#《 my dale is so starved for connection 》

[tuesdayscanons]

Just...a thread where Dev can hear Dale's thoughts asdfghjkl

[planet-crait]

A New Dev-elopement is next and I’m super excited! It sucks getting attached to Dev with kind of knowing what happens but also I hope for a season two to keep developing him.

Do these kids not normally get homework over the weekend? Lucky. Also a treasure hunt sounds fun! Not sure how that’s homework and what it’s teaching? Maybe the history of the city? Maybe? Or the clues are word problems they have to solve? Well we’ll see what they come up with for it. Kind of hilarious how blatantly everyone hurls paper at Mr. Guzman for that though.

How does the school afford tickets to the water park as prizes? Aww poor kids they’re so devastated that they’re going to be randomly paired. Ohh the heartbreak. I mean. I can’t necessarily relate I uh never had friends in my classes.

Anyways I get Mr. Guzman wants to get the kids to make new friends but I also get the pain especially for a big weekend thing. Oh no. Oh no Hazel when will you learn not to use the word Wish unless you mean it? Wanda’s horrified look was pretty funny though. But oh Hazel may or may not regret that wish I know she’s going to be paired with Dev now.

Lolz Dev and Hazels mini fight is funny but Mr. Guzman should break them up. Hazel you really don’t see why this happened? I think I’ve given up on the questioning Hazel blatantly talking to them it just. Is going to keep being yadda yaddad past. To be fair Hazel you said I wish. You can only blame yourself.

Ohh poor Dev. He can’t even play his game which has music that isn’t very loud at all. Like oof his dad blatantly says his work is a priority over Dev which. Is not an easy pill to swallow. I realize we’re not supposed to like him but he is literally a ten year old being emotionally abused at a minimum by his only parental figure in his life I will always struggle to hold any grudges against literal children especially abused ones okay sue me. (I mean good luck you’ll get like a sandwich and two pencils).

Why am I not surprised Dev wants to ditch a school activity? He seems to believe money will get him anything he wants and well…I can’t argue with the logic as fucked up as that is. I mean it’s wrong morally but it’s not incorrect because capitalism ruins everything.

Ohh so Hazel and Dev have a common book and Game in common? They seem like they could get along really well if Dev wasn’t so spoiled. But ohhh Dev does get the clues right lolz.

I just realized though making ten year plans old walk all over the city by themselves feels kind of cruel. They’re ten and it’s a big city. Also does each pair have their own clues? Like Hazel and Dev keep the post it notes how will the next pair find the next clue unless they’re all different?

Aww Dev and Hazel are having a moment that’s so cute honestly. They get it at the same time and have a little air guitar duet and are laughing. But ohhh the moment has to end. Not surprising I can imagine opening up is not easy for Dev given the glimpses of his home life we got.

He’s starting to smile though that’s progress! Oh OH! He takes off his glasses when he’s finally ready to make a connection (High giving someone) I thought maybe the glasses where like a mask for him and he takes them off when he’s ready to lower the mask and maybe let someone in. Poor kids though fail the high five and face plant hard.

Oh he didn’t put them back on and they laughed despite that oh that’s so cute. I wonder if the pizza stuff did a lot of heavy lifting for getting Dev to be willing to open up to Hazel? That would make sense honestly especially if he’s as starved for affection as I imagine he is.

Seeing him so genuinely smiling is so sweet and cute it makes my heart melt honestly. OHHH HE CALLED HER HAZEL AND NOT ANOTHER NAME!!!! They’re laughing and joking it’s so cute. Aww Hazel is praising Dev to his dad it’s so dang sweet. Oh. Oh no. Dale is brushing it off I hope Dev doesn’t shut down after this.

Oh no he did shut down. Oh poor kid. I feel so bad for him he was so happy and smiling and eager to introduce Hazel to his dad and he just shut him down and his accomplishments so hard. I cannot imagine how crushing it is to have your parent so blatantly brush off the hard work you did especially when it’s something you’re really proud of.

Hazel is trying so hard to reconnect and bring up the fun they had but oof years of emotional abuse do some damage and I’m not sure how easily that can be undone. Ohhh he has really shut down he put the glasses back on and called her the wrong name oof. I think I was right about the glasses being a mask. They hide what his eyes could show as sadness or other emotions he doesn’t want people (his dad) to see. It’s painful seeing such a young kid putting up a mask like this.

Oh I expected Hazel to cry not get mad and leave. Interesting. Also interesting to see Dev seem to immediately regret it and feel bad about it. Unfortunately abuse just. Messes with you. We don’t have any blatant abuse on screen (this is a kids show) but given the neglect Dev faces I struggle to think there isn’t also some major emotional abuse he deals with.

Hazels emotions seem all over the place her being so salty about the sushi. I have a feeling she’s trying to push down the feelings of friendship she was forming with Dev. Oh huh. Didn’t expect Dev to show up again. I guess he really connected with Hazel and just can’t admit it yet. Ohhh Devs insult gave Hazel the clue she needed I love that. Not the insult Hazels mind going back immediately to the project. I didn’t expect the paperweight to be relevant again but hey it works. Oh wow Dev looks super guilty. I kind of expected something to push him but he seems to be doing this all on his own.

Oh Dev lowering his glasses as he re opens up to Hazel. I get that though it makes sense his dad puts him down so much that he would immediately shut down. He is desperate to get something for his dad he’s willing to do a lot to try and get something I don’t think his dad will ever give him. Good on Hazel though for calling out that he hurt her. He owned up which is good but Hazel should call out she got hurt from it. HE SAID SORRY HE SAID SORRY!!!! Aww Hazel forgives him so easily and he removed the glasses again oh my heart.

Wait wait emotional growth wish????? I don’t think that’s ever come up before. Like ever.

Heist yes I love this. Lolz Dev finding doors open over and over again is hilarious. Dev joining on Hazels imagination for the heist is so cute though. And them posing for the security cameras is so funny. Oh more Dev smiles I love it!!!

Ohh I was wondering why he would demand students break into the principles office. That makes more sense and aww. Those photos are so cute. They’re adorable. Protect them at all costs. I do love the principle doesn’t care suddenly because homework over the weekend. Honestly nailed her personality there to solve the conflict.

Oh no the water park closed. Oh the kids will RIOT. THEY NAILED THEIR HIGH FIVE FINALLY!!!!!

Okay so uh. New favorite episode to be quite frank. The wish and its result made sense. The development for Dev worked and Hazel kind of understands Dev more and he’s being more open and not wearing his sunglasses anymore. Also Dev and Hazel are so dang cute. I hope we see him making more friends I need to see this child get love and support damn it. Really really solid episode absolutely loved it I hope we see more of Dev and Hazel hanging out. She clearly has a very good influence on him and he needs that in his life.

[certain-death-awaits]

Character Design Notes: Tanu

This is the first in what will hopefully be a series of Kyoto Animation-style character design sheets. They’re in the style of my animation.

Below the cut are quotes from the books about Tanu’s appearance

One was a hulking Polynesian with a broad nose and cheerful eyes. His tank top revealed massive, sloping shoulders. A thorny green tattoo wreathed his thick upper arm.  He was soft-spoken, with a deep voice and clear enunciation. His playful eyes and mild voice went a long way toward offsetting his otherwise  intimidating appearance.

Dale was tall, but Tanu was half a head taller. And much thicker. He  wore a rugged, long-sleeved shirt and jeans. “Please have a seat”, he  said in his deep, mild voice.

Tanu said, his dark eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

He flashed a broad smile, showing big white teeth.

Wearing an embarrassed grin, Tanu smoothed a hand over his thick, dark hair.

Tanu entered, a tall Samoan with heavy, sloping shoulders. One of his thickly muscled arms hung bandaged in a sling. A satchel bulging with odd shapes dangled from the potion master’s opposite shoulder.

I wasn’t sure about his age, so I kept it ambiguous, with just a few fine lines. Younger than middle-aged. And as for body type, I went for ‘working muscle’ so to speak- bulk that serves a purpose, not the starved look of bodybuilders.

The potion pouch was also difficult. The contents are seemingly limitless, yet it’s merely a pouch, not a bag. And it carries multiple bottles.

For a long time, I’ve been avoiding designing Tanu’s tattoos. The reason I’ve been avoiding it is because it’s a lot of work- each person’s tattoos are different, and most tell the person’s story through symbolism. It’s difficult to find reliable information about them. And the canon material I have to work with is off; typically, black is the only ink colour used, not green.

 Tanu has only visited Samoa, never lived there, but is evidently connected to his culture- one has to be to get tattoos. Brandon Mull doesn’t clarify if he means American Samoa or Independent Samoa. Maybe both. 

Samoan tattoos relate a lot to ancestry, and we don’t know that much about Tanu’s backstory and family. His grandfather died in his sleep peacefully, his father is still alive and lives part time in Arizona, part time in Idaho. He has both brothers and sisters, and a lot of nieces, nephews, and cousins. He’s the eldest child, and everyone wants him to settle down and have kids. 

So, with the help of a Samoan Reddit user, I got to work. There’s a lot of misinformation out there, so their advice was much appreciated. I wanted to include the sunrise, because as well as being a common element, it would represent the Knights of the Dawn. 

Because he’s also our impromptu healer, I wanted to include the turtle, for protection, longevity and wellness. There are a lot of spearheads, too, because as a knight he is a warrior.

[joisbishmyoga]

A friend has convinced me that the Arkenstone is a Silmaril.

- glowing rock

- similar sizes probably. fit on giant evil crowns and in hobbit pockets alike.

- ppl went war-crazy over them

- one of them was lost to a fiery pit

- a lone mountain is very likely to be a former volcano

- Middle-Earth's timeline is stupid in a geological sense anyway so SURE there's plenty of time between the First and Third Ages for a volcano to die and get turned into a dwarven city-state why the heck not ლ(ಠ_ಠ ლ)

This lends itself to a particular logical progression:

- the dwarven lords swore their obedience to the rock, not the line of Durin, after it was found

- this is why they could refuse to go with Thorin to retake Erebor

- this is also why it was so damn important for Thorin to get the Arkenstone specifically ASAP, instead of "eh we'll find it eventually while we're sorting through the treasury"

- they didn't originally intend to slay the dragon as a group of 14, they meant to get the Arkenstone, go back, and command all the dwarves to come attack Smaug

- ANYWAY a key feature of a silmaril is that it burns anyone who doesn't have the right to possess it

- so when Bilbo is like "here's the Arkenstone", Thranduil is like "what the fUCK that is a SILMARIL Gandalf WHAT" and Gandalf is like "WHAT THE FUCVK i mean MY AREN'T HOBBITS INTERESTING LITTLE FELLOWS what the fuck what the fuck"

- and then Thranduil is like "well it isn't burning him so that makes him the rightful owner"

- and then someone, probably one of the dwarves, it would be kind of hilarious if it was Fili or Kili but it could also be Nori (very savvy), Ori (a scribe) or... I think it was Balin who was responsible for teaching the princes things like history idk, ANYWAY one of the dwarves is like "wait doesn't that make Bilbo King of the Dwarves?"

- Thorin is shocked out of his gold madness by the fact that actually no he isn't King Under the Mountain

- "Maybe you can be Consort Under the Mountain if you apologize nicely enough."

