#can't do brief either ahahaha

[ace-malarky]

intro post 2024

sup lads, it's been like two years and I figured the pinned post probably needed updating

wait it has almost exactly been two years that's hilarious

Anyway. some things haven't changed. Name's still Ace, no matter what I write on the notes I send to my old library

I'm always up for tag games and random asks!! throw 'em my way as you like :3

pronouns are in flux! predominantly they/them, sometimes it, occasionally he. It varies on the bit, but you probably can't go wrong tbh

we're - we're going to say early 30s. it's not wrong and it's better than this being outdated in a little over three weeks when it all changes once again

no I did not plan this, no I can't do a basic formal outline, I have to ramble. what did you think i wrote for.

Other Places I Can Be Found include twitter & instagram under more or less the same username

~~~

Writing Focuses!

Everything is fantasy, everything is queer. Excerpts can be found under Writing Pieces

I'm largely jumping around between vaguely connected scenes and character work right now, but there's definitely a pattern!

mainly;

Soul of the Party - when a series of mysterious thefts sweep across town in the weeks before the annual tournament, Solaris is removed from the duelling tournament to avoid bringing attention to his cousin's family. Instead, he and his cousin and a band of Feral Mages investigate on their own and find a plot targetting one thief from Off-World (ft. four separate magic types, light crime, sword fights, mistaken (secret) identity, curiosity almost killing the cat)

Shapeshifter WIP - when things start getting tense between neighbouring countries, Syn volunteers to slip across the border and pass information back in an attempt to avert the looming war. They may have underestimated how hard it was going to be to go back when no one recognises them and their own best friend hates them (ft. pining, friends-to-lovers of the star crossed variety, hand wavy world building, questionable morality, questionable spying techniques, A Certain Level of Dumbassery, some Fucked Up Shapeshifting)

Dumb of Ass, Snake of Tits - a DnD story of a dragonborn monk who leaves their monastery to see the world, ends up with a Morally Dubious Courtesan for a travelling companion, gets cursed (twice), has a slight corruption arc, but somehow still comes out better than they started and with a boyfriend to boot (ft. travelling, fights, the unwillingness to wear a shirt in camp and making that everyone else's problem, other uses for bras when you don't have tits, revenge, What Sharp Teeth You Have, unquestioning kindness until it isn't kind, overthinking but eventually manage to communicate about it, slight pining, one vaguely horny dragon)

@dorksndisasters for the not-technically-dnd campaign that I run! The full first draft of the first arc is up there and I am currently editing to make it less stilted and transcriby

and, you know, the usual. Fair Folk, Superheroes, Pirates, Time Travel, WereCreatures, Winged Folk, Storytellers, Dragons, Vampires, Curses, Even More DnD. All of the WIPS can be found on this page and some of them are in this definitely out of date post here

I'm always up for answering questions about any of them, even if some haven't been touched in literal years. They're still growing mould somewhere in there. Branching out in ways I didn't conceive of.

~~~

World Building

also a big ol' thing here, the main tag is world building but that isn't just my stuff in there, it's also a lot of reblogs

largely centered around the Mist Worlds which is where most of my WIPs are set. There is an Overview post, a Magic post, a bit on the Mist Itself, and also the Worlds (and a page where this is collated)

