#garden of baffling beasts

[spacespeckspod]

What @podcastjam shows our characters would listen to!

Be sure to check out the fellow jam shows mentioned; @valdiviansfinest @gobbpodblog @hello-are-you-there @working-tidal-pod @theichorousrotpod They're all working on some really cool projects!

[podcastjam]

May 12: Garden of Baffling Beasts

Frobb the flamingo, a weirdly shaped extremophile that can drink boiling acidic salt water without issue and takes on the colour of the food it filters from said water (with its head upside down) makes it very worthy of being in a zoo for strange and bizarre creatures, no matter how many other more regular zoos have flamingos as well. Due to some symbiotic microbes that burn it and put it back together when it dies, it is an actual phoenix.

@gobbpodblog: "The mysterious menagerie known as the "Garden of Baffling Beasts (and other stuff)" has opened its doors to the public! It features all sorts of strange and bizarre creatures, both legendary and unheard of! Also weird plants, unusual rocks, and things arcane.

Intrepid reporter Jaggery "Jake" Howard has agreed to check it and make a documentary about this place. Join her as Garden employee Dr. Banitha Vermillian guides her on a tour!"

We're counting down to episode release by highlighting one Jam podcast a day. Check out this show on May 25th!

[aclickbaittitle]

Live blogging of the Podcast Jam's Pilots (Part 1):

First of all, I want to say congratulations to everyone who participated. Making a podcast is hard, making one with a time limit, through the internet, improbable but somehow possible.

1° The Ichorus Rot

I was so excited for this project and it did not dissapoint but went above. I was expecting something like the first few episodes of TMA, where Theodorus would read their findings and that would be it, but the team went ahead and produced a full-on radio play with 4 (?) voiced characters. That's incredible. I felt like I got a great introduction to each characters, and if you asked me to describe the personality of each I could. The sound design is gorgeous (i have so many questions of how they made that happened) and with the incredible soundtrack it puts you right in the setting and most importantly the mood.

It reminded me a bit of Sherlock Holmes, but with the great twist of making the detective a doctor.

There's just this one bit, I do understand the distortion as Theodore is talking into the recorder but it is a bit hard to understand (especially if you don't have headphones). This is just to say, I am asking for a transcript.

2° Beyond Repair

Oh no, doctor AIs. I really like the time they take to describe the ship, the camera/monitor details. Again I am astonished at the fact that this is again like an (radio) audio play.

What used to be canada? (What happened to canada!? Did it fell along with western civilazation, but then why is Italy still kicking?).

Oh shit, the AI has turned against them. Poor AI, I bet it is over worked.

I also really like the concept of a wellness cruiseship, because it allows a nice excuse to really get inside the characters mind.

3° The Garden of Baffling Beats

The audio is a bit low.

Uuu. Recent management change? Interesting.

Hey, give the Baseliks their own article piece, love the detail that they are shy.

Carnivorous cats!? That checks out. The journalist wants to pet them, jeje.

Also, werewolves? I love werewolves!

Really liked all the work that came in building the garden.

Aww, thanks for the shoutout.

4° World Fuse

Dont remember the name of the MC, but I too, repeat my order in my mind and then messed it up.

Aarush, thats their name. Also, Harlequeen August? (That is a statement name).

Yeah Aarush, no one trust the goverment for a good reason. So funny Queen and Aarush just started fliriting (?).

Is Queen an independent detective?

Idk if I like Indigo, but I am very intrigued by her. Aaa, candy is a lawyer. That explains things.

Wow, Queen, Aarush, stop fliritng, it is too funny.

Wait, queen is the fuse? I didnt really payed attention to the first exposition lines.

Aww, this very creepy voice is very protective, that is sweet.

I really like that most of the episode took place in a coffee/flower shop.

5° The Block

I really like the music.

Not gonna light the eq/reverb effects make it a bit difficult to understand.

Also, space, aliens, Tamareans!? Podcasting. I really like how podcasting is taboo in their culture, thats so funny.

Hey princess, stop being so harsh. You are alive arent you, dont matter if it is cartoonish.

Velma, he of the four trails and well known peneaut allergy. That is such a title, love it.

Humanoid form? They have humans!?

I really like the radio/cable format, is great to be able to jump between stories of very different moods.

I like the bear. I will watch the movie.

Ahg, re-runs. Donovan, you are the mentors of mentors.

I do hope they stick around. I did not understood half of it, but I loved it. Did i mention how good is the sound desing and the music. Amazing.

6° Schrödinger's Pledge

Oh good, water desing, its so cool. The sound design is so coool.

Better question, what is a sororety and a fraternity, and do I have those at my college? (I really hope not).

Uuu, they are childhood friends (?) Acuantainces (however you spell that word).

Love that Helen will jump in a pool just because.

Jared is like a good jock ?? Idk, but I like him.

Mentaly disturbed, such a weird way to say it. Oh shit, the ableism.

Her mom was a part of this sororety, thats so interesting.

Uuuuu, its through a line-phone that you contact the dead? So cool.

Also I really like how you could feel the Sority (?) lider walking around the room.

I am curious about how Helen's mom died. Uh, she died in the river and Helen jumps into a pool.

Oh no, poor Helen.

Oh, not her mom, ohhhh. Shes not dead...yet.

Okay, props to whoever desing this. So much water, its amazing.

Ohhh, and back to the begining, really nice circle.

Oh, toxic female friendships! Toxic female friendships!

Whoever sound-design this, please tell me your secrets.

Pagan Dupount, thats such a name. *A legacy must be paid*.

Wait, isnt Dupount also the name of the evil queen in miraculous? (Sorry).

Is Helen now going to be the Queen Bee? Jared is like "I have contacts".

As someone who loves the dark side of academia, I am in love with this. (Even if I still dont understand how fraternities work, like really, does anyone?).

7° Gavin's Window: Lost and Found

Right into the *ambience*.

"Is there a gift shop in the train station?" Asking the good question.

I really like how the sound design pulls you into the rttpg, like normally I dont listen to actual play or d&d stuff, but I think that this is a good getaway for me.

So Gavin is the GM. That is interesting.

Awww, I really like this candle story.

Uuuu, I want to know what Gavin saw. Are they human?

WAIT! POST CREDIT SCENE, POST CREDIT SCENE!!!

[gobbpodblog]

The mysterious menagerie known as the "Garden of Baffling Beasts (and other stuff)" has opened its doors to the public! It features all sorts of strange and bizarre creatures, both legendary and unheard of! Also weird plants, unusual rocks, and things arcane.

Intrepid reporter Jaggery "Jake" Howard has agreed to check it and make a documentary about this place. Join her as Garden employee Dr. Banitha Vermillian guides her on a tour!

[Content warnings for this episode include petrification (discussed), and construction noises.]

Cast and Crew: CawCawMarmalade (Any pronouns), Prinxe (fae/faer, it/its, and any cat-themed neopronouns) and TheMothReservoir (he/they or any masculine pronouns)

This pilot episode is released under a CC-By-NC-SA-licence

You can also find the full version of this and the other PodJam 2024 projects with your podcatcher of choice by searching for "Podcast Jam" or using this rss feed!

[newdestination]

"I see. My younger si— or, ah… lea… the.. hm." He stumbles quite badly in the middle of his thought, coming to a full stop in the middle of rooting through everything he had brought along. It's difficult enough trying to refer to Kai in the midst of the clan— guessing how to talk about her to someone beyond it suddenly seems so much worse. Seki himself didn't seem as though he'd have too many issues to the point either way, but saying the wrong thing wears slightly at the edges of his nerves.

"…There's this young miss I attend to," Nobori finally settles on. Neutral and vague enough, disregarding the topic itself. "She's recently evolved a Glacia of her own. They make quite wonderful and loyal companions, if one can reach beyond their skittish nature. They hatched an egg, I believe." Seki's comment regarding his sister certainly piques Nobori's attention beyond the meandering lines of his own words. The method of acquisition was some sort of tradition around Kai's status as the head's daughter and sole child, though he couldn't say he's privy to the details.

"Though, I don't suppose I'd be inclined towards Glacia myself. I was quite surprised, really— a Showers would have done quite well in the Tundra, what with the matchup with type commonalities, and…" Nobori runs his mouth as he picks out a fair heft of wrapped meat nestled in a small pocket of eternal ice. Not great for long-term storage solutions, but just fine considering; it's only been a day or so, after all. He really ought to set up the tent, too…

"Ah, pardon me. I suppose all of that is to say that I'm quite glad to see it!" He really, truly is, above all else. Nobori supposes it'd only make sense to have sent a clan member with a team of their own in the interest of self-defense, but… it just settles him in a way he's not entirely sure how to describe. "Your sister found them, you said?" He prompts in turn, a curious eye cast towards his temporary companion's side. "I'd suppose you're welcome to start the campfire— though, I would listen to your partners if they've an opinion on that, Seki." He'd certainly seen the way they nipped and chased the other man by the feet to herd him into resting. Perhaps they're just an overcautious lot, but— well, it'd been quite a full day, and he still seems… a touch red in the face.

…No reason to be wary. Nobori evenly returns Seki's gaze as their words settle in the air, a low hum in the back of his throat. He ought to be sending for Goriky, anyways. "Very well then… one moment, if you will!"

Nobori trills out a short whistle through his teeth, already shifting to brace himself against the side of a nearby pillar. It only takes a moment for his ears to catch the edge of that telltale rush of wind along the edges of the sky, a dark snap of teeth and leather.

The cold stone digs into the meat of his hand as he tries to stay upright underneath the impact, an overexcited pair of claws slung about his neck. Glion always gets awfully overexcited after spending an entire day out of petting range of Nobori— he's long since learned to anticipate the pokémon's antics. His companion is intelligent enough to understand when it isn't time to be playing, after all— He is hardly going to begrudge the little thing for a bit of fun.

…or, the big thing, perhaps. Glion has long since grown out of fitting in the inner pockets of his coat, begging for scraps of berries and treats. Hot breath gusts over the back of his neck in stark contrast, a chittering squall ringing in the cup of his ear. There's an affectionate tail curling around his ankle, needle-tip stinger bumping against the fabric of his shoes. Nobori offers the pokémon a few sparing pats around the beginnings of dinner in his hands, the pot he intends to actually use still full of other supplies by his feet.

"Yes, yes, I know—"

"Not that I want to be down for the count..." Seki muttered under his breath, laying a hand gently on Bracky's head as she nuzzled up against his stomach. His palms and fingers ached, fingers throbbing as if he'd stuck them on hot coals and he really couldn't argue the fact as much as he hated it and it made his chest tighten with frustration.

He didn't want to look at Nobori, not wanting to see the other's expression or try to puzzle out how he was feeling.

All Seki could gather from tone alone was that... he wasn't being judged. He wasn't used to that feeling.

He pet his Pokemon lightly, finally looking up over at Nobori.

The other spoke lightly, tone optimistic despite the almost permanent frown that sat on his face and Seki wondered quietly just what he was thinking. Was he just quiet about his judgement, quietly planning how to take the burden off of him, or did he truly not see issue with his weakness? He didn't know how to feel himself; everyone either saw him as a burden or someone to be coddled as if he were a child, incapable of doing things. He hated both of those views, but he'd never really experienced neither.

He probably shouldn't think too hard about it. There was still time for that to change.

He looked up at Nobori finally, expression thoughtful and only mildly skeptical. As if waiting for a shoe to drop, a coddling remark, a scolding for pushing himself.

"Yeah... they've been with me since I was a kid. My older sister found them and we ended up attached to each other. They know me better than I know myself it feels like." He chuckled, not wanting to admit that they had also been taking care of him for years. Though it felt a bit disrespectful to their efforts to not verbalize them no matter how embarrassed he was to say it.

Later though.

Over dinner, they would have time to talk about more things, and Seki was so curious about Nobori. It would only be fair to talk about himself as well if Nobori wished to.

"No food preferences though... and I don't mind if your companion joins us. You have some pretty strong Pokemon at your side," Seki said with a faint smile. "so I have no reason to be wary of any other Pokemon you consider a companion." He was probably being a bit too trusting, and he could already hear Yone scolding him for putting too much faith in strangers, especially someone from a rival clan.

But both clans had been relatively peaceful since Seki took over, and they were actively trying to make a truce.

If this truce was even going to work, he had to be willing to take the first step.

Shifting and pulling his legs free from his Pokemon, he took a breath, then stood. "I can get a campfire going if you'd like." Seki offered, though really, he just didn't want to sit there and do nothing while Nobori wrangled up dinner.

[crazyk-imagine]

Married Off to a Beast?! (Or Troll)

Pairing: King George x Fem!reader Characters: Charlotte, Fem!reader, King George, Adolphus (briefly mentioned) Warnings: A memoriable scene, fluff, Charlotte doesn’t approve of running away, George is a simp, Reader and George are enamored with each other, Charlotte is a hypocrite, George regrets nothing, reader knows she can’t resist him now, reader showing skin O:O Word Count: 1,356

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You walk back and forth in front of the wall. You take a deep breath and step closer. "Charlotte help me." 

"No," she shakes her head, wanting little to no part in your escape. 