- "... Apologizing nicely? Uncle Thorin?"

- "Good point. I guess we'll never be princes again, Kili."

And so Bilbo fixes everything with hobbity practicality and also offends tf out of Thranduil and Gandalf and the dwarves without them being able to do anything about it.

- The dwarves love that Bilbo told Thranduil, very loudly, in front of the entire elven army, that he can fuck right off though his elves are welcome to return to sell food, and he will get his stupid starlight pebbles AFTER all the ACTUAL priorities of feeding and housing everyone, and going through Erebor to assess the city's structural integrity, and washing and uncursing the hoard, and actually sorting through it for Laketown's money and paying the food merchants and dividing heirlooms from liquid assets and etc etc etc have been addressed. And every time Thranduil behaves like a sulky fauntling, his stupid rocks go down one slot on the very. very. long list of priorities.

- (The dwarves are much less pleased to have all the wealth of Erebor called "rocks" and "pebbles" and "mathoms".)

- so get this army off my doorstep NOW Thranduil, or do we have to send missives to all of Middle-Earth that you are an oathbreaker as should've been done a century ago.

- You know. When you broke your treaty of mutual aid to the kings of Erebor. And left thousands of innocent, traumatized survivors to starve to death. It's one thing to refuse to enter a lost battle. It's something entirely different to refuse to help the refugees. Children starved, Thranduil. CHILDREN.

- p.s. You have no idea how badly you, and by extension all of Mirkwood, have offended all of Bilbo's hobbity morals here, Thranduil.

- if Bilbo was even the slightest bit more vindictive, Thranduil would have to abdicate and Legolas would have to rebuild all of Mirkwood's diplomatic ties with a severe handicap. Oathbreaker is a SERIOUS THREAT given what we've seen of Middle Earth societies.

- so considering the Arkenstone just got revealed as a Silmaril, putting that memory right at the top of everyone's minds, there should be PLENTY of elves either old enough or educated enough right there to make the connection between "bloody war over the silmaril rocks" and "bloody war over the starlight rocks" and want NOTHING to do with it tyvm

- Bilbo like "we will NOT be housing anybody in the mountain but the original Company before we've inspected each space for structural safety, no even we aren't just wandering around the mountain willy-nilly, the dragon broke a lot of stuff and a big enough rock fall will break even a dwarf's thick head"

- Bilbo also like "for valar's sake, Bard, take your mob home, set them to salvaging what you can of Laketown and Dale, send messengers to your trading partners that there's a lack of food and enough money to pay for it up here, and bring the salvage up so we can build you all shelters for the winter"

- Bilbo like yes OBVIOUSLY i'm going to feed and house you all, how dare you have to ask

- Bilbo setting Gandalf to breaking rocks on the lee side of the mountain so they need less salvage to build with, oh I'm sorry did you want to help shovel dragon dung instead, ah yes that's what I thought

- idk what this does for the orc army but that's not the point

Bilbo: Seriously, Thranduil, what do you care if it takes another century or two to get some pretty rocks. You're an ELF. You're already fifty thousand years old or something ridiculous like that. Bilbo: You basically let thousands die and went to war over the equivalent of a one-month delay in shipping.

Now, if he'd had ANY sense, instead of being a Karen... Thror: Nope I'm keeping them MINE ALL MINE ALL THE GOLD IS MINE Thranduil: . . . Thranduil: Eh, you'll die off soon enough. I'll just call your descendents until one is sane enough to honor the contract.

Thranduil: We elves have songs longer than this shipping delay. Thranduil: I think I'll go listen to one.

But that did not happen! Instead it was more

Legolas like "dad could u stop being so horrible u are embarrassing our entire family"

Legolas like "dad stop screaming at the teenage cashier over your 25 cent coupon"

Thranduil: I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER

Fili and Kili: ooooh, he wants to speak to the manager~ Bilbo: I AM THE MANAGER

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was DMITRI, a HORSEMAN loyal to the cause of the HORSEMEN. He is said to be IMMORTAL and uses HE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as the HORSEMAN OF CONQUEST. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It is said that there can be no measure of suffering on earth without an equal measure of joy to swallow it, and it is from this longing for luminance and light that the Horseman of Conquest came to be. Where their kindred were plucked from hideous, crooked stars, they were forged to offset the destruction they would harrow. They would overcome it. Carved from a golden tear which had rolled down God’s cheek, they are the only of their kind to be pulled from a moment of euphoria; their birth was wrought from something beyond reproach. Brought forth by the fondness their creator bore His mortal descendants, they are comprised of all of His love—and all of His fear. Yet, they have never felt compelled to harness onslaught, as War might, nor to gouge out the world, as Famine would; they are sumptuous victory, golden mastery, the luxurious triumph over woe. Capable of curing sickness and rehabilitating wounds, Conquest brings solace where else there is only sorrow; he ravens on the pestilence his own kin unleash. A glow of magnificent gold clings to his body and, as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, all creatures flock to hear him speak. Since emerging on the earth, Conquest has amassed a throng of admirers, yet one seems to forget that he, too, was cut for calamity. It is to them that the people typically turn when settling a contract: princely and amenable, one gladly smites themselves on their sword. He straddles above a horse pulled from the empty bowels of Purgatory: a creature so white it seems to have been cut from marble, its ribcage is encased in veins of solid gold. The steed’s mane appears to be made of pure sunlight, which looks at a distance like a crown—not unlike its rider.

THE HISTORY.

When God was at last finished with Creation, He held a knife in His hand. A sculpting knife, yes, a carving knife—but a knife all the same. Veiled in darkness, He stepped into sunlight, spinning the tool between His fingers, and then He slipped it into a disembodied pocket, disappearing as if it had never been. At last, He was finished slicing at the clay. At last, He was satisfied with what He had wrought. A glorious scene shifted on the earth below Him: a forest of radiant green sprouted from every mouth of the earth, golden fruit ripening on branches, and waterfalls spilled down cliff-sides, the night’s dark blanket pulling itself lazily over the horizon. And, at its centre, God’s first children. Adam, and his wife Eve. Though there was much beauty in all that God had coaxed into existence, it was them that He loved the most dearly. It was His children, as finite as sand on the shoreline, that He held most gently in His palm, rolling them over as if they might splinter at his touch. For them, He was willing to cut away slices of Himself, to forge magnificent structures from His own hammered rib, and that is precisely what He did, sculpting a kingdom from the ground up. He plucked them from the earth and took them in His palm, placing them in the palace He’d brought forth—not by His knife, this time, but by the delicate kneading of His hands—and He kept them there, locked away like a secret. Though He only watched over them like an expatriate ruler, God wouldn’t be parted from them. He began to weep; a tear rolled down his cheek and, when it reached the curve of his jaw, it annealed into gold.

God ran His finger along the trail, and when He looked deeply into the alloy, He saw the gaping capacity of His love. More importantly, He glimpsed the creatures that had earned it. His beloved mortals, shaped in His image: as they gormandised themselves on slices of knowledge and carvings of curiosity, God doted upon them at a distance. They will always have my love, He thought, as he watched them wander in the sacred garden, and I will always have theirs; I can bear nothing less. Though the threat of betrayal was a notion that eluded Him, God agonised over the possibility of them being stolen from him. He picked up the knife again, and He began to cut. From the pool of divinity sprouted something infinitely more sacred and impossibly more beautiful: the final Horseman, Conquest, swathed in the universe’s luxurious sunlight. What grew from the morsel of His devotion was much more magnificent, far more worthy of indulgence, than the Creator had ever really intended—indeed, they almost made Him foolish. And yet, He should have expected nothing less, no? Conquest was carved from pure, indomitable love. God took the child in His palm and, for a moment, He considered keeping them there—but He would not. Conquest had been created for something else. Hand-in-hand, He guided His design around the opalescent clouds of Heaven, sating them on gobbets of divinity and slivers of destruction. When God was finished, they could have no doubt in their mind that they had been forged for great, visionary brilliance. Finally pleased with His handiwork, God retrieved the knife once more and, feeling the weight of it in His palm, cut the final slice. He guided Conquest through the gap.

When he landed in Purgatory, however, Conquest saw nothing; he recognised no-one. He was entirely alone. Empty caverns yawned themselves open and the dales within felt hollow as bone; their only burgess was a strange orchid smoke which swept in its mouth. That ethereal shimmer he had once made a home of was nowhere to be found in the middling realm, and though Conquest clung to his brethren in a split second of recognition, he arrived in Purgatory without fellowship, without God, and was completely and utterly alone. Once, they might have eaten the sun raw, taking the stars in their jaw and chewing until they faded into gristle—but here there was nothing to satisfy them, there was nothing to fill them; their chest gouged itself, and Conquest felt like little more than brittle bone. After all, when you have gorged yourself on immortality, honey pooling at the back of your throat, what are bones; what is cartilage and pulp? Yet, for all his ravening, that fond halo of gold still clung to him; even as he wandered down lonely ravines and lost himself in forgotten caverns, a host of unanswered promises his only companions, Conquest shone. Indeed, it wasn’t until they emerged from the hollows, half-starved, that they finally stumbled upon a vestige of life: a duchy of spectres, who might have been mortals once, bowed at his glow. Their gravelly, coarse voices composed reverent songs for him, falling at his feet—and yet, the Horseman of Conquest was not worshipped, as God had predicted, but loved. For a moment, the pledge of ruination ebbed from his view. For centuries, aeons, eternities, he was their shiny prophet and beloved prince, and when that phosphorescent slice appeared once more, the purgatorial kingdoms of his kin pulled together as one, he paused. Yet where the Horsemen went, they too were condemned to follow.

As Conquest emerged from the split, he almost felt himself recoiling backward, as if he might slip again into Purgatory’s dusky depths. The New World was so bright and garish; the earth was so full of colour—certainly, the sight of it struck him, but still he stood fast. Everything he saw was what he’d unknowingly sacrificed in stepping through God’s tear, and he embraced it. As if feeding on the great light around them, their glow of gold only grew brighter; more sheer. They felt, in an insoluble way, strangely reborn. As if a crucial fragment had returned itself to them. When War bowled violently forwards, binding bloodshed like unshakeable chains around their wrists, the rest of their kind could only follow, for what else was there? Their purpose had been stolen from them; they were required to carve out another. Conquest was more than happy to tug behind them, yet the further they travelled the further their appetite widened; the more they hankered to dig their fingers into the earth and know it, the more they yearned to learn the name of every face concealing a soul. He felt himself curiously returned to that first plant of his creation. Certainly, he made himself into something far more than a mere killer for hire: as he passed through waves of admirers, seas of lovers, he became a healer, a gladiator, a mouthpiece to which all turned to listen; as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, humankind embraced him eagerly. Crafted from God’s love, the mortals seemed resolved to return it to them tenfold. For as many people that loved him, however, there were just as many who forgot he, too, was a vessel of ancient power to be feared: though he shone brighter than the stars, moon, and sun, something hollow lingers in his chest, never far from infection. Like broken bone. But rebirth is a form of triumph, no? It is victory, conquest. The kingdom splayed before them seems to be contrived in their image, hungering hands reaching out to grasp them, yet something rotten threatens to scatter in their chest. Is one truly a Horseman once they renege on their promise of devastation?

THE CONNECTIONS.