some bits are incredibly handwavy and made up on the fly, other bits I have been thinking Too Much about for Too Long

~~~

Characters

Oh boy we got 'em. Occasionally can be found via rambles on Sundays under the tag So It Ends

Syn and Maverick are competing for blorbo of the year right now and if a wip or specific characters aren't mentioned, these are probably who I'll answer ask games for

Syn - a distractable and mischievous shapeshifter who volunteers to be a spy because "pretending to be someone else is what I do" no we're not going to unpack that right now. they/them, big fan of antlers. also goes by Val or Lance

Maverick - a frost dragonborn who's a little bit naive to the ways of the world and prefers to assume the best of people if they can. Likes to help, doesn't question as much as they should. Not quite an "everything happens for a reason" mentality, but certainly thinks that they got what they deserved at points. they/them, has been known to act without thinking on a number of occasions

[boy-comics]

RENT-FREE

── .✦ pairing; ♭form!o.de x gn!reader

── .✦ summary; chance leads you to oh seungmin. something else leads to you stay.

── .✦ word count; ~4.7k

── .✦ tags; swearing, mentioned family issues, discussions of death, fluff, hurt/comfort, romantic tension, roommates to friends to lovers(??), seungmom™, takes place in the "real" world

── .✦ a/n; ahahaha (lying in a ditch)

After graduating, getting a job, moving out, and doing all the other things one needs to do to be considered a real adult, you realize something: pride, that bright, delicate thing that you've clung to all these years, means very, very little.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's just until I find another apartment. I won't even argue with him anymore, Mama—"

"Honey, I'm sorry, but you should know why I can't trust you to do that."

You stare at your phone screen, the call time climbing up ever slowly. Your mother continues talking, her voice tinny through the speaker, trying to soothe your irritation without giving in, but you can feel your thoughts growing pricklier and pricklier with each reasoning.

Just kick him out for a little while, you want to yell at her, don't you care about your own kid having a roof over their head? Why choose that deadbeat over me?

"So what am I supposed to do, then, Mama? My roommate's gone and I can't pay rent all on my own. I don't know what to do."

"I don't know either. I'll ask around and see if anyone can help you out. But this is adulthood, honey; things like this happen, and you just need to figure out what to do."

If you could afford it, you'd throw your phone against the wall.

"… I know. Thanks, Mama. Talk to you later."

"Make sure to eat, honey."

Pressing the end call button, you drop your phone on your bed and scream into your pillow.

���

What you end up doing, all by yourself, is break your lease early and shoulder the penalty fees. Then you pack up what little belongings you have and camp out at an old classmate's place (just until your next paycheck at the most, you had promised), and work and search for apartments and search for roommates and sleep and eat and work again.

Your mother calls just as you're looking up motel prices. You don't want to pick up, but again, pride means very, very little.

"Hi, Mama."

"Hi. Are you still looking for a place?"

"Yep."

"Okay, good. I was talking to Oh Seungmin's mother. You remember him, don't you? You went to the same high school. He was on the basketball team."

Your brow furrows. "Oh Seungmin?"

"So you do remember him."

"… Yes."

You're sure he doesn't remember you, though. Oh Seungmin had always belonged to a different crowd than yours, a really different crowd, even if you did walk to and from the same neighborhood together for a brief time. If your mother is suggesting what you think she's suggesting, you must be thinking wrong, somehow.

"He lives somewhere near where you work. His mother talked to him, and he's willing to let you stay with him until you find something more permanent."

You blink.

"Honey? What do you think?"

"I—uh." Your cursor continues to hover over the room price typed in bold on your laptop, and as you absorb what has just been offered, it drifts down to the corner of the screen. "How much would I need to pay?"

"Ah. I forgot to ask. She gave me his number to give to you just in case, though, so just ask him. It's—"

You type down the number and save it, praying to whatever lives upstairs that this isn't the beginning of some awful cosmic joke.

—

You move into Oh Seungmin's place on a late Sunday morning in May.

"Do you need help unpacking?"

"No, it's okay." You gesture vaguely at your suitcase, backpack, and laundry basket of bed things. "This is it."

Seungmin nods, his eyes flitting between the three things containing your entire life. There is a smile on his face, small and polite but awkward, like he's entertaining a surprise guest despite having expected you for the past three days. "Oh, okay. Cool."

You smile back, just as awkward. This Seungmin is slightly different from what you remember. High school Seungmin was more outgoing, a star athlete and the dream of every girl in your class. In this small apartment in the shadier part of the city, he seems more subdued, a little lonelier around the edges. Or maybe that's only because it's you.

