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bodhrancomedy · 4 months ago

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The Bard Who Returned to Fairyland in Search of a Name by Bodhrán M.

It was the ferryman who met the bard first, a beardless lad in a ragged cloak, broadbrimmed hat, and carrying nothing save an iron knife and one small pack across his shoulders. He watched with mild interest as the bard picked his way down the grassy knoll and onto the black-wood of the small dock, coming to a halt directly before the little boat.

Neither of them moved for a long while. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle screamed.

Finally, the bard spoke.

“I wish to cross the river,” he said.

The ferryman leant on his oar and regarded him with rheumy eyes, pushing a lank hunk of wire-grey hair from his face. “Is that so?” he replied. “Do you have payment, my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The bard withdrew a coin purse from beneath the green cloak.

“Coin won’t do, boy. Not what I dabble in.”

“I know,” the bard said quietly. He had an odd voice, the ferryman noted, with no hint of fear or trepidation or awe. “I bring seashells from the coasts of Ireland,” he continued, “filled with the songs of the selkies. I bring spices from the borders of India and China with many healing powers beyond that which we can understand, and a trollish crystal gifted by the giantess-queen of Iceland. I deal as little in money as you do.”

The ferryman was impressed, even if he didn’t show it. He dug a filthy black pipe from a salt-encrusted pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He waited, but the bard made no move to light it for him. Finally, he took a tinderbox from another pouch (this one being an oilskin gifted many years ago by a Swedish princess) and struck a spark.

“So,” the ferryman said, his words curled about the billowing black smoke, “you know what is across this river?”

“I know.”

“And yet you wish to cross it.”

The bard shrugged, almost as if to say that the statement was obvious enough that it did not need to be said. “Have I brought enough to pay for passage?” he asked.

“Of course,” the ferryman said as he stepped aside to allow the man to board.

But the bard did not. Instead, he gripped the brim of his hat and pulled it further down over his eyes. His voice was as steady as before, but lower and intertwined with steel. “Both ways?”

The ferryman’s eyes narrowed.

The bard stood there, waiting for an answer, one small hand on his knife.

Hemming and hawing, the ferryman felt a sting of disappointment and suspicion in his gut. He had ferried more hopefuls across this river than he had ferried back and there was almost nothing which he liked more than the faces of those who had returned to his boat having not taken the first precaution. They had thought ahead enough – many of these wanderers and seekers of mysteries and gold – to have gotten his word not to throw them into the cold water or have their treasures taken before they reached human land again, but they had not thought about payment for the return journey.

But seashells and spices were twice the payment for a crossing – and he had never owned a troll-crystal before. He’d heard that they could outshine the sunrises even in the frozen northern plains, that they were rainbow stars from deep within the ground. It would be something to treasure in the dark.

It was through gritted teeth, therefore, which he gave his answer. “Yes,” the ferryman said.

The hat bobbed as the bard nodded. “And I will reach each shore in the same condition as I board your boat, sir? Each way.”

“Yes,” the ferryman agreed sullenly. Then he thought and tried to not brighten in anticipation.

The bard either did not notice or did not care, but he stepped aboard with the ease of one used to the pitch and swell of river boats. He sat in the prow, half-turned so he could look across the water and still see the ferryman.

Clever, that.

Carefully, the ferryman untied the mooring rope and then pushed off the knoll with his oar. He began to pull through the water with broad, powerful strokes and so it was a matter of minutes before they reached halfway.

It was then that the ferryman felt safe in speaking again. Too soon and sometimes the young fools would see the error of their ways and pitch themselves into the water. Once you reached halfway, you were falling into enchantments rather simple cold. It did make him laugh, sometimes, to see them flail and splash their way back to safety. He liked to wave at the ones who lived, standing sopping wet and humiliated on the dock, and sing mocking laments at those who did not.

But he did not think that this young man would do so. Still, he waited.

“You off to fairyland, boy?” he asked cheerfully, “Here to see for yourselves the wonders your bardic forefathers taught you? To see if they’re as real as they say?”

The bard tilted his head and the ferryman saw a flash of white teeth from beneath the hat brim, bared in a savage grin.

“No, sir,” the bard said, “I am not merely going to fairyland, sir ferryman. I am going back.”

“Well, that’s a thing!” the ferryman exclaimed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and added, “Not many people wish to test their luck twice.”

The bard shrugged again.

“And why have you returned?”

The hat tilted back and suddenly the ferryman saw the bard’s face clearly for the first time. It was even younger-looking than he’d expected, suntanned and heavily freckled, but harsh and set in furious determination. “That is my business and my business alone, sir ferryman,” the bard replied in cold tones. “For I know what you are as we have met before, and you told me in the mistaken belief that we would never cross paths again. And I know that changelings would do what they can to gain favour in the eyes of fairyland’s mistress. I would not give up my slightest advantage to satisfy your curiosity.”

Knocked back a little by the intensity of this speech and suddenly slightly afraid of why he would not remember this young man, the ferryman opened and shut his mouth a few times and said nothing in reply. He rowed on in silence, feeling sweat prickling on his brow. Either this passenger was a grand sorcerer of some great power, or he was an overconfident boy with a head full of stories. But he could not place a finger on either option without some unease. Neither felt right.

“It was curiosity, nothing more,” the ferryman mumbled. “I meant no harm in asking.”

“But you did mean harm in knowing,” the bard replied lightly. “And you could make harm in telling. I am no child, sir ferryman, and I understand how this all works.”

#the bard who returned to fairyland in search of a name #writing #writeblr #long post #fairytales #fairy tale

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awyeahitssam · 9 months ago

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Time travel AU; Tomarry

Harry was seven the first time he appeared.

Tom arrived to him small and trembling, with bare blue fingers and toes. His teeth chattered noisily while hands worked insistently up and down his arms to generate some illusion of heat. It was a rather odd sight, considering it was thirty seven degrees outside and Harry was sweating a bit, himself. Not to mention the boy had just materialized in his supposedly secure hiding spot, without so much as a sound of warning or shimmer about the air.

Or, you know, walking or running, because that’s how any other child got around.

Harry shook away the thought, pushing himself off the tree stump and letting shredded leaves fall from his grasp.

The child was looking up, now, glancing around like a frightened rabbit, silver-grey eyes wide and wild. He couldn’t have been more than four years old, which wasn’t that much younger than Harry, but he wasn’t used to being around toddlers. In fact he had never been around anyone smaller than him for more than a few minutes - their parents always rushed them away, thanks to his reputation as the Dursleys' troubled nephew.

Harry wouldn't let the boy freeze because his parents would be mad they'd spoken. Not that they would be angry at the boy, mind: it was Harry that always got into trouble for such things. He would be fine.

(And no, Harry wasn’t at all resentful. Really.)

Dilemma solved, Harry stepped forward resolutely and wrapped his arms around the trembling child. The boy stood stiff and unresponsive, tremors still wracking his form. Harry was a whole head taller than him; from this close he could see what appeared to be snow melting atop night-dark curls.

Harry blinked in surprise. He had thought the boy had been locked in a freezer, with how cold he was, but snow in July?

Where was it cold this time of year?

Sweden?

Antarctica?

Iceland?

Did the boy even speak English?

Harry knew that if you wished hard enough you could escape a place: after all, he had ended up across the schoolyard four days ago, on the school roof of all places! But maybe this boy had gone further?

“All right?" Harry asked, going to pull away, but the boy suddenly began clinging to him, head pressing forward into his chest.

What did parents call their kids to comfort them? Aunt Petunia always said “Duddums,” or “Dudders,” but those were just nicknames. Maybe…

“Uh, it’s okay, d-darling?”

The boy stilled again, sniffling once and looking up with narrowed eyes, as if he thought Harry was making fun of him. Maybe only adults called people that? Oh God, Harry had no idea what he was doing. This was his first hug, after all…

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he tried again. “We’ll get you home, so you’ll be all right. With your, uh, parents and stuff. Don’t cry, please.”

Well, that was more begging than reassuring, probably, but Harry had no clue what he was doing here. He’d never had to comfort anyone a day in his life!

“I wasn’t crying!” The boy denied, shoving himself away from Harry fiercely even though he was still quivering and unnaturally pale. “And I don’t have any parents.”

“Oh. Okay,” Harry raised his hands defensively, ready to spring back if the boy lashed out again. When people got angry with him it rarely went well. “Um, I don’t either. Have parents, that is. And I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Harry wasn’t going to apologize for it. He had to do enough of that at the Dursley’s, and he had only been trying to help, besides. Still, he knew how frustrating it was when parents got brought up. The reminder that he was an orphan, trapped with the Dursley’s for a very long time to come, was far from comforting.

“Just another orphan, then,” the boy said dismissively. Harry didn’t bother being offended, as it was the truth, though that tone was a bit...

“I suppose,” Harry said. “You’re still cold, aren’t you? Let’s move out of the shade.”

The boy squinted at him suspiciously, but nonetheless followed when Harry led the way to a nearby rock and gently pressed him to sit on it. He kneeled on the dead, brown grass and eyed blue fingers and bare toes worriedly.

“That’s not good,” he whispered. Harry reached out to the other boy slowly, as though he were a wild animal, and the child jerked away.

“What are you doing?”

“They’re blue,” Harry frowned. “Just - let me -”

Harry took the boy's hands in his own and brought them to his mouth, breathing hot air onto them. The boy made a mildly disgusted sound and made to move back, but Harry held tight, rubbing to create heat through friction.

He felt gross and sweaty, and frankly the cool of the boy’s hands was a relief on such a day, but mostly he was worried. He knew, vaguely, of hypothermia, and he didn't want the boy’s fingers to fall off.

The boy glared at Harry, but didn't try to pull away again, though he watched his every movement rather suspiciously. That wasn't anything new to Harry, of course. Everybody found him suspicious.

“Where am I?” The child demanded, after a long period of silence in which they were essentially holding hands.

“We’re at a park in Little Whinging, Surrey.”

“Surrey? I was just in London…”

Harry frowned back. “Are you sure? It's not snowing in London.”

“It was five minutes ago,” the boy said firmly, crossing his arms.

“In July?” Harry murmured, incredulous.

“I'm not lying,” the boy said coolly, though the effect of his glare was somewhat ruined by the shivers still wracking his body. “And it's February, besides.”

“I didn't say you were lying,” Harry huffed. “Just that you’re wrong. It's July 30th.”

The boy frowned, glancing from the sun high in the sky to the brown grass. He seemed at a loss, eyes flitting around as if trying to find something to refute Harry’s claim.

Harry watched him, considering.

“My name is Harry,” he said. “What’s yours?”

The boy blinked at him. “Tom,” he said. “Tom Riddle.”

...

Harry was in the astronomy tower, legs dangling over the edge, eyes looking towards the ground. His companion arrived as suddenly as always, the only announcement of his presence the prickling at Harry’s neck.

“...Harry?”

He turned with a tired smile, faltering only slightly when he noted what Tom was wearing. A slightly oversized version of the Hogwarts uniform hung over his small frame, a silver and green tie smoothed on his neck.

“What’s wrong, love?” Harry asked, falling to his knees beside the bright-eyed boy. Tom wasn’t crying, but his eyes were burning with something like anger and loneliness and despair. It took Harry a moment, but when he caught sight of the bruise marring Tom’s face he felt his breath catch in his chest.

“You—who—how dare—!” Harry couldn’t seem to bring himself to coherence, so instead he shut his mouth and carefully tilted Tom’s chin to get a better look at the mark. It was large, spanning from his right cheekbone to eyebrow: a mottled, puce discoloration that never should have touched on Tom’s strong features.

Tom allowed Harry to maneuver him without complaint, eyes wide and hungry as they took him in.

“Even at Hogwarts,” the younger boy murmured, smaller hand reaching out, brushing against Harry’s cheek.

Harry couldn’t help the soft look that overcame him, despite the anger boiling, wrathful, in his gut at the sight of Tom’s injury. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I’d rather not go ten months without seeing you, Tom.”

Though truly it hadn’t been so long for Harry. After all, hadn’t he seen Lord Voldemort rise only a few months ago?

But no. This was Tom, his first friend, the first person he’d thought to protect, not a single trace of serpent in his visage.

This was Tom, with one of his eyes half swollen shut.