NERISSA, RYUK & VIKTORIA: Fellowship. Though they are each as different as Heaven and Hell, it is impossible to part them. The same ghost of grief lingers between their ribs, a sorrow-stricken cord of God’s creation ensnaring them into belonging; such, they had learned long ago, was their fate. They bleed into each other. Dmitri, though, is not like the others—each Horseman is as ravenous as the next, but Dmitri hasn’t hungered in a long time; instead, he yearns. Nevertheless, even as he addresses a drove of listeners, a glorious halo of gold settling itself like a crown above his brow, his companions always remain within his periphery. Even as they press their triumphant palms to bruises and wounds, the flesh stitching itself back together, they are their familiars, their shadows, and they never wander far from their view. Where one Horseman walks, all Horsemen walk. And yet, Dmitri feels the bonds loosening at his wrists; he feels himself wandering freely, tunnelling his hands into the earth, going where no Horseman can follow. What, then, would occur if their fellowship dissolved? Embraced so fully by humankind, he begins to ruminate whether he was truly carved from calamity, or whether he is something else entirely. War is composed of murderous rage, while Ryuk communes with the shadows, yet there is something in Viktoria which Dmitri would lament most severely to leave behind. One the architect, the other the mediator, they are two woe-written souls that naturally lean into each other. Yet, he admires them all with equal regard. For now, he is satisfied with his place among them. Tearing themself from their kin is not something they should ever like to do, but one surely wonders: how does an angel find themselves in the company of monsters?

ABADDON: Flicker. Whispers had reached him long before she had. There is something awfully melancholy in this creature, something terribly tragic, and it whets his fascination—it had done so since the first whisper, and when their eyes had fallen upon each other in those dusky dungeons, something bright had sparked. Whether such an event should be accredited to the flames that flickered along the walls of her Black Cells, carving out shadows were else there was only the yawn of darkness, or whether it should else be recognised as a symbol of their connection—well, Dmitri couldn’t possibly say. He hasn’t unearthed enough of her yet. Since their first encounter, Abaddon’s dungeons have proved purposeful, their exploits typically guided by the ravening appetite of Nerissa and their architect’s steady hand; yet, as far as their deeds go, as far as the necessity lies, Dmitri often finds that his visits have none at all. He seeks out the calming mien which falls strangely above her, draping over her shoulders like a soft shawl. It is a summon that they cannot ignore. They must answer it. God had taught them to lean into their emotions, once, and thus he behaves accordingly—though Dmitri finds himself enamoured by her influence, Abaddon seems to shy away, merely dancing beneath his gaze rather than embracing it. He supposes that is her right. Nevertheless, they often find themself thinking: have they not earned a slice of peace?

JUDAS: Debtor. It is a sour taste, to be indebted to one so false; to feel the burden of a debt to one so purposefully dishonest. And yet, here he is, like prey caught in a trap, his neck placed hopelessly beneath Judas’s sword. Dmitri knows nothing of schemes, nothing of fraudulence or contrived designs, yet he knows well that he has been ensnared within a dark web—he knows just how it feels to be held captive, and that is precisely what he is. Judas’s captive. Their happening upon each other was what might have been a chance occurrence, though Dmitri knows it was anything but: one moment, they had been cutting down Heretics as effortlessly as breathing, and then they were swept under a sea of them—it was then that Judas had cut the assailant down. They owe him. And yet, Judas does not strike the venomed fang; he asks for nothing. Each time that they negotiate a new contract, Dmitri expects the demon to haggle, to strike a more lenient price, and yet—he does not. What, they think, is he waiting for? What does he want? But he says nothing. In fact, neither of them speak a word on the topic. Something in his chest, however, flips over in warning. Judas must be searching for something, must be hoping to reach into their ribs and coax out a prize of some sort, but what? Only time, they suppose, can tell.

EPHEMERA: Revelry. They are exactly alike, and yet they are also poles apart. Such is their dance. The creature presented before him is strange, he admits, and has become a mystery he hopes to unpick at the seams; something more must linger behind her fractured gaze, he’s convinced of it. The moments that they come together are full of permeable tension, the vibrations of revelry bouncing between one body and another: there is such violence in their interactions, and yet there is an indomitable recognition concealed between their half-glances; they share the intimacy of sincerity. One ought to feel honoured that such a dissatisfied creature as Ephemera might deign to offer a morsel of her attention to them, yet Dmitri refuses to bow his neck in falsified reverence. Indeed, they have committed to the opposite, circling above like a hawk—like an animal which has caught the rotting scent of offal, swooping down. As they circle around each other, they are beasts that sniff, bark, and bite. Theirs is a curiosity born from monsters. After all, how does such a stoic creature come to express interest in a prophet? And how, too, does the prince-like figure of the Holy Land, as admired as he is flocked toward, come to find himself ensnared by the curiously cold moments, the invincible icy gaze of a being such as Ephemera? In the wariness, however, an affinity has stemmed between them. Does not a predator first size up its prey before choosing to pounce?

Dmitri is portrayed by Kim Woo-bin and was written by CAS. He is currently TAKEN by EMS.

[fairyqueenofthedragons]

To Save a Life (I Would Face the World)

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Warning: uh, traitor warren, manipulations, etc. Don’t read if you like happy endings.

Second to last chapter! Yay!

________________________________________

Ronodin came into their room.

It was more comfortable then their previous cell had been.

It had a window for one, and a connected bathroom.

All the furniture was bolted down, it was all impossible to break (and they’d tried). There were clean clothes in their size in the dresser, there were soft socks, comfy pillows, plenty of food.

Ronodin came in and smiled at them gently.

They couldn’t bring forth the effort to glare back.

“Would you like to sit?”

He tilted his head towards the couch.

They sat. What else could they do now?

“I’m very sorry that your escape went so roughly. It’s good you were found when you were though. You were right on the path of a manticore nest. That would’ve ended badly wouldn’t it’ve?

Kendra swallowed, Seth sat straight.

Neither spoke.

“It’s okay though! Cause you’re safe and sound here once more. Do you like the new room? It’s comfy right? I tried to make it comfy.”

“It’s fine,” Kendra mumbled.

“That’s great! How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Anything I can get you so you’ll be more comfortable?”

“Why?” Seth asked.

“Why what princeling?” Ronodin tilted his head in curiosity.

“Why are you making us comfortable? Why aren’t you putting us in a cell? Why aren’t you hurting us? Trying to turn us against our family!?” Seth breathed hard, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his frustration built. “Just… why?”

Ronodin’s gaze seemed to soften, “Oh you poor little royals, I’m not going to put you in an uncomfortable cell. And I’m certainly not going to starve you, or harm you. I’m not a monster.”

“You tried to kill us,” Kendra pointed out helpfully.

“I wasn’t really trying to kill you, in fact I saved your life at least three times.”

Kendra frowned.

“Look little royals-“

“Why do you call us that?”

He hummed, “Becaaaauuuussee, you’re basically the fairy princess, dear old auntie gave you direct access to all her power, then didn’t teach you to use it but anyways, and little princeling is, one: Your brother, and two: basically prince of the underlands. The King there did offer his crown to you at least twenty-seven times.”

Seth frowned, “I remember like three times.”

“Well, most of the times were him telling me to make you accept the crown, but I digress.”

Seth jerked, “WHAT?!”

“Anyways, little royals, you don’t have to get involved in this war. It’s almost over anyways. They’re missing key players on their side, two are dead, one is on my side, you two are here which makes them a tad hesitant to attack any of my forces-“

“What do you mean two are dead? I know-“ She faltered, “I know about… Vanessa…”

“Ah… I suppose you haven’t heard? I’m... very sorry to be the one to bear the news then," He paused to give them an apologetic look. "Dale died in an incident with a fog giant some time ago.”

They froze, “Wha-what?”

“Him and Warren were running some errands and were attacked. Warren was badly injured, though his is fully recovered now, Dale unfortunately perished.”

Kendra choked back a sob, before burying her face in her hands.

“I am very sorry for your loss.” Ronodin looked on with a sympathetic expression.

Seth latched onto his sister with a sniff, acting as if he didn’t need the comfort as well.

“Well, you two are welcome to stay here, safe and sound. I won’t let anyone harm you.” He smiled gently, reaching out to pat their heads.

“Is it a choice? Or are we trapped here?”

“Well, I suppose you’re a little trapped, if only because they’ve taken to killing my people on sight so I’m not sending anyone to tell them where they could pick you up. So you have to stay, at least for a bit.”

Kendra lowered her gaze, wondering why they would kill his people? Sure, they’re bad, but, didn’t they try not to kill? As much as possible? And anyways... wouldn't capturing be better? If only to get information

Was killing really necessary?

“Plus, you know," Ronodin waved his hand. "The war has gotten fairly violent., and I’m not sending children out into it. Only a truly cruel person would do that. So you can stay here until things calm down!”

Kendra slowly nodded, leaning into Seth.

Was them being kids a big deal? They'd always been sent into dangerous situations...

“Okay,” Kendra muttered.

They didn't have much of a choice after all...

“Wonderful," he clapped his hands. "Once again, I am terribly sorry for your loss, let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, there’s a bell in the drawer by the beds, you can ring it for help, and do take care of yourself.”

He leaned forward with a gentle smile, “Your safety is our top priority. Children are sacred you know.”

He stood then, peering down at them, “Get some rest, little royals.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

“Hmm?” He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Where’s… where’s Warren?”

“Ah, he’s out, doing some mission for the dragon knights of dawn I suppose.”

“Oh…”

“I’ll send him to you when he returns.”

“… Thank you,” It was said so softly if he hadn’t had enhanced hearing he’d of missed it.

He nodded and left.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Ronodin smirked as he stepped out of the room.

The cute kids, they were so small, so young, and so desperate.

It wouldn’t take much more.

It might take time, but a few gentle comments, some light manipulation... he could do it.

And sending Warren to speak with them would do a lot for turning them to his side.

Soon, soon the light side would learn.

After all, who was gonna attack those kids? The fairy queen would have their heads.

Just a few more months.

Everything was going according to plan.

[mouldyrubbish]

sitting here starving but not knowing what to cook myself and with a hand down my pants because its comfortable and i think about Dale again too often since he left me a bunch of missed calls on my phone at 1 am the other night when i was upstairs at Kians dads house sleeping while my phone was on charge and I haven’t stopped wondering why he was so desperate to talk to me and what the cryptic message he sent me after all of it ‘I’m sorry Tahlia’ (Tahlia is his fiancee) meant its all too much for me really I can’t get out of my head that Dale and I are meant to be together and I have been thinking about how beautiful he is and I’ve been wanting to write him a letter that I then fold up and wax stamp seal and place away into my box of things that remind me of him to then read to him another day 10 years in the future. I miss having sex with him as well not in a horny way in a way where I deeply deeply miss having a connection with him and sex was always amazing with him but now sex is empty and depressing and I hate myself... Wish I could teleport back in time and try to salvage things. I’m surrounded by a hoard of items I’ve collected to compensate for my emptiness...

