#but i promise i will return swinging with lore

[sybilofhearth]

PART ONE: THE SCRIBE

Synopsis: You had just one mission, hidden in a scribe's robe, swinging ink-dwelling brushes, trading ink for silence and coins, and then vanishing. But curiosity killed the cat, and gold buried it.

Pairing(?): Lahan x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: I wrote this without reading the light novel (blame my lazy ahh), so Lahan is ooc, I make up lore because why not?? Morally grey reader, Lahan is slightly an asshole, lowkey a smartass, reader is a spy

You’ve worn three faces in this palace. 

Today, you’re a scribe. 

You've been one a month.

The archive chamber smells of old paper and dried ink. You're not here for the golden coins, but for those precious records (and for the coins, too).

Your job is to sit at the back, copying useless poetry in an elegant structure. The real documents stay tucked beneath your sleeve until the time of your departure.

The archive chamber is silent. Peace rules on the room, held together by brushes’ strokes, whispered names, and paper scrolls just beginning to open.

Too much tranquilly, silence that could be broken any moment.

You hear footsteps, click-clack against the wooden floor, as the scribes who went about halt in their places. 

Once more, you can be certain it's him. 

You suppress a sigh as you finish copying the poetry you were tasked to transcript with your finest handwriting.

He doesn’t speak.

He never does right away. 

You return and carefully repaint over the missing spot, the sound of the rustling of his clothes as he nears you unsettles you slightly, but you have to keep that silly act of yours.

His presence looms over you.

You can feel his gaze scrutinizing, analysing every single one of your motions, as if daring you to slip.

But you can’t.

Your hand repeats mechanically every single one of the movements you studied before even being positioned in your role. Perfectly.

You can’t afford nervousness, as it only would lead you to your demise, but can you help it? 

“You made a mistake. The characters are slightly curved to the right.”

He spoke as he stepped forward, not exactly at you, but rather at an unfortunate scribe who was seated to your left.

Said scribe gives a nervous cough, and Lahan’s gaze shifts to you for a mere instant.

You can almost feel the change in the air as he turns his attention toward you, examining you with an uncanny precision that makes your hand tighten its grip on the brush, almost putting the ink over the wrong place.

Almost.

You wonder if he has already figured you out, and if he’s letting less than what he knows.

“You’re quite focused today, scribe,”

His voice is smooth, deceptively sweet, but you can feel the tension. Surely, he knows it, or he suspects something. You curse the damned day this man gained his perceptive skills, oh, it would make thing easier for you, too, if he wasn’t as sly and cunning as a fox.

“I am trying to avoid errors, my lord.”

Your tone is calm, controlled as your eyes get lost in the traced characters. His gaze is like a needle, nibbling, scrutiny is evident in his demeanour, and you know one thing for sure: it’s unnerving you like never before. 

He hums and drifts towards the other scribes, and after some minutes, he leaves. 

Those days he did that a lot. 

You did not understand the motive of his presence there, and honestly, you only wondered if the reason was something you could use to your advantage.

You remember the objective that brought you there, those pretty coins you adored oh so much, promised by those shady people who you wouldn’t trust even if you were at your lowest — which, to be honest, you kind of were.

After all, you only took the missions that were close to your own goal: destroy the La clan.

But now you had a single thing to do to see the thing you cherished the most. Money.

Which could definitely buy your happiness right now.

Of course, first you had to give them the scrolls you had carefully placed beneath your long sleeves, but that would be as easy as stealing a kid’s candy.

Your patron had told you about the individual who had placed the mission. He was some resented noble from a clan who had once done dirty treats with the Imperial Palace and now wanted to see it burn after his son was exiled for breaking some stupid norm. You just happened to be there. After all, what couldn’t a mercenary like you do with such a great pay promised to them?

Of course, his object of desire would be hard to get among the many documents in that palace. For now, you would focus on gathering small scrolls with information that could absolutely turn the tables between the clans.

狡

When the sun rolled down the sky, you were almost alone in the archive chamber. Only a few scribes were there, and you were growing slightly impatient at how slow they were at copying the damned scrolls and poems when your working turns were almost over.

You kept feigning to stock the scrolls when you were actually looking for more interesting objects, but who knew if it would actually be there? Surely, something as important as a scroll containing valuable and compromising information shouldn’t be left in the archive room, where anyone could enter and find it, right?

When the last scribes left, you found yourself pacing around the dusty shelves of the back, where the head scribe avoided at all costs the presence of others rather than himself and a trusted few. The smell of ancient books tickled on your nose, making you sneeze a couple of times, and when you finally found some amazing information, you heard the same click-clacking sound of footsteps.

Their owner was slow, but they were firm, and you certainly didn't know whoever the person was. You couldn’t be spotted there after your turn was over, so you scurried away, leaving a mental note to get more documents when you had time.

吝

In that same chamber, a curious figure stood against the frame of the door with an amused expression on his face.

“This will surely be interesting to deal with.”

His eyes analysed the room. Desks filled with traces of dry ink, half written scrolls and abandoned brushes. Everything seemed normal, if it hadn't been because he had caught that shadow jumping out of the window.

He stepped close, click-clack, until he reached the wooden framed window that gave access to the pavilion and, further, to the gates where hundreds of officials left the golden cage that was that palace.

He scanned the dusty shelves until a peculiar thing caught his gaze.

Cloves?

“Why are these here?”

A small cluster of cloves sat on the ground. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Cloves were quite hard to find, as they were reserved only for exceptional dishes made for the consorts or for the emperor, why would they be in an archive room out of all the places in the Imperial Palace?

He kept that information in his mind and, without hurry, he left to his devices.

吝

Bitter.

You chew on the bitter cloves you always keep in your pocket.

Your jaw tightens as you stare at the ones you dropped yesterday���right where you stole the scrolls from the shelf.

It was a habit of yours. You always carried them when you were on missions. They helped you sort your mind, chewing on them was your way of dealing with the stresses of your job.

You only hope no one has seen them because it would mean that you had left evidence of staying in the archive room when you were not supposed to be there at all. Besides, who carried cloves in their pockets? You, of course.

You sit back on your desk, until a scribe walks towards you and places a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in your place.

“Master Jinshi wishes to speak to you.”

You nod and make your way towards the pavilion where his office was.

“Perhaps he found out about me not being an actual eunuch? Or maybe it's the false documentation?”

You chew the cloves again and again.

The bitterness spreads across your tongue, sharp and unrelenting, it burns down your throat, leaving a lingering dry heat that makes your jaw ache.

But you don’t stop.

You focus on the taste, trying to forget where you are.

But your body betrays you. You shiver as the thought of being discovered wanders in your mind.

You knock softly on the sliding door. Once. Twice.

“You may enter.”

You slide the door open, take two steps and bow deeply.

“Master Jinshi, how can I be of assistance?”

Jinshi stares at you with that charming expression of his, and that sickeningly sweet tone of his.

Although, you notice a hint of something darker that he can't mask with charm.

“There is a matter I hope you can assist with.”

You nod politely.

“I’ll do my best, my lord. What do you need from me?”

Master Jinshi regards you steadily from across the room.

“Your skills are needed for a matter requiring careful attention. You came here recently, so perhaps you haven't noticed yet.”

His eyes sharpen as he halts, a more serious expression replacing the sweet facade he wears.

“But there has been a great number of scrolls that have disappeared from the archive room.”

He gestures toward Lahan, standing quietly nearby.

“You will work together on this assignment.”

How come you haven't noticed him before? Has he always been there? Now that you think of it, that man seemed to be in the right places at the right moments.

“I am Kan Lahan. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He bows slightly. You can only sense the slight shift in his demeanour once Jinshi speaks to you. It's almost as if his eyes are splitting you in layers, trying to know who and what you are exactly in that palace.

“This matter requires your utmost care and subtlety.”

You nod and swallow slightly, keeping that facade of yours, but your eyes seem almost eager to walk away from there as soon as possible, given the way they wander through the office.

How would you explain that you were the reason those scrolls and documents were disappearing?

Notes: I saw that there was such a small amount of Lahan fanfics, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing this. I'm sorry for taking this long to post this (the whole story, this is just part one), but I wanted to write it well and evolve the story I had in mind coherently. Of course, I wrote this instead of studying and finishing my research project. Procrastinating and hyperfixating on fictional characters is not the best combo, lol, but stay tuned for the next parts. I don't know if it will be romantic, but I will go with the flow and let's see what will end up happening. I hope you all have a good day/night, and take care!

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₈

This is Chapter 8 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 7.3k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 8

a/n:  (lightning flash warning in one of the gifs I use)

The longest walk of your life had left you battered, each step back from the cove a slow, aching trudge through the darkened woods, the soft weight of the fish sack dragging at your shoulder like a chain. The forest had been merciless—roots snagging your boots, branches clawing at your cloak, sending you sprawling into the dirt more than once. 

By the time you stumbled into Berk’s outskirts, your attire was a wild mess: mud streaked across your arms, twigs and leaves tangled in your hair, your cloak torn at the hem from a particularly vicious fall. The moon had been your only guide, its barely pale light casting long, ghostly shadows that twisted your path into a maze of doubt and hurt as you walked through the canopy of the overhanging trees.

Now, as you neared your home, the familiar silhouette of your door loomed ahead, a faint promise of rest after hours of turmoil. The forge next door glowed faintly, its hearth burning bright through the open walls, and Gobber’s low, tuneless hum drifted out, mingling with the rhythmic clink of metal on metal. He was working late, oblivious to your closing form and the churning in your chest, and you envied that ignorance as you shuffled closer, too weary to care who saw you in this state.

Hiccup, meanwhile, had spent those same hours restless, his mind a tangle of worry and guilt. He’d stayed up, pacing the forge after slipping away from Stoick’s overbearing pride, his thoughts circling back to you—where you’d gone, why you hadn’t met him as planned. The trial’s chaos had swept him away from you—this he knows—the crowd’s fervor a wall he couldn’t breach, and he’d fled to the cove to escape it all, forgetting the promise of the forge in his haste. 

When he’d returned home seeing as you weren’t there, the silence of Berk had gnawed at him, your absence a quiet ache he couldn’t shake. Now, as he glanced out from the forge’s glow, he spotted you—wild-haired, dirt-smeared, a shadow of the girl he’d left behind—and his heart lurched. He bolted after you, boots pounding the earth, desperate to close the gap before you disappeared behind your door. 

You didn’t see him, your gaze fixed downward, too tired, too angry to notice the figure closing in. Your hand gripped the latch, swinging the door shut with a dull thud, but his boot jammed into the frame just in time, stopping it cold. 

Startled, you yanked the door wider, your breath catching as Hiccup stood there, his sheepish grin flickering under the weight of your stare. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he would always do when feeling guilty, and launched into a rush of words, apologies spilling out like water from a broken dam.

“Hey—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for ditching you at the arena,” he started, his voice tripping over itself. “It was a mess, then they took me to the Hall—where I manage to sneak away—it’s just. . .everyone was in the way, and I couldn’t—I just had to get out. I went to the cove to wait, but I forgot about the forge, trying to avoid Dad and Gobber in the process, and—gods, I’m sorry about missing lunch too. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.” 

He kept going, oblivious to the change brewing in your silence, his words piling up like stones—earnest, fumbling, blind to the hurt you buried deep. It wasn’t until he paused, his eyes finally tracing over you—taking in the dirt smudged across your cheeks, the leaves knotted in your hair, the wild exhaustion etched into every line of you—that he faltered, his grin fading. 

“You. . .You look like you’ve been through it,” he said, softer now, concern creeping in as he registered the toll of your trek.

You bit your tongue, the truth clawing at your throat—you’d waited for him in the cove, hours spent in the dark with Menace, your heart sinking with every passing minute. But you couldn’t say it, couldn’t face the questions it’d raise—Why didn’t you just show yourself?

So, you tried to deflect it, but your words betrayed you—voice tight as you asked, “Why does Astrid know about Toothless?”

His eyes widened, confusion flickering across his face, followed by a flush of embarrassment. “Wait—how do you know about that?” he stammered, and the heat in your own cheeks betrayed you again. 

“I. . .I was at the cove,” you admitted, the words bitter on your tongue. “I waited there, worried about you after the trial. But when you landed with her, I—I didn’t know what to do. I stayed hidden.” 

His expression shifted, panic flaring as the pieces clicked—panic for making you wait, for sending you home alone through the dark, for the possibility you’d seen everything. 

You didn’t mention the dragons’ nest, though the anger simmered beneath your skin, a quiet fury he couldn’t miss in the hard set of your jaw. It was rare—almost unheard of—for you to be truly angry with him, and he saw it, his own guilt sharpening as he caved.

“Okay, look—I’m sorry, I’ll explain,” he said, his voice dropping as he spilled it all, unprompted. “I went to the cove to wait for you, like I said, but Astrid—she followed me somehow. I didn’t know until it was too late. She saw Toothless, Menace, everything, and I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I took her flying, showed her what I showed you, she’d understand.” 

A small blush crept up his neck as he spoke—to which you thought it was him blushing over her—his words tugging at the memory of your own flight—the clouds, the aurora, his arms around you—and the parallel clenched at your heart, a dull ache blooming where warmth had once been.

“And then—gods, it was an accident—we found the dragons’ nest. I know we were supposed to see it together, and I messed that up. I’m so sorry, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.” 

He went quiet, his eyes searching your face for something—forgiveness, understanding, anything like you always did—but you stood there, emotionless, a wall of silence he couldn’t breach. The hurt was too raw, too tangled with the image of Astrid’s kiss on his cheek, her excitement echoing in your mind. Something you couldn't muster up to do yet. 

He shuffled his feet, nervous, waiting, and when you finally spoke, your voice was flat, a forced calm that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m happy you found it,” you said, nodding stiffly, the words tasting like ash. “And that you had a good time with your crush.” 

His jaw dropped, a strangled sound catching in his throat as he floundered for a protest, “Crush? No, that’s not—,” but you cut him off with another smile, thin and hollow, a mask that felt wrong even to you. 

“I’m tired, Hiccup, I’m covered in mud and cold,” you said, gentle but monotone, the exhaustion seeping through every syllable. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Before he could respond, you shut the door, the latch clicking into place with a finality that echoed in the silence. 

On the other side, Hiccup stood frozen, his hand hovering where the door had been, guilt crashing over him like a tide. Your words—“your crush”—rang in his ears, a miscommunication that twisted the knife deeper. He hadn’t meant it like that, hadn’t seen Astrid that way not for a long time now that he thought about it, but the hurt in your eyes, the way you’d shut him out, told him he’d failed you in ways he couldn’t fix tonight. 

His chest ached, a melancholic weight settling there as he replayed it all—the trial, the cove, the troubling mistake of him telling you he shared the same flight with her as he’d shared with you—and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, for not finding you when it mattered. You, inside, sank against the door, the sack slumped—forgotten at your feet, your wild appearance a mirror to how you felt. 

The glow of the forge flickered through the cracks of your window, Gobber’s hum a distant drone, but it couldn’t reach the quiet mess of your thoughts—the flight you’d cherished, now shadowed by another, the nest you both were planning to find together, stolen by chance. The miscommunication between you two had stretched like a chasm, wounded trust tugging at your heart, leaving you both adrift in a melancholy neither could name.

The next day dawned heavy and gray over Berk, the sky a thick shroud of clouds that mirrored the weight pressing on Hiccup’s chest. He’d barely slept, the events of the night before replaying in restless loops—your hollow smile, the door shutting in his face, the sting of your words branding him with guilt. 

He wanted to find you; to mend the rift he’d unwittingly carved between you, but doubt gnawed at him. Space might be what you needed, though every fiber of him ached to see you, to erase the hurt he didn’t mean to cause. The looming trial—the slaying of the Monstrous Nightmare—only tightened the knot of stress twisting inside him, its shadow growing darker with each passing hour. 

He missed you, fiercely, your absence a quiet void he hadn’t realized he’d grown so much closer—so used to filling with your laughter, your steady presence that he needed right now. But he stayed away, wrestling with his regret as the morning dragged him to the forge, where duty—and you—waited. 