Harry didn’t know any healing charms, but he had taken to carrying around the salve Hermione made for his hand. He unscrewed the lid and gathered more than was probably necessary, the goop thick on his fingers.

“Stay still for me, okay?”

Tom tilted his head, not wary but measuring, and Harry held his gaze until the boy’s shoulders loosened and he nodded.

Once upon a time, Lord Voldemort had been capable of trust. Theoretically it was a hard thing to grasp, but in practice it just made something in Harry’s chest melt.

Harry massaged the salve in gently, careful not to get too close to Tom’s eye. He was nearly done by the time Tom gasped, jerking away.

It must have started tingling.

“That’s…”

“Strange?” Harry smiled at him. “Yeah. Hold still, you’ll need a bit more to help with the swelling.”

“Why do you have this?” Tom asked, even as he obediently shut his eyes and swayed forward. “Have you been getting into fights, Harry?”

How strange, the way Tom said his name now, compared to the way he would one day, in a dark, dreary graveyard.

Harry laughed off the comparison, laughed so he didn’t retreat back to misery, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Tom’s forehead. To the place that he would one day mark Harry.

“Always,” he smirked, pulling back to catch sight of Tom’s wide-eyed look. He screwed the lid back on the salve, wiping his fingers on his robe and slipping it back into his pocket. “Now, are you just going to sit there gaping all night, or would you like to learn how to defend yourself with magic?”

Tom opened his mouth, probably in protest against that gaping remark, but closed it before saying anything and nodding his assent.

Harry drew his wand, a wand Tom had only seen a handful of times, and he couldn’t help the way his muscles tensed. Harry didn’t mention it.

“Protego,” he enunciated, making the motion with his wand a bit slower than he might otherwise.

“That’s a fifth year spell,” Tom pointed out.

“One that you’ll master,” Harry agreed cheerily. “Unless you want to be tickled to death.”

It would have been more logical to use some sort of pain as motivation - such as a stinging hex - but Harry, Tom knew, did not want to hurt him. Still, he could deal with pain. Given his age, Harry was expected to be stronger than him, to be able to harm him. And to Tom, it would be far more humiliating to be reduced to helpless giggles.

Harry knew him too well, to play on his pride like this.

Tom found he didn’t mind

It took time, but Tom did manage to conjure the shield charm.

Only when Harry flicked his wand the spell broke through, and Tom fell to the ground in peels of laughter. Harry held the enchantment for a long moment, watching grey eyes come alive with mirth, small body wriggling, before he waved his wand in a silent counter.

“Don’t rely on your shield alone,” Harry instructed. “You may be strong, but you’re still a first year, which means somebody else is stronger.”

As if he needed the reminder, Tom mused bitterly, hand jerking a bit as he fought the urge to prod at his tingling bruise. Harry didn’t mention his short, derisive laugh.

“What did you do when somebody tried to hit you at the orphanage? Dodged. It doesn’t matter that you have a wand, and spells; those aren’t the only tools available to you. You have a body - use it!”

In a way Tom appreciated the way Harry never sugarcoated anything. On the other hand, mere mention of the orphanage infuriated him. If not for the fact that Harry had been bullied himself, Tom might have held a grudge. As it was he knew Harry understood him, and what he went through. Knew that he was only mentioning that rotten place to draw a comparison and not degrade him.

He didn’t get impatient when Tom’s second attempt failed, or his third and fourth, nor did he relent in his assault. He was strangely inspirational, Tom thought. He was encouraging, but had high expectations, and he seemed used to teaching. His patience went far further than Tom’s own extended, and he had no trouble explaining things a different way when his words didn’t click for Tom.

But then, Tom almost instinctively knew what Harry meant. They were connected, in some odd, impossible way.

Tom’s cheeks had burned in embarrassment when he discovered that there was no such thing as soulmates, even in the magical world. He had been so sure.

…

“You’ve gone pale.”

Tom looked down to his fading fingers with a scowl.

“I want to spend more than a measly two hours with you,” he said, gripping the front of Harry’s robes as though it would prevent their time from coming to an end.

“I know, darling,” Harry murmured, running a hand through his night-dark curls. “Just remember that I'm very proud of you, all right? I care for you, and that accounts for the decades we have to spend apart.”

“Harry, have I found you yet?” Tom whispers. The question hangs in the darkness, but before Harry can formulate a response Tom vanishes from his arms.

…

“Hello darling,” Harry smiles, rather taken with the blush that lights Tom’s nose and the tips of his ears. “When are we?”

“31st of December, 1940.”

“Happy birthday, then. How does it feel to be fourteen?”

“No different than thirteen, I’d imagine,” Tom replies.

“No?” Harry’s eyes glint wickedly. “Let’s see if we can’t brighten your day. Have you ever been ice skating, Tom?”

Tom blinked at him, eyebrows pulling together. “No,” he responds. “Have you?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Something in Tom thrills at the reckless grin Harry levels him with. “We can try together, yeah? The Black Lake should be frozen over, and I know a few spells if not. The grounds should be abandoned at this time, especially considering it’s break.”

Tom stares incredulously for a moment longer, before shaking his head. “It’s past curfew, Harry. Even if it’s a holiday, I can’t be caught outside and still be chosen as a prefect next year.”

“Let’s not get caught, then,” Harry says softly, eyes sparking.

Tom takes him in for a moment, and lets out a long sigh - mostly for show, mind you. Being cooped up in the Common Room, staring out at the Black Lake was hardly what Tom wished to be doing, regardless of the days. “Only you, Harry Potter, could talk me into doing such a thing. You’d better be practised with cushioning charms.”

A warm hand comes to grip Tom’s, pulling him towards the door. “We won’t need them,” Harry says, sounding rather assured. “You’re ridiculously graceful, so I expect you to catch me if I start to fall.”

Harry, it turns out, is far better at keeping his balance on the slick surface. But the older boy takes both of his hands, slowly skidding backwards, balancing him so he won’t fall. And Tom is sure that when he does, he takes Harry with him.

…

Tom is standing on the balcony. Harry looks him over, absently checking for injuries.

“You look posh,” he says, surprised. The last time he had seen Tom, he was still in second hand robes, though judging by his appearance it had been nearly a year - or an abrupt growth spurt.

“Harry,” Tom breathes out, and all of the irritation in his posture and face smooth out as he turns and catches sight of him. Something like excitement brightens the air around him, and he reaches out, catching Harry’s sleeve and drawing him close. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Harry smiles. “Have I kept you waiting?”

“Rather,” Tom sniffs. “It’s been nearly a year. You’ve chosen a rather poor venu, though; the Malfoy’s annual Yule Ball.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned. “I suppose you’ll need to get inside and schmooze with the purebloods.”

“That is the point in me attending,” Tom agreed lightly. “But the ball is already halfway over, and I’ve met plenty of important people already. You could join me for a dance…”

“Inside?” Harry asked, surprised. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom… if anybody but you sees me, I’m afraid of what’ll happen.”

“The music’s loud enough,” Tom offers. There’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, Harry notes. A very rare thing, for Tom is most always sure of himself. “We can dance here.”

Harry smiles, drawing Tom’s hand into his own. “All right, but don’t be mad if I step on your toes. You’ve asked for it.”

Tom’s eyes glint. A smirk curls his lips. “Oh my,” he says, stepping close as one hand finds Harry’s waist and the other intertwines their fingers. “Have we found something I’m better at?”

Harry snorted. “You’re better at loads,” he said, stumbling a step back when Tom begins their dance. “I’ve got nearly three years on you at the moment, and I’m positive your spell knowledge well exceeds mine.”

Tom quirks a brow. “Perhaps if you studied more?”

Harry smiled. “I started studying seriously in my Fourth year. You, however, have been at it from your First.”

“Shall we duel?”

“I’d rather we never cross wands,” Harry says lightly, but his eyes have gone dark. He grips Tom a bit tighter, posture straightening. Tom’s nearly a head shorter, like this. “This is hard to do backwards.”

“Then lead.”

Tom’s words had been half-teasing, but when Harry takes control of the dance things smooth out rather quickly. He’s clearly at least practiced in this part, and twirls Tom around the balcony without much trouble.

“There you are,” Tom says into his neck, “No more stepping on me.”

Harry huffs a laugh, one hand rising from Tom’s waist to brush through his hair. The motion is soothing, half-remembered from the last time Tom had a fever. He leans deeper into Harry. He would join them together if he could; make them intrinsic, never able to be torn apart, not even by time.

“I miss you,” Tom admits, like it’s a dark secret. “When you’re gone, I miss you, Harry. I’ve never missed anybody else.”

Harry’s throat tightens. His hand continues its careful strokes, and they’ve stilled in their dancing. They sway in place.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” Harry says in turn, secret traded for secret.

Tom makes a noise in his throat, something almost needy, and clings harder, nails digging into Harry’s robe. “Don’t leave,” he demands. “Stop leaving me.”

Harry sighs. “I can’t,” he says. “You know I can’t, Tom.”

Tom pulls back, meeting his eyes. His face is flushed from the cold, eyes gleaming with a fierce longing. Something in Harry aches in answer.

“Let’s sit,” Harry says softly. “The sky is beautiful here.”

Tom nods, but hardly lets them pull apart. They sit, limbs tangling, but instead of staring at the stars Tom stares at Harry. Harry pretends not to notice.

An hour later, only the lingering warmth of Tom’s palm proves he was ever there at all.

…

The next time Tom appears it’s in Harry’s time. The situation is less than ideal; it’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and there's an attack.

But Tom does not know the context. All he knows when he appears is that Harry is flushed, breathing hard, back pressed against a building. And Tom does not freeze like Harry sometimes does at the abrupt displacement, but strides towards Harry with a familiar determination.

It’s the look Lord Voldemort gets when he’s decided to kill Harry.

But instead, Tom presses him tighter against the building. Searches his face. And then he pushes their mouths together, lips moving insistently against Harry’s own, almost desperate to provoke a reaction.

Apparently deciding to kiss and kill Harry inspires the same look.

There’s a moment when Harry wants, but then he pulls away, the rejection gentled by the way he cradles Tom’s cheek.

“Tom, I -”

Harry's eyes flick up from Tom’s, catching a movement, and his hands drop as though burned. He’s quick to grab Tom by the hips and switch their positions, putting his body between Tom and Voldemort as he took in the tall, serpentine Lord.

Voldemort’s smile was a cruel, mirthless thing. “Playing house with one of my horcruxes, Harry? How… unexpected.”

Harry swallowed. So Voldemort didn’t know, then - he didn’t remember, though Harry had figured as much.

“Tom, stay behind me and avoid his eyes.”

“Harry, who—”

“Please, Tom!”

Tom stepped back, but he didn’t move quickly enough to avoid a bolt of purple light.

‘Bugger,’ Harry thought, body jerking in front of Tom instinctively, taking the hit.

The spell has no evident effect beyond freezing him in place, and a strongly thought Finite Incantatum saw him free. Still, Harry did not shift; he would use any advantage he could get, and Voldemort thinking him helpless was certainly an advantage.

“What shall I do with you now, Harry?” Voldemort hissed, a demented smile pulling his lips up.

“Avada Ked—“

“Expelliarmus!” Harry cried. Tom’s wand flew from his hand, smacking Harry’s palm. Well, so much for that plan. “Expelliarmus!”

“Crucio.”

The spells slammed together and the magic splintered, the wand's magic dying as it recognized it was being turned against itself.

Voldemort’s eyes burned. “How do you have that wand?”

Harry watched him carefully, backing up until his hip pressed against Tom. He pressed the yew wand into warm hands, not daring to take his eyes off Voldemort to see his expression.

Tom inhaled sharply, and he was too clever to not connect the dots. When he spoke his voice was torn between horror and fury. “There’s no way.”

“You need to go,” Harry hissed back. “Now.”

“We haven’t exactly figured out how to control it—”

“Tom,” Harry snapped. The other teen quieted, and Harry heard fabric shift. “Repeat after me: lapsu temporis corrigi posse.”

“Harry—”

“Do you want to die?”

There was a long pause. A hand pressed over Harry’s spine, almost too hard to be a comfort.

“Lapsu temporis corrigi posse.”

The air shifted, and the warm pressure of spindly fingers against Harry’s back melted away.