[eleiszon-blog]

The Redemption of MIKE

It’s generally accepted that MIKE has turned a corner in his old evil ways. Yet I make no secret of my view that good and evil are ultimately inapplicable to the Other entities. MIKE does not fight for good. He fights for himself. Meanwhile BOB was born an eater of agony. He is no more evil than a hungry lion with nothing left of food save his tamer. A guy’s gotta eat. Not his fault. Human morality is a useful lens through which to experience these entities but it is irrelevant in any true sense. Truly evil or not, MIKE and BOB were once partners in crime. They even had their own M.O. But MIKE turned, took off an arm to remove the ‘mark’ of the devilish one. His tale is ambiguous...And so, naturally, open for interpretation. I’ve noted before that I define canon, in regard to Twin Peaks, as ‘anything which adds to the whole picture for me’. Bearing that criteria in mind, this entry will incorporate minor pieces of the international pilot and hold them fully canonical. So here we go. MIKE begins by reciting the iconic poem. I won’t go over each line again but I’ve noted before that I take ‘the magician’ as a title moreso than a person - I.E., it would be more proper to say ‘the magicians’. Jeffries became one. Dale is certainly on his way. That done, MIKE informs Dale that ‘we lived above it’. He is referencing a convenience store. Notably, he says “I think you say...Convenience store.” - The very concept comes across as rather alien to him. Jeffries also referred to the store in FWWM and, since the Return, we know that store was the ‘not real’ place called the Dutchman’s. He also mentions that he’s been waiting “over a year” for BOB to resurface. This suggests that BOB had hidden himself for some time, that MIKE was not initially aware of his host’s identity. 

When they do track BOB to the basement, he is working with a circle of candles. Twelve in number, a dirt mound in the center. Simulacrum of Glastonbury Grove. Obviously, tracking BOB here can’t work within continuity but in FWWM, Philip Gerard (hosting MIKE) is seemingly meditating beside a similar construct just before he rushes off to the train car. It strikes me as a manner of ‘Other’ radar, a particular ritual aimed toward detecting other spirits on Earth. MIKE was tracking BOB’s precise location to get the ring to Laura. BOB’s setup would alert him if MIKE came too close. Indeed, that very thing happens as BOB becomes suddenly aware of MIKE’s yet-unseen presence. (This awareness is accompanied by a sound of Tibetan singing bowls, seemingly heard only by BOB, and heard again later as the Little Man rubs his hands together in Cooper’s dream vision.)

Just prior to MIKE’s announced proximity, BOB mentions that he “wanted to sing with him again”. He then proceeds to recite a poem which I believe to be what they used to ‘sing’ together: Heads up, tails up (Heads up - alertness. Tails ‘up’ - turn and flee.) Running to your scallywag (’Scallywag’ being a colloquial endearment of old pirate slang, this line marks the spirits as having worked together for a LONG time, and could be interpreted as ‘Run to your friends!’, the implication being that it’s a futile effort and would only net them more prey.) Night falls, morning calls (They hunt at night. Good luck surviving ‘til the sun.) Catch you with my death bag (The ‘death bag’ is the plastic that wraps their victims. A final remark about the prey’s inevitable doom.) The whole is a sinister, mocking affair. I imagine the two indeed ‘sang’ it together while they chased or otherwise tormented. I also favor the idea that the kill site was at Glastonbury Grove. The black pool of ‘scorched oil’ is fear of the victim manifest. Notably, the stench of it is detected during Jacques’ murder as well.

So that’s that. MIKE and BOB killed, gleefully and with some degree of macabre ritual, together for perhaps as long as three centuries. ...So what happened? Well, as MIKE tells it, he was ‘marked by the devilish one, a tattoo on the left shoulder’. He amputated to be rid of this mark but what was it? Most presume it was ‘Fire, walk with me’ based on BOB’s own tattoo. (Phillip Gerard swears it was ‘Mom’ but I consider this a false notion planted to cover for the mark’s inexplicable presence otherwise. What Phillip Gerard recalls is not true.) The purpose of the removal is never even suggested but I take it to be a means of access. ‘The devilish one’ is theoretically JUDY so a ‘Fire, walk with me’ from her (it?) would refer strictly to a black fire, as on Hawk’s living map. The mark then was like a leash, a tether to negative forces that barred any communion with the positive forces opposite JUDY. I take it that when he changed, he struck the mark away as swift and final as possible as both a sign of revolt and to gain contact with the Fireman.

“When I saw the face of God, I was changed...” Initially, this dialogue reads of an obviously Christian bent. Meh. After the Return, many take ‘god’ to be the Fireman. That fits but I’m not convinced. Rather, I think the ‘face of god’ he saw was the Dutchman.

In writing about the FWWM meeting, I’ve connected the Dutchman to the monkey both by the imagery of Pierre’s mask and in that a monkey is a screeching animal creature of lesser status, akin to the Dutchman’s same primal cries. By comparison, I’ve described JUDY as an organ grinder - the higher mind which enslaves and directs the beast. The Dutchman is its own entity in some right but also effectively an intra-Lodge avatar of JUDY, her ‘Arm’ if you will. JUDY being the ‘god’ in some sense of the Black Lodge denizens, this makes the Dutchman “the face of God”. The face of God is a mindless, shrieking beast of burden. A slave agent void of real speech or will. The presumed endgame for any servants of JUDY. MIKE has had no swaying of ethics. He is simply horrified by his peek behind the curtain. In FWWM, he battles BOB for the immediate goal of bringing him to heel for his share of garmonbozia. In Twin Peaks, he’s swayed specifically to oppose JUDY (BOB simply being the primary antagonist for the moment) but remains more or less amoral regarding how he does it or who is damaged. In the Return, he’s right on Coop’s side of finding (and ostensibly destroying) JUDY directly, even being protective of Dale to that end. JUDY isn’t pleased with it either. MIKE languishes in the Waiting Room anchored in a human vessel. What’s more, the vessel ages despite being in a ‘timeless’ space. Why? He’s being starved of garmonbozia. He’s out of the club. He has been sentenced to a limbo existence, ultimately to be followed by true death, for his treachery. MIKE is redeemed not by goodness but, paradoxically given the nature of the Black Lodge, by fear. Fear of what JUDY means for him at the endgame.

[talizorahs]

1, 19, and 27 for your favourite Dragon Age ship!

thank you so much norro!!! im going to do this for my platonic otp, alhorn and diri. they are my dual inquisitors and develop a sibling-like relationship in canon.

1. How did they meet? What was their first impression of one another?

they meet for the first time three times. the first time, diri’s cockiness injures alhorn in a magical accident that costs him his position in clan lavellan. he receives a brain injury and is sent away to the alienage for care, but escapes and is never seen again. diri feels terrible, but pushes on, as after the accident she is still selected to be the keeper’s first. she thinks of alhorn often.

the second time, alhorn tries to stop diri from touching the elvhen orb. he’s not fast enough, and diri receives the mark, but he is dragged into the fade with her. after waking up in haven, he’s mute and a cole-like presence. diri brushes him off when dealing with her new position as herald.

the third time, alhorn suffers a bad seizure at diri’s hands when her awakened-rift magic touches his magical injury. this episode has diri realise exactly who alhorn is. the conversation that follows is harsh, with diri confronting her guilt about that day she injured him, and again with the seizure episode. they turn to solas to study the magic suddenly connecting them, and quickly grow close. alhorn becomes the ying to diri’s yang.

19. What would they do if the other person was hurt?

diri would protect him to her last breath -- and she does. after the severe seizure, she stands vigil at his bedside, and attends sessions with solas constantly until they can understand what is causing alhorn’s illness. she cares for him and his well-being deeply. she dies for him in the finale, taking corypheus’s blade, and the blade taking her life.

alhorn is quite similar, caring for diri deeply even before she realises who he is. he would fight for her, subject himself to magic for her, and do anything he could to avenge her death post-inquisition. he becomes inquisitor in an attempt to re-build as she had wanted -- for the elves, for the dales, and for an understanding of dalish culture. except, she’s not dead, cast to the fade by solas in a last bid to save her life. her return occurs at the end of the trespasser, and she’s sick -- two years in the fade has her body (and mind, somewhat) decay. he cares for her, despite his duties as inquisitor, and ensures she is safe from solas.

27. One headcanon you have about this OTP

platonic touching. alhorn is incredibly touch-starved and will indulge in fixing this with diri. she’s a bit funny about it at first, but as they grow closer, it’s not uncommon to see them hugging, or holding hands, or sitting hip-to-hip. when diri falls out of the fade, alhorn cradles her, won’t let her go until she’s safely in dorian’s care (his LI). even then, he sits at her bedside, taking her hand and smoothing back her dirtied hair.

[laughingpinecone]

1413w, Tammy, Candie, Tammy/Candie, Tammy/Cynthia. Yuletide fic for @turndownyourlights!

Special Agent Tammy Preston took out her phone. A warm, late afternoon lingered in the outskirts of Las Vegas, and the café’s tables had just been touched by the growing shadow of the statue that towered over the plaza. She took it all in - the heavy air, the light blue of the sky giving way to the first hues of sunset. And she forced herself to look down at her phone again. Poetry wouldn't help, at least not right off the bat.

     Dear    …, she typed, holding her breath, and erased the word just as quickly.

     Lieutenant Knox    , she tried again. No cigar. Too formal. Was there a style guide for texts, in the year of our Lord 2017? The temptation to pull up the browser and look up some strict, established rules to follow was strong, but Tammy knew herself and knew that she would spend three hours reading it from top to bottom only to eventually lose heart altogether. She uncrossed one leg, crossed the other one, curled a lock of hair around her fingers and prayed that the twice-disappeared Mr Jones would call it in for the day and get outta the Lucky Seven building real soon, if only to put her out of her misery. She needed to see him with her own eyes, this man who was and yet was not Agent Cooper, whose wedding ring had been found in a dead man's stomach: Special Agent Tammy Preston did not leave a case half tangled up in who knows what nonsense.

 And yet that was not what was breeding butterflies in her own stomach.

 The phone was too daunting. The situation called for the drafting of an action plan.

 The two pages Tammy filled in five portentous minutes looked like the world's tidiest conspiracy wall, size mignon to fit inside her beloved damask journal. At the center of it all was Major Briggs, tied with Jones’ wedding ring. Connected to it, all they had found out about the circumstances of his death. Then a row of questions starring Mr Douglas Jones: if he was Dale Cooper, and Dale Cooper had disappeared before her very eyes, what foul play had brought him back to this life and not at Gordon's side? Could this be a shape-shifting alien taking Cooper-as-Jones’ place? Could she at least play it off as a joke? The USAF digs UFOs, right? Tammy could swear there were some similarities between this story and the pile of bizarre celluloid trash commonly known as The Hidden (1986) - she wondered if rewatching that movie while sober would emphasize them or reveal a blander plot than the one her wine had concocted...

 A flash of bright pink blindsided her.

 “What wonderful      luck    !” cooed a familiar voice. Tammy had only heard it in passing, months earlier in Twin Peaks’ Sheriff station, a curious chat, perfunctory interviews, but the Mitchums’ aides weren't the kind of girls you'd forget. And with her feather proudly bobbing to the right of her perm, and a more angular face compared to the softer features of her colleagues, this had to be none other than finger food boss herself, Candie. True to form, she was carrying a plate of sandwiches, which she put down next to Tammy's coffee. “It's the beautiful lady from the Federal Bureau of Investigations!”