You were already there when he arrived, the three of you—Hiccup, you, and Gobber—huddled in the forge’s smoky warmth, the air thick with the tang of molten iron and the rhythmic clang of hammers. It’d been too long since the last dragon raid, a rare lull that left Berk’s defenses itching for readiness, and you’d all but agreed to help Gobber sharpen weapons, preparing for the inevitable chaos that could strike at any moment. 

You stood at the grindstone, your hands steady as you honed a blade, but your face was a mask—closed off, distant, a stark contrast to the easy rhythm you’d once shared with Hiccup. He worked across from you, shaping axe heads with mechanical precision, his glances flickering toward you like a moth to a flame, each one met with your resolute silence. 

The awkwardness hung heavy, a palpable thread even Gobber couldn’t miss, his eyes darting between you repeatedly with a quirked brow as he pounded a dented sword back into shape. Even for him he knew this was unlike either of you. The silence stretched, taut and unbearable, until Gobber slapped his knee with a loud crack. 

“Right, lad,” he boomed, his voice too cheerful for the tension. “Time fer trainin’. Stoick’s waitin’ at the arena ‘round now, and we’ve got a couple weeks to whip ye into shape fer that Nightmare. Let’s move!”

He clapped Hiccup’s shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts, and Hiccup’s gaze snapped to you, guilt etched deep in the lines of his face. You buried the ache clawing at your chest, forcing it down as you set the blade aside, your hands trembling faintly.

“Can I come?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, a fragile thread of hope woven into the words. “I could help out.”

Gobber’s grin faltered, and he scratched his beard, his tone apologetic but firm. “Sorry, lass—Stoick’s orders. No distractions while we’re trainin’ the boy. Needs his head in it, ye know.”

Your heart sank, a fresh wound opening beside the one from last night, but you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. Hiccup’s eyes met yours then—the first time that day—and they were pools of regret, his mouth opening to mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before Gobber’s meaty hand landed on his shoulder again, steering him toward the door. 

You held his gaze for a fleeting second, the guilt in his expression a mirror to the hurt in yours, but then he turned, forced to follow Gobber out to the arena, leaving you alone with the forge’s flickering light and a mountain of unfinished work. 

The busy days that followed blurred into a slog of solitude and steel or flour and bread. You stayed at the forge one day the next in the kitchen. Hammering blades and mending armor, the clanging a dull rhythm to drown out the ache that lingered like a bruise—just the same when you kneaded dough. 

Hiccup trained with Stoick and Gobber so he was always away now, his absence a constant pull at the edges of your thoughts, though you refused to let it show. You buried your feelings deep, letting the work numb you, but the silence he’d left behind echoed louder than ever. 

Then, one afternoon, determined to bridge the gap in some small way, you packed a large lunch—smoked chicken, bread, wedges of cheese—enough for the three of them, your hands moving with care as you wrapped it all in a cloth. 

It was a peace offering, a quiet gesture to ease the strain, and you carried it to the arena with a flicker of hope, the basket heavy but your steps lighter than they’d been in days. The roar of the wind in the tunnel greeted you as you approached, the wooden gates creaking as you slipped inside—and then you saw her. 

Astrid. She was there, her axe in hand, barking pointers at Hiccup as he dodged a training dummy, her presence a sharp jab to your chest. Gobber had said no distractions, had turned you away, yet here she was, woven into their circle while you stood on the outside. 

You froze, the basket suddenly leaden in your arms, anger flaring hot and bitter—why her and not you? Stoick and Gobber spotted you first, their eyes narrowing until they saw the food, and their faces softened. 

Gobber grinning beside him, “Good lass, keepin’ us fed. He said, clapping your shoulder with his good hand. 

You managed a tight smile, your gaze sliding past them to Hiccup, who stood off to the side with Astrid, mid-conversation. He caught your eye and waved, an awkward, appreciative nod paired with a small smile, but it faltered when he saw the frown tugging at your lips. Astrid glanced over too, her expression unreadable, and the sight of them together—talking, training, allowed—twisted the knife deeper. 

Stoick and Gobber moved off, hauling gear and digging into the food, leaving you to linger a moment longer. You waved back, the gesture stiff, your frown deepening as you turned on your heel and left, the arena’s noise fading behind you.

Hiccup watched you go, his stomach sinking as the pieces clicked—Gobber’s refusal, Astrid’s presence, the hurt you couldn’t hide. He’d wanted to give you space, to spare you the mess of his guilt and the trial’s pressure, but now he saw it—every choice he made seemed to go wrong. 

The arena felt colder without you suddenly, Astrid’s voice a faint drone beside him as his mind lingered on your retreating figure, the lunch you’d brought a quiet plea he hadn’t known of your true intension's. 

You walked back to the kitchen alone, the anger simmering into a dull, familiar ache, the basket’s absence a hollow weight as you buried yourself in work again, the clang of pots and angrily stirring of stews your only companion amidst your anger as the people on the other side of the kitchen including Marta watch on with fear of crossing you.

The days at the forge stretched on, each one heavier than the last, the silence between you and Hiccup a growing gap neither of you knew how to bridge. The air in Berk carried a restless edge, the gray clouds thickening overhead as the village bustled with its usual clamor—swords clanging, carts rumbling, sheep mawing, voices rising over the wind. 

You were hauling a crate of freshly sharpened swords to the weapons storage when Bucket and Mulch shuffled by, his weathered face scrunched as he rubbed his head beneath his ever-present bucket hat. 

“Storm’s comin’,” he groaned in his loud humble voice, squinting at the sky with a grimace. “Can feel it in me skull.” 

Mulch, trailing behind with a sack of grain slung over his shoulder, chuckled dryly. “Aye, feels like a snowstorm, but not a bad’un—Bucket ain’t wailin’ too hard about it yet.” 

Bucket shot him a confused look, but the faint tremble in his voice was mild, not the howling dread that signaled true danger. Still, their words sank into you like stones, a cold unease curling in your gut. Storms weren’t just a walk in the woods to you—they were ghosts, echoes of the night your parents had been ripped away, lost to a howling tempest on the day you were born and the day of Berks’ worst recorded storm. 

Their words clung to you, a quiet fear that tightened your chest whenever the wind grew sharp or the thunder rumbled low, a secret known only to Hiccup, Gobber, Marta, and Stoick.

Your hands faltered on the crate, the metal edges biting into your palms as a flicker of that old terror stirred. Hiccup knew it better than anyone—had known it since you were small, when the storms would roll in and you’d shrink into yourself, eyes wide with a fear you couldn’t voice. 

A memory flickered to life, sharp and sweet: you, barely six, huddled beneath a rickety table, the thunder crashing outside like a dragon’s roar. Rain lashed the walls, the wind howling through every crack, and you’d been trembling, your small hands clutching the edge of a table leg as the world seemed to shatter around you. 

Little Hiccup—scrawny, all knees and elbows even then—had crawled under beside you, dragging a pile of woolen blankets he’d scavenged from the house. 

“Don’t worry, I'll protect you,” he’d said, his voice high but steady, his green eyes wide and bright in the dimness as he piled the blankets around you—four, maybe five of them, until only your eyes peeked out from the cocoon. 

He’d hugged you tight, his skinny arms wrapping around the bundle of you, his cheek pressed to the top of your head as he rambled on about the first thing that popped into his mind—how he’d seen a Terrible Terror steal Old Man Sven’s boot that morning and nearly choke on the laces. 

“It was flopping around like this,” he’d said, flailing his arms in a ridiculous mimicry, his words tumbling over each other to drown out the storm. 

You’d clung to him, the thunder fading to a dull growl beneath his chatter, and though the fear never fully left. His warmth—his presence—had made it bearable. That was Hiccup: your shield, your distraction, your constant through every tempest. 

Now, though, as Bucket's warning hung in the air, that comfort felt distant, buried beneath the strain of the past days. You finished your work at the forge in silence, the unease festering as the clouds darkened, the first flakes of snow swirling down by dusk mixed with rain followed by loud claps of thunder. Hiccup was still at the arena, training with Stoick and Gobber, the three of them pushing him hard for the Monstrous Nightmare trial despite the worsening weather. 

The storm Bucket had predicted hit that night—not a raging beast, but a steady, biting squall, rain pelting the village in gusts as thunder rumbled low and menacing. You were alone in your small home, the wind rattling the shutters, each crack of thunder sending a shiver down your spine. 

Hiccup wasn't there—couldn't be there you knew this—caught up in the arena's demands, and though Gobber and Stoick knew your fear, they'd dismissed it this time.

"It's not a bad one," Gobber had grunted earlier hiding his own worry when Hiccup, soaked from the rain, had protested, his voice rising in frustration. 

"She's tougher than that son—focus on your trainin'," Stoick had said, his massive hand steering Hiccup back to the drill, ignoring the anger flashing in his son's eyes. 

Hiccup had wanted to go to you—had felt the pull of that old promise tugging at him—but they'd boxed him in, their expectations a cage he couldn't break through. So you sat alone, huddled beneath your table just as you had all those years ago and every other storm since, surrounded by heaps of blankets you'd dragged from your bed. 

They swaddled you in layers, rough wool and fur skins scratching at you, but they couldn't block out the storm's growl—the way it echoed that night, the night you'd lost everything. Your knees were drawn tight to your chest, your hands trembling as you pressed them over your ears, trying to mute the thunder that rolled through the walls. 

Hiccup's absence was a hollow ache, sharper than the storm itself—how much you wished he'd been here, rambling about some half-baked invention or Toothless' latest antics, his arms around you like they'd always been. 

Instead, the silence beneath the table was deafening, broken only by the wind's mournful howl and the occasional crack that made you flinch, your breath hitching as you squeezed your eyes shut. You tried to summon his voice in your mind, to conjure the comfort he'd always given, but it slipped through your grasp—it wasn't the same, leaving you stranded in the dark with nothing but the blankets and the ghosts of a storm long past.

At the arena, Hiccup's heart wasn't in the training. Rain plastered his hair to his face, his tunic clinging cold and heavy as he dodged Stoick's barked commands, his mind miles away with you. He knew what storms did to you—had seen the way they stripped you bare, left you trembling—and the thought of you facing this one alone clawed at him, guilt and worry twisting tighter with every thunderclap. 

He'd tried to argue, his voice sharp with a rare edge, "She needs me, you don't get it!"

But Gobber and Stoick had waved him off, their focus locked on the trial, on molding him into the warrior they thought he should be. Now, as he swung a blunted axe at a dummy, his movements were sloppy, distracted, his chest tight with a helplessness he couldn't shake. 

You were out there, under that table, and he wasn't with you—couldn't be with you—and the weight of that failure pressed down harder than the rain, a quiet, anguished ache that lingered long after the storm began to fade. 

The storm had passed by morning, leaving Berk blanketed in the first full snowfall in what felt like ages—a pristine, glittering shroud that crunched underfoot and signaled the creeping onset of winter. The air bit sharp and cold, the village waking slow under the weight of the snow, smoke curling lazily from chimneys as the day stirred to life.

You stepped out into it, your boots sinking into the fresh powder, your breath puffing in small clouds as you pulled your cloak tighter. The storm's echoes still lingered in your head—a quiet, unsteady tremor you buried away—but the daylight helped, the routine of the village a tether to pull you forward. 

Hiccup, meanwhile, had seized a rare break from training, the first morning in days where Stoick and Gobber hadn't dragged him straight to the arena. He stood with Astrid and the gang near the center of Berk, close to the Great Hall—Snotlout flexing for Astrid in particular, Fishlegs rattling off snow facts, the twins bickering over a half-formed snowball, and a handful of other teens milling about together with them, their laughter cutting through the crisp air. 

Hiccup's eyes caught on you as you passed by, your figure a familiar silhouette against the white, and his face lit with a smile, relief softening the edges of his guilt. 

"Hey, excuse me a sec," he muttered to the group, brushing off Astrid's curious glance as he jogged to catch up with you.

"Hey!" he called, his voice bright but tentative as he fell into step beside you. "You okay? After. . .last night?" His gaze searched your face, worry flickering beneath the warmth of his smile.

You nodded, keeping your pace steady, your voice even as you replied, "Yeah, I'm fine." 

It was a lie, polished smooth from years of practice, but he didn't buy it—never did. His hand shot out, catching yours before you could pull away, his fingers curling gently around yours, anchoring you in place. 

"Come on, really," he pressed, his tone soft but insistent, his thumb brushing your knuckles like he could coax the truth out.

You faltered, the warmth of his touch tugging at the ache you'd buried, but you sidestepped it, forcing a lighter note into your voice. 

"I'm fine—But I see you're enjoying wearing that iconic breast hat," you said, nodding at the horned contraption perched crookedly on his head—a gift from Stoick he'd worn more for irony than pride.

His grin widened, a mirror to the teasing smirk he'd given you so many times before, and he tilted his head, letting the horns wobble dramatically. "What, this? It's peak Viking fashion—thought you'd appreciate seeing it again," he shot back, his voice lilting with mock offense. 

You couldn't help it—a real smile broke through, small but genuine, the first in days, sparked by the familiar dance of your banter. He laughed, a sound that eased the tension in his shoulders, relief washing over him as he saw a glimpse of the you, he'd missed so fiercely.

The flying situation with Astrid, the trial, the storm, the distance—it all faded for a moment, and he fell into step beside you, his stride matching yours as you headed toward the Great Hall. He'd meant to keep you company, to tag along for your kitchen duties and steal a few more minutes together, the way he used to before everything twisted sideways so quickly.

Your smile lingered, a quiet bloom of warmth in your chest, because you'd missed him too—missed this, the ease of him at your side, the way he made the world feel less heavy. But just as you turned toward the hall's steps, a shout cut through the snow-dusted air.

"Hiccup! Get back here!" Snotlout's voice boomed, followed by a chorus of laughter from the group.

Astrid waved him over, her grin sharp, while Fishlegs chimed in with some trivias. Then that girl—neither Astrid nor Ruffnut, but that lanky teen with a wild grin and short blond hair and a loud giggle—darted forward, grabbing Hiccup's shoulder and yanking him back with a playful tug.

He stumbled, half-turning to protest, "Hey, hold on!" But the group swarmed him, their voices overlapping in a chaotic tangle of jokes and chatter.

Snotlout shoved a snowball into his hands, the twins egging him on, and Hiccup's laugh broke free, bright and unguarded, pulling him into their orbit of a snowball fight. You paused, watching as he glanced back at you, his smile faltering for a split second before he told you to come over, but the group's energy swallowed him up, their hands tugging at his tunic, their laughter drowning out his hesitation.

Your chest tightened, the warmth from moments ago cooling again, and you sighed, turning away before he could see the shift in your face—Marta would get to you if you left her hanging during Stoick's breakfast time. The snow crunched under your boots as you walked off alone, the hall's shadow stretching long and cold ahead of you.

Hiccup caught the tail end of your retreat, his eyes following your shrinking figure through the flurry of snow and friends, but you were already gone, lost to the grand doors you had shut behind you.

The pang of guilt returned, though he didn't chase after you—not this time. He let the group pull him back—distracting, their voices filling the space you'd left, but his laughter felt half-hollow, a quiet melancholy settling in as he wondered how many more moments, he'd lose to the distance he couldn't seem to close.

The evening settled over Berk, the Great Hall humming with the lively din of Vikings gathered after a long day, their voices rising and falling over the crackle of the hearth and pit fires. Snow still dusted the ground outside, the first true bite of winter lingering in the air, but inside, the warmth was a living thing—fed by the bustle of clinking mugs, hearty laughter, and the rich, sweet aroma wafting from the kitchen.

You stood at the heart of it, elbow-deep in your seventh batch of sweet fig cakes, the rhythm of the work a steady balm against the ache that had taken root in your chest. The kitchen was your domain, a small corner of control amid the storm of the past days, and you poured yourself into it with a quiet focus that Marta, bustling nearby, couldn't help but admire.

The tables in the hall were already groaning under the weight of your efforts—platters of smoke cod, roasted chicken and goat glistening with herb butter, bowls of creamy root stew steaming in the chill, and trays of those fig cakes everyone craved, their golden tops glistening with a sticky glaze of honey and crushed nuts.