Harry and Voldemort stared each other down from across a field.

“It seems,” Voldemort hissed, “we have much to discuss, Harry.”

#time travel au #Tomarry #I love coming across things I forgot I wrote #and getting that spark of surprised joy #this was written many years ago. I hope it can bring someone a quick smile.#my writing

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guardevoir · 4 months ago

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The Great Temporally Displaced Meadow Gremlin Outfit Project, Part 1: First ideas.

Fuck if I know whether this will lead anywhere eventually, but a fiber gremlin can dream.

No research has been done yet, this is not in a place where I'm happy with this plan at all, this is not going to be the whole thing either because I need at least one fucking cape. It's mandatory.

Anyway, a way-off-base first draft is easier to fix than an empty page, so here's that, I guess:

(also, yes, I am Very open to comments and suggestions 'n stuff)

My main starting point here was definitely "which fibers am I willing to work with for what might be years?"

It has to be sturdy, fun to spin, and available without completely breaking the bank, at least for the majority of this. I'm not opposed to using luxury fiber for smaller bits, but a skirt in a silk blend or something would be prohibitively expensive and kind of a waste.

So, two things primarily came to mind: A light grey Merino that spins up disconcertingly quickly (that has the slight problem of being the subject of my current mammoth project, so I will probably be roundly fed up with it before long), or the same dark grey Icelandic blend i used for my hat.

In case someone's tuning in who hasn't been here for that long: The Hat. Also a random impulse decision that worked out extremely well.

Largely the aforementioned natural grey Icelandic mix, with dyed Merino because while you'd think 100g of fibers would be enough for a goddamn beanie, it sure as shit wasn't. Ended up looking great though, so I'm not mad about it.

Now, the upside of the Icelandic blend is that it's fun to spin, cheap, has a nice, substantial hand, feels like it'll work very well when lightly, gently felted, and it is really fucking gorgeous. On one hand, that means I could leave the majority of my stuff undyed, because that grey is timelessly, classically gorgeous. On the other hand, maybe I want to dye shit.

Construction-wise, I'm pondering a turn-of-the-century-esque walking-skirt inspired thing; I will have to do a lot of fabric piecing and I'm limited to a pretty thick fabric, so that'll limit my options some, but - long, simple, classic. Means I'll likely need a petticoat to make it sit right, but I'm willing to compromise and either use millspun linen yarn to weave my own linen fabric or just buy some linen or cotton outright; I can always swap it out for something handspun later.

Currently I'm planning on every (bigger) woven bit being rigid-heddle-woven and plainweave, color-and-weave techniques and clasped warp/weft nonsense optional (but risky, because of the piecing), but I'll also be gaining access to a floor loom pretty soon, so that'll put twill fabrics on the menu, as it were. Shadow-weave, maybe.

Now, the sontag shawl will be crochet and likely pretty straightforward. There's patterns, I could probably draft one up myself even; it'll be slightly tedious but perfectly doable. I also want it to either have fringe or some kind of scalloped edge with picots, because I think that'll bring some details and maybe a hint of gremlin energy to an otherwise pretty austere outfit.

The shirt's gonna be something flouncier than historically appropriate, probably, partially because it'll be fun, partially because the less something has to be fitted, the less likely I'm gonna be to fuck it up. probably gonna do a classical, lace pirate shirt collar, because if I attempt do a high collar, I will cry and give up. Once again, I will have to compromise on fabric, but That's Fine It's Fine.

Then, I'd like to have some details: Wrist warmers, maybe a pixie belt or something, anything to bring in more gremlin vibes. I'd love to add a nice crocheted collar piece too, but I'm pretty worried about how it'll look with the shawl... but I'm also worried about how the pirate shirt-style collar with look with that, so. oops?

Now, Problem #1: If I make an entire outfit myself, do I really want it to be largely shades of grey and plainweave if I could also make the coolest fucking plant-dyed rainbow known to man and create some kind of Hyper Gay Mega Plaid?

Problem #2: I aesthetically enjoy what I came up with, but I don't think I'd be using my skills to their fullest potential. I could make that thing with millspun yarn and storebought fabric and nobody could tell the difference.

Problem #3: It's not really screaming "Guardy made that", and I should probably find a way to put in more personality.

Problem #4: I'd be utilizing only about half of my fiber arts skills (no embroidery, pin loom, band weaving, knitting, macrame, etc), which would be a shame.

How will I solve all of this? Fuck if I know!

But yeah, this is about the state of the brainstorm currently.

#guardy's fiber arts tag #guardy's fiber gremlin outfit project #I'm mostly just rambling tbh

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wintertouched · 4 months ago

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DID YOUR RESEARCH, YOU KNEW THE PRICE GOING IN. AND I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING, HONEY. I CAN TELL WHEN SOMEBODY STILL WANTS ME, COME CLEAN.

Is that ED SKREIN? No, that’s ØYVINDULLR KETILSSON. The 42 year old MERMAN ALPHA CIS MALE (HE/HIM) is an INVESTOR. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be UNDERSTANDING & DEDICATED, but beware, they’re also known to be ROGUISH & DECADENT. Can you believe they’re from THE PRESENT? Me either.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: [ ØYVINDULLR KETILSSON ] NICKNAME: [ ØYV, ØYVIND, ULLR ] AGE: [ 42 ] GENDER: [ MALE ] SECONDARY GENDER: [ ALPHA ] PRONOUNS: [ HE/HIM ] SPECIES: [ MERMAN ] ETHNICITY: [ WHITE, ICELANDIC ] OCCUPATION: [ INVESTOR ] RELIGION: [ PAGAN. NORSE. ] LANGUAGE, IN ORDER OF PROFICIENCY: [ ICELANDIC, MERFOLK LANGUAGE (NORSE DIALECT), NORWEGIAN, ENGLISH, (OLD) NORSE, DANISH, SWEDISH ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: [ HOMOROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION: [ BISEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT: [ DOM ] SEXUAL POSITION: [ TOP-VERSE ]

RELATIONSHIPS

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: [ TBD. ] PARENTS: [ TBA. ] SIBLINGS: [ redacted. ] FRIENDS: [ TBA. ]

PHYSICAL TRAITS

FACE CLAIM: [ ED SKREIN ] EYE COLOUR: [ BLUE ] HAIR COLOUR: [ BROWN ] HEIGHT: [ 1.87 METRES ] BODY BUILD: [ ATHLETIC, BUFF ] FACIAL HAIR: [ LIGHT SCRUFFY BEARD CENTRED AROUND THE MOUTH, EXTENDING TO THE SIDE OF HIS FACE. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: [ SMALL METAL LOOP EARRING ON HIS RIGHT EARLOBE. PRINCE ALBERT PIERCING. ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ TBA ]

PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS

PHOBIAS/FEARS: [ tba. ] MENTAL DISORDERS: [ tba.]

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: [ TBA. ] LIKES: [ TBA. ] DISLIKES: [ TBA. ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ UNDERSTANDING, DEDICATED ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ ROGUISH, DECADENT, FORWARD, AGRESSIVE ]

AESTHETICS

AESTHETICS: [ TIE-DYE HOODIES. THE CALM SEA. THE TUMULTUOUS OCEAN. SEASHELLS. GREY SKIES. DARK CLOUDS. TIGHT SHIRTS, ROLLED SLEEVES. PRESSED SUITS. LEATHER GLOVES. CHAMPAGNE. MONEY. BLOODY TEETH. PATTERNED SHIRTS. ] INSPO: [ SINBAD. ]

KINKS

KINKS: [ BREEDING (DUH). COLLARS. LEASHES. VERBAL FEMINISATION. RESTRAINS/BONDAGE. THONGS. CHOKING. PUBLIC. HUMILIATION. DEGRADATION. SOMNOPHILIA. WATERSPORTS. FACE FUCKING. STOMACH BULGING. GAPING. OBJECTIFICATION. CHASTITY. JERKING OFF IN SOMEONE. COCK WARMING. TIT/PEC FUCKING. MUSK. ] ANTI-KINKS: [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]

BIOGRAPHY

born in the month of december in the back of a car, trapped in a winter storm, øyvindullr's fate was uncertain. in order to pay tribute to his survival, his parents named him after the norse god of winter. well, at least the second half. the first half of his name was due to the fact he was such a lucky gift to them. one that continued even into his youth. his mer tribe revered him, or at least the gods that blessed him time and again.

all into his adulthood. things weren't handed to him but it always felt like he was blessed enough to be able to achieve his goals. he fought for what he wanted, and being a merman with an alluring voice certainly helped matters. he had full dedication in making his dreams come true. making his fortune of investing in other people's businesses and ventures. eventually he wound up in new haven, living his life there in partial retirement, focusing mostly on remote opportunities now.

tba.

#wtnhintro

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capsensislagamoprh · 9 months ago

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The embassy, connected to the other embassies in the world via doors, was crowded with various dignitaries, lesser nobles, and commoners looking for help. It was all so fascinating to Victor. It seemed other than staff, no one recognized him. To them, he was just another high born elf being given special treatment, and oh how that amused Christoph. People smiled, waved, knew Christoph, but the Ice King? Second glances were all for his aura and beauty. Not his status. It was all going to plan.

And then someone recognized Lilia Baranovskaya, who despite her edges and death glare, was still a renown prima. Her eyes soften as she spoke to her admirer, signing a well worn play bill for one of her earlier performances. That brought curious glances to the entourage, and then to the regal fey. Then someone asked, "Is he your protegee?" clearly meaning Victor.

Lilia's lips twitched. "He is very skilled, in his own small way."

Victor's eyes went wide, Christoph tried hard not to laugh. Phichit managed to get them disentangled from the admirers, guiding them thrugh to the administration offices. Once they were settled inside, he pulled out some paper work that near instantly sent Victor into slumber. Christoph patted his friend's back then turned to the ambassador. "I'll answer most questions. I'm afraid his majesty it not used to the mundane of most things." Phichit nodded, then picked up a glass pen, dipping it in cinnamon scented ink.

"Okay, the first thing we'll need is to fit you into reality, your majesty. Do you have an idea of how you'd like to do that?"

Victor looked blank, turning to Christoph. "Am I not enough?"

"Mortals have a weird way of seeing things as they want them to be, not as they are. You get used to it really. Even learn to play on the expectations," his friend answered. "It's best to work from a base ideal. Lets see the ribbon."

Victor put the red ribbon in the spring fay's hand. It began to sparkle, crackling along the length, the blue writing seeming to writhe. Quickly it was handed over to the ambassador. Phichit gripped it carefully, then flicked his entire arm - from shoulder to wrist- causing the caustic reaction to suspend as the ribbon stiffened into a thin, silk covered board. After a moment, his dark grey eyes illuminated, the glass pen writing with out his input. Several forms fluttered, placing themselves in order, changing places as required.

Lilia, Christoph, and Victor sat thrugh a rather pleasant tea service, easing into the quiet with companionable tension. They could feel themselves being woven into the material plane, Victor more than the others. He'd never been able to cross long enough for the unchanging to get its talons into his dream. It felt like thorns prickling his skin.

When Phichit was at the point where he needed input, the sensation had grown to a bubbling oil, sizzling against the ice of his flesh. As much as he tried, Victor could not help but squirm when ever Lilia sipped her tea, trying to scratch.

"Alright," Phichit said with a long, exhausted sigh, "Now for the details. You are the Ice King?" Victor nodded. "You will want to reside where it's cold?" Again a conformation. "You are a noble, so you will not want to grow up in lesser circumstances?"

Lilia frowned deeply. Phichit nodded. "I can arrange something. It wont be a fey palace. It will be better than most. Is that acceptable?" Lillia sniffed, turning her face away from the boggan. "I'll take that as a yes." A form completed, it stacked itself neatly into a folder, sealed itself, then was carted away by a small horde of hamsters who promptly filed them accordingly.