You spin around to look at her, your body visible for anyone to see if they walk down this path to the garden. "Your brother married me off without my consent, you will help me." 

She huffs, scratching the side of her head. Out of the two of them (her and her brother), she's always had a harder time saying no to you. 

"Fine." 

George watches as you call for her assistance and decides to walk further down. Neither of noticed him, not until he cleared his throat. “Hello, My Lady.” 

You glance over your shoulder to find a charming man standing a few feet away. 

He turns to your cousin. “My Lady.” 

Her eye twitches, you know it did; you didn’t have to look at her to know. “Are you in need of assistance of some kind?” 

“Uh, I am quite fine, thank you.” You return to your mission. “You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers.” 

Charlotte whispers your name. She understands your feelings about the situation but there is a better way to address someone. 

"I… will. What are you doing?" 

You huff, “nothing.” 

“You’re doing something.” 

You internally groan, not wanting to berate some man for something he had no control over. “I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are!” 

You jump down from your place and spin around to face him. "If you must know, I am being shipped off into a marriage I did not give my consent to and one I had no prior knowledge of, therefore I am leaving before it can happen." 

"Oh," his brows shot up in surprise. 

“Yes, so I am currently trying to find the best way to climb over this damned garden wall so that I may live my life the way I choose to.” 

He mutters a few things, trying to understand this new information he’s been given. “Whatever for?” 

"For the love of-" She mutters, hearing the wheels turning in your head. 

"I believe he may be a beast.” 

"He isn't," she assures you. 

"How do you know? I mean, do you know what he looks like?" 

She rolls her eyes, knowing you’ve been on edge since... well, since you were informed of your future role. 

“You think he is a beast?” 

“Or a troll.” 

“Uh, who are we discussing.” 

You furrow your brows, “no one who concerns you.” You study the wall, sighing to yourself. “The King. Only because no one will speak of him. No one. So, he can only be a beast or a troll if that’s the case.” 

“Understood.” 

Charlotte shakes her head, lowering it so George doesn’t see the disappointment on her face. 

“If I grab there,” you point to an ideal spot. “You can assist me by lifting me up.” 

“One question. You do not like beasts or trolls? What he looks like matters?” 

You shrug, “I do not care what he looks like. I care about my sanity… and the not knowing. That, that is what I do not like. I do not like the not knowing. Now come here and help me.” You gesture for him to come closer. “She will not help me. You grab here,” you hold your waist, “and lift me.” 

“You want me to lift you over the wall so you may escape?” 

“That is what I said, is it not.” 

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself, “it’s as if he isn’t listening.” 

“Won’t people notice you are missing?” 

“Her brother will make her take my place, I’m sure.” 

“What?” Charlotte nearly screeches. 

“I have little care to worry about that. Now, if you please. I just need a little assistance from a more cooperative audience. Make haste.” 

“I have absolutely no intention of helping you.” 

You’re baffled. You step off the wall and march towards him. “Do you not see I am a lady in distress. You refuse to help me? Again, a lady in distress.” 

“I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so that she does not have to marry someone I think you'll find rather appealing." 

You furrow your brows, "and why's that?" 

"Because I am... his majesty." 

You take a step back, realizing the many errors you’ve made leading up to now. 

“Hello,” he says your name. 

"Oh, no," your cousin mutters. She takes a step closer, pulling you towards her. "Be quiet and bow." 

You start to apologize. “I am deeply s…” 

And then your training (from when you were a young girl) kicks in and you bow, "My King." 

"No, no. Just George." 

"Your majesty." 

"Not your majesty, George." 

"Your-" 

Your cousin rolls her eyes and sneaks away (not wanting to listen to you two anymore). She’s off to find her brother. Not to mention the fact that she needs to hide from her betrothed as well… which explains why she willingly followed you.

"George." 

"You-" 

"George." 

"Y-" 

"George." 

"Your-" 

"I mean, yes your majesty to you, just George… For you, I will be your George, I like that," he smiles. 

“I- I need you to accept my apology. You see, if I had known-” 

“You would have what? Not told me you were trying to escape?” 

“Yes- wait no, I mean…” You huff, “I do apologize your majesty.” 

“George… Your George. The “King” situation towers over us and I was hoping as my wife, I could be just George to you. I mean, that was of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me.” 

You furrow your brows, “I did not say that.” 

“You did.” 

“No.” 

“Many times, in fact.” 

You purse your lips in anger, knowing he’s right. “I do not know you.” 

He raises his arms, “I do not know you either… other than finding out… how terrible you are at climbing a wall.” 

You scoff, “you try climbing in this,” you wave to your outfit and lift the skirts of your dress, showing him your ankles. “These garments and shoes. They’re terrible, but if I don’t want to hurt myself, I must.” 

His constant stare worries you. 

“What?” 

“I- No one told me you’d be this beautiful. Perhaps, you’re too beautiful to marry me. People will talk… given I’m a troll.” 

“I believe I said beast.” 

He chuckles. 

Your face twists as if you’re in pain but only thinking of your future marriage. “Your majesty.” 

“George.” 

“George. I- I still do not know you.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

“Ev- fine.” He gives you information to help ease you into knowing more about him and potentially help your future marriage. 

“It sounds like you’re bragging.” 

He chuckles, “another to know about me is that… I am- well, nervous about marrying a girl I’m only just meeting minutes before our wedding. Only, I cannot show it and climb over a wall because I am the king of Britian and Ireland and that would, cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a troll, nor a beast. Just your George.” 

The corners of your lips twitch. 

Charlotte’s voice interrupts you two. “My brother is on his way, so we must leave now.” 

“I-” 

“I have one question.” 

“Yes?” 

“Have you decided whether you wish to marry me? Or would you prefer to go over the wall?” 

You gulp. 

“As much as I would love to hear your answer, I have to go because I believe there are some anxious guards who think I’ve been kidnapped.” He grabs your hand and whispers your name as he places a kiss upon it. “I hope to see you in there.” 

You watch as he walks away. “Have you decided? Because there will be a scandal one way or another.” 

“I-” you take a deep breath. “Come with me, you impatient brat.” 

“I am not a brat.” 

“You are.” 

“Am not.”

[authorsofghosts]

Restlessness | Peter Maximoff x Reader | Pt. 1

Author's Notes: everyone blame (or thank) @genderqueerbarbie777 for this, they made me like Pietro before I even met him in any media. also surprise bestie !!!

Summery: Peter's sleep schedule is... borderline non existent. You try to give him some of your own coping skills, things you've learned over the years of also dealing with mutation-induced insomnia.

Themes: Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, Mutual Crush, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Cussing, Labs mention, Mental Health Talk, Peter steals stuff (offscreen), Peter's worst day ever (/j), R has insomnia, R is a mutant (no powers written), R is a Student at the school (older, over 18), R scolds Peter.

Word Count: a lot. (4.8k)

"Hey, wait up!" You call out to your friend, who quickly zooms to your side with his signature goofy grin.

"Yeah?" He asks, looking at you, eying the book in your hand, "What's the journal for?"

"I- Peter!" You're baffled. You knew that he was usually a snooping kind but when he did it to you, it was embarrassing. You shake it off, clearing your throat, "It's for you. You saw it was blank, huh?"

He nods, taking it from your hands and flipping the pages with his thumb. He looks up from the book towards you and grins again, "That's sweet, but I'm not much of a writer."

"Yeah, but I thought maybe it could help with your... uh, insomnia?" You question yourself, looking at him again as he holds the black leather book in his hands, thumbs rubbing the texture. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but you had to stand your ground. "Sometimes journaling can help calm your mind, make you sleepy."

"Yeah?" He smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into a hug. "Thanks. I'll give it a try." He pulls away, looking down at an non existent watch and smiling, "I gotta get going now, have fun with your... whatever you're doing."

And with that, he was gone, but not before leaving something in your hand. A piece of paper with a poorly drawn alligator mouth with the words "Later" in it. It was cute. You found yourself staring at it for a little longer than you should.

Later, indeed, you saw your friend again. Surprisingly, in the gardens. He turns and looks at you, zooming up next to you and smiling widely. "Heya. Whatcha doin'?"

"I was gonna go for a walk, but maybe with you it'll turn into a run." You joke, looking down to see the journal in his hand. "You drawing or something?" As soon as you say that, the journal disappears from his hand.

"Uh, I don't know what you're talking about." He laughs, poking you on the head, "You going stir crazy in the mansion, yeah? Wanna run to the mall or something? My treat." He snakes an arm under yours and holds your head, and suddenly, without even letting you answer, you're sitting at a table in the food court of the mall. You go to say something but he cuts you off, "One second-"

And for only two or so seconds, Peter is gone. You groan, staring at the chair, waiting for him to come back. He returns with two large cups of soda, sitting one in front of you. "You pay for these?"

"Well- no. But I mean, the prices are so jacked up here." He laughs, leaning into the table you both sat at. "I don't mind it, if you don't. I'll go get some of Beast's cash and we can-"

"Peter! I'm fine with you doing that here," You start, holding your cup in your hand, pointing it slightly at him, "but don't you dare think I'll let you steal from Hank."

"Aw, you have a soft spot for the blue fur ball, eh?" He teases, rolling his eyes and sipping his soda. He watches as you shift in your sit, eyes studying every minuscule movement.

"Yeah, may I do, and? You can't just be taking from your friends, Peter." You look at him, watching as his eyes dart up to meet yours. He chews on the plastic straw for a moment, looking to the side and thinking.

He shrugs, "I guess you're right. But hey, don't tell me you haven't at least thought about how much money that rich guy Charles has got." He wasn't wrong, you two weren't the only ones to think about it either. Rumors around the school, mostly stupid ones, were always about the money that kept the school up and going. But you didn't really care for that kind of gossip. "He's not exactly a millionaire, you know?"

"Change the topic." You say before sipping your drink, tapping your nails against the grody table you both sat at. He nods, laughing softly at your tone. He looks around and grins.

"Arcade?" He asks, nodding towards the bright lights of the games not so far down from the food court. You smile widely, a strange feeling in your heart. Is this a date? Is he taking you, you of all people, on a date? Surely not.

You stand up and push your chair in, waiting for him to do the same. He slaps his legs as he stands up, grabbing his drink again and wrapping an arm around you. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then."

"Yeah, show me your 'amazing video game skills'. I still kick your ass in anything you can't cheat at."

"Oh, you're on!" He says before running forward, at a normal human pace. You follow, laughing softly as he looks back at you. You both make it to the arcade, looking around for the first game to play. Peter already spotted his favorite, but knew if he choose it before you could make a decision, he'd look bad. So he let you pick. You grab his hand and slide into a booth cabinet, the screen in front of you flashing images of gunning down monsters. You look at him for approval and he nods.

Peter digs in his jacket pocket for a second before pulling out a roll of quarters, putting a finger to his lips in a 'Ssh'ing motion. You gasp, wondering where he even got them from. Before you can even ask him, the game blares to a start. He places your hands on the controller gun and smirks.

The game is fun, I mean, of course it is. You choose it cause you knew you'd like it. The competitive nature of both you and Peter rang out in the banter, but also the brilliant teamwork. You laugh and fight together. For an arcade game, it's really good. And you go through at least half of the roll of quarters to play the whole thing, continuing the story line and getting the high score in each.

Peter smiles at you after putting both your initials on the scoreboard and leans back, shoulder brushing against yours. "Why didn't you tell me you're a great shot?"

"I did, you just didn't believe me." You laugh, leaning into his touch. You both sit there, your cheeks heating up as you realize your proximity. You quickly crawl out of game, stretching slightly as you look around the Arcade. Peter stands next to you, following your gaze.

"What now, Sargent?" He chuckles, putting his hands on your shoulders with a slightly rough plop. You laugh with him, shrugging. "Pac-man it is then." He grins, pushing you towards the row of arcade cabinets to the left. He leans against the wall and slides a quarter into the slot, quickly making work of the game because of his powers. You watch, not surprised in the least, seeing him do this multiple times before.

If anything, it was entertaining. His hands moving impossibly fast and he chews on his cheek, sticking his tongue out in focus. You felt that strange flutter in your chest once again, realizing what it was now. Were you really falling for the dumb speedster, or did you just heavily care for his well being?

You related to Peter, both being mutants and both of your mutations causing sleep issues. You never really told him what kept you from sleeping, but that didn't stop him from telling you, yapping about every detail as he sat on the couch, legs criss cross as he holds the toes of his boot, swaying back and forth.

He can't stop moving, ever. If he stops moving, then everything slows down, and he can see everything fall into place. His mind is constantly racing, too, to try and combat the slowness of everything. If he could, he'd just sleep in micro bursts, but if he falls asleep, everything goes back to normal. He's done it before, falling asleep in the halls because everything is so slow and so peaceful, immediately falling over and drooling onto the floor.

Watching him beat the game and cheer, you see the tiredness behind his excitement. The eye bags under his eyes, the way his eyes slowly blink to give him just enough rest to keep going. You sigh and lean into him, "When's the last time you slept?"

He looks at you, eyes widening at the question and your proximity to him. "Well, uh... I don't know... maybe... Friday?" He shrugs, pulling you closer and ruffling your hair, "Why? Worried about me, hm?"