You worked the dough with practiced hands, the soft, pliable mass yielding beneath your fingers as you folded in the fig filling—plump and dark, their sweetness bursting against your tongue when you'd tested one earlier. A drizzle of honey went in next, pooling golden and thick as you stirred, followed by a pinch of good herb that dusted the air with its warm, spicy scent.

The mixture came together in a symphony of textures—soft dough, chewy fruit, the faint crunch of nuts you'd toasted over the fire until they crackled, their rich, earthy flavor seeping into every bite. You shaped the cakes with care, pressing them into small, rustic rounds, your palms sticky with honey as you laid them on the hot griddle.

They sizzled faintly, the edges crisping to a perfect golden brown, the figs caramelizing into dark, jammy pockets that promised to melt on the tongue. The scent was intoxicating—sweet and warm, a tease of comfort that drifted out to the hall and drew hungry glances from the Vikings over to you.

Marta, flipping slabs of meat nearby, shot you a grin. "Ye've outdone yerself again, lass—them cakes'll have 'em fightin' over the crumbs."

You managed a small smile, brushing flour from your cheek. The batch finished, you loaded a tray with a jug of frothy mead and a stack of the still-warm fig cakes, their glaze catching the firelight as you carried them out to the hall.

The tables were a riot of noise and motion—Vikings tearing into their meals, mugs clashing in toasts—but your steps slowed as you neared the table beside Hiccup's, where he sat with Astrid and the gang.

You kept your head down, focusing on setting the tray without a fuss, but their voices cut through the din, sharp and unmissable. The girl with the wild grin and short blond hair leaned forward, her eyes glinting as she spotted you.

"There's Hiccup's second shadow again," she said, her voice loud enough to carry, a smirk tugging at her lips.

A ripple of chuckles followed, Snotlout snorting into his mug as Fishlegs nodded absently, caught up in his own thoughts.

"Yeah, she's always right there, isn't she?" another teen piped up—a wiry boy with a red face—his tone edged with mockery. "Like a lost puppy, trailing after him. Doesn't it ever get old, Hiccup? I'd be sick of it by now."

Hiccup froze, his mug halfway to his mouth, an awkward laugh escaping him as he fumbled for a response.

"Uh, well, I—" he started, but they didn't let him finish, their voices piling over each other like stones.

The girl leaned closer, lowering her tone but not enough to keep it from you. "She's just gonna drag him down," she whispered, her words a blade slipped between ribs.

"I feel like she's only here for his fame now that he's got what it takes," another muttered.

The air went thick, your hands stalling on the tray as their words sank in, each one a quiet wound you hadn't braced for. You didn't look up, didn't let them see the way your throat tightened, but the silence that followed was deafening—they'd noticed you, their chatter dying as eyes flicked your way, wide and caught.

Before you could move, Marta stormed over, her apron flapping, and delivered a sharp smack to the back of their heads with a wooden spoon, the crack echoing through the hall.

"Mind yer tongues, ye little beasts," she snapped, her glare sweeping the table. "Show some respect or ye'll be scrubbin' pots 'til spring."

She turned, her fierce eyes softening as they landed on you, but you were already moving—your frame hunched, steps measured, walking away as if their words were nothing, a breeze you could shrug off.

Inside, though, they burrowed deep, a cold, heavy weight settling beside the hurt you'd carried since the cove. Marta watched you go, her lips pressing thin, but you didn't look back—couldn't—your hands trembling as you slipped into the kitchen's shadows, the clatter of the hall fading behind you.

The day before Hiccup's trial to slay the Monstrous Nightmare arrived like a cold blade against his throat. The snow outside was beginning to melt quickly all while Berk braced itself for the spectacle that would define him—or break him. Hiccup's nerves were raw, a live wire snapping with every gust of wind. The weight of the trial a relentless pressure he couldn't outrun. But it wasn't just the fight bothering him—it was you.

The gnawing guilt of your distance, the echo of your hurt from days past, a wound he'd inflicted and couldn't heal. He'd spent the night tossing in his bed, replaying every misstep—the flight with Astrid, the teen's cruel whispers, the door you'd shut in his face—Everything—Until finally the guilt ate at him driving him out into the frostbitten dawn. His boots crunching through the snow to find you.

He was nervous, his hands flexing at his sides, his breath puffing in shallow bursts as he approached the forge, where he knew you'd be. As he walked toward it, he made note of how he regretted not going after you in the hall when they had said those things toward you. He just hoped you weren't too mad at him. This was the moment—where he'd change, where he'd face the mess, he'd made and try to claw back what he'd lost, though he wasn't sure he deserved it.

You were there, bent over a workbench, sorting a pile of dagger blades with a focus that bordered on mechanical, the forge's heat painting your face in flickering gold—hitting you in that same light he had seen you all those weeks ago on that quiet ocean cliff you had claimed as your new spot—making a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

The forge's heat pulsed through the air, thick with the sharp tang of molten steel the hum of the fire a steady drone beneath the village's distant clamor. Hiccup lingered in the doorway a moment, watching you, his chest constricting at the sight—your wild hair flecked with ash, your shoulders hunched like you carried more than just the work.

He forced a nervous grin tugging at his lips as he stepped inside, trying to lighten the air. "Hey, where've you been hiding?" his voice was light, teasing, but it cracked at the edges, betraying the nerves he couldn't mask.

You didn't look up at first, your hands stilling on the blades, and when you did, your eyes were sharp, glinting with something raw.

"Me?" you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a whip—the first time you'd ever turned it on him like that, and it stopped him cold.

"You're the one avoiding me, Hiccup." The words were a blade, quick and piercing, and he blinked, his brow furrowing as he took a step back, caught off guard by the venom in your tone.

"What? No, I—," he stammered, confusion knitting his features. "Is this because my dad and Gobber won't let you in on the training? I can't help what they want, you know that."

His voice rose, defensive, grasping for an explanation he could clutch or make you understand.

You set the dagger down with a clatter, turning to face him fully, your jaw clenched tight. "No, Hiccup. But it's real nice that they allow Astrid to help though. Isn't it?"

The sarcasm dripped from your words, honed with a bitterness he hadn't braced for, and his eyes widened, a flicker of realization dawning—though he misread it, his mind seizing on jealousy as the simplest thread to pull.

He crossed his arms, his own frustration bubbling up. "That's because she has experience in combat? You only know how to throw daggers," he shot back, the words spilling out before he could stop them, tinged with an edge he hadn't meant.

It was a lie—he knew you were more than that, he'd seen you wield those daggers with deadly grace—Just as precise as a Deadly Nadders' spikes—But the teens' whispers had wormed into his head, and he was floundering.

Your eyes flared, indignation sparking hot. "Oh, well pardon me then." you retorted, turning the other way.

"You're acting selfish—like your jealous or something," he went on irritated.

"Excuse me?"

He bristled, the accusation stoking his own anger, fueled by days of their voices—the teens'—hissing in his ears, twisting his doubts into something ugly.

"Yeah, maybe it is! You're mad about Astrid, right? Because I'm actually doing good in front of the village now," He threw it out, reckless, the words sharp and half-formed, a desperate grab to make sense of your hurt.

You laughed—a short, incredulous sound that held no humor. "Jealousy? That's not it at all, Hiccup, and you know it."

Your voice trembled, anger and pain tangling as you pushed back. "When you offered me those same tactics for the arena, I told you no—told you to use them, to show Gobber, your dad, Berk, that you're more than enough. I've supported you through all of it—every step, every lie. Lying to Gobber tore me up, but I did it for you because you're important to me."

The confession slipped out, small but heavy, a crack in your armor he didn't catch—because his own frustration was boiling over, drowning it out. He shook his head, jaw tightening as the teens' words clawed their way to the surface, venom he'd let fester too long.

"Maybe they're right, then," he snapped, his voice low and cutting, a reflex he couldn't rein in—couldn't understand where it was coming from.

"I can't breathe with you up my neck all the time." The blow landed like a sword in the dragons' stomach, sharp and jagged, and he saw it hit—your face crumpling, eyes widening then dimming with a hurt so stark it stole the air from his lungs.

Regret surged through him, hot and bitter, the instant the words left his mouth—their own words not his. . .not his feelings—but it was too late. You dropped your gaze, the rough-hewn floorboards blurring beneath the sheen of tears you fought to hide, your shoulders slumping under a weight he'd just doubled.

A faint nod was all you could muster, a small, broken gesture that carved into him deeper than any dragon's claw.

"I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he said, his voice rough with apology, stepping toward you as his hands flexed, aching to undo the damage. "I'm sorry."

"No," you cut him off, your head snapping up briefly, a flash of glistening eyes meeting his before you edged back, the distance growing cold between you as tears pricked at the corners.

"No, you're right." Your voice wavered, soft and fraying, as you hugged your arms to yourself, the forge's glow casting shadows across your trembling frown.

"I'm sorry—I forget you've got your own thing and need your own space to breathe, you've got the life you want now. I'm so used to meeting you every morning—since we were kids, scrambling over rocks, dodging others—that I'm constantly with you, never giving you a break. . .Hiccup—It's because you're the one I look forward to, the one I need to see every day."

"I just. . .I just need you, Hiccup, because you're the only family I've got—besides Gobber, of course. But you. . .You are all I got."

"No, that's not it—," Hiccup started, his tone urgent, stepping closer as desperation clawed at him, his boots scuffing the dirt-streaked floor. He reached out, fingers brushing the air where you'd been, but you were already retreating, the words tangling in his throat.

"It's fine. Really," you said, though your voice cracked, a fragile thread snapping under the weight of your lie.

A faint, pained laugh broke through, and you shook your head, brow furrowing as tears traced silent paths down your cheeks. You waved him off, a shaky dismissal, your hand trembling as it fell.

"I need to get back to the Hall. . .Marta probably needs me. . .I'll see you around." You turned, the crunch of your footsteps fading into the forge's hum, leaving Hiccup rooted in place—his breath shallow, his heart a wild drum against his ribs.

He'd changed in that moment, the shift seismic and irreversible. He'd thought it wrong to take Astrid on that flight—the same one he'd shared with you, a memory he'd held sacred he knew this so well—but he'd convinced himself you'd understand, that the opportunity had forced his hand when she'd threatened to expose Toothless.

He'd apologized, hadn't he? And he'd liked Astrid—or thought he did, the lines blurring now—because somewhere in the chaos, he'd started wondering if it was you, he cared for, you he needed, though he couldn't name it yet.

But hearing the people in the hall, their whispers twisting into his doubts, he'd let them poison him, let their jabs about you being clingy, a shadow, a burden, seep into his words.

He'd hurt you badly—knew he had—but your snap, the first time you'd ever lashed out, had stung him too, and he'd lashed back, thinking he didn't deserve it—but he knows he did.

Now, as you walked away, the truth crashed over him: he hadn't meant space from you, but from the world pulling him apart, and he'd pushed you away instead.

The silence swallowed him, heavy with your hurt and his failure, your retreating figure a wound he'd carved himself, leaving him teetering on the edge of a bridge he wasn't sure he could mend—and an ache that whispered maybe he'd lost you for good.

This is Chapter 8 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying | @teeesthings

[fatratinatophat]

Hiatus update, the future of the blog, and my plans for summer (For the blog obviously

“Wow Crumb I’m so glad you’re telling us this I missed you so much, I missed your art” said nobody but whatever, here

There’s a TLDR at the bottom if you don’t wanna listen to me yap.

So I’ve been on hiatus for a while, mainly because I’ve been sick and thus not at school and we just had April vacation, and I draw most of my art during my classes not at home so I haven’t been drawing. This hiatus SHOULD end soon, I’m currently drawing things I want to draw right now, but I WILL KEEP MY PROMISE of my first update being a New Craft page, I’m just getting back into the swing of things and finding the motivation to do so. But I need to talk about something else first:

If you haven’t noticed I’ve had like 0 motivation to do any art things for a long time

The constant hiatuses and lack of NC updates aren’t random, it’s because I dread drawing them. And I believe I’ve figured out why: The fucking schedule. I’ve noticed every time while drawing today that I end up rushing through and drawing stuff I don’t particularly want to just to fill my stupid quota and get my stupid drawings done to shove them in my queue. The result is rushed art, lack of experimentation and thus things getting stale, and dreading having to do it so taking breaks. Also the barrage of boring, transparent background bs.

This also causes a lack of notes, especially for some reason after DW became trending I’ve seen to become a bit less popular for whatever reason, getting less notes per post. NC seems to be the only thing that gets me good notes (Other than that stupid fucking Goob post I did forever ago I spent like maybe 10 minutes on that blew up, that’s STILL getting notes) and do I even have to mention any posts with my ocs on it that aren’t sketch pages that also include DW ocs, that get like- less than 10 every time.

So uh yeah not much motivation and an unhappy Crumb, but I’m here for solutions not to bitch. So, I’m NO LONGER going to have an upload schedule for my art. I’ll try and upload once weekly at least but I’m sick of rushing on everything. I’m also going to try and stop making posts with no backgrounds and just one or two characters standing around (Ironic cause I’m drawing another one but that’s more for study than to make something peak) I will however continue to do my asks that have been sitting in my inbox since LAST FUCKING YEAR (I’m slow as HELL, also all my recents have been One Forsaken request and daily fucking Gaza posts from someone I suspect to be a bot since they’re always on anon???) so that won’t change

But yeah, that’s for the general blog but now we need Crumb lore.

So, for the past 18 years of my life, every summer, I either hardly draw at all or DO NOT AT ALL for the entire few months. It helps me basically “reset” and be able to more easily dump the stuff I don’t like about my art. This has never been an issue before this cause I’ve never had actual fans and more than like 10 followers that aren’t friends before now (Insane how much I’ve grown in one year)

So the summer uploads are a bit iffy but I have 2 ideas:

-Upload nothing all summer, reblog some posts here and there to show I’m alive and return once I start college or sumn

-Upload less frequently and use the break to be REALLY experimental with things, I’ve also been toying with the idea of making a comic surrounding some of my ocs and then would be the perfect time to plan it and make it IF I DO, I dunno what I’d do and if I’m ready yet so it’s unlikely

No I’m not asking what I should do I’m saying what I could

I’ll decide later what I want I guess and of course give you guys a heads up what I’m gonna do once that time runs around. I have like a month left of school and maybe I’ll get into a rhythm and wanna keep going idk. We’ll all have to see.

Also, I WILL FINISH FUCKING NC BEFORE I DO THAT. I will upload them one after a fucking nother if I have to I want this stupid comic off of me, I’ll explain why once I’m done with it. Also chapter 2 is cancelled.

Also my Discord server is basically dead (Died after I had One Palworld hyperfixation) and I think most of them all lost interest in DW so if you guys wanna join please do I’m lonely there’s like 3 people who actually talk now help

But yeah I think I’m done. I bet like maybe 3 people read this entire thing. Anyways time for your TLDR:

-I have zip motivation for anything lately I’m trying to fix it

-I WILL BE MAKING THAT NC PAGE

-NO MORE UPLOAD SCHEDULE, it’s killing me. I’ll try uploading once weekly but don’t count on it

-I’ll try stopping the boring no background one guy standing there posts and make my posts more interesting and dynamic

-I may stop posting art over the summer, may be more experimental and upload less, might even make an oc-based comic idk

-Before I go on my summer hiatus/low uploads, I will finish New Craft, also chapter 2’s cancelled

Ok I’m done my head hurts ow

[resowrites]

Illumë - Part 5 (ROP series).

Summary: A Noldorin elfs desperate situation draws the newly awakened Annatar back into her acquaintaince. In return for his help - and her freedom - he demands a price she’s reluctant to pay. With a final task to complete, she has the choice of falling at last to Annatar’s machinations, or finding hope for both herself and the rest of Middle-earth.

Pairings: AU!Annatar, OC!female elf, AU!Maedhros.