 Tammy blinked at that fluttery pink mass of enthusiasm. Why yes, thank you, that's how she strove to be remembered, especially by beautiful ladies from other walks of life. She straightened up her shoulders and flipped her hair behind her back with faux nonchalance.

 When the woman bent down to get a look at her notes, asking with her trademark slo-mo intensity whether she was writing a      letter    , as if no action in the history of humankind had ever been more awe-inspiring than that of putting pen to paper, Tammy snapped her journal close and stuffed it in her bag.

 “I am requesting backup.”

 “Is there… danger?”

 “Not… the situation is not dangerous.” Curt and professional, Preston, she could still hear in her mentor's voice. Speaking of whom, the only real danger was for Albert to know about this, any of this, it was the kind of mess that would break his heart all over again and there was really no need for that. Going back to tailing Cooper's shadow was heavy enough for her too, some emotional backup would have been nice, but she was a grown girl who could handle herself. It was just that…

 They stared at each other for a full row of seconds. It didn't matter how many; the part of Tammy that had trained herself to acknowledge appropriate behavior screamed awkward, but it got drowned in an instant. She'd been granted a time to admire and to be admired, as simple and full of beauty as the curves of Candie's curls.

 “...you want to see this backup, then,” came Candie's eventual, thoughtful reply.

 It may have taken the pink lady a while, but lag or no lag, she'd seen right through her and Tammy could only nod, a little bashful. Her job didn't leave her many chances to meet people she might wanna ask out for a drink, and even if it did, it would take a small-scale miracle to make a stronger first impression than Lt. Cynthia Knox, strong and tall and quick to smile. They had shared precisely one drink at the Mayfair hotel's bar in Buckhorn before Knox

 hopped on her flight back to the Pentagon, a drink and a promise to call each other if they ever happened to pass through Philly or Washington respectively.

 “And it is hard to call? Your backup?”

 Another bashful nod. After the year Tammy spent dragging her feet against all impulses to go native in the      other     Washington with its trees and cherry pies, anxiety told her that she would've needed a very good reason to just pop in the Lieutenant's notifications all of a sudden. And surely, this was it: an unbelievable new lead on the loose ends of the Briggs case was her occasion served on a silver platter. If only she could muster up the words.

 “It is very hard.”

 “How can it be? In this beautiful world…” A smile crept on Candie's face, distant, lost beyond her thoughts, but as warm as the sunset that was painting them both in hues of gold. “Can you believe it? We can press a button and tell everything, to everyone, in the whole world. In this life, how is it possible to want something and keep it all inside? Doesn't it make you too sad to breathe? ...would you like a kiss?”

 “I beg your pardon?”

 “A kiss, from me to you. As encouragement! And…”

 Tammy sat up and waited for her to catch up with her own sentence. Would she like a kiss? The plain black coffee she'd been drinking couldn't have possibly gone to her head, not even a little bit, so her flushed cheeks were all Candie's doing. Were some things that simple? Her porcelain doll looks, all silk and laces and big shiny pendants, had caught Tammy's eyes from the get-go. But if talking to a colleague was hard work already, approaching the strange woman under the uniform had felt like the stuff of legends. And yet.

 “...I'm taking my own advice,” Candie concludes. Would you like a kiss?”

 Tammy nodded, transfixed.

 Candie knelt down, laid two fingers on Tammy's lips and locked eyes with her, and once again Tammy could let her whole world be Candie, her rich perfume and the sharp line of her nose, the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes and, this time, the languid touch of her mouth, soft, covered in strawberry balm. She stayed there, lips against lips as the sun went down - time didn't matter with this girl.

 Eventually, and it was still too soon, Candie bounced back up and slowly focused on the tray she'd left on the café's table as if seeing it for the first time. “I've gotta go! Mister Mullins must be starving!”

 Tammy bit her lip. It still tasted like strawberries.

 “Thank you, Candie,” she said. What a beautiful world indeed. “Let me… know if you ever need encouragement yourself?”

 “Sure thing!”

 And off she went, leaving Tammy alone with her cold coffee, her phone and a big dumb smile that just wouldn't go away.

 Were some things that simple?

     Cynthia, I know it's been a while...  

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

@ainedubh​ asked:

Regarding your tags on the Lady Stark interiority / Tolkien thing, I feel like if Tolkien was ASKED about Bard or Thranduil's wives he would absolutely want to talk about them. "Oh, these are their names, and they mean this, and this is their entire ancestral line, and they met like this and their courtship went like this and..." Like, he wanted every detail fleshed out, and would never blow off a fan asking for them, even if he had to make it up then and there.

Hey, @ainedubh​! @joannalannister​’s a little overwhelmed with asks at the moment, and as your question was in reference to the tags she wrote in reply to my post and tags about Tolkien and female representation, she forwarded it on to me, hope you don’t mind! Note, she also deleted that post (because she reblogged another one with a further reply), so I can’t recall exactly what they said, but IIRC in reply to my tags:

#jrr tolkien #may have an awful proportion of female characters but every single one of them has interiority #that grrm is a tolkien fan makes me facepalm every time i read that interview

she wrote something wondering about Bard’s dead wife and Thranduil’s dead wife, both of whom are non-existent (except for Thranduil’s being used as a manpain plot device in the Hobbit movies), and are something she’s groused about before in reference to the Dead Ladies Club.

Now, I pretty much agree with you regarding Tolkien probably responding with lots of details if anyone asked. (I haven’t read most of his letters, but they’re quite educational and entertaining.) But the thing is, well, the problem of the missing wives is really a movie problem, not a book problem? That is to say, it’s a function of Peter Jackson’s adaptation, rather than a problem innate in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit (except for certain elements I’ll get to in a moment).

See, in The Hobbit (the book), Bard isn’t a father, and neither is the Elvenking. (Who isn’t named Thranduil in the book; he’s not given a name or history at all.) Oh, we learn in LOTR that they are fathers, sure, because Brand son of Bain son of Bard is said to be ruling Dale, and Legolas son of Thranduil is a messenger to Elrond (and of course becomes a major character in the trilogy). But in The Hobbit, these men are barely sketched out. They have no known family, no known children, no known wives... and that’s pretty typical of almost all the non-central characters of the book. They exist to play roles, they have a certain amount of characterization and interiority, there are sometimes brief references to ancient history, but other than that they’re barely people, they’re just kind of there.

Elrond, for example, hosts the dwarves and finds the moon-letters on the map; but he has no children (Elladan and Elrohir and Arwen), he has no wife (Celebrian, who went to Valinor for solace), he has no parents (Earendil and Elwing), he has no in-laws (Galadriel and Celeborn) -- he just is, merely Elrond master of Rivendell, “noble and fair and wise”, who “comes into many tales”, but only has a small part in Bilbo’s. And that’s because, (a) The Hobbit is a children’s book, with a first-person narrator telling the story, far less complex and developed than the later Lord of the Rings, and (b) The Hobbit was written fairly early on in Tolkien’s works, before he’d even created most of Middle Earth and its characters. (And the information Tolkien had developed already, he wisely left out of The Hobbit for simplicity’s sake, except for the occasional tantalizing reference to the legendarium here and there.)

So it was with Bard and the Elvenking in the book. Bard is a “grim-voiced” descendant of the last king of Dale, he doesn’t think the dwarves’ adventure will bring gold to Laketown, he can understand the speech of thrushes, he has a lucky black arrow that he uses to slay Smaug, he helps lead the people of Laketown after its destruction and during the Battle of Five Armies, and becomes king of the rebuilt Dale at the end. That’s it. The king of the elves of northern Mirkwood hosts feasts in the forest, gets ticked off when the dwarves keep flailing into them (because they’re lost and starving) and disturb the giant spiders, gets further annoyed when the captured dwarves won’t explain what their mission is, has another feast during which Bilbo helps the dwarves escape, helps the people of Laketown after its destruction, loves jewels and has an old grudge against dwarves (not the dwarves of Erebor, probably related to the Elf-Dwarf enmity of the First Age), leads the Elves in the Battle of Five Armies, etc. But both these men are just simple characters, with no connection to any other characters other than being a member of a race and their leadership, they have no families, barely any background.

However, because Peter Jackson’s adaptation of the Hobbit became three movies, putting a 300-page kids’ book on the same epic level of the 1200-page LOTR, the simplicity of those characters was no longer enough. Legolas becomes a major character in the story, as does Thranduil, and their relationship is prominent. Thranduil gains a deeply personal motivation for his enmity with Thorin’s people and his desire for the Arkenstone (he contracted a necklace from Thorin’s grandfather for his wife, and was cheated out of it), a reason to keep Legolas out of the fighting (his wife was kidnapped by orcs and tortured to death), an angsty thing about love, and much more. Thus the fact that his wife isn’t even named makes her very much a Dead Mother trope and Dead Ladies Club member (LOTR edition). Bard’s example is much less egregious -- however, he too was far more developed with a much greater heroic role, and given three children who also play roles in the story (the daughters are wholly inventions of the movies, as is the son’s personality and actions), and a prominently nonexistent dead unnamed wife. 

So to be quite honest, these Dead Ladies of the Hobbit movies are Peter Jackson’s fault, not Tolkien’s. (Or Guillermo del Toro, or whoever wrote those parts of the scripts, but I’m going to assume PJ.) Yes, it is Tolkien’s fault that by LOTR Legolas is introduced and we know that he’s the son of Thranduil son of Oropher but his mother isn’t mentioned at all -- but hell, if PJ could invent Tauriel, could invent so much about movie-Thranduil (elk riding! dragonfire burns on his face that he hides by magic!), the fact that he made Thranduil’s wife a huge part of his backstory but didn’t bother giving her a name... that’s all on him, sorry. As for Bard’s son Bain, he’s only mentioned in LOTR because humans aren’t as long-lived as dwarves and hobbits and therefore the king of Dale by that point had to be Bard’s grandson, and Brand barely exists but to be in Gimli’s reports that the Black Riders had asked him questions, and to fall in battle in the northern front of the War of the Ring. (Alongside Dain; and that story is only briefly mentioned in the ROTK appendix.) That is to say, yes Tolkien didn’t create Bard’s wife either, but lbr he barely created her son. The fact that in the Hobbit movies Bard’s a widower with 3 kids with no mention of his wife’s personality or name or what happened to her is, again, all on Peter Jackson.

Now, I’m not excusing Tolkien for his severe lack of female characters, especially in the Hobbit. (I think Tauriel’s a great addition to the movies, and only wish they’d gone further with more.) But to reiterate, when Tolkien does have female characters, they all get stories, or close to it in the case of very minor background characters. In the Hobbit consider the “remarkable” Belladonna Took, Bilbo’s mother (who should have been developed in the movies more since they were adding so much already I’m just saying). In LOTR, besides Gilraen, even dead mothers such as Finduilas, Theodwyn, and Morwen get personality sketches. And the Silm goes much much further with women, there’s a huge variety there, minor and major.

Aaaanyway, yes. I do think that if asked, Tolkien would have given tons of details about Legolas’s mother, her history and lineage. (And whether she was still living at the time of the Hobbit and LOTR -- I very much doubt that whole captured by orcs thing would have been part of it, as that’s pretty much a copy of poor Celebrian’s story.) Maybe not so much detail in the case of Bard’s wife (I’d imagine she was also a descendant of the men of Dale), but probably a name at least. But I really don’t think that Tolkien would have ever done the GRRM sort of answer of “Lady Stark. She died.”, or a “I don’t know, probably dead by that time” (re Sandor’s mother’s whereabouts at his burning).

