#and instead there's time travel bullshittery

[emblazonet]

Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern

THIS BOOK IS SO GOOD!! It's so good! This is 100% my favourite Pern book so far. The characters are all great. The setting felt alive and interesting. The stakes were fucking high. I knew Moreta was going to die, in the way you know Vanyel is going to die in The Last Herald-Mage trilogy, because we're going back in time to explore the life of a characters from an in-universe ballad, and it made me love her more.

It's also about a pandemic, but in a soothing way? Honestly it was SUCH a relief to read a story about people just fucking doing the work of Dealing With A Contagious Flu without much of the bullshittery we've all had to live through these past three years.

This got long, so more under the cut!

There are no psycho anti-vax cults in Pern. The small population scattered over a continent that's constantly being besieged by Thread does not, generally, have the luxury of either the greed we've gotten to witness IRL nor the misinformation campaigns. Characters that hoard are stolen from; characters who try to prevent vaccination are villains in the narrative and the good guys go into their territory to vaccinate—that's Moreta's final heroic moment! She dies, not from the disease but from exhaustion, to ensure everyone gets vaccinated to PREVENT A SECOND WAVE.

I expected to feel re-traumatized by the pandemic conflict. Instead, it felt healing to read about these characters. It felt affirming. It made me feel better about my choice to continue wearing a mask in public. It felt invigorating: ok, so my world isn't as sensible as Pern's, but it's still worth it to fight disease, to fight the depression and apathy—in short, it did exactly what a fantasy book is supposed to do. Inspire. I don't know that this will be everyone's take away, but it was mine.

This book gets so much right, I can't even believe this is the same author who wrote all those other Pern books I've read so far. (How did we jump from the crap of The White Dragon into this? HOW?) All these things:

Despite there being SO MANY characters, the book largely juggles its cast well, and while I often forgot names, the context usually helped me out. Every character actually felt unique and distinct and like they had different lives they were living.

Moreta and Alessan's relationship was so well done. You know it's not a romance that will go anywhere, so it feels precious when they snatch some time together. Also, Alessan is just an attractive dude character? Unlike any other of the male leads in a Pern book, Alessan appeals to me.

The relationship between Moreta and the older queen rider, Leri—UGH MY HEART. At the beginning of the book I was worried Moreta would have the 'not like other girls' vibe... I needn't worried. Leri as mentor, accomplice and friend is everything I could have asked for in a female friendship. And Moreta has other relationships and positive experiences with women, and it's so good, but what she has with Leri is so special.

The way the book builds this yearning for Moreta to be able to fly Orlith again, and then at the end she's with Leri's exhausted Holth, and they die away from their partners in the line of duty—I CRIED OK. It was so much. It was so good.

Only small bits of time travel, smart avoidance of paradoxes, thank you.

I was super invested in Moreta's healing of the Thread-damaged dragon wings. The whole process of healing dragons was super interesting!

Loved that Threadfall kept on happening throughout, it made the stakes even higher in the best way possible.

There were things I think could have been better:

I didn't enjoy Moreta's introduction and it made me feel like the book was gonna suck lol, she was arguing with Nesso and then talking about her body in a way that just felt dated and weird.

Everyone on Pern must have the same blood type I guess? Because they're just using extracted blood to make the vaccine, and the vaccine appears to have no ill effect. Honestly, the book had so much going on I'm pretty grateful it didn't go into Accurate Medical Science, but it did feel incredibly oversimplified.

Telgar Weyr's Weyrleader just sort of like decides everyone's not allowed into his territory and fuck you guys but I didn't really get a feel for that character at all or where he was coming from? So it undermined Moreta's end sacrifice a bit, because the ending felt rushed.

I really wanted Sh'gall to do something so egregiously annoying that someone yelled at him. Sh'gall was basically the comic relief though, I generally enjoyed how useless he was lol.

Overall? 11/10 and I REALLY hope the rest of the Pern books are this good! I'm going to pick back up in January with Nerilka's Story.

[crookedgrifter]

you don't save the world by relaxing, a ficlet set on lofaf.

in which dave would like jade to take a break, and jade would like dave to leave. those frogs are not going to breed themselves, after all.

----

“Hey,” Dave says as he walks into the large room. He glances around, first watching the many, many frogs hopping around the room, and then at the mess that has begun to pile up. In the middle of it all is Jade, who is hunched over the main console, frantically pressing buttons and muttering to herself.

Dave studies her for a moment. Her hair is frizzy and unkempt, and he’s pretty sure she’s wearing the same clothes he saw her in five days ago.

She clearly didn’t hear him. “Hey,” he repeats, a little louder. Jade jumps, letting out a small shriek.

“Hi,” she says tiredly, but doesn’t turn to face him, still pressing buttons. Click, click, click. He moves to stand over her shoulder, watching her press various different buttons that make absolutely no sense to him.

“Are you good,” he asks, knowing the answer. He wishes she would turn to face him.

A slight pause in the button pressing. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Lie. Her voice is just a little too cheerful-fake. “Just busy, yaknow? Frogs suck. I want to strangle their cute little faces.” Dave knows this song and dance well; deflect with humor in the attempt that he will cease and desist. Dave is not fooled - he invented the fine art of bullshittery. He ignores the silent go away please and says instead: “You look terrible.”

Jade snorts, shoulders stiffening slightly. “Thanks, Dave. It’s not like I’m trying to save the world or anything.” Underneath the sarcasm, he can hear the silent undertone; I’m doing it all alone. What if I can’t do it in time?

“No, yeah, it’s just a normal. Uh. What day is it.” He pauses for a moment. Sure, he could just guess. Maybe his fancy time-player powers could tell him. He’d rather make Jade laugh. “You know what,” he continues, going the funny route, as he always does. “Days don’t exist anymore. I’m declaring today Daveurday.” Jade lets out a small laugh. Strider 1, Harley 0, Dave thinks. “The best day ever,” she agrees.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a national holiday now. It lasts, uhh. Two daylight cycles, and everyone’s gotta wear shades and praise me.” Jade turns to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. Bright green like her island used to be. Dave internally winces - there are bags under her eyes, and her glasses are crooked. When was the last time she ate? He’s afraid to find out. “Oh great supreme overlord Dave, please spare me. I am but a mere uncool mortal,” she says, tone worshipful, although he knows she is anything but.

“As your supreme overlord I command you to take a break,” Dave replies imperiously, tilting his chin up and looking down at her. Jade laughs sharply, eyes flicking away from his and back to the console, where the buttons remain unpressed. One is flashing red, almost accusingly - why haven’t you pressed me, it seems to say. She presses a seemingly unrelated one on the other side of the board. It stops flashing. Her back is to him again, he notes, and knows she is trying to hide the fact that she barely has it together. News flash, it’s painfully obvious.

After a moment, she says, “I’ll take a break-” she pauses, “I’ll take a break when I’m dead, I suppose.” And Dave realizes, it’s not just this. She hasn’t taken a true break since, he doesn’t know when? After all, she saw their futures in the clouds of Prospit. Had carried that alone. She’s more of a hero than he will ever be, he thinks.

He decides on the next best thing: “Fine then, let me help you.” “No, I got this,” she says, “I’m the space player, right. This is my job. Yours is to time travel and make more annoying clones of yourself.”

“My job is also to make sure you’re like. Sleeping? And eating? Those are kind of important, Jade,” he argues. “It’s Daveurday. You gotta obey the Dave. And the Dave says to take a break.”

Another long moment, during which Dave watches her intently, knowing she’ll give in. She always does. It’s the Strider charm. Nobody can resist the shades. Strider 2, Harley 0, he thinks, as she sighs, leaning back in her chair. After a moment, she turns halfway to side-eye him. “Fine. But only if you shut up.”

“Me, shut up? Never.” He says, faking offense, and crouches down next to the console. “Now show me what all these buttons do, Miss Harley.”

[ageofpiracyrp]

PLOT DROP 16: I WANT TO BELIEVE

Knowing is half the battle, and there are too many secrets on Prosperity.

Karmel announced one day to the ship’s crew that there would be a change of plans. Nobody looked more startled by the news than Daphne, who usually had such a good poker face.

Instead of going to Kor’Sel’Koo, Prosperity would be traveling to the Kuiper Belt Waystation. As unglamorous as the name might sound in English, the Kuiper Belt Waystation (or KBW) carried some weighty prestige in the galaxy. The KBW was neutral territory in the best way possible. It was close enough to Earth to make for an excellent stopping point for pirates without being illegal, and it wasn’t a planet subject to too much Galactic Union jurisdiction.

Owned by Zuytri Pleinru, a djayyar mutual friend of Karmel and Derros, it was well-known for being a spectacular stopping point if you could get an appointment on the mobile space station. KBW is what Soulf wanted to be (and failed to improve on). Unfortunately, the KBW went dark for the last year or so while subject to the investigation by the Galactic Union. Karmel would call this ‘bullshittery’ because the Galactic Union made its own use of the KBW during this period without Zuytri seeing a gixys of profit.

But the KBW is back, baby, and having a grand reopening gala. Karmel’s contacts agreed to convene with her on the KBW instead to take advantage of the gala opportunity.

As much as Daphne liked the idea of going to see the KBW, she did not like having plans changed on her, and suspected ulterior motives at play. She messaged Robin and Gwen privately, and let them know that she would be calling an all-crew meeting with Karmel not invited so that all of the cards could be put on the table. Daphne refused to let Karmel’s bullshittery get in the way of her crew’s safety, security, and My Chemical Romance concert attendance.

IN SUMMARY: Karmel has a friend named Zuytri. Zuytri is also friends with Derros. Zuytri owns a massive space station restaurant/hotel/conference center called KBW that flies around the Kuiper Belt and used to be a popular rest stop for pirates and space travelers. The KBW was shut down by the Galactic Union for a year. Karmel has changed our plans suddenly so that the crew is no longer going to Kor’Sel’Koo, and will instead be going to the KBW. Daphne doesn’t like how Karmel is making decisions, and wants to hold a meeting for the crew (WITHOUT KARMEL) to let them know about Karmel’s immortality skeeziness so that the crew can decide what they want to do.

NOTE: The KBW is an excellent location for any new characters to join up on the ship. We will be there just in time for current players’ third characters to join up with the ship, as well. At that time, a highly desired skeleton, the quartermaster (with an Aubrey Plaza faceclaim), will be opened for applications.

[the-hem]

What is the Number for Mashiach?

The Value in Gematria for Mashiach, Global Ethical Responsibility, is 1864, אחוד, "The union of brothers in the Meadow." = Life starts over.

The Legends say first comes the defeat of Gog-Magog. Gog-Magog is most accurately defined as the Word Apocalypse caused by lack of conscience in the use of global information interconnectivity.

God gave us this asset in order to help us create Mashiach, but instead, it has turned out to be an insolent barrier in the printing of a plan for Mashiach.

All that we are and will be has been predestined by God including the amazing gift of Gog-Magog which has helped propel medicine, surgery, chemistry, logistics, travel and access to educational resources far beyond the accomplishments of any other era. We now have access from every home to almost everything mankind has learned. This is an amazing miracle.

But one thing we have not learned is how to peacefully cohabitate on this world. We have narrowed our minds to the love of a few things, but not all. Most of all this current way of life is forbidden by every scripture mankind has ever written. Still, we perform it. This is a tragic mistake.

Life is constant in its needs for survival and happiness. The Mistake perpetrated by Gog-Magog provide us with reasons to interrupt what is consistent about the need for living things to survive and be content.

Pay heed to all the religious and political bullshittery that comes between life and its quest for happiness. Then, you will understand why Mashiach depends on victory over Gog-Magog and its conquest must be everlasting if the the Number of Mashiach is to finally tally.

Just as the Mishnah states, once the Black Pillar of religion lifts, Mashiach will take place. There cannot be a temporary experience of peace and order. If Mashiach does not last, it was not Mashiach, but a few more steps in the trudge we are making through the valley of death.

The overarching theme during combat with Gog-Magog has to do with an escape from the Valley we seem to prefer over the open field, drenched in sunlight, under the protection of the wind and rain.

If you can read a book and use it as the basis for seeking shelter in such an obscene way, you can learn to use it for its proper purposes as well. This is the meaning of the tallying of the Number of Mashiach.

There are now as many homeless and lost persons as there were after World War 2. History will report World War 3, which is taking place, now snuck up on us before and after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. This new War stole the earth from us one inch at a time. Mashiach, however will replace it all at once.

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 10

[Summary:  Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

"Well, what are you sitting there for? I mean today," Even snapped.

Demyx got up too fast, and vertigo rolled through him. He put on his shoes and followed them out the door. He still felt weak and struggled to keep up with their brisk pace.

