#(his full name is credence)

[cutter-kirby]

more of my lovely son. he is so normal 💚

[ceilidho]

If you haven't already, can you write a second part to house cleaner reader for ghost? I really liked it and would love a pt 2

i don't know about a full on sequel bc my muse is fickle and hard to catch but i can give you a little snippet?

The first time you slip into Simon’s bed, you swear it’ll be the first and last time. 

It’s not an accident—you made the decision deliberately. You just hope the circumstances lend your excuse some credence.

“Accidentally let a moth in,” you mumble into the pillow when you spot him standing in the doorframe. He has to duck his head a little to come in. 

Of course he picks today of all days to come home. 

His eyebrows come up as if in surprise, but you can see the slightest trace of amusement in his eyes. You pull the blankets up to your neck, conscious that you’re garbed in only sleep shorts and a tank top that’s several years old. It keeps riding up when you toss and turn in your sleep. 

Your head’s still a little foggy with sleep; you managed to catch up on all of an hour of sleep before the sound of your name in the deep timber of his voice had hooked you out of your dreams. Not that you remember what you were dreaming. 

You’d been curled up like a little woodland creature in his bed, nose stuffed in the pillow that still seemed to carry the lingering trace of his smell. In his absence, it’s easy to forget that he does have a smell; rich and layered, like gunpowder and smoke, like it clings to him barnacle-tight, like it’s caked under his nails and in the fine blond strands of his hair. You take a deeper breath in. 

Simon’s still clothed in the thick tactical gear you saw him off in several weeks ago. The tube scarf is pulled down to around his neck, exposing his face. It always leaves you hungry, eyes roaming over the blunt cut of his jaw greedily, watching it undulate when he yawns. It’s covered with rough new scruff, like he only started letting it grow out within the last day or so. 

“Simon?” you ask, humiliation still biting you at being found in his bed.

“Been on the road for bloody near four hours,” he grunts, hands coming up to start peeling away the layers covering him. 

It takes you a second to remember to avert your eyes. You keep your gaze fast on the floor, but the sound of velcro ripping off and drawers opening leaves your face hot, almost feverish. If you touch your cheek now, you’re sure you’ll find them burning. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” The comforter is still clasped to your chest when you go to sit up and you’re not sure what the plan was. To walk all the way back to your room with his blanket around you? “I’m gonna go—I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s so embarrassing, I just—I really don’t like moths.”

Whatever the plan was, it disintegrates to dust when he steps to the side of the bed that you were trying to slip off and plants a hand on your bare shoulder, pushing you back. 

“You really got to quit it with the sir, love,” Simon grunts, using the hand on your shoulder to guide you farther back onto the bed. Your heart goes a little haywire in your chest when he lifts the comforter to give himself room to climb in. “‘Least when we’re not in bed.”

You aren’t going to read into those words too closely. Your mind already feels sluggish, groggy, like waking up out of a bad nap with the headache still chasing you, and if you try to examine what he means by that, it’s just going to get worse. You let him rearrange you how he sees fit, slipping back down under the sheets and letting him turn you over onto your side.

“You’re not going to shower?” you mumble, eyelids already drooping shut. You only flinch a little when he hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you back into his chest. His scent is richer than usual, dappled with old sweat and smoke. 

“We can have one later. Getting some shut eye for now. Brew later, when we’ve got some rest.”

[lightningant]

Aurelius Dumbledore (AKA Credence Barebone) & Voldemort Conspiracy Theory

I'm full of compressed energy so I have to write to you my thoughts on this topic, of which I have many.

So in my fanon I write Aurelius as Tom's doomed child therapist because I find Tom's fraught relationship with the concept of parentage irresistible and I simply have to kick him again, but I actually have legitimate non-fanfic-toy-playing reasons to believe the Fantastic Beasts movies are the way they are with the character focus they have because Aurelius/Credence is supposed to have significant meaning to Tom.

Consider:

Newt Scamander exists to know about obscurials and to be an outside POV to this insane drama. It was just impossible to notice this because the movies are terrible. These films are primarily about the incredibly super special Credence Barebone being the most specialist boy. Remember this!

Voldemort's flight ability is something no one has invented before and completely unheard of, by transforming his body. He turns it into primarily smoke. By reproducing an obscurus transformation, he has achieved flight. Which he then teaches Snape.

Gellert Grindelwald posits an enemy of his would be killed by an obscurial, kickstarting his obsession with them. He knows what an obscurial looks like because he saw Ariana transform. We know for a fact Dumbledore was not killed by an obscurial; he was killed by Snape. Who then turned into a smoke blot and flew away.

Can we get a pic of how Grindelwald styles Aurelius after he gets his hands on him. Yeah that's excellent thank you

Voldemort specifically seeks out Nagini, Aurelius' first girlfriend. They broke up when he joined Grindelwald; this is a connection to Aurelius more than anyone else.

We can presume - because she likely exists in the text as an excuse for Dumbledore to know passable parseltongue - Aurelius probably knows parseltongue too. Because she's his snake girlfriend. Obviously he wants to be able to communicate with snake GF, especially with a concrete threat of her losing her humanity.

We know Tom pined for his secret super special pureblood daddy before he found out about the Gaunts. At the time, he assumed Tom Riddle Sr. was a wizard. He assumed that Merope died because she must not have had magic to save her. He must have found out very quickly there is no Tom Riddle in the wizarding registrar; he must be American, or European, surely...?

Voldemort is a self-soother and a magical thinker. If he was afraid of Dumbledore he'd treat him with similar obsession to how he treats the brother wands. I posit he is simply loathe to interact with Dumbledore and goes out of his way to avoid direct contact. And why...?

Possible conclusions:

When Tom was making conspiracy theories about who daddy was, he was sure it must be Aurelius - an unfathomably powerful ally of Grindelwald who could speak to snakes and went into hiding -because this idea was mind-numbingly cool to his beautiful 15-year-old brain. Tom's name is only plain and ordinary because it's an alias! This is actually the most likely thing, and the funniest, and the saddest. I don't think he was capable of looking into where he "went into hiding", because he wouldn't be able to digest Aurelius retired at twenty in the countryside to treat his if-not-terminal-then-at-least-chronic illness and preferred it that way.

But even so, Tom frequents the Hog's Head! It was possible for him to meet a surviving Aurelius, and had the above delusion of grandeur; an expectation that Aurelius had abandoned a doomed and ill-advised dark lord campaign, and Tom's campaign would be neither doomed or ill-advised. I like to think he promptly dies, giving Tom the rare double-mommy-daddy-issue whammy. If your epic mary sue momdad dies because of his magic, then what now...?

Am I the problem? No. It's the muggles who are wrong.

This implies he had passionate fantasies about Nagini being mommy. Really puts the Erm.... in Snake Venom Homunculus Baby

The reason he is so loathe to be near Albus is because Albus is unafraid to hammer home that love was what kept Aurelius alive, that power is what killed Aurelius, and it was cringe and fail of Tom to assume he was destined to be his secret illegitimate son on the metric of that power.

Albus "Secret Keeper" Dumbledore of course does not at any point explain the context of where Aurelius went after he stopped being an elite dark lord assassin, so Tom just feels like Dumbledore is being an asshole to him and accusing him of being incapable of love for no reason. Sitcom-esque!

I'm never wrong and my visions are beautiful. Thank you.

[frownyalfred]

To be fair to Martha, I don’t think Bruce having the middle name Thomas is /consistent/ canon. I think sometimes his full legal name is just Bruce Wayne

Yeah! Tbh it was just a funny coincidence to me -- accidentally ret-conning Martha as Jewish, but also making Bruce's middle name Thomas really cages in the likelihood of her practicing or observing Judaism at that time in her life. Two unintentional changes layered on top of each other, leading to a very unique headcanon, I think.

(Ashkenazi Jews tend to be superstitious when it comes to names/naming children; they don't name children after still-living relatives, believing that to do so would be to invite death or misfortune upon that person. So Bruce being named after Thomas while Thomas was still alive would be a big no-no if Martha 1) an Ashkenazi Jew (very likely) and 2) observing/practicing Judaism at that time (as we've seen, much less likely).

I think it gives credence to the many fan theories out there that Martha either converted or became an atheist upon marrying Thomas. But even an atheist Jewish woman would have a hard time abandoning a custom they've heard their whole life (I myself will never name a child after a living relative, regardless of my level of observance over time).

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook’s Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

Part 4: Peter Pan (2003)

P.J. Hogan’s 2003 film is full of life and color, and Isaacs’ Hook is likewise a colorful character who, though grounded in reality, most definitely has a flair for the dramatic and a taste for the finer things in life.