Ah, if only Tolkien had done that 1960s rewrite of The Hobbit (to bring it more in line with the style of LOTR) and not abandoned it...

[doomonfilm]

Review : Doctor Sleep (2019)

When you think about authors that have made an impact on the film industry, it’s hard to think of a name more prolific that Stephen King.  Countless books of his have been adapted into films, with scores more waiting in the wings.  Several of his books went from being single entries to series, and recently, one of his most famous books, The Shining, received a follow-up entry.  2019 saw this follow-up hit the big screen in the form of Mike Flanagan’s Doctor Sleep. 

In the wake of the Overlook Hotel tragedy, Wendy Torrance (Alex Essoe) and her young son Danny (Roger Dale Floyd) have moved to Florida to try and bring normalcy back to their lives.  Danny, who is in a state of shock due to narrowly escaping the Overlook with his life, has not spoken since the incident, but with the help of Dick Hallorann (Carl Lumbly), Danny learns how to trap the ghosts from the Overlook in his head.  Meanwhile, a group known as the True Knot, led by the mysterious Rose the Hat (Rebecca Ferguson), seeks those with the Shining in hopes of capturing their essence, which they refer to as Steam.  In 2011, Dan (Ewan McGregor) finds himself in a worse alcoholic state than his father, wandering from city to city in hopes of escaping rock bottom and himself.  As he settles into a small New Hampshire town, he meets Billy (Cliff Curtis), who helps Dan secure work and join an AA group in hopes of cleaning up his life.  At this time, Rose the Hat and her group discover Snakebite Andi (Emily Alyn Lind), a young and talented drifter who uses her Shining talents to teach men who prey on young girls a dangerous lesson, and after a little convincing, Rose convinces Andi to join the True Knot fold.  Eight years pass by, and while Dan is thriving in his attempt at a new life, the True Knot finds themselves starving due to a lack of discovering sources of Steam.  In a drastic measure, the group kidnaps a young boy named Bradley (Jacob Tremblay) and tortures and murders him for Steam, which awakens a young and powerful Shining user named Abra (Kyliegh Curran), causing a ripple effect that connects Abra to Dan.  As Abra urges Dan to assist her in discovering the whereabouts of Bradley and the True Knot, she also makes attempts at getting into Rose’s head, causing a collision course between Dan, Abra, the True Knot, and eventually, the Overlook Hotel.

The way that this film manages to play fan service to both Stephen King and Stanley Kubrick fans is a truly fascinating feat.  Instantly, we are immersed into the familiar world of the Overlook hotel, and the choice to cast actors who resemble the original cast of The Shining immediately washes the viewer in a sense of familiarity.  Much of the expositional backstory need is eliminated because we under the circumstances that led up to where the story begins, and with a basic understanding of what practitioners of the Shining are capable of, the table is set for a wide range of new characters with a wide range of Shining-based powers to explore.  The sense of familiarity to a horror of the past permeates throughout the story, with references from Danny’s past finding their way back into his life, as well as echoes of the past occurring constantly, with Dan replacing Jack Torrance in plenty of iconic situations.

The film pays tons of respect to both King and Kubrick in terms of lore expansion and callback moments.  Giving the Shining an almost Force-like need for balance creates a mystical tug of war between Dan and Abra and the True Knot, with tons of psychic psychological warfare taking place between Shining users in the form of trickery, deception and dangerous traps with real world consequences.  Several interesting ideas are presented during the course of the narrative, many of which I am still dwelling on at the moment.  For example, the idea that technology and medication can dull the gift of the Shining, while not an original idea in terms of ‘mysticism’ and evolution, is presented without the need for heavy-handed examples to be shown.  One line of dialogue that stuck with me involved Dan mentioning to Abra about Tony being his imaginary friend, to which Abra responds that she thought Dan was her imaginary friend... does this mean that Tony is a real person that Dan never got the opportunity to cross paths with, simply because he didn’t understand his power at the time?  The idea that the Overlook cycles its victims through the numerous roles it casts its ghost in is also a fascinating one, as Jack replaces Lloyd, and Dan ultimately replaces Jack.

Normally, I wouldn’t go for what could be boiled down to big-budget fan-fiction, but execution of Doctor Sleep checks every box I imagine I would have.  The use of a nearly identical score keeps the ominous energy of The Shining present, but the bigger world expands the sense of danger.  Watching characters in the film return to the Overlook is crazy, as the callbacks to locations throughout are stunning and startling in terms of the way the original look and energy is re-created... sort of like a nostalgia aesthetic was the idea.  For fans of Kubrick’s interpretation of The Shining, and those who noticed its obvious influence on King’s dive into Doctor Sleep as a novel, this film is an answer to their prayers.

Ewan McGregor and his attempts at controlling his fear of what he’s capable of are portrayed well, especially with the red herring of alcoholism being the possible issue in his life (at least to strangers).  Kyliegh Curran does a great job of exuding confidence and curiosity in her powers that she does not fully understand, which in turn gets her in over her head before she realizes.  Rebecca Ferguson is captivating as Rose the Hat, using a magnetic personality to draw people into her fold.  Cliff Curtis is a solid representation for the support system that McGregor seeks, as well as serving as an audience avatar in a world full of mystic characters.  Emily Alyn Lind and Zahn McClarmon are standout members of the True Knot, paralleling off of one another as a showboat and someone who plays their cards close to the chest.  Carl Lumbly, Alex Essoe, Henry Thomas and Roger Dale Floyd manage to ring the bells of familiarity in their roles as the iconic characters from The Shining, and do so without upsetting our train of thought or enjoyment of the film.  Appearances by Bruce Greenwood, Jocelin Donahue, Zackary Momoh, Jacob Tremblay, the numerous members of the True Knot, and a cameo by Danny Lloyd round things out.

This film surprised me, despite there not being much definitive out in terms of critical or crowd reaction.  I went into it expecting to enjoy the experience, but I was surprised that Doctor Sleep left the impression on me that it did.  Look for this one to more than likely end up in my top ten of the year.

[izumisays]

Dear creator,

Thank you so much for reading this and signing up for this wonderful annual conspiracy!

I hope you have a lovely time, and that this letter can contribute to it. If any of the fandoms below pique your interest, I’m delighted already, and very interested to hear your thoughts on them. 

Fandoms: Nimona, In Other Lands, Captive Prince, Machineries of the Empire

As for reading preferences, I’m happy with a wide variety of tones and genres, from lighthearted shenanigans to dramatic casefics, and pretty much all ratings, but the core of all stories I love is always character interaction. How they play off each other and bring out their best/worst, how they would react to a divergence of events, how true would they stay to their selves in a different setting - these are the kind of questions I’m all chinhands for. POV games, a missing scene, a casefic, canon expansion, backstories and what-ifs are all fair game, so choose your weapon!

I would be very grateful if you could avoid a/b/o and similar kinktropes, played-straight soulmate fic, and character interpretation that runs contrary to their core values. If in doubt, please reach out to me on anon - the askbox is open!

NIMONA (any characters)

It is no mystery at all why I completely imprinted on this book. What is a mystery, however, is how I survived to this day and age without having loved Nimona for years - how did I even live unaware of its existence, up until an impulse purchase a month ago? WHAT A TRAVESTY.

Anyway, I massively adore Nimona to bits: a perfect fusion of story and pictures, chaotic evil Nimona (CHOMP!), Ballister of the big heart and stoic love for strays and SCIENCE, Ambrosius of awkward good instincts and poor decisions  - I just want to pinch everyone’s cheeks and hug them to my chest. For six hours. Approximately. It’s open for negotiation :’)

I’m requesting any characters because I’d be honestly delighted by seeing each one of them <3

A day in casa de Blackheart with Nimona and Ballister! Hatching evil schemes or having a pizza night - or both. BOTH IS GOOD. A flashback to Ballister and Ambrosius’s younger days (that christmas special *clutches heart*). A future with Nimona infiltrating Ballister’s lab and his & Ambrosius’s couch with popcorn and underhanded science! Nimona grumpily acquiescing to Goldenloin’s presence in Ballister’s life! Generally ANY AND ALL HIJINKS feat. heartwarmth and unapologetic monster girl love and fierce protectiveness of each other, much in the spirit of the lovely, lovely source material.

IN OTHER LANDS (Luke Sunborn)

Elliot is a spectacular narrator. Novel-shaped case in point: In Other Lands.

Having said that, what I really, really want to see is a story that makes Luke a narrator, or otherwise puts him at the center. I have it on good authority that he makes one fucking adorable narrator (novella-shaped case in point: Wings in the Morning), but why stop there, right?

Luke/Elliot, either post-canon or slightly amending canon, is always a delight. Luke crushing on Elliot for years in a resigned, semi-unaware (or aware!) manner - he gives Elliot Dale’s name only as a distraction, to get Elliot off his back, and watches with horrified eyes how every member of his family is suddenly out there to set him up with the wrong boy! Luke handling the thought of Elliot the boyfriend with awkwardness unbefitting a Trigon champion (granted, Elliot is kinda more prickly than an average glass ball). Luke having 110% confidence in Elliot and admiring him sass people into submission from the sidelines.

A look at Luke’s friendship with Serene - completely compatible with Luke forever crushing on Elliot, just saying ^^. I suspect lack of Elliot’s Serene goggles could do marvels to building nuance to her character: a little less reverse gender comedy just for the sake of comedy, a little more someone who is clever enough to balance multiple things, connect the dots, and learn, and stand by what she believes is right.

Competence kinkkk. Forever admiring the bookish people, refusing to stop trying to catch up, and zero time spent being conceited about own achievements while fully embracing his role of a champion and defender - that’s the Luke I love <3 Luke’s brand of leadership & charisma - an introverted champion, well-loved by people and easily tired of company of not his people.

Figuring out life after graduation! Casefic of them solving a mystery and preventing a war breakout! Getting assignments and storming the castles! Building cross-cultural competence by throwing Elliot at new people and watching him sign up new pen friends and treaties!

Sunborn family fic! A holiday get together? Drunken exchange of family stories? Another terrible competition that Elliot boycotts? Rachel reading Luke’s letters from year one and with great amusement observing the progression of his “THAT ELLIOT” feelings. God I love the Sunborns <3

I’m not particularly fond of Dale, on understanding that he got enough screentime as is already I’d be grateful if you didn’t center the fic around him. Obviously no objections to him as part of class ensemble, whose names Luke will never bloody remember.

CAPTIVE PRINCE (Damen, Laurent, Auguste, Jokaste)

You would not have wanted to see me at the peak of my CP obsession - dignity readers for miles around were in the red zone for months, I can tell you that. Even my bitter disappointment with many things in the third book didn’t survive the onslaught of feelings that overcome me every time I turn my thoughts to this series. R e g u l a r l y. (If you don’t think Prince’s Gambit is the high point of modern literature, f i t e   m e)

Things that make me happy:

Laurent/Damen endgame, always.

Auguste! Alive and well and fiercely proud of Laurent and quite possibly giving young Damen - his admiring bro - confused boners. Which he manfully swoonstruggles against, because see above.

