same type. (Example: A powerful Celestial may be disguised by the presence of Roman and Remus, while a powerful Draconic creature may be disguised by the presence of Janus and Virgil, or a powerful Fae disguised by...well, everyone at this party.)

The accomplice could not be someone faithful to Lolth, or the Empress would have found them already.

We know Marissa is the magic user, but who is her spy?

You warn the Empress to have her army watch the ballroom closely, but that’s all you have deduced thus far...

.

The third hour is spent with Patton, who is encouraged to meet Remus in the combat ring!

Patton has let his tail loose as part of his costume! (Partially so the locals he meets will stop assuming he’s a human/dwarven teenager.) It seems to be littered with bruises, though you aren’t sure if they are from earlier in the party or from being tied to his leg these past few days....or years?

(Remus looks particularly annoyed when Patton says the bruises were from him “just being clumsy.” But, strangely, he doesn’t push the subject?)

The two front-line-fighters goad each other into a fight, Monk VS Barbarian!

The fight is neck-and-neck for a long time, with Patton doing way more damage, (like four times as much,) but Remus is soaking it up like a sponge with his insane HP. 

About 18 seconds into the fight Remus only has a fourth of his HP left, and in response to the pain he flies into a Rage! Magic light bursts out of him like a flashbang, blinding Patton and the drow spectators!! Patton is able to blindly climb up his back and try to choke him out before he escapes the ring and kills someone (or Patton himself,) but he’s not quite strong enough to manage it; both of them have only 2 HP left...

...And then one of the guards recovers from blindness and knocks Remus out with a blow to the head.

The guard, Commander Tsubya, admonishes Remus for blinding everyone in the room and losing control, kicking him out of the ring for tonight. They also congratulate Patton for lasting that long against “Malla A'ni De’anonen's mad dog.” The fight is ruled a tie.

Remus, enraged at the thought of a tie and very excited by Patton’s potential to be an equal challenge for him in combat, demands a rematch! 

Patton absolutely refuses. 

He also tries to pry into Remus’s rage ability, worried both for Remus and for the people around him, but Remus brushes him off about it.

Both of them have one Exhaustion Point from the fight.

Patton expresses some worries about what the group is meant to do from this point on, if they’re even still a group once they get to the capital... (01, 02)

.

You get a snippet into Patton’s childhood and adolescence; a montage of him “being clumsy” with his tail. 

You get to see Patton’s parents, who are all enamored with Patton’s cheerful and over-excitable nature, even when it leads to him unknowingly knocking things off of tables or spraining his tail from wagging it too hard. 

Then you get to see his ex, who seems to be the first to suggest that Patton should tie his unruly tail down...

Patton explains a bit about Halfling’s tails (tail-wagging, connection to mood, etc) and can’t seem to avoid bringing up his ex-fiancée... (01, 02, 03)

.

The fourth hour is spent with Roman, who finds Patton resting at the bar after his fight!

They talk about lots of things, mostly what their two groups did over the last day/week, the current state of their respective crushes, and their new looks!

They both dote on each other, Roman assuring Patton that he looks very attractive and cool with his tail out and his puffy coat, and Patton insisting that Roman still looks very regal and handsome with his new weight and hair. 

Roman decides to tell Patton the truth about he and Virgil’s duo time, even when it comes to the fight he started and the mean things he said. Patton appreciates his honesty, apologizing for holding him to a mean double-standard over his Aasimar secret. Their relationship is greatly improved! 

Roman delves into a mental monologue over his confusing experiences of romantic attraction, or partial lack thereof, which he doesn’t seem aware that you heard...

It is revealed that the two of them have discussed their toxic exes (Marissa and Richard) before to some extent.

You get an illustration of Marissa while Roman mentions her in his recap, but....she doesn’t look like the Dragon Witch??

Roman is worried about where he and Virgil stand. Patton reassures him that Virgil is clearly interested, and they’re also able to figure out that Virgil’s stressed about them possibly losing their memories to the Faewild!

Patton also reveals that he still has the purple worm-poisoned knife Virgil gave him, and suspects Logan still has his as well.

Patton mentions his fight with Remus, and Roman is furious. Patton is barely able to calm him down, but despite Patton’s protests Roman continues to speak hatefully about his brother...