Like the other Hooks we have seen thus far, Isaacs’ Jolly Roger appears to be the large stereotypical pirate ship that all children think of, despite the impracticality of a slower vessel in actual piracy. (By this point, I think we should just assume that all Hooks go for form over function when it comes to their choice of ship.) It’s a gorgeous ship, and I do wish we got more close-ups of the outside of this particular Roger so we could see more of what’s going on with all the decorative work on the outside of the cabin and the figurehead, etc. One thing, though, that stands out about this ship is that the mainsail itself has a giant skull and crossed swords on it. This would be completely impractical for any actual ship, as the enemy would see them coming and know they were pirates right off the bat…lending credence to the idea that this ship (and this Hook) may be deeply shaped by the children’s imagination. Then again…what else should we expect of a pirate ship whose name itself is the Jolly Roger?

The shots we get of the inside of Isaacs Hook’s cabin reveal the living space of a man who is accustomed to a decadent lifestyle but not so over-the-top as to be entirely unrealistic. While his beautifully decorated harpsichord is the centerpiece of the room, we also notice that he has several tables, a couch, and a globe.

This is about all we can tell from the in-film shots of the cabin, but some promotional material and a pirate-themed hotel that purchased a few set pieces from the film and set up their own room to mimic Hook’s can give us a few ideas about what the rest of the cabin might look like. (Big shout-out to @annabellioncourt for providing several of these bonus material images!)

In the one promotional photo, there is what looks like a lute, perhaps, in the background. I also love the little detail of the skull and crossbones on the candle stand…and his li’l stripey socks.

Here we can see the full-sized bed with a gun and what looks like it might be an Eton crest over it. (Note that if you pay close attention in Hook’s intro scene in the film, you will actually see that the tattoo on his left arm is an Eton crest as well.)

Isaacs Hook also has a self-portrait in his cabin, it seems…which interestingly has a date on the frame of 1742. This is about the most specific we get with ANY Hook as far as time period goes. This is after the Golden Age of Piracy had really already come to an end, though it’s technically possible he might still have been “Blackbeard’s bosun” depending on his age, as Blackbeard’s career ended in 1718 in a battle off Ocracoke Island, NC. Isaacs himself was around 40 years old when the filming was done, so if we want to assume Hook was around the same age when he came to Neverland and the portrait was done shortly before then, he would have been around 16 at the time of Blackbeard’s downfall. A bit young but…it’s possible if he started his career at sea early. Cabin boys usually started out around age 12 but could be as young as 8-ish on occasion. However…this wouldn’t really track with Hook being an Eton student. Assuming he actually graduated, he would have been at the school until he turned 18. So while Isaacs Hook may have very well been a sailor or even more specially a pirate prior to Neverland…he likely wasn’t a peer of Blackbeard or the other more well-known pirates of the early 1700s.

One last thing that is interesting to me is that in addition to the more standard weapons/tools like chains, guns, and boarding axes that we see in some shots, this version of Hook keeps what looks like an entire small cabinet of various tinctures and powders. At least the one of them which he removes is poison, but one wonders….are they all different kinds of poison? Or are some, perhaps, medicinal in nature or for recreational use?

As a whole, Isaacs’ Hook is, I think, perhaps one of the most realistic portrayals of the character. While there are some highly fanciful aspects to his ship—like the giant skull on the mainsail—much of his personal space has the lavish furnishings one might expect of someone with an aristocratic background without feeling too entirely impractical. Add to that a concrete date on the portrait, and I’d say this Hook is more grounded in reality than nearly any of the others we’ve encountered so far.

[akallabeth-joie]

Narrative Voice in LM 1.2.X

I think it's rather interesting how a bunch of Hugo's different approaches and techniques show up back-to-back in the early parts of book 2 here. In 1.2.1, for instance, he's keeping to a third-person-omniscient perspective: he's describing the speech and actions that any observer in the room would have seen, but also peppering in details as-of-yet unknown to the characters (such as that Myriel's great work on duty will never be completed).

We also see Hugo insert himself into the narration, suggesting particular documents or persons were sources of his information, as though Hugo was researching and reconstructing the story from primary sources and testimony: there's Mlle Baptistine's letters cited as the source of 1.2.4 (which also allows Hugo to use her perspective to narrate the dinner); the reference to the prison turnkey as witness of Valjean's chaining in 1.2.6 (to show the lasting emotional impact of the scene on a witnes); in the same chapter, the narrator references "my research" to allow a comparison between Valjean and Claude Gaux. I think this conceit of Hugo-as-historic-researcher reinforces the idea that it's a realistic novel: that the characters and plots are accurate representations of real people the idea that Les Mis is an everyman (/woman/child) story that could be about any unfortunate people and thus is about all of them. Furthering that idea, I find the citation of fake sources lends credence to certain details which Hugo includes in the narrative, which likewise could have been "reconstructed" from later sources, even if not named (the "small papers and large book" detail could have come from Hugo inspecting Myriel's notes and books in an archive, Valjean's escape attempts and subsequent punishments would have been documented somewhere in the prison records). Dropping unsourced 'facts' into the narrative ("four out of five crimes in London* are based on hunger"), also subtly reinforces the idea of the story as some sort of derived historic narrative.

However, we are in the realm of fiction, and Hugo-as-omniscient-narrator also freely includes tiny details of the exact scene itself as experienced by the characters in that moment, which would not be recoverable and are unlikely to be documented: the exact identity of the woman who pointed Valjean to the bishop's house, which was unknown to him and thus not reported to the "witness" for the scenes in the bishop's house; the depiction of Jeanne's young son sleeping on his basket or hugging the cat for warmth while waiting for school (an unlikely detail for Valjean to hear about in prison, which is ostensibly the context for the end of Jeanne's story); really the whole of Valjean's early history is full of these sorts of lost details (Marie-Claude giving the children milk and the girls spilling it in their haste to drink? Who would even have that information for Hugo-the-researcher to discover?)

And then we have 1.2.8: an extended metaphor of drowning as a representation for how poverty and incarceration cut Jean Valjean off from society. Hugo gets a certain amount of (affectionate) flack for interrupting the plot of Les Mis with digressions: seemingly unrelated essays and short interludes of real-person fiction. Hugo-the-author uses them to insert his social/political/historical opinions and develop his theses for the books, as well as setting scenes for later events in the plot, calling for political action by the audience, wrestling with his own past, and boring the censors.

*Also, referencing London make this message both more universal and (I imagine) less biting to contemporary French readers. Sure, other than this one sentence Hugo's only talking about French people and crimes committed in France, but dropping in this statistic about English crime supports his "desperation causes crime" message while also drawing off the criticism of French society/law a little. This tidbit is about those guys (who you-the-reader may be annoyed with re: the whole losing the Napoleonic wars thing) over there, not more woe at home! They do it, too! It's not just you and your society. Or something.

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

You were on your knees with your head laying down on the side of the hospital bed holding onto the cold hand of the now deceased Credence Barebone.

Credence lost his battle of his frail health. The handsome young boy was lucky to have died age twenty one. He should have died when he was born and you knew you should not complain. And be feel lucky to have met him. But, it was not enough. Never enough.

You caught him staring at you with longing. You knew what he wanted from you. So did Grindelwald, your husband.

Credence was out under a curse, his flesh would burn whenever he touches you.

Now that he is deceased, his skin is cold as ice.

Grindelwald watched silently as you mope and whine pathetically. One leg was crossed and placed on his other knee as he sat on the chair. His head resting on his open palm.

He rolled his eyes. Despite being old, Grindelwald was a man of steel. The darkest wizard of his time who impregnated a 19 year old lady without magic and easily won the war when the Muggles tried to invade their world.

The ministry of Magic gave him more power of much areas of the magical world as a reward and safe keeping for future attacks.

A sick smirk graced his gray lips. He kidnapped you before the war. Now, he is deemed a hero. He stopped hiding you away to avoid Azkaban.

Now, both worlds knew who you belong to.

Grindelwald stood to his full height of six feet. He crouched down to your level and placed his hand in your frail delicate shoulder. You peeked at his face with your tear filled eyes.

Your husband smiled and wiped some tears away with his thumb.

"I am not ungrateful and appreciate good deeds done for me. Since Credence is the reason I met you. I decided to name one of our future sons after him."

He was rubbing it in.

You didn't care.

Without thinking, you slapped him hard with all your might. Your knuckle pores opened from impact and blood oozed out.

His face was turned to the side. He was impressed by your small strength. It actually caused movement. He saw your bruised back hand. How cute he snickered.

He stood up and towered dominantly over your weak frame. He grabbed your forearm and picked you up like a bride. You struggled and kicked but his strength easily disgraced and shut you up.

He threw you on the small hospital bed next to the deceased Credence. Your eyes widened. He will impregnate you with your dead friend next to you in the public hospital? He can't be that disrespectful, right?

Grindelwald read your thoughts out of curiosity and snickered. Confirming your suspicions.