But they didn't leave the castle. Instead they went straight into some office Demyx never had been to. The room was round, with low bookshelves all along the walls, and a massive picture frame leaning against the wall had been covered by tarps. Even and Ienzo breezed right through to the room behind it.

Demyx barely had time to take the room in. There was a console computer overlooking a gaping hall. It looked like there were massive glass containers on the wall—containers more than big enough to fit a person. He exhaled sharply. "What—"

Even turned to face him. "Tell me something, Nine," he said. "What do you feel now?"

"What?" Demyx repeated.

"How did you know it was darkness?" He pressed.

"Well…" He could barely tear his gaze from the glass containers. Even, Ienzo, the rest—they had been scientists—their experiments dealt with darkness in the human heart—he took a shaky breath. "I… felt wrong for a few days when I worked with the committee," he explained. "Like, tired, like my muscles were burning, and even when I slept I never got my energy back. I thought it was just because I was using my powers too much, but yesterday… it was worse than usual."

"Can you describe how?" Ienzo asked gently. Demyx saw Even pacing back and forth, mouthing words to himself.

He clasped his arms around himself. "The burning was like all over, and then my teeth started going numb. And it reminded me of when I became a Nobody. I had thought that maybe it was a toxin in the water, from sitting stagnant for so long right above those crystals, but…" His throat was still dry and he swallowed. "It made me feel… dirty, kind of… itchy…"

Ienzo came towards him. He put a finger under Demyx's chin and looked deep into his eyes. He checked his pulse as well. "You seem unharmed," he said. "I don't even smell the darkness on you."

"It didn't touch me. I felt it in the water. I didn't make it up, I swear, I—"

"We never thought you made it up," Ienzo said, as Even's muttering increased in volume. "Still… curious, how were you able to feel it without being exposed?"

"My powers," Demyx tried hopelessly. "I can feel bodies of water in my consciousness. I used to be able to figure stuff out about them—if they were contaminated, or drinkable, or how deep or far away from me they were. I hadn't gotten that back yet, but I think the darkness, for whatever reason, gave it back to me for a little while and I wasn't ready for it."

"We already know darkness does not confine itself to any logic," Even said. "You must be very careful and tell us in an instant if you begin to feel that way again."

Ienzo dove towards the computer console and began to hammer away at the computer. "It won't let me in," he hissed. "They must have changed all our passwords."

Demyx had never seen Ienzo this close to losing his cool. Nausea began to curdle in his stomach.

"Remember the backdoor, Ienzo," Even said in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing. He went over to him. "We will fix this."

"We've done enough," Ienzo said bitterly. He slammed on the keys. "Damn it!"

Demyx flinched.

Even put an arm around him. "Take a deep breath, Ienzo. We need you to be calm."

He did so several times. Demyx swore he saw tears beading in the corners of his eyes.

"This is not something we can do on our own," Even said to Ienzo. "We can do some damage control for now, but we need the boy."

"Me?" Demyx asked faintly.

"No, Nine, but we need you to sense the extent of the damage. We need…" he grimaced, as if he tasted something bitter. "We need Sora."

Demyx's blood ran cold. "No," he said through his teeth. "No, I… I can't…"

"You felt how strong the darkness was. Do you want to risk exposing the townspeople to it?" Even asked.

His hands started to shake. "How long will it take him to get here?"

"Depends on where he is in his journey," Ienzo said in a shaky voice. He kept his eyes on the floor. "It could be minutes, it could be hours."

"I will go and explain the situation to the committee," Even said. "Both of you need to stay here and field the situation. That is, if you believe yourself capable of keeping it together."

He's coming. The words jumbled together in Demyx's head. He was coming and even worse Demyx would have to work with him. An ache sprang up in his chest and his lungs constricted. He slid down against the nearest wall.

The battle. The blood. The bluntness of the Keyblade scraping against his chest. A tight, pained sound left his mouth.

"He won't hurt you," Ienzo said tiredly. He leaned against the console for support. "If anything, he'll be looking to make amends."

Demyx clutched his knees to try and stop his hands from trembling. Breathe. Count to ten. Was it darkness or pure fear making him feel this way? Slick, cold sweat gathered on his back. And then when he'd woken up after dying nothing was the same, nothing was right—

"You're not the only one who faced defeat at the hands of Sora," Ienzo said. His voice was still faint and his eyes faraway. "Perhaps you should talk to Xal—ah, Dilan. You might find it somewhat cathartic."

Cold tears snaked down his face, but at least he seemed able to breathe again. "Why are you so afraid?" Demyx asked.

Ienzo shut his eyes. "Because," he said. "All of this—Xehanort, the world falling to darkness, Nobodies, the Organization—it's because of me."

"…What?" Demyx said.

A long moment of silence. Ienzo's breathing became more labored, and he was trembling, but Demyx couldn't bring himself to go over and comfort him. "When… when I was a young child, studying under Ansem the Wise," he began. "I was quite precocious—precocious enough for them to introduce me to their own research. Ansem the Wise was always a man who was interested in the heart, but he didn't dare put any of his ideas into physical practice. The ethics, you see. The people of Radiant Garden used to be so strongly moral. With the arrival of the boy—Xehanort in Terra's body—it reawakened his curiosity. And I chose that moment to strike. I convinced him, and the others quickly backed me, to build a laboratory and put some rudimentary experiments into practice. It was all to try and heal the boy's memories; he was an amnesiac. He had replaced me as the favorite, the protégé, and I was jealous. I thought—if I could help him, then… We only had good intentions. And then…"

Demyx swallowed. "…And then?"

"Because of the psychological and emotional rigor of the tests, the darkness within the subjects' hearts spread like flame and devoured them. And we learned about the Heartless." His voice was level but his face was splotchy and tears coursed steadily down his face. "Whatever came next-inadvertently it was all because of me. And I wanted to spare him pain. Him. All along."

Demyx didn't know what to say.

"I am trying my best to try and make up for what I did," he said. "But I can never undo it. I can never go back in time. I… must take my leave." He strode briskly out of the room and left Demyx there alone to contemplate the new meaning of the bottles on the wall.

He came quietly, and he came alone.

Demyx associated Sora with theatrics and loud bravado; not to mention those accursed friends of his. When he heard the knock on the wall, he assumed it was Even or one of the others, but then he looked up and saw the spiky hair and sky-blue eyes. Demyx's heart flew into his throat and choked him.

Demyx was still alone, as well. Ienzo's breakdown must have hit him pretty hard. Instinctively, he took a step back and raised his hands. He tried to breathe, and tasted bile.

Despite panic Demyx noticed that Sora looked different. Not just the outfit, or the hair, but the slump in his posture and the exhausted glint in his eye.

"I thought nobody was here," Sora said in a quiet voice. "Where is everyone?"

He dropped his hands. Sora expected an answer, but he couldn't speak.

Sora took a step forward. He was smaller than Demyx, and looked like he needed a good night's sleep. "You were the one who first sensed it, right?"

He nodded.

Sora walked past him over to the computer. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said to the wall of bottles. "I can feel how tense you are from here."

The voice was uncanny, but Demyx was certain this was a different Sora. Still, he couldn't feel all that sorry for him. "Where are your friends?" he asked in a tremulous voice.

"They have other friends they need to help," Sora said. They made eye contact for the first time, and a chill shot down his spine. "It's just me. If that's okay."

You killed me, Demyx thought, but the words didn't leave his mouth. He shrugged.

"So I guess that means," Sora continued awkwardly. "That you turned out okay? After… our fight?" His hand flicked up to the back of his neck. "You're helping the committee. That means a lot to me."

"Not really," Demyx said. "I mean, I'm not."

"Not helping the committee? But Yuffie said—"

"No. I am. But I'm not okay."

"Oh," Sora said. "I'm… sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Is there anything he can do? A blazing anger scalded away the rest of the fear, but Demyx was speechless.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted any stillborn expletives. Lea swaggered into the room, Keyblade akimbo. "Hey, you made it!" He called to Sora. "You know, you look terrible." Demyx watched in morbid fascination as they high-fived. "Oh, hey, Demyx," Lea added neutrally.

Sora squinted at him. "You still go by that name?"

"He has no other," Lea said. "It's a long story, right?"

"Right," Demyx said through his teeth.

"But he knows," Sora said quickly, and with a trace of panic. "He knows about the-?"

Lea put a hand on Sora's shoulder. "We still waiting for the others?"

"They think it has something to do with the lab," Demyx said. "And I have no idea how to get there."

Lea's smile faltered a little. "Well, don't worry about that, because I do."

"It's going to be dangerous," Sora said. "Can you fight?"

He had no weapon and his powers were unpredictable at best. He shrugged.

"I've got him covered," Lea said.

"I only sensed darkness in the water," Demyx said. "That doesn't mean I can face it."

"Maybe we should leave him here, then," Sora said.

It was irritating to be referred to like an object. Demyx grit his teeth.

"That may be so, but the boy might be our only indicator that the problem is solved." Even came from the doorway. Ienzo was not with him. "The laboratory's placement… was unfortunate in that regard. Connected right to a massive underground reservoir. Hello, Sora."

Sora squinted. "Hey, there."

"You don't remember me, do you? No matter. It's for the best."

Lea exhaled. "All right, old man. Let's get going."

The four of them went through a doorway to the south of the room. The lighting in here was dim at best, and a long, spiraling ramp proceeded down as far as Demyx could see. "Where is Ienzo?" He asked.

"He wanted to come, but he was unwell. I insisted he remain behind and lie down. He's let himself get all torn up about it. Things have changed. It will take him a while to realize that this burden is not his alone to bear, but all of ours."

Demyx noticed Lea look away sulkily. He drew his Keyblade.

"I don't like this place," Sora said. "What happened?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Even asked. "Really, truly sure? I would be glad to address it another time over tea. You must keep your head."

"I know it had something to do with… hearts," Sora continued. "But all the information I have is vague."

"I never realized you cared," Lea cut in. "Since when do you gather intel?"

Sora shrugged. "It helps," he said weakly.

As they proceeded down the staircase, it grew darker and colder. A thick, acrid smoky smell filled the air. The faint lights couldn't fight the gloom. Sora gathered a small ball of light in his hands, and Lea created one of fire. Demyx and Even huddled close behind.

"We're getting close," Even said.

Demyx could see his breath. A shudder crawled across his skin, but a hot bubbling sensation started in his peripheral, accompanied by a massive pressure. Even was right; the reservoir was huge. He gasped out loud. He felt like he was being squeezed.

"Nine?" Even asked through the darkness.

"I feel it," he said.

"I do too," Sora said.

"I'm afraid it's gonna get worse before it gets better," Lea said. "We're barely halfway there. Will you be okay?"

"I think so," Sora said. Demyx couldn't be too sure. An overwhelming nausea gathered in his stomach and he kept his mouth shut.

The stairway emptied out to a flat floor full of doors with slotted windows. Overhead fluorescents popped on, but it didn't do anything to ease the gloom. They all tensed at once; Even and Lea both wore tight, drawn expression. Sora's eyes flooded with tears and a hand fluttered over his mouth. "Their pain… I… what happened, here?"

"I believe we can discuss it later," Even said firmly.

"No." Sora's voice was sharp. "I have to know. Pain like this—it's not natural. Can't you hear that?"

All Demyx heard was a pressing silence and the simmering of the water roiling with darkness. He leaned against a wall to keep his balance.

"Look at where we are, Sora. What do you think happened?" Lea asked in a harsh voice.

Sora stepped back. He glanced at the cells. His eyes widened and he turned even paler. "Why?" He asked. "Why? How?" He spat the last word at Even.

"Sora, you have to keep it together so we can fix this," Even said.

He turned. "I have to—I have to help them," he muttered.

"It's too late for them now," Even said. "But you can keep the people above from reaching the same fate."

"It's not too late for them," Demyx said faintly. He was feverish. "If we fix this, we'll be helping them."

"Them?" Lea asked.

"Not all people who become Heartless become Nobodies," Demyx said. "Their souls and bodies have to go somewhere. And the darkness keeps them here."

They all looked at him. Finally Sora nodded. "All right. Enough is enough. Where do we have to go?"

"There's only one more level," Lea said. "If they're not here, they're going to be down there." He gestured with the flame in his palm.

Sora bobbed his head again. "I'll go alone," he said.

"What? Are you crazy?" Lea barked. "You could still get slaughtered down there."

"It won't help them go in peace if their perpetrators are the one taking them down. Again." Sora's gaze was fierce. "So I'm going." He turned to Demyx. "Will you come with me?"

[nuttyrabbit]

Giovanni Conti Bio

“Nutty, are you only going to show up to post about Archie Sonic and your OCs?” Yes, yes I am

Anyways, I decided to throw together a quick bio for Gambit’s dad because hey I figured his stuff out and I’m doing shit with him now.