"There are several options. Russia, obviously. Whole cautionary tales about their winters, massive population, huge country. Canada. Some parts are arctic, but the populated arias get a decent winter to summer ratio. Greenland has some really spectacular glaciers, and they still boast royalty, so that could be a choice for you. Iceland isn't actually very icy, but it is very cold, so that's a choice. Finland, Sweden, Norway. All known for their winters, snow, and ice. Each has a form of it a little different from the others, and some royals there too. They even have large celebrations of the season. You should be able to garner a lot of dross at those. Mongolia is a lot of wyld spaces, unclaimed and still pristine. It even has one of the coldest capitals in the world, if that interests you. Kazakhstan has all the seasons, but it's land locked, so they tend to be extreme. It has a decent population where the cities are, and a good amount of clean land to bask in. And of course, Antarctica but you'd die of starvation there. Only scientists really seem to be in the aria, and it's very inhospitable to most everything on the material plane. Could be a good place for you to have a vacation home, if you needed a quick getaway."

Victor considered. "That is a lot of choice."

"Russia," lady Baranovskay's clipped words stifled any arguments. Victor raised a brow. "It is cold. It has a large population. It has Bolshoi. We will go there."

"Russia it is," Victor smiled.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

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teabookgremlin · 1 year ago

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6, 14, 28, 29, 39 🧡

6.) if you could choose any place in the world to visit, where would it be? why?

where you are. anyway after being gay for a moment there, my other answers are australia and i really wanna go to iceland again

14.) what’s your favorite warm beverage?

just a cup of earl grey or chaider (apple cider mixed with chai)

28.) if you could domesticate any animal as your pet, which would you choose?

any type of fox, they’re some of my favorite animals and i would love to have one to cuddle with

29.) what’s your least favorite smell?

first thing that comes to mind is the trash room at my work, it’s horrible

39.) what is your favorite gemstone? why?

oh i don’t know, i like opals and also just any light blue gemstones

50 q’s

#thank you soph <3

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schumigrace · 1 year ago

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tyyyyy jd ilysm (@formula-red)

name: grace

sign: aquarius in every sense of the word

time: 14:49

favourite band/artist: sam fender, queen, coldplay idk I can't choose

last movie: st trinians lol

last show: doctor who loooool

when I created this blog: a year ago but I've been on and off tumblr for a while

what I post: F1 brainrot, liveblogging my shitty mental health

other blogs: a doctor who blog made by my 12 year old self that's the only one that survived my deactivation spree

do I get asks: yes but I ignore a lot (sorry) unless they're from my moots or I'm in the mood for a fight lol

followers: 382

average hours of sleep: 6

instruments: self taught bass guitar, guitar, very very limited piano

what I'm wearing: grey trackies, a sam fender tshirt, a kimoa hoodie. feeling sorry for myself because it's literally August and I'm still freezing cold

dream job: uh I thought it was what I'm currently doing but now I'm not sure. I've wanted to work in climate research since I was like 5 and I love love love being in this industry but recently I've just been needing something else. idk what tho

dream trip: either going back to Croatia to see some islands I missed last time, or spending a month or so seeing either Germany or Iceland again

favourite song atm: uhhhhhhh good question probably ålskar by nina nesbitt, vincent by don mclean or cherophobe by the royston club

tagging with absolutely no pressure: @theflyingfin @rossocorsaseb @ellearts and anyone else who wants to <3

#fun times #haven't done one of these in a while #fun fact i did this during a client meeting. because im very productive and loving my job atm #tag games

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greykolla-art · 8 months ago

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Að sjá annan Íslenskan listamann á Tumblr er cool as fuck honestly

Haha! sömuleiðis, kæri landi! 💖🤗

Hvað ætli við séum mörg hérna? Held að það séu bara extra töff Íslendingar sem nota enþá Tumblr.😂

#grey answers #grey is being Icelandic again #there are so few people on this island it’s amazing to find each other on tumblr #only the coolest Icelanders have a tumblr accounts!

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bodhrancomedy · 4 months ago

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I know the poll isn't done, but it's Friday so SNIPPET TIME.

WINNER: The Bard Who Returned to Fairyland in Search of a Name

Neither of them moved for a long while. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle screamed.

Finally, the bard spoke.

“I wish to cross the river,” he said.

The ferryman leant on his oar and regarded him with rheumy eyes, pushing a lank hunk of wire-grey hair from his face. “Is that so?” he replied. “Do you have payment, my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The bard withdrew a coin purse from beneath the green cloak.

“Coin won’t do, boy. Not what I dabble in.”

“So,” the ferryman said, his words curled about the billowing black smoke, “you know what is across this river?”

“I know.”

“And yet you wish to cross it.”

The bard shrugged, almost as if to say that the statement was obvious enough that it did not need to be said. “Have I brought enough to pay for passage?” he asked.

“Of course,” the ferryman said as he stepped aside to allow the man to board.

But the bard did not. Instead, he gripped the brim of his hat and pulled it further down over his eyes. His voice was as steady as before, but lower and intertwined with steel. “Both ways?”

The ferryman’s eyes narrowed.

The bard stood there, waiting for an answer, one small hand on his knife.

It was through gritted teeth, therefore, which he gave his answer. “Yes,” the ferryman said.

The hat bobbed as the bard nodded. “And I will reach each shore in the same condition as I board your boat, sir? Each way.”

“Yes,” the ferryman agreed sullenly. Then he thought and tried to not brighten in anticipation.

Clever, that.

But he did not think that this young man would do so. Still, he waited.

“You off to fairyland, boy?” he asked cheerfully, “Here to see for yourselves the wonders your bardic forefathers taught you? To see if they’re as real as they say?”

The bard tilted his head and the ferryman saw a flash of white teeth from beneath the hat brim, bared in a savage grin.

“No, sir,” the bard said, “I am not merely going to fairyland, sir ferryman. I am going back.”

“Well, that’s a thing!” the ferryman exclaimed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and added, “Not many people wish to test their luck twice.”

The bard shrugged again.

“And why have you returned?”

“It was curiosity, nothing more,” the ferryman mumbled. “I meant no harm in asking.”

“But you did mean harm in knowing,” the bard replied lightly. “And you could make harm in telling. I am no child, sir ferryman, and I understand how this all works.”

Every Friday I do a snippet. This is next Friday’s choice!

Last Friday’s Winner!

A Doomed Company of Squires

The dust choked her in the aftermath of the hail of ice and stone, cobweb-threads of grass tangling in her eyelashes.

Ezrah raised her hand as if she could bat away the remains of a mountain by will alone, blinking away the emerald aftershock of her master’s spell.

The sun had returned, and the monsters were dead.

But, as her vision sharpened and she pushed herself up on shaking limbs, Ezrah saw that the last screamed warning from her fellow squire had been terribly, horrible prophetic.

“It ’s too unstable!”

Nobody had moved, but she was now alone.

#the bard who returned to fairyland in search of a name #snippet #my writing #writeblr #writing #ok a long snippet #but i'm pretty happy with this one.

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hijeatsdirt · 1 year ago

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1984 by George Orwell Chapter 2 Continued

, spontaneous demonstrations, savings campaigns, and voluntary activities generally. He would inform you with quiet pride, between whiffs of his pipe, that he had put in an appearance at the Community Centre every evening for the past four years. An overpowering smell of sweat, a sort of unconscious testimony to the strenuousness of his life, followed him about wherever he went, and even remained behind him after he had gone. 'Have you got a spanner?' said Winston, fiddling with the nut on the angle-joint. 'A spanner,' said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming invertebrate. 'I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the children----' There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the comb as the children charged into the living-room. Mrs Parsons brought the spanner. Winston let out the water and disgustedly removed the clot of human hair that had blocked up the pipe. He cleaned his fingers as best he could in the cold water from the tap and went back into the other room. 'Up with your hands!' yelled a savage voice. A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up from behind the table and was menacing him with a toy automatic pistol, while his small sister, about two years younger, made the same gesture with a fragment of wood. Both of them were dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts, and red neckerchiefs which were the uniform of the Spies. Winston raised his hands above his head, but with an uneasy feeling, so vicious was the boy's demeanour, that it was not altogether a game. 'You're a traitor!' yelled the boy. 'You're a thought-criminal! You're a Eurasian spy! I'll shoot you, I'll vaporize you, I'll send you to the salt mines!' Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting 'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!' the little girl imitating her brother in every movement. It was somehow slightly frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will soon grow up into man-eaters. There was a sort of calculating ferocity in the boy's eye, a quite evident desire to hit or kick Winston and a consciousness of being very nearly big enough to do so. It was a good job it was not a real pistol he was holding, Winston thought. Mrs Parsons' eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the children, and back again. In the better light of the living-room he noticed with interest that there actually was dust in the creases of her face. 'They do get so noisy,' she said. 'They're disappointed because they couldn't go to see the hanging, that's what it is. I'm too busy to take them. and Tom won't be back from work in time.' 'Why can't we go and see the hanging?' roared the boy in his huge voice. 'Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!' chanted the little girl, still capering round. Some Eurasian prisoners, guilty of war crimes, were to be hanged in the Park that evening, Winston remembered. This happened about once a month, and was a popular spectacle. Children always clamoured to be taken to see it. He took his leave of Mrs Parsons and made for the door. But he had not gone six steps down the passage when something hit the back of his neck an agonizingly painful blow. It was as though a red-hot wire had been jabbed into him. He spun round just in time to see Mrs Parsons dragging her son back into the doorway while the boy pocketed a catapult. 'Goldstein!' bellowed the boy as the door closed on him. But what most struck Winston was the look of helpless fright on the woman's greyish face. Back in the flat he stepped quickly past the telescreen and sat down at the table again, still rubbing his neck. The music from the telescreen had stopped. Instead, a clipped military voice was reading out, with a sort of brutal relish, a description of the armaments of the new Floating Fortress which had just been anchored between Iceland and the Farce Islands.

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reporterleroux · 1 year ago

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I say this shit then forget fr 🗣️ fic taking forever and I love these guys so I'm putting them both in one post since they're twins anyways so I'll just put little subtitles for what information is about who, it's gonna be long 😓 also it is yet again an additional case in the game, it doesn't replace anything 😻

Katla:

Full Name: Katla Magnusson

Race: Undead Human

Gender: Female

Status: Deceased (living as undead)

Birth: 1989

Death: 2018

Cause of Death: Severe Hypothermia

Nationality: Icelandic

Residence: Colorado, U.S. - Unnamed town, Iceland (Formerly)

Profession(s): Professional Skiier

Family: Johann Magnusson (twin brother) ✝

Affiliation(s): Blackmoor Asylum - The Rockies Ski Resort (Formerly)

Katla Magnusson (1989 - 2018), was the killer of her twin brother, Johann Magnusson in Snowed in Forever (Case #11 of Supernatural Investigations).

Profile

Katla is a 29 year old undead human and the twin sister of the victim. She has pale eyes, semi-frozen blonde hair and frozen white skin. She's first seen wearing a blue and grey ski jacket, a creme beanie, grey ski goggles on her head and holding her ski equipment before later ditching all the accessories and kit and changing into a hospital gown after her admittal to the Blackmoor Asylum. On top of this, she is seen with permanently frozen facial features (such as a blue nose and blue lips) and snowy/icy weather that follows her about. It is known that Katla is left handed, knows ski terminology and is strong.

Height: 5'9''

Age: 29 (forever)

Weight: 140lbs

Eyes: Brown (formerly) - Pale blue/white (after death)

Blood: B+

Events of Criminal Case

Katla became a suspect after the team identified her handwriting on her own obituary, which had "I'm still here!" written over it, being carried by the victim. As she was spoken to, it was cleared up that instead of crossing over, her body and spirit became permanently stuck in the living world. The team then broke the news to Katla that her brother had been murdered, making her a little upset. However, she did go on to say that ever since she died they had lost all contact, and therefore didn't feel as much emotion towards it as she felt she should.

She was later spoken to again regarding some security footage of the two arguing outside of the ski resort. Katla eventually admitted, after some shock, that her and the victim had actually seen eachother recently, and that she partly lied earlier on. She said that she did want to rekindle her relationship with Johann, only to be called a freak by the latter. This shocked her, considering how close they were before her death, and they both exploded into an argument about how the victim never really liked her at all, ending the argument with saying that he wished he wasn't her twin. Since the explanation turned her to (somewhat frozen) tears, Gwen and the player decided to leave her alone for a while.