"I'm a man of my word."

One shot. Random Drabble.

[headfullofgalaxies]

I want to write a review of Echoes of Wisdom, but I keep going into a tangent about where I think the game falls in the timeline. So, I'm going to write up my theory here and get it out of my system, because I have *~*~*OPINIONS*~*~* on this and I WILL BE HEARD.

Let's get one out of the way first before we delve deep into it.

I know that Nintendo doesn't really care about the timeline. Nintendo barely even cares about its own LORE. Even the basic stuff! There are literally the only two things every Zelda game has in common: the little gremlin named Link who wears a green tunic and the world's dumbest hat, and the quest to save the world from some evil force. That's it. Those are the only things! The Tri Force doesn't show up in every game. Ganon/Ganondorf doesn't show up in every game. ZELDA doesn't show up in every game! Hell, the Master Sword is only in, like, HALF of the games! So, yes , the canon timeline is nonsense but I'm going to play with it like the fun little toy it is.

Anyways... *pulls out conspiracy board* on to the fun stuff.

So, first and foremost, which branch of the timeline is Echoes of Wisdom on?

The Downfall Timeline.

How do we know this?

1) The map

Many parts of the map are copy-paste from the original ALttP/ALBW games. If you've played those games, you can find some fun Easter Eggs and stumble across side quests early by going to places from those earlier games. So, this game would take place in a similar Hyrule. And, as both these games are in the Downfall Timeline, it is the most logical choice.

2) Ganon

The Downfall Timeline is the only timeline that features exclusively Ganon (beast form Ganondorf).

hides Four Swords Adventures under the rug

THE ONLY ONE.

This is because, after successfully gathering the full Triforce with the Hero's defeat, Ganondorf fully transforms into the Demon King, leaving behind his human form entirely and taking on the name Ganon instead.

3) That stupid hat

Look, yes the old Game Theory Zelda Timeline video is kinda... stretching it at places, but the hat thing is a pattern. And one of the hats this Link has features a prominent, yellow stripe.

So now that we know WHICH timeline EoW is in, we need to figure out WHERE.

So the Downfall Timeline is split between three Heroes' eras:

The Hero of Legend (ALttP, LA, and OOA/OOS)

The New Hero of Hyrule (ALBW and TFH)

The Hero of Hyrule (LoZ and AoL)

why does the new hero of hyrule come before the hero of hyrule? idk your guess is as good as mine.

For simplicity's sake, I will be calling the eras Legend, New Hero, and Hyrule. We'll call EoW's era Echoes.

So the map is based off the Hyrule in Legend and New Hero. Hyrule's map has some things in common, but it's not nearly as similar. It makes the most sense to loop Echoes in with Legend and New Hero, putting it sometime BEFORE Hyrule.

Now the question is how before Hyrule? Is it before Legend, between it and New Hero, or after both of them?

The answer comes by taking a closer look at the similar land marks and temples on the map. In Legend and New Hero, the temples are in good condition. However, in Echoes, some of the temples are showing some wear. One of them is even broken down completely. With all that, it makes sense that it comes after both Legend and New Hero, but before Hyrule.

Another thing that lends credence to this theory is the Master Sword. The Master Sword is present in all three timelines, to varying degrees. In the Adult Timeline, Wind Waker Link stabbed Ganondorf with it and left the sword at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of Hyrule. In the Child Timeline, it's used by the heroes to challenge Ganondorf. kicks Four Swords Adventures back under the rug

However, its presence in the Downfall Timeline is weird. The Master Sword is present in both Legend and New Hero, but notably absent in Hyrule. Where did it go?

Well, if Null is as aware of the cycle of reincarnation as it implies (having specifically targeted children to catch the hero and princess before they could challenge it), then it stands to reason it would know about the Master Sword, too. And if it nommed the Master Sword with a rift, that would easily explain why the sword is no longer present in the Downfall Timeline.

So that concludes my theorizing on the location of Echoes of Wisdom's location in the timeline. Now that that's out of the way, I can actually write my review of the game without worrying about this tangent.

(side note: for the purposes of Links Meet AUs, I think it's perfectly acceptable to combine this Link and Zelda into another era. The Hero of Legend era is the funniest and my personal preference, but the New Hero of Hyrule era would probably be easier writing-wise.)

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Just Your Voice...or something

This ficlet is for @stevethehairington's birthday, the best of celebrations to you, Mack!!! I was thinking for some time what you'd like and I was reminded of your small essay about the Little Mermaid. So...have a Little Mermaid Steddie AU.

The sea witch was supposed to be terrifying, that's what everyone kept telling Steve. He'd sell you potions that would destroy your mind. He'd find any loophole to make you do their bidding. He'd cheat, lie, promise the impossible and connect with the spirits of the deepest ocean to enslave anyone and anything.

The thing was...Steve really did need his help.

The second he entered the witch's cavern, he already felt like he made the worst mistake of his life. There was a huge bubbling cauldron, glowing with whatever toxic stuff the witch was brewing, and from the shelves carved in to the cavern walls, tens of tiny creatures were watching, waiting, following his every move.

"Well well well. Prince Steven himself. I should have cleaned."

Steve turned around so quickly his hair created a halo around his head. There the witch was, sitting on the ceiling with their tentacles wrapped around loose rocks, staring down at Steve, turning their head curiously to the side.

"Uh...what are you doing on the ceiling?" Steve asked, returning the questioning glance.

That made the witch chuckle. "Good question. Stretching. Also it gives me a new perspective."

"An upside down-perspective doesn't sound very useful, but whatever makes you happy," Steve shrugged. "Listen, uh...I came here with a request."

"Oh? A request from the prince himself? I will need a right side up perspective for that then." The witch bounced off the cavern ceiling and landed before Steve with almost staggering grace. Only then could he properly see what they - no, he - looked like. Long, flowy hair around his head, dark eyes and a mischievous smile that gave way more credence to the rumors. He too felt inclined to do whatever the witch asked of him. "Hi," the witch stuck his webbed hand forward, "I'm Eddie, the local witch and the perpetrator of every single bad thing that happens around here. Ever had a bad hair day? That was me."

Laughing, Steve took his hand and shook it. It was becoming more and more difficult to remain cautious when the witch was so charming. "Nice to meet you, Eddie. I'm...well, Steve. You alread know that."

"That I do." Eddie moved backwards and crossed his tentacles in a way that Steve often saw humans do with their...not-tentacles. Legs, they called them. "Well then, Steve. What can this measly witch assist you with? Not that I dislike visitors, but I don't get to see too much royalty around here."

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. Royalty, sure. As if he was anything special to his father, his only redeeming feature were his looks, the golden scales and a beautiful mane of sun-kissed hair, that was it. "Funny. Uh, look. I need legs. Also to breathe up there." He pointed vaguely upwards to the distant surface.

Eddie blinked. "Uh. Sure, legs. Dare I ask why? A pretty lady or something in the land above?"

The prince snorted. "Yeah, no. Look, it's not like you care, but there's this kid up there, he almost drowned. Name's Dustin, I think, and I...shit, this sounds way more stupid than I usually do, but I want to make sure he's okay. He didn't look too hot when I dragged him to the beach and his mom was going crazy with worry. So...yeah. That's why."

"That..." Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. "That's so sweet I might barf."

Steve shrugged and pointed towards the cavern entrance. "Be my - well, your guest, but you might want to do it outside. So. Legs. How much for a pair of legs? A temporary one?"

Eddie grinned at him, twirling his tentacles some more. It was almost hypnotizing. "Oh, I don't know. Pretty difficult, those pesky legs. All those toes, ten of them, that's a full day's job. I'd say the price is...your voice."

Ah, there it was. The evil streak everyone was talking about. Steve just closed his eyes and nodded, resigning himself. "Fine. Take it."

He expected pain, maybe. Or something touching his face, at least. What he didn't expect was a loud fit of laughter invading his ears, reverbating through the cavern.

"What?" he asked Eddie, annoyed.

"You..." wheezed Eddie, wiping at his face, even if any and all tears would dissolve in water instantly, "you really thought I was serious? That I'd do some evil crap like that? Ah, man. My reputation has to be way worse than I assumed."

Steve's scowl sent him into another fit of giggles while the prince searched for a reasonable response that didn't include punching the witch. Just a little. "Okay then, so what do you want?" he snapped.

One mighty sweep of tentacles and Eddie was next to him, hand over his soulders. His black scales were smooth and surprisingly pleasant to the touch. "Geez, Stevie, calm down. Contrary to what you might believe, I'm not that bad."

"Yeah?" Scanning the walls of the cavern, he noticed the scared eyes of the tiny creatures around. "Care to tell me if those poor, unfortunate souls moved here voluntarily?"