Shoutouts to @pidgeonspen​ for doing his design for me.

Anyways, as always, everything’s under the readmore

Name: Giovanni Conti (Real name Brando Romilla)

Age: Approximately 50 years old

Height: 3'4"

Occupation: Auto mechanic/Conman

Location: Unknown, last confirmed sighting in Westopolis. Originally born in Lugaio, Spagonia.

Sexuality: Bisexual, though greatly prefers women to the point of denying any male attraction

Personality: Giovanni's personality is what one would expect from a seasoned conman: charismatic, self-serving, and conniving, the weasel finds success in his trade thanks to his natural talent in dealing with others. To his victims, Giovanni appears to be a charming, compassionate, smooth-talking individual who seems to go out of his way to help others in their time of need. But of course it's all a farce, a way to con unsuspecting victims out of their hard-earned cash. In reality, the man formerly known as Brando Romilla is the exact opposite. A selfish, grumpy, and temperamental weasel "behind the scenes", Giovanni finds himself unwilling to engage with the world around him outside of whatever con he's cooked up or to get out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into this time.

Giovanni's most defining personality trait however, isn't his sardonic attitude or his smoothtalking ways, but instead his paranoia.  Giovanni has spent the majority of his life on the run and it shows.  He often finds himself looking over his shoulder both figuratively and quite literally, hoping that his latest victim hasn't found out about him or that the law or the mafia or whoever he's crossed hasn't tracked him down to enact their revenge.  As such, Giovanni is extremely hesitant to give out his name unless absolutely necessary for the con, even going so far as to make up fake names in emergency situations, though the truth eventually comes out.  In addition, he trusts absolutely nobody and almost always looks for a way to backstab/escape any sort of partnership he's found himself on the receiving end of, willing or otherwise.

All of this being said, it isn't *all* bad for Giovanni personality-wise, for when the weasel finds something he actually likes, one can see a softer, more eager side of him come out. Despite his professed hatred of his previous job, Giovanni has a rather deep appreciation for the intricacies of vehicles and vehicle repairs, even going so far as to sneak into antique car shows to gawk at the new vehicles and reminisce about the "good old days" before it "got so complicated" in terms of technology. Oddly enough, he also loves vinyl.

Skills: Giovanni is of course, an incredibly skilled con-man, imploying a variety of cons and scams to trick people out of their money, ranging from simple "tourist trap" tricks such as "no change", "toll booth", and "free gift", to more complicated ones such as "flat tire" schemes and even reselling stolen/counterfeit items at a significantly marked up price.  His variety in terms of cons is helped by his ability to sell them thanks to his smooth-talking charismatic persona that he puts on during them.  As a result of his occupation he's also extremely adept at pointing out other cons/knowing when he's being duped.  Not only that, but he's even picked up some basic lockpicking/hotwiring and ID forging skills, though they aren't quite as honed as his other talents in the area.

Surprisingly enough, again despite his professed dislike of his childhood job, Giovanni is an incredibly skilled mechanic, being able to assess the issues with (mostly older) vehicles just from a few minutes of observation and testing alone and fixing it in record times. OF course he'll complain about how he's "too fuckin' old" for it, but he'll do a damn good job...and even enjoy himself somewhat.   He claims he would be unable to work on "new-fangled" vehicles such as Extreme Gear but if he were to get the chance, would find that he'd be a natural at it.

Likes: Antique vehicles, wine, the feeling when he pulls of a con, vinyl records, fresh pressed suits, rare steak, expensive cigars, older women, working on antique vehicles.

Dislikes: The law, organized crime outfits, his ex-wife, his kid, getting caught, prison, cheap beer, "new" technology, people who talk too much, his grandfather, working on vehicles (his relationship with auto repair is..complicated), staying in one place for too long.

Backstory: Brando Rombilla was born into anything but normalcy:  born to a pair of younger Spagonian lovers, the result of a tryst gone wrong, he was abandoned on the steps of his paternal grandfather, the widowed mechanic Angelo Rombilla, who would raise the weasel as his own.

Angelo was an old, stubborn, hardworking man who had spent his entire life toiling away as a mechanic, even coming to own his own shop...yet despite it all, he never quite had a lot to show for it, and Brando grew up in not quite poverty, but in...less than modest means

Despite this...unusual situation, Brando would, at least for a time, grow up as any other child would, going to school, making friends, and living as a normal Spagonian child would--at least until he hit the age of 12-13, where his father suddenly and inexplicably ground his childhood to a halt, pulling him out of school and telling him that he was going to be a "working man" from now on, that he'd have to help out at the shop and help put food at the table--and that is indeed what happened.

From then on, Brando found himself working at the modest repair shop, working the front desk, doing oil changes, and learning the ins and outs of auto repair--and he fucking hated it.

Not just because he'd been robbed of the experiences his peers were getting, but it served as a constant reminder of the (at least to him) pathetic conditions in which they lived and worked. In addition, it only served to exacerbate his sheer irritation at his father's stubbornness and near-perfectionist standards.

But over time, as he aged and saw his peers move on to bigger and better things, he realized something else: all this work, all this "good, honest, hard" work he'd been doing, that his grandfather had been doing, that he wanted him to inherit, it was getting them nowhere

The both of them spent years and years doing the same shit over and over, and they were no better off than when they'd started. They still lived like shit, ate like shit, and worked like dogs, and the idea of doing this his entire life revolted him.  Yet when he'd bring this up, he'd just get shouted down, beaten down, and told to get back to work. He loathed it all.

Then one day, around the time Giovanni hit 19--it all changed. In a moment of what his grandfather would call laziness and what Brando would later call ingenuity, he accidentally charged a customer for something they hadn't done--and with it, more money than he should've had.  It suddenly hit him, his way out, his way to actually do something about all of this. It started off slow, an overcharge here, a useless job done there, a job not done this way or that, even some front product sold off of lies.  Before Brando knew it, the shop was actually making money for once, and more than that, he was making money.  And the best part was, that for once, Angelo seemed like he didn't have a stick up his ass. He seemed...happy, over the moon really that things had begun to look up.  Things seemed to finally be getting better!

....until Angelo caught Brando in the act, after which the mother of all shouting matches ensued, of the grandson and grandfather screaming at each other about this and that, about everything--and saw Brando being thrown out of the shop, out of his grandfather's home--and out of his life

Out on his ass with only the money he'd pocketed and the clothes on his back to his name, Brando  by all rights should have been terrified about his future, livid about what had happened, but instead he found himself excited. Now that his grandpappy or his stupid shop wasn't a problem anymore, he could finally do something with himself, and he knew exactly what that'd be--putting to use the same bullshittery that'd gotten him here to begin with.

And so the young weasel found himself hopping all over Spagonia, honing his craft. Whether it be through  pinching wares from stores and selling them nearby at an outrageously hiked price,  snatching and selling bootleg items, or even using his mechanic skills to craft "wonder items" that were quite literally just old scrapyard junk,  Brando soon became quite adept at the art of the con.  However, with that adeptness came attention, and with that attention came the watchful eye of the law, which attempted to crack down on the weasel multiple times as he traveled about Spagonia.

Soon enough, his face and name were plastered on wanted signs, in local papers, and in time, he couldn't run any longer, finally being booked on fraud charges and placed in prison for ~ 3 years at the age of 22.   Upon getting out,  Brando realized that he couldn't exactly do his work here anymore, lest he get thrown back in for good.

But Soleanna wasn't exactly appealing either, especially since the SPD were notorious for cracking down on fraudsters.  He was at a loss at what to do, until he managed to catch a TV broadcast talking about Empire City and it hit him- EC would be the perfect place to disappear and get a fresh start.  It was big, it was far away, and it was full of suckers just waiting to be parted with their money Forging himself a new identity (quite literally) as "Giovanni Conti" , he smuggled himself on board a ship and soon found himself in Empire City, where he almost immediately got to work--and found the results to be not what he expected

While the toursts were complete suckers as expected, the residents were anything but, and he found himself on the run from the law once more--and in addition, the various criminal orgs that made their homes there and had no tolerance for being scammed.   Needless to say, the whole thing frustrated him, and with no other way to vent his frustrations, he turned to drinking, and with it, found himself at a small bar in downtown EC, drinking away his frustrations...and chatting up an equally frustrated, and rather attractive young woman. He didn't catch her last name, but certainly caught her first- Artemis

What should have just been a simple one night tryst suddenly got a lot more complicated once the young woman had tracked him down almost a week  later with some soul-crushing news: She was pregnant, and it was almost certainly by him.  To make matters worse, Artemis was an up and coming politician, someone in the running for the EC City Council, and she would be DAMNED if it came out that she got knocked up in a one night stand, that would ruin her career! Despite Giovanni's attempts at arguing otherwise, she also insisted on keeping the child, claiming that if word got out she got rid of it, it would ruin her career. Threatening to hand him over to authorities, she blackmailed him into sticking by her side for the following 9 months, appearing in front of the cameras as a pictureesque pair of parents-to-be, Artemis embracing the newfound attention and Giovanni absolutely loathing all the eyes on him, and not only that, but also moving in together to her (admittedly) lavish apartment.

This continued up on through the end of the pregnancy and into the birth of their son, who Artemis named "Tai", a (perhaps ironic) homage to an old Apotosian patron of Luck.  From then, things continued normally, well as least as normal as could be for the unwitting parents-to-be, up until the child was around a year old, when Artemis went on a sudden vacation.  Left alone with the child and feeling helplessly trapped, Giovanni contemplated making a break for it, perhaps faking his own death and figuring out the details later, when a hooded figure burst into the home and attempted to shoot both him and the child dead.  Through a near-miraculous stroke of luck though, the intruder's gun jammed, giving Giovanni the chance to brandish a knife and stab them in the jugular.  His heart pounding, his mind racing, Giovanni quickly put two and two together: someway, somehow, Artemis had tried to get the two of them whacked.  Quickly disposing of the body and without really thinking about it, Giovanni grabbed the child and made a break for it, bolting from the apartment and leaving Empire City under cover of darkness, trying to make sure he left no trace that he had left--or was even still alive.

Soon arriving in Westopolis, Giovanni and Tai found a small apartment to squat in for the time being. Quickly settling in, Giovanni quickly fell back into his old ways, and found the people of Westopolis far more vulnerable to his schemes than in EC. Still, the weasel wasn't happy. His "new start" that he'd hoped for had fallen apart before it'd even gotten the chance to get off the ground because of *her*, Artemis. Giovanni's frustration gnawed away at him--not helped by the tiny weasel at home, his little boy--the *mistake* that'd gotten him into this mess.   He often found himself verbally and physically taking out his frustrations on young Tai, even more so when it turned out the little brat wasn't even good enough to help him on cons.  He wished he could get rid of the little bastard once and for all, but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to kill him despite his best efforts.

Years went by, but nothing truly changed for the pair, until young Tai was 8 years old and Giovanni found himself on the bad end of a con gone wrong, having inadvertently found himself attempting to swindle an undercover cop.  Rushing back to the apartment he and Tai shared, he quickly grabbed whatever tools he could and attempted to disappear, leaving the young Tai behind for good.

Throwing himself out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire, Giovanni had managed to disappear and evade the cops---and run right into one of his "victims": "Downtown" Ebony Hare--a "made man" in the Carnades, one of the major local outfits--and someone who he'd given a shoddy brake job.  Ebony recognized the weasel almost immediately and motioned to off him for messing up his car, but after Giovanni pleaded for his life, Ebony spared him-- on the condition that he work off his "debts" to him and the Carnades.

Faced with either paying his dues or paying with his life, Giovanni made the obvious choice and ended up doing quite a few small jobs for Ebony over the course of the next decade and change (approx  13 years) not only fixing his car but also fixing the other vehicles in the outfit--and giving a disgustingly large portio nof the proceeds from his other "work" directly to Ebony.  Once again, Giovanni was trapped doing the very thing he'd been stuck doing since childhood and not only that, but also indebted to a mobster who had no intention of letting him go.  He desperately tried to find a way out, but it was to no avail--until a near miraculous stroke of "luck".

The Black Arms invasion decimated a significant portion of Mobius, especially Northamer, and no place found itself worse off than Westopolis. For most living there, it seemed like the end times as  the city burned around them. But for Giovanni, it was an opportunity to finally disappear--and never come back.

The invasion soon ended, the repairs soon begun, and the Carnades began to operate once more--but Giovanni was nowhere to be found. Despite a thorough search of the city, the weasel had just...vanished, presumably killed by the aliens or escaping to parts unknown after.  

Giovanni's current location is unknown and those who know of him believe him to be dead, but there have been some apparent sightings of the aged con-man.  Some say they've seen him on the outskirts of Sand Blast City, others say they've seen him working his trade with another individual down in the Southern Baronies, and some even say that he's still in Westopolis, working his craft, and sticking close to the headquarters of the East Side Pack, a noted rival of the Carnades.

