#i think undead could be debated on like whether they have rights

[lostinforestbound]

I can't control myself so here's more Dark!Rolan based off of @slumpsnail's lovely art!! Please check them out if you haven't already!

From Ambition to Insanity

CW: Allusion to Psychosis, Auditory, Presence, and Tactile Hallucination

A greedy, pathetic, weak master is what Lorroakan was.

All of this knowledge collected in this tower could make a student of the arcane arts transcend the stars. Yet there was Lorroakan, who was so obsessed with a relic called the "Nightsong". What was so important about it, he will never know, and it does not matter. Everything here can be so powerful, and if used right can make him the greatest wizard in all the realms.

And it was all his. He will not fall into the footsteps of his master. He will be better.

He already used the knowledge he found to make the animated armors in Sorcerous Sundries more fluid. Faster. Stronger. They are more efficient than ever, and now he doesn't have to bother going down to that shop, where he was forced to work the front desk, bruises on full display. He will never face that humiliation again.

Lorroakan's projection still mans the front desk, cheery and happy to help the many people in the lower city with their magical purchases. A master of the tower, now nothing but a desk boy. He hopes it makes his former teacher roll in his nonexistent grave.

Locked in his tower, Rolan has been studying anything and everything. He doesn't know when the last time he ate was, or even slept. But ambition is taxing, he knows that all too well. By the time he is done, he will master every school of magic within his capabilities.

Papers are strewn about everywhere on the walls and floor, deep into his current study of Wall of Force. In his head, everything is organized and where it should be. Outside of it, however, is a chaotic scene of unfinished thoughts.

The spell is failing, and he doesn't understand why. Is he too inexperienced, still?

"You look tired, Rolan." Not-Cal states (or is it Lia? Their voices are jumbled) and he feels ghost of a hand on his shoulder.

He smacks away at nothing. "I am busy."

"You were always busy with these spells. Why did you love your studies more than us?" Not-Lia hisses.

I loved you both so much "Be quiet. You're dead." He spits.

In the corners of his tired eyes, he swears the shadows move. The light of his candle burned out long ago, and all he had was his dark vision and the moonlight- Be quiet.

The shadows reach to grab him, to drown him, like they almost did in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. He suddenly gasps out when he feels hands choke him, and he scratches at his neck only to realize nothing is there.

He's losing his mind.

"You need to sleep, sweet pea." A kinder voice whispers. His mother- no, their mother. Cal said he was family, but...

Her voice is sickly sweet in his ears, and he bristles. Whether it's from anger or fear, that is up for debate.

"Rolan-"

He snatches one of his wayward books and throws it towards the nonexistent figure, and it crashes into one of the now-empty glass display cases. Shards of it scatter across the floor, and after it calms, it's dead silent. For now.

A laugh bubbles up in his throat as he runs his hands down his face, eyes wide and teary. He's going insane, but that is the price of his ambition. He will become something great.

The urge to scream and cry rises every painful day, his nightmares bleeding into his reality. Dropping onto his knees once more, he stares at the glass shards that reflect his scarred face back at him. He subconsciously reaches for one.

Dark eye bags, scars from past beatings, disheveled hair, chapped lips-

He hisses suddenly, pulling his hand back into himself as blood gushes out of his palm. Grabbing it was a terrible idea, what was he thinking?

Then again, it's confirmation that he's still alive.

Part of him thought he died back where the Shadow Curse resided. Though, a part of his soul did when he saw Cal and Lia torn apart by undead-

"Why did you abandon their bodies?"

"Sod off." He says to no one, grinding his teeth as he watches the blood pour. It hurts. His head hurts. Everything hurts. It's so fucking lonely here he needs a healing potion, but it's too late to go get one-

That's when he looks up and sees the sun rising. He pulled an all-nighter again.

He's not nearly done with his work.

As he confirmed that sleep was a waste of time (the nightmares wouldn't stop) he reaches for one of his various Angelic Slumber potions. He'll need to buy more, but for now, there's plenty. Lorroakan was quite the dragon, hoarding all of them in this section of the tower. Or was it Ramazith? He'll never know.

For at least 12 seconds, he's at peace in a dreamless slumber.

Then he starts all over again.

[grandpasauce]

Dreadwolf Companion Predictions

These are my personal predictions based off concept art, leaks, and other official media. Using this edited lineup of the alleged companions from reddit. The added text is mine tho.

Left to right:

Dress lady is one of the ones I'm pretty unsure of. The dress and jewelry give me Rivaini vibes for some reason, specifically a lord of fortune? Also the fact that a similar looking woman is seen in another concept art being used as a sort of decoy for the rest of the party to sneak up on a target, and the Lords of Fortune are sometimes adept at disguises and impressions. She gives me 'face of the party vibes'. Honestly, I equate her with mage simply cause the robes but i could be totally wrong lmao.

Next is qunari lady. Not much to say about her, other than some different concept art has her dual wielding daggers, so rogue seems a strong presumption. Probably tal vashoth, perhaps a member of the executors or some other faction?