Clever, competent Damen that drives Laurent up the wall of his fervent refusal to admit any of it affects him

Laurent POVs in general. There is nothing more delightful than a well-crafted narration of acerbic denial of hearteyes, self-crafted personality, hardwon competence and utter self-awareness.

Did I say competence porn yet? Hearteyes, motherfucker, hearteyes!!

Jokaste-Laurent queenbee friendships - vipers united!

Consider this: FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS arrangement for a CERTAIN AGENDA feat. Jokaste and Laurent - preceding or purposefully leading to Laurent/Damen endgame. Benefits as imagined by Damen, the poor cookie? Fake dating for purposes of short-circuiting Damen’s brain with the blonde ratio? :DD

Mafia/noir AUs *swoon* In fact, a variety of modern or historic AUs would be an a+ sandbox to play in and watch the chemistry unfold.

On another note, I have the soft spot the size of Delfeur for Nicaise and particularly Nicaise & Laurent spiky sibling-like affection, so if you think your story could benefit from that, please don’t hesitate to include it <3

I’m absolutely okay with fic that would not include all four - it’s just that I couldn’t omit either Auguste and Jokaste from the list of happy things. You are most welcome to include only one of the two, or none, if you want to concentrate on Laurent and Damen only.

Canon divergences, what-ifs and AUs are super-welcome for this canon. Please feel free to play to your heart’s content!

MACHINERIES OF THE EMPIRE (Shuos Mikodez)

I didn’t know how to request what would essentially be just heartfelt sobbing of PLEASE WRITE FIC FOR THIS AMAZING MEME ART (“please send help my family is starving!!”) - but if! By any chance! This is what you want to do, please disregard everything from math rules to heretic calendrical rituals, and go for it :DD i keep shoving this picture into all of my friends’ faces and get vaguely upset that they don’t immediately agree with me on how brilliant it is; maybe I should revise my strategy and give them the books to read first, hmm.

I’m fond of most of the cast of the books, especially of how competent and done with nonsense they are 99% of their screen time. Mentor relationships were amazing - Cheris and Jedao in Ninefox Gambit was a thing of true beauty, Zehun and Mikodez continuously delight me, and I’m looking forward to what book 3 will bring on this front, too (Nija? Please say Nija!). But as I need to choose something that won’t be guaranteed to make the matching algorithm cry, let me center it around a character that delights me and makes others cry instead.

Mikodez in his younger days! Zehun, I’m so sorry for your loss of sleep and possibly hair, teenagers are the worst, teenage Miki is the worst best Miki, and I am dying to hear all about his notorious Academy heroics.

Mikodez, Zehun, Nija and Cheris, the most terrifying parental equation of this calendar <3

Mikodez and his Questionable Alliances. Kujen “I had a friend once and then the leash broke” Nirai. Jedao - how does Miki’s view of the man change with Cheris in the game, and her (literal) insights about the dead mad general?

Mikodez throwing endless shade on all other factions, especially Andan. (Sorry, Andan. At least you’re pretty.)

Mikodez and his secret humanitarian agenda that he will politely deny forever, get fake-distracted by one of his bazillion hobbies and miss whatever sleep time he had scheduled in the day because he will inevitably get genuinely carried away. Every. Fucking. Time.

As a sidenote, I’m terribly fond of Vahenz <3 Bring her back! Let Vahenz have her fun! Let Mikodez meet his true competition for world domination and in the race towards diabetes.

I really liked Istradez, and would be happy to see him among the army of Mikodez’s high powered babysitters, but am not really in the market for Mikodez/Istradez shipfics.

Thank you very much for reading the letter! Please be assured I’m super excited to read everything you write already <3

[imaginedilestrade]

The Midnight Lovers

Summary: After an argument you leave your boyfriend, Greg. Months later your friends ask you on a road trip, only Greg was invited too. What the two of you don’t know is your friends have planned this trip to try and get the pair of you to rekindle. But will it work? Warnings: Some angst A/N: This has honestly been so fun and surprisingly easy to write (mainly because 90% of the things happening in the fic have been from my previous and present life experiences 😅) Hope you guys enjoy and as always, feedback is welcome! 😁 Have a great weekend! The Midnight Lovers Playlist —————————— Chapter 7 —————— You could barely see, your tears were making your vision blurry. You don't know why you were getting so worked up over this. You shouldn't be. You let out a scream that burned your throat and lungs as you kicked a nearby log before falling to your knees and burying your head in your hands. John found you in the middle of the clearing loudly sobbing away, he let out a sympathetic sigh and made his way over to you "Come here, Y/N" he knelt down beside you and hugged you. You sobbed into John's shoulder before pulling away and wiping your tear stained cheeks "Why? Why am I feeling like this? I shouldn't be!" You raised your breaking voice at John. "It's alright-" "No John! It's not alright! Why the hell would he bring her back?" You screamed "To get back at me? To prove some kind of stupid point that he's moved on and needs to rub it in my face?!" Your voice cracked again and you sniffled, perching yourself on the log. John had tears welling in his own eyes, it hurt him seeing you like this. He could see that you were conflicted, a war was waging between your heart and your head. "I don't know why he did it," John told you and you looked up to him "But I can tell you this, I'll have a word with him". "No," you sighed out and wiped away your tears with your sleeves, trying to clean yourself up a bit "What's the point?" John exasperatingly folded his arms and let out a huff "I suppose, you coming?" "I will in a minute," you told him "I just want some time to myself. You go back, I know the way" you groggily told him and you heard his footsteps crunching the twigs and leaves beneath him as he walked away from you. John made his way back to a path and decided to go to the shops and grab a paper for himself. You composed yourself and slowly made your way back to the camper van. Sherlock sympathetically smiled at you and followed you in, Jim was at the wheel "We ready to go?" He asked starting the ignition. "Yeah..." You mumbled and sat beside him, grabbing your book and taking out the bookmark at the page that read; 'When I wake in the morning I wish I was waking to her eyes'. Your eyes flickered up to the noise of a door shutting and you met Greg's eyes with your own, your heart tightened in your chest and you returned to reading your book. About an hour later you were re-reading your book again with your fingers pressed against your lips, deep in focus. Your legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles and occasionally you'd look up out of the windscreen. The camper van was quiet. Jim was driving, Sherlock was on the sofa catching up with some uni work, Molly and Anderson were in the room you shared with her chatting away, Greg was in his room minding his own business and Mary was taking a nap. "What's your favourite poem in that book?" Jim asked, breaking your focus from reading. You flicked it to a page and read it aloud to him "I love them all but one of my favourites has to be; 'Then he looked at the stars one night. He'd seen them countless of times before. Then he looked beside him and found her. She was the only star that mattered.'" You finished the poem with a smile on your face. Jim glanced at you before focusing on the road again "That's beautiful, almost as beautiful as the girl reading it..." he smirked and you lightly pushed his shoulder. "Shut up, we all know you're the most beautiful!" You teased him with the same tone he used. "Obviously," Jim muttered with a smile. You rolled your eyes and continued reading, "Put the radio on," you asked Jim who looked at you, raising a brow. You let out a sigh "Put the radio on, please." "Better" Jim uttered and pressed it on. You began moving your feet to the beat and hummed away. Jim glanced over to you and let out a snort of laughter as you began to lip sync to 'Don't you forget about me'. You looked up to him and let out a quiet giggle seeing him mouthing the words with you "Sing! You have a great voice" you told him and he smiled. "Only if you sing with me," you rolled your eyes at him and placed down your book "I mean, I know you sound like a dying cat but-" You jabbed his side and he let out a laugh as he flinched "You're such a dick, you've just encouraged me to sing even more". You opened your mouth but it quickly snapped shut when you heard someone frantically banging on the bathroom door. You turned your head around and quickly looked to the ground when you noticed Greg standing there banging his fist on it. Sherlock raised his head up from his paperwork and let out a sigh "What are you doing?" He asked, slightly irritated that he disturbed him, and from earlier this morning. "John's in the bathroom is he not?" Greg asked. Sherlock shook his head "No he's sleeping with Mary I'm sure". "What did you say about me?" Mary peered her head out from the small ledge that was the barricade between the bedroom and the living quarters below. Sherlock and Greg looked up at the same time "Not about you, about John," Sherlock told her. "Isn't John down there with you?" Mary rubbed her eyes while yours widened in realisation. "Oh god! We've left John!" As quick as you could blink everyone, apart from Jim who was driving like a maniac, grabbed their phones. "I've got forty missed calls..." Mary mumbled and tried to phone John again. The roads were fairly quiet so Jim would get there quicker than this morning when you left. "I've got twenty five," you told Jim "God I feel terrible, this is my fault! He came after me! We should have walked back together." "This isn't your fault," Jim reassured. "I can't get though to him," Mary tried again "Maybe his phone's on silent or something". "Or he could be dead," Sherlock muttered out, completely unfazed by the situation "Well there is a change he might-Ouch!" Mary kicked his foot. "Don't say that! Jim how long till we get back to Skegness?" Mary asked panicking. "Uh...about ten minutes" he told her. Your eyes caught onto a small figure in the distance "Wait! There he is!" You pointed and Mary let out a sigh of relief. The door opened and you all turned to face John, Mary wrapped his arms around him and kept kissing John's cheek. "I'm so, so, so, so sorry!" You apologised over and over but John happily reassured you it was alright and soon enough you were all on your way to your next destination which was Scarborough. You would be stopping there for two days and then travel to The Yorkshire dales early the morning after that. You didn't acknowledge Greg for the entire day and he noticed this. Jim pulled up to the campsite which was right on the beach. It was late by the time you all got there and you were all starving. Night started to creep in and the soft crashing waves echoed around the camper. Molly and Anderson lit and placed candles all around the chairs that were stuck in the sand on with a campfire in the middle. You were sitting perched up on your chair with your nose in your book again, glancing up to the stars before reading the next page; 'The stars are magical yes, but you...you are pure magic.' You smiled at the page and continued reading, you didn't even notice Greg glance up at you, smiling as you smiled. Then he began to feel guilty from this morning, he didn't even do anything! He and the barmaid walked back to the camper van together, kissed for a bit and then the both of them fell asleep from exhaustion. Everyone glanced to Sherlock when they saw him move "I'm going in for a shower," he announced "Does anyone need in?" A choir of 'No's' answered his question and he headed inside. "Ohh antiques roadshow will be on soon!" Jim cooed, checking his watch, Molly let it a snort of laughter. "You sound like an old woman Jim!" She teased and you looked up to Jim who was beginning to blush. "He only watches it because Sherlock likes it..." You told the group and they all let out a teasing 'Ooh'. "Shut up..." Jim muttered and rolled his eyes. You let out a small snort of laughter and shut over your book before extending your legs and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. "I watch it because it's fun to guess the price of things! Unlike you who watched 'The Night Manager' only to see Tom Hiddleston and his bare arse for like a minute!" "I did not!" You protested with a giggle "I watched it because Hugh Laurie was in it too!" Jim nudged you knee with his "You're such a perv". "Says you who goes for a piss while I shower," you retorted back with a playful smirk. Mary was bent over laughing at the pair of you with tears of laughter streaming down her face "Oh I love the two of you together, you're like an old married couple". "We-" Jim was cut off by a high pitched scream coming from the bathroom. The group sent concerned glances to each other, your eyes connected with Jim's and yours and his simultaneously widened "Run Y/N!" He told you and you leaped out of your seat, clutching into your book as the pair of you ran on the cool sand. Sherlock emerged from the camper and John was the first to see him "Oh...my...God!" John let out a roar of laughter and Mary turned around to see what he was laughing at before she burst into a fit of laughter. Anderson, Molly and Greg also laughed hysterically seeing the bright orange, gaudy blonde man standing by the door. Sherlock roared out at the top of his lungs "I'm going to kill those two!" ——————— Tags: (Let me know if you'd like to be tagged/Untagged) @adorablebadger @musingsofophelia @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @lock-sherlock @wcsteland @katie27hp @cutie1365 @holmes-maev @rikkachloechan @becky--dixon @daynaan @dontaskmemyfavoritesong @ladygrey03 @elenangzie @ccorpuz1214

[garden-ghoul]

bloggbblog, part 10

“you know, the hobbit just is not as good in any way as lotr or silm. it’s cute but It’s Not That Deep. give me some themes c’mon I’m starving.”