[paladin-lynx]

Go Godot, Yeah!

Author’s Notes: This was inspired by Certified Weirdo’s Ace Attorney mod for Friday Night Funkin’ and a comment about it from a friend of mine that was something akin to, “The thing about the mod is that I can totally imagine Godot going into back alleys and rap battling against other lawyers because he’s just Like That.” And I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we are. Go show Friday Night Funkin’ and Certified Weirdo some love, too! I banged this out when I had some free time during work, lol. I can continue this or other FNF-inspired pieces if people show interest. But for now, enjoy!

Ships Involved: Phoenix Wright x Miles Edgeworth (WrightWorth/NaruMitsu) if you squint

Setting: Non-specific, but I had it in my head that it’s during Trials and Tribulations (AA3) with Miles coming back to America early.

Trigger/Content Warnings: None

CONTAINS VARIOUS SPOILERS FOR ORIGINAL ACE ATTORNEY TRILOGY!

“It’s good to have you back, Miles.”

Miles blinked before hurriedly averting his gaze, clearing his throat. “Yes, well...I suppose it is nice to be back, in some ways.”

Phoenix smiled, able to spot the tinge of pink in Miles’s cheeks. Miles could take praise about his prosecuting skills just fine – he’d even gloat when someone commented on how talented he was – but when it came to something softer and more sentimental like this, he without a doubt found himself lost for words. Phoenix couldn’t help finding it kind of adorable, which of course led to him taking any opportunity he could to get Miles to blush.

It had been a while since they’d gotten to simply spend time together, but they both felt too antsy to just sit around and talk. And so they’d agreed to take a walk together and catch up. It had been a while since Miles had mulled around the L.A. streets, but not much had changed. And while their city wasn’t the prettiest or the safest by any means, it was still home. Phoenix knew that Miles felt more at ease overseas with his new responsibilities and with not having to deal with the bullshittery that came with being a lawyer in America, but Phoenix also knew that this would always be home for them. Miles would always have a place – and people – to come back to.

They walked rather aimlessly, having no specific destination in mind, although they’d have to get back to their respective homes eventually. But they soon found themselves at the train station and Phoenix smiled a bit to himself. He had barely left L.A. before becoming a lawyer, but this station was awfully familiar to him now with how often he had to travel to Kurain Village. He remembered when Maya had first left and he’d raced here to catch her before she was gone, making her promise that they’d see each other again. Of course, their reunion after that wasn’t the most ideal with Maya once again ending up behind bars, but now years later Phoenix couldn’t bring himself to be too upset with how things had gone. It just seemed par for the course at this point, and he wasn’t sure which was more concerning: the fact that events like that were so commonplace or the fact that he’d become numb to such things.

“Feeling nostalgic, Wright?”

Phoenix was snapped out of his reverie by Miles’s voice and he blinked at the other man. Miles was giving him a knowing half-smile, quirking an eyebrow, and now it was Phoenix’s turn to blush and look away, out at the tracks. “Maybe a bit. I’ve been coming here a lot lately. If you told me a few years ago that I’d be making regular pilgrimages to a village of spirit mediums, I’d call you crazy.”

Miles huffed out a chuckle, pushing his hands into his pants pockets. “I think if anyone told us even the smallest detail of what we’ve been up to since first entering the courtroom, we’d call them crazy. You see why I felt such the urgent need to flee the country.”

Phoenix broke into a little grin, nudging Miles with his elbow. “Including having to fake your own death?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. I mourned you, Miles! You’ve gotta see it from my perspective. You didn’t even give an explanation. You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“Perhaps you should try seeing it from my perspective. I was going through quite a lot. I...wasn’t thinking clearly. I know now that the way I departed hurt people, but it wasn’t exactly on my mind then.”

“I know, I know,” Phoenix replied softly. Despite still being sore at Miles’s rather callous method of running away, Phoenix didn’t want to actually upset him or bring back bad memories. He knew that had been a rough time for Miles.

And so they stood there, on the platform, just watching the tracks in comfortable silence. Phoenix knew there’d be a train zooming by soon enough, but for now it was peacefully quiet.

“Trite!”

Phoenix barely even noticed how his shoulders seemed to instantly stiffen at that familiar voice and infuriating nickname. Furrowing his brow, he slowly turned and sure enough, by one of the shelters on the platform, was Godot with his usual grin, his visor glowing bright red in the low light of the station. Phoenix wouldn’t have questioned running into him in the city considering Godot most likely lived here, too, but he definitely had questions when he noticed the large speakers behind Godot and the microphone in the prosecutor’s hand. And of course, as always, his other hand was occupied by a cup of coffee. It was a miracle this man wasn’t dead yet with the obscene amount of caffeine he consumed.

“Who is that?” Miles asked, squinting slightly at Godot. “He seems familiar somehow...”

“Prosecutor Godot,” Phoenix greeted carefully, also to answer Miles’s question. “What, uh...What are you doing here?”

Godot just continued to grin at them. “I was waiting for you to show up, in fact. A little kitten told me you were heading out this way.”

“I don’t believe that’s how the phrase goes,” Miles commented whilst Phoenix just pulled a face at the choice of words.

“Don’t bother, Edgeworth. He’s just like this.” Phoenix took in a breath and looked to Godot again. Did that mean Godot had just been waiting here for him like some kind of creep? Who could have told Godot where he and Miles were going? Actually, there was one person. “...Maya?”

Godot chuckled, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “I see you’re just as slow on the uptake outside the courtroom as you are inside it, Trite. Like a toddler seeing a magic trick for the first time.”

“He’s not wrong,” Miles muttered, causing Phoenix to give him a rather harsh nudge with his elbow.

“Whose side are you on?!”

“Well, you did mention he’s a prosecutor, so technically—”

“Oh, can it, Miles,” Phoenix huffed, ignoring the little amused smirk on Miles’s face, even if it made his heart skip a beat or two. He looked back at Godot with a scowl. “Alright, so I’m here. What of it?”

“Think fast,” Godot snickered, tossing something to Phoenix. The defense attorney definitely wasn’t prepared and fumbled for a moment before managing to clamp his hands around the object, frowning down at it.

Miles peeked at it over his shoulder. “A...microphone?” He looked over at Godot – who was still holding his own microphone – seemingly trying to figure out what was happening. Meanwhile, Phoenix was also trying to figure out what the absolute fuck was going on.

“What’s this for?” he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes over at Godot.

The other man’s grin never wavered and he brandished his microphone. “What do you say to a little competition? A genuine battle between men to see who’s best.”

“Don’t we do that enough during trials?”

“There are countless angles to every person, Trite. Just like how you can spend every day of your life experimenting with brews in your attempts to find perfection. You may be a half-decent lawman, but that’s just one side of you.” Godot tilted his head in amusement. “I’m curious if you can hold your own on a different kind of battlefield. One that requires a bit more coordination than how you have a lucky streak of stumbling into conclusions in the courtroom.”

Phoenix was still lost, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. He finally just turned to Miles helplessly. Miles thought for a long moment – Phoenix could practically see the gears turning in his head – before he looked to Phoenix. “I believe...he’s asking you to have a singing contest.”

“Oh no no no,” Godot cut in before Phoenix could even fathom what his companion had said. “Close but no cigar, kid. Not singing. Any poor excuse of a soul can cobble together a tune and kindergarten-level lyrics.” He pointed his microphone at Phoenix. “I want you to rap battle me.”

Phoenix just stared, blinking several times, before looking at Miles again. “Am I dreaming? Or high?”

“No, you’re very much awake and the amount of sane you usually are,” Miles replied, crossing his arms. Phoenix hated how intrigued his friend looked.

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Phoenix turned back to Godot. “So you came here, set up a speaker and mics, and have just been waiting for me to randomly come here just so you can ask me to rap against you? What’ll that prove? And how the hell is rapping more complicated than singing? It’s just talking to a beat. Anyone can do that.”

“Ha!” Godot shook his head. “So simple-minded, Trite. It’s like you’re still a boy instead of a man, seeing the world through your little keyhole. Rapping requires you to think on your feet. The pace is more urgent. Singing is going through your evidence piece by piece and praying to whatever god you follow that something sticks out to you. Rapping is like having the ultimate penalty hanging over your head the entire time, the guillotine blade waiting to slam down on your sorry neck. So I’ve been curious, Trite...” Godot grinned again. “You think you can keep up with me?”

Something about the way Godot said it, how he still had his microphone pointed at Phoenix like a sword, and that goddamn smug expression on his face lit a fire in Phoenix that he’d never felt before. He had never been the most musically inclined, but someone had to put Godot in his place. And here they were.

So he gritted his teeth and stepped forward, tightening the grip on his microphone. “It’ll be you who’s struggling to keep up with me, stoplight.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit,” Godot cackled, slamming his hand onto a button on the speakers so that they crackled to life.

Miles hummed thoughtfully from where he stood watching. “Ridiculous...But I can’t say this won’t be interesting.”

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

(Lmanberg Falls Au Au) Ok so i was gonna send something more in depth, but it was really long, and prob too much, plus I wanna write it out properly (I'll send a link if I get it done) so instead, I'll give an abridged version. (This is less on Gravity Falls cause I don't remember everything about the show and more focused on Wilbur deal and the repercussions) So I wanted to incorporate the whole Wilbur being basically a general in Canon (and when I first read the au I came up with my own deal before I read far) So instead of making the deal and doing menial tasks, Wilbur makes the deal for Eret and Phil to be returned basically immediately when he makes the deal (through time bullshittery they can still have spent the years or so they did in the aus Canon dimension hopping so still trauma cause I love that shit) in return Wil has to leave with dream for "roughly a week" to help him out. Phil and Eret return, Wil and Phil share a heartfelt reunion, and then a hurting departure once again when Dream takes him away to help him. Phil is left without Wil but he's back and the rest of the kids have their dad, and in tubbos case his brother. Wil helps dream out, for about way too long (I have an amount of time in mind but ya know, wanna keep up some mystery) as a general for whatever army dream puts him in command of (idk why dream has armies, some interdimensional skirmishes or something). Sure dream is threat enough to the soldiers but having someone real to lead them helps boost their effectiveness). By the time he is returned, it has been 9 days for everyone, but far far longer for him, long enough that his paranoia is worse than when it left, long enough that he's forgotten some things, long enough that he doesn't respond to his name (At first he only responds to "General") He's very disinclined towards physical contact, he's jumpy, he hardly sleeps, he doesn't talk about what happened, what he gave and got in this deal. His brothers though him being paranoid previously and hardly present was bad, but this Wilbur is wholly worse. Hes closed off, he is jumpy, and harsher than before. He's trying but its difficult, and he won't talk to anyone about it.(Bonus, Phil and Eret, during their interdimensional travels have heard of this Entity referred to as "The Unying General." They never got close enough to whatever conflict this general was apart of to see him, but they heard he was ruthless, that he's been around for so long rumors have spread far and wide, that he's another demon under Dream, that he's taken hits that could've killed gods and lived. Phil and Eret stayed far far away from who or whatever it was. (It was Wil of course, but they didn't know that, until of course its mentioned and they suddenly realize who was the feared General.) So thats my AU. I plan to write more out and ill send whatever link I have when I do.

Hey anon? Ouch. This hurts my soul. Oh my god.

We now got Wilbur becoming a general to Dream’s army and just being so messed up from his time there. Oh my god. There could be so much angst with this.

And we got Wilbur only responding to General at first? Oh no. That makes things worst! Just fucking everything about this is bad! We got Dream probably only referring him to that for god knows how long and slowly just break him down into a wreck and fuck. This hurts.

Phil is going to try and confront Wilbur about it once he figures it out and he closes up and oh the angst.

This hurts a lot.

[lloydskywalkers]

I think the reason the ninja don’t have any common sense left is due to the utter bullshittery they deal with on a daily basis. Oh we gotta play chicken with a giant danger noodle? Sure. Ghosts are killed by super soakers and water balloons. Alright. Other dimensions of existence? Yea sure, just a standard Thursday.

exACTLY! You try having common sense when you’re supposed to be like, a junior in high school at most, and instead you’re training to fight undead skeletons and some demon guy with helmet hair who kidnaps your sister by spinning really fast. Imagine spending the most your very short life thus far working in a blacksmith shop and now you’ve got a giant golden sword that turns into a motorcycle, snake people are out to kill you and your Sensei just invited the lord of all evil to come be your roommate because his son’s been kidnapped infiltrating said snake people with a pair of maracas. Then you’re supposed to dedicate your life to training this literal nine year-old you adopted into a super-powered warrior who’s supposed to kill his father, but it’s okay because now he’s your age thanks to tea, and you were also a nine year-old for five minutes there but you don’t have time to process it because previously mentioned lord of all darkness is turning everything grayscale by flinging sparkly purple goo at it, and now your sister’s trying to kill you too. Then you pull off that battle by the skin of your teeth, and the next thing you know the kid you all adopted is getting shooed off to travel the country and your Sensei’s handing you a tie and saying you’re a licensed teacher now. You haven’t even graduated high school yet. You are only on season 3 out of 12.