"Peter, it's Monday."

"It is?!" He says, faux surprise. "I know, I know. I just, uh... can't, ya know?" He laughs, looking around for something to distract you both. He finds the prize stand and quickly counts tickets. "786. I can get uh... not anything cool, really."

"Then let's keep playing, dingus." You punch his arm before dragging him towards more games, trying to find something he can win a lot of tickets in. You push him in front of a simple, large jackpot game. "You got this one, right?" You tease, smiling at him as his eyes scan the machine.

He nods, clearing his throat as he looks it over more, "Yeah, yeah I can get the jackpot no prob, doll." He shimmies a quarter out of the almost empty roll and puts it in the machine, leaving you stunned at the last word he said. 'Doll'? That one's new.

To Peter, everything slows down as he focuses on the spinning wheel watch each tick move clockwise. He smirks, eyes not leaving the lit up indicator. It's the first time he's seen a machine like this, actually, so he was amused to watch it go. He quickly pressed the button as it landed on the bright green panel that said 'JACKPOT!'.

You squealed as the tickets started to flow out of the ticket slot, watching the counter rise up to the big, big number of 500 tickets. You kneel down, collecting all of them so that they aren't on the floor, giggling happily as you look up at him. "Knew you could do it."

The words make Peter flustered, taken aback slight by them. It wasn't that they were unexpected, just... different. He looks down at you, leaning against the arcade cabinet and watching the tickets funnel out of the slot. He can't help but let time slow around him so he can stay in the moment longer. Your eyes looking up at him, your smile, everything. He felt at peace, and God, did he need some peace in his life. He cleared his throat as you stood up, the bunches of tickets in your fist. "Anytime." He said calmly, thinking about the response while he left his eyes to wander over you.

You both trotted over to the prize table after he did the same number a few more times (20. He did it 20 times, even after you told him to stop.), racking up your ticket pool to a solid 5 digit number. The ticket counting machine almost breakdown on you both. This caused you both to laugh softly, leaning against each other as you walked over to the prize table. Peter slid the ticket slip to the worker, who looked at him with narrow eyes. You knew what for.

"What did you do now?" The man behind the counter asks, looking down at the slip. "Ten thousand, seven hundred and eighty six fricking tickets. How?"

"I have my ways," Peter laughed, blowing across his knuckles as he shock them in front of himself. He looked over at you with a smirk. "That new games easy, might wanna turn up the difficulty."

"You got ten thousand tickets from that spinning wheel?" The worker eyed you both, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you and your friend there did just spend God knows how many hours here in the last few days to crank up this number?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Peter spoke up again, "No, mister Dan. I haven't been at the mall since last week, you can check your cameras." He pointed around to each of them before turning back to him. "So you gonna give us the alligator and crocodile plushies or what?"

Your ears perked up, remembering the doodle from earlier that day. You pulled it out and looked at it before shoving it back into your jacket pocket carefully. You walked over and followed your friend's gaze to the two stuffed animals connected by the hands. You tilted your head, trying to read the tag before it was blocked by Dan, the arcade worker.

"Here. Have fun." He grumbled.

"Hey, hey, no, I still have seven hundred and eighty-six tickets. The matching bracelets and the candy bundle, por favor, senor." Peter smiled, leaning over the glass and pointing at what he wanted. You watched the rest of the conversation, taking a step back and looking at the note and plushies again. It was funny, like he had planned it all along. You weren't sure if he did, it wouldn't be that far fetched, would it?

Peter turns back around to you and waves his hand in front of you. "Hello, earth to planet you, what's up?" He looks at you and then your hand. He laughs softly, grabbing the note from your hand and looking at it. "You kept it?"

You tilted your head, looking at him. "Yeah, of course. I mean, that was only a few hours ago anyways." You rolled your lips into your mouth, biting them softly before smiling and grabbing the bracelets from his hand. Each had a picture of the plushes, one alligator, and the other a crocodile. It was cute, the little doodle of the alligator on your note was clearly based off of the bracelet. "Who's is which?" You twirl the rubber bracelets in your fingers, smiling as you look at him.

"You get the Gator, obviously." He smiles, using his super speed to slip the bracelet on your wrist then holding his next to yours. You both laugh, the connected plush animals falling to the ground as Peter drops them. He picks them up and looks at the stitches that connects them. "Yeah, I can get a seam ripper and unconnect 'em, huh? So we can each have one."

You smile, agreeing with him, "Yeah, I'll help you so you don't fuck it up." You grabbed the plushies and wrapped them in your arms, sinking your face into the soft fabric. "Oh these are surprisingly well made, real soft. Like those Valentine's Day stuffies."

You both freeze at your words, both stopping right outside the arcade and into the mall. He wrapped an arm around you, looking around before grabbing your head and giving you a heads up before zooming back to the mansion. As you got the the front door, Beast and Charles were on the front porch. Peter hissed out a curse as both the men looked at you two.

"Have fun, Maximoff?" Hank said, looking at him with a slight tinge of anger. You don't know if that was from the escapade you two had at the mall or if it was because of something Peter did before. Before you could ask if you were in trouble, the convenient mind reader cut you off.

"You're not in trouble, but he is. Come on," Charles said, turning his chair around and opening the door, waiting for you to go in first. You knew you were going to get a stern talking to, and you hated it. There was nothing worse than being scolded by a British man that could see your every thought.

You took the walk of shame to the Professor's office, sitting down in the chair with the stuffed animals in your arms still. You knew he could tell you were afraid of getting in trouble, but that didn't keep him from doing what he had to. He gave you a warning, something he said Peter had way too many of, and this was only your second.

"Your other warning, if you remember correctly, was because of something similar with your buddy, yeah?" Charles said, looking at you. You nodded, biting the inside of your lip as you recounted the time you and Peter had went up to the roof past curfew, just to hang out a little longer. It was something anyone would do really, to chill under the night sky with their best friend. "I understand your relationship with Mister Maximoff is-"

"Relationship?" You spoke, looking up from your feet for the first time since you stepped foot in the room, "We're just friend, Professor." You looked at the bracelet around your wrist and the stuffed animals in your arms as you started to laugh slightly. "We're just friends." You repeated yourself, trying to convince yourself as well.

"Oh." was the last thing that Charles wanted to leave his mouth, eyes widening as he realizes he said it out loud. He clears his throat and tries to save himself, "Still, you are one of our school's smartest kids, you can't be acting out like this. Again, there is no punishment for you. It will, however, go on your record." He turned, pulling open a filing cabinet and taking your file out. "I'll see you in class tomorrow. Please, behave yourself so I don't have to before then."

With that, you got up and left, the room silent with only the sound of the clock above the door's second hand ticking. You weren't upset at Peter, of course not, that's your best friend, but you were mad about something. You couldn't figure it out, but you stormed to your room and locked the door, groaning as you threw yourself, and the plush animals, onto your bed. You looked at the two plushes as you laid on your back, eyeing the seam that kept them together. Maybe you should make Peter do it, after all, he got you both in trouble.

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the mall. Nothing else. That turned sour as soon as he laid his eyes on the arcade. Peter wanted to win for you. He wanted to get the matching bracelets and stuffed animals, so that maybe you'd see that he cared about you. He just never really knew how to express that.

"Look, Hank, you can skip the whole speech of having the behave if I'm gonna stay at the mansion, I get it just-" You goes to walk into the mansion and Hank's hand stops him.

"I'm sorry, Peter. You're kind of on your last warning." Hank said, his voice rough. Peter looked at him, his eyes wide.

"No, I mean, what is this, like... 25? 35...? There's no way it's more than that, man, I've basically been a saint since that time on the roof-"

"I know you have, but still. You can't keep getting away with whatever you want. You gotta promise me something, alright?" The two looked at each other before Hank continued, "This is the last stunt you're doing. You're an X-Man now, Peter. You can't keep acting like the world doesn't have consequences, and you can't take someone down with you."

"Down with me? Hank, Charles isn't writing them up, right? Listen, I'll take double the warnings if that's what it takes to keep their record clean. I didn't even properly ask, I mean, I just kinda grabbed 'em and zoomed to the mall, it's my fault, really." Peter rants, talking expressively with his hands as he always did, but this time he was stuttering and stammering as his face heated up with embarrassment. He quickly covers it and groans into his palms. "Fuck!"

"First of all, language," Hank laughs out, shaking his head, "Second of all, this isn't their first warning. You know that. And Charles would never do that, you both broke the rules. If it was brought up, even if not verbally, the Professor would probably not care to begin with. He's harsh on the rules, bud."

"I know! I know, it's just, I didn't think we'd be gone for that long!" Peter looked at Hank, a wide smile on his face as he laughed, "I thought we'd be in and out, but honestly, that arcade grabbed way too much of my attention. And they kept egging me on to keep playing, so I decided to-"

"Get enough tickets to buy the plush reptiles? Yeah, real smooth." Hank laughed. "You know that's gonna look a little suspicious, right?"

"Suspicious? What are you talking ab-" Peter blushed deeper as he saw the look on his friend's face, "I do not have a crush on them!" He stomped, zipping around the porch in anger. "Okay, maybe, but shut up!" He continued the little bit of a temper tantrum on the porch and when he finally got out all the frustration he stopped in front of Hank. "What do I gotta do to clean my record? Anything, Beast, anything at all I'll-"

The next day, you walk into one of your classes and see Peter standing at the front, a look of defeat wiping away as soon as he saw you. "Hey!" He said, running up to you, unusual as he'd almost zoom up on you and hug you whatever way he thought was funniest.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have like Danger Room duty or something?" You asked, looking at him with a little bit of worry because of what happened the day before.

"Oh, yeah, that's after this though, I kinda owe one, or well, a lot, to Charles for letting me crash here and, well, uh.... This is one of the things I have to do to scrub clean that 'bad boy' record. Did you know I have the most warnings? Yesterday was the 50th."

Your eyes widened at his words, blinking a few times. You laugh as you realize a new addition to his usually terrible fashion chooses. "What's with the collar?"

Peter sighed, groaning as he fixed his jacket to try and hide it, "It's supposed to repress my mutated gene, in turn making it to where I can't speed through the chores I'm supposed to do." He says, clearly mocking either Charles or Hank.

You move his jacket to look at it again before smiling up at him, "Well, don't let me distract you, Mister Maximoff." You said before patting his cheek and going to sit in your chair. You looked back at him and saw his bright, goofy smile, which warmed your heart, making getting through the rest of the day a lot easier.

Peter slowly, oh so painstakingly slow, went around the day, cleaning the mansion head to toe, teaching some as a substitute, and helping Hank with his day to day. He was basically, in his words, a 'paper pusher' the whole day. He did mundane things when he could be training to be a better X-Man. It annoyed him, but if it meant being able to stay at the mansion, being a X-Man, and staying close to you, he'd do it ten times!

The most annoying part, though, was that he couldn't use his powers. This also caused the day to seem a lot faster, since he didn't space out and slow down time accidentally. As soon as the last of the classes ended, he walked up to Hank, "Alright, take it off now, please? Please, please, please!" He pointed at that damned neck collar and grumbled, shaking his hand rapidly as he waited for Hank, who was going as slow as he possible could to watch Peter's reaction.

"Alright, I get it. World's fastest mutant misses his powers. Thanks for being a test subject." Hank laughed softly, unclasping the collar from Peter. He watched was the younger man speed around the lab, making sure not to upset any of the stacks of papers around them both.

"Thank you! Oh my GOD, you have no idea what my day was like. Wait- did you say test subject?"

"Well, yeah, who do you think developed the technology?" Hank laughed, sitting back down and looking at Peter. "It was just a small thing I worked on to past the time."

"That thing could've killed me?!" Peter exclaimed.

"No, I tested it myself before, but because my mutation is, well, uh... physical, it didn't do anything to me. You have an actual power, beside turning blue."

"Oh..." was all Peter could say, staring into space for a moment, "Alright, but that means, my day is done? I'm free from doing this again right?"

"You think one day of chores is enough to repay all the broken rules?" Hank laughed softly, "Try a whole week."

"A week?!" Peter groaned, falling to his knees dramatically, "You're gonna kill me, Beast..."

"Well, that's not the plan." Hank chuckles, turning back to whatever he was working on. "Go. I'm sure they'll wanna hear all about your day."

Peter's eyes lit up at those words, had forgotten you existed for the last few hours. He zoomed out of the Lab and up to the main floor of the mansion, jumping back and forth eagerly in the elevator as he planned out how to surprise you. You probably hadn't made it to your room yet, so if he slipped in and stood there til you walked in, that would be a shocker, right? But first he had to find you.

With a quick lap of the Mansion, he found you walking up the stairs to your room. He smiled as he passed you, the quick air making you groan as you realized what happened. You run up the stairs faster and open the door to find Peter standing there, looking at a nonexistent watch and tapping his foot.

"Heyyyy," He said, turning to you with his arms open, waiting for you to run into them. But you didn't. You sat on your bed with a groan as you walked past him. "What? What happened, why are you bummed? You were fine this morning, who bummed you out? Do you want me to beat 'em up?" He asked a hundred questions a second as he walked over to you, sitting on the foot of your bed.