Eddie just snickered and crooked his finger at one of them, inviting it closer. It wiggled in the water a little before slowly descending into his palm. He touched its forehead with a long finger and muttered an incantation. And just like that, in a puff of colorful swirls, floated Chrissy, with her golden hair and forest green tail. "So, Chris," drawled Eddie, "care to describe to prince Steven here how I kidnapped you and forced you to live here with me?"

"I..." Steve was at loss of words. "I thought you left? Or disappeared?"

Chrissy snorted and moved closer to Eddie, finding comfort under his arm. "Yeah, I did both. Because Jason wouldn't leave me alone. I came to Eddie for advice on where I could go, but he let me stay here, in a changed form...for my own protection. Just like the others. Really, Steve, prejudice doesn't suit you." Turning back to Eddie, she nudged his side. "Hey, Eddie, can you change me back? I'll take a brief nap."

Ruffling her hair, he touched her forehead. "Sure thing, Chris. Off to the bed with you." And just like that, she was a tiny octopus again, floating to her shelf.

"Oh wow," breathed out Steve. "I feel like a huge asshole. That's...that's actually really nice of you."

Eddie shrugged, returning to his cauldron. "What can I say. The rumors are useful, it keeps the rich and mighty assholes out. Except for this asshole," he pointed at Steve with one of his tentacles, but there was no venom. "So, legs. Can do, a small spell and you'll change when you exit water, you'll have your tail back when you re-enter it. Just a small warning for you - you'll want to get covered when you get up there. There's going to be...something...where the front of your tail is and humans don't like to see that."

Steve snickered at that. He definitely saw one of those during his trips to the surface and he absolutely didn't want to see that either. He watched as Eddie muttered something weird and deep that sent sparkles towards his tail. "Great, thank you. Uh. So, what about the payment? What do you want?"

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. "Whatever. You want to check on a kid, so it's not like I'm going to charge you something crazy. Two pebbles, a pretty mug for my cavern, whatever."

"Do you like anything from the world above I could bring you?" Steve asked, moving closer to the cauldron. "Since I'll be there. They have a lot of interesting stuff."

"Hmmm...maybe..." Look, mermen normally didn't blush, but Steve could swear Eddie's cheeks turned a bit darker. A strand of his wavy hair floated into his mouth and he started chewing on it nervously. "OK, so theoretically. If you were to find one or two. Apples? Do you know what those are?"

The shame in Eddie's face had Steve laughing, clutching his sides. He just looked adorable, trying not to ruin his cultivated image. "Sure, I know them. They float, but I'll get them down here. You've got a sweet tooth, huh?"

"Not a word, prince," the witch threatened, pulling more and more hair in front of his face. "No one will believe you. Now shoo, go check on your kid and find me some apples."

Steve saluted him. "Shall do, oh mighty witch!" With a single sweep of his golden tail, he was gone.

When everything quieted down, Eddie stayed hunched at his cauldron. He didn't really foresee this day going so...weird. Not bad, but weird.

"You like him."

He scowled at the tiny Chrissy creature that floated in front of him with a smug expression. "Oh shoo with you too. He's going to check on the kid and fall in love with a pretty lady or a princess above, or he's going to toss a half-rotten apple to me when he comes back and will never speak to me again. They always do."

She floated closer and nuzzled under his chin. "I don't know, Eddie," she sighed. "He seemed like a good guy. And he had those eyes. Just wait, I'm about to earn an I-told-you-so."

- - -

Eddie hated being wrong. But when, not even a day later, he found Steve waiting in front of his cavern, a satchel of apples in hand (well, above his head, struggling to keep it underwater) and a wide smile on his face, he thought being wrong wasn't the worst thing in the world.

"Welcome back, your highness," he invited Steve in. "So, how was your child friend?"

Steve beamed at him, his face bright even in the shadow of Eddie's abode. "He's doing well. A bit shaken, but recovering. His mom was really grateful, both to me and you. She sent you this...what did she call it. Token of appreciation from her garden. They should be one of the sweetest types." He handed Eddie the satchel and watched with fondness as the sea witch shoved his hand in, grabbing a beautiful red apple and taking a bite. The look on his face was pure bliss.

One crunch later, Eddie opened one of his eyes and looked at Steve. "Want one?"

"Uh, I..." Steve stammered. "They're your payment, I couldn't-"

Shaking his head, Eddie shoved an apple into his hand. "Don't give me that crap. You saved the kid, you deserve an apple. Now make yourself comfortable. Unless you're afraid to stay?"

Steve laughed and floated closer to Eddie, taking a bite of his apple. "Of you, Eddie? Never."

The crunching of apples was loud in the cavern, but not enough to drown out the quiet "I told you so" from the highest shelf.

(also, I forgot to mention this, but the cauldron? It was soup. Eddie is feeding a full cavern of runaways so of course he needs to cook in bulk)

[bard-marian]

Sometimes when I’m thinking about DA2, I really like to analyze the elements of the game from the perspective of all its elements being a part of a narrative which Varric is specifically crafting, and looking at those minor fetch quests with the named items- what do you think the purpose of naming them is was? I just think they’re so interesting as evidence of this whole life that Varric has had with Hawke and all these other moments that we’re not even hearing about. Like I imagine some of them, he includes as almost red herrings? Or these openings at least for little tangents that he’d be able to spin away from the main story if Cassandra asks about them. Because he names these items, I almost feel like they’re being said as recognizable features, perhaps from those tales he’s spun over the years that have been his most popular. Things that could be verified by others later and would give credence to his overall confession. Which in and of itself is fun to imagine, how these tall tales went, but a few of them in how they are framed I also feel might just be inside jokes or fond memories - glimpses of the interior of his relationship with Hawke. And which were more metaphor than truth?

Take for example the toe of the paragon - detached from its own as it is, no one’s reputation is harmed, but I like to think that when Hawke hauled it out of that box that it was still attached to a very much alive owner who was more an embarrassed dwarven noble’s son than paragon. (And that that probably became some great inside joke between Hawke and Varric - ‘you’ll die and all I’ll have to bring back to your poor mother is your big toe’ ‘by my ancestor’s big toe’ ‘by your ancestor’s big toe’)

Or what about the controversial book found laying in the chantry and returned to what appears to be a rebel elven mage? A satire found in the chantry - how interesting to think of it not as a real tome but also symbolism, perhaps one of the conversations and debates that was part of the building pressure that felled the city chantry.

Bottled Scar 5:34 Exalted. The Shawl of Dalesdottir. The Seal of House Talwain. All these little tidbits, all this evidence of a full life lived outside of what we see

[ari-zonia]

I somehow came up with a "World of Monsters" AU thing for Sandrock, and drew Logan's gang for it

Full explanation under cut

Basically, the idea is that due to shenanigans of the Old World that I have not fully defined yet, there's more than just "mutant animals" and "humans", so there's a smidge more overlap of what's considered monster and not. So, something like the Geeglers or Bandirats are more "jerks that live outside town" kind of deal, while Penskys, Thorny Jumpers, etc are still considered "critters", so there's less fuss about Howlett and Logan's profession. (Basically it's like Irish Fairies or other such creatures, they're their own people, just doing whatever it is they do. That, and there's probably a bigger distinction between "Fae" creatures and "mutants", again giving some credence to hunting annoyances like Geeglers or Plierimps)

Most of the major settlements are populated mostly by humans, with some monsters/hybrids. Sandrock is a strange case of having a higher than usual amount of monsters/hybrids. (Conversely, in this AU, Vega 5 is almost entirely human, so Qi is just a dude). Ratios differ based on where you're looking and not just based on town, so Meidi in general might have more humans, while Seesai might have an even divide, idk.

I haven't settled out completely who is/isn't monster or what they are, but some examples:

Logan: He calls himself "dullahan", but that's because that's the closest answer that survived from the Old World. He's a "headhunter", meaning he could put on something else's head and get different abilities, but he doesn't know that. Honestly, he didn't even know he was a monster until he started hunting and found out his head isn't that well attached to his neck. (Got it from ma's side, and Howlett didn't really know either)

Haru: A bakeneko, specifically a gotoku neko. Basically, he has a liking for fire. Again, he doesn't know specifically what he is, but he has a better understanding that he's some sort of cat-spirit (since Haru seems to have some knowledge of his ancestor's language, since he knows his name means "Spring"). He has good control over his fire tails, and they only burn things he wants them to burn.

Andy: A gargoyle, but his wings aren't really strong enough to carry him yet, so the best he can really do is glide with them. Though, he does have the sharp claws, so he can at least lizard climb on the rocks a little bit.

Grace: You ask her if she's a monster and you either get a "no" or no answer. Probably a shape-shifter, but nothing's confirmed

Owen: Werewolf, but he doesn't really rampage or anything on full moons. He might lock up shop and just chill out in the desert for the night, but that's because he's managed to get ahold of himself as he got older.