Warnings: Dark themes, forced captivity, coercion, manipulation, angst, ambiguity, character death/suicide, sword fight, mentions of threats/bodily harm/injury/blood, dialogue heavy, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 3473

A/N: Hi folks, I hope you enjoy this last chapter, admittedly it’s a bit rushed due to time constraints but I’ve really enjoyed creating this little series. It’s helped me get back into the swing of writing and I hope to post more Middle-earth fics in the future. As ever, this isn’t really ROP/canon based (though it can be read as a rough ROP prequel). Some knowledge of the lore is still required. Thanks again for all the interactions and if you have any thoughts, let me know - R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Original gifs/pics not my own, no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for visiting.

Illumë - Part 5 (final chapter).

"Please won't you reconsider?" He looked up from the pack he was filling with odds and ends.

"My mind is made up, Andaeriel."

"But you won't even tell me for how long--"

"Because it's impossible! Do you wish me to lie and say otherwise?"

"I wish only for you to stay and marry me like you promised..." He sighed and came to her side, taking her hands in his.

"We will be married--"

"For you to then depart? For who knows how long?!"

"But I wish for you to join me! I have been begging for weeks and you can give me no good reason against it--"

"Because our life is here, why would you turn your back on everything we have built together?"

"So instead you would have me abandon my father in his time of need?" 

"Your father has gone mad, Maedhros! You know it as well as I do. No good will come from this ridiculous quest which I fear you also know."

"The jewels are his greatest creation, Andaeriel. He has every right to reclaim them--"

"But not at the expense of his own family! You know not the present state of Middle-earth, you could be walking into a trap--"

"I have no choice. If I let my brothers go alone who knows the havoc they might wreak." She stroked his cheek, cupping his face.

"But it isn't your concern, my love. You have no obligation to them--"

"Of course I do. They are my family."

"As am I. Your mother refuses to go, nor will she permit Amrod and Amras."

"My mother's choices are her own, as are those of my brothers. But I would ask that you not abandon me, not at such a time as this--"

"It is you who abandons me! When I wanted to journey to Middle-earth all those years ago, you refused to join me. You said it was too dangerous, yet now you would walk straight into Morgoth's lair!"

"Which is why I need your support! Please come with me, Andaeriel. There we could even have a land of our own--"

"Until you are slain? For that is what will happen. Morgoth will not relinquish the jewels freely. I fear that sooner or later you will all be lost..."

"I won't allow that to happen."

"Yet you would risk it all the same. Do you not love me, Maedhros? For surely if you did, you wouldn't leave me nor put me in such danger..." He drew her into his arms.

"I will love you until the end of everything, and I would never let you come to harm--"

"Yet still you would leave me."

"Please understand that it isn't my decision--" she pulled away.

"I'm sorry Maedhros, but... if you follow Fëanor our relationship is ended." 

"... You can't mean that?" She handed him back her silver betrothal ring.

"You've broken my heart. But then so too would the outcome of this folly."

"How can you do this?! It is you who has gone mad! We are one Andaeriel, you can no sooner leave me than I you." She smiled sadly. "What, what is it?"

"I will never hear that name again." She turned and sped from his sight.

"Please, please don't do this. ANDAERIEL--"

***

"On your feet." The chamber door burst open so quickly that she jumped from her seat.

"What is it? Why are you back so soon?" He soon cornered her, his face mere inches from her own.

"You warned Lindon of my arrival."

"What are you talking about--"

"As a result, I'm barred from that land, and the only opportunity I had to influence the High King and his people is now lost." He threw her to the floor with such violence the air was knocked from her lungs. "What do you have to say for your treachery?"

"I-I'm no... traitor--"

"No? Because I happened to intercept this letter not long into my journey." They locked eyes before he pulled from his skirts a small sheet of paper. "'Elrond, you will recall that when last we spoke I warned our enemy could make his presence known via stealth. I'm now writing to warn you that a visitor by the name of Annatar will soon desire entry into Lindon. Ask not how I came to be aware of it, but this is our enemy in disguise. What the High King decides to do is his choice, but I would counsel you to bid him welcome and write to me again once he is settled. Together we might then ambush him and remove his wicked presence from our lands once and for all. Yours in friendship, Ellethwen.'" He crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it to the floor. "You promised me your allegiance. Why now have you gone back on your word?" Still struggling for breath, she clambered to her feet. 

"Because they are my friends--"

"You said you no longer had any. Now I find that you conspire not only to ruin my plans but to destroy me!"

"So you expected to walk freely into the most highly guarded cities in all of Middle-earth? I told you they wouldn't be fooled, and besides my letter never reached them--"

"Yet you put them on alert. You told them I might come to them disguised--"

"All I said is that you wouldn't attack openly, which is again obvious--" he lunged towards her and wrapped a hand around her throat.

"The point is you intended to betray me. Is it that you now wish to live after all? ANSWER ME." He released her only when it became clear she wouldn't speak until he did so.

"My wishes haven't changed. But I can't let you hurt the people who care about me."

"You said you cared not for whatever happened in Middle-earth."

"Yes, and I thought so too, but after seeing them again I remembered all they have done and continue to do for me. I can't just cast that aside!"

"You lie once again. You can't even recall the last time you walked in the halls of the High Kings. It is the Valar who commanded you to help them, for if you don't you will never see the blessed realm again."

"That's not true--" again he stuck his face in hers.

"Cease your lies, we both know that is why you were returned in the first place. You are to try and stop me by any means possible. Tell me now why I shouldn't burn you where you stand!" A small, sinister smile curled his lips. "That gives me a better idea..." He grabbed her by the wrist and marched her across the room. Together they passed through the chamber door and found themselves atop a high peak of what appeared to be a mountain range. Directly in front lay a deep trench of oozing magma. The heat and fumes stifled the already thin air and made it almost impossible to breathe. He threw her forward, and she was lucky not to stumble onto the scalding ground. Already she felt it burning into the soles of her feet. 

"Where have you brought me?" A fierce wind picked up and she struggled to pull her hair from her eyes. 

"We are at the top of Thangorodrim's main peak."

"Thangorodrim?" A pit opened in her stomach. "But it was destroyed long ago... why would you show me such a place?"

"Oh, I think you can already guess. It seemed a fitting punishment to show you where your beloved Maedhros met his end." 

"You're a monster." 

"I haven't finished." He nodded his head towards the pit and through the vapours rising from the lake of fire, she could see the rough outline of a figure. When she could finally make out who it was, she dashed forward, only for Annatar to hold her in place. "You are to stand here and watch--"

"Let me go! Maedhros, it's alright, I'm here..." But the spectre didn't look up. He had instead fallen to his knees, as though he carried something of great weight. It was then that she saw the light glowing from his hands. Rage coursed through her, and with renewed strength, she tried to force herself from Annatar's grip. "Give it up! He can't see or hear you." Suddenly she heard a loud voice and felt her heart rent anew.

"Oh, Andaeriel... you were right. What a fool I've become!" Letting the stone fall to his side, he covered his face and wept. And she cried too. Whether this was a mere dream or something closer in reality, she wished for nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. "Everything is gone from me, but my love for you. Oh, how I wish you were here! You would curse me for a fool but still, I would beg your forgiveness. I'm sorry, meleth nîn. But I will make everything right. Neither this cursed rock nor Maedhros, firstborn of Fëanor, will trouble these lands again!" Staggering upwards he grabbed the stone once more, and howling at the misery of its touch, allowed both he and it to fall headlong into the pit. She screamed. Though he tried to keep her standing, her legs gave way and she fell to a sobbing heap. Even Annatar was taken back by the force of her grief, and the next movement she could feel was him crouching beside her with a cup of water. She grabbed the cup and hurled it over his shoulder. They were back in the chamber though her fury burned hotter than any volcano ever could. She tried seizing his neck only for him to hold her arms against her waist. She then kicked with all her might, and the two tussled to the floor. 

"Easy, easy... calm down. Calm down, Andaeriel!" He was on top of her now, trying desperately to pin her to the floor. But the sound of that name in his mouth enraged her. She spat in his eye, finally causing him to relinquish his grip. She made to follow him but found her limbs were like stone. "So be it, I will keep you locked in your body instead. Don't struggle, you will only make the sensation worse." She cried out, exhausted and anguished beyond anything she had ever felt before. "Now let that be a lesson to you. Cross me again, and you won't be subjected to mere visions--"

"Damn you and your plans, our contract is ended--"

"I say when you are free! And until you are repentant, you won't see the light of day again." To underline his point, he flooded her senses with pain. 

"P-please, please stop--"

"Are you sorry for your actions?" The agony became so unbearable she could feel herself blacking out. "An apology is all it will take for this to end, Andaeriel..."

"Never... I will never..." She lost consciousness before she could finish her sentence. 

***

She awoke thinking that she had somehow been transported back in time. She lay trembling and hot, with a familiar wave of nausea surging through her. But unlike her first few weeks as a prisoner, she wasn't alone. Annatar sat close to her, for once simply dressed, wringing out a wet cloth. His mouth and brow were pinched. "Ah, I'm glad to see you awake. How do you feel?" She stared him down but he refused to meet her gaze and instead continued mopping her forehead. "There now, you will feel better soon. I know you won't eat so I've prepared this for you instead." Before he could even attempt to cup her head she whipped the mug from his hand, dashing it against the floor. "You must stop being so churlish. I'm trying to help you--"

"You are the reason I lie prone like this to start with--"

"Which was your own doing!" He took a breath. "You must understand; I can't permit disloyalty. I put my trust in you and was betrayed just as quickly. You brought your punishment upon yourself and like a good father corrects a wayward child, I had to correct you. I will, however, admit that I allowed my disappointment to get the better of me and for that, I apologize. But you should know that I forgive you too and we will speak no more of what happened in Lindon." He placed a hand gently on the top of her stomach. "Now I also understand that the name Andaeriel pains you. So if you will permit me, I'd like to give you a new one--"

"I don't want another name." He sighed and wrapped his spare hand around her own. 

"... Please believe me when I say I wish only for us to become closer. For you to feel you can trust me, confide in me. I really do believe I can make you happy if you let me."

"I know it was you."

"What?"

"The fire in my limbs, the first vision of Maedhros... it was all you." He blinked and then bowed his head.

"And I'm sorry for that too. I had to find a way of keeping you here, of discovering your true feelings--"

"You not only impersonated the man I loved but made me believe he never loved me."

"That was your interpretation. I had no desire to remind you of the past or bring those hurts to the fore once more."

"Yet you did all the same. I can't trust you Mairon, you must let me leave--"

"How can I when you threatened to ensnare me with Lindon's help?"

"I will return to the Havens and live quietly like before--"

"I've explained to you already; there is no going back. For you or for me." He let go of her hand though much to her disappointment he made no attempt to leave. "I've decided that we will travel to Eregion, Celebrimbor is a smith and therefore much more likely to engage with my plans."

"We?"

"You must accompany me, yes. If he knows we are friends there will be far less suspicion. That is if Lindon hasn't already made him aware..."

"I won't do it."

"You don't get to decide otherwise. You promised me your service and this will be the perfect opportunity for you to bothredeem yourself and prove your fealty."

"But you don't even need me, through thought alone you can create visions as real as any scheme we could concoct--"

"Then perhaps it is because I want you by my side. I want the love and support of the Elf I... I..." He placed his head in his hand, his voice trailing off. The minutes went by soundlessly, and she realised that in quiet moments she could never hear any birdsong or even chatter among the guards. She started to wonder if the chamber was just another illusion, and if her true location was somewhere far more dark and dangerous.

"I think I understand something now..." He turned to look at her once more. "You want your life cycle to end as well. It explains how you go to these lengths, and commit such atrocities. You don't wish to be imprisoned like your master before you and so you run from the Valar, hoping that your next scheme will put you beyond reproach. That is why yousought me out when others might have better suited your plans. You expected me to help you, to do whatever it took to help us both reach the same fate. But the closer you get, the more scared you become. So you hope that we might be together instead, to avoid the loneliness that may follow you into the void as well--"

"You were the one who offered to take me to Valinor and reside there as your prisoner--"

"Which the Valar would have to agree to and is therefore the reason you refused." He leaned over and seized her by the shoulders.

"But you will finally be able to live by your own rules, to at last decide the course of your own life! An idyll already awaits you; the search for where you belong is over." He pulled her closer and she knew the moment had come. In one swift motion, she drove the dagger she'd taken from him in their earlier tussle straight into his back. He lurched upwards as she ripped it out and immediately knew she'd missed her mark. He staggered from the bed gasping in pain but turned holding a short sword.

"Drop the knife - I don't wish to hurt you." With all her might she struggled upwards and stood almost level with his bloodied chest. 

"Let me leave and our association is ended." He snarled and lurched forward but she blocked the oncoming thrust with a sidestep. She knew there was little chance of winning, she was too weak even for his injured state. But if she could justmake it to the door she might have a chance, even if Orcs barred her way. She made a run for it only to find he'd blocked the exit in less than a blink of an eye.

"You never learn, do you? We are bound, Andaeriel--" she wouldn't let him finish and again tried to cleave a path through the room. Together they sparred until most of the chamber was in ruins. At yet another bind he finally kicked her legs from under her and she fell with his sword aimed squarely at her chest. She had no time to move away and instead made to block his blade the moment he lurched forward. Breathless, he knelt over her. "Give it up, now. You won't escape, my guards have orders to kill anyone attempting to leave this tower unbidden." She heaved upwards as best she could, he could turn the hilt of her knife red hot and still she wouldn't budge. But slowly he doubled his strength and she soon felt his sword sink lower. 

Finally, she accepted there would be no reasoning with Annatar, or any other chance for escape even if she journeyed with him to Eregion. Ultimately it would lead to a war with Lindon that they were neither prepared for nor stood a chance of winning. But she'd realised her mistake in aligning with him and had done all she could to repair the matter in the time left. Her part in this chapter of Middle-earth's history was now finished. Annatar's eyes, alight with impending victory, went wide as her knife suddenly gave way. Before he could even think of halting, he tumbled on top of her, his sword plunging directly into the middle of her chest. His face became a picture of agony and for a moment she almost pitied the wretched creature now completely undone by his own hubris. "No, no... what have you done?!" He did his best to staunch the wound but her breath grew shallow. The light from the two trees of Valinor, and so many ages of their world since, was fading from her eyes. He cradled her head in his arms, swallowing back his anguish so that they might talk a final time. But his voice and the room quickly grew dim, and all around her came a sound akin to rushing water. 

***

"Arasinya, daughter of Arphenion, you are brought to these halls, as before, to answer my summons. Do you accept full judgement of your deeds?" Never again did she think she would hear such a voice booming in the darkness.

"I do."

"You are come by the actions of the enemy. Yet for a time you were allied. Where now stands your loyalty?"

"I remain both my own person and a child of Ilúvatar." 

"Then how came you into the service of such evil?

"I... believed it was my only chance to seek that which I desired."

"And what is it you want?" She hesitated despite already knowing her response.

"My answer is the same, peace."

"And so is mine; you will not be cast beyond the walls of the world."

"But I have failed in my mission. I was unable to stop or even slow the evil that will now befall Middle-earth..."

"Your charge was to aid your kin. And though others might argue the degree, you have nonetheless finished the task."

"Then what will happen now?"

"You will complete the path that all others must take."

"I am to go to Aman? Tell me, please, am I to be reunited with Maedhros?"

"What you will find, is yours to discover." Suddenly she began to feel strange, as though a light that made everything seem new and whole again, was filling her. And for the first time, in all the uncounted years, she no longer felt afraid. 

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

[oscarisaacasimov]

Hadestown, March 14 2025, Manhattan

What a perfect moment to see this show for the first time. I know the mythology and had listened through the soundtrack a few times, but what a difference to see it live.

It's a show about Greek mythology, seasonal affective disorder, art curing despair, and falling back in love with your long term partner.

The whole band on the stage, that funky trombone player going for a walk. One of the Fates had an accordion, Orpheus has his lute-guitar, even Hades blowing the train whistle and holding his own snake rattle. The line between musicians and singers was blurred and I loved that.

The ancient myth + 1930s aesthetic of costumes and big band music and Great Depression vibes + the 21st century themes of climate change, gated communities, "show me your papers," late stage capitalism. There is literal magic in the show, the gods are gods, but also Hades is your uncle who spends too much time at the office and Persephone is your alcoholic aunt.