"No, I'm just tired. Don't get into any fights, please." You groan, laying on your side as you looked at him. You eyes brightened as you realized you actually had something for him, "Oh! Right, look!" You got up quickly and reached under your bed, pulling out the alligator and the crocodile plushes from under your bed, which were now separated.

Peter's eyes lit up and he grabs the gator from your hand and beams a bright smile, "Oh my goodness, you did it?! You didn't, like, rip them to shreds because you were mad at me?" He laughed hugging you tightly.

"No, what the hell do I look like?" You laugh, a little out of breath as he squeeze you. He pulled away, letting you breath and continue. "You're my best friend, man, I'd never do that to you. especially when we got in trouble for rescuing these from big nasty mister Dan, huh?"

Peter laughed, falling back onto your bed and holding the plush alligator to his chest. He had forgotten about the bracelet around his wrist and his eyes gleamed as he saw it. "Well, speaking about that, uh, getting in trouble?" He looked at you, his face softening, making you know his next words.

"You don't need to apologize, Peter." You quickly cut him off, mirroring his position with the crocodile against your chest, laying back next to him. "Just, uh.. promise me something?"

"Yeah, yeah, anything, what's up?" Peter turns to the side, looking over at you as he props his head up with his elbow. You look really nice, and he couldn't get that thought to go away. There was something different about today, seeing the things he had done, bringing you down with him, getting you in trouble with Charles. It made him love you even more, he had carelessly kept living the way he had before meeting you. He realized his thoughts and gaze caused everything around him to freeze as you hadn't replied to him yet. He shook himself free, looking at you, "Hm?"

"Use the journal. Maybe it'll help keep you in check, too, yeah?" You ask, putting out your pinky finger. He had completely forgotten about it, honestly, but if he was gonna make a promise to you, he'd have to keep it. He nodded and made the pinky promise with you. You both laid there for a moment before bursting into nervous laughter, sitting up and continuing with the both of your night.

[valictini]

I've been asking myself these questions regarding totk's story and my deep disappointment in it, because I know a lot of people loved it, I know a lot of people felt it was a better story than botw, and I know a lot of people believe that Zelda games never had good stories to begin with....

But no, I do think the story objectively sucks, is worse than botw's, and could have easily been better. Totk's story is flashier and that's pretty much all it has to offer.

Part of it is its execution, how using the same blueprint as botw (deliberately non linear) was a baffling move when you tried to tell a linear story. You shouldn't be punished for pursuing the story earlier than when the devs planned. You shouldn't be able to spoil yourself the story. You shouldn't be presented with the exact same information 4+ times at points where you're supposed to be rewarded for your efforts. You shouldnt have to slog through a mystery when the game KNOWS you already know the answer. And yet, this happened to an alarmingly large number of people!

So yes, the execution wasn't good.

But the story itself isn't good either. Not only did they decide to cut ties with botw's lore, but they didn't even fully commit to the new lore they introduced.

The zonai civilisation has no substance. We see two (2) of its members and only interact with their ghosts in very, very few instances. During those interactions, we do learn tidbits of this civilisation, but as soon as the tutorial is over, you will never learn anything new from a zonai again. A couple lines during the tutorial is where the bulk of zonai lore happens. The rest is: jumping minigame said to be the same ritual young zonai would do to become adults and the explanation of draconification.

You could maybe say that the mere existence of zonai tech, the mere existence of secret stones, the zonai gear and the ancient hero aspect could be considered zonai lore. But what these things only really add to the lore is that the Zonai 1) were always everywhere and 2) were very powerful. That's pretty much it.

(The ancient hero aspect is especially infuriating to me. It could be a whole post.)

So, not only did they replace the Sheikah by the Zonai for no reason, they didn't even flesh them out enough to be interesting. But they didn't exploit the rest of the story to its fullest either.

- The heart of the story happens in the ancient era, yet we don't see much of it. All the new things we see: the inside of ancient hyrule castle's throne room, a garden and one (1) gazebo in a field. We don't get lore for the dungeons aside from their name, and the ancient sages don't add anything to them either. In general, we don't get lore of the ancient races, not even the hylians or the gerudos.

- Zelda was retconed into being stupid enough not to make the connection between Ganondorf and calamity Ganon. She was also sent back into being a compliant little princess that can't put her foot down when she knows the people around her are making mistakes.

(As an aside, I'm fully of the opinion that Calamity Ganon was a better antagonist than Ganondorf. At least you don't have to fanfic your way into understanding why he wants Hyrule destroyed. He's a magical beast full of hatred, the end.)

- The whole plot is centered around dragons, and yet totk manages to have LESS content surrounding the three dragons of Hyrule than fucking botw.

- Hylia is no relevant anymore. The statues are apparently their own entities? And they have counterparts in the depths with he bargainer statues? Never elaborated on.

The ending cutscene contains a deus ex machina that manages to retcon elements of its OWN story. (Rauru was supposed to be gone after the tutorial. Zelda was supposed to be gone after becoming a dragon.) Realistically, I knew Zelda wouldn't stay a dragon, but I was genuinely shocked at how little of an explanation we get for her return.

And we have 0 impact on her return as a player. Nothing we do matters. She turns back no matter what. Despite many opportunities to make it work in universe.

We could have had something tied with the other dragons, the three sources, to Purah's experiments with time, to the four temples, to Hylia, to the bargainer statues, to the triforce...

But no, just a vague "ghosts that should have disappeared eons ago use their powers to get her back through your arm".

We don't even have an alternate bad ending where this doesn't happen. It will happen, no matter what. For the cinematic shot at the end.

Oh and Link had to get his arm back too. I know they needed their cool parallel of Link catching her hand at the same angle as when he failed to do so at the beginning, but it just all feels so inconsequential as a result.

Everything's solved, everything's good, nothing that happened in this game ever mattered.

[suzdin]

Washed Up Has-Been: a Dieter Bravo one shot

Dieter Bravo x F!Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: soft!Dieter, sweet!Dieter, smut, angst, bodily insecurities, reader is plus sized but no other physical attributes are described, Dieter is a little chubby as well, mentions of drugs and alcohol, oral (m receiving), mention of sex toys, fluff? (gasp!), did I forget anything? I know next to nothing about the film industry, don’t judge me :(

Word Count: 2,800

Enjoy and feel free to reblog and comment if you wish! 💜🙂

——

Dieter Bravo had not been the same since Cliff Beasts 6.

What did they call it? Losing your spark? Your mojo? Your moxy? Whatever it was called, he’d lost it, along with his marbles… if he ever had any to begin with, and he was sure many would agree he hadn’t.

The reviews were bad, abhorrent, really. ‘Dieter Bravo as Gio Ricci baffling’, ‘Bravo couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag’, ‘I can’t believe this man has an Oscar’, ‘Did he get his Italian accent at an Olive Garden?’, on and on the critics wailed and lambasted.

He’d had a mental break shortly after the premier, firing everyone he could in his vicinity — his publicist, his hair stylist and manicurist, hell, even his agent of twenty five years. He’d hired a new one, of course, a potential script FedExed to his door that morning, fist curled and white knuckled in anger around the thick stack of papers as he perched himself like a sentient gargoyle on his couch, in the tattered clothes he’d been wearing for nearly a week.

A dad. They wanted him to play a fucking dad, some sort of buddy comedy family film opposite Dwayne Johnson, it might be a good move for your career, buddy, his agent had explained. But seriously, him? Hollywood heart throb Dieter Bravo, reduced to playing someone’s bumbling father, opposite THE FUCKING ROCK?

He couldn’t believe it.

He had put on some weight since his last film, sure, but that was no reason or excuse to allow himself to be typecasted as a dad.

Or was it the ever persistent graying in his hair and beard? The laugh lines? The crow’s feet?

‘Dieter Bravo is a washed up has-been’ the internet screamed at him daily, leading him to drown himself in an endless stream of drugs and alcohol…more so than he was already doing, anyway.

He was barely a functioning person. A husk of his former self, he could no longer get it up, unsure whether to blame the drugs or his steadily fleeting mental health, and even putting brush to canvas felt more like a chore than an escape nowadays. He’d become a hermit in his own home, the ghastly, aging 1970s mid-century horror he resided in the Hollywood Hills, that he thought was amazing when he originally bought it a decade ago.

Well, much like him, older things fall apart, and the house was a piece of shit, which was apt.

He had hired you as his assistant and he was so vague as to what that entailed that you were sort of a jack of all trades as far as helping was concerned, acting as his maid, his cook, the middle man to screen his calls, his emails, so on and so forth. Hell, you even took care of the large python he’d bought ‘because it looked cool’, that he was now too scared to touch, himself.

You did it all, and although he never properly expressed as much, he was more grateful for you than he let on.

He always found you pretty, too. Beautiful, even, and not in the fake way he’d grown used to, living in Hollywood. You were kind, sweet, and uncorrupted by a crueler world, always happy and eager to assist him with whatever he needed.

And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of you sheathed around his cock was the only thing that could even get him half hard anymore.

When you arrive for the day, you find him on his couch, glowering at what you can only assume is another bad script, graying hair disheveled and curling away from his skull, teeth gritted in disdain. A look you had come to recognize and were more than familiar with.

“Let me take that to the garbage for you,” you offer, as you normally do in these situations, stepping forward to reach for the offending script.

His eyes clock the way your breasts sway when you walk, the roundness of your belly, the plushness of your arms. He can’t help but stare; he wants to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

He swallows, moving the script away from your extended hand and tucking it behind a cushion, distracted by your body.

“No — no, it’s okay,” he replies and his voice feels like gravel in his throat, realizing he hasn’t spoken all day until now.

Although the script sucks and he doesn’t want to do it, he needs the money. “Thanks.”

You notice his eyes on you and you sit, leaving about a foot of space between you to maintain a modicum of professionalism, observing the sadness behind his dark brown eyes and knowing this has been the norm for several months now but still hating it for what it is.

“What’s on the docket for today?” you ask him and he shrugs, unhelpfully, his lips pulled into a frown, shadows staining the lines of his face. You haven’t seen him this bad in a while.

“I can… make you some hot tea?” you ask, looking down at the schedule in your lap, of which nothing is jotted down for the day.

He shakes his head, carding a hand through his hair. “No. I’m out of tea.”

You chew your lip. “Okay… well, then I guess I’m running to the store today. I have a list already, but can you think of anything else?”

Once again, he shakes his head. “No. I’ll just order it or something.”

You frown and tuck the schedule away, crossing your legs and turning to face him, contemplative.

“Then what do you want me to do today? You’re paying me to be here,” you note. “Unless you’d rather I go home.”

“No!” he damn near shouts, making you jump, and he immediately regrets his lack of impulse control. His gaze traverses your subtle cleavage and you clear your throat, heat warming your skin. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t want to be alone right now. Can we just hang out?” he queries.

“Dieter, are you okay?” you question and he shakes his head in response.

“No.” A single word that says so much more than that. It pulls at your heart strings, seeing him like this. “I — I’m a nobody.”

“You aren’t a nobody, you’re Oscar winner Dieter fucking Bravo,” you counter, and he snorts, picking at some dry skin on his ankle.

“Yeah, Dieter fucking Bravo, the aging has-been who can’t act his way out of a paper bag,” he snorts.

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to take away your internet access so you can’t read all the mean tweets about yourself,” you threaten.

“You wouldn’t.”

“One call to your financial advisor and I would and could,” you retort and Dieter scoffs, trying to remember if he’d fired him yet or not.

You cross your arms and flop back against the worn and flattened couch cushions, eyeing him smugly.

The movement pushes your chest up and out, his gaze on you once again and he isn’t subtle about it this time. You clear your throat and stir, staring back at his soft, plush lips.

“Dieter—“

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and the spontaneity of it catches you off guard, your jaw hanging agape in disbelief and confusion.

“…What?”

It had been months since anyone had touched him, had wanted to touch him, and now, as he stares at your body and smells your light vanilla perfume, after the shitty week he’s had, he needs to be touched, even if only briefly.

“Come… here,” he repeats, more dogged than before, and in spite of yourself, despite how unprofessional it is, you find yourself scooting forward.

He grabs your hips when you’re within reach and drags you the rest of the way, pulling the cushion partially off the couch in the process, a small yelp of surprise escaping your lungs as he softly grips your face to bring his lips to yours.

They’re plush, dry, lightly chapped and he tastes a little like whiskey and weed, but you don’t really mind, his coarse, wiry mustache scratching and tickling against your nose.

Suddenly, with a soft groan in the back of his throat, his hand is under your shirt, cupping your breast, and you break the kiss, looking down to where his arm disappears beneath the fabric, shock settling over your features.

“Dee… are you… are you sure?” you ask. You don’t exactly look like the people Dieter had been confirmed dating in the past, and you feel a wave of trepidation, your self conscious nature bubbling to the surface. You’ve always felt Dieter Bravo was more than a little out of your league.

Not that you’re dating him, but, you know.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure,” he tuts and kisses you again, rougher this time, palming your breast, making your cunt throb.

He groans. You’re so good to him, always taking such good care of him, and you feel exactly the way he thought you would, warm and luscious and supple, his dick already fighting with the seam of his pajama pants, the first time in weeks.