Eventually, it was proven that Katla was in fact the killer. She was angered to admit that she did do it, however she felt her reason was valid. She explained that she only died because whoever she was with left her to die, and she strongly believed it was Johann's fault she lost her life. She had spent the last year trying to get back to the resort to find him, only to shove him into the resort freezer, kill him, and then snow him inside in a moment of psychoticness. She said that he did in fact deserve it and that she hoped that they would never meet again. The team eventually decided that it would be best to hand Katla over to the Blackmoor Asylum, where she'd stay for life.

Johann:

Full Name: Johann Magnusson

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Status: Deceased

Birth: 1989

Death: 2019

Cause of Death: Blood loss (decapitation & amputation)

Nationality: Icelandic

Residence: Colorado, U.S - Unnamed town, Iceland (Formerly)

Profession(s): Ski Teacher

Family: Katla Magnusson (twin sister; incarcerated)

Affiliation(s): The Rockies Ski Resort

Johann Magnusson was the victim of Snowed in Forever (Case #11 of Supernatural Investigations).

Profile

Working as a ski teacher in The Rockies Ski Resort, Johann had short blonde hair, a small amount of stubble and brown eyes, similar to his twin sister Katla. As a result, it is known that Johann is also 29 years old. At the time of his death, he was wearing a violet ski jacket, black ski pants, a black beanie and black ski goggles.

Murder Details

Johann was found in the resort freezer room, having been turned into a human snowman using his head and arms. The rest of his body was laying up against the shelves nearby. After autopsy, it was discovered that his arms and head were hacked off with a wood saw. Ontop of this, after further analysis into the cuts on the body, it was discovered that the killer was left handed.

After finding the murder weapon, it was sent to Jacob for further analysis. It was determined that the saw was the latest model, one that required a lot of strength to operate just for it's purpose, let alone cutting off someone's limbs and head. As a result, it was determined that the killer was strong.

Killer Attributes (not in order)

• The killer is strong (discovered from weapon analysis)

• The killer is left handed (discovered from body autopsy)

• The killer knows ski terminology (discovered from clue reading "let this black run be your last!", with "black run" meaning a slope for advanced skiiers and snowboarders)

• The killer wears a scarf

• The killer is female

Alternate sprites:

Honestly I didn't even realise how many ocs I had until I did one of those dumb triangle things 😻😻

I love making criminal case ocs I may have gone and made two more 😻😻 I may post them after I finish this fic who knows 🥰

#criminal case #criminal case game #criminal case oc #criminal case supernatural investigations

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cappymightwrite · 3 years ago

Note

How do you see Jonsa playing out in the next two books?

Hi!

Oof that's a big question and I probably have more of an idea regarding Winds than I do Dream, to be honest. There's certain things I feel fairly confident on, but within that there are a few ways things could go, which I'm undecided on. So, I'll list those, but beneath them give some variables/extra thoughts. Now I could be wrong, this is just my opinion... but here we go!

Jonsa in The Winds of Winter

Sansa will be leaving, or more specifically, fleeing the Vale, perhaps as early as the end of Alayne II

I have no doubts about this happening, what I'm less sure of are the events that will enable this departure. Although there are a few Chekhov's Guns in play that seem likely to pay off early in Winds:

The mountain clans have been "growing very bold," ever since the Blackfish, the former Knight of the Gate, left in AGOT, but this mention of them becoming more unruly is stated in ASOS, Sansa VI, and then again in Sansa VII — "The mountain clans were being troublesome as well [...] The Vale of Arryn might have been spared the worst of the war, but it was hardly the idyllic place that Lady Lysa had made it out to be." There are also members of the mountain clans who have met Sansa Stark, including Timett One-Eye, because in AGOT they decided to follow Tyrion and fight in the battle on the Green Fork, Timett and Shagga then become part of Tyrion's household in King's Landing.

Ser Shadrich also seems like a gun that's about to go off — we first meet him in AFFC, Brienne I, where he tells Brienne "You are not the only hunter in the woods. I seek for Sansa Stark as well," and for a large bounty too. By Alayne II of AFFC, he has met Alayne Stone, and by TWOW, Alayne I, it seems fairly clear that he knows exactly who he's dealing with — "A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?" Something is going to happen with this guy, for sure.

It is also possible that Harry the Heir will be injured or even perhaps die during the tourney of the Winged Knights. If this does happen, I think it would serve to create a opportunistic moment of chaos, in combination with the mountain clans attacking, in which Ser Shadrich could then make his abduction attempt.

So, I can't exactly say how things will go down... maybe there will also be a sudden shift in her perception of Petyr as her last resort protector that will make her feel unsafe? Nevertheless, I'm sure something will go down though, and it'll be the catalyst needed to propel Sansa north, in the direction of the only living relative she knows for certain she has... to Jon Snow.

Meanwhile, Jon will be warged into Ghost

I'm pretty confident this is what's happened, because the last word Jon says in ADWD, Jon XIII, is "Ghost", and this idea of warging in order to avoid death is introduced in the prologue of that same book. I've talked a little bit about how warging in ASOIAF, at least to me, seems very Old Norse inspired — this idea of the hamr and hugr.

But where is Ghost-Jon going to be? I think it's likely that Ghost-Jon will break out of where he's being kept in Jon's chambers, and then head south... I think this is likely because one of Jon's last thoughts is a reference to Arya — "Stick them with the pointy end." Plus, as we know, Jon was planning to go south to Winterfell in order to rescue her, though of course we know that girl wasn't Arya, and Jeyne Poole is now actually heading towards the Wall.

I'm not 100% certain Ghost-Jon will head south, it may be that he stays at the Wall to guard Jon's body? I'm not sure. If he does go south though, I think that could be very interesting, because it could enable a crossing of paths with one Sansa Stark. In fact, I explored that idea in my very first Jonsa fanfic, heavily inspired by the Old Norse-Icelandic Eddic poem Völuspá — Varg-hamr/Wolf-skin.

Sansa will be the Girl in Grey that Melisandre foretold

I'm 100% a believer in this theory. It's her. It's Sansa.

"[...] I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will." – ADWD, Jon VI

"It has not happend yet, but it will", and in The Winds of Winter.

The girl. I must find the girl again, the grey girl on the dying horse. Jon Snow would expect that of her, and soon. It would not be enough to say the girl was fleeing. He would want more, he would want the when and where, and she did not have that for him. She had seen the girl only once. A girl as grey as ash, and even as I watched she crumbled and blew away. – ADWD, Melisandre I

That last line... oof, that's Sansa, but more specifically, it really alludes to Alayne Stone, as well as the dismantling of that identity, the reclaiming of Sansa Stark. I explored a similar kind of crumbling/shattering imagery in my meta about Alayne II, AFFC:

She went up as Sansa, comes down as Alayne, but will “press on” as Sansa. Also the imagery of something “coming down”, i.e. falling away, breaking away is significant. We are seeing the dismantling of Alayne and the reclaiming of Sansa, though this is masked by every time she calls herself “bastard brave” or “I am a bastard too” in this chapter. But this breaking away, the fragility of this guise is literally mirrored in the landscape around her: "Here and there the stone was shattered from the strain of countless seasons, with all their thaws and freezes. Patches of snow clung to the rock on either side of the path, blinding white." – AFFC, Alayne II

"She crumbled and blew away" recalls, to me, the image of Alayne Stones descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon, and how those are, unknowingly, just barely hinted at, her first few crucial steps towards becoming Sansa again — and Jon is intimately connected to that, as noted in my meta.

Sansa and Jon will be the first Starks to reunite

It could be, like I explored in my fic, that they first meet with Jon warged into Ghost, with Ghost-Jon saving Sansa from hunters — possibly Ramsey's men, not knowing who she is, but just looking to torment a vulnerable girl?

"I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever."

"Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?"

"Hills. Fields. Trees. A deer, once. Stones. She is staying well away from villages. When she can she rides along the bed of little streams, to throw hunters off her trail." – ADWD, Melisandre I

Either way, this theme of seeking safety will be prevalent:

"The girl," she said. "A girl in grey on a dying horse. Jon Snow's sister." Who else could it be? She was racing to him for protection, that much Melisandre had seen clearly. – ADWD, Melisandre I

I'm uncertain whether Sansa will actually be present for whatever catalyst/action is needed to return Jon's spirit (his hugr) to his body (his hamr), of if she'll turn up post-return. But I do very much like the idea of her meeting Ghost-Jon first though, and maybe this bit in Feast is a hint towards that:

There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. – AFFC, Alayne II

In any case, I think she will make it to Castle Black, clearly ticking off the Girl in Grey prophecy, and then will be instrumental in Jon's recovery. Possibly, maybe, they won't reunite at Castle Black? They'll reunite somewhere closer to Winterfell? My instinct is Castle Black, but I think I've seen a bit of debate on that. What I'm fairly certain on is that Sansa will soothe Jon with her sweet singing at some point:

[...] Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. – ADWD, Jon XIII

But this theme of healing goes both ways, they will help heal each other, "protect one another, keep each other warm, share [their] strengths." And this will be in distinct contrast to all the other unbalanced relationships they've experienced previously.

Their previously hidden dynamic will be revealed to us

I think Winds will be the book to finally reveal what Jon and Sansa's relationship was like pre-canon. E.g. were they always distant, or was there a time when they weren't? Moreover, I think we'll be able to have the definitive answer on whether the pre-canon crush/kiss theory is a thing or not — I discussed it in my most recent post on Jon + the Byronic Hero, with several previous metas included on the topic.

Hopefully we'll get some shared memories revealed to us in any case!

A forbidden romance will develop between them

I've talked about whether or not we'll get a full blown romance in Winds previously, as well as some (not that serious) speculation that Jon may actually parallel Elinor Dashwood from Sense & Sensibility, in terms of how he initially conceals his feelings for Sansa. So, check that out, if you're interest... but forewarning, everything I write tends to be pretty long, because I literally cannot control myself... I mean, case in point right here, lol.

Reclaiming Winterfell (+ Knights of the Vale)

I think they will return to Winterfell before the parentage reveal, but probably some confusing, angsty feelings will already be underway. I do tentatively think Stannis will win the battle in the ice, because the Night Lamp theory is so compelling (or it was last time I read it)... but then I think things will, without a doubt, go down the shitter for him, and yeah, I will cry because Stan is my problematic fave, ok? I expect things to get very dark in that section of the narrative, and for Jon's return to his body to be a part of that dark descent, but I'm hazy on the exact details. Beyond that though...

I think it's very likely that the Knights of the Vale will be instrumental in the fight for Winterfell, because you have Sansa (as Alayne) meeting several knights in her chapters, becoming very familiar with the Vale houses, and you also have this piece of foreshadowing:

"[...] Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon... and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back... why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

The Vale, as of yet, hasn't been a fighting presence in the wars at play, so that's another Chekov's Gun that needs to go off. Add to that the Royces' strong connection to the First Men, to the Starks, as well as those mysterious distant Stark cousins:

"Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest... it might have been a Templeton, but..." – ASOS, Catelyn V

...it seems like the Vale has been primed by the narrative to become key allies of the Starks moving into Winds, and later Dream.

The end of the line for Petyr Baelish

I'm not exactly sure where this will fall in the order of things, but it is pretty heavily foreshadowed as taking place at Winterfell:

"[...] I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow." – ASOS, Arya VIII

"Look, here comes a giant to knock it down." He stood his doll in the snow and moved it jerkily. "Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." Swinging the doll by the legs, he knocked the top off one gatehouse tower and then the other.

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow. – ASOS, Sansa VII

I think it's probable that Littlefinger will arrive with the Knights of the Vale — if Harry isn't dead already, maybe he'll fall in battle. Certainly, Jon will be with Sansa, but potentially the great Stark winter round-up will have gotten under way and there may be other Starklings present during his trial as well? Either way, Sansa will be instrumental in his end... but actually, maybe also Sweetrobin too? Now that's an interesting thought, because afterall, Petyr did murder his mother.

Jon's parentage will be revealed, resulting in much angst but also relief?!

Like I said, I think the reclaiming of Winterfell has to occurr before the reveal, so this monumental moment could be a good half-way point in the book. I've played around with how I'd personally like the parentage reveal to impact Jon and Sansa's relationship, in my fic Beneath My Bones. In that I leant more into Jon being the most aware of his feelings, and then Sansa coming to a full realisation post-reveal.