He is still absurdly good-looking, though.

"I didn't know if you were okay with the couch or a futon mattress, so both are out. I have extra pillows if you need them … you don't have a closet, so we could buy a foldable one or something and put it in the corner if you want."

"I'm okay with the futon mattress. And it's fine—I'll just keep things in my suitcase. I won’t be in your hair for long, anyway."

"All right." His fingers tap an oddly controlled rhythm along the side of his thigh—not that you were already looking, you just catch the movement at the edge of your vision—and then he clears his throat. "Well, I'll let you get your stuff unpacked. I made some curry rice so we can eat afterwards. Hopefully you'll like it. I think you told me it was your favorite, once, a long time ago."

Some of the ice on your tongue melts.

"It still is."

His smile cracks open a bit wider, a bit more genuinely. "Really? Nice. I'll get everything set up, then."

"I'll be quick."

The living room and the kitchen are squeezed together with no divider, so you are graced with the ambiance of clinking ceramic bowls and silverware while you set your things out to organize them. The faint smell of curry and rice that you had detected when you had first stepped foot into this home intensifies with the sound of the microwave running.

Eating lunch with Oh Seungmin is a simple affair that grows more comfortable with time. You go over the house rules and contributions again, and it's funny, you find, the way the two of you agree on things so easily despite not having talked in years. Then again, it is only the first day.

"There is one thing, though," Seungmin says, taking your plate along with his to rinse them in the sink. "I have a synthesizer and record a lot of music for work. I'll keep my door closed, but if you're here and it bothers you, just tell me. I'll use headphones."

"Oh," you say, surprised. You don't remember Seungmin having a strong interest in music. A synthesizer. That's interesting. "Okay, I'll let you know." A thought hits you and you ask conversationally, "Do you use ♭form at all?"

You don't have an account yourself, having put it off time and time again. Conversation, that's all you had intended. But as soon as you mention ♭form, it's like the shutters close, and Seungmin's tone shifts from open and friendly into something strange and even guarded.

"Sometimes. Just the audience and solo modes, though."

He changes the subject after that. Of course, you still can't help but wonder for the rest of the day, especially when he disappears into his room for the rest of the afternoon, strange and beautiful music trickling out from underneath the door.

—

Seungmin tells you that it's been a while since he's had people stay over, but despite his modesty, you find him to be a wonderful roommate.

"Are you done using the glass cleaner?"

"Yeah, it's in here."

Heading to the bathroom, you spot Seungmin dutifully spraying the shower with cleaner and hold your breath, grabbing the glass cleaner from its place on the floor and stepping back out quickly.

"Did you find it?"

"Yeah, it was right there," you say.

He turns around to check, and you can't help but grin. Standing like that in the bathroom, he almost looks like a harried mom, old baggy shirt tucked into equally worn sweatpants, hair messy, a mask covering the lower half of his face and large yellow gloves covering his hands. When he raises his eyebrows, you snort.

"What?"

"You look like a mom."

"Finish your chores," he says sternly, even waggling his head, and you laugh again before leaving to wipe the windows.

Cleaning day is surprisingly mellow in your temporary home. Seungmin has the bathroom and his bedroom while you take the kitchen and living room, and you're both quite efficient. The initial awkwardness at the beginning has eased significantly over the past week, and if you were feeling optimistic, you'd say that the two of you are friendlier now than you were as students—even if he does spend a lot of time in his room.

"Hey, you wanna do something after this?" Seungmin calls out. You hear the shower turn on, followed by the sound of water splashing over the walls.

"Like what?"

"We could shoot some hoops."

"Ha-ha, that's funny."

"Well, now we have to go shoot some hoops." You make a face, and even though he can't see it, Seungmin tacks on, "I'll buy you garlic cheese bread after."

"How many?"

"One plus one more for each basket you make."

Well. That's an offer you can't refuse. "Deal."

"Okay. After I clean the toilet, I'm gonna shower and then we can head out."

You finish vacuuming and mopping the floors by the time he comes out of the bathroom, hair toweled to a curly dampness and no longer smelling like bleach. He looks like a young, fashionable man again, and you think that it might have been a little easier to talk to him when he was masked up and rubber-gloved.

"Ready?"

"I'll still get one free garlic cheese bread even if I miss all the shots, right?"

"Yes, but you can't be that bad at basketball."

"Try me."