Fang: Not fully set, but probably closest to the Qingniao, a messenger bird of the heavens. Usually referred to as an "azure" bird, it's also been described as green, or even black. Regardless, he's probably part-bird.

Unsuur: Been flipping between making him an Earth elemental, or if he's just human. Both are funny.

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

No Mer is An Island

I didn't go out intending to revisit @monsoon-of-art's Mer AU this month, but seeing this piece in full really hit on something, and I had to get the words down. Happy MerMay, guys!

---

When they’d first met, the girl had stopped him to say that he looked kind of like someone she knew.

Given that Emmet had come all this way trying to find his brother, it sounded promising on its face, but looking past the initial wording, revealed itself to be a shallow hope. If she’d been talking about Ingo, she would have been more decisive. He wouldn’t look kind of like this person, but exactly. He’d been through the cycle of leads surfacing and then sinking often enough to know that the odds weren’t good, but it was the best he’d heard since arriving in Hisui and he couldn’t afford not to give it some cursory exploration.

As they moved away from the shaky hope of a rebuilding village, her story became more and more outlandish, but… somehow not less believable; unprompted, she’d mentioned the torn remnants of a subway car, and in a land that lacked rail transport, it lent her version of events a great deal of credence. Something much more worrisome was the claim that his twin had been found pinned beneath the wreck, trapped and slowly wasting away, before being discovered.

It was strange. When, inevitably, Emmet’s questions about a missing person failed, his next strategy was always the train car. People could move on and be forgotten, but an effigy of twisted metal should have been noteworthy.

The matter of physical resemblances had been both explained and complicated as Dawn led them to a rocky outcropping by the sea.

“Well, that’s… why I wasn’t totally sure at first.” She said, scouring the horizon. Eventually, her attention settled in one specific direction, and Emmet idly followed it to a dark little island in the distance. “The thing is, the parts of you that look the same totally look the same. It’s just that Ingo’s… not really human?”

...what.

She held her hands up in placation, grimacing at her own words. “I know, I know. Just hear me out. So the Pearl Clan found him under that big wreck and took him home to heal, only he… kind of sucks at being a merperson? The same ways I suck at it. We both keep getting hung up when we swim, and neither of us distrusted humans the way the other mers did, and you couldn’t pay us to eat raw fish or seagulls or anything like that. I've been wondering about it for a long time, but maybe Ingo was human, too?”

There was a ringing in Emmet’s ears. It took him a moment to realize that it was an actual sound coming from somewhere over the water. Something in the back of his head told him he should recognize it, but it seemed unimportant compared to the information Dawn had just dumped over his head.

“That is my brother’s name.” He eventually choked out, to the exclusion of the rest of it.

Dawn’s expression cracked into a smile. “Worth a shot! I’ll go grab him and come back-- just don’t worry, okay? Most people think he’s kind of scary.”

Despite the amount of time it had been since he’d had to field that particular criticism, Emmet felt himself bristle. “He cannot help it. His face is just like that.”

The girl paused in the middle of digging through her bag and tilted her head, “I thought it was just because he always seems kind of down, but that makes sense, too.”

Unsure what to say to that, Emmet remained silent as she took something out, unlashed the satchel from around her waist, and then brought a vibrant shell to her lips.

The notes resonated, briefly, with whatever it was coming from across the waves.

“What is that?”

“It’s a special flute,” Dawn said, adjusting her grip on it now that she was no longer playing, “I’ve had it since I got here, but I can’t remember why.”

“Not the instrument. The sound. What is causing it?”

“The… flute?” She asked, baffled, and slapped her tail against the rocks.

It took a second for Emmet to rewind and process that fact.

She had implied that before, hadn’t she? Back when she’d confirmed Ingo’s name. Strange how one piece of information could be so much more pertinent than the rest and simultaneously so much less important.

Emmet consciously had to rein himself in. If humans could turn into merpeople, this could be it. He might be about to see his twin for the first time in years.

Dawn departed shortly thereafter, handing him the flute as a gesture of goodwill, and took off in the direction she’d originally scouted. Emmet pocketed the strange shell for safekeeping and then moved her satchel to somewhere the waves couldn’t sweep it away.

The sound continued that entire time, carried from somewhere far away. When several minutes passed without interruption, he finally figured out what it was: whale song. He didn’t profess to be an expert in the matter, but now that he was listening properly, he was relatively certain of that.

After some time, it stopped, and he immediately found that he missed it.

In its absence, he returned to the water’s edge, wondering if the dark island in the distance wasn’t where Dawn was headed, where his brother lingered. It seemed too much to think that he might catch a glimpse of either when it was so far away, but the reassurance would be welcome. He had little doubt that Dawn would return, particularly given that he held the key to her humanity, but the low crooning over the water proved that there were predators about, and he wouldn’t want haste to lead her into danger.

When he scanned the ocean, however, he found that the island, too, had vanished.

---

Ingo spent a great deal of his time alone.

It was by choice, but at times, it also felt involuntary.

The Pearl clan was more gracious than he could have asked for, worried that his continued stints on his own might reignite the loneliness that had left him so fragile upon their first meeting; while he was happy for their company, it wasn’t what he was missing. That was the problem, though: he didn’t know what would fill the void in his heart. Their camaraderie was close-- had been rejuvenating when he’d first been ushered into the fold-- but only to a point. He felt that it was the right track, just veering ever so slightly off course; if he could figure out where his destination lay, he could course correct to reach it.

It had been years, though, and while he was no longer soul-sick, the ache of it refused to leave him.

When it became too much to bear, he would leave for the surface, to float on his back and close his eyes. The ocean air had become familiar, but it went deeper than that, the churning sea so close to making a connection somewhere in the recesses of his being. He was put in the mind of the artificial reef he’d awoken in-- pinned, scared and without a trace of memory-- but had no idea how they could be related. More than anyone, he knew how heavy the construct was; it seemed wholly antithetical to the gentle rocking that only occurred above the waterline.

Frustrated with his lack of progress, but not surprised, he let out a heavy sigh and pitched it halfway through, low in his throat. He didn’t know what purpose this ability served, as none of the other merfolk could hear when he dipped into this range, but it was cathartic; he could cry for the fact that the clan had been so kind, so welcoming, and he still didn’t belong. He could lament that there was something wrong with him, that he still felt sickness in between the beating of his heart, and he feared he would never escape it.

He could admit, in tones no one would ever hear, that he didn’t know how much longer he could bear the solitude before it consumed him whole.

Though he knew perfectly well that she was unable to parse his voice like this, it died in his throat as Dawn poked her head up from the waves. Unwilling to have a conversation with her in such an undignified position, he turned over and dipped back below the water so they could speak properly.

“Is rebuilding going well?” He asked, following up from the last topic they’d touched upon, “Has there been any recovering from the salt water?”

The humans weren’t bad, he knew-- and had known for as long as he could recall-- they were just scared. For as disastrous as the region’s flooding had been, the one silver lining was that it had given the clans cause to cooperate with the villagers and, slowly, the merfolk were beginning to make progress. He couldn’t be certain how the humans looked upon the situation, but they accepted aid, at least, and that was something.

“It’s...” There was a conspicuous pause. “Going. That’s not why I came to talk, actually.”

“No?” He asked, unable to find it in himself to be surprised. Dawn was like the sea itself at times, ever shifting, just shy of capricious.

“No. I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but I think I met someone who knew you before! He’s waiting for us at the bluff.”

He blinked at her, the words sitting at the surface of his thoughts for several seconds before sinking in, “What makes you believe that this individual and I share any sort of connection? I don’t mean to cast doubt, but if even I’m unable to say with any certainty...”

“He was looking for someone called Ingo.” She said, and while there was a twitch of her tail that suggested it wasn’t the whole truth, Ingo was too caught up in that declaration to catch it. “He looks like you, too. A scary amount.”

“He’s also an orca?” It might be nice, he thought, to physically be on the same level as someone for a change-- unmarked as the odd man out in this regard, on top of everything else that made him feel so detached from the clan.

“Well… no, it’s mostly in the face. But your coats are basically the same!”

Interesting. That, more than anything else, lent credence to her theory. As strongly as he felt about his name, his complete lack of any other personal details meant that he couldn’t be entirely sure it was what he’d used prior to waking up beneath the ruins. The fact that this person was seeking someone of the same name was noteworthy, but not conclusive. The resemblance was also compelling, but could be explained by a mimic octopus or the like.

His clothes, however, had been a subject of bewilderment among the clan for some time. Drag caused his coat to hinder his movement and speed, and it was constantly becoming caught on bits of rock or other hazards. His hat was somewhat more practical, helping him see above the water on bright days, but beneath the waves, all it did was threaten to fly away if caught in the mildest of currents. Even if this was a misunderstanding and Dawn’s contact didn’t know of him, perhaps he could ask what the utility was.