The two of them drink as they talk, (Patton drinking much more than Roman,) and both are Tipsy by the end of the hour. 

They also haven’t been sticking as strictly to the nickname rule as they should have been...

.

...And right before their hour is up, Roman senses something dangerous near Annie!

Somehow able to track her location somewhat thanks to their fae-familial bond, Roman heads back to the Ballroom with Patton close behind!

.

(In Other News…)

Virgil worries about what to do the next time he sees Janus. (01, 02, 03)

Janus, for his part, asks all of you to vote him and Virgil as the next group in the minigame so that he can actually find him.

Logan and Virgil end up talking about the state of Virgil’s surface sickness, and the possible (but temporary) treatment provided by the Colony! (01, 02)

Virgil is half convinced to give it a shot, but he still worries that it will add too much time to their trip, or that he might hurt a Priestess in the process...

You and Virgil ask Logan about dragon hoarding behavior! (01, 02, 03)

You discuss the Elven religious/spiritual belief of Soul Splintering with Virgil and Logan. Logan seems somewhat disdainful of the concept, but Virgil really believes in it, even if some other elves use it cruelly. (01, 02, 03)

Virgil talks about his sisters, who he wasn’t actually related to, but they were all supposed to pretend they were actual siblings. Some of whom he genuinely cares about... (01, 02, 03, 04, 05)

Virgil (and Dragon Witch, and the Empress) elaborate on the “love potion incident” in his backstory, including the boyfriend who Virgil killed that night and one of Virgil’s own powerful nicknames. (01, 02, 03, 04, 05)

You tell Virgil about the NPCs in various rooms of the party that know him. (Brondhar and Illia, 02)

You ask the Empress how long Illia'Jhaerza has been in the colony, and she says she’s only been here for about a month, but she seems as trustworthy as recent-underdark-escapees go. She tells you to keep being wary of her, but that she’s no child of Lolth, either. (01, 02)

.

You learn more about Remus’s backstory, including the Barbarian tribe that took him in! (01, 02, 03, 04, 05,)

You learn more about Patton’s backstory, including his little siblings and his monastery! (01, 02, 03)

Patton talks about a new friend he made while making his costume, who helped him find clothes sized for Littlefolk. It’s Brondhar, the Dwarven Ranger who is allies with Virgil!  (01, 02)

You ask Remus about Celestials; what the categories of them are, where Aasimar fit in, what Domains are, how he and Roman are seen by Sune’s clergy, etc. (01, 02, 03, 04,)

He also talks a bit about Sune, like how she used to visit them as kids, which she apparently hasn’t done since. He doesn’t seem to believe that she’s in any danger; he thinks she’s just ignoring him as much as he’s been ignoring her. (01, 02)

You ask Remus and the Empress about the Curse of Achranoma, aka why someone’s magic manifests in a specific color! (More specifically, why is Roman’s red?) (01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06)

.

Janus clarifies that his future visions will be less useful going forward, since he can’t predict things that will happen in his general vicinity or his own immediate future.

You also get some snippets into Janus’s backstory, though they are confusing and contradictory...? (01, 02)

.

The Empress refuses to help the boys avoid the Faewild’s memory loss, as is custom for the Colony. 

Roman seems more than a little reluctant to tell Remus about what’s been going on with Sune and her clergy.

Roman is asked about how Remus’s Rages started. (01, 02)

Though he seems interested in the idea, Roman elects not to pursue training as any other class than Paladin as long as he is still an Aasimar. (01, 02, 03, 04, 05)

.

You ask Remus, the Dragon Witch, and Roman about when Roman and Marissa were dating, and while DW is uncharacteristically avoiding the question, Remus and Roman have a lot to say... and what they say also contradicts earlier claims by DW? (01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06)

Come to think of it, her timeline never made any sense... Has DW been lying about being Marissa???

.

(Game Mechanics)

You got a chart about who feels what for who! (it seems to have a glitch?)

You learned about Piety Points! (01, 02, 03, 04, 05)

You are able to access the Levels of each Party Member, including their current Statistics and Skills! 

Annie seems to have improved since last you checked, having somehow gained a level in Cleric, and you can see the contrast between Virgil’s current skills and his old ones if you squint....