There's a basketball court about ten minutes away from the apartment complex that Seungmin frequents. There's another one that's closer, newer, but upon passing by and asking about it, you're told that he avoids that court because it's too popular.

"Isn't it better to play with a group of people?" you question.

He shrugs, head turning away from you. "I just like to do my own thing when I'm here."

(It strikes you as a bit odd, but you keep that thought to yourself.)

"We're here." Seungmin dribbles the ball for a few seconds, then passes it to you. "You remember some stuff from gym class, don't you?"

"I mean, yeah, but that doesn't mean I can do it," you retort, passing the ball back. "Why don't you give an example and I copy it?"

Your companion turns and promptly shoots the basketball towards the hoop. It cuts a majestic arc through the air before falling through the hoop with a devastatingly clean swoosh.

You stare as he jogs down to fetch the ball, returning with a self-satisfied grin. "Okay, well, don't expect that kind of technique from me. I'm fine with my one bread."

"No, I'm going to make sure you get at least two. Here." Seungmin comes closer, plopping the basketball into your outstretched palms. "Just dribble it a little and pass it back and forth so you can get the feel for it."

You slowly bounce the ball on the concrete. It's haphazard, coming back up at different angles with no discernible rhythm, but you can actually keep it up for more than ten seconds. Clapping his hands, Seungmin shouts encouragement and gestures for you to pass it to him.

"What were you talking about? You're fine at this." The ball travels between the two of you several times before he points to the hoop. "Try to shoot."

Emboldened, you cradle the basketball in your dominant hand and stare up at the hoop. Aiming at the backboard, you launch it with a quiet grunt.

The ball hits the rim and shoots off to the side.

"... That's okay, that's okay! Try again."

You feel like the kid winning a pity prize at school. It really shouldn't be a big deal, with you being a whole-ass adult and all, but you can't prevent the frustration that roils up anyway as Seungmin tosses the ball back to you.

"I'm just going to miss."

"You won't know unless you try, right?"

When you roll your eyes at his sage-like wisdom, he sighs, circling around to stand behind you.

His arms come around to adjust yours into the right position, and you nearly choke on your own spit.

"Keep your shooting arm close." He taps the inside of your foot with the toe of his shoe. "Feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, 'cause the power comes from your legs. Your other hand is just there to guide. And follow through."

His voice is soft against your ear. You swallow dryly, only daring to breathe again when he steps away.

Oh, no.

"That easy, huh?" you croak, bending your knees.

"If you want it to be."

You shoot the ball. It soars upward—downward—hits the backboard, rolls along the orange rim and falls through the net.

You and Seungmin stare for a moment. Then Seungmin nudges you with his elbow and holds out his fist.

"Yo, yo, yo! Good job, [Y/n]-ssi!"

Your eyes roll again as you bump fists with him, but it's bashful this time, and you hate how exposed it makes you feel. "You're a literal mom and dad rolled into one."

"Does that make you my offspring?"

"Sure would beat being the offspring of my actual parents." You wince as soon as the joke leaves your mouth.

"Oh."

Seungmin blinks, and laughs a bit, but it's so obviously unsure that everything that's been going so right today veers into complete fuckup territory.

You dig your hands into your pockets and scuff your shoes. "... Sorry. Shitty joke."

"Ah, it's fine ..."

And yet, neither of you say anything more.

Shit.

While you rub your arms, hobbling towards the basketball rolling steadily towards the grass, you hear Seungmin follow. The scrape of his shoes against the asphalt peters out as you pick up the ball, and when you turn around, he's regarding you carefully. You find an interest in the words stamped onto the basketball.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"Not really." You spin the ball in your hands. "I mean, it's not like you never knew, and nothing's really changed, and that's why I'm here in the first place. So."

Seungmin nods slightly and hums, scratching his nose.

"I didn't mean to kill the mood."

"No," he says immediately, "don't worry about anything like that. You're good company."

You look at Seungmin. He stares back, and for a brief moment, you remember a boy with the same dark eyes, under a similar sky, sitting with you at the corner of a convenience store after school because you didn't want to go home.

"Oh. Okay."

"You wanna try for a third garlic cheese bread?"

"Nah, you kinda killed the vibe with all that mushy gushy stuff."

Seungmin hisses through his teeth when you punch his shoulder. "Damn."

"Only joking. Can we go now, though? I'm hungry."

"Yeah, sure."

—

In the brief interludes where neither of you have anywhere to be, you and Seungmin inevitably gravitate towards one another. That's what happens when people get along, you guess, though it's been so long that it surprises you when Seungmin actually joins you on the couch with a tub of popcorn.

"That for me?"

"That for us," he corrects as you press play on the laptop and settle back into the cushions. "Is the volume high enough?"