I don't know for sure if that will be the dynamic, but in the above metas I linked that's sort of where my instinct is on the subject. I like the idea of the reveal causing a lot of mixed emotions, for it to be this double-edged sword... the long awaited answer to Jon's questions about his mother, but an answer that completely disorientates him for a hot sec. Ultimately though, I'm always in favour of the reveal resulting in a doubling down on Jon's Stark identity, rather than him suddenly taking up the mantle of Aemon Targaryen (if he does have a Targaryen name, I think that is most likely what it is).

I think they will probably be back at Winterfell for this. That seems to be the most impactful setting for this to occur, particularly when you consider the recurring dreams Jon has of the crypts — maybe we'll actually have him go down there, to face the statue of Lyanna? Also, it's generally considered that Howland Reed is going to be the one to spill the beans, so it makes more sense to me that they'd cross paths at Winterfell, rather than the Wall, or anywhere else in the north.

Northern political players and inheritance crisis

I lowkey really like Barbrey Dustin as a character, and I like how she reflects that, actually, northern allegiances and relations are a bit more complex that they first appeared, way back in AGOT — not everyone loves the Starks, not everyone gets on with each other.

Once the Boltons have been dispatched, there's going to be a power vaccuum in the north, centered at Winterfell. We know Lord Manderly has already planned ahead for this by sending Davos Seaworth on a mission to find Rickon Stark on Skagos. So, I do think there is going to be a really interesting dynamic between the northern lords and the reunited Starks, with Jon and Sansa at the head of the Stark contingent. Indeed, there's several factors to consider when thinking about who is going to inherit, either the wardenship, or Robb's crown:

Most Immediate Obstacles

Rickon's whereabouts and fate — you could get a power struggle for regency if Rickon becomes a major factor, and isn't unduly killed (please god no). The Manderlys certainly seem interested.

The annulment of Sansa's marriage to Tyrion — another Chekov's Gun, which I feel has to come back into play in Winds. Say Rickon isn't killed off, and there's a struggle for who has control over the north as his regent... marrying Sansa would strengthen that position as regent quite substantially, so there may be a vested interest in the north to dissolve this unconsummated marriage.

The perception of Jon as Rhaegar and Lyanna's son — was there a secret bigamous marriage? Which holds more weight, being Rhaegar's son or being Lyanna's? Jon was made Robb's heir, but does that still hold water?

Less Immediate Obstacles

Bran's whereabouts and fate — is Bran going to join back up with the Starks in Winterfell at some point? He is in the north, so isn't miles away from the great Stark winter round-up I see happening.

Arya's whereabouts and fate — currently in Braavos, but likely to catch a boat back over to Westeros at some point in Winds.

My instinct is that the northern politics subplot will be deliciously factional and messy, as a stark (heh heh) contrast to what it is that makes the Starks the heart of the series:

"[...] When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths [...]" – AGOT, Arya II

But also as a contrast to the threat of the Others, the real, most pressing issue everyone in Westeros needs to face, together. What I'm worried about, and unsure of, is whether or not Rickon may in fact die somehow. But I do think it would be a wasted opportunity not to have this regency crisis, because it seems fairly well set up with the Manderlys. That being said, maybe GRRM will do it, have it on the brink of being resolved, then cause more chaos by having him killed? I don't know. Really, in terms of foreshadowing, the two big contenders for becoming the ruler of the north are... Jon and Sansa.

I know what I'd like, which is for them both to rule the north by the end of the series, together in a loving and supportive partnership, that harks back to Ned and Cat, but this time better, more honest. How we'll get to that endpoint, I'm not sure, but I think someone is going to be put forward as the favoured monarch of the north, though ultimately, my instinct is we'll get Queen Sansa... but also consort/king Jon, and part of their regeneration of the north will be to resettle the Gifts with the displaced wildlings.

A Jonsa marriage will be hinted at as a solution

There's a lot of marriage foreshadowing and imagery within both Jon and Sansa's chapters, and I think the narrative in Winds, building on the developing romance between them, will really start to foreground this possibility. BUT I think it won't be without its obstacles, chief among them the marriage to Tyrion. We need an annulment, or we need him to die. I know I've mentioned Chekov's Gun as a literary device several times already, but this is another key one... I wouldn't be surprised if it's used against the Starks/the north in some way.

So, I'm unsure if we'll get a Jonsa marriage in Winds, but I do think it'll be hinted at in some way, either as just a logical narrative answer, or by the characters themselves, possibly. GRRM will want to leave some key moments for Dream and I wouldn't be surprised if a marriage between Jon and Sansa is held off until then, because lets not forget... there's also a war against the Others that is going to be going on! Marriage, and one motivated by love (but with definite political advantage), could fit really nicely into the bittersweetness of the last part of A Dream of Spring.

Jonsa in A Dream of Spring

This is where it becomes a bit hazy...

There's several plot points left unresolved at the end of A Dance with Dragons, extending back to Feast, as well, so it's easier to continue on those narrative threads and speculate about Winds than it is Dream, I think. That being said, I can tell you what I personally think the vibe of the ending will be trying to emulate...

Obviously, The Lord of the Rings is a big influence on GRRM, but looking one step before that, to Tolkein's influences, you have the Gylfaginning section of the Old Norse Prose Edda. Huh, what?

Ok, this is building on my belief that GRRM is heavily inspired by the myth of Ragnarök in relation to the storyline up north with the Long Night etc. I have an ongoing meta series about these parallels (coz I study Viking and Medieval Norse and I've got to put that knowledge to use somehow!). Eventually, I will talk about how I think the "dream of spring" in the final book will draw from the descriptions of the aftermath of Ragnarök, as detailed at the end of the Gylfaginning. But here's the key passage in question:

53: Then Gangleri asked, "Will any of the gods be living then? Or will there be anything of the earth or the sky?"

High said, "The earth will shoot up from the sea, and it will be green and beautiful. Self-sown acres of crops will then grow. Vidar and Vali survive, as neither the flood nor Surt’s fire destroyed them, and they will inhabit Idavoll, the place where Asgard was earlier. To there will come Thor’s sons Modi and Magni, and they will have Mjollnir with them. Next Baldr and Hod will arrive from Hel. They will all sit together and talk among themselves, remembering mysteries and speaking of what had been, of the Midgard Serpent and the Fenriswolf. Then they will find in the grass the gold playing pieces which the Æsir had owned. [...]

"In a place called Hoddmimir’s Wood, two people will have hidden themselves from Surt’s fire. Called Lif [Life] and Leifthrasir [Life Yearner], they have the morning dew for their food. From these will come so many descendents that the whole world will be inhabited [...]

I'm very much a Jonsa optimist and it's due, in part, to the above passage. Yes, I think ASOIAF will end in a "bittersweet" way, but I think too often more emphasis is placed on the bitter than the sweet when we consider that ending, and also when we consider Jonsa's ending too. Basically, I think the "dream of spring" is very much tied to Jonsa, in fact, it doesn't really work without them, not fully at least. Because you have this appreciation of the natural world in both their narratives, this fantasying about possible future children, the desire to reclaim (Jon) and rebuild (Sansa) Winterfell... all of that is evident in the last chapter of the Gyflaginning.

To parallel the Old Norse, I do think we'll see the Long Night end, just as the Fimbulvetr/Ragnarök end, and then spring will come: "green and beautiful." Unquestionably, there will have been painful losses — key figures, like Óðinn + Þórr, die in the final battle — representing the "bitter", but there will also be those who survive to then re-establish a new order: "Then they will find in the grass the gold playing pieces which the Æsir had owned."

I mean, not to be too literal about it, but I think Lif and Leifthrasir will be echoed in Sansa (Life) and Jon (Life Yearner), because, come spring, they will be the ones to continue on the Stark line, and from them "will come so many descendents." And I don't think that really works if you've got Jon exiled at the (fallen) Wall again. I think it only works if they are in the same place, at the same time, together... because that's the sweet to the bitter — this abundant spring after the harrowing winter, the promise of future generations, of life and love preservering, despite all the pain and loss (the bitter).

One of the things about the end of the Gylfaginning, which is commented upon by scholars, is that it likely represents the transition from pagan belief into Christianity, the end of the old gods, the old order — the Prose Edda was written by the Icelander Snorri Sturluson in the 13th C., so notably post-conversion. There is a (maybe unintentional on the part of its author) bittersweetness present, this feeling of an end of an era, to the conclusion of the Gylfaginning, that you likewise see reflected in the ending of The Return of the King (and we all know how influenced by Old English and Old Norse Tolkein was). So, taking into account all that GRRM has said about how he wants to tonally emulate Tolkein's conclusion, this is the vibe I expect from the ending of ASOIAF.

But whether we'll ever actually get that bittersweet ending though... who can say!! Also, maybe everything I've said will be completely wrong! I think it would make for a good story though ;)

Thanks for the ask!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #cappy's thoughts #plot predictions #asoiaf and norse mythology #anti grimdark all the way babeyyyy #I've probably missed some things out?? i don't know

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flyingkiki · 3 years ago

Text

We Played Dangerously (3/?)

May our hearts and nerves be ready for the rollercoaster of emotions these stupid birds will take us on. Gaaaaaah.

Enjoy my loves. Adult nonsense will be ready for you in the next chapter to fuel the this storm of emotions.

Present, downtown Gotham

Red Robin slipped through Raven’s balcony relatively easily, something that he found deeply concerning. He frowned as he carefully closed the balcony door and locked the flimsy lock. He'd have to remind her that she lived in Gotham and practically anyone could climb through her doors.

Turning around, he looked at the sparsely decorated living room, taking in the old brick walls of the building and the large fireplace that stood in the center of the room. Raven always did like the appeal of a fireplace.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, Tim silently walked through her apartment, mildly surprised that she still wasn’t home. It was close to 10, would her job at the library really take that much of her time?

Tim had returned from his business trip in Japan a little while ago, his itinerary stretched out way too much for his liking. The moment his plane landed, he had thanked Tam for her help and brushed past her in a heartbeat, rushing down the tarmac of their private hanger and disappeared into his car. Within an hour he had gone home, showered, downed two cups of cold brew, and changed into his uniform.

And found himself slipping into Raven’s apartment uninvited.

As he absently stared at the sole decoration that stood on top of fireplace mantel -- an old group photo of the Titans in civvies. His nerves were buzzing under his skin as he stared at the familiar scene. He chalked it up to his coffee and lack of sleep.

Her apartment was small, decently sized for a single occupant -- was she a single occupant? His night vision-enhanced gaze briefly swept through the apartment, trying to find any signs of a roommate. The thought unsettled him.

The living room was filled with a few cardboard boxes, several neatly stacked piles of documents and books, tons of books piled on a rather large coffee table and scattered across the floor, a bookshelf that seemed halfway built, and a handful of potted plants and decorations. His gaze settled on a ugly beige throw blanket strewn over the backrest of Raven’s large couch, the intricate woven pattern looked worn. The sight of the familiar blanket made his chest jump at a distant memory.

Tim stilled as the lock of Raven’s front door jiggled and turned, breaking the silence. He paused and watched from the shadows as the hallway lights switched on and Raven walked into the apartment, busy talking to whoever was on the other end of her phone call. He ignored the relief that washed over him when she entered her apartment alone.

“Yeah, Toni, just a small papaya salad on the side,” Raven said while she absently tossed her keys and her phone on the hallway table, leaving her phone on speakerphone. Her keys clattered into a ceramic bowl and Tim blinked at the noise, intently watching her. He watched as she struggled to deposit her laptop bag on her floor before proceeding to pull off her heels.

“So, pad thai and a side order of green papaya salad. Do you want that spicy or not so spicy, but probably spicy still?” Tim could hear the garbled voice of the store owner through the rustle of clothes. He watched Raven pull off her trench coat, revealing a grey a-line office dress. Raven paused, her hands lingering on her coat as she stood by the coat rack and Tim could see the familiar rise of her shoulders, tensing just a fraction of an inch.