The ninja’s bursts of idiocy are just their dying gasps for a semi-normal teenage experience.

[gayregis]

ok i'm all for it when a fandom creates personalities/stories for characters that had very limited screen/page time BUT dandelion and geralt don't have very limited screen/page time. they have a very loving relationship that was developed over many years which netflix decided to ignore. people are creating second personalities for geralt and dandelion and it kinda bugs me since their real personalities and relationships are so amazing. idk just needed to rant

finally someone said it ... i have a joke that if regis shows up in netflix, they won’t actually need him at all, because the fandom has already created too many vampire!jaskier and medic!jaskier headcanons.

it fucking bugs me when people just project random personalities onto characters that already have extremely strong personalities in canon (not in the manner of “fixing” things, but in the way that they actually just disregard all of the depth that was already canon). this is mostly due to netflix’s shitty writing, cavill’s lack of acting and refusal to say his dialogue, and their refusal to make dandelion actually a master poet. 

netflix fans can’t seem to comprehend that jaskier is not barbie... he does not have 10 million different jobs. he is a lyric poet, that is his job. he is a troubadour, a professor of the art, and then he did a little bit of spying on the side. that’s it! he’s not an assassin, he’s not a cook, he’s not a philosopher, he’s not a surgeon, he’s not a naturalist, he’s not a swordsman, he’s literally just a poet. (note that “poet” refers to the type of poet that sings, as that was the only type of poet in their time period). it reminds me of when people “godmod” when they do RPs, they pretend their character is just brilliant at everything they try and has endless skills. 

the fact of the matter is that dandelion sucks at 99% of everything besides things relating to his profession and his station: poetry and literature (including history), heraldry and knowledge of all of the royal and noble systems on the continent, anything having to do with memorization, vocal expertise, musical expertise, any academic bullshittery, likely gossip or drama from around the city the story is set in, having friends... but he can’t sew to save his life, he’s never shown cooking for himself (he directed the fish soup but didn’t do it himself, he only gutted fish for it and told everyone else what to do), he doesn’t know much about monsters except what he might have read in books, he doesn’t know much about swords, he doesn’t know about survival in the wilderness. think about it like a DND character - his charisma is 20 and everything else is fucking shit. pick another member of the hansa if you want to get good rolls on medicine or nature checks.

“but what if he was good at other things, you never know?” OK but dandelion’s profession is extremely significant to him because a profession in their medieval time and setting is something that you do for life and pass down to your children (if you have any... dandelion is obviously an outlier in his society’s relationship norms). a profession is not just your job, you don’t work at medieval starbucks. you have to be very skilled in what you do, because you wil be doing it until the day you die. this is why geralt is so upset at being a witcher, he doesn’t WANT to kill until the day he dies, and this path was chosen for him, he had no say in the matter. but of course, geralt and dandelion are opposites. dandelion LOVES being a poet, he literally chose this path for himself. he could have had any kind of governmental job, like his cousin ferrant, working for royalty and having a settled home in a royal court. but instead he became a poet, and then he did something even more wild and travelled the continent, instead of looking to be the court troubadour of some royal. both his class and his profession would allow him to cozy up in some court and never leave, with a cushy job until his death. but instead he travels and he meets many different people and gets in all these wacky situations. this is incredibly bizarre for an individual living in his time period and setting, who has the class and credentials/training that he has. this is already very interesting, and very significant to his character. then you add on all of the other characterization that sapkowski developed for him in the books, and it’s impossible to ignore how specific this character is in terms of personality, likes/dislikes, etc. he’s not just some poet, he’s dandelion. 

plus since geralt is such a fucking dick in the netflix series, so many fans are creating random personality tropes for him... random and incorrect backstory for him... no one knows who nenneke is, everyone thinks that visenna actually had a hand in raising him for a while... people are literally out here shipping him with vesemir and i am stupid enough to want to rehabilitate them by talking about how everything was different in the books.

geralt and dandelion’s relationship IS NOT something that exists solely in fanon. the books are RIGHT THERE, with them having a good relationship, but because they don’t have cavill’s abs and shitty lighting effects in them, they’re bound to be ignored. but maybe it’s for the best that geraskiers ignore the books. i have seen a flurry of despicable fetish shit come out of the fandom that centers on the abuse of gay men and i don’t want that to touch books geralt and dandelion.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you doing in a place like this?

Pairing: Varric Tethras x Naia Brosca, Past Alistair Theirin x Naia Brosca

Fandom: Dragon Age

Summary: Naia Brosca does not expect to meet the Viscount of Kirkwall in a dingy little tavern like the Hanged Man. She doesn't expect to have her sorrows soothed or have a free therapy session from him either. But, her life had always been anything but ordinary.

Rating: T

Notes: If you follow my main blog @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ then you’ll probably know that I think Varric/Brosca would be a pretty sweet pair especially considering all the pain they go through.

Archiveofourown

“What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you, doing in a place like this?” It’s terrible, but he’s the first person to notice who she is in this dingy pub in Kirkwall and she knows exactly who he is too. Usually it would bother her, after all she was here to drown her sorrows, not be fawned over...not that that happened very often anymore. Most people seemed to ignore her, disliking the idea of either a dwarf being the one who stopped the Blight or the idea of a castless dwarf stopping the Blight or better yet, the idea of Wardens completely. Besides, after the whole inquisition, tears in the sky mess she wasn’t the hero in demand anymore...The Wardens hadn’t done so well out of that mess either. Naia Brosca officially considered herself retired from hero duties especially after finally finding a way to cure blight sickness and stop the wardens untimely demise due to the calling, and after returning to find the whole of her forces decimated. She was officially retired from fixing other people's messes whether those people be long dead magisters or warden commander Clarel. 

Aeducan, her Mabari, named after Paragon Aeducan for his stand against the Darkspawn, bounced about as Varric sat down beside her on a rickety wooden chair. The Mabari was as tall as the both of them when seated and didn’t settle until Naia gave him a strong look. He settled himself down at her feet, large paws resting beneath his head. She smiled down at him before turning to her new drinking companion. 

“I could say the same to you, Viscount of Kirkwall.” She softens it with a slight smile, she hasn’t smiled fully in years. Truth be told, becoming a Grey Warden had started as a dream come true, a way to get out of Dust Town, an escape from death, and simply ended as a nightmare. That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone above your station, take on more responsibility than any one person can handle, and become the go to person to fix everything. But, she at least had her faithful furry companion out of the whole mess and somehow her life. 

                                                                                                                            “Touché, but aren’t you supposed to be Commander of the Grey right now? Are you even allowed to be here?” He’s right of course, the last most people had heard she was the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, sitting up in Amaranthine trying to recruit, rebuild, and fix whatever messes she was left to inherit. She’d told very few people about her movements over the last 2 years and most people had very little interest in what the Wardens were doing outside of a Blight. 

She leans back in her seat, legs crossed on a small stool, a hand reaching back to run through the dark hair that had grown unwieldy in her long hunt for a cure, a fix. To Varric she looked to be the picture of an exhausted hero, tankard in one hand, dark sullen circles beneath brown sad eyes, but always ready with daggers at her side. She’d grown used to watching her back for a quick knife in the dark or fireball. Although Aeducan was a very good guard dog.

“Well, while I was off trying to figure out how to save us all from the blight and the calling, someone got the brilliant” she says this with a twisted, sarcastic smile, nose scrunching in distaste, “idea to use blood magic to ‘save’ the Wardens and supposedly the world, and I came back to decimated forces and a whole load of nugshit to fix...blood magic…” She takes a deep drink from her tankard and raises her hand to gesture for another, gold already on the table, “They wanted me to rebuild, as if it was my responsibility to fix their mess again, to take up that mantle again. I said go fuck yourself and put someone else in charge...hopefully with better sense.” Naia Brosca had been royally pissed when she’d heard what had happened, when she’d returned to find out that Warden Commander Clarel had fucked it all up because she had no critical fucking thinking skills. It hadn’t been her plan to return to a decimated force, both physically and in reputation. Who would trust the Wardens now? They had gone from the heroes who saved the world, to the idiots who almost destroyed it. It was a headache of mess to fix and she’d had enough headache inducing messes for a lifetime. 

“Yeah, I kind of had a front row seat to that bullshittery at Adamant. Sorry.” Her eyes darted over to him, evaluating. There’s a genuine furrow to his brow and a look in his eyes that she knows well, a horrible reminiscence of a scene you never wanted to see.

“I joined the Grey Wardens because I won a Proving when I shouldn’t have even been fighting, because Duncan saved me. I became the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey because Alistair and I didn’t have a choice. I had a choice this time, I'm retired from commanding, from fixing other people’s messes. I’m too old for that.” She had never had the chance to do so many things; travel for pleasure, fall in love (again), marry, have kids, raise them better than her mother ever had, go exploring again, write a book or something. There were so many things that had slipped her notice in the 10 years she’d spent fixing other people’s messes. She was tired of her life catering around fixing other people’s fuck ups, it was about time they fixed their own problems. She wanted to have some of her life back.

“You don’t look a day over 25 to me, topsider”, Varric says it with a teasing smirk, one corner lifting up just so. It’s a look he’s perfected, she’s certain of that because for all her years she still feels the skin of her cheeks heating and her eyes darting away from his.

“Flatterer,” Naia rolls her eyes, she hasn’t been 25 for a while now, but he knows that she’s sure, “I doubt anyone would believe that I was only 24 during the Blight. A Dust Town 24, though.” Truthfully, being raised in Dust Town had given her years on her peers in other parts of Orzammar. She’d had to fight, scrounge, steal, all to feed herself, her sister and her drunken mother. She’d killed for the Carta, killed for her sister, all before she was 20. Maybe, if she’d been an Aeducan or had an actual caste she’d never have been able to do what she did. “10 years on and I feel like I’m 100. I’m old spiritually, Master Tethras, very, very old. 34 doesn’t feel like it used to.” 

“24? Seriously? You became Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons at 24? Fuck.” They fall into a contemplative silence. Truthfully, most people expected her to be older. It had made it hard to get respect especially when she became Warden Commander, at 24 half the recruits were older than her and getting them to listen had taken a lot of threats and reminders that she’d slayed an archdemon and could damn well kill them if they tested her. 

Varric can’t quite wrap his head around the fact she was so young, that she’d done what seemed impossible to him. At 24 he’d have run away from that sort of responsibility, he’d have high tailed it to the farthest place he could find. At 24 he wouldn’t have been a hero, but he’s learnt that some people are just made that way. Something in them calls for them to do the right thing. 

Naia can’t quite get over the exhaustion and sadness that had her seeking out the Hanged Man on her journey to investigate some Warden ruins. It’d all been that damned letters fault, opening old wounds, reminding her of things she’d chosen to forget, reminding her of how old she was and how little she’d really done for hself. It was still crumpled in her pack, royal seal, scruffy handwriting and all. 

Varric watches her, takes her in. The braids, typically Orzammar in style, pull her brown hair back from her face while leaving the rest loose, the brand on her cheek marks her as casteless, the down turn of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders remind him of how much she’s done in 34 years. It’s more than just retiring that’s brought her here, more than just a desire to get shitfaced after years of being in charge. There’s a story there that he doesn’t quite know yet. But, he wants to. He loves a good story...and he can’t help but be curious about the one Hero he’d not befriended. 

“What’s eating you up, Fereldan?” She chooses not to comment on the name, hoping he’ll pick something more creative in due course. He was a writer after all, though Swords and Shields hadn’t been his best work, so perhaps even prolific writers had their off days. Instead, she decides that she might as well open up to someone and who better to do it with than a fellow dwarf who she’d probably never see again, even if he was Viscount. What were the chances of her staying in Kirkwall? Of befriending Varric Tethras?

She takes a good long look at him, hard, calculating, before softening her gaze back to the tankard in front of her. The ale is bad, but she’s not really drinking for the taste tonight. “People think I was this hero, with a band of friends and that’s it. No big romance story there, no heartbreak, no betrayal...no nugshit politics getting in the way of things.” She takes a deep drink, this is a story no one had told because it would be shameful, not for her, but for him. “No one wants to tell the truth, that I had a lover in a man who I made a king...and then he didn’t need me anymore. Love is...I didn’t know what love was before I became a Grey Warden, but...it hurts, it hurts more than any battle wound, any fall I’ve taken, any joining ritual. It tears you apart...” Naia turns her head away from him to stare at a group not far away playing Wicked Grace, mostly to hide the tears that have started to collect in her eyes. She never talked about it. Not with Zevran or Leliana, Wynn, Sten, Oghren, Morrigan or Shale. None of them. She had too much to do at the time, didn’t allow herself to stop and ponder on it, but that meant she never truly got to heal. 