"Oh." You lean forward again. "Now it is."

Seungmin had been neutral at best towards pirating a horror movie from five years ago—he could take them or leave them, depending on the quality—but you had cited its several awards and didn't want to watch it alone, so here he was, ready to pass judgment on your choice.

"Don't scream too loudly," he gibes as the music drops to a low simmer, "or the neighbors will complain."

You scoff, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "I'm right here if you need a shoulder to cry on, Seungmin-ssi."

Thirty minutes into the movie, both of you swallow your words.

You'd taken it as a sign of good taste that multiple reviews had credited Come Into My Head as providing nightmare fuel for weeks, but now you realize that good taste may not be in your best interest. Not when you're shaking like a leaf next to your roommate, who is sitting stiffly, nearly stone-like.

When the killer jumps out, both of you let out a shriek that triggers angry thumping from above.

"Shitshitshit." Another jump scare slashes across the screen, and you leap out of your skin when Seungmin's hand clamps down on your arm. "SHIT."

"Y-You're making my arm numb," you whisper, but you make no move to pry him off, eyes glued to the screen.

"Sorry—"

When the lead actor screams, you can't take it anymore and suffocate Seungmin's arm between your own, smashing your face into his shoulder with a pathetic whimper.

... Unfortunately, said shoulder ends up being so warm and muscular that you sober up from your fear-drunkeness long enough to be overcome with embarrassment.

"Uh." Your action seems to have the same effect on Seungmin, whose grip immediately loosens.

"I'm sorry," you blather, starting to pull away. "I swear I'm not trying to—"

"It's fine," Seungmin interrupts. "I, uh, don't mind if you don't. I'm kind of terrified right now?"

"Me too."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

The corners of his lips quirk upward. If it weren't for the gory, red lighting of the movie illuminating his face, and if you weren't so sure of his opinion on you, you would think that Oh Seungmin was blushing.

Yeah. You lean back until you're pressed against Seungmin once more, arms wrapped around his and shoulder pressing shoulder. His right hand reaches around to squeeze yours with every on-screen death and you can feel each joint of each finger over your own. I'm terrified.

—

It takes two whole weeks before shit hits the fan.

It had been an unexpectedly warm day, so you had decided to impulse buy some ice cream bars on the way back from work. Seungmin would appreciate it, being cooped up in the apartment with his synthesizer. You haven't been able to catch him outside his room for the past day. Maybe you could hang out and talk in the kitchen while you polished off one or two ice cream bars.

Sticking the box of chocolate-coated vanilla in the freezer, you quietly walk over to Seungmin's bedroom and examine the doorknob. There's no Do Not Disturb sign hanging from it, and it's not locked, which you take as the go-ahead to knock.

"Seungmin-ssi, I got ice cream."

You wait. No reply.

Frowning, you press your ear against the door, wondering if he's working on some music, but you don't hear anything. Of course, he could be using headphones for some reason.

"Hello?" You knock and then call for him once more, making sure to be loud. "Hey, I'm coming in."

With that, you enter his room.

Nothing seems out of place. That is, until you see Seungmin hunched over on the edge of his bed, hands trembling and forehead drenched with sweat.

"Seungmin!"

Stumbling over your feet to rush over, you grab ahold of his shoulders and shake him. Seungmin jolts and shivers, then looks up with wide, glazed eyes, and it frightens you so badly you reach up to grab his face. It feels cold.

"Hey. Hey! What happened?!"

He stares up at you, completely vacant, and then he finally blinks. It seems to trigger something because he starts gasping for breath, clutching your wrists as he registers your presence.

"What happened?" you repeat, voice cracking from the volume.

He winces. "I dunno," he rasps, wetting his lips. "I think we ... I think we broke the system?"

The use of we raises a flag in your mind, but considering the present circumstances, you put that aside for now. For all you know, his brain could be fried like an egg and churning out nonsense. "Broke what system?"

He looks down.

You follow his gaze. There is a pair of strange glasses on the floor by his feet. Hesitantly, as if you might get burned, you pick them up.

Upon inspection, you notice '♭form' faintly etched into the frames. There's a button on top of the left hinge, but nothing happens when you press it. Frowning, you press it again, only to curse when something neon red fizzles briefly across the lenses. Then it’s dead once more.

"Oh," you murmur dumbly. You look at him again.

Seungmin's lips press together, eyes still fixed on the glasses, and he swallows. His gaze then moves to you and the emptiness of it slowly ebbs away.

He is silent, despondent, and he takes a moment before he tells you something so sincerely it stuns you.

"That was the only place where I mattered."