“I see.” He narrowly refrained from breathing it out as a sigh; there was little use in speculating if confirmation or denial really was so near, “If he’s waiting, we ought not to leave him at the station. Are you ready to depart for the Clamberclaw Bluffs?”

Dawn took him by the forefinger and smiled at him-- and where he occasionally saw a flash of pity in it, there was nothing but anticipation.

“Let’s go!” She said, tugging him forward, a current all her own.

Ingo allowed it to happen, allowed her to be the force driving his tired cab onward. Maybe, when they reached their destination, there would be someone there to meet it.

---

The first indication that Emmet was no longer alone on the rocky outcropping was Dawn hefting herself up onto the edge with the grace of someone still adjusting to that specific workout. He refrained from commenting on that fact both because he liked to think himself polite and because something else stole his attention away shortly thereafter.

Offset from where she’d appeared, the water warped unnaturally, and it took a second for him to realize that it was because it was something else was surfacing, something massive enough to distort the water as it rose.

“Oh,” Said his brother’s voice, loud as one of his directing calls whilst somehow maintaining a sort of gentle surprise, “You’re human.”

Even though he’d been warned as much, as he blinked upwards, trying to process the reality he’d found himself living, he said, “You’re… not.”

“Was… was I supposed to be?” Ingo turned his head as he said it, a hand curling to rest against his lips-- and it was so achingly familiar that, for just a second, it was possible to overlook the fact that his forearm had to be longer than Emmet’s full height.

“Yes?” He half-asked, trying to keep his expression from dipping into anything too ridiculous in his incredulity, “To my knowledge, identical siblings are usually the same species.”

The animate half of Ingo’s face scrunched, puzzled, and he leaned over on his arms to put them on the same level. He spent several seconds silently assessing Emmet, before returning with, “We do look quite similar, don’t we?”

“Identical.” Emmet repeated, insistent, and he couldn’t keep his voice from crackling on it, “We are-- we’re supposed to be identical twins.”

“And I take it from your response that you were never an orca?” His brother said, a little helplessly.

“No.” At that, however, he stepped forward, emboldened both by the certainty that this was somehow his missing twin-- all but confirming that he had never been in any danger-- and a suddenly-consuming curiosity.

Ingo watched his approach, but did nothing to stop him. The only movement was that of one enormous, clawed hand tucking itself into the tattered remains of the opposite sleeve and, abruptly, Emmet realized he was still wearing his uniform’s hat and coat. The hat and coat that had been commissioned in tandem with the ones Emmet wore right now. Emmet, who was notably human-sized.

How?

The nearer he drew, the more clearly he could make out the black mass in the water beyond, a shadow that stretched and curved into an undeniably fish-shaped tail, floating just high enough for a dorsal fin to cut through the surface.

With a new clarity, he looked up, taking in the black patches that both camouflaged the actual lines under his brother’s eyes and made his weariness look orders worse, and asked, “Was the whale song your doing?”

The too-pale skin of Ingo’s face went faintly pink. “You were able to hear that?”

Emmet felt his face crack into a grin, “You are not quiet.”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” He tried, though the flush only intensified at the comment, “The frequency is inaudible to the other merfolk. I didn’t think anyone else was physically able to hear it.”

“Wait,” Said a mildly-familiar voice and, with a start, Emmet remembered they weren’t alone, “Is that what you’re doing when you float on the surface like a dead fish? You’re just screaming into the sky?”

“That is-- no. Not in the slightest!”

“If he yelled, you would know. Even as a human.” The commentary earned him a downward glance through narrowed eyes.

“Regardless,” Ingo said, transparently trying to get them back on a track that didn’t lead to further teasing, “I’m surprised that you were able to discern it without being a mer yourself.”

Emmet hummed, considering that, and then turned his head. “I’m not. Other people cannot read your face, but I can. It makes sense that I can understand you now, too.”

“Because you’re… my twin brother.” Ingo said haltingly, testing the words for himself as if to see if they were any more convincing in his own voice.

Emmet smiled, though not without an edge of melancholy, letting him reach a conclusion in his own time. That wasn’t disbelief, he knew, but it was plain to see how lost his brother was, and hurrying him wouldn’t help.

He wouldn’t push, but… but maybe it would be okay to make sure this was real, that he hadn’t hit his head upon arriving in Hisui and managed to fool himself into thinking this might finally be it.

Holding one hand up to indicate a lack of aggression-- as if something so small could do anything to hurt someone with the proportions of a killer whale-- he took a tentative, questioning step forward and asked, “Can I touch?”

Ingo blinked at him, focused momentarily on his palm, and then back on his face. In lieu of an answer, he rested his head on his arms in full, putting himself in range to reach more comfortably. His bright, bright eyes tracked the motion until he couldn’t any longer, and he breathed out, slow and impossibly long.

The skin beneath Emmet’s hand was dark, the stripe of it trailing up to a floppy ear and down below the line of a collar, but still warm and still undeniably human. He’d half expected it to feel rubbery under his touch, but the biggest difference was the subtle grit of drying salt. He was reminded intensely of the summer their family visited the Decolore Islands and specifically of when, as a joke, he’d tried to push his brother into the water, only for Ingo to clutch his hand that much more tightly and send the both of them tumbling in. Having to go on in wet clothes had been bad enough until they began to dry, contrasting outfits stiff with the residual salt on their persons. As children, it had been unbearable. He could only hope it didn’t itch the same way, now.

He only realized he’d spaced out at the renewed rumble as his twin began to speak again, “--not sure. Are you still with us, Emmet?”

For a second, he froze in place, and then drew his hand back, breaking out into an unburdened smile. Beaming up at his brother, he said, “Ingoooooo, I never told you my name.”

Ingo’s brow furrowed as he mentally played the conversation back, and then he glanced to Dawn, who held her hands up and shook her head. When that failed to yield any plausible explanation, his gaze flitted back over to Emmet, uncertain, as if he’d done something wrong.

“It’s good!” Emmet said before his twin could start to reverse down the tracks, “I do not know what happened, but you’re still you. That is all that matters to me.”

As quietly as he was physically capable of with such robust lungs, Ingo repeated “My brother,” to himself, already coming to terms with the idea, and Emmet stepped forward again.

He leaned into his twin’s shoulder, heedless of the water that immediately soaked through his coat, and, as best he could, pressed the side of his face to Ingo’s. Against his own side, he felt a pulse speed up, powered by a heart that was finally large enough to match the outpouring of love its owner had always put into the world.

A hand moved to cradle his back, painstaking in the care behind it, and within two beats of that massive heart, the whale song began anew.

[xkittzkornerx]

defending KATSEYE (long post bc wtf)

i feel like hating KATSEYE should be an immediate red flag just in general, but especially in k-pop spaces. that should be means for immediate expulsion from fandom spaces, okay? right off the bat, probably a kboo. you don’t have to like their stuff, but if you’re one of these people who despise them/participate in the online hate train, there is smth deeply demented happening and my tingling spidey senses scream fetishization.

there is not a single scandal between Manon, Megan, Lara, Sophia, Yoonchae or Daniela (that’s six whole people to slip up over the years, and they haven’t!). not only are their demeanors very sweet, OT6 is ridiculously talented and dedicated to their craft. they’ve all been dancing like pros since childhood. they’re all gorgeous in their own lovely, unique ways. not a single bad singer or dancer. charisma 9,000. the only argument i’ve heard against KATSEYE is essentially that they aren’t all East Asian, which is gross for so many reasons.

1) they aren’t k-pop, j-pop, mandopop, or cantopop. they’re a global English-speaking group that uses the methods made by the k-pop industry. neither the girls nor HYBE Labels x Geffen Records have claimed the KATSEYE project as anything other than that.

2) we saw the same reaction to VCHA. people freaking out mostly over KG and Savanna, although i doubt the people complaining even knew the girls’ names. the moment an artist doesn’t fit their “uwu unnie/oppa” ideal, they get mad. as if the idols who do fit that standard are obligated to and as if that isn’t them outing themselves as kboos. every member of VCHA is qualified to be in VCHA and w recent accusations made against JYP-USA by former-member KG, they’ve clearly endured a lot of abuse to stay where they are… mind you, KG and many of the remaining members are minors and they were still subject to literal torture. any harassment atp of idols (particularly minors) needs to be dealt w swiftly. we know the industry won’t protect them, so we’ve gotta do smth.

3) these weirdos will hate on a group regardless of if they sing in Korean, like BLACKSWAN, who still are largely ignored and purposely overlooked despite their immense talent and great chemistry. all they see is no Koreans and a Black leader. they’ll also whine regardless of if they have mostly East Asian members, like NCT, whose Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, and American-born Korean members are given far less hype from fans and less promotion from their own company. this is mostly directed at the Zennies who treat Nakamoto Yuta like he is invisible. Johnny is given the shittiest lines possible and he is treated like a joke bc of it. Yuta, who has been waiting for his own solo for several years, barely got any promo that wasn’t a consecutive effort on the part of Ai (his fandom). WayV, whose members are mostly Chinese and Taiwanese (Ten is Thai) are continuously neglected by SM in ways a Korean unit would never be.