“Wait...you and Alistair Theirin? King of Ferelden? Shit...well, why aren’t you Queen, Topsider?” He can’t understand why she wouldn’t be. Surely, they’d welcome the Hero of Ferelden with open arms? Surely, if they’d been in love he’d have insisted as king..surely...but then Varric remembers that his stories are always a sugar coated version of reality. That his own experience with love has shown that things don’t work out the way you want them or need them to. Love doesn’t prevail, love doesn’t conquer all and the baker down the street with the simple, normal sort of love always does better than the Hero. 

“He couldn’t have a dwarf for a Queen, for a wife. I was told I could be a mistress, I could be there, in the background, loving him while he parades another on his arm and I refused to be hidden in the shadows like some seedy little secret. Like something dirty and unworthy. I had enough of the dark in Dust Town. I was the Hero of Ferelden and no matter how much I loved him I would not sacrifice my worth like that…” She remembers Dust Town like it was yesterday. Living off of scrapes, hidden away from everyone else because the Casteless were unworthy, a disgrace. She refused to be that girl again, hidden away for someone else's comfort and convenience. 

“I thought that maybe he’d fight for me. Fight to be with me. I would have. I would have done everything in my power to stay with him if I had that sort of position...but he didn’t. Duty, duty, duty. It’s my fault really,” She gives him a long sad look, brows turned down, “I was the one who made him king, I was the one who put him on the throne because I thought he’d be a good king...I was the one who made him think like that, made him put romantic notions aside. Maybe I should have been selfish…”

“So...why are you here?”

“Because I received a letter...royal seal, messy handwriting, pressed rose petals between the pages…” She pulls the crumpled note from her back, the rose petals fall on the table between them, the drying process removing some of their potent red colouring. He suspects there’s more to them than just being a romantic gesture, and can see it by the way she gently strokes one of them with a far off look that there’s some history there. “He’s gotten betrothed to some noble human woman who he barely even knows...I hate that she gets to marry him, that she gets to just because she’s human and noble, because she’s tall and her blood’s right. I was never enough even after the Blight. I slayed an archdemon, I saved Ferelden, I...I was never enough even after all that. What does a dwarf have to do, Varric Tethras?”

It pulls at his heart strings for a multitude of reasons; 1) he’s a romantic and always has been. He likes a happy ending, he likes the lovers to find happiness and be together, he doesn’t like heartbreak, 2) it’s one thing to be hurt because someone doesn’t love you anymore or never did, another thing entirely to know you’d be together if the world wasn’t so damn prejudice or if they just fought a little harder, tried a little more, and 3) because it reminds him of his own sorry love story with Bianca. After all, she was married to another man, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near her and he wasn’t good enough in the first place for her. After the red lyrium affair he’d decided to let that ship sail, let her go and he’d told her so despite her popping up randomly as if she thought she could change his mind. It was the first time she’d ever known him to say no to her, to turn her away. But, damn if it hadn’t been freeing for him. For the first time in a long time he didn’t feel the weight of her on his shoulders. He could see that weight on Naia Brosca now, the wondering, the hoping, the love. The longing for someone who had moved on with their life in a way you had yet to. 

“It’s his loss, Ferelden,” A large, warm hand settles on her shoulder and she leans into it without thinking. How long has it been since someone gave her a comforting hand on the shoulder, a celebratory clap on the back, a hug? A sign of companionship, closeness? She thinks it must have been...must have been nearly 10 years. The last person to hold her was Anders and he’d pissed off and then blown up the chantry in Kirkwall and then pissed off again. She hadn’t seen her old companions in years, they wrote, but it was a shitty imitation of what their group had been before...and Alistair, she hadn’t allowed herself to see him in person except where her presence as Commander of the Grey was needed and every time had been heart wrenchingly distant. 

“Who wouldn’t want to be married to the Hero of Ferelden, c’mon? You’re beautiful, you’re deadly, you have an inspiring origin story.” He counts them off on his fingers with a smile, she can feel a smile tugging at her lips, a storyteller he certainly was. 

He was...different. Alistair had been sweet, goofy, childish, a kid like her. He’d been a romantic but in that boyish sort of way that had endeared her to him because she hadn’t ever known anyone so open, so unchanged by the hardships of the world. Varric was rough, but charismatic. Older, more worldly than Alistair had been, but then she was older and more worldly too now. He was charming, compassionate, and had confidence, but she could see it was a smokescreen behind which to hide. She didn’t know what he’d gone through, other than the bits his stories told, but she knew he was just as tired as her. Probably even more so with the responsibilities of Viscount hanging over his head like a sword waiting to drop. 

It helped that he was handsome. Perhaps in Orzammar he wouldn’t have been ‘dwarf’ enough, no beard just some scruff across his cheeks, no tattoos to show his clan or caste. But, she thought he was more than handsome enough although his chest hair was a little distracting especially 3 ales in. She was sure he did it on purpose, dressed in a way that added to his charm, in a way that would make people think of how masculine and dwarven he was...at least to anyone but an Orzammar dwarf. Leske would have made some joke about it, probably asked if he was hunting for a noble to marry, but Naia didn’t mind. He was nice to look at and she hadn’t had someone nice to look at in a long while. It helped that he was complimentary as well, how long had it been since someone called her beautiful? Too long. 

“No one’s told you that in a while, huh? How long has it been? Since someone gave you an honest compliment that didn’t revolve around how you kill darkspawn?” It’s the furrow of her brow and the averted eyes that give it away, no one’s told her she’s beautiful in a long while and she is. She’s beautiful but clearly able to kill you and honestly, that just makes her prettier to Varric. 

“A...A while...Alistair used to...but then…” It’s hard to explain, that she hasn’t pursued anything with anyone in so long because she still holds out hope that maybe Alistair will decide to fight for them, for their relationship that no longer even exists. She lets herself get drawn back into the sea and dashed against the rocks every time he writes a private letter and every time she’s reminded that he isn’t hers and he never will be. This time is the worst, the realisation that he’s not coming back, he’s moving forward without her. That he’s marrying some noble human woman who can give him noble human babies and sit pretty beside him at functions. She wasn’t in his plans and she hadn’t been since he took the throne. 

“I know what it’s like, Ferelden, holding out hope that they’ll come back, that they’ll forsake the other and that you’ll finally get the story you always wanted. But, he’s not coming back, he’s going to marry that girl and you can’t hold on forever, you can’t waste your life waiting for a man that didn’t care enough to fight in the first place. I nearly did. I nearly wasted my life waiting for a woman who got married...it took her making mistakes for me to realise that I...that I was wasting my life waiting for a woman who only wanted me when she needed something fixing.” It’s the most he’s ever shared with someone he barely knows, but he’s growing...maybe, and maybe he’s realising that narrators can have stories to, they just have to choose who to share them with. Varric is also smart enough to know that she needs to hear it, she needs someone to finally tell her that it’s a lost cause and that she deserves another chance at love…and maybe it’s a little selfish, maybe part of him is hoping that she’ll consider him a candidate. 

It hits her like a hurlock to the chest or that broodmother that one time. She thought she’d realised that, that she’d understood that her and Alistair weren’t really going to happen but...truth be told she’s been holding on desperately, fingers clutching at a ledge, hoping he’d come along and help her back up. Hoping that he’d fight for her and the love they once shared. It hurt, it hurt to finally understand that it was a lost cause, that she'd spent 10 years of her life waiting for something which was never going to happen, agonising over someone who wasn’t doing the same. 10 years of seeing him in an official capacity, the physical distance and distance in the way he addressed her as if they’d never travelled together, never kissed, never been in love. She feels like she might be sick or she might burst into tears, both are options, alternatively she feels like storming to Denerim and taking her anger and sadness out on Alistair...although that option might get her arrested which is less than ideal.

Varric chooses to sit back and wait, watching realisation, sadness, and angry flit across her features one by one until she settles back in her chair resigned to the truth. Naia grabs her tankard again and downs the rest of the shitty ale before looking at the ceiling with a big sigh. “Fuck! Do you think it’d look bad if I punched the King of Ferelden in the face?” 

“Mm, the Hero of Ferelden breaks the King of Ferelden’s pretty face? Might cause a slight diplomatic incident but I could always ask Ruffles if she’d help smooth it over.” Naia twists to look at him again and he’s not surprised to see her eyes swimming with tears, though he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t piss him off that a woman who could end the Blight is brought to tears by someone who wouldn’t even be king without her help. It reminds him of Hawke, the tears she shed for Blondie all because she loved him too much and fell too far. At least Hawke had been loved back, Blondie might have been an asshole, understatement by a mile, that blew up the chantry but he loved Hawke, she cried over his revolutionary actions not his love for her. 

Naia Brosca cried because she’d wasted a decade on a love that was never going to come to fruition and of all the places to cry it was the Hanged Man. A shitty little hole in the wall. Not worthy of a hero’s tears. 

“Hey…” His large hand cups her cheek and it’s softer than he expects from her. Part of him expects...He doesn’t even know, maybe chiselled cheek bones, scars and rough skin, but she’s everything but, soft and sweet and it’s hard to think that a face like that belongs to a woman so formidable. It reminds him that appearances can be deceiving. 

His thumb wipes away the tears and it’s the sweetest feeling to her, that someone cares about her wellbeing, about her. Not her title, not who she is. It has her closing her eyes and turning into his hand and she knows the ale is helping, it’s making her more open than she’d usually be, but she thinks Varric probably just has that way about him. Caring enough that he can drag things out of you and get you attached. “Maybe he deserved you once. Maybe he was kind. Maybe he loved you right, but he doesn’t anymore...and it hurts, I know it hurts, but you deserve so much better, Topsider.”

He knows she’s a little past tipsy when she gives him that look, the one that says she’s going to kiss him and he anticipates it turning his cheek so her lips meet the scruff on his jaw. He wants to kiss her, but he knows better. She’s not in a place to make that decision and he won’t be a thing she regrets just because he decided to be a little selfish. So he lets her kiss his cheek and when she pulls back with an offended look he gives her his most charming smile. 

“You’re drunk, Topsider. I’d love to kiss you right now, but you’d regret it and I don’t plan on being a decision you regret, sweetheart.” He says it with that smile, teeth showing hoping she understands that he wants this, or something like this, he’s not entirely sure, but he knows better than to take it right now. He has no doubt that Naia Brosca is a woman he could easily fall into bed with or in love with, but she deserves more than a drunken kiss when she’s clearly still getting over what could have been the love of her life. 

So instead, he helps her up from her seat, her Mabari following behind the two of them as he helps her to her room despite her bad directions. She is uneven on her feet and it’s clear more than ever that she probably doesn’t drink often and that the last ale had put her over her limit. He’s the perfect gentleman, see’s her to her room, gives her Mabari a treat he always carries in his pocket thanks to Hawk’s own, and makes sure she’s safely inside before leaving for his own home. 

In the morning Naia wakes to Aeducan slung over her like the massive lap dog he is, her head pounding and the embarrassing image of trying to kiss the most handsome dwarf she’s ever met, but being politely turned down. She pushes her face into the ratty pillow and screams, but in truth embarrassment and giddy anticipation are feelings which she’s relieved to have after years of longing and heartache. 

[vinca-majors]

Michaela Brown, ScaryMommy:

Upon graduating college with my hard-earned degree to teach high school English, I almost immediately began planning for  my graduate studies. Lots of high schools around the country require their teachers to have a masters degree, so that was a motivator. Plus, it came with a pay raise. And, I truly enjoyed going to school. In fact, at the time, I hadn’t ruled out going on and earning my doctorate as well.

I did end up graduating with my M.A. in secondary education, after writing a thesis I’m damn proud of. My path changed a bit and I never went on for my doctorate, but you can be sure as hell if I had that I’d claim that Dr. title. That my students—even the grumpiest of teenagers whose eyes shot daggers at me as I made them read Shakespearean sonnets—would be calling me Dr. and not Mrs. or Miss.

And as I’ve encountered other professionals with that Dr. title, I’ve never hesitated to refer to them that way. My children’s formal principal went by Dr. Matthews. No one questioned it. I’ve had professors at the undergraduate and graduate level use the title. Again, that’s what we all called them. With respect. And without hesitation. Just as we refer to famous figures like a man we’ve all heard of—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.— because each of these people put in the work, the years, the money, the commitment, and the dedication. Each of them earned their Dr. title.