And you’ve wanted this, too, as long as you’ve worked for him, never confessing your feelings for fear of losing your job. You never imagined Dieter fucking Bravo would feel the same way about you.

You know Dee needs this, you need this, and you want to make him feel good.

You brush a hand over his hardening cock and he damn near bucks himself straight off the couch with a grunt and a sharply uttered, “Fuck” against your lips. You grin into his mouth at how much composure he’s already lost from so few touches.

You pull away after a moment and scoot off the couch, sinking onto your knees in front of him, nestling yourself between his broad thighs.

He watches you, rigid cock tremoring in his pants at the sight, the outline of it clearly visible and straining against the fabric. “You… you don’t have to…” His voice is thick, haggard.

“Let me take care of you, Dee,” you mewl as you nuzzle your face against the squishy paunch of his stomach, lifting his shirt to plant small, reverent kisses in a circle around his belly button. He giggles and flinches at the contact.

“Sorry, sorry — ticklish,” he explains and you smile, placing a few more kisses there, more delicate than the ones that preceded them, trailing a line from his navel to the thick swathe of hair leading to his crotch.

Despite the pounds he’s put on recently, he doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable in front of you, eyes darkening as he drinks you in visually, lips tight and parted, breaths growing deeper in the barrel of his chest.

You look up and from your current perspective, he’s all wild haired and broad shouldered, panting, your cunt clenching with desire as you eye him with a wry grin.

You smooth his shirt down over his belly and move your face to the hard bulge below, nosing the bulk of it through the fabric and inhaling his natural scent, thick and musky and masculine in your nostrils. You both groan in unison.

“Dear god,” he grunts, “I feel like I’m about to— aaaaugh— fucking bust already.”

“Save it for my mouth, at least,” you snip and his head rolls back against the cushion at your words, the one with the sag in the middle where his neck always rests, eyes sliding shut.

“You’re so good for me,” he pants softly, already so close to falling apart, “I take you for granted and I’m sorry.”

“Dieter, shh.” You find the stretchy waistband of his striped trousers and drag them down his hips, not all surprised to see he’s gone commando, cock springing free from the cage of fabric, uncut and dribbling against the drag of soft cotton. He’s girthy, and you’ve never seen one intact in the flesh before — literally — a small puff of air escaping your lips, taking in the sight of him for a few seconds before coming to your senses.

“Is everything alr—“ he starts to ask, cutting himself off when you unexpectedly cup his heavy balls in your palm and lick a slow stripe up his length with the flat of your tongue, his hips quivering and bucking involuntarily. “Shit—“

You grin, humming satisfactorily to yourself and continue to tease him, his hands finding your hair, fingers twisting at the roots as the rings he insists on wearing get caught in the strands, pulling ever so slightly. You moan.

You feel incredible, your tongue working his most sensitive areas, and he’s having a hard time holding it together, torso heaving above you, tiny whimpers departing his lips, and he hasn’t even entered your mouth yet.

You sense how much trouble he’s having at keeping himself in check, so you back off a touch to give him a momentary reprieve, shifting to kiss along the meat of his inner thighs, nipping at the tiny elephant tattoos etched into his skin as you do so.

He cups one hand on the back of your neck, watching you through half-lidded eyes, your lips like pure velvet and heaven.

He’s already forgotten about the shitty script tucked into the couch, about the bad reviews and the critics with their cruel, baseless quips. Faded away to nothingness, akin to what he experiences when he’s completely blitzed, negative thoughts dissolving to the back of his mind to be discarded, and for now, for the moment, the only thing that matters is you, your beauty, and how well you take care of him.

After what seems like an eternity of small, worshipping, teasing touches to the insides of his thighs and the rim of his belly, your lips return to his cock, lapping at the precum that’s beaded up at the slit before taking him into your mouth, hand fisted at the base as you work him into your throat.

He’s impervious at this point to keep his hips flush against the couch, shuddering into your mouth as you take him and pushing further down your throat, not entirely on purpose, moaning as the wet heat of your mouth engulfs him.

“Wanna— fuck your pussy next time— with a vibrating plug in your ass,” he grunts, hardly able to string a single cohesive thought together, making your cunt throb and slick leak into the cradle of your panties.

Dieter wasn’t one to shy away from toys, and in fact had an entire drawer full of them, which you had accidentally stumbled upon one day when putting away some of his clothes; everything from butt plugs to cock rings to flesh lights with multiple attachments and bondage gear.

You steady his hips with your hands and hold him in place as best you can, difficult with how much stronger he is than you, jaw stretching to fit him, the musky tang of him flooding your tastebuds.

You steadily rock your head up and down his length, taking him all the way to the back of your throat, and you can feel the veins running the length of his shaft pulsating against your tongue, feel the way his balls tighten as he edges ever closer to the precipice.

He’s wanted you, needed you, for so long, that he can’t contain himself much longer. His hips begin to stutter and you feel his body growing taut, hear his breaths growing shallow and haggard, fingers curling against your scalp.

“I’m… I’m gonna… fucking cum,” he grunts deep in his chest. That’s all the warning he allows before his hips stall and he lets out a visceral growl of pleasure, spilling a hot and heavy load across your tongue, some of it seeping out at the edges and dribbling down his thighs until you’re able to steady yourself.

You hold him in your mouth until you feel the very last drop hit the back of your throat, slowly pulling off only when you feel him starting to go soft.

“You should really clean up this awful mess you’ve made,” Dieter taunts when you sit back to catch your breath, watching the cocktail of spend and saliva slide down his tan skin.

You grin and tip your head forward to obediently lap at the escaped fluids. He groans as he savors the delicious sight of you, affectionately brushing his fingers through your hair as you do so.

After a moment, you rise from the ground, your knees cracking from the exertion, joining him on the couch as he tugs his pajama bottoms back up his hips.

He snakes an arm around the small of your back and kisses you, deep and full, moaning when he tastes remnants of himself on your tongue.

He grins against your lips and then rises, yanking you off the couch and giggling along with you when you pass him a perplexed look.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, pleased to see him happy and relaxed again after all this time, to actually see him smiling.

“You took care of me, so I’m going to take care of you. You’re familiar with my special drawer, aren’t you?”

—

FIN. xx

[ironmandeficiency]

stupid goose

pairing: fíli / hobbit!reader

word count: 2953

summary: a goose followed fili into erebor and refused to leave

a/n: this has taken over my brain

no one knew where that damn demon bird came from. all anyone knew is that when fíli returned from the markets of dale one day, he was trailed by a goose. this goose demanded in very angry honks to be let into erebor right behind the golden prince, and despite every attempt made to shoo the thing outside, the goose remained.

it honked during council meetings, entertained some of the young pebbles that had returned to erebor with their families, and generally caused a disturbance everywhere it waddled. fíli took to naming his new pet trøbbel, and he grew to appreciate the feathered chaos harbinger.

thorin couldn’t stand the damn thing. it would flap and honk and nip at him at the most odd times, namely when he was scolding his nephews. the king under the mountain was halfway convinced that fíli trained it to behave so.

the days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and trøbbel stuck around through it all. he was a common companion, and a very proper one indeed. eventually he learned some semblance of patience; the standard amount of patience in geese was alarmingly similar to the patience of dwarves.

trøbbel definitely lived up to his name, so much so that when bilbo sent word that he was planning a springtime visit to the mountain in a few months’ time, multiple correspondents thought it fit to warn their burglar about the newest addition.

“dear bilbo,

the company is delighted to hear of your pending visit to the mountain! many things have changed for the better since uncle was crowned king (not his temper, unfortunately for us all). everyone is looking forward to seeing you again, though i do carry a warning with this letter.

you see, a few months ago i involuntarily acquired a wild goose as a companion. he made himself known to me after leaving dale one afternoon and rather violently refused to be parted from my side.

this goose is a mighty beast that honks and bites diplomats (dwalin never loved him more than when he nipped at thranduil upon first glance of the elf) and steals food from the plates of those not paying attention. i warn you because trøbbel is very suspicious of new people, and i don’t want you falling victim to his wiles if he finds that you don’t have snacks for him upon arrival.

see you soon,

prince fíli”

bilbo was baffled. he was confuddled, stupefied even. how in yavanna’s green gardens fíli ended up with a goose was beyond his reckoning. the last time he heard of a goose forcing its way into someone’s life in this manner was being told the story of how his parents met when he was a wee fauntling.

it was a somewhat rare phenomenon among hobbits to be found by a goose in such a way. they were said to guide hobbits to their soulmates, the other half of their soul as created by lady yavanna. the goddess had to create an animal stubborn enough to aid her hobbit children in finding their soulmates, one that could easily navigate the hills and rivers of their lands, and the goose was her solution.

even though erebor was no west farthing, bilbo could imagine that any goose worth its tail feathers would find a way to survive in the lonely mountain. and, based on the letter he just read, one has.

taking into consideration the thing’s audacity, that bird of fíli’s is definitely a soulmate goose, and a right bugger at that.

the first thing he now had to do was inform fortinbras of this development. as thain and cousin, bilbo was sure that he could find some sound advice there.

now, if bilbo could figure out how to explain that fíli has a hobbit for a soulmate without putting thorin and balin into their deathbeds, that would be just peachy.

“HONK! HONK HONK!”

“i cannot believe you, tansy!”

“HONK!”

“yeah you better run, you wretched thing!”

tansy the goose had to be the biggest pain in the backside you’ve ever met, and that’s saying something considering the run-ins you’ve had with the bracegirdles.

she followed you to the markets, when you went on walks among the meadows and fields, and even snuck into the washroom to be there when you bathed. in your opinion, it was all a bit too much.

your tansy gave the wizard gandalf a run for his money when it came to disturbing the peace. on days you went to the market, she would follow you and honk all the way at passersby and intimidate them off the dirt path you were on.

she also picked up a very peculiar habit of trying to (and sometimes succeeding to) snag fine jewelry from the booths of dwarrow traveling through from the blue mountains. every time you would turn and see a shiny glint of silver or gold hanging from her beak, your heart would drop to your feet in fear. thus far, the merchants you’ve encountered were very understanding of your feathery thief and harbored no ill will against you as you returned their wares to the tune of an angry goose.

while those situations were mortifying and anxiety-inducing, you’ve reached the end of your rope today. tansy has committed a grievous sin by brutalizing your blackberry patch to the point of there being almost nothing left worth eating and you’ve had it up to your ears with her.

you chased her with a wooden spoon as you ranted about her foul deed and resolved to talk to someone about what to do about tansy the chaos goose. maybe the thain would have some advice?

“uncle! we’ve got a reply from bilbo!” kíli waved the letter in the air excitedly as he barged into his uncle’s chambers.

fíli follows kíli in, rolling his eyes as he snatches the parchment from his brother’s hand. “no, i got a reply from bilbo.”

the golden prince makes no mention of the second page bilbo wrote to him with explicit instructions to keep it to himself. that morsel of information was for him and him alone - well, for him and trøbbel, of course.

“hurry up and read it!”

“i would if you’d stop flapping about like trøbbel!”

in response to being compared to kíli (or maybe just hearing his name), trøbbel honked indignantly.

“dearest fíli,

it pleases me greatly to know that erebor is flourishing under your uncle’s rule. i am most excited to see you all again, especially in the comforts of your home.

while i thank you for your warning, i have some news of my own to share. there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip-“

thorin cut off his nephew, his bright mood upon receiving bilbo’s correspondence immediately clouding over. “he’s bringing a hobbit lass?” the king’s thoughts immediately sour with thoughts of his burglar introducing the company to a spouse wooed by his tales of adventure.

both brothers caught the sudden wave of melancholy that surged through their uncle. his feelings for bilbo were a poorly-kept secret among the company, but there were none who had the courage to call attention to it.

“you’re almost as bad as kee with interrupting me,” fíli chastised before clearing his throat to continue.

“-there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip that shares in your feathered predicament. with the description you gave me of your trøbbel, i’d bet all of my fourteenth share that he’d get along swimmingly with her tansy. she’s a menace, that one.”

“see uncle, you can remove that frown! bilbo isn’t courting anyone back in the shire!” kíli interjected with a small smile and an elbow nudge, hoping to goad thorin back into a good mood.

fíli sighed the sigh of a long-suffering older brother. “this is exactly what i mean when i talk about you interrupting me, kee!”

“but he was sad!”

“and i’m annoyed!”

“boys!”

one word put the squabbling siblings back in line.

“sorry, uncle.”

“do continue, fíli.”