“Sorry, could you change that?” she said suddenly, her tone changing ever so lightly. “Could you make that into a large order of Pad Thai? To share. And add an order of Khao Pad fried rice, large. And some Thai fried chicken? Throw in an order of mango and sticky rice, please,”

Raven pulled the hair tie out of her hair and ran a hand through her hair, trying to get most of the tangles out as she listened to the restaurant owner prattle through her order. Tim watched her blink and nod, before continuing. “And two large Thai Iced Teas,” she paused as she picked up her phone from the small hallway table and easily caught Tim’s eye from where he stood in the dark corner of her living room. Tim watched a familiar smile form on her lips before turning back to her phone. “Thanks, Toni. That should be all.”

Raven quickly ended the call after the promise of having her food delivered within 20 minutes. Turning on her bare feet, Raven stared into her dark living room, easily spotting Tim next to her potted fern that was close to dying. “I’m going to change clothes. Our intern spilled some chai tea latte on my skirt and I smell like cardamom,” she said simply, speaking to his silhouette. Tim watched her blink, as if him lurking in her living room corner was nothing out of the ordinary. “If Sam the delivery guy comes and I’m not yet back just tell him to leave it at the door, I’ll pay for the food later via Venmo or something. Just make sure my neighbors don’t see you, it’ll be weird to explain you to them,”

And without another word, Tim watched Raven gracefully turn and disappear around the corner. He blinked, staring at the old red bricks of the wall she just walked behind as if they just picked up their conversation from six years ago. Unable to move, he heard her shower turn on and he felt his insides leap at the sound. What was he here for again?

After a few moments of listening to the distant noise of her shower and trying desperately to fight the tension that seemed to stretch across his shoulders, Tim finally came to his senses and stepped out of the corner. Tentatively walking into her sparsely decorated living room, Tim continued his venture through her apartment staring at bare walls and large framed pictures of landscapes propped against the wall waiting to be mounted.

Beyond the living room there was a small kitchen and black kitchen island, he could see that it was already set up. In the corner of the kitchen counter he found a red KitchenAid stand mixer and Tim smiled at the sight, wondering if she actually did end up learning to bake (“I’d like to be able to bake some passable shortbread cookies,” she told him one Christmas). He didn’t bother walking into the kitchen or anywhere else in her apartment, since it seemed too much invasion of her privacy - as if breaking and entering into her apartment wasn’t enough.

He lingered in the darkness of her living room, cataloguing trinkets and the general mess to memory. Tim stared at the myriad of little trinkets that littered one of the selves next to her television -- Raven had always liked picking up quirky trinkets from her travels. He spotted a few he had known she had kept from her days at the Tower. An assortment of rocks from Tamaran, a necklace from Zambia, a little carved box from Peru. A familiar little elf with a lettuce hat stood out from the group or ceramics and stoneware; it was a little elf souvenir she picked up in Iceland.

Tim blinked as her door buzzed loudly, pulling him out of his thoughts. The door buzzed again, longer this time and he stared at her front door unsure what to do.

“Could you get that?”

Raven’s voice carried through her apartment. Tim blinked and stared at the direction from where her voice came from before carefully walking up to the phone in the hallway and picking up the receiver just as it buzzed again. “Hello?” he asked tentatively, feeling just a little out of place.

“Err, Royal Thai’s. Uh, Rachel?” the voice on the other end of the line sounding terribly confused over the noise of outside traffic. “Did I get the right apartment number?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Yeah, 7 oh 4,” he said and blinked at the old telephone mounted on the wall. It was one of the older models that came with the building. “I’ll buzz you in. Just leave the food by the door, we’ll get it in a bit. We’ll pay via Venmo. We’re a bit, uh,” he stumbled and tried to find the right words as he looked at his combat boots. “Busy,”

Tim immediately regretted his choice of words, wincing at the snort of amusement from the other end. It sounded like they were busy with certain activities. Tim sighed, absently tapping the receiver with his gloved finger and pressing the buzzer and allowing access to the delivery guy.

He waited by the door and listened as the elevator finally dinged in the distance. There was a knock on the door followed by rustle of paper bags being deposited on the doormat. “Royal Thai’s!” came the muffled announcement through the old wooden door.

“Thanks, man. We got this,” Tim called back. He leaned into the door, waiting and listening as footsteps slowly disappeared with the sound of an elevator opening and closing. Waiting briefly to ensure the coast was clear, Tim finally opened the door slightly and carefully pulled in the paper bags to avoid being seen by her neighbors. It would be terrible to start rumors of a Red Robin sighting visiting a library researcher.

Enjoying the familiar smell of thai food, Tim silently went back into her living room and carefully deposited the bag on her coffee table, careful not to disturb any of her documents. Engulfed in the familiar smell of Thai fried chicken, Tim felt nervousness slowly creep under his skin as the familiarity of the smell and scene stirred distant memories. His chest tightened at the thought.

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” Raven asked as she stepped into the living room, the familiar scent of fresh lavender soap announcing her entrance. Tim watched, her silhouette cast from the hallway’s light, a sight he had committed to memory as she stood in the doorway of the living room. With the flick of her wrist, her lights turned on.

Tim wasn’t sure why his throat tightened at the sight of her, but he spent a moment staring at her. Last night’s image of Raven was familiar, but tonight seeing her in an frayed, oversized Gotham Knights shirt and blue sweatpants, was an achingly intimate image that he had burned into memory. He watched Raven blink, her lips curling into a smile.

“Your uniform has changed,” Tim watched dark blue eyes sweep over this uniform, lingering on some of the upgrades he added in recent years. She approached him slowly, keeping her gaze steady with his.

“Just a few upgrades,” he supplied, intently watching her face as she studied him. Tim felt his breath catch as she stood in front of him, her eyes sweeping over his form. He wondered what she saw as she stared at him, her lips curling as his voice carried through her living room. She looked the same to him, the sight of her in oversized shirts and damp hair a familiar sight he remembered well.

Raven stared up at him, she had to crane her head just a little bit to stare up at him. A small playful smile played on her lips as she studied his face. “Are you going to stay masked the whole time?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Tim chuckled as whatever moment broke and he shook his head, “No.”

Raven’s eyes brightened and she smiled. Not giving him the time to pull off his cowl, she leaned forward and stood on her toes, reaching out to carefully push his cowl off his head. The press of her fingers against his hairline were familiar and her movements well practiced as she knew exactly what to tug and unclasp.

“You’re taller,” she noted, her fingers curling into his cowl as she stood back and stared up at him. There was an amused sparkle and wonder in her eyes as she studied his unmasked face, and Tim found himself eagerly drinking in her curiosity and wonder.

“Might have grown a bit while you were gone,” Tim teased, his voice light and he smiled as Raven released a soft laugh.

Raven hummed, eyes bright and a small smile every present on her lips. She studied him for a moment longer before turning to her coffee table and eyeing the large paper bags. Dropping his cowl on her couch, she walked up to the table and picked up the bags. “Let’s eat. I’m starving and I’m sure you did not eat anything yet,” she said with an air of finality.

Tim silently followed her into her kitchen and watched Raven deposit the bags in her own kitchen. He stopped short in her kitchen doorway and found himself watching an intimate scene from years ago in his own apartment: of a much younger Raven plating a large order of Pad Thai onto the cheap plates Jason gave him as a housewarming gift.

“Are you going to stand around and watch or are you going to eat something?” asked Raven, pulling him out of his thoughts. Tim blinked and approached her kitchen island, staring in amazement at an all too familiar sight of thai dishes.

“You remembered,” he asked, an amused smile playing on his lips as he sat down opposite of her and pulled off his gloves. The familiar smell of Thai fried chicken and pad thai filled his nose.

Raven rolled her eyes and sat down, pushing a spare plate his way and nudging the pad thai closer to him. Her eyes were bright and playful as they shared an amused smile. “Difficult not to, when this is practically the only food you willingly eat every time we’re here without having to remind you it’s mealtime,” she teased.

Tim hummed through a mouthful of Royal Thai’s pad thai, his favorite. The first time they came up to Gotham together he had quickly introduced her to his favorite restaurant and ordering in had quickly become a routine for them.

Back then.

“I was kind of expecting you to sneak in here last night,” commented Raven absently as they went through their food. Tim caught her mild amusement as she took a small sip from her iced tea.

Tim shrugged and got himself a large helping of fried rice. “I had an early flight to Japan and I couldn’t risk missing the flight. Tam would kill me,”

Raven released a soft laugh. “I’m sure she would,”

"The last time I arrived late to a board meeting she gave me so much paperwork the next day to spite me," commented Tim wryly. "One should never mess with Tam's schedule,"

Raven made an amused face and snorted. “Oh, I know,” her small smile was playful and there was an amused lilt in her voice.

Tim chuckled softly and a distant thought crossed his mind, this moment seeming so normal to them. Like years had not passed. He swallowed the small lump that formed in his throat. He sobered up slightly.

As if catching the shift of his emotion, Raven blinked, her gaze sweeping over Tim’s face. Carefully placing her fork on the edge of her plate, she stared at Tim curiously and tilted her head. “How have you been?” she asked, her voice softer.

Tim gave her a wry smile.

“Busy,” Tim breathed. He winced at how lame the answer sounded. He stared at her, familiar blue eyes boring into his, and he suddenly was unsure where to begin and pick-up from six years ago. The easy moment minutes earlier slowly melted away and an uneasy feeling settled low in his stomach. “Mid-year reporting season is coming up, things are crazy at the office. There’s a new business acquisition we’re working on, too.”

“You’re acquiring that tech company in Tokyo, right?”

Tim blinked, surprised that she knew. “You know?”

Raven smiled, tilting her head and studying his reaction. “I read about you in the papers. You’re hard to miss,”

Tim released a bark of laughter, grinning teasingly. “I hope you only saw the good stuff,”

“I keep away from TMZ and other tabloids,” she sent him a teasing smile.

Tim paused and stared at her, drinking in the familiar sight of her. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. His stomach churned and he knew she caught his emotions as she tilted her head curiously. “You’ve been difficult to keep track of,”

Raven inhaled, breaking eye contact briefly. She stared out her window, thoughtful, before turning back to Tim and offering him a muted smile. “Reception was bad in Iceland,”

A distant memory of hot springs, breathtaking mountainscapes, and the aurora borealis crossed Tim’s mind and he immediately squashed those memories as his stomach churned and his chest tightened. He watched Raven’s gaze darken briefly. “Yeah, I guess it was,”

Raven picked at her food thoughtfully before continuing. She shrugged absently and glanced at Tim. “After I finished at NYU, I moved to Boston for the conservation and restoration program. And then I went around for a few research projects --”

“Indonesia, Africa, Bulgaria,” Tim looked at her, watching Raven’s reaction. He smiled at her. “Iceland once in a while,”

Raven looked thoughtful for a moment as she stared at Tim, a small smile playing on her lips. She swallowed and averted her gaze briefly, before turning back to him. “Yeah,” she breathed, a soft laugh followed.

Tim exhaled, releasing a breath he was unconsciously holding. “I guess we’ve been both pretty busy,”

Raven blinked and smiled pensively. “I guess so,”

Tim swallowed, conscious of how his nerves seemingly crawled under his skin.”Have you been in touch with the others?”

Raven shook her head. “Not in recent years. Rose once in a while, but not really the rest.”

He looked surprised. Rose had never mentioned that she and Raven had been in touch. “You should swing by,” he suggested, an encouraging smile playing on his lips. “The team misses you,”

Raven tapped her iced tea thoughtfully. Tim saw the brief flicker of emotions in her eyes, catching her microexpression easily and he felt his nerves jump. Raven nodded. “Yeah, I miss everyone too,”

“Do you like what you’re doing now?” Tim asked curiously, as they continued to navigate through their meal and finish their shared pad thai and fried rice. The fried chicken had been long gone, most of it polished off by Tim.

Raven shrugged and made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. “I like it,” she said while shoveling a few spoonfuls of fried rice onto her plate. She fiddled with a peanut thoughtfully before spooning it. “I like the research and working on old books. It’s fun,”

Tim smiled in amusement. “Only you will say that gluing old pages together is fun,”

Raven rolled her eyes and lobbed the fried peanut at Tim, who easily dodged the projectile legume with a bark of laughter. “It’s more than just gluing pages together, jerk.”

Tim laughed and nodded. “I know. We’re funding your research project, I know the details. I’m sorry, I’m just teasing you,” he grinned, leaning over just a little bit and into their shared space, blue eyes dancing in amusement.