4) they are weird to mixed idols. you have likely seen it before, they’ll ostracize them for not being a “superior full-blooded Korean,” w a special credence saved for half White idols bc apparently hating on Wasians fixes the racism a lot of White people have. (so smart! wow!) TXT’s Hueningkai, Pristin’s Kyla, NWNJ’s Dani, and SVT’s Vernon. what makes this worse is half-Korean people in South Korean (labeled ‘halfers’) are almost always bullied as children. we’ve seen how bad Korean bullying can get, and it doesn’t usually change once they’re adults. in Vernon’s case, he was born in Manhattan but he moved to S. Korea when he was 5. he is culturally Korean. he speaks Korean more confidently than English. he even dropped his American citizenship and will be enlisting in the S. Korean military. he could have easily dodged mandatory service if he remained an American citizen, but he dropped it. he is Korean. he’s also been the most vocal about how he was bullied for having a White American mom and had to drop out bc of the ostracism and loneliness. yet people still other him, dilute him to either the “weird meme guy” or “hot guy w no thoughts,” when he’s arguably the most philosophical and socially conscious member. they still call him a White boy, in FAN SPACES. Carats generally do not correct this behavior. i only ever see Dolly (his fandom) shutting it down and we’re always met w “it’s just a joke” as if it isn’t just eugenics in sheep’s clothing.

5) it. does. not. matter. it’s fine to have preferences. every human being has them. nobody is saying you can’t prefer Koreans. what’s weird is singling out a race/ethnicity as your only option, projecting a message that they’re superior, and putting them on a pedestal as if they aren’t just people like you and me. toxic positivity is real and fetishization is dangerous. it’s just racism in different wrapping paper. a group should be judged on their talent, charisma, chemistry, manners, and personality. their ethnicity/race/nationality should be embraced but don’t make it weird. listen to fans from their same countries when they point out creepy behavior. they know better than anyone.

[dufferpuffer]

Finally watched Fantastic Beasts while waiting for new years and I am full of thoughts... here are my initial thoughts B^)

+ I like the super-strict direction of American wizarding society - since it was the same puritans that caused the Statue of Secrecy to be written that colonized America, I doubt many Wizards went there initially - so western Wizarding society is a newer frontier over there... and puritan ideals are stronger in no-maj society. Like real America All the wizards being constantly in no-maj clothing because they have to mingle with them to get anywhere - they have no standard clothing culture or infrastructure that allows for hidden travel like an old Floo network - that's awesome. Muggles built the (colonized) country; not a combined Muggle-Wizard history like in England.

+ I like most of the major characters. Newt was a fun 'polite trickster' who nods his head to anything people say... but then goes and does whatever the hell he wants. I like him more than movie Harry (but not book Harry). Jacob is adorable, its hard to hate the wide-eyed, overwhelmed, brave and sweet sidekick. I love him. I wanted him to be happy and full of wonder and to get his bakery. He and Newt had good chemistry tbh. All the 'fat jokes' were fucked up though, what the hell Queenie... frightens me. She's a bad bitch when she dropped her creepy cutsey flapper act and became dangerous, and her genuine desire to understand people when her powers push them away was sweet. Being deeply uncomfortable was icing on the cake. Credence is sorta cheating. His character is 'confused and abused, turns to shifty sources for help' - and then 'has lived a life of CONSTANT suffering and is freaking out in immense pain'. He's a tragic boy. You're meant to want to give him a hug and tell him it's okay... and they hit that nail on the head. Success.

- I DIDN'T like ex Auror much. Whats her name...? She wasn't very compelling. I liked that she peeked around corners and tried her best - she's cutsey in an 'anime girl' way and had a nice hat - but she seemed wasted. No chemistry with Newt, either. At least Queenie and Jacob had the decency to be weirdo's...

+ I like most of the beasts. I typically prefer when HP leans to more 'grounded' designs rather than trying to be super colourful and whimsical - I prefer Erumpants to Mooncalf - but it's all cool. I was a little disappointed by Occamy, it was my favourite creature in the book and the movie had different ideas - how DARE they not consult me >:^( Newt actually feels like he LIKES animals and is trying to do well by them with what he has, in a world that's otherwise cruel to them... that's rare for a HP thing. I like how Niffler are like... if there was another monotreme. Something between a platypus and an echidna... and yet FEELS British somehow? I could imagine that thing in The Wind in the Willows

+ I LOVED Newt's suitcase. So full of character. It seems like a very special, powerful magical item many people would want to get their hands on... yet didn't feel too overpowered? I suppose because the downside of 'can be easily closed and carried away while you're inside' is actually a steep downside - It was just cool and I liked it. I think it would have been fun if it had a bit of a mind of its own. It unclipped its own locks, but if it had a bit more of its own personality that would have been cool. :^)

But that's kinda the limit of what I liked. There was more that didn't really work, or only sorta-worked...

- What was the point of the rich Muggle guy and his politician son who was killed first, and the younger brother...? Why were they there other than to waste time that could have been spent on the anti-witch group? The Bitch, red-herring Girl and Credence worked. But all of them barely did anything. I wish they did something.

- Sometimes shit just... happened. Why did the tight-ass Muggle banker walk down to see Jacob and Newt 'steal' from the vault? How did ex-auror find them after the Erumpant? Why is the American execution system so... weird? An oddly modern looking chair that spins around over a molten metal pool, they tempt you with nice memories and then you go in the chair instead of walking in the pool... why don't they killing curse? A Potion? What was the point of their execution...? Why did Newt think to cast a revealing spell on Graves at the end?

- All the elements of the story felt disjointed. I get it, Newt's Beasts are being blamed for the destruction of the city - which is actually being fostered by Gellert's pet Obscural... it just doesn't feel like the story flows like that? Newt doesn't feel especially blamed, the beast hunt doesn't feel important beyond Newt simply caring for them... the stakes are weirdly low. The beast hunt felt like key-jangling.

- All the elements lacked punch. Breaking into a bank, being caught covered in jewels, chasing down beasts for their own safety, dodging being caught, being sold out by sleazy weird-finger guy, almost being executed - none of it felt weighty. No tension aside from when Newt's trunk was taken away and Queenie stepped the fuck up - and Credence had a big wobbly near the end.

- I have very mixed feelings about Graves. He was dull most of the time but intense when interacting with Credence. I LOVED his manipulation - the sweet-soothing, the knowing exactly what that boy needed to hear, hugging and kissing him like a father but sharply punching him in the face when he was overwhelmed - not stopping all the fatherly sweet talk for it! That barely contained violence under a perfectly acted mask - and you can see how confused Credence is by it. Graves heals his injuries, soothes him with affection he has never had - but then dishes out sharp, sudden pain... he is SCARY!

Most of the movie he wasn't much of a player in events, didn't stand out much, wasn't interesting... I just figured he was one of Gellert's followers. In a way I liked that for him. He was a small-fry trying to help by doing small-fry things.

But then at the end it is revealed he was Grindelwald. Yippee...? It never felt like there was any mystery about him. Graves was a man-in-the-shadows, using his power in America-Ministry to his advantage... and his goal seemed to be using an obscurial as a type of weapon and propaganda to Gellert's goals. I feel like that would have been a good way to set up Gellert for the next movie: arrest Graves and have him be like 'Don't you see how we suffer??? Grindelwald is right-!!!'

But no. Graves WAS Gellert. Suddenly Gellert seems... small-fry and pathetic. BUT. BUT - I definitely get why the FB Albus/Gellert ship is popular: Gellerts manipulation of Credence as an example opens SO many doors to how he and Albus' romance could have played out-!!! From the darkest abuses and control to the monster being tamed. When 'Graves' was like 'so Newt... what does this 'albus dumbledore' teacher see in you...?' man just wanted to talk about his ex lol

- My main takeaway is like... this movie was BEGGING on its hands and knees to be an 8ish episode series. An episode per beast - so re-capturing them feels like an important achievement and we fall in love with them as much as Newt does. Make sure the American-Ministry is applying constant pressure. No-Maj cult sub-plot every episode - try to build the mystery. Get us really used to Graves as a player in the story that seems both reasonable and shifty.