NOT AT HOME

The dwerrows sit for days just inside the sealed entrance, hardly moving or speaking because it’s too echoey. Finally Thorin says, "I must feel the wind on my face soon or die. I think I would rather be smashed by Smaug in the open than suffocate in here!"

Which is not an especially dwerrish sentiment. Really what he means is that he wants to do something. Being stuck in a cave, presumably, is not all that bad, although maybe the CO2 buildup is also getting to him.

Bilbo is like, well we might as well go down then. We die either way! And this way should be more interesting! I’m paraphrasing. But it turns out Smaug isn’t in (he’s probably completely destroying Laketown, still). There’s only a faint white light, presumably the Arkenstone. Bilbo starts yelling for Smaug to come back, because he’s a little stir crazy, and then starts yelling at the dwerrows to make a light. He finds them by tracing their frantic shushing back to their location. This bit’s cute, because he just... screams and stomps his foot until they light matches. What the hell, Bilbo?

We get some great imagery of Bilbo’s tiny silhouette with his tiny light in the vast dark hall, jingling occasionally as he trips over treasure. He goes up and pockets the Arkenstone, which is honestly just a Silmaril 2.0 because it does Greed magic to him. He half-assedly promises himself that he’ll tell the dwerrows eventually. They reunite, and everyone suddenly gets loud and excited. Fili and Kili find some harps (they are magical, Johnald explains, so they are still in tune! oh fuck if I never had to tune MY harp I’d play it so much more often, that’s an extremely realistic use of magic because tuning a harp is a PAIN IN THE ASS) and start making sweet music. Everyone starts finding cool weapons and putting on mail; Bilbo gets a mithril coat that is too small for any of the dwerrows. But soon he gets bored and decides he’d rather have beer than treasure. Eventually he says, “hey you know we can’t actually take this with us right now, right? since Smaug is gonna come back and murder us?”

I want to take a moment here to appreciate the phrase “cut out of the living rock.” It refers to architectural and sculptural structures that have not been broken off of bedrock but are still part of it. I’m over the moon that this phrase exists in English, because doesn’t it sound like something dwerrows would come up with before anyone else? The idea that rock is alive as long as it is connected to the earth. I like it very much.

They make it out, and Bilbo is very glad to be out of “that nasty hole,” despite how cold it is.

"Come, come!" said Thorin laughing - his spirits had begun to rise again, and he rattled the precious stones in his pockets. "Don't call my place a nasty hole! You wait till it has been cleaned and redecorated!"

Cute! This modern diction! Thorin is not at the moment inclined to make overblown speeches. He, too, is relieved, and hopeful.

Balin suggests they take shelter at an old watchtower, which unfortunately is a five hour walk away. Hey I want more unique characterization for the dwerrows, Balin seems like he could be a wise mentor figure. But he doesn’t have a personality so we don’t know. C’mon, at least give them each one exaggerated personality trait each??

Looking out from the guard post, nobody can see any sign of Smaug. Only, in the south, a great number of birds.

...holy fuck that’s ominous. maybe they are carrion birds.

FIRE AND WATER

“I hold with those who favor fire.” nah I’m kidding dump Smaug in a lake and let him fizzle. Damp squib that he is.

Two Days Ago, people in Laketown are chilling outside (probably literally since it’s almost winter) looking at the stars, when there’s a brief flicker of fire up on the mountain. Nobody looks much at it any more, it’s dreary. urgghh I am SO READY for the mountain to be a symbol of prosperity again!! I am so ready for a king under the mountain who helps and loves other people. Whenever I hear about dwerrows being friendly and helpful rather than isolationist I get a Feeling in my heart place.

Seeing the golden glow across the lake, half the town starts shouting that the true king under the mountain has returned and is showing off his treasure; and the other half starts shouting that the dragon is coming and everyone needs to destroy the bridges and get arms. Guys, I hate to break it to you, but he can fly. Destroying the bridges is only going to cut off your escape routes.

Everyone starts shooting at the dragon, thanks to Bard, who is first mentioned only in a parenthetical. If I had to guess I’d say he’s the son or grandson of the old human king of Dale and needs rethroning sooner or later.  ::\ OH YEP a couple paragraphs later it turns out that he totally is. Oh but this is cool, he has spent all his arrows against Smaug until--! A thrush flutters down to perch on his shoulder! Naturally, a True King In Hiding understands the language of birds. He finds out about Smaug’s voonerables, and he has a special lucky arrow. Look, due to my upbringing I can only conceptualize this as a reverse parody of that bit from Guards! Guards! It’s his lucky arrow. In fact it belonged to his father and his father’s father, but basically it’s just a lucky arrow. He brings down Smaug, destroying the entire town, but Smaug is Hella Quenched.

Everyone has much to be grateful for! Only 25% of everyone in the town died! Sure all their stuff was destroyed but the dragon’s dead! At least! Everyone is in the middle of loudly declaring that Bard would make a great king if only he hadn’t had a dragon fall on him, tragically killing him, Bard steps out. He’s soaking wet and this would make a great cartoon scene, the way I’m imagining the look on his face. But he doesn’t have that look, he has the look of a guy who is taking advantage of how pissed everyone is at the major, to declare himself king.

The mayor points out that it’s actually the dwerrows everyone should be mad at, since they are the ones who made Smaug mad. Everyone forgets about kings and goes “hey yeah I want compensation for my house being smushed!” This isn’t going to go over well with Thorin and co, probably. They’ll say “ingratitude!” even though they did exactly nothing to help (except, I guess, Bilbo scoped out Smaug’s voonerables) and then everyone will be mad at everyone else and there will be fighting. FOR THE MOMENT most of the Laketowners are thinking about the now-unguarded treasure in the mountain. Guys, shouldn’t you come up with houses first?

But everyone else who has heard of Smaug’s demise is gearing up to loot Erebor too. Thranduil, the goblins in the mountains, everyone. Beorn heard too but he doesn’t care. Thranduil’s guys come to help build a new Laketown, and just eleven days later it’s done enough that they can go LOOTING. Woop!

[itsbiggerontheoutside123]

Tester of a Caryl fic I wrote

hey guys! Ive been wanting to write something Caryl related for a while now and I'm just in need of some constructive criticism! ive left a little tester of my story below so if you have time please send me your opinions!

- fic  is set in season 8 all out war comic arc

- I'm holding this story very close to the tv show and how I envision caryl to happen

‘’we gotta go after them!’’ Daryl panted, turning around to Rick. The fight between the Saviours and Alexandria was unsuccessful. They were still alive. Only eleven of Negan’s men died during the dispute and although the war had just started Daryl didn’t want to waste any time.

‘’Let them go Daryl, we need to make a plan.” Ezekiel said, interrupting Rick’s response. Ezekiel lost his way for words, still grieving after losing two of his best men in the last week.

‘’naw’’ Daryl reloaded his gun and ran towards one of the trucks that the saviours abandoned. They left in a hurry, after Shiva attacked four of Negan’s men Alexandria was raining with bullets. Daryl was the biggest target and as soon as Simon saw him, he was tackled down and dragged to their van. If it wasn’t for Ezekiel and Carol. Daryl would be a goner.

He dragged one of Negan's men out of the van, the saviour’s breath was shallow, he might of lived but Daryl, unable to leave any of them alive, punctured his brain. Something changed in Daryl, this hatred wasn’t in him before. Seeing his family violently killed in front of him triggered his anger but being trapped, beaten, starved and tortured by the saviours expanded it. None of them could live, that’s the way he saw it.

He blamed himself. He killed Sophia, Dale, Beth, Hershel, Denise, Abraham and now Glenn. He can’t lose any more of his family. He won’t. The engine roared and he slammed the car door, he ignored Rick and Morgan telling him to stop and lifted the hand break.

‘’Daryl, stop.’’ Carol placed her hand on the car door, leaning in through the window, grabbing the wheel. He couldn’t look at her, he thought she was safe tucked away in her cottage. Away from this. He made all the effort to keep her safe and now she was right in the middle of the war. He lied to her, to carol. He betrayed her trust for no reason. She could never trust him now.

‘’they’re alive’’ Daryl replied looking dead ahead.

‘’ they won’t be for long.’’ Her voice was cold yet welcoming, he turned to her, he needed to see her. She was already changing. Already changing into someone she doesn’t want to be. Carols eyes could tell a story, he saw the concern and hurt that was in her eyes, and he so badly wanted to take that away. Her head was cut, the blood now slowly trailing down her cheek, if he saw the man responsible for her injury, Daryl would have killed him in a heartbeat. She could always look right through him. He already felt vulnerable. He broke the connection, he was selfish. What he was doing was for himself. To keep her safe, to avenge Glenn and Abraham for himself.

‘’alright’’ He moved his body, signalling her to move. As he left the car carol walked beside him placing her arm on his back. This wasn’t the first time she did this, when Beth died he was ready to kill all the workers in the room, if it wasn’t for carols loving affection he would have. She knew what it was like to lose a daughter figure, carol had lost three. She knew what it felt like. Soul crushing.

The three communities gathered together in the town centre of Alexandria, daryl isolated himself, he sat at the far back watching Rick, Ezekiel and Maggie team together to work on a sensible plan. He felt embarrassed by his idiotic act at the van and covered his face.

‘’ here’’ Daryl turned to see carol, who sat beside him, she reached out to give him a glass of water. Tara, Aaron and some other Alexandria residents were handing out water to the other communities.

‘’Naw, im alright ‘’ He replied declining the water

‘’prove it’’ Her comment mirrored his back when they were searching for beth. she softly smiled when he took the water.

‘’ive never seen this many people since this started.’’

She was sharpening the edge of her knife along the side of the concrete, the silver colour of the blade was now fading, her knife symbolised her. strong and powerful, yet cracking.

‘’we’re going to win this...we have to.’’

she gazed at him, she needed a response. she spoke to Morgan before finding Daryl and he wasn't confident on the upcoming war. everything was changing for Carol, everyone was. after losing Glenn and Abraham the group was strained.

‘’we gotta’’

Daryl grunted, he wasn't confident. all he was sure on was that he would fight to the end. Knowing that his friends and family were fighting alongside him he would do anything to protect them.

-thanks for reading! ill post more soon :)