And, truthfully, it feels like he's slapped you across the face.

You gape at him, throat suddenly tight, and when he continues to sit without another word, you shut your mouth so violently your jaw tingles.

The strange behavior makes sense now. The brief periods of dullness after leaving his room, the rare but suspicious checking out from conversations, the obsession with music. You had overlooked these things because the moments between them had been some of the best you’ve ever had. They had mattered to you.

Apparently, he had never felt the same way.

"You don't think you matter here?" you say, numb. Your grip tightens around the glasses. "What was the fucking point of all this, then?"

His brow furrows. "… What do you mean?"

It feels like prying open the shell of a living creature, exposing everything that's meant to be kept safely hidden away. You do not know why the living creature is you and not Seungmin. You don't know why Seungmin makes it so damn easy to spill your guts, revealing the self-centered and bitter parts of you that drive everyone else away.

"Do I not matter either?" you ask.

The sound of your own voice, angry and trembling, immediately disgusts you. You bite your tongue and turn away.

"What? Hey, that's not—"

"Nevermind. Forget it."

As you head straight for the door, you have this grand idea in your head that you're going to storm out of the apartment, spend a few hours blowing off some steam, and then return to pack up your stuff and stop adding to Seungmin's misery. But that would require you to be faster than Seungmin, and for his apartment to be large enough to create enough distance between you and him.

Reality unfolds as such: you getting one foot across the doorway, Seungmin grabbing your wrist, and you stopping far too quickly.

"That's not what I meant at all. I'm sorry, I'm just—just let me explain."

"I'm a little too pissed off to listen nicely, Seungmin-ssi."

"That's fine. As long as you believe me." When you look back at him, he squeezes your wrist. "Please stay."

He's pleading. His hand is clammy. And because your pride means so little, and because you have become so horribly attached—you stay.

You let him lead you back into his room to sit on his bed. You stay, and you listen as he starts from the very beginning.

By the time he's done, having explained the train, the fighting, the surreal time loop his band had just broken after what had seemed like days, you are just about ready to break down.

"So you're telling me that you've been wanted by ♭form for the past year?" you say, throat dry, and Seungmin nods. "What would've happened to you here if you died in there?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the pain sticks after I log off."

The pain sticks. Good god. You lean over and hold your head in your hands, feeling nauseous. "Seungmin-ssi, that's not okay. What the fuck."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't think you would be this upset if you found out."

"Of course I would? I live with you? Do you know how traumatizing it would be to come back from work and find out you're brain dead? Like, fuck," you laugh, feeling your lungs constrict, "oh, my god, what if I lost you?"

Seungmin is quiet. Then he says, almost whispering, "Lost me?"

The disbelief in his echo causes you to close your eyes. Everything is coming out now. You can feel them bubbling over, crawling out from between your ribs, thoughts and confessions that you have stuffed down for fear that they would be ridiculed.

He utters your name, the end of it curling upward in bewilderment.

"Seungmin-ssi." You take a deep breath. "You're kind, and caring, and the first person in actual years who I felt actually gave a shit about me. If something happened to you, I ... part of me would probably die too, I think."

It's too hot in his room. Your vision goes blurry, and you feel your nose start to burn. You sniffle. Hands falling into your lap, you dig your nails into the fabric of your uniform pants. You're sweaty and teary and miserably cracked open, and it's hot, and all you can do is sit and wait for his response.

Beside you, Seungmin shifts in place.

Then two arms wrap around you, warmth upon warmth, a cheek resting against the side of your head as he holds you.

"I didn't know you felt that way about me," he breathes. "I'm sorry for being so reckless with myself. I was ... I was wrong."

Your tears start to fall onto his shoulder. "Don't leave me."

"I won't. I'm here." His hand ghosts up and down your back, the barest of tremors in his fingers. "You matter to me, too. So, so much."

Oh. A sob escapes your lips.

You're so selfish. Selfish for having him comfort you after what he went through in ♭form, selfish for dirtying his shoulder with your tears, selfish for feeling this way about him after so little time.

Selfish for wanting to stay.

You tighten your grip on the back of his shirt. Seungmin hums. He pulls away just slightly to look at your face, and you almost tear up again when he wipes the wetness from your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes glossier than normal.

"I'm sorry," you croak as he does so, reaching up to touch the dark circles under his eyes. "I didn't even check if you were okay. Are you okay?"