The jazzy, lower vocal ranges in this show! This is not a Wicked style belting musical, I loved the lower range of at least one of the Fates. The duet between the bass Hades and the alto Persephone was gorgeous and haunting, I wish this was less of a rarity. Orpheus was a high tenor, and I think he may have hit higher notes than Eurydice's mezzosoprano.

The lighting! Bright for summer, hellish for underground, spooky for Orpheus's descent and return, the miners helmets, the swinging lanterns! When the backdrop parted to reveal The Wall. I kind of expected Hades would have a dramatic entrance, even a visual nod to a train? But instead he was in the background at the opening, playing dominos with Persephone. What Hades got was a dramatic EXIT. When the middle of the stage descended, H&P went down and all this smoke came up, I think I screamed.

Perhaps I could have noticed that the center of the stage was an elevator. Perhaps I could have spent the whole play bracing for the tragic ending. But I was swept up into it, really living in the moment. Orpheus turned a bit before I expected, so still, I gasped in shock.

The difference between the hard-working long-suffering human chorus of 6 or so, and the Three Divine Fates who are detached and in it for the drama, was harder to distinguish on the soundtrack, but worked brilliantly on stage.

It is not for the few to tell the many what is true

What an Orpheus! You understand in the show why the world-weary Eurydice falls for his poetic soul, because he has the magic of the gods. His mother was the Muse Calliope, and he sang a flower into existence in the middle of winter - I'd be wowed & wooed too. Hermes describes him as "touched; that is, touched by the gods." He definitely had some neurodivergent vibes in the show (this reminded me of the Percy Jackson lore that all demigods have ADHD).

This Orpheus is not just a romantic promising to care for and provide for Eurydice, but he wants to save all humanity. He understands that the seasons have grown hostile because the marriage of Hades & Persephone has grown hostile; when he writes his song, all humans will enjoy safety and prosperity again.

In the old Greek story, some of the damned like Sisyphus and Tantalus briefly forget their torments as Orpheus passes by with his music. In Hadestown, he hopes to save more than just Eurydice. Orpheus' song inspires all the damned laborers to remember their own and their brother's humanity, to join together against Hades, in a modern worker's rights / Marxist version. Act 1 can be seen as the tragedy of Eurydice, and Act 2 can be seen as the tragedy of Orpheus, while the story overall is the triumph of Persephone.

Three bits of Act 1 set up some ironic foreshadowing for Act 2: -Orpheus sees how lack of trust has broken Hades & Persephone's relationship, but fails to avoid that same lack of trust from breaking his own. -Orpheus fails to keep his eye on Eurydice while finishing his song, and then he fails to keep his gaze away from her. - The actor playing Orpheus showed great trust in the actors behind him by not turning during the "swinging lanterns" part of his descent, yet the character will fail to do the same.

That said, Orpheus was not perfect. Eurydice was drawn to Hades' wealth and the security of the "gilded cage" he promised. Persephone was drawn to Orpheus' emotional range and keen insight to matters of the heart. Both of the men needed to move toward the middle and balance themselves out a bit.

It's a sad song, we're gonna sing it anyway!

Why do we retell the tragedy of Orpheus? With every performance of Hadestown, and with every decade that has kept his myth alive? Something more than masochism, we love Orpheus as a hero because he dared to do the impossible and he got damn close. He walks the fine line between triumph and defeat, in the human world where our existence can only ever end in death. Even as we are brought to the edge of despair by the final forever loss of Eurydice, we are invited into hope by the final song - Persephone returns, on time, for the first spring the world has seen in awhile. Orpheus lost the girl, but he saved the world. He failed at the impossible, to bring someone back from the dead. He achieved the impossible, to soften the heart of the King of Hell. He inspired everyone who watched him, both the shades of the underworld on stage and the audience.

We're all mortal and we can't change that, but what is the point of this life if we don't at least try? Try to help those around us, love who we can, share some art to soften the burdens we all bear?

But I'll walk beside you, love, Any way the wind blows

Hozier's album of descent & rebirth, Unreal Unearth, got me through some personal suffering and made me want to live again.

Anais Mitchell's Hadestown got me through a dark winter of political & social cruelty & chaos and made me want to fight and sing until my last breath.

The day before we saw this show, the original cast members for Orpheus & Eurydice got engaged. A love between two humans in our real world happened because of this old myth, and it brought me to tears.

March 16 was the perfect date for the story of Persephone in the MidAtlantic. It was winter the day we travelled to New York, and it was spring the day we travelled home. The first buds were out along the NJ Turnpike, and it brought me to tears.

We saw the show to celebrate our 10th anniversary, and the fresh puppy love of Orpheus & Eurydice seems well in the past, those actors seem so young. We're not as damaged and cruel to each other or to the world as Hades & Persephone, but I still think the most romantic moment in the entire show was when Hades said, "We'll try in the fall. It's time for spring." O & E didn't really get a chance to know each other well, while H & P must know each other very well by now. They have a deep history and some old affection to build on, when they decide to turn toward each other again.

Everything is Astrology

My Capricorn husband's favorite musical is Hamilton, written by fellow Capricon Lin Manuel Miranda. Anais Mitchell who wrote Hadestown is, like me, an Aries. Both musicals open with the annoucement that this is going to end in a tragedy (for those viewers who don't already know how the stories of Hamilton and Orpheus end). But from there, the themes spool out quite differently.

In Hamilton, the whole show is haunted by the inevitable finale end. "Why do you write like you're running out of time?" "I've imagined death so much it feels more like a memory." Hamilton is a hero, or at least a compelling protagonist, because he works hard, self-promotes, writes extraordinary things, debates well. There is a whole song about how Hamilton wrote more Federalist papers than anyone else. This story is set in the past, steeped in historical details for nerds, honors the supposed stalwart institution of American democracy. When Hamilton dies, what matters is his legacy - his ideas still underpin our Constitution and banking, his many writings were preserved by his loyal wife Eliza.

In Hadestown, everything is a cycle. Orpheus is a hero, or at least a compelling protagonist because he has a fresh vision and heart full of hope. "He sees the world as it could be." The old cold Hades taunts him, "Sing a song for me, make me laugh, make me weep, make the king feel young again!" and Orpheus does just that. The stale dead romance becomes sweet and playful and full of life once again (you have to see it, listening to Epic iii does not quite show you how Hades reacts). Persephone leaves for winter and returns for spring. At the end of the show, the actors are setting up to perform it all again. Orpheus does not have a single lifespan, he is a legend, and every time we tell his story, he lives and dies and lives again. In 2000 years, we will have forgotten Alexander Hamilton, but the story of Orpheus will still be told.

Towards the end of Hadestown, we freeze at that horrible momement - Eurydice is gone, the earth has opened into a deep dark pit and swallowed her, Orpheus is bent over in a final futile effort to save her but it is too late. It is dark. It is silent. Hermes begins to gently sing about how sad it is. And you think for a minute, is that fucking it? Is that the end? But it's not, because what happens next is Persephone returns and it's spring again. The suffering is real and yet the darkness cannot last forever. What will you do with your time above ground?

[sailorgundam308]

SPOILERS of BG3 Epilogue (Karlach’s, more specifically).

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So we learn that while in Avernus, Karlach found the location of Zariel’s infernal forge and some blueprints that might allow her to get a new engine or fix her current one.

This is awesome in itself, but I thought it was extra cool because this was so close to my headcanon and is neatly connecting to DnD lore about Avernus!

Zariel wasn’t the only Archdevil of Avernus. Before her, a devil called Bel was the Archdevil of that hell. Bel still lives and actually works for Zariel now - BUT he still schemes and patiently waits for a chance to reclaim his rule.

Do you know where Bel works now? The forge.

… >>

You see that, right??

“After being deposed, Bel made his home in an iron fortress carved out of a volcano. The bastion acted as a forge for Blood War weapons and armor and was protected by infernal legions and dark magic that divined intruders.”

“Bel oversaw the production of Blood War arms and armor while scheming to retake his throne after Zariel supplanted him.”

Both quotes from the Forgottten Realms wiki.

SO. Bel is the ‘owner’ of Zariel’s forge, and he doesn’t like her very much. In fact, he wants to depose her and is waiting for an opportunity to fuck her up. And Karlach is going to the forge to get her heart fixed. I always imagined in my head that Karlach and Bel would end up meeting and joining forces (temporarily) to take on Zariel - or at least take a swing at her. And what better swing than to get Karlach a new engine and let her loose on Zariel’s forces for a bit - or even at Zariel herself? Seems perfectly canon compliant to me! Plus, Bel is a devil that is known to honor his promises and one that sometimes doesn’t request a soul in exchange for a contract or deal - he often requires other types of contributions (kicking Zariel’s ass or sabotaging her efforts might fit the bill perfectly!).

If before I was inclined to headcanon this sort of deal with Bel to help Karlach, now I’m pretty much sure that is the path implied by the canon story. I can see it not being easy and Zariel lashing out but… as Astarion said to Karlach, her just never being able to return to Faerun “is not fair, not after everything we’ve been through”.

So, for me, this is what happens: Karlach and Astarion go to Avernus. She won’t burn, he won’t burn there. They fight and struggle, but pick on cues and plan to infiltrate the forge with the help of Flo. There they find Bel who proposes a deal to give Karlach a new, more powerful and Faerun-proof engine - in return to sabotaging Zariel. It’s rough, difficult, but they manage. She gets her engine. And then it’s time for Karlach to return the favor to her beloved vamp - to turn Faerun inside out in search for a way to get Astarion to be in the sun again!

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Johnny, Baby

Summary: Based on the lore release, this short is written from the perspective of Johnny as a toddler when his mom knocks on Nancy's door.

Word count: 970

Warnings: Johnny is a toddler and watches his mom die... So there's that

Mama’s left eye is fluffy and purple. She tells me it's okay, but daddy says it isn't. Daddy says mommy is a bitch. Daddy says he wishes we weren't his problem to deal with, that he'd be better off without deadweight like us.

Mama is crying, she takes my hand and I barely have time to grab my stuffed dog Blackie before she lifts me onto her hip and storms outside in a flurry of tears, refusing to look back when daddy yells, “Where the hell do you think you're goin’, dumb slut?!”

“Away from you!” She screams in return. The key to the beat-up old car forms an indent in her palm as she hurriedly buckles me into my car seat.

“Not with my son you ain't!” The angry rumble of my dad's baritone rattles in the back of my skull. I clutch Blackie tighter.

“Mama?” My lower lip trembles, fear reflected in my dark brown eyes.

Mama hurries into the front seat, slamming the creaky door closed and locking it. She turns on the car then looks back at me, her dark hair wild.

“It'll be okay, baby,” she says in a soft, soothing tone.

And I believe her, my nerves slowly untangling.

CRACK! The sound makes me jump in place. When I look up, the windshield is sprayed with a collection of delicate spiderwebs.

Daddy stands outside of the car, jiggling the handle. In his left hand, he holds a baseball bat. When the door fails to open, he reels back to hit the windshield again.

Mama slams on the gas, peeling out of the driveway. Daddy throws the baseball bat at us—it glances off the left rearview mirror, which now hangs by a wire.

Before now, I felt frozen, in a daze. But now, the feelings bowl me over. I scream and wail, and mama tries to help but I can't hear her over the blood rushing behind my little ears. It's a good thing Blackie isn't alive or I would be squeezing the life out of him right now.

“We'll find help baby, I promise, please Johnny stop crying,” she says, her own tears beginning to flow. She drives too quickly for someone half-blinded without any real direction, but she can't slow down. We aren't safe yet.

After a while, my tears subside to sniffles. Blackie is covered in tears and snot, but I cuddle him anyway.

“I'm lost, baby. We need to stop for directions,” mama says, pulling up in front of a beautiful house with rows of flowers.

“Mama!” I cry, holding out my chubby arms desperately. It took me so long to stop crying, mama doesn't want me to cry anymore. She reluctantly takes me from my car seat, and I cling to her so tightly she barely has to help hold me. Blackie dangles by a paw from my fist, swinging as we approach the front door and knock.

Almost instantly, as if she'd been watching us from the window, a woman with curled black hair and glasses answers.

“Lost, sugar? Wouldn't be the first to stumble up to my house,” she says.

“Yes ma’am. We just need directions, then we can get out of your hair.”

The woman's eyes dart from mama's purpled face to my still-red one. “Sure, sure. I can help you. Come on in!” She steps aside, her eyes glued to me as we enter. “I’m Nancy. And who is this little cutie?”

“His name is Johnny, I'm Judith. Nice to meet you,” mama says, but Nancy didn't seem to register her name. She's entirely engrossed in me, to the point where mama shifts me to her other side, trying to provide a barrier between her and I while looking around the house.

This visibly upsets Nancy, who gives mama a scowl she barely manages to conceal before mama looks back over to her as she finishes locking the complicated door lock. “Go on and sit down. Want some tea?” She asks, heading for the kitchen as mama takes a hesitant seat at the dining room table, me on her lap.

“We just need directions to the nearest hotel, no tea thank you,” she says, her leg bouncing anxiously beneath me.

Nancy comes back with a tray and two teacups. Mama raises her hand to wave Nancy's tea glass off, but instead Nancy pulls a knife from under the tray and slices her palm open.

Blood pours onto her pristine carpet, and I burst into tears.

“Gimme that baby and I might let you die quick!” Nancy hollers, lunging for me. Mama quickly turns me away, and when Nancy misses, mama jabs the car key between her knuckles deep into Nancy's left eye.

Nancy howls like a banshee, eye jelly running down her cheek. She starts swinging wildly, and Mama throws her chair back and stands, clutching me and backing away from Nancy.

“You get back here you stupid bitch! Ain't no way you can open that door lock!” Nancy screams, stumbling over the chair in her path.

“Johnny,” mama says, setting me down. I look up at her desperately, my entire body shaking. “Johnny baby, you have to hide. Someone will see our car and-”

Nancy’s hand reaches around mama’s shoulder, dragging a blade across her neck. A red streak follows the knife, and red rains down on me, splattering over my blue truck shirt and soaking Blackie even worse. Mama's eyes go glassy, and my little legs give out as I collapse to the floor.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Nancy says, picking me up and cradling me against her chest.

And I don't believe her.

[operationslipperypuppet]

top 5 naddpod arcs!

Goddamn this is so hard. Thanks I hate it!

This won’t include any Eldermourne simply because it doesn’t have arcs the same way the bahumia campaigns do. And so I don’t do a top 30.

(Reverse order again but also don’t take the numbers to really mean anything)

I’m not gonna explain it like I will the actual top 5 but 6 is the chosen saga. You get it.

5. Shadowfell Saga. I have a genuine thesis of sorts that this arc (particularly the Grimhawk portion but realistically the whole thing) altered the course of the podcast. It’s a switch to the endgame which helps but you can nearly feel a difference in the way Emily, Jake, and Caldwell play when this is over. And it rules. So it makes the list.

4. Hellfire Chronicles. Obliterates the podcast. Some of the craziest shit to happen. Some of Murph’s most ambitious encounters. Return of old friends. Devastating losses. One of the harshest ways the war could go into full swing. Beautiful shit.

3. Tales from the Crick. Shapes NADDPod in a very real way. Lays intense groundwork that later leads into some of the most beautiful and powerful moments. Defines the PCs as characters in ways you don’t expect when you encounter it the first time. Plus it intros Jolene the fucking Green and is Balnor’s first arc so you have to give it so much respect.

2. Legends of Irondeep. Maybe I’m a biased Hardwon girlie. Maybe this included some insane and intense character growth that Calder’s absence demanded. It also threw insane lore, helped Sol discover the root of the clone issue, and brought Jaina back to us. Earth shattering arc. I’ll never recover from Lord Ultrus as an episode. And I don’t want to.