“i send this letter ahead of me from bree. i hope you receive it in proper time so you can prepare the mountain for the impending doom that will be brought upon by two geese occupying erebor.

if you note the bite marks in bottom right corner and the occasional blots of stray ink on the parchment, those are courtesy of tansy. she sends her well wishes along with mine.

your burglar,

bilbo baggins”

thorin looks at trøbbel where he’s squatted directly on top of thorin’s favorite bedpillow like the cruel beast he is. the smug bastard has a wicked gleam in his eye as if he knows he’ll soon have a partner in crime to terrorize the whole mountain alongside.

oh mahal, please watch over this mountain.

erebor was teeming with anticipation, both for the arrival of the famed dragonriddler and for the next act of war from trøbbel. for nigh on three weeks, the royal bird has been eerily well-behaved. this was so out of character that fíli carried his companion to óin in the hopes the healer could figure out what malady had struck his friend.

there was nothing obvious to blame for the sudden silence of the royal bird, so the healer told fíli to watch over his bird and take as good care of him as possible.

he didn’t know much of anything about geese, so he simply opted to treat his companion like kíli when he was sick.

a cozy new bed was constructed, fíli monitored his food, and things seemed to be getting better. trøbbel slowly came back to his regular gremlin self, causing chaos that was mildly tamer than before.

at least the mountain didn’t get too comfortable without his shenanigans, because when bilbo arrived with his companion and their goose, all hell broke loose.

“hmm,” bilbo hummed to himself as he observed tansy sitting demurely on her designated pillow. she’d been oddly calm today, as if she knew where her company was going.

when bilbo explained the significance of tansy’s appearance in your life, you were flabbergasted. the idea of true soulmates was a sweet one yet painfully unrealistic in your eyes, something you read in bedtime stories. but with both bilbo and thain fortinbras’s confirmation that you received a soulmate goose from yavanna, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

then bilbo claimed he knew your soulmate and had fought alongside him against trolls and goblins and orcs and a dragon. he told you that he was rather fond of the dwarves of erebor, and that they were rambunctious and honorable.

but when he spoke of king thorin, the uncle of your soulmate, something was decidedly different from how he spoke of the rest of the company he kept. you could see the way his body visibly relaxed, how his eyes were softer and the appearance of pink on the tips of his ears.

your friend clearly held something more than respect for the dwarf king.

one night around the campfire, you told tansy about your suspicions. for a hooligan goose, she was a rather good conversationalist.

“i think bilbo loves that king of his, tansy.”

“HONK!”

“exactly! that’s what i was thinking!”

tansy honks back in response. living among hobbits, she seemed to pick up on some social etiquettes and right now, it was as if you were pleasantly chatting over afternoon tea.

you pondered what to do about this new development. bilbo was always seen as a bachelor, someone unattainable by shire standards. but just maybe, by the grace of yavanna, he’ll find his love in the heart of a king.

“say tansy,” a soft honk of acknowledgement came from your goose, “when you’re done leading me to my soulmate, can you help bilbo find his?”

in years to come, you will swear by the fact tansy nodded at you that evening by the fire.

“they’re here!”

“bilbo!”

“our burglar has returned!”

in the distance, they could see bilbo making his way towards the front entrance of erebor and unbridled joy swept through the company. how they’ve all missed their burglar in his absence from the mountain.

bard was walking alongside bilbo, who had dismounted from his pony when he entered dale and was guiding him along by the reins. at bilbo’s other side was another hobbit, presumably the lass he mentioned in his letter, and waddling with pride beside them was a goose wearing a red ribbon tied into a neat bow.

fíli made a break for the front gates as soon as the horn announcing bilbo’s arrival echoed through the crisp air. he genuinely missed bilbo and was plenty excited to meet the goose (and the hobbitess) described in his letters.

trøbbel dutifully followed behind his dwarf, waddling just fast enough to keep pace. at first. but in the distance, the royal goose of erebor heard a honk that resonated so deeply in him that he couldn’t dawdle with fíli, he had to go immediately.

his orange webbed feet pitter-pattered on the stone floors with the intensity of oliphaunts and the speed of rhosgobel rabbits, honking all the way. members of the company hollered after the speeding goose but trøbbel paid them no heed, far too focused on his destination.

“oi! trøbbel you mangy beast, get back here!”

“you ain’t beatin’ us to our burglar!”

the dwarves stood no chance at catching him, only following behind him like goslings in a rather lopsided row. apparently, trøbbel was going to beat them.

tansy was going to turn you grey long before your time if she had anything to say about it.

that wild beast of a bird strutted into dale with the attitude of the most pretentious hobbits in the west farthing, catching all sorts of strange looks from the big folk who never beheld such a human-acting animal. she honked and nodded to the growing crowd in greeting. you sighed at her antics but carried on, watching as bilbo’s entire countenance changed the closer he got to his dwarrow.

watching the entrance to the dwarven kingdom grow ever closer, you felt strangely lighter, almost as if you were coming home.

before you knew it, there was a stampede of dwarrow emerging from the front gates headed straight towards you and bilbo, led by a goose. logic told you that they were his friends from the journey, that they missed him more than you could imagine missing anyone.

but then tansy let out a screeching honk unlike anything you’ve ever heard in all your days. she immediately bolted for the feathered line leader, not even the slightest bit worried about being trampled by the pounding feet of dwarrow.

“tansy! tansy! oh you reckless fiend, you’re lucky i didn’t cook you on the way here!”

chasing after her was a terrible idea. instead, you elected to watch from beside your pony and hope for the best.

recalling bilbo’s stories, you could point out a few of his companions. bombur with his braided beard that weaves into itself, nori with the star points atop his head, thorin with his raven-colored hair…

the king of erebor was running like a hooligan towards bilbo at full speed, a wide smile on his face that bilbo led you to believe was a nigh impossible feat.

you nudge your friend with a smile, wondering why his feet weren’t going a mile a minute to reunite with his dwarf. “go to him,” you whispered. this seemed to spur him into action, bilbo making a mad dash for his king.

when thorin caught bilbo in a leaping embrace, their laughter was infectious. even tansy was honking joyously with them, echoed by another bit of loud honking you couldn’t place.

looking over, your tansy was nuzzling with the ereborian goose. they were waddling around each other inquisitively at first, then plopped down to the side of the path to watch the joyous reunion of king and burglar.

within moments, you realized what this meant: your soulmate was on his way. oh green gardens, you weren’t ready!

meeting your prince soulmate now, after a ragged journey across middle earth while covered in yavanna-knows-what, had your nerves vibrating with tension. your hands were clammy, eyes flitting around to spot him based on bilbo’s descriptions.

“trøbbel! oi you bugger, how dare you run ahead!”

you heard one voice clearly through the thicket of joyous bustling, and the entire world came to a screeching halt.

your soulmate wore a smile that could have blinded you, and his laughter put you in a tailspin. in the golden light of morning, his hair shone like the wheat fields you grew up playing in.

you had to be closer to him without another moment’s delay.

without your permission, your feet began to carry you into the growing crowd of dwarrow towards fíli. part of you wanted to dig your heels into the dirt because you didn’t know what to say to him! how did one even begin to introduce themselves to the person that the gods made to be their other half?

turns out you didn’t have to answer that question on your own.

in the time he spent on the road with bilbo, fíli learned quite a few pieces of important information about hobbits. they valued their food and their gardens, and placed great importance on flowers and their meanings. so when presented with his hobbit soulmate, he knew exactly how to make a good first impression.

presenting you a few sprigs of purple lilacs, he approached his one with a charming smile. “i imagine you’re starving from the trip here, love. would you like me to fetch you a warm meal straight from the royal kitchens?”

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Chapter 7

Summary: Raphael’s prized investments explore an arcane tower.

[AO3]

Chapter 7: The Sussur Tree

Raphael was working on his contracts when he felt the twinge of a Sending spell on the back of his neck.

“Little Mouse.  Bulette.”   

Raphael immediately grabbed his scrying mirror.  Korrilla should have been more detailed.  She had an additional twenty two words.

His adventurers and his Mouse were fighting a Bulette in the Underdark.  Raphael watched the scene just to see the burning Tiefling get thrown several meters away by one of the monstrosity’s leaps.  She cried out in pain and hobbled as she tried to return to the fight.

The beast charged again, and Raphael watched as Tavara flew several meters away to avoid a clear collision.  He recognized the preemptive motion and the relatively soft landing as Korrilla using telekinesis to protect the Mouse from harm.

The Sharran had conjured guardians to protect her as she closed the distance, and the Bulette responded by spitting acidic phlegm into her face.  She shrieked and tried desperately to conjure water to rinse out her eyes.  The monster then closed its teeth on the Gith’s right arm, causing her to drop her blade as she cried out. 

The Warlock wielded a singing blade and fought back, coughing up dust and grime as the creature tried to prevent him from using his Eldritch blasts.  The vampling snapped the string of his bow and was spouting curses.  Meanwhile, the wizard stood lamely in the center of the chaos lobbing spells at the creature and not being targeted by its wrath.  Such a dumb beast to let the weakest amongst them wreak so much havoc.

Raphael felt like he was watching a mortal circus as his investments tried to kill the creature.  There was no organization of their efforts, only haphazard blows and spells.  As the monstrosity breathed a death rattle, the only one left unscathed was the donkey.

“Such a glorious day of victory!” the wizard proclaimed.  Raphael wanted to feed him to the mushrooms of the Underdark.

“Come on now,” the wizard urged.  “The tower is free and clear for us to retrieve the components.  It looks like a wonderful, safe place for us to rest and recover.”  The wizard blustered on as the Sharran patched them up as best she could, though weariness seemed to have engulfed them all.

Raphael watched with a sigh as the wizard plowed forward inattentively, causing the Warlock next to him to take a blast to the face from one of the arcane turrets surrounding the tower.

“Hells!” the Warlock exclaimed after finding cover.  The Gith used her one arm to dab a cloth doused in healing potion over the Warlock’s eye.  The Sharran looked over it urgently but found no lasting damage.

“A wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite.  But as this wizard’s not home, I say we take a peek,” the donkey said before leading the charge into the tower.

Raphael buried his face in his hands as his investments’ decision making grew even more inexplicable.  Additional arcane turret blasts within the tower to the Warlock's face nearly cost the him his Sending stone.  The Tiefling was limping with both Bulette bites and turret blasts to her kneecap.

“You promised us an easy afternoon of looting!” the vampling shouted at the wizard.  “Those were tower defenses not mushroom gardens!”

“Now that we’ve breached the tower, it shouldn’t be too much more before we find the alchemical components we’ve been looking for,” the donkey assured them.

It baffled Raphael’s mind that any of them were continuing to blindly follow that asshole any further into the tower in the states they were in.  The wizard had to be completely oblivious not to realize how battered and beaten his companions were between the Bulette and the tower defenses.

Raphael watched as Korrilla followed them, his adventurers using Featherfall to leap below to a peaceful garden containing a Sussur tree.

“Lenore’s notes do suggest that we could power her tower using Sussur blooms!”  Raphael was growing tired of listening to the wizard’s voice.  The wizard gestured towards the large Sussur tree in the garden, and none of the battered adventurers made a move towards it.

Eventually, Tavara stepped forward beneath the tree, and Raphael was awestruck at the sight.  The slightest breeze caused the tree to shed a multitude of glowing blue blooms.  Petals swirled around the Little Mouse’s face.  She was stunning in the pale blue light of the tree, carrying a bouquet of fallen blooms back to the tower.

Tavara’s face fell.  “I-” she started.  The wizard sauntered over to her and the Tiefling hobbled to her.  “My magic-”  The Tiefling took the bouquet of blooms from the Little Mouse, and she tried and failed to summon any amount of magic from her veins.

“This tree doesn’t sit well with you, does it?” the wizard inquired.  “It doesn’t sit well with me either.”

“My magic isn’t working-” Tavara’s voice held a sharp undercurrent of panic.  “I can’t.  It won’t respond to me.”  Any efforts she made to cast cantrips fizzled in her palms.

“Soldier, let’s get that elevator working and we’ll get you out of here.  Your magic will come back, but until then, stay close to Mama K.”  The Tiefling winked and Tavara nodded nervously.

The Tiefling fed the tower boiler with Sussur blooms, and the arcane tower had hummed to life, the lanterns flickering in the dim of the Underdark.  The elevator was humming with a pale blue glow.

The Tiefling herded her companions into the elevator.  Tavara crouched down to the floor, her eyes filled with tears as she tried to summon any cantrips.  The magic in Tavara’s hands continued to flicker and spark before dimming nto nothingness.  She tried again to summon lights from the Weave, but they faltered into the cold darkness once more.

“It’s not working-” she panicked.

“Don’t worry, my magic returned to me as soon as the blooms were discarded, I’m sure it’s just taking a little more time for you,” the wizard tried to comfort her.

“Tav, your magic will come back, don’t you worry,” the Warlock pulled her standing again but Raphael could see the panic brewing in her eyes.

Raphael knew of the mechanical automatons on the rooftop of the tower, serving the missing former occupant with hums and whirrs of their engines.  They would immediately recognize that his prized adventurers were not the long-deceased cleric and move to defend the tower.  His investments were in no state to challenge them: the burning Tiefling was limping and the Gith had carefully bandaged wounds on her right arm, the Warlock had hilariously taken two blasts from the Arcane tower to his face, the vampling’s bow string had snapped and needed to be replaced, the Sharran seemed like she was about to fall asleep at any moment in armor crusted with phlegm, Tavara’s magic was still sparking and uncontrollable, and it was highly unlikely they would send the Waterdhavian donkey to the rooftop alone.

They were exploring a lower floor of the tower, and the looming dangers were not something Raphael was confident Korrilla could handle on her own.  He set down the scrying mirror and snapped.