He chuckles a bit wetly, hugging you again. "I'm better now. Thanks for asking."

"Do you need water?"

"I'll get some in a few minutes. Don't worry."

"It's hot. I came in to ask if you wanted ice cream. I bought a box from the store."

"Oh, you did?"

Neither of you move, bodies pressed close, intertwined. You are buried in his scent.

"We can have them now," you offer, with effort, "if you want."

"Is that what you want?"

You bite your lower lip. "... If it makes you feel better."

His mouth presses against your temple. Against it, he admits, "It is hot. But ..."

He does not finish that sentence. But you understand, and something blooms, trembling, in your chest.

"Maybe later," you finish drowsily.

Leaning into him further, you hear his soft agreement, his hands stroking down your arms with a surety that had not been present before. He keeps you here, with him, real and breathing, living.

You are not alone. And neither is he.

Thank you for accepting me. Thank you for loving my prideless self. I'm glad we exist here, in this world, together.

[blackjackkent]

Springy has informed me there's some potentially interesting NPCs in the tavern and that I should go back to check it out before the plot locks me out of Saradush, so...brief detour!

Mostly it's il-Khan soldiers hanging out in here, but there are a few people with unique names - Peltje and Viekang. I don't recognize either name, but let's see what they're about.

Always a good start to a conversation.

Oh!

Well, good news, Peltje, I do not believe you are insane. The bad news is that that means there ARE vampire courtesans in the castle prison, which I know because I just fought a bunch of them. But, y'know, silver lining.

And then the poor guy absolutely hauled ass out of the tavern at about mach 5. Wellp.

Let's talk to Viekang.

One of the answer options here is "Viekang...didn't I run into you in Trademeet?" but his name is not ringing any bells to me or Caden.

[blinkblink]

OH. Ahahaha. He's this guy, who randomly seemed to explode when Caden encountered him in the tavern in Trademeet.

I guess this is the equivalent to Caden getting the Slayer form as his Bhaal-related superpower? I think we got the better end of the deal tbh.

Other highlights of the tavern:

A guy named Hectan who responds only "I assure you, my Lord, I know nothing of that" to anything we try and ask him.

A cat named Tepid who doesn't want to talk to us.

:(

Finally, in a back room of the tavern, we find this dude!

I'm not entirely sure if we ever actually ran into him, but according to the wiki we could have run into this guy way back in Nashkel in BG1! And he could have provided some rumors to follow up on to move some of the quests along.

You're a long way from home, Volo. Are you a Bhaalspawn too?

Oh boy. :P

lolol. This feels like what would happen if you spawned some unholy amalgamation of Khalisah al-Jilani and Conrad Verner.

What else ya got, Volo?

This'll be good.

Wait, how the hell does Volo know about Gamaz at all? >:|

Poor Rasaad though.

Awww. <3

Imoen please do not further the rumor that all Bhaalspawn are evil, tyvm. (rofl tho)

Hee. OK, if Elminster knows this guy, he can't be all bad I guess.

But why does Rasaad get a mention of Gamaz but Volo doesn't even mention Khalid as such a big part of Jaheira's story. :(

Minsc is the best, casual reminder. <3 And must be protected at all costs.

Oh, you won't, but thank you for trying!

[spacetimeconundrum]

Okay! The main one I can remember was Werewolf vs. Vampire. Little known werewolf habits/symptoms. Did Campion being a werewolf affect his relationship with the woman in Dancers in Mourning? I can't remember if you address that, clearly I need to reread. Also I'm just feeling Christmassy and wondered if you've thought about Campion At Christmas. I realized I'm not sure how they celebrated back then.

You’ve given me a lot of different things to think about here, so bear with me while I ramble on for a bit…

In the (stupidly long) time since I’ve updated my werewolf!Campion series, I’ve actually done quite a lot of writing (I know, I know, where’s the proof?) and spent even more time ruminating on various aspects of werewolfiness with respect toCampion’s canon-adventures: what’s changed for him, and what bits of werewolf lore am I keeping for his story. A few of these happen to be VERY plot relevant for Mr. Campion’s War, so I won’tnecessarily go into them in great detail here, but a few tidbits:

- Real wolves are pack animals and large percentage of their communication is physical in nature or scent-based; humans are social creatures that also need a certain amount of touch/physicality in their interactions to thrive; werewolves tend to be much more tactile than youraverage repressed English gentleman of the early 20th century and considerably more invested in how things smell. Albert Campion is no exception, though he has a great deal of upper class socialization telling him that no, he can’t just grab people and / or sniff them, no matter what his instincts are screaming at him.