1. The Dragon Elf Chronicles. Holy shit. This arc is fr banger after banger. Not only are there some gorgeous plot lines (the Glen reveal, the fucking beast lands) but it also shows that Moonshine was successful in her quest to bring dragons back to the skies of bahumia. She fulfilled the promise. It also includes the return to the crick, the Super Bowl of dnd encounters (king of dragons you will always be famous), and it ends with Crown of Dreams. One of the best arcs to ever and I mean that.

ask me my top 5 anything

[xxlordalexanderxx]

[2024 is almost over!] I've been following you for a good long while now as you know and while we don't interact much, it's always a delight to see you online as Alexander has since become one of my favourite muses to admire from afar! His lore (and that of Xandora!) is absolutely fascinating in how much world building you've done, the number of characters there are in other muses and overall is really fun to watch develop. On an additional note, 2024's been a rough year for quite a few so I'm really hoping that 2025 is kinder both to you and the RPC in general, hopefully with less drama and more chill behaviour all around. Your OOC posts are a really good reminder in that this is just a hobby which should be fun for all and not taken too seriously. I'm hopeful that in 2025, I'll finally be brave enough to strike up a thread with you and Alexander but no pressure ofc! Keep being your cool self and exude those healthy boundaries! Looking forwards to another year of positivity and growth for Alexander and his kingdom of Xandora! ✨

2024 is almost over! 🍾

Thank you for this incredibly kind and uplifting ask.💜 I've always appreciated your engagement, regardless of whether we write much together or not, and I look forward to when you are up for doing something between our muses! Alexander is my pride and joy, and a comfort to delve into when I have the chance and energy.

I have a lot of plans for this blog in the future. I definitely want to get back into the swing of things, and I think I'm doing a fair job of that. This year has been very stressful and rough, both on and offline, but I've learned quite a bit as well.

I'm locking in as far as my boundaries go. I've had them breached way too many times, and I'm just adopting a "do no harm but take no shit" policy. I'm tired; I just want to write my blurbos, and I have zero tolerance for anyone's nonsense. I'm done being a people pleaser.

Now that things seem to be put to rest, I'm fully moving on and working on my growth here and elsewhere. I woke up one day and just felt my spark return for writing, building up my lore and characters, and improving my writing and art. I have so many OCs I want to introduce—some may even require their own blogs one day (or maybe even a multimuse, who knows?). But no promises, since I still have some life changes heading my way in 2025, to the point that I may take a massive break. I plan on relocating across the country late in the summer.

Either way, I'm looking forward to getting this place back to being as active as it was in 2023. Happy New Year to you and yours!⭐

[greatqueenanna]

1/5/24

Happy New Year Everyone!! Here's to more Frozen Content in the coming year!

———

Introduction

So, I want to start out by saying that I know I have been a little quiet lately and haven't had any updates on posts. I had caught COVID and was fighting it for a while feeling horrible. I still feel pretty bad, but I'm slowly trying to come back. I apologize for my slow return and low activity, but I promise that I'll be back swinging with new analyses, tid-bits, and other projects very soon!

———

Arendelle Archives

I am ecstatic to announce that, as you've already seen, Arendelle Archives is officially setting up a blog here on Tumblr. It will be launching January 6th. Keep an eye out, and be sure to follow!

Also, just had to post this for shameless advertising hehehe.

With Frozen 3 now on the way, YouTube channel Geekritique revisits the story of Frozen as it stands so far in an expansive timeline video that compiles lore established across the movies, animated shorts, and tie-in books to create a detailed history of Arendelle.With the aid of dedicated fan group Arendelle Archives, the video begins with the grand designs of King Runeard (Jeremy Sisto), the shameful conflicts with Northuldra over the dam, Anna(Kristen Bell) and Elsa's troubled childhood, and the deaths of Agnarr (Alfred Molina) and Iduna (Evan Rachel Wood) that would lead into the original movie. The timeline takes into account the events of Joe Caramagna's comics that bridge the gap between each movie, as well as the novels Dangerous Secrets: The Story of Iduna and Agnarr, Forest of Shadows, and Polar Nights: Cast Into Darkness. - Nathan Graham-Lowery - Screenrant

———

Upcoming Analysis

Frozen Canon Talk - Fifth Edition - Arendelle Archives

What Came Before Part 2 - Previous Versions of Frozen 2 

All is Found: A Frozen Anthology - Review

Lost Legends: The Fixer Upper - Review

Tid-Bits #9 - Elsa’s Apology and Writing Good Dialogue

———

Poll Question

As with all of my recent updates, it’s time for the next poll question to my super vague F3 post. As with the previous update, I will also provide the results of the previous polls, with my answers as well.

———

Other Featured Blogs

@arendelle-archives - A fan-project exploring, researching and analyzing the history, geography and lore of the Frozenverse.

@gqa-lite - GQA side blog for more random, opinionated, and personal posts.

@gqa-archive - GQA archive of all my analyses without any extra content.

[fel-temptation]

Describe a significant relationship in your character's life and how it has influenced them. I want to kno the tea

OC Questions

Let’s talk about Korrinths brother, then. 😇

Korrinth almost never ever mentions the fact that she has a twin brother that she grew up with, who was a very big part of her life, with whom she studied magic and was largely her best friend. They often pushed each other in their magical studies and formed a lighthearted rivalry to that end, though even so they would still always lend a hand when asked. Long story short, they were pretty close and enriched each others lives.

Flash forward to a few years prior to becoming an Illidari, the pair were doing field research and decided to check out some nearby cursed ruins that your average villager would be superstitious about. Another long story short; they found a secret passageway that led to an anti-chamber that looked like a warlock hovel. Looting the place and taking one (1) very ominous looking book.

As weeks went by that book began to reach out mentally to each twin respectively, coaxing them to use it, to learn from it, promising them both all the knowledge they desired. Korrinth was immediately skeptical of the talking book, but her brother Relivastus was not. He convinced Korrinth not to turn the artifact over to the Kirin Tor, and instead began secretly reading from the book when nobody was looking.

This cursed book corrupted Relivastus down to the core, culminating in him sacrificing their parents, and other villagers in the surrounding area that they lived, in a ritual that bound his body and soul with fel energy. (There’s a lot more lore on that but that’s a whole other…. Long story.)

Korrinth, now devastated, hunted her brother from one corner of Azeroth to the next. Finally cornering him in Feralas while he was looking for an artifact. She was able to imprison him with the help of her runic specialization. Afterwards, distraught, Korrinth vowed to find a way to return him to normal and save his soul. That is what led her to the Sunfury, and then to Outland, where she was convinced to become an Illidari in her pursuit of trying to find a cure for her brother. More or less that was the only reason she became an Illidari.

Just for fun here’s where I got with that story- unbeknownst to her at the time, when she became Illidari, the arcane magic she had used to jail her brother ceased to function properly, and then she was imprisoned for *insert time frame here*. When she awoke the war with the Legion was in full swing, and she continued to fight instead of her original goal. So she didn’t actually find out he had been on the lose for a long time.

Now, a lot of time has passed, and the leads on her brothers locations have all ran dry. While she hasn’t entirely given up on her goal, she is keenly aware that she has made little to no progress while her brother is out there doing gods know what.

Anyways that’s Korrinths origin story. Consider the tea spilled ☕️ @mothervvoid ! Also @tired-space-crow asked this one as well!

[peofun1]

okay the new anime season is already in full swing, so I gotta get my thoughts out on the last season. because I have once again watched Way Too Much Anime.

same as before, we chose what to watch mostly based on which PV trailers looked interesting before the season aired. now I'm gonna yap about all 17 shows for way too long.

✨obligatory disclaimer that this is Just My Opinion, Man. if I say something mean about your favorite show, please don't take it personally!

everything we watched, in alphabetical order: Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings in Russian, Bye Bye Earth, Dahlia in Bloom, The Elusive Samurai, Isekai Suicide Squad, Magical Girl and Evil Lieutenant Used to be Enemies, Mayonaka Punch, Oshi no Ko S2, Quality Assurance in Another World, Senpai is an Otokonoko, Shikanoko, Shoushimin, Tasuuketsu, Too Many Losing Heroines, Tower of God S2, VTuber Legend, Wistoria: Wand and Sword

Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings in Russian - 1 episode, dropped funny that this one is first alphabetically, cuz I only watched one ep with a group of friends, mostly just to clown on it. I swear there's at least six anime exactly like this one every season: hot girl randomly takes an interest in the most boring man on the planet. Boring Guy is Boring. there's probably a weird little sister involved. but the girl is Russian in this one, because that's easier to write than actually giving anyone a personality. fucking snore dude

Bye Bye, Earth - 8 episodes, dropped this show is… weird. the worldbuilding feels incredibly dense, but also not very well explained. it felt like they were introducing new concepts and Proper Nouns every other sentence. I fully believe that this all makes sense to the original creator -- like I'm sure they have a 400 page Lore Bible with all the deep rules of their world, because it all feels very intricate. unfortunately I don't have that lore bible, so I found it really hard to follow.

that said, I think I like it? kinda? the animation style is kinda ugly, but for the most part I like the character designs. I think it's great to see a female lead in a show like this, and I really like what I've seen of the MC and her motivations. there's some really interesting fantasy ideas -- like the way people "grow" their weapons as an extension of themselves, MC's curse that her sword can't cut living things, this society that revolves so heavily around music -- but all of it together just becomes a confusing jumble.

it's not bad, but not good enough for me to finish this season :/

Dahlia in Bloom - 6 episodes, on hold this is honestly one of the more refreshing romance anime I've seen in a long time. It's a little slow moving and not very action-packed, but I love how well Dahlia is established as Her Own Person before the main love interest is even introduced. My girl has a career! hobbies! a friend group that stands by her while she goes through a messy break-up! it's so easy to root for her, and early episodes of this anime truly had me screaming "GIRLLLLL DUMP HIM YOU CAN DO BETTERRRRR" at my TV (in a good way)

and her main romantic interest is really good too! he has a personality beyond just being a perfect hot romance boy! the two of them have great chemistry! they act like adults and have a believable slow-burn starting as friends! idk it's kind of wild how realistic the romance in this show feels, despite being set in a fantasy world.

unfortunately this show did get put on the back-burner while we were watching a bunch of other things, but I'd really like to return to it sometime. I wanna see Dahlia thrive in her career and personal life!

The Elusive Samurai - 7 episodes, dropped okay, guys. you guys. listen. I really wanted to like this show, okay. I watched the previews and was like holy shit, CloverWorks has done it again. if this is as good as Wind Breaker, maybe I can finally forgive them for what happened to Promised Neverland. I saw the clips on twitter from episode 1 and thought this could be the big standout of the season.

but, uh. it's not. at least, not for me.

the tone of this show is extremely inconsistent. it flips wildly between wacky gag-manga comedy, and dead fucking serious horrors-of-war. sometimes multiple times in the same episode! add that to the break-neck pacing (in the first few episodes especially) and it left me with emotional whiplash. like, okay -- the more dramatic, gritty grimdark stuff I rather enjoy. the scene where the villain obliterates a whole battalion single-handedly, and then gets swarmed by adoring fans while the one survivor tries in vain to tell them what a monster he is -- that shit gave me chills. it's some incredible visual storytelling. but then the show inevitably cuts back to the weirdo priest doing some weirdo shit with the kids and I'm annoyed again. eventually I just got tired of it.

absolutely banger OP and ED though. probably my favorite ED of the season, and second-favorite OP.

Isekai Suicide Squad - 5 episodes, dropped boy, this one sure does do what it says on the tin. this sure is an anime about Suicide Squad -- yes, the DC comic book characters -- getting transported to another world.

honestly I was really enjoying it, at first. it's not doing anything particularly new, but these versions of the characters are fun and the animation was good enough to carry the story. and like, I'll say it -- anime Harley Quinn is pretty hot. I'm a lesbian with eyeballs, I can admit that.

unfortunately the animation takes a nosedive suddenly right around the point where I dropped off. the fight with the dragon is REALLY rough, like almost unwatchably bad. and when the animation is that bad, I stop to wonder what we're even doing here. they're taking a huge detour from the main plot to randomly fight a dragon, and it doesn't even look good. I don't know if the animation gets better again after that, but I decided there were better things to watch this season /shrug

pretty good OP and ED, though. I like the really stylized animation in the OP, and the ED is a decent bop.

The Magical Girl and the Evil Lieutenant Used to Be Archenemies - 2 episodes, dropped this one looked cute, but mostly I wanted to take a look because it's made by Bones. and it is pretty cute, but for such a prestigious animation studio, it didn't exactly blow my tits off. after two episodes, I really felt like I'd seen most of what this anime would have to offer. the guy is "evil" but has a soft spot for one girl, the magical girl is cute, he gets flustered when she does cute stuff. it's fine, but nothing to write home about.

the episodes are real short though -- about half as long as an average anime episode -- so it's not a huge time sink. who knows, I might pick it up again sometime if I want something fluffy.

Mayonaka Punch - 12 episodes, completed alright, now THIS show is the absolute underrated gem of this season. it's fun, it's funny, and it's even a little bit gay! the cast are the best kind of likeable assholes, and they had me laughing out loud multiple times an episode. the more emotional/dramatic parts are pretty well done in my opinion too. particularly the way the show depicts Masaki being haunted by nasty comments online feels very "real", without being too much of a huge bummer.

genuinely, Mayonaka Punch is just a great time. I never felt bored watching this, and I'd gladly watch another season if PA Works decide to continue the story! but even if they don't, I think this has a pretty satisfying conclusion. it's nice to enjoy a good 12 episodes that wraps itself up neatly at the end.

also my absolute FAVORITE OP of the season. I'm a sucker for OPs that are sung by the cast, it's super catchy, and the animation is great. all the references to actual viral videos and trends are funny without feeling forced or cringe -- jumping on viral video trends is what the whole show is about, after all!

Quality Assurance in Another World - 3 episodes, dropped man, I honestly don't have much to say about this show. the broad concept is kinda interesting (QA testers working on a full-dive VR game get trapped in the world of the game SAO-style) and the art style is kinda unique. it just didn't really hold my attention, unfortunately. my wife watched a few episodes past the point where I stopped and she said it kinda popped off a little later but ehhh. someone might really enjoy this one, but it's just not for me.

Senpai is an Otokonoko - 7 episodes, on hold so this anime was made for my wife specifically. she's read the whole comic (I think it's a webtoon?) and adores it, so she was beyond hyped for the anime adaptation. and it's honestly really well done! I think the way it uses chibi characters for comedy (and to save on animation lol) is really cute. the characters and drama are pretty well written, and I really like that the two "rivals" in the love triangle are actually friends with each other.

the only thing is that parts of the story/drama are kiiiind of heavy. my wife is a trans woman and relates very strongly to the main character, so it's a hard watch for her sometimes. even though she's read the comic and knows what happens, she's said she really needs to be in the right headspace to watch this one. there's nothing egregiously bad though, omg -- the worst I've seen so far is the MC's mom being really transphobic and them trying to go back into the closet because of it 😬 so definitely a trigger warning for that

but yeah, really like this one, we're just watching it pretty slowly so I haven't finished it yet.

Shikanoko Nokonoko Koshitantan (My Deer Friend Nokotan) - 2 episodes, dropped hoooo boy. the big meme show of the season. I feel like anyone who follows seasonal anime has probably heard of this one, at least. I saw the OP going around a lot, and I'll admit, it's an earworm.

maybe this is a controversial opinion, but ya'll, I did not care for the actual show at all. I went into it with pretty high hopes, granted, since people were hyping up how funny the manga is. In two episodes I think I actually laughed maaaaybe once? I dunno, the hyper-realistic CGI deer are pretty good the first few times you see them, but boy does the gag get old fast. even the scene where deer-girl busts through the wall of the classroom only got a little snort out of me. and then that joke completely overstays its welcome by going on for like two full minutes of gratuitous slow-mo.

really all I can say is: not funny, didn't laugh! Mayonaka Punch is way more fun, watch that instead.