So yeah, when Dr. Jill Biden completed her education and earned her Doctor of Education (Ed.D) from the University of Delaware, she rightfully earned the title “Dr.” and deserves to be referred to as such. Just as any other professional with that level of expertise does as well. Is she a medical doctor? No. Does she claim to be? No. Have professionals in academia added Dr. to their titles once they’ve earned their doctorate for centuries? Yes.

However, because some ignorant asswipes remain stuck in 1950, or don’t understand how higher education works, or simply are bound and determined to hate on the Bidens as they hated on the Obamas even though they are kind and supportive of others—regardless of political party, her title is under scrutiny.

The Wall Street Journal stupidly published an op-ed, which has now gone viral, that was moronically entitled, “Is There a Doctor in the White House? Not if You Need an M.D.” And, of course, this piece of trash essay included a byline that reads, “Jill Biden should think about dropping the honorific, which feels fraudulent, even comic.”

Joseph Epstein, the “writer” of this ignorant word vomit, opens by condescendingly calling Dr. Biden “kiddo” and offering her advice, as if he is in any position to advise the First Lady of the United States on literally anything. “Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is a not unimportant matter,” Epstein mansplains.

He then goes on to insult her dissertation on student retention at community colleges, calling it “unpromising” and, in the same paragraph, refers to the idiotic but commonly used quip that no one can call themselves “doctor” unless they’ve delivered a child.

Let’s break this bullshittery down, shall we? First of all, Mr. Epstein, your piece reeks of envy. We’re sorry you didn’t have the… guts? courage? stamina? intelligence level? (who knows) to actually ever earn a doctorate, but you sound bitter. It’s not a good look. Also, it’s clear that you don’t respect the value of community colleges, which is where Dr. Biden has spent a large portion of her career. And, finally, the world now knows that you are threatened by smart women. Bravo.

Also, we’ll be sure to let all the medical doctors out there who’ve tirelessly fought COVID-19 this year, holding the hands of dying patients, and also those brilliant scientists who thankfully have brought us a vaccine that offers a beacon of hope, that they don’t get to call themselves “doctor” because they’ve never caught a newborn baby. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that tidbit of info from you—*checks notes*—a man with one single undergraduate degree, no earned doctorate, and zero medical expertise.

Basically, Mr. Epstein, it’s obvious that you have some personal issues you need to unpack. Maybe take some time over the holidays to do a little self-reflection? Like, why do you even care what title Dr. Biden goes by? Why are you so scared of women who are more successful than you?

Your piece then goes on a long, barely coherent rant about “honorary doctorates,” which is not what Dr. Biden has. If you’d like to blast the validity or point of bestowing honorary doctorates on celebrities like Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers, for example, go right ahead, but that has nothing to do with Dr. Biden. This lack of cohesive argument is why I’ve referred to you as a “writer” a few paragraphs up, because it seems apparent that you don’t understand the need for basic textual support.

(Calling you a jealous asswipe, well, that’s just a reflection of your character.)

Finally, your last “supporting argument” (again, use of quotes intentional here) as to why Dr. Biden should drop her title is because apparently doctorates don’t count anymore. Back in the day, you explain, doctoral exams were far more grueling, but today’s candidates get off way too easy.

“One had to pass examinations in two foreign languages, one of them Greek or Latin, defend one’s thesis, and take an oral examination on general knowledge in one’s field,” your op-ed states. “At Columbia University of an earlier day, a secretary sat outside the room where these examinations were administered, a pitcher of water and a glass on her desk. The water and glass were there for the candidates who fainted. A far cry, this, from the few doctoral examinations I sat in on during my teaching days, where candidates and teachers addressed one another by first names and the general atmosphere more resembled a kaffeeklatsch.”

(I had to look up what kaffeeklatsch meant—it’s an informal social gathering at which coffee is served. Excuse my lack of knowledge there. I’m just a silly woman with a higher degree than you.)

And, as you end with, “Dr. Jill, I note you acquired your Ed.D. as recently as 15 years ago at age 55, or long after the terror had departed,” you not only insult her by addressing her as “Dr. Jill”, but you also imply that because she likely didn’t faint while taking her exams or defending her dissertation, that somehow her degree isn’t real.

That’s the crazy thing about education—it evolves. Today, kids even use these neat little things called computers! You wouldn’t believe it. Another way we’ve evolved is to realize that shockingly, our doctoral candidates don’t have to become physically ill to prove they are smart and worthy of their degree!

(I mean, you never even tried, Mr. Epstein, so I guess even today, doctoral programs are only for the toughest among us, like Dr. Jill Biden.)

Also, it seems that Northwestern University, where you were previously listed as “emeritus lecturer of English,” has scrubbed you entirely from their website, stating that it is “firmly committed to equity, diversity and inclusion, and strongly disagrees with Epstein’s misogynistic views.” Again, evolution! Change is good.

Hmmm. So one of you is a misogynist with no teaching history to even brag about as your previous employer has disassociated with you, and another is a successful educator committing to helping all Americans have access to a proper education. Oh, and the second one goes by Dr.

Looks like the real “comical fraud” is you, bruh.

And just so we’re clear, Dr. Biden has always been committed to ensuring that everyone (not just pretentious twats like you, Joseph Epstein) has access to a fair education. Earlier in her career, she worked in a psychiatric hospital where she taught English to adolescents with emotional disabilities. During that same time she also earned two (yes, TWO) master’s degrees, one from Villanova University and one from West Chester University. In 2009, after earning her doctorate, she began teaching English at Northern Virginia Community College, and advocating for community college education has since been her passion. “Dr. Biden has always said that community colleges are ‘one of America’s best-kept secrets.’ As a teacher, she sees how community colleges have changed the lives of so many of her students for the better,” explains former president Barack Obama’s White House website.

Sorry, Mr. Epstein, but not everyone can afford to enroll in an English class at Northwestern taught by a raging sexist who gets his balls in a bunch when women succeed. For many, community college is a better fit, and Dr. Biden is a big part of that.

“In 2012, she traveled across the country as part of the ‘Community College to Career’ tour to highlight successful industry partnerships between community colleges and employers,” the website goes on to say. “In the fall of 2010, she hosted the first-ever White House Summit on Community Colleges with President Obama, and she continues to work on this outreach on behalf of the Administration – frequently visiting campuses, meeting with students and teachers, as well as industry representatives around the country.”

Imagine all of the hard-working Americans Dr. Biden has helped by supporting community colleges. Future teachers just like her often get their degree while working full time, raising a family, and going to college at night. Who knows, some of them may even—gasp—go to grad school too. High school kids who choose to forego going away to a full-time university and instead, take classes at a community college closer to home, are given that option because of people like Dr. Biden. Kids who go on to be EMTs, police officers, technicians in trade industries, engineers, and find success in the business world. Or, they transfer those college credits to a larger university down the road when they have the means to do so. Single moms doing their best to give their children a good life often attend community college classes online, after their children are asleep, proving that they have the drive and determination to do more and be more.

So, what it all boils down to, Mr. Epstein, is that you really, really hate that there’s about to a woman in the White House who’s smarter than you. And not only that, but she inspires women everywhere to work hard, earn their degrees, and then they’ll be smarter than you too. Yikes. That’s a tough pickle to be in, Mr. Epstein. We’re sorry that you are so insecure and unhappy with your own lack of success.

At least you can still wrote those stellar op-eds though! Good luck with your “writing” career, kiddo.

[frostkingoftheapocalypse]

// Finally got my new timetable for the semester and it’s confusing af lmao. Mostly because where I am in the world we’re back under full house lockdown (the breakout numbers here in Victoria (Australia) were so bad that all other states closed their borders to us, bc WE’RE FULL OF PEOPLE WHO WERE LIKE LOL SOCIAL DISTANCING WHAT IS THAT} so that means all non-essential travel is a no-no. But at least there’s some light shed on the next 6 months?

I’m actually really delighted my university is taking covid seriously -but also big oof guys. My degree keeps getting further delays, and I’m so keen to be just done and out. I KEEP SAYING IT BUT 6 YEARS AND A TRAUMATIC INJURY AND UNIVERSITY POLITICS ARE NOT A COOL COCKTAIL OF EMOTIONS >:(

Anyway this is just a vent space. I’m trying my best to keep a gratitude log. The days without chronic condition fuckery are now WAY more than the days with - I’m still seeing markers of improvement, despite it being three years of life-altering bullshittery, thanks to hard work and good clinicians. And I’ve been told that a 90% if not 100% full recovery is expected? I’ve also somehow chowed down on a fucking hard science degree?? I AM grateful, for all the support and patience from friends, bc it’s terrifying going from independant to broken and reliant on others. This has all felt grossly far outside my capabilities and comfort zone, I’ve always felt 50 braincells short doing this, even before the incident. Like my smart friends would be capable but bc I’m only smart in certain areas ... 

I know imposter syndrome is super common in this space just from a writing community POV. Obviously I have evidence to prove this degree is not out of my league, but I feel like a huge fraud half the time so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway here are my goals for the next 12 months, don’t care if it’s an uncertain pipedream with COVID, I just wanted to write this out somewhere and this is my own damn blog so.

Physical rehab. I’D LIKE MY ATROPHIED MUSCLES BACK THANK.

Regular sleeping patterns and body mindfulness (mm self care, that jazz).

Get into the habit of practicing assertive self-confidence in the areas I’ve chosen to be experienced in.

Regular clear and consise writing skills (yeah I know, what I’m doing is ok, but also I still think I can get that english grammar working a hell of a lot better. I have a novel to write and what I’m doing rn kinda chokes that flow state a LOT. I’ve noticed a lot of passive instead of active voice whoops - pretty sure that’s a fallout from trying to write academically but there’s no reason that can’t be improved).

FINISH THIS DEGREE.

EARN THAT $$

Boss own the kind of job where I have time and energy to do what I love around it (aka, no more breaking ass so hard that I stop writing for 6 months at a time all the time)

👏👏

[heather-holloway]

how i, kiara heather-holloway, would plan and write the upcoming live action dylan dog tv show (thats being produced by james wan rn):

OKOK first off. my god. this has to be as comic accurate as it can be. this has to be better than the fucking movie or ill literally d*e oh my god. the movie was so bad and was only dylan dog in name and outfit. 

he needs the clarinet. and not for one scene. gotta have that shitty car, hes gotta be broke, hes gotta live on that craven st, hes gotta have the fucked up doorbell nd hes gotta have that p*lice officer backstory (though i dont want them to go too full into the backstories of the main characters cuz that takes away from the main story of the episode, and is really just unneeded)

this shit will be set in london. but as for the time im kinda on a fence? its always had a timeless sorta feeling, esp as of late with the comics only now starting to establish itself in the 21st century, but i would really like for it to be set in the 80s cuz a lot of the classic comic stories r from the 80s and it would fit in with how old timey he is with his car and movie references

i hope they have the budget to actually get the rights to use groucho marx’ likeness cuz like... the biggest thing the movie was missing was groucho nd even though there was a little easter egg in the beginning of the movie with them dressed like him... it wasnt enough bro, it’s not the same without him :(

if they cant get the rights then i hope they go the felix route, by making him act like groucho and shit but hes not like.. actually groucho i guess

i dont know where this show’ll get distributed, but im hoping netflix, since a 10 episode format (which is what it was confirmed to be) would be perfect on there with all their other shows with short seasons. 

im biased bc i love monster-of-the-week type shows but i think it would be perfect, since the comics are exactly that, where the story is self contained within its episode. i guess they could have some small overarcing story (maybe abt morgana and her tie to dylan?) over the season but idk how something like that could also fit in with the amount of story needed for the monsters and shit

id think itd be perfect if they adapted the first comic “dawn of the living dead” for the first episode of the series, since that comic is the introductory comic for dylan and groucho and how his shit works yknow? the audience could be like following sybil for that first episode as shes asking for their services and is just seeing their BullShit at close hand

idk about the rest of the series, but id love if they adapted the anna never story for an episode tbh

the tone id like for the show would be gothic, with european style of horror, but still crackheaded and bullshittery with grouchos and dylans antics and jokes. i hated what they did in the movie, making it a generic american action horror movie with the club scene of vampires vs werewolves. im so tired of vampires vs werewolves. let this represent european horror and bring that style into american culture Blease

idk who id cast for dylan. someone lanky, british accent definitely, early 20′s/25 maybe. i like brandon routh but hes too old for the part now u_u and honestly, though he kinda looked like dylan in face, he didn’t fit into dylans lanky profile at all. i hope maybe he’ll get a small cameo in the show tho😭 he got did so dirty by that shitty movie

the cast would be revolving, with only dylan and groucho and maybe bloch (if hes in the episode) being the main characters. the romantic interests and side characters for the specific story would last for the episode like in the comics.