Raphael stood on the rooftop of the arcane tower.  His entrance was immediately observed by the three automatons.  The constructs gazed upon him with quietly turning gears and sharp clicking noises of joints that needed to be oiled.

“New sounds through damp and dark oppression break.  Is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?” the largest automaton addressed him.

Raphael addressed his mechanical audience.  “The wanderer follows the sweetest voice.  Their soul cannot breach their lonely heart-”

“An unbeknownst command by fools that would intrude.  Now steel shall ring: false tongue will speak no more,” the automaton responded as motors and gears whirred to life.  Raphael was irritated his performance was interrupted.

He called forth a shower of Hellfire that rained on the tower rooftop.  Steel chassis started to warp in the heat from Raphael’s power.  The air smelled of sulfur and burning oil.  Plumes of smoke rose from engines burned out and distorted.  There was a slight scent of the sweetness of burning Sussur essence.  The remains of the constructs glowed white with the heat from his power.

“The void presents the only choice, and thus, the wanderer must depart.”   Raphael concluded his verse.  

Raphael observed his handiwork with great pride.  The automatons were a twisted pile of metal and debris and would trouble his prized adventurers no longer.  He lightly tapped the toe of his boot against a mechanical hand laying still on the stones.  He gave another self-congratulatory kick to a Hellfire-singed servomotor with a smile on his face.  The mechanical skills on Prime Material were not nearly as advanced as the engineering of the Hells.

Raphael could hear the hum of the elevator and snapped to make his presence scarce.  He returned to his study and picked up his scrying mirror.  Tavara and her companions finished their search of the tower and returned to their camp to rest.

Raphael went to watch them in their camp as they prepared to rest after the evening meal.  He stood in the shadows to silently observe.

“Gale, I don’t know why, but my magic hasn’t returned,” Tavara’s voice was panicked as she showed him how her hand sparked and glimmered but whatever spell she was trying to cast had failed to manifest.

“Don’t be worried, my magic is as good as it was before we encountered the Sussur blossoms,” the wizard offered to console her.  Simpleton.  “I’m sure your magic will return as soon as you get some rest.”

Tavara nodded, but the wizard’s words failed to calm her.  He departed for his rest.

The Little Mouse slipped away and was kneeling by the edge of the dark river that flowed through her camp.  She held a bar of soap and was furiously scrubbing at her arms with a sponge.

“Damned pollen, damned petals.” she lamented under her breath.  Her voice was sharp and desperate.  Her arms were scrubbed raw.  She grabbed the sponge again and quickly wiped it over her raw and irritated skin.  After another round of washing, Tavara retreated to the cap of a wide orange mushroom and tried futilely to summon any amount of magic.  Tears were welling in her eyes.

“Little Mouse,” Raphael addressed her calmly.  His Mouse was teary, and in no mood for theatrics.

“Go away, Raphael,” Tavara’s voice broke.

“My, my, what troubles are you having, my dear?”  He knew her unresponsive magic was the source of her unrest but there was little chance she would admit it.

To his surprise, the Mouse was completely forthright with him.  “My magic isn’t working.”  Her voice trembled and tears fell down her cheeks in liquid form.  Raphael sat down next to her.

Raphael bade her to move closer to him.  The Little Mouse moved cautiously until they were within arm’s reach of one another.

“May I, my dear?” Raphael gave a long, theatrical bow as he reached towards her.  Tavara swallowed before nodding.  Raphael moved his body closer so that she was almost in his arms.  His hand moved towards her cheek, almost grazing her scales and wiping away her tears.  He leaned his face closer to her neck, and he heard a sharp hitch in her breath.  His hand briefly touched her ear before he ran his hand through her hair.

Tavara quickly gasped and grasped his shoulder.  “Raphael,” she murmured sharply.  The grip of her fingers on his doublet caused passion to coil within his chest, and the sound of his name on her lips was music to his ears.  The strokes of his fingers through her hair caused her to slightly lean into his touch, her breath ragged and uncertain.  Her lips were so close to his, it would have taken very little movement to kiss her.  He stared deeply into her green eyes and didn’t let go of her gaze.  Her eyes were stunning.  Jade.  Scared.  Bright.  Raphael found what he had been looking for.

Raphael moved his body away from her with a grin.  Her eyes were wide with shock.  He handed her a small branch of Sussur flowers that had gotten caught in the Trobairitz knot she had styled into her hair.  She stared at the few blooms in her palms.

Raphael snapped and the Sussur blooms disappeared in a quick flash of fire.  “There, those blooms shouldn’t trouble you any further, Little Mouse.”

Tavara blinked at him.  “Thank you, Raphael.”  She held her palm out in front of her and relaxed as a steady stream of snowflakes poured forth into the dark.  She breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Of course, my dear,” Raphael smugly leaned back on the mushroom cap.  Tavara blushed as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

Raphael chuckled.  “Well, it has been a pleasure, but I must be on my way.”  He rose and gave her a deep, theatrical bow.  Raphael snapped and left her alone in the dark.

[its-not-a-pen]

1460th day as the prime minister of han and you are the enemy general at my mercy. since your absolute loser of a liege lord is MIA you agree to work for me until he returns and in exchange i agree not to raze your city to the ground and put every rebel to the sword. i hope this magnanimous gesture will convince you of my good intentions. 

1461st day as the prime minister of han in order to knock you down a few pegs i try to sabotage your integrity by making you share a room with your loser liege lord's two wives but you just stand outside the door all night with a candle and aren't tempted at all. (i am honestly baffled, as far as i'm concerned other people's wives are utterly irresistible.)

1462nd day as the prime minister of han, my advisor tells me it's easier to catch flies with honey so i begin plying you gifts and pretty serving girls but you keep sending them to your loser liege lord's wives. instead of passing the evening with me engaged in gentlemanly conversation, you spend long hours drying their tears and reassuring them their loser husband is safe. i can't say i'm not annoyed by the snub but your filial piety is commendable

1463rd day as the prime minister of han and even with my considerable intellect, i cannot understand why a man of your skills would chose to serve such an unworthy master. that sanctimonious sandal-weaver has lost nearly every battle he's fought (most of them against me), yet heroes still flock to his cause and peasants aid him at every turn. how does he inspire such loyalty?

1464th day as the prime minister of han, i definitely will not be throwing you an extravagant banquet every day because that's just desperate! i'm only throwing them every fifth day and small ones every third day. do you not like the silk-and-gold robes i've been sending you? you can speak plainly, general, i wont be offended. do they not fit? i must see for myself, please disrobe--

1465th day as the prime minister of han and you finally join me for a drink. i've forgotten how nice this is, in between fighting bandits, quashing rebellions and running 1/3 of a country i've not had much time to myself. the wine loosens your tongue and you talk about brotherhood, sacrifise and sacred oaths in a peach garden, things i've heard about but never seen, like the qilin and other such fantastical beasts but you're so sincere i can't even bring myself to scoff at you. i've lived my entire life looking over my shoulder; better to betray than be betrayed, that's my motto. i've never known anything else.

1466th day as the prime minister of han and i give you a silk bag to protect your long, handsome beard after you made an offhand comment about the whiskers getting brittle in winter. the emperor himself remarked upon it and even though you were humble and self-effacing as always, i preened. it pleases me that you look so well under my patronage, yet your eyes are so troubled. i must not be doing enough, time to consult my advisor again...

1467th day as the prime minister of han i noticed your green battle-coat was threadbare so I fashioned a replacement made of the rarest brocade but you only ever wear it under the old coat loser liege lord gave you because having a piece of him around eases your heart. i don't even have a clever quip for that. although in hindsight i should have expected this turn of events given your utter indifference to that loser's wives and my pretty serving girls. 

1468th day as the prime minister of han, i give you the fastest horse in the world and to my surprise you're elated, bowing and thanking me profusely. then you go and ruin the moment by telling me how grateful you are because it means you will be able to travel quickly to your loser liege lord when you discover his location and now i wish i'd turned that damn beast into glue. this is the first time i've ever seen you smile.

1469th day as the prime minister of han, a verse came to me during our walk through the woods; "the magpie flies south and circles the tree three times. where shall he rest?" i want you to stay. i want you to be mine. lead my armies and help me bring order to the realm, i'll raise you monuments and immortalise your name. alas, the bitter irony is not lost on me, i want you for your loyalty but your loyalty is the reason you cannot stay. if you could have been persuaded i would have lost my respect for you.

1470th day as the prime minister of han and news arrives that your loser liege lord is alive. my advisor tells me that you won't leave until you've repaid my kindness. i guess i better keep you away from the action and hope the next few months are boring and uneventful. in the meantime why don't you try on this new robe! no, i don't mind you undressing here--

1471th day as the prime minister of han and my city is under attack. you single-handedly break the siege and bring me the enemy leader's head. hospitality repaid, you ride off without a backwards glance and i watched the horizon long after you have disappeared.

4391th day as the prime minister of han. I trust you've been well, general, since we last met. I often dreamed that you would return to me, we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast for old times sake. As far as reunions go, the middle of an ambush is not very auspicious. Our roles are reversed, I am the bleeding hart and you are the faithful hound. by rights you should have delivered me straight to your master but instead you let me limp away. why did you do it my beautiful, foolish, loyal general? you know i will only cause you grief. this war will not end as long as i draw breath. this country cannot have three kingdoms any more than a single mountain can have three tigers. 

-epilogue-

last year as the king of wei and i trust you've been well, general, since we last met...

notes under the cut:

It's a truth universally acknowledged that any funny joke on tumblr.com will be run into the ground.

this is a spoof of the 2nd Century Warlord by @romanceyourdemons

1/ Events are based on the historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms, supplemented by historical events.

2/ In 196 AD, Warlord Cao Cao moves the capital of China to his territory of Xu City with the Emperor as his puppet. His offical title is the General-in-Chief (大將軍) although I've gone with the more recognisable "Prime Minister". In 200 AD, Cao Cao captured General Guan Yu, who was serving under Liu Bei.

3/Book!Cao Cao is portrayed as a villain and his name is literally synonymous with the devil in Chinese culture. IRL Cao Cao was considered to be a wise and capable ruler. I've decided to bridge the gap a little.

4/ Cao Cao (and sons) were very influential poets, the line "the magpie flies south" is a passage from the Unnamed Magpie Poem, after consolidating power, Cao Cao encourages all the best and brightest in his kingdom to flock to his court.

5/ "I dreamt of you, general" monologue taken verbatim from the 2010 tv show. People in the han dynasty were battling demons and that demon is bisexuality.

6/ Book!Cao Cao does not actually think Liu Bei is a loser, he considers him to be "one of the only two heroes in the world". but my god, you can pry that alliteration out of my cold, dead hands.

[podcastjam]

2024 Podcast Jam Projects & Teams

Here's all the teams that will be creating pilots for the event this year!!!! Thank you so much to everyone participating, we're SO excited to hear about your projects over the coming month. 4 days until scriptwriting starts, and until then, happy jamming!

SPACE SPECKS Rawlyx loakes quillsandpaper seallbringer6132 smallsies

The Ichorous Rot falloutcoy fluxoid gooboogy chazzo0319 moookar4733

Hello? Are you there? Chronolojay T3chie FungiFungius strawberrytommy

Valdivan's Finest Astralphire Goateggz Kjsmithi Masterofcoordination Rabidxracoon Strilondes

World Fuse kkomaism beardwolfe elischwarz ilaalexei leahstar neutroniums

The Finder's Keeper GiveMeYourLemon Maddie.vo DeumEnki

Schrodinger's Pledge hannahaimee17 collidiasrex chiaroscuro671 wildwolfy spiraleyed devotedwretch

Eart(h) FM am4937 cyanosiis enbyfatale fiveleafclover lotsadeer sirdarkcross timberfins

Gavin's Window wayfaring_weathervane madd413 franb. Sable_Cable Madtelier

Garden of Baffling Beasts cawcawmarmalade prinx_e_umlaut w3vilgrows

Working Tidal itslouisw. wesmarin geeky_fandom codyvm jenahb totcocoa

Hamuel Burger and the American Dream hotchocolate2197 bulkhs mississpissi

Match Team sblr rosiefinch cosmicgranola some_enby eclipsedskye humanfryingpan

Individual Projects Filohazard just_alex smolgremlin.

[aclickbaittitle]

Podcast Jam & Shows with similar vibes

Garden of Baffling Beasts 🤝Residents of Proserpina Park

Schrödinger's Pledge 🤝 Asking for it.

Finder's Keeper 🤝 The Silt Verses

Working Tidal 🤝 Average Folks

[theleechyskrunkly]

The Discussion.

Paige is angry, and Idia's a goner.

Finn Clearcove belongs to @thehollowwriter

Regular text for present time, italics for flashback.

Everybody seemed to be doing the right thing right now, and what was the right thing to do? Stay out of Paige's way. His dorm mates looked utterly baffled (and terrified) as he stormed past them, anger oozing off of him. The students who saw him prayed to the seven for whoever had angered Paige to such a degree, and wondered who'd been the fool to do so.

Paige was livid, his face contorted into a frown that no one had ever seen on his usually passive features. It had everyone wondering what could’ve possibly happened for him to be in such a sour mood.