Shoushimin - 6 episodes, on hold first of all, this anime is fucking gorgeous. truly every frame a painting. I've seen people talk about "cinematic" anime this season, and Shoushimin really embodies that. the characters, the environments, the framing, the lighting, ugh. I wish I could eat all of the lovingly-rendered pastries in this show.

animation aside, this is a veeeeery slow-paced kind of slice-of-life. it's all about small, mundane mysteries, so I can definitely see people finding it boring. my wife decided after about 4 episodes that she just doesn't have the attention span for this. I mostly like it though; it makes me think of a more chill version of the fake manga the MCs write in Bakuman. that said, I need to be in the right mood for something this slow, so I've been watching it on and off.

also shoutout to the OP because I am an Eve fan first and a person second

Tasuuketsu: Fate of the Majority - 2 episodes, dropped I would have completely forgotten about this show, if crunchyroll didn't keep trying to get us to watch the next episode. it's an extremely generic death-game show with pretty stupid rules imo. frankly I would have dropped it after one ep, but there's a cliffhanger at the end of ep 1 that was intriguing enough to convince me to watch a second. they completely undo that cliffhanger in episode 2 though. boooo 👎

best thing I can say about this show is that there's a plot-relevant kick to the balls. no I will not elaborate on that.

Too Many Losing Heroines - 12 episodes, completed man, okay. so from the PVs before the season started, I thought this one was an easy skip. I don't care for harem shows, and this looked like just another boring light-novel romance. no amount of pretty "cinematic" animation was going to get me interested in flat, annoying characters that I've seen a hundred times. we were literally late to start watching it, and only picked it up toward the end of the season because people would not stop talking about it.

so take into account that I am very biased against this entire genre when I look you dead in the eye and tell you: this show is kind of incredible? like don't get me wrong, it's not exactly re-inventing the wheel here, and there's some fanservice moments that made me roll my eyes. but overall, this has some of the best character writing and drama out of everything we watched this season. the girls are genuinely a lot of fun, and their friendships are very believable. even the stuttering shy girl, which is usually an archetype I find super annoying, managed to win me over in the end.

the male MC is probably the weakest part of the show to me, but he still has more going for him than most guys in this genre. I like that his story is more concerned with him learning to be platonic friends with people, rather than just trying to push him into romance with all the girls. even if he ends up with one of the girls in the end (probably the blue-haired one), I appreciate him building a real friendship first.

and I gotta mention the EDs, because each of the main girls gets their own dedicated ED song and they're all beautifully animated. the OP is pretty fun too.

Tower of God Season 2 (part 1?) - 13 episodes, completed I'm honestly pretty torn on this one. once again my wife has read this whole webtoon, so she would have more thoughts about this in terms of adaptation, but I'm anime only. I really liked season 1, even though I found some of the worldbuilding hard to follow, so I was looking forward to this.

and man… I'm so disappointed in the animation for this season. The art style in S1 was one of my favorite things about it, so seeing them drop that in favor of a much more generic modern anime style was a huge bummer. If it was done so they could go all-out on the action more easily that would be one thing, but all of that is pretty lack-luster too, and I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

as for the story, maybe I just don't remember S1 well enough, but I was pretty fucking lost sometimes. this is another story with mountains of worldbuilding, and I'm sure some fans of the webtoon could go on for hours about the lore. unfortunately that's not me! maybe I'd have a better time if I re-watched S1. even so, I did like most of the new characters, and seeing the returning ones when they showed up.

I dunno. 6/10 overall, not enough Khun. excited to see Khun more in the next cour.

VTuber Legend: (extremely long LN title) - 12 episodes, completed I cannot believe my wife made me watch this whole thing. I can't believe I actually sat through every episode. this show is some peak brainrot, but that's not always a bad thing?

don't get me wrong, I like vtubers just fine! I follow a couple of english-language ones that I like, though I'm not deep into the ~fandom~, as it were. I have no idea how accurate this show is for Japanese vtubers, but boy are these characters weird and horny. sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're unbearably cringe. though that probably doesn't come as much of a surprise, given the premise. who knows, if you like vtubers and bizarre fetish content, you might like this one.

Wistoria: Wand and Sword - 12 episodes, completed this show wound up being a kind of sleeper hit this season. I remember basically no one talking about it before it started airing. it must have had some crazy word-of-mouth recommendations though, because it shot up into the top five seasonal shows on MAL at some point. I started watching from episode one just because the PV trailers looked dope, and I was not disappointed!

in terms of story, again, there isn't anything we haven't seen before. magic high school, kid who can't use magic and gets bullied, but he's really good at sword fighting so he kills lots of scary monsters. but here's the thing, guys -- he looks fucking incredible while he's doing it. this show is completely carried by its slick animation and art style. it's just an absolute treat to watch, and I wish I could eat the colors and intense shadows at work here.

it's already confirmed for a second season, too. my wife liked S1 enough to read ahead in the manga, and she said it only gets better, so I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Honorable mention:

Oshi no Ko: Season 2 - 1 episode, on hold okay this is embarrassing but IN MY DEFENSE! I'm caught up on the manga! 😭 so I already know what this season is about!!! we just decided to wait until the whole season aired so we could binge it, and haven't gotten around to it yet. also it's annoying to watch, since I don't want to pay for fucking HIDIVE, so we have to watch it……. elsewhere.

but like I'm sure it's good. this is easily my favorite arc in the manga, so if the anime kept up the quality from season 1, I'm gonna have a great time. when we get around to it 🙃

[denimbex1986]

'...The Toymaker will take center stage in the 60th anniversary's third special, "The Giggle," where Neil Patrick Harris will take on the role and unleash the villain's full power on Earth.

With The Toymaker set to return as part of Doctor Who's 60th-anniversary storyline, Davies has opened up to SFX Magazine about why he selected the villain as a main antagonist for the milestone celebrations. The showrunner explained that he enjoyed writing The Toymaker for his balance of intimidating and humorous moments, seeing that the character was a figure that could easily be understood by audiences unfamiliar with the older continuity of the classic era while promising that the story would be rewarding to existing viewers. Check out Davies' full explanation below:

My lord, one of the most exciting days of my writing life was writing page one of "The Giggle" script, when I realized how brilliant The Toymaker was. I thought he'd be a good villain, that I'd have a laugh with him. I started writing the script and thought "This is the best villain ever created." So powerful. So funny. So dangerous. I love him! Obviously, that was written before the streamer was decided. Bear in mind, a lot of this went into production. It could have been Netflix, it could have been Amazon. It could have been anyone - You could say any name there that we went to. It's our job to go to every streamer in the world. All of them were very interested. So I'm writing this knowing that no matter where it went out it would go to a bigger audience - So do you have to explain who the Toymaker is? I've got to say, in a science fiction setting, a great cosmic villain called the Toymaker played by a big star kind of makes sense anyway. Spier-Man could swing into an apartment tomorrow and meet the Toymaker, and you'd go "Oh,it's that kind of villain." So he makes sense enormously. There's a flashback. Let's say it. There is a flashback to Michael Gough, which is wonderful. It's funny, when I handed in that script my agent went "Ooh, I remember the Toymaker, played by Michael Gough." So there's a very powerful memory of him. She's not a science fiction fan at all. So where we thought there'd be possibly resistance to old characters and old continuity and adventures, there's been none. As long as there's some nice clarity to it. They will ask "Who's this? Who's that?" But they know equally that fans will come on board for that. It's been lovely. It's been really lovely.

Why Doctor Who Took 57 Years To Revisit The Toymaker

While The Toymaker took 57 years to return to television screens, there had been attempts to bring the villain much sooner and fulfill the First Doctor's prophecy from "The Celestial Toymaker." Colin Baker's Sixth Doctor was originally set to face the being in the classic era's season 23 episode, "The Nightmare Fair,"...However, with a change in format and a lengthy hiatus, the story was never produced for the television series.

As such, The Toymaker has returned across Doctor Who's expanded media, showcasing his power in comics, novels, and audio dramas...With the 60th-anniversary also adapting Beep the Meep (Miriam Margolyes) to screen and the Toymaker returning to a toyshop, "The Giggle" could similarly be inspired by these off-screen encounters.

While other classic foes are more recognizable to general audiences, The Toymaker is one of the Doctor's most powerful classic enemies due to his reality-warping abilities that even left the First Doctor trapped. Pulling from the show's long history can be difficult due to wanting a striking balance between respecting lore and being accessible to newcomers, but Davies took that into account during the writing process. As such, "The Giggle" will be a worthy reintroduction for one of Doctor Who's oldest, most powerful villains.'

[soulchronicity]

on my hands and knees, begging you, tell me everything about your cj chess au

anon you are my dearest friend for this however, i will not tell you everything, as i want there to be some surprises you discover through art later. but i can tell you the basics! okay so. heart mind and soul (otherwise known as juno apollo and atlas in this au) and just three fellas who are friends and roommates. only apollo and juno fight a lot because its mind and heart of course they do. harmonia (whole) is some god who lives in his own little pocket dimension who gets bored a lot. one day, somehow someway he witnesses the two fighting and goes "you know what? i think its time for a game of chess" because his pocket dimension is chess themed. hes very normal about chess, as am i. he meant to only drag juno and apollo in, however atlas was nearby trying to break up the fight so he also got dragged in. apollo is the black king, juno is the white queen (can you tell who the favourite is?), and atlas is a rook that can change between colours because hes technically a glitch in the game. atlas does his best to peacekeep and keep the other two from murdering each other. there are two ways to win: either the two resolve their issues or one of them is killed by the other. a checkmate ends the game for the day, as does one of the two getting taken off the board by a piece that isnt one of the others (it leaves them with injuries, but doesnt kill). all other pieces are like mannequins by the way. and they gain some sentience during the breaks between games (harmonia gave the three breaks because he isnt cruel, he knows mortals cant go on forever and need sleep and food and all that (though for a moment at the start he did forget)) and uhhh. i think thats all the background lore. oh wait no the king and queen have their own little castles to live in that sit on opposite ends of the board. atlas usually stays in junos because apollo prefers to be alone. and now i think thats all more to be found out later :)

[strafepanzer]

fangs | g.jaegerjaquez

chapter one: shit | chapter two (tba) | chapter three (tba)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: dark content, 18+! a/b/o stuff (pheromones, fangs, alpha-omega, animalistic tendencies), blood (a LOT), biting, drugs, gangs, fighting, (more to be added as chapters progress)

▸ ▸ ▸ wordcount: 3k+

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: this has been in the works for a while but i finally have a bit of energy to put into it, so that's fun! also ive taken parts of omegaverse lore and made it my own, so if things get confusing, feel free to ask questions! thanks for reading!! ♡

“Shit,” he hisses, tongue running over the split in his lower lip. His glare intensifies as he shoots it over his shoulder, landing on the little turd shaking in his boots, wooden baseball bat held tight in two white-knuckled fists.

“I didn’t even do that! Y-you bit your lip with those freakish fricken fangs!” The kid argues, blue eyes wide with terror, that distinct childish whine caught in his throat.

“Right, so you swinging that bat at me had no impact on the state of my face at all?” He turns his body towards the boy, cracks his neck as he rolls his shoulders. “Sounds like a crock a’ shit, squirt.”

“Uncle will be mad if you hit me!” He reasons, knees knocking together.

“Oh, but you can hit me?” Grimmjow raises his brows, wiping the blood with a knuckle as he stalks towards the kid.

“You’re the gang’s Mad Dog! You’re supposed to be too good for me to hit!” He frowns, stepping back as the predator steps forward.

Grimmjow grins then, his hulking canines pressing uncomfortably into his lower lip, the one on the left shining with blood. “Maybe I wanted a reason to discipline the young master.”

“Jaegerjaquez,” Tousen appears out of nowhere, like usual. “Boss has a job for you.” Is all he says before turning to the kid. “You know how your mother feels about you using that bat for violence, young master.”

The kid’s pouting, obviously happy to have been spared, but upset that he’s being scolded and losing his babysitter-slash-impromptu-martial-arts-instructor all in one fell swoop.

“Where’s he want me?” Grimmjow straightens, rubs the sweat from his hands down the thighs of his faded blue jeans, re-pops the collar of his barely buttoned Hawaiian shirt. Tousen regards him coldly through the lenses of ridiculously priced glasses, as usual, like Grimmjow is worse than the dirt beneath his stupid black leather loafers.

“The usual place.” Tousen turns his nose up at Grimmjow, and gestures back to the kid. “You need to stop sneaking out of the house when Starrk falls asleep; let’s go.” He orders, heading towards the winding forest path that leads back to the main house.

“We were training.” The kid argues back, pouting. “Everyone always talks about how strong the Mad Dog is, and I’m gonna be stronger.”

“Strength isn’t necessarily how hard you hit, or how many bones you break, Kaiden. Remember that.” Tousen sends Grimmjow one last look before the pair disappear behind the yellowing Japanese Maples, the young master waving frantically and promising to return.

This makes Grimmjow grin, smirk elongating as he heads back into his shack, imagining how Aizen’s prissy bitch of a left hand man has to listen to the kid praise him. What makes the young master’s idolisation of him that much sweeter is the fact that the little brat hasn’t presented yet; Tousen can’t blame the kid on being affected by Grimmjow’s Ridiculously Potent Dominant Alpha Pheromones, has to accept that he just likes the way he is. Thinks he’s fucking cool.

Betas, as a rule, tend to harbour a little bit of hatred towards alphas or omegas, especially in their line of work, but Tousen takes the goddamn cake.

With a spring in his step, Grimmjow packs a duffel. His little house— if you can call it that— is a bit of a mess, so finding what he needs is a pain in the ass, but he manages. Ten year old Motorola Razr (in ice blue), wallet, and switchblade are all on his bed, still there from being dumped out early this morning when he got home from a job. His first aid kit, pheromone patches, and inhibitors are all in the stall he calls a bathroom, and— he checks the package— he’s running low on patches. The last thing on his mental list— his knuckle dusters— are in the kitchen sink, still caked in dried blood, but he throws them in the bag anyway.

He leaves his leather jacket and just opts for his keys; the summer’s been long and hot, and he loves the way the air feels on his skin as he speeds the streets of Karakura.

+

Ichimaru’s Ikeman Fantasy is a front that even the blind can see, yet it’s been untouched by the law for years. Grimmjow parks his bike in its usual spot, holds the duffle by the handle and tosses it over his shoulder, before strolling past Yammy and the other bouncers, and in through the front door.

Smells like easy omega in here.

“Afternoon, Jaegerjaquez!” Nel hollers, tits bouncing as she waves from her spot behind the bar. They never used to get along, but the years of living and working in close proximity forced them into a friendship of sorts. Now they dye each other’s hair.

“Nel,” he nods, duffle landing on the bar with a thud. “Aizen here?”

“‘Course he is,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s always here.”

“Like you.” He grins. “You’re part of the furniture, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, nodding back towards the kitchen. “Someone’s gotta keep Nnoitra in place. I do miss you being here, though.” Her nose scrunches up. “All the new boys are boring.” There’s a bit of bite behind her bark, and usually that’s what he looks for in a woman, but she’s never affected him. He can’t get hard for other alphas; all part and parcel of being a dominant himself. Omegas or nothing.

“Maybe if I was better at lip service.” He shrugs, tossing his feline stare over his shoulder to sus out the place.

“Or if you were worse at brawling,” she leans on the bar, those too big breasts pushing up and together in a way that makes them look like they might pop out of her shirt. “They’ve started calling you The Grim around here, you know? You come and go, then someone shows up dead.”

“That’s dramatic; I don’t kill people.” Always.

“Keep your secrets, Jaegerjaquez, I don’t want them.” Nel shakes her head, perks up a bit when someone else comes in.

It’s too early to open, and Grimmjow has no idea who this girl is. She’s cute, nervous-looking. Undoubtedly omega with her candy-apple scent.

“You’re getting girls in here now?” He asks when the candy apple omega is escorted through the lounge and into the back rooms.

“Yeah, Gin’s wanting to expand with the beauties.” She whispers, leaning close. “But you know Aizen: don't fix it if it ain’t broke.”

“Fox face wants to bring girls in here?” Grimmjow balks, a little too loud. “To work?” He questions, voice dropping.

“Yeah, for the back room stuff.” Nel looks undoubtedly uncomfortable. The main draw for the club is that it’s catered to women; less violent outbursts, less brawling, less police attention.

“Huh, never would’a picked it.” Grimmjow sighs, brows raising. “Matsumoto’s surely against it.”

“Yeah, so’s Ai—“

“You’re here,” Aizen’s voice isn’t loud, but it's commanding. There’s a quiet cruelty there that keeps people on their toes, a suppressed dominance that he’s master at concealing. “Come, Grimmjow, I have a task for you.” He’s across the lounge, standing in front of his office, the door right next to the one the candy apple omega disappeared behind.