this is just for me but id love for there to be a throwaway line about dylan and groucho being married at one point, to reference their marriage in the recent comics

also make the show rated r. i think the titties are the most important part of the comics

while id like for it to be set in london, id also like for it to travel to other places in europe, and take it to interesting scenery nd shit like they always do in the comics. idk how id feel about that one werewolf school story thats set in germany being adapted, but id like to see that german forest scenery lol

there needs to be a few groucho, la pistola! moments where groucho tosses him the pistol ok............also there needs to be the classic pistol

oh and dylan has to say dancing judas at least like 4 times ok .. god

umm for the effects of the monsters, i think itd be best if it was practical, rather than cgi. ive seen netflix’s cgi monsters nd while they work...... the practical effects i think would fit really well in the timeless/80s tone by being like various 80 horror flicks with their practical fx. since the comics were inspired by those classic horror films, like night of the living dead and shit

instead of making dylans personality be the cocky action hero that the movie made him out to be, i... would like for him to still be that jokey loner romantic that he is in the comics, getting himself into trouble cuz he accidentally slept with the monster or the killer or whateva. 

like he’s smart with paranormal shit but he only has 1 braincell and neither him or groucho have it most of the time

oh my god i just realized i hadnt even thought of xabaras ok fuck uhhh OK maybe he is part of the overarcing story. maybe yes he gets introduced in the first episode like hes first introduced the in the first comic. but maybe in the end, with the finale he comes back again, after you thought he was dead but noo ho ho hes alliivee and hes always gonna fuck with you dylan you cant get rid of him. whatever fight happens in the finale, it ends in a sort of draw where maybe dylan thinks he defeated him for good, only for the final scene to be xabaras just chilling, clearly not dead, maybe watching over dylan

(if there was to be a season 2, id like for them to do the “i am your father” reveal then, instead of doing all of that in the first season)

(id actually really like for dylans backstory with the time traveling shit and morgana in the second season to be honest now that i think about it)

the first season can be about the monsters of the week and the second possible season could actually focus more on his character story and how he even got into this shit lol

this show really has the potential to be a really great show that breaks out of the usual horror genre and im going to be SO disappointed when it inevitably becomes like riverdale or sabrina the teenage witch’s unnecessary edgy teen adaptions OR just becomes the generic horror franchise shit that james wan usually fucking does with saw and insidious. 

im really fucking praying that he actually pays attention to the source material and accurately brings the more gothic and european style of horror forward with it, introducing it to a larger american audience... blease for my sake .. i cant do dylan dog: dead of night (2010) again...

[the-ipre]

"You don't seem like yourself" for the prompts!

“You don’t seem like yourself,” Kravitz said, and a laugh tore its way from Taako’s throat.

“Can’t imagine what would make you say that.” They were walking through a town together, arms linked, and sure Taako’s nails might be digging a bit too much into Kravitz’s arm, and his hat might have been pulled a bit lower than normal, but who could blame him. The last time that he had been through Glamour Springs, he hadn’t exactly been a hit.

Well- he had been, was the thing. He’d been a hit, and then he really, really wasn’t.

Even though he kept his gaze directly ahead, vision cut off by the purple tulle brim of his wizard’s hat, Taako could feel Kravitz’s gaze shift towards him. He could picture the look of concern, the not-quite-joking face that said I see you, and as Kravitz opened his mouth Taako pulled his arm away to point to a halfling child skipping around a corner up ahead. “Oh, would you look at that, is that a lich? We should regroup somewhere else so that you can tell bird mom about it.”

“I really don’t think that she’s a lich, Taako,” Kravitz said, looking like he wanted to link arms again but not quite trusting himself to.

Taako hummed, lifting the brim of his hat so that his dramatic eyebrow raise could reach its full effect. “That’s what you say, bones, but you didn’t think my umbrella could hold a lich, which, it did.” He let out a gasp, breath slightly strained with trying to keep his act together. “Does that make me the new death detective?”

“You’d have to take that up with the Raven Queen, darling, but I don’t think that-” Before he could continue talking, probably intending to say something that would cut right to the heart of Taako’s bullshittery, another voice rang out.

“Taako?” The elf in question put on a smile, a touch more brilliant than usual, and turned, but his expression froze in place as the man kept going. “From Sizzle it Up?”

Twitching his fingers behind his back, Taako made an illusory version of himself walk out of an alley near the man and his friends, because of course, he had brought multiple people to come harass the most talented elf this side of the planar system.

“No, I’m not Taako, but-” He gasped, a proper stage gasp that he would have been proud of some other time. “Is that Taako?”

He pointed to the fake-Taako that was, admittedly, not the best replica – especially as it was only four feet tall, with a short hat – but it waved, putting a dramatic hand to its mouth.

The head of the group, a human man in his late fifties, spared the not-Taako a glance before looking back to where the real one stood next to Kravitz, who was looking confused, increasingly worried, and thoroughly unprepared for the situation. “I don’t think so.” He started to approach, and Taako linked arms with Kravitz again, who, gods bless him, put a reassuring hand on Taako’s grip. “Do you know who I am?”

“Can’t say I do, homie-”

“Right, ‘cause I wasn’t at your show. My wife was, though, with our kid. I wonder if you’d recognize them?”

As the man talked, Taako’s breath was tight in his chest, and he tightened his grip on Kravitz as he muttered under his breath. “Can you get us back home?”

“What?”

“Can you get us out of here?” Taako’s voice was a hiss as he looked back over at the man, who was still talking, still approaching, and he felt like he was peeling out of his skin, layer by layer. “Please?”

A scythe rippled through the air, no more questions asked, the man disappeared behind the quicksilver-swirling void, and Kravitz pulled Taako through behind him.

Back home in their comforting apartment, cloudy sunlight creeping through one of the full length windows and outlining the furniture in gold, Taako was doing his best not to make eye contact with Kravitz. Bad enough that he’d started to fall apart back there, bad enough that he could still picture any number of mother-and-child from his last show that the man might have been referring to, but one difficult straw on the whole shitty stack was that-

Well, for all that he’d told Kravitz about his past and his mistakes, he hadn’t quite brought this one up. It had always seemed so big, forty deaths, and then it wasn’t his fault! But…he had still been the one to serve those people their last meal. He’d been the one to see shit turn south and tuck tail and run. He’d been the one who should have done something, but.

He hadn’t.

Taako had helped save the entire universe, but he hadn’t been able to save forty fucking people.

“Well, I’m going to start dinner-”

“Are you okay?” 

“How does salad sound-” Taako’s voice overlapped with Kravitz as they started talking at the same time. “Ah, sorry, cut you off there. What were you saying?”

Kravitz leaned back against the kitchen counter, and even as Taako turned his back to open a cabinet he could feel his boyfriend’s stare. “Well, uh, that was something of a- a quick evac, if you will.” His voice was slipping back into a British accent, seeming just as uncomfortable with the topic as Taako was, but he wasn’t going to let it go quite so easily. “Anything that I should know about?”

Taako laughed, high-pitched enough that it squeaked, and he set two plates down so hard that he was a bit amazed they didn’t chip. It would have been easy enough to fix, he had magic powers after all, but he didn’t need that extra hint of crappiness. “Yeah, darling, I’m just peachy. I didn’t kill those people, after all, I wasn’t the one who poisoned ‘em. I was just the one who took the fall and had a hand in their deaths and fed them chicken that should have been the best chicken of their life but instead it was their last. ‘M all good, though,” he said, shoulders tensing and voice straining as he moved around the kitchen faster, keeping himself grounded because this was his home, gods damn it, and he wasn’t going to fall apart in his own fucking apartment just because he might have to face some consequences for his actions. 

As he caught sight of his reflection in the glass of the window, he saw the man’s face again, bitter and angry and still hurting, and he had to turn away.

There was a pause, and Taako could almost hear the clack of the beads in Kravitz’s dreads as he fiddled with them in thought. “Well, I hope this doesn’t mean that I have to arrest my boyfriend for death crimes.”

Taako let out a laugh, a little less hysterical than the last, because wouldn’t that be just the fucking thing – Lup’s the actual lich, but he’s the one who gets got. “I sure hope not too, Krav.” In a distant part of his mind, he realized that his shoulders were shaking, grown painful and tense without his attention. 

He turned, and there was a quiet Kravitz next to him, smile quirked to one side as he held out a hand toward’s Taako’s shoulder. “May I?” Taako nodded, feeling the palms descend onto him and fingers pressing into the muscle, and he forced himself to relax. It hurt, but in a good way. It wasn’t the sharpness of dropped plates, of harsh breaths, of regret and guilt and running and displaced blame. 

It was just a dull, constant pressure, and it was the kind of thing that would eventually ease the pain.

Eventually, Taako’s fingers stopped flickering so frantically, and he let himself relax back into Kravitz, just a bit. Things were quiet and still, two plates left out on the counter and a bag of lettuce sitting on the cutting board, fingers simply resting on muscles instead of pressing down, and when Taako cleared his throat he felt Kravitz’s grip tighten, just a touch. An acknowledgment that he was there. It was sweet, and didn’t make him feel quite so boxed in, and Taako turned around to put his hands on Kravitz’s waist and make eye contact. 

“So, after the…back when I first got here, I was a traveling chef, and, I’m not afraid to say it, I was kind of hot shit.” He let out a laugh, a bit more real than those before, smile quirking up on one side as he remembered the early days. They had been good, was the thing, riding around and showing off, and it was almost like he had Lup but not quite but it was fine because he hadn’t needed anybody but himself. As he kept talking, his expression started to freeze so it wouldn’t fall. “After a while, I picked up an assistant, because the world couldn’t handle pure, uncut Taako. Had to be diluted a bit, you know. For the safety of the masses. Of course.”

Swallowing, Taako brushed his thumbs against Kravitz’s sides, maintaining eye contact because if he didn’t have that, he might have just shut up then and there, and he couldn’t do that. He actually cared about Kravitz, about the gentle pressure on his shoulders and the look that said I want you to feel safe and the laugh that curled on the edge of his throat just in case, and he couldn’t brush past this shit forever.

Standing quiet in their shared kitchen, outlined in gold and rose and amber as the sun began to set, words falling into the space between two bodies, Taako told Kravitz the truth of his last show at Glamour Springs.

[griffmeistergeneral]

Okay, I’ve had some time to cool off, so here’s my bullshit fanfic rewrite of this finale I might end up hating this because I’m writing this at 1am but I think it’ll still be better than the episode. We keep everything broadly similar until the final confrontation (well, except for the whole slew of editing oddities etc, like ‘the fam’ appearing to not leave the cybership until it arrived at Gallifrey and stuff like ‘the division’ instead of the CIA)

Anyway,  when the old staff guy comes in instead of taking the bullet for the doc (because apparently her issue wasn’t having to kill her best friend and her people again but because she’d have to sacrifice herself. Okaaay.) he reveals himself as Rassilon. He confirms that the story of the timeless child was true (here you can have your timelord origin story chibbers), but that it wasn’t the Doctor, it was him. When Rassilon came to power and invented time travel with Omega and went around killing all the Vampires and Racnoss he had his origins rewritten to make himself the inventor of regeneration and father of the timelords rather than some science experiment of the ‘filthy’ Shobogans.

Rassilon reverses the polarity of the neutron flow of the death particle and in a very RTDesque fashion resurrects the timelords through the power of tv feelgood bullshittery, either brings the cyberlords to his control or destroys the cyberprogramming and retakes Gallifrey. The master is either killed on the spot or flees, it makes little difference since we know they’ll be back either way. Rassilon, now having the support of the timelords, banishes the doctor with an echo of the “get off my world” line from Hell Bent.

This leaves the mystery of the ruth doctor still to solve. The ideal would be the theory/idea from reddit where Jo Martin had already been cast as the next doctor, but her incarnation would lose her memory. Their idea was that the 60th anniversary (which would be around the time Jodie would be leaving/have left if she stays a similar length to recent doctors) would then revolve around this ‘14’th doctor regaining their memories. That would be best since I liked Jo Martins take on the role so it’s sad it’s happend like this, but obviously, I can’t wish a 60th anniversary episode or a casting choice into existence but you could just imagine her as a future doctor.

Alternatively, we go with the other popular theory that she was between Troughton and Pertwee, working for the CIA, where they have the Doctor performing increasingly dangerous and unethical missions (maybe even involving the time war or the war in heaven or whatever) through several incarnations (because then you can even slip in the morbius doctors again) until they get to the ruth doctor, who finally has enough and manages to run away as a human etc. as we see in fugitive of the Judoon. The CIA eventually catch up with her and decide to cut her loose. They top her back up to the amount of regenerations, wipe her memory, force a regeneration into Jon Pertwee, stick in Troughtons old clothes and exile her to Earth, Series continues as normal from there.