Episode 3: Teddy the Niffler A plot: After checking inside the wonderful case the previous episode, Jacob and Newt escape the apartment to track down the missing beasts - running into the elusive Niffler rampaging a jewelry store. As Newt doesn't know much about Muggles and their police - they are surrounded and then chased. Having learned previously that magic around Muggles is more trouble than its worth in America, Newt tries to escape with non-magical means... for the most part. While previously unsure of magic, Jacob now trusts in it - urging Newt to 'be more magical!' in their escape. (A temporary role reversal - Newt going 'I don't want to draw attention!' and Jacob going 'for gods sake man, they have GUNS!') Jacob is starting to feel his lack of magic keenly. Miraculously they are saved by mundane creatures Newt finds just as wondrous - but Jacob knows it can only mean something is very wrong... the hook for the next episode. B plot: First real look at the anti-magic house since meeting them briefly on the stairs in episode 1. It is the end of a long day making pamphlets, and the kids are being checked and ushered to bed. All the kids are creepy - especially red-herring girl - but are treated with at least some care by The Bitch... until Credence. He tries to slip into his room but is stopped. He is blamed for going out when he shouldn't, and he tries to deny it - but seems to know he will be punished, anyway. Next time we see him he is housing injuries, curled up in bed... but in the middle of the night, we see he is a liar: he HAS been sneaking out. He gets out of bed as the clock reaches midnight and goes out to meet... Graves. He seeks affection, shows his injuries, cries and is treated with comfort and care - it seems like Graves is using him to get information, but does genuinely care for the boy. (for now the viewer trusts him enough as a tough wizard cop who isn't afraid to break the law a little and has a soft heart, even to no-maj.) C plot: Ex-Auror is pissed (Queenie heartbroken) that their pet boys have escaped. Bugger. On her way out to find them again she runs into other Aurors. Graves is there. There's been ANOTHER Statue of Secrecy breach - a bunch of Muggle police. It's odd for him to be out for such a small event - but he seems worried this string of cases will get worse unless the perpetrators are caught quickly, so he is investigating. He tells ex-Auror to not get in the way and heads off in a different direction... (to see Credence) Ex-Auror almost turns around to leave the real Auror's to it... but as she discovers Newt and Jacob scurrying to their next destination she gets a burst of confidence - if she catches them it might impress Graves and might give her back her job-!

...Something like that.

It's not quite that the movie didn't have enough time. I mainly feel like it chopped itself up poorly - a different structure would have suited it better. A little more time wouldn't hurt either, though.

[sunflowerdigs]

I think it's telling that Oliver pulled out arguably one of his best and most authentic portrayals of Buck in the scene where Buck discovers his attraction to men. It lends so much credence to the idea that this character has always been bi, and that his sexuality is an intrinsic part of him that, when stripped out, makes the character feel incomplete.

For some reason, I've really wanted to call the character "Evan" instead of "Buck" ever since watching that final scene. I've had to stop and correct myself. Buck has taken on so many different mantles throughout the show, (as Oliver said) to sort of make up for this part of him that he didn't understand or felt was lacking. And I think that the name "Buck" has been a part of that. There's an almost...vulnerability and a softness to the name "Evan" that isn't there with "Buck" (I'm sure a linguist could explain why - maybe part of it is that "Evan" is gender neutral while "Buck" is pretty steeped in stereotypical masculinity? Idk. Something about one syllable vs two, maybe?). The most memorable times that characters have called the character "Evan" have been times where they've been trying to imbue him with a sense of his worth as a full human being. In fact, Tommy only calls him Evan (I think) and Buck doesn't correct him and I think that's a conscious choice both by the character and the writers.

I know that some people choose names or nicknames to liberate themselves from their given name, but I'm not sure that's why Buck did it. He doesn't make faces or flinch away from "Evan" like he hates it when he hears it in emotional moments. If anything, his reaction to "Evan" is generally this almost fearful hopefulness. So, I wonder whether "Buck" was a reaction to that hollow space inside of him - if Evan gave himself a nickname with teeth that would provide him some armor or an exoskeleton, to make up for that missing piece. And now that he's feeling more whole, with Tommy, he can accept "Evan" with a little less fear.

All that said...I hope that Eddie keeps calling him Buck, always, no matter what the character goes by in the future. In vulnerable moments, when it's just them. Because what that would say to me is this: I saw you when you were not yet whole and I loved you then. With me, you never need to be anyone but who you are in the moment. I'll always meet you where you are, even if I disagree with where you are, because you're worth it.

(Also, I hope the 118 fondly teases him about letting Tommy call him Evan).

[jacobsnicket]

fictober day 12: "did you hear that?" | blithe spirit | T

warning for period-typical ableism and mention of suicide

read on ao3

The door was open when George and Violet Bradman arrived, the glass insert shattered. There was glass all over the porch. Violet was starting to regret coming here, and she said as much.

“We have to, dear,” George said. “There’s been no sign of Charles for days. I’d like to check up on him.”

“I told you, George, he’s fled to South America. The women at the bridge club told me that.”

“Don’t be silly. Why on earth would he have done that?”

When they stepped into the house proper, Violet’s stomach felt even queasier. The mess on the porch was absolutely nothing compared to the destruction in the living room— bookshelves toppled, couch flipped over, vases smashed. The ground was a mess of ripped paper, broken china, and flowers tossed this way and that. It looked like a hurricane had ran through the place. 

She thought back to the state Mr. Condomine had been in at his wife’s funeral, shouting curses at no one before hurriedly ushering everyone out with a plea for them to purchase his latest book. She knew how grief did things to people, and Mrs. Condomine’s death had been uniquely tragic, but this… this was too much.

“You don’t suppose he did all this, do you?” she asked gingerly, surveying the damage.

“Who else could have?” George sighed. “Perhaps we’d ought to have him admitted somewhere. It seems his case of nerves has developed into full-blown hysteria.”

“Well, we can’t admit him anywhere if we don’t know where he is!” Violet paused. “How do we know he hasn’t already been sent anywhere?”

“I’ve checked with every hospital and psychiatric institution in the county. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.”

“Alright, then.” Violet’s heels crunched against glass and porcelain as she, against all of her better judgement, walked further into the house. “If we’re here, I suppose we’d better go and find him.”

–

The Condomine house had already been turned upside down when they’d arrived, but George and Violet had turned it upside down again searching for Charles. In the end, though, it was to no avail. The house was empty. Wherever Mr. Condomine was, it wasn’t here.

“I really do hope he is actually just in South America, and not…”

George scowled at her from his position on the one chair in the house that was still upright. “Not what?”

“Not… you know. That he didn’t do anything rash.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” George says just a bit too quickly. “He loves life too much. He loves himself too much.”

“I don’t know what to think. All of this seems so out of character for him.”

“He’s always been a quite highly strung man, and grief has powerful effects on the brain. I suppose there is some sort of credence to your theory, although I really do hope—”

From another room, there was a loud crash. George flinched. Violet jumped.

“Did you hear that, dear?”

“Yes, I did, George.”

After dashing towards the source of the noise, they had learned that, in this case, was one of the only vases left standing in the dining room, which had seemingly decided to join its kin in falling to the floor and shattering. Funny thing. She hadn’t remembered that vase being in a position precarious enough for it to fall on its own. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought someone had knocked it over.

–

“Do be careful, darling,” Elvira hissed. “You wouldn’t want to make even more of a mess, would you?”

“Apologies,” said Ruth. “It’s just… Mrs. Bradman. You know, the last conversation I had with her, she was most unkind to me.”

Ruth decided not to remark upon the darling. In the time she had spent with Elvira since her demise, she had learned that Elvira tossed around pet names almost as easily as she did insults.

“I do know.” Elvira giggled. “It was very funny.”

“Oh, you stop it.”

They both watched the Bradmans, finally having given up on their fruitless search for Charles, tiptoe their way around the destruction and walk out the door. When the door finally shut, Ruth breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness they’re gone.”

Elvira sighed and laid down on the floor, seemingly unbothered by the mess. It wasn’t as if anything could hurt her. “What on earth are we doing here? This house is a wreck.”

“Don’t tell me that you need a reminder. We came back after Charles left.”

They’d tried to follow him, but they’d only made it as far as the port. It seemed that, somehow, Charles had been right after all about spirits not being able to travel over water.

“Yes, yes, I know. But we could be anywhere by now, darling! Why here?”

Ruth didn’t quite know how to answer that. “It’s home, Elvira. Where else would we be?”

“Ruth, your home is nothing more than a garbage dump now.”

“If we leave, who’s going to look after the house?”

“No one needs to look after the house! No one lives here anymore!”

“We live here!”

Elvira sighed again. “I see what’s happening to you. Your brain doesn’t know you’re dead yet. It takes a while to adjust, heaven knows it was difficult for me too at first…”

“We can’t just— leave the house behind.”

“Of course we can! Come now, I’d better show you around the Other Side.”

Ruth frowned. “If you were so anxious to leave, you could have just gone on without me.”

Elvira sat up at that, looking genuinely offended at the idea. “Now, why on earth would I do that?”