“Sure thing,” he nods, suddenly professional. He gives Nel one last look before grabbing his duffel and slinking off towards his boss— The Boss.

+

Aizen’s office is the epitome of old European money; velvet chaise, dark filigree wallpaper, gold accents, cherry stained hardwood. Grimmjow feels like a stray dog attempting domestication each time he stalks into the room, can’t bear to sit lest he destroy or dirty something. The Boss doesn’t even offer him a seat anymore, just places a lowball of whiskey in his hand and starts on the task at hand.

“There’s a small motorcycle gang that’s started to sell on our turf,” he says, opening a beige folder and tossing its contents on his desk. “Need you to rough ‘em up a bit before they get too big for their boots.”

“Kids?” Grimmjow scowls, picking up the pile of photos and tossing them back to the desk as he looks at them. They’re in their late teens to early twenties, with their black leather jackets and little white baggies. “You’re sending me to deal with kids?”

Aizen sighs and sits down in his polished leather chair, taking a sip of his own whiskey. “You’re right.” He nods, leaning over the table and picking up one of the photos Grimmjow’s tossed down. “Normally, I’d send Yammy, or even Tousen— if I wanted to deal with it diplomatically— but this kid,” he holds up the picture of a blonde, his head tossed back in laughter, canine-like fangs protruding out of his mouth. “Is a dominant like you.”

He takes the photo from Aizen and looks it over, then goes through the ones he tossed and picks up a clearer one of his face. “He’s not even wearing patches,” Grimmjow shakes his head, glaring at the glossy photos. “Just swinging his dick around like he owns the place.”

“Exactly,” Aizen stands and gathers the photos, holds his hand out for the ones Grimmjow’s still scrutinising. “I’ll send the lot of them to your phone.”

“Boss, I can’t see shit on my phone,”

“I told you to buy a new one.”

“Why fix something if it ain’t broke? Besides, I got the little fucker’s face memorised, don’t sweat it.”

“They hang around by the train station at the end of the street most nights. Rough them up a bit, feel free to knock some teeth out.” Aizen smiles then, golden eyes shining as he shows his own fangs.

To the naked eye, he looks like a beta or omega with his average-sized canines, but Grimmjow knows better. Knows he’s had them filed down; that he does so on the regular.

Dangerous fucker he is.

+

After sticking around for a couple more drinks with Nel, he pockets a knuckleduster and leaves her with the rest of his shit. "I'll come get it when I'm done with the job." He drawls, tapping his scent blockers to test their saying power— excellent, considering he replaced them after Aizen dismissed him.

"Don't kill too many, Grim." She calls a little too loud, smiles a little too broadly. It draws attention from the other patrons, the few older women sitting at and around the bar suddenly interested in him.

"Don't lose my shit." He glares back, fang grinding on the still fresh wound from this morning when he tenses his jaw.

Undeterred, she waves him off with a smile, before undoubtedly weaving tales about his murderous escapades to the nosey hags asking too many questions. He doesn’t stick around long enough to confirm or deny his own suspicions.

The damp heat of early summer clings to Grimmjow like a second skin; seeing others unaffected— still dressing in light layers and boots, some with scarves and gloves— makes him feel a little claustrophobic, even outside in the streets. He knows it’s him who’s wrong, knows his medication has side effects and his second gender has drawbacks as well as perks, but still it’s enough to plaster that scowl to his face. At least it makes people avoid him, gives him a little bubble when it’s crowded, even in rush hour.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, that glare is set straight ahead. He’s on a mission, and it’s something he’s not too happy about. Sure, he’s used to cleaning up Aizen’s messes, used to brawling, bleeding, biting, and bitching; but dealing with pups never ends well. These kids probably think they’re kings, think that their blonde ringleader is gonna make them rich or famous, or both.

Probably both.

Flashing fangs like that around here, though… that’s gonna get you killed.

Grimmjow’s nothing if not morally grey, however, so seeing the little posse down an alley on the way to his destination brings a rush of excitement. The sooner he can get this over with, the better.

“Oi,” he calls, entering the alley. “Heard you’re selling.”

“Who’s askin’?” One steps away from the wall— not the blonde— and tilts his chin up at Grimmjow. It takes all the willpower in the world not to match that snarl with one of his own, but he just shrugs and tries to act innocent, keeps his shoulders hunched so he seems smaller than his six-four frame.

“Just some guy,” he drawls, keeping his fangs concealed. “Why, you discriminate?”

The kid snarls at him again, infuriated, “Discrimin—”

“Cool it, Tetsu,” the blonde finally steps forward, and his pheromones are no joke. It’s been a hot minute since Grimmjow’s come across a dominant who doesn’t conceal what he is, and he has to physically stop the warning growl that wants to vibrate up his throat. “This old man just needs a hit, don’tcha grandpa?” He grins, condescending lilt to his brow.

“Nah, you got me all wrong, kiddo,” Grimmjow stands tall— taller than the blonde by at least five inches— and cracks his knuckles, apathetic grin turned evil. “I just need to relay a message to you little fuckers about who’s turf you’re selling on.”

The blonde postures, baring his fangs as his pupils blow wide, “Bring it on, old man!” He yells, pheromones turning the alley sour and crippling his friends.

Grimmjow says nothing, just mirrors the young alpha, and roars.

His pals throw up, one passes out, and the blonde’s pupils revert before his fight or flight kicks in, and he launches himself at Grimmjow. He knows the fight would be over if he just removed his scent patches, but where’s the fun in that? What kind of Grim Reaper would he be if he let it end at that?

Blondie lands a hit to Grimmjow’s jaw, and he feels it crack his bone. Adrenaline and anger mask the pain, and in an instant he’s above the kid, landing blow after blow after blow to his face with his bare knuckles, colouring his face crimson in a matter of seconds.

“Old man?” Grimmjow grunts sarcastically, the adrenaline subsiding with each moment of non-resistance. “This old man better not see you on this side of the tracks with intent to sell again, or I’ll rip those useless canines straight outta your face, got it?” He finishes, holding the blonde up by the front of his bloodied leather jacket and glaring down at his swollen, weepy face. Blondie can only groan in pain before going limp in Grimmjow’s grasp.

He drops him to the cement and glances up at the rest of the gang. With both alphas done with their brawl, the pheromones in the air have thinned, and the rest of the kids are in the process of regaining their composure.

“I fucking mean it,” Grimmjow continues with his warning. “I know you think you’re fucking invinci—”

He’s frozen by a sharp stinging sensation in the side of his neck, and when he swipes at it, something small, cylindrical, and plastic hits the ground next to his knee and rolls away from him.

A syringe.

They’ve drugged him.

“Run!” Someone screams from behind him, lurching with speed and strength Grimmjow knows wouldn’t be possible from anyone other than another dominant alpha. He grabs for Blondie, tosses his limp body over his shoulder and takes off down the alley as the rest of the gang scatters.

Grimmjow stumbles as he attempts to give chase, his vision swimming and heart pounding. He stops and crouches there in the alley behind a dumpster, closing his eyes and trying his goddamn hardest to regulate himself, to pinpoint the problem. His limbs are fine, and there’s no numbness, so that’s a plus, but he’s dizzy as all hell, and—

Slap.

He opens his eyes to see one of his scent blockers— a shriveled-looking skin-toned bandaid— lying there on the cement like it’d been used more than a few times. But he knows that’s not the case, knows that was a brand new fucking blocker and that it should’ve lasted him until at least tomorrow morning even if he wanted to sleep with it on.

He reaches for the one at the other side of his neck, and that one, too, slides off, looking a little more than worse for wear.

His pheromones have sweat the patches off.

This hasn’t happened to Grimmjow since he was going through goddamn puberty and the doctors couldn’t find the right dosage of inhibitors for him. He’s early thirties now, has been on the same goddamn pills since, and has never missed a dose. If there’s one thing Grimmjow cannot fucking stand, it’s an alpha who can’t control his fucking ruts.

And now he’s one of them.

Those shifty little fuckers have thrown him into rut.

“Motherfuckers!” He roars, knuckles meeting cement out of pure frustration, the pain that’s supposed to come with maiming oneself simply not present.

Grimmjow gets up and braces himself against the wall, breathing heavily and glancing between the mouth of the alley and the direction in which those little shits ran off. It’d be absolutely insane for them to want to stick around and try jump him, especially considering Blondie wasn’t using blockers, so there’s no doubt the end of the alley isn’t a completely dead end. Heading towards the street would only end in mayhem, so he stumbles deeper into the alley, using the brick wall for support when the cramping takes over and he needs a moment to breathe.

Fuck, he’s forgotten how this felt; forgotten just how base he goes when his hormones are running rampant, forgot how primal he is. He’s hungry. For food, for sex, for a good fucking fight.

His cock aches.

Still, he fights it. He’s not completely gone yet, but he can feel it pulling at him, irritating him, can feel it tickling his brain like a loose thread; one tug of it, and he’ll be feral. He’s exhausted, fighting the urge to pull the string, finds himself panting as he clutches at the spray paint covered brick with a bloodied hand, sweat dripping into his eyes, plastering powder blue hair to his forehead.

He briefly wonders if Aizen knew that they had this little ace up their sleeve, before deciding— with a baleful chuckle he didn’t know he still had in him— that he doesn’t even wanna know.

The last thing he sees before the world goes black is his own reflection in a shiny metal baseball bat

[hiraethhh-h]

healing process

a familiar face comes to escort you backstage before the ritual. you assume it’d be another normal performance, so you spend a bit of time with terzo. unfortunately, it was a fleeting moment.

warnings: spoilers for ghost lore

pairings: papa III x gn!reader, platonic!oc x gn!reader

notes: angst w/o comfort bc im in a silly goofy mood :)

wc: 1.4k

you sat at your wooden vanity, adjusting your outfit and brushing out any visible wrinkles. it was another ritual night, one you were particularly excited to attend because terzo said he’d be playing one of your favorites. you could only wonder which one.

giving yourself another once over, you turned to add any accessories to your outfit, only to hear a knock come from your door. “papa has requested your presence.” a muffled voice called. you frowned slightly, glancing at the clock on your wall. had you really lost track of time? clearing your throat, you called out, “give me a minute!” before standing and grabbing your shoes and slipping them on. 

upon opening the door, you were met with a familiar masked-face, one that had two patches on both sides. “you look ravenous.” snare cooed, her tail idly swinging. you rolled your eyes with a small smile, “shouldn’t you put that away?” you gestured to snare’s appendage, the ghoulette lightly smacking your arm with it in return. “yeah, but i like to have a bit of a breather before rituals. staying in my glamored form for too long makes me antsy.” snare shrugged. you shut the door behind you, beginning to walk side by side down the hallway. “even after all this time?” you tilted your head, glancing at your taller companion. “hell yeah! i’d explain it but we’re kinda pressed for time.” she chuckled.

together you passed through hall after hall making small talk. Eventually you heard the chatter of people beyond a door. snare led you to a backdoor, waving at the guards. you gave the man and woman a small smile, the two letting you pass once they recognized snare. “well, this is where we part ways my friend.” snare turned to you. despite not being able to see her face, you could feel her smile beneath her mask. you shook your head, letting snare pull you into a bear hug. you wrapped your arms around her waist, feeling that her body temperature was on par with a normal human’s. “have fun shredding up there.” you murmured. a soft chuckle left your lips upon feeling snare give you a small squeeze, “you know i will.” she replied.

the sound of a clearing throat drew you two apart, snare glancing over your shoulder. “amore.” you turned around at the familiar voice, eyes brimming with excitement. “terzo!” with rushed steps, you slung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. terzo gave a low chuckle, snaking his arms around your waist. “you seem eager.” he hummed, pulling away to look at you. “well, you did promise to play one of my favorite songs.” you smiled. the satanic pope gave a soft laugh, “i did, didn’t i?” he smiled. terzo gently ghosted his knuckle over your cheek, the two of you holding each other’s gazes.

“papa, two minutes till showtime!” snare called from down the hall. she tapped her tail against one of the metal beams on stage, producing a ringing sound. terzo let out a soft sigh, slowly pulling away from you. “i look forward to seeing you in the crowd tonight, 

il mio fiore.” terzo gently brushed past you, striding towards the curtain at the far end of the hall.

you were quick to make your way from backstage, mingling with the crowd. laughter left your lips as you greeted a few familiar faces, the chatter lively and uplifting. soon enough, the lights began to dim, people cheering once fog began to roll over the stage. you turned and watched with hopeful eyes, the room blacking out completely before flashing back on. terzo and the ghouls now stood on stage, the room filling with loud cheering once more as they began to play the opening song. as always, the ritual never made you feel so alive. “alright, alright,” terzo called, stepping forward on the stage. the spotlights zeroed in on him, the satanic pope raising his free hand before shouting, “everyone feeling good tonight?” the crowd roared in agreement, you giving your own cheer at the question. terzo laughed and nodded in approval, “good, good. now, this next song is for a… special someone here tonight.” he looked out into the sea of people, his eyes zeroing in on you. terzo flashed you a smile before backing away to allow snare to take his spot. the ghoulette strummed away at her guitar, shaking her hips from side to side. she nodded her head at you in greeting, dewdrop sauntering up beside her and beginning to synchronize with snare.

your eyes widened in realization. it was cirice… your head snapped to terzo, who simply shot you a quick wink and turned to begin singing the first verse. warmth blossomed in your chest, heat rushing to your face. terzo took long strides across the stage, slowly coming to a stop in front of you. he crouched down, leaning forward and beginning to reach out towards you. your arm shot out at lightning speed, your body pressing against the railing that separated you and the crowd from the stage. the two of you held each other’s gaze, the sound of the others playing and people singing along turned muffled. all that mattered in that moment to you was terzo. your brows furrowed once you saw two figures approach him from behind. “terzo!” two more guards went on-stage, escorting an elderly man dressed in white robes and a matching mitre. one of the guards wheeled an oxygen tank along, the other passing an oxygen mask to the male. he shakily took it, placing it on his face and inhaling deeply before handing it back. he turned to the crowd, spreading his arms out with his palms facing upwards. “the party is over. the middle ages have begun.” he announced.

a loud ringing filled your ears, drowning out the roaring of the people around you. your eyes drifted over to where terzo had been dragged off stage. what did that papa mean? was terzo gone for good now? your chest heaved rapidly, someone placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle shake. they were attempting to speak to you, but it sounded as if they were underwater. the world around you began to fade to black, your consciousness slipping away from you before you could realize it.

~

the gentle rush of the water did little to calm your nerves, not after the letter you received from snare. it had been three weeks ever since terzo’s dethroning. it had taken snare another week to reach out to you and ask you to meet her at the gardens. ‘east garden. 3am.’ was all the message said. you supposed it was better than being left in the dark, if snare told you anything at all. approaching footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts, a warm body situating itself next to you on the fountain’s edge. “hey, how’re you holding up?” snare questioned, her voice strained and hesitant. a soft sigh left your lips, “not well…” snare’s shoulders sagged at your words, “sorry, bad question.” she murmured.

the rushing water and nightlife filled in for the silence, the moon’s gentle blue glow basking the garden in a soft light. snare cleared her throat, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a black cloth. her masked face turned to you, your eyes glancing at the tinted eye-holes before flitting down to the cloth in her palm. you could faintly make out some sort of rectangular shape, you squinted in an attempt to get a better look. “papa would’ve wanted you to have this.” snare held the item out to you. you hesitantly took it, grasping the item hidden beneath the cloth. your heart began to race as you peeled the cloth off. there sat the yellow kazoo of destiny, right in the palm of your hand.

you sniffled loudly, tears blurring your vision. you shut your eyes tightly, your fist closing around the kazoo as you brought it to your chest. it was all you had left of terzo… snare’s arm wrapped around your waist, gently pulling you into her arms. your body shook with silent sobs, the ghoulette’s other hand reaching to gently massage your shoulder. together the two of you sat in the garden beneath the moon, you crying your heart out at the loss of your lover, and snare keeping her head low as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.