Before being cursed, Campion dealt with his insecurities / social discomfort via inane chatter - make people laugh and they’ll underestimate him or look for another target. (He spent a lot of time at school being bullied before he learned this trick.) After, he’s not much different, though large crowds tend to make him more anxious and prone to make himself politely invisible. But if you’re one of the few people he considers part of his inner circle, he’s much less physically reserved than before. (This was actually the aspect of Campion’s transformation that Lugg found the strangest. People, least of all Albert bloomin’ Campion, do not tend to hug Magersfontaine Lugg. Not unless one or both of them is dying. It’s weird for both of them, but it gets less so over time.)

- As far asCampion’s inner wolf is concerned, Lugg, Amanda, Oates, Guffy &Mary Randall, Hal Fitton, Val, Uncle Avril and later Charlie Luke and Rupert are part of his pack.

- Alcohol has almost no effect on him. The super high metabolism that allows Campion to heal rapidly and shape shift also means his body tends to process alcohol before he feels any intoxicating effects. Helpful when he’s trying to drink a suspect under the table, less helpful when certain poisons actually effect him faster than they ordinarily would. (Thank goodness for his fast healing.) This makes the events near the end of Death of a Ghost rather more harrowing when he discovers the mad combination of spirits the villain plies him with are having a deleterious effect on him almost too late.

- Speaking of that high metabolism - rationing for WWII actually makes things rather uncomfortable for Mr. Campion, as he can’t exactly explain to anybody with authority that he really needs to be issued enough coupons for two people. He ends up sort of solving this problem by supplementing his diet by shifting on non-full moon nights when he can and going hunting in the countryside as a wolf. It gets a bit tricky though, as every shift is a massive calorie expenditure, meaning he risks creating a net loss for himself if his hunting isn’t successful enough. (Not to mention he’s not always stationed somewhere safe enough to venture out in wolf-form or the risk of being caught ‘poaching’ afterwards.) Campion spends most of the war irritable, hungry, and underweight.

- That said, there are absolutely advantages to being a spy who can shape shift.

- Cats and horses hate Campion now, to the extent that some of his friends (who don’t know why these animals have taken an instant dislike to him) tease him about it. Dogs are either extremely wary of him or instantly his best friend, with very little in between.

- Campion had to falsify paperwork to avoid a government physical. Fortunately, he knows more than a few people in the right professions who owe him a favour or two. He’s avoided eye exams and medical check ups entirely since becoming a werewolf, mostly out of an overabundance of caution. He’s never sick and orders replacement spectacles from a theatre supplier.

- His eyes shine green instead of red in photographs taken with a heavy flash, but this really isn’t a problem until later in his life when colour photography becomes more commonplace.

- His normal body temperature runs hotter than most people’s, which is handy when waking up naked outdoors on a chilly English winter morning, miserable when riding the tube during a sweltering London heat wave.

- Is Campion’s lycanthropy contagious? If say, he were to bite someone, would they then become a werewolf too? Ahahaha. Stay tuned on this one, as it will be addressed in Mr. Campion’s War. Minor spoilers, it is inheritable, as Rupert Campion discovers to his dismay upon reaching puberty.

- Are there other supernatural creatures in Mr. Campion’s world? Other werewolves maybe? Yep. More than you’d think. Not gonna say who just yet. ;)

- His relationship with Linda Sutane (the woman in Dancers in Mourning) is largely unchanged by him being a werewolf, other than his enhanced senses making it much more obvious to him how mutual their attraction was (very). He still didn’t act on it, though he very much wanted to, and they parted as friends in the end. (The scene in Dancers in Mourning where he goes for a long walk through London to try to suppress his feelings for her very nearly ends in him stripping off his clothes and going wolf for a while until he manages to get a hold of himself.) This isn’t directly addressed in any of my stories, but it gets alluded to a little in Mr. Campion’s Secret and Mr. Campion’s Snarl.

- Christmas wasn’t celebrated all that differently then than today I think - dinners with family, presents, etc. The holiday actually only gets a couple brief mentions in the novels - first in The Tiger in the Smoke, which takes place in late November 1950, and then The Mind Readers, which seems to take place in December 1965. The short stories are another matter: The Case is Altered takes place at a Christmas party Campion attends in, presumably, 1938, wherein he has an opportunity to play Santa. The Man With the Sack is set on Christmas Eve, 1936? The Snapdragon and the CID is explicitly set on Christmas day, but various bits of it are so wildly anachronistic to the established timeline, I have no idea what year it’s meant to be; it’s blatant holiday fluff though so who cares. If you haven’t already read them, I highly recommend the short stories. Campion works really well in that format and they’re quick reads.

Merry Christmas!