Well, to begin with, the main culprit was Idia. Why was he angry at Idia? Well, you're bound to find out. Boy, was he about to give Idia an earful...

”So, I take it you're... friends with Idia?” Finn’s voice cut through the music playing in Paige’s earbuds. The two were in Finn’s private area of the school’s botanical garden, Finn painting what seemed to be a carnivorous plant eating a rabbit(with extremely gory detail, as was characteristic for Finn's paintings), while Paige laid on his back with his head resting on a tree branch, scrolling through Twstube. His hair, which was out of its usual braid for once and running loose everywhere, served as his only pillow.

Finn's question was rather random, not only because they had not even been talking about Idia, but also because the two rarely spoke much when they were together at the botanical garden. They just sat in silence, each doing their own thing while enjoying the others company. It was like a little routine they'd set together.

“Yeah? Why?” Paige responded, taking out one of his earbuds and rolling onto his stomach to look up at Finn. Paige preferred to pretend he wasn’t aware of the obvious mutual dislike between Finn and Idia, but he knew avoiding it was no use.

"No, nothing. He's just rather... peculiar, to say the least." There was an obvious distaste in Finn's voice as he attempted to find a not-so-obvious way to hide his dislike for Idia, yet he failed rather miserably at doing so. Paige catches on very quickly to the emotions of humans, mer plus beast people, and animals alike. It's a trait that comes with the horse instincts.

"Peculiar would be an understatement," Paige of all people knew Idia was extremely bizarre, but with the amount of traveling he's done? Boy, has he seen worse. "What exactly is it that you have against him? You two are not really doing a fantastic job of being friendly with one another." Paige was blunt. Everything he said was always upfront, he never held back. The guy had no filter whatsoever and it showed.

Finn narrowed his eyes and his eyebrow twitched slightly, as if the simple thought of Idia got under his fins. "He's obnoxious, rude, talks nonstop — ugh, his gamerlingo is unbearable —, he's selfish, and outright disrespectful! If I had to list the times he's made comments regarding my weight, the list would go on for an eternity." Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue to prevent his words from getting out of hand.

However, he had already said the words that set Paige ablaze. He instantly sat up, his usually blank expression knotting into something that showcased incredulity. He knew full well Idia was a certified yapper, and he could seem highly obnoxious to most, but since when did he bodyshame others? "What do you mean by making comments on your body? What type of comments? Is he making fun of you?" By this point, Paige had taken off both his earbuds, which alerted Finn in some sort of way. Paige hardly removed both his earbuds, if even one, not even when he showered (he has waterproof earbuds), and when he did, things were serious.

Finn hesitated before confirming Paige's suspicions, after all, Paige looked like he would go off stomping the second he said the truth. "Yes, he did. Such unoriginal insults, you'd think he was proud of hims- Paige, where are you going?!"

Paige didn't need to hear another word. He did indeed stomp off (quite literally). And he was stomping off to Ignihyde.

Paige did not even knock before letting himself into Idia's room, already knowing the password by heart since Idia had given up on changing it (Paige figured out every time). Idia was in the middle of game, nearly flying off the bed when Paige came in and turned on the lights in his room.

"You and I have something to discuss."

ITS DONE RAAAAAAHHHHHH

Guys I swear I didn't procrastinate this for a whole month trust 🙏

Btw this is the first fic I've ever ever written so my apologies for it being trash 😍🫶

Tagging: @thehollowwriter @cyanide-latte @xen-blank (let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist)

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

Varney the Vampire, Chapter 25: Contraband

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

Charles finds his uncle pacing anxiously in the garden. Admiral Bell, having had time to think it over, has reluctantly come to the conclusion that, since Charles issued the initial duel challenge, he ought to be the one to fight Varney. Charles asks him to wait until the next day before arranging anything, and also for him to lend Charles 50 pounds, which he plans to give to Henry to help with the Bannerworth's financial situation. Admiral Bell agrees to both. He then says, by the way this reminds me of a story, and you guessed it - we the readers are about to receive that story in full.

But first, we have to hear a different story about a different weird thing that happened to the admiral at sea. You see, he saw a sea monster one time, which one of his shipmates mistook for a ship.

Now on to the actual story, which takes up the rest of the chapter.

The admiral (presumably not an admiral at the time this story takes place, so I'll just call him Bell) is on a ship bound for Ceylon, when the crew finds a strange man sitting on one of the water casks. Bell asks the man how he got there and he implies he came from the sky, but later when the captain asks he says he is "contraband", and that he stowed away in the hold. The captain asks what he ate and drank while he was down there, and he replies that he didn't, only sucked his thumbs. His thumbs are the size of - well, I shan't say, and he implies that they used to be even bigger.

The man asks the captain for coffee, beef, and biscuits, which the captain brings him. There's something uncanny about the man, which makes everyone on board hesitant to cross him. For weeks he stays on the deck, lying on top of the water cask and whistling - and the more he whistles, the stronger the wind becomes. At first, it is merely a stiff breeze, but soon it becomes a gale, then a hurricane. Through all the rough weather, the strange man lies on the water cask, whistling and drumming on the cask with his heels, apparently impervious to the wind, rain, and waves.

The crew, feeling superstitious, ask the captain for permission to throw the stranger overboard. The captain denies this request, but does tell the crew to talk to the man and get him to stop whistling. One of the crewmen grabs the man's leg to get him to stop drumming on the water cask, and finds him to have inhuman strength, first pinning the man's hand to the cask with his leg, then picking him up one-handed as though he weighed nothing.

They ask the man to stop whistling so that the wind will stop, to which he tells them that bringing the wind is the very reason he's whistling in the first place. They tell him the wind is too strong; in response, he takes off his hat and makes all his hair stand on end, then tells them the wind couldn't possibly be too strong as it's not moving his hair at all. Thwarted, they leave him to his whistling, which he continues for three weeks, at which point he switches to horrible unearthly singing for three days, after which he mysteriously disappears without a trace. The ship reaches its destination a full month ahead of schedule.

Okay, you know what? Rymer can have this one. Out of all the extraneous story chapters in this beast of a novel, this one was actually good.

I don't have too much to say about the first part. Charles does get one baffling line, though.

"I will not thwart you, my boy, although in my opinion you ought not to fight with a vampyre." "Never mind that. We cannot urge that as a valid excuse, so long as he chooses to deny being one."

What the hell kind of logic is this, Charles. I miss when you were the reasonable one.

The admiral's first story is short, and I don't have much to say about it either, except to wonder what sort of whale Ishmael would classify Admiral Bell's sea monster as. He says it was a fish, that its whole head was the size of a ship's hull, and that it had great fins near its head which churned up so much sea spray that the crewman who spotted it mistook them for sails. It sort of sounds to me like they saw a blue whale spouting.

But now, on to the main event. The last chapter-long tangent story I really didn't give a shit about, and I'm pretty sure the next few are similarly forgettable (as evidenced by the fact that I don't remember them that well), but this one is a fascinating little spooky story, with a lot of intriguingly strange details.

It's not written in the voice of Admiral Bell at all, but rather in Rymer's usual narrative style, which I suppose is a blessing as an entire chapter narrated in the admiral's sailor speak would be insufferable to read. He spends a long time on setup; too long, in my opinion, but that's par for the course with Rymer.

The younger Bell, in the story, talks to a crewmate named Jack about the weather they're having. I don't think he's supposed to be Jack Pringle, but it's never specified. Bell is optimistic about the fine winds they're having, but Jack worries that the conditions feel almost too good, a clumsy attempt at foreshadowing what's to come.

"It seems to me as though there was something hanging over us, and I can't tell what." "Yes, there are the colours, Jack, at the masthead; they are flying over us with a hearty breeze."

Three weeks into their journey, the stranger makes his appearance.

The way he's described is a tad uncomfortable; not that there's anything very objectionable in his physical description, but that the author gives him a certain cluster of features, and then goes on to describe how he had a repulsive and sinister air about him, and have the men describe him as "evil-looking".

He was a tall, spare man—what is termed long and lathy—but he was evidently a powerful man. He had a broad chest, and long, sinewy arms, a hooked nose, and a black, eagle eye. His hair was curly, but frosted by age; it seemed as though it had been tinged with white at the extremities, but he was hale and active otherwise, to judge from appearances.

It's not too overt, thankfully, and the stranger's other weird features quickly eclipse this first impression.

"Well," said I, after we had stood some minutes, "where did you come from, shipmate?" He looked at me and then up at the sky, in a knowing manner. "Come, come, that won't do; you have none of Peter Wilkins's wings, and couldn't come on the aerial dodge; it won't do; how did you get here?"

The admiral says a lot of things in this chapter that sound like references I don't get, but I actually did look up Peter Wilkins - he's a character from a story published in 1751, who finds himself in a Robinson Crusoe-esque situation and builds a flying machine to escape. Another date to pin to my "when does Varney the Vampire take place" red string board, and also potentially something to put on my to-read list.

"Well, my man," said the captain, "how did you come here?" "I'm part of the cargo," he said, with an indescribable leer. "Part of the cargo be d——d!" said the captain, in sudden rage, for he thought the stranger was coming his jokes too strong. "I know you are not in the bills of lading." "I'm contraband," replied the stranger; "and my uncle's the great chain of Tartary."

"Tartary" is a term used in Europe through the 19th century to refer to a broad chunk of Central Asia, stretching from Siberia to as far south as Afghanistan and including much of China and Mongolia. It was a region about which the Europeans knew very little, so I suppose if you're Rymer, it seems like a suitably mysterious and exotic place for your supernatural stranger to hail from. I'm not sure why the guy keeps claiming to be "contraband" and "part of the cargo" - as far as I can tell, it's just a weird detail.

Speaking of weird details...

"Why, I sucked my thumbs like a polar bear in its winter quarters." And as he spoke the stranger put his two thumbs into his mouth, and extraordinary thumbs they were, too, for each would have filled an ordinary man's mouth. "These," said the stranger, pulling them out, and gazing at them wistfully, and with a deep sigh he continued,— "These were thumbs at one time; but they are nothing now to what they were."

This bit is utterly baffling to me. Most of the stranger's odd traits are centered around a theme, but I can't work out what's up with the giant life-sustaining lollipop thumbs. I kind of love it, though - it reminds me of the odd details that spring up around folkloric creatures, or storytelling traditions like Jack the Giant Killer. (I'm praying the giant thumbs don't turn out to be some sort of weird 19th century racist trope that's faded into obscurity. Unfortunately, one can never wholly rule that out.)

It takes some time for the action in this little story to kick up. Rymer pauses to soliloquize about what it's like to keep night watch on a ship, in a very un-Admiral-Bell-like way. Barring that, and an exchange between the sailors and the captain which goes on for far too long, the rest of the story is actually well-paced for once. Tension builds as the stranger's whistling seems to whip the wind up into a gale, then a hurricane. Not only does he not seem to mind the weather, but he seems physically incapable of being affected by it.

At length there came a storm of rain, lightning, and wind. We were tossed mountains high, and the foam rose over the vessel, and often entirely over our heads, and the men were lashed to their posts to prevent being washed away. But the stranger still lay on the water casks, kicking his heels and whistling his infernal tune, always the same.

The idea that whistling will increase the strength of the wind is an established sailor's superstition, but this strange man seems to have a much stronger connection to the elements, from his claim to have come from the sky, to the fact that his singing is what ends up calming the winds down, to...whatever this is (emphasis mine):

"Pho! pho! you don't know what's good for you—it's a beautiful breeze, and not a bit too stiff." "It's a hurricane." "Nonsense." "But it is." "Now you see how I'll prove you are wrong in a minute. You see my hair, don't you?" he said, after he took off his cap. "Very well, look now." He got up on the water-cask, and stood bolt upright; and running his fingers through his hair, made it all stand straight on end. "Confound the binnacle!" said the captain, "if ever I saw the like." "There," said the stranger, triumphantly, "don't tell me there's any wind to signify; don't you see, it doesn't even move one of my grey hairs; and if it blew as hard as you say, I am certain it would move a hair."

I would like to remind everyone that this story most likely takes place in the late 17th-early 18th century, a time when men's hairstyles were about as long as they've ever been. This man's hair is down around his shoulders at a minimum, and curly to boot.

The sailors leave him be after this, because how the fuck are you supposed to respond to something like that? He spends three weeks doing his thing and eating enough for three people, until finally he seems to have had enough of sailing:

Well, about that time, one night the whistling ceased and he began to sing—oh! it was singing—such a voice! Gog and Magog in Guildhall, London, when they spoke were nothing to him—it was awful; but the wind calmed down to a fresh and stiff breeze. He continued at this game for three whole days and nights, and on the fourth it ceased, and when we went to take his coffee royal to him he was gone.

They're still another three weeks from land at this point, so presumably the stranger fucked back off into the sky. His meddling has shaved an entire month off their travel time, but the admiral notes that the ship would have been in terrible shape had it not been brand-new.

I...look, as far as I'm concerned, everything in this story happened exactly as narrated. It's canon now. Somewhere out there in the universe of Varney the Vampire is a weather elemental with giant thumbs who likes to fuck with sailors.

Next: Charles leaves, taking the cast's collective braincell with him