“It’s a lot less exciting than what we do with the Titans,” she mused. “But I get to travel for projects. I like that. It’s fun to go around Asia or Europe and get to experience food and culture without having to worry about being shot or killed at every corner,”

Tim chuckled. “I see where the appeal is coming from,”

“It’s nice when people don’t know you,” said Raven, absently stabbing the last of her chicken. She cast Tim a wry smile. “They don’t hold that expectation or fear that you can bring down an entire building or destroy the planet at will,”

Tim frowned, catching how she sobered up and looked away. He swallowed, knowing how deep some wounds ran. “Civilian life looks great on you,” he said, grappling to shift the somber mood, staring at her in the all too familiar Gotham Knights shirt she was wearing. “Even if you’re in a very ratty Gotham Knights shirt. I was wondering where that went,”

Raven released a soft laugh, blue eyes a little brighter and he watched her run a free hand over the terribly frayed and stretched collar of the shirt. “You leave it, I keep it,” she said simply.

“In fact, I lost quite a few pieces of clothing,” Tim commented, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“You leave it, I keep it, your honor,” Raven raised her hands in mock innocence as she stood up and threw an amused smile at him. She went to grab another plate for their mango and sticky rice.

“From what I hear you’ve not only been working on sticking old pages together,” said Tim as Raven slid their dessert in between them. He sent her a small grin as she snorted. “Intercepted a human trafficking ring in Africa, busted drug cartel in Indonesia,”

Raven shrugged and helped herself to the sweet desert, taking a large helping of sweet rice and mango. She always had a sweet, something she never would openly admit. But Tim knew better. “The police was not help, they barely did anything for those kids. Those were easy enough jobs. In other countries it's easier to slip on the uniform occasionally and no one recognizes you. Easy in and out jobs,” she explained.

“Do you miss it?”

Raven looked at him, blue meeting stormy blue. Tim watched her look thoughtful. “Sometimes,” she finally said.

He swallowed and tried to bite the bullet, nerves thumping under his skin as she stared back at him, anticipating his next question with bated breath. “Will you come back to us?” he asked, the pit of his stomach gnawing as he anticipated her answer. He wondered how he would react if she did not say the words he wanted her to say -- his stomach flipped.

“I don’t know,” Raven said finally, breaking contact and looking out the window. There was an air of melancholy that draped around her and she looked significantly smaller in his old Gotham Knights shirt, for the first time looking so vastly different from the woman he remembered. “I like what I do, Tim. I like the life I have and the opportunity of walking through this world without biases and fear directed towards me,”

He distinctly felt a cold jolt run down his back and Tim straightened in his uniform. Tim knew he had no place to ask for her to come back. He remembered their conversation years ago -- this was her life and this was what she wanted, needed. Tim felt his nerves take a tumble and his chest tighten as his first concerns from years ago were confirmed.

“Well, you did say you’d take a sabbatical. I did not hear a no,” he tried feebly, sending her a wry smile.

Raven exhaled and looked at him, her gaze soft. “Yeah. It’s not a no,” she repeated. Looking like she had enough of her food, Raven stood up and picked up her empty plates and started to carefully place them into her sink. Tim watched her movements silently, he tried to ignore how this looked exactly like an old scene from his apartment’s kitchen.

Sensing that tonight’s conversation was over, Tim slowly stood up and helped her with the dishes. They worked silently, putting away leftovers and placing all dishes into the sink. He stood to the side, watching as Raven used her powers to clean all dishes with a sweep of her hands and they were washed and neatly stacked on the drying rack.

“It’s getting late,” Raven breathed, pushing herself away from the sink and looking at him over her shoulder. A signal that tonight’s conversation was done. Tim swallowed. “I have an early meeting with the museum’s director tomorrow and I have to go through my notes,”

“Right,” echoed Tim. As he returned into her living room to pull on his gloves and pick up his cowl, he found himself in an internal battle, trying to figure out what to do next. His throat tightened at the thought of how he drew a blank and the panic of tonight ending with so many things still unresolved settled heavily on his chest. He drew in a rattled breath and pulled on his cowl. Perhaps tonight truly was enough.

“It’s good to see you again, Tim,” Raven said behind him, her voice carrying through her apartment. It was a tone he was deeply familiar with. He fiddled with his belt to keep his hands busy as he was unsure what to do next.

Turning around, Tim offered Raven a bright smile, quickly sweeping aside his unsettled feelings. He’d take what he could from her, from this moment. He ignored how different it felt, to be Red Robin in front of Raven, a civilian, in his old t-shirt, an image that he had burned into memory. “It’s good to see you again, Raven,” he told her.

Tim had his arms around her even before she was pressed into him. Raven stepped closer and offered him a long hug, arms wrapping tightly around his torso and fingers pressing into the kevlar of his back. The press of her was exactly how he remembered, warm and soft, perfectly tucked into his side and under his arms. He catalogued this to memory, inhaling the familiar scent of her and memorizing her softness. How could he have missed this?

Tim swallowed uneasily as she stepped away and slipped out of reach. “Good night, Tim,”

“Good night, Raven,” he smiled at her. He slowly made his way to her balcony and paused as he opened it. Looking over his shoulder, he caught her watching him leave. He licked his lips and continued. “I--” he paused and breathed. Fuck it. He felt his heart leap. “I wish we kept in touch,”

Raven tilted her head and Tim watched an expression he could not quite place cross her face. “Why didn’t we?”

His fingers tightened around the cold handle of her balcony. Tim blinked as a million reasons raced through his mind, stabbing him accusingly. Guilt and regret grabbed him by the throat. He inhaled shakily. “I don’t know,”

Raven smiled sadly at him. “I think we both know why,”

Tim dropped his head and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked at her, drinking in the sight of her basked in the dim lights of her living room. “I’m sorry,”

He watched the rise of her chest as she inhaled and emotions flicker through her somber face. She offered him one last somber smile. “Good night, Red Robin,” she said softly, a signal that tonight had truly ended.

#TimRae #Tim Drake #Raven #Teen Titans #TimRae 2021 Year of Smut and Steam #BAGGAGE? WHAT BAGGAGE. WHOSE EXTRA BAGGAGE IS THIS?

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a-crimson-dawn · 3 years ago

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On Langris' name...

So, I've been searching up possible origins of the word "Langris"...

And I've found various meanings, the last of which is the one I believe is the most fitting of these.

1. Langris, from Gujarati (maybe, if I can trust google translate) meaning "anchor". Unlikely, because the language is not a European one and very clearly the setting of Black Clover is based on Europe. Gujarati, I believe, is an Indic language. So that rules the most spelling-accurate version of "Langris" out.

2. Langrick, an English place name meaning "long ridge". Not very accurate, since Langris isn't exactly tall/long... So that's unlikely.

3. Lange(r) - from English or Irish slang meaning either disagreeable person or fool. And while Langris can be disagreeable and maybe even foolish... something tells me that's not where his name originated from. But it's the second most fitting origin.

4. Langr, Langur, Lang - taken from Pharoese, Icelandic, Dutch... those kinds of languages, meaning long/tall. Also not very fitting.

5. Lagris - meaning "grey-haired", originating from French. Again, not very fitting.

6. Langus - "Decline" in Lithuanian/Estonian (maybe, I could be wrong). I feel like it's better than some of these names, but it's about as likely to be the origin for Langris' name as "Lange(r)".

7. Langres - The name of a cheese that goes by the name of the French region that it comes from. It's apparently a very salty cheese with an intense aroma. The combination of the word being technically French which fits with the french vibes that the Roulacase/Vaude houses give off, and the fact that Langris is both salty and intense in personality makes me think that this is the most likely origin of Langris' name. And, even if it isn't the actual origin, who cares, this is my headcanon now.

#black clover #golden dawn #langris vaude

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de-constructmybones · 1 year ago

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Thank you for the tag my dear @thiamsxbitch 🥰

Are you named after anyone? Nope, I am my own person. First of my kind.

When was the last time you cried? Legit cried? Not just panic attack tears. Then it's in Iceland. I was so tired from the constant new impressions, with the combination of a dream come true, severe migraines, raining soaking wet with traveling 200 km and add a little friction with my friend and I cried on top of the Skogafoss waterfall. How aesthetically dramatic am i right.

Do you have any kids? Do my cats count? Because then I have two.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Sarcasm is basically all that's left in my body at this point.

What kind of sports do you play/have you played? I used to swim in every shape and form so waterpolo (where someone broke my nose), marathon, giving swimming lessons to kids and then became a life guard which I quit bc I was done with people and during an under the ice training i panicked which was the final straw. Then i played football, and ran. Now I mostly walk long distances like 8km at least. But I'm thinking about joining a fitness class orrr start running again.

What's the first thing you notice about people? Usually their nose, which is odd. The nose really is my center focus for some point. I'm also good at reading vibes and mostly am right when I don't trust someone.

What's your eye color? Grey! Like actual grey, not even near blue. It's this deep grey that has a streak of gold in it. It's fun I really like my eyes.

Scary movies or happy endings? Are thrillers an option because if not then scary movies all the way.

Any special talents? My party trick is being an idiot and being too chaotic.

Where were you born? The Netherlands. Hallo mensen.

What are your hobbies? I love drawing, writing, watching documentaries and learning new things. Also I'm a full nerd for the weather.

Do you have any pets? I have two children (cats), and a bird.

How tall are you? 5'6. Too small for Dutch giant standards.

Favorite subject in school? I loved social studies and history. There is something about studying human behaviour I very much enjoy. I love prying into behaviours and why they exist and how to explain them.

Dream job? Ugh, I'd love to be an independent artist with my own studio. Drawing whatever I like and selling it for enough to live freely off. Like I can just do whatever I want.

Tags: Anyone who wants to join in <3

15 questions 15 mutuals

tagged by @emozionidinchiostro (thanks amo<3)

are you named after anyone? no, idk why they chose my name, my mum said she liked the meaning of it AND it was of jewish origins so it was perfect.

when was the last time you cried? this morning, it's exams season for uni students in my country and i'm failing so, so bad, i was held back a year (more or less) and i see all of my friends graduating while i'm still here.

do you have kids? no. and i'm not planning on having any in the future, i'll be perfectly content with my single and childless aunt status.

do you use sarcasm a lot? yes, it's the only way i'm able to communicate with other people.

what sports do you play/have played? contrary to popular belief, MANY. i've done ballet for 10 years, swimming for 6, volleyball for 2, kickboxing for 4 and i've been running for 4/5, now i'm doing pilates (cuz i'm old and my back hurts) and weight training at the gym.

what's the first thing you notice about people? how they are dressed: do their clothes fit? are their clothes fashionable? are their clothes nice? are their clothes clean? what's their aesthetic? i think that clothes tell you a lot about the person.

what's your eye colour? plain and boring brown (like they are really, REALLY brown, like when you draw something and you use the fill brush, no speck of gold or darker brown no nothing, like sims default eyes.

scary movies or happy endings? what about scary movies with a happy ending? i don't really like unhappy endings, those are the movies i never rewatch because i want to watch happy things, if i wanted to watch something sad and depressing i'd just have take a look at my life.

any special talents? i can drive a plane? idk if that's a special talent, maybe more like a skill(yes this is a flex). as far as talents go i'd say i'm a very good liar (but i only unse my powers for good) and people naturally open up to me, so i'd say i'm a good listener.

where were you born? italy! funnily enough, i was born in the hospital right netx to to what it would've been my high school!

what are your hobbies? readin' 'n' drawin', in other words the classics, but i also love crocheting!

do you have pets? AH. i wish.

how tall are you? exactly 163cm

favourite subject in school? in high school it was either english, physics or laboratory of architecture, in uni it's introduction to astrophysics, inorganic chemistry and physics 3.

dream job? i have MANY: i'd love to be an astrophysicist and do research on the composition of the first generation of stars, or be a tattoo artist, no in between.

tags: @sadieshavingsex @elisastales @thiamsxbitch @sammysdemonblood @self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2 @babygirldilf @isthisanything @amaranthhiding @unitedfandomsoftheworld @the-haiku-bot @seccendedos @manicmoonbug @ihaveacorgi @pipperdaper @highcoltage

#this was so much fun #thank you again <3 #i love doing this type of stuff #about me

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