This is Davrin. We've seen him voiced in that one trailer, the leaks heavily suggest he is a companion. Pretty easy to assume he will be a grey warden based on his one voiced line. His armor gives rogue vibes here, but I'm pretty confident he will be a warrior. But who knows. Leaks also suggest he may be an elf.

This being Calpernia would be my first guess, as no world state from Inquisition actually confirms Calpernia is DEAD dead by end game. Although Maevaris is also a strong guess, I feel Maevaris will be an important npc, not a companion, when/if she shows up in dreadwolf, since she is running a whole ass political party alongside Dorian. Other concept art shows a similar blonde woman casting magic, so this further bolsters my belief that at the very least, this is a mage companion. The armor looks hella tevinter style to me as well, so I'd not be surprised if whoever this is is part of the shadow dragon faction introduced in the missing comics.

This is Harding. It's Harding. Like, come on. Look that the other concept art. It's Harding. Obvs she will be a rogue.

This is definitely a crow assassin. Whether it's Lucanis or not is up for debate, but this is def gonna be a crow rogue companion.

Qunari dude is a warrior, assuming the other concept art is accurate, since he's wearing a full suit of heavy armor + a helmet in that illustration. No idea what his faction alliances may be. I'm really excited to have 2 qunari companions thoooo.

Ghost rider boy is probably Audric from Tevinter Nights, or another undead spirit sort of thing similar to Audric. Class wise, I would assume warrior, as I think bioware is more likely to give us an extra warrior character as opposed to an extra mage character. (There's only 8 companions in this lineup so the split would be 2 mages/3 warriors/3 rogues, which i feel is more likely than 3 mages/2 warriors/3 rogues). This makes me think he will be a warrior of some type.

Now they could leave it at 8. That would leave us short a mage. Specifically, a male mage. We also have a noticeable elf shortage with this cast compared to the other 2 previous games. Not saying there is a secret companion, but. Y'know. This does leave room for a certain ancient old elf man. Maybe.

Okay let me know what you guys think like do any of these predictions seem wildly out of the realm of possibility to you?

[echantedtoon]

Until Death Do You Vow Ch3 Apprehensive Role

(Again imagine what your dress looks like as the dress above/linked below only with a MUCH longer train and veil. 

https://images.app.goo.gl/V4BZ1rEaXstvYx696)

The sweet sunlight kisses the world good bye as the sun set on the world. Wishing it good bye to make way for the cruel night that way ahead. Bathing the world in darkness tinted in red by his sister the moon as she dawned her best war paint and climbed higher into the darkened sky to claim her rightful place as Queen of the dark realm. The red a sign to all her dark children that tonight would be the night for mischief and mayhem. Danger and chaos.

Death and undead.

Beware the blood moon that comes to rise in the sky.

Beware the monsters who lurk and live amongst the world.

Beware of those who seek out their own entertainment.

So lock your doors up tight when the blood moon appears. Barricade all your windows. Block up any chimneys. Hide away in your deepest closest. Arm yourself with your finest weapons. Speak not a word and be silent. Sleep not a wink and keep alert for they will all spirit you away.

Mischievous fae. Blood thirsty vampires. Carnivorous werewolves. Fire breathing dragons. Scheming demons. And so many more.

Those who refuse to heed the warnings are fated to die to be spirited away never to be seen again. So hide away and don't make a sound. Never answer the door no matter what. And above all else be weary.

Beware. Beware. Beware. BEWARE-

You jumped as a thunderclap in the distance overhead echoed throughout the sky. Your head looked up instinctively and stared at the still lit up sky and the dark grey storm clouds that scattered across it like some shattered jigsaw puzzle. The sight of it worried you making a frown appear on your perfectly make uped face. The chilly wind blowing over you making you shiver and the veil flow in the wind and over your face. 

A hand reached up to push the lacey veil away from your face to give a clearer look at the looming figure in front of you.  

The stories you've heard about the ancient Gallagher Mansion, the tales and whispers and rumors. Hone to decadence and luxury in the days of yore, now abandoned and mostly forgotten. The aura of mystery and lost inheritance tainted by misfortune and blood mixed with greedy ambition. It's shadow loomed over your form blocking most of what's left of the sunlight, casting the eerie darkness over your beautiful white dress. None of the rumors have done it justice, only instilling more creepiness to the overall visage. The whole place looked like the stereotypical image of a haunted mansion in every Halloween decoration made. Old worm building. Creaking creepy metal fence. The old rock pathway leading up to the doors full of cracks and had weeds growing in the crevices. Gallagher Mansion was obviously abandoned for most of its existence. So why doesn't it look like a pile of splinters by now? Why weren't the grounds more overgrown than expected??... Must've been the caretaker. There must've been a caretaker. 

"Team, do you copy?", a voice in your ear spoke out and made you jump nearly dropping both the phone and bouquet of roses in your arms.  "What's the situation on the field? Over."

Pushing your things into one arm, you reached out to gently touch the ear piece Taylor had given you before the mission. You've used these before on other ghosts hunts in big areas you had split up in. Made things easier to keep in touch with each other. Suppose it was a good idea to keep them instead of pawning them for club funding money. Although you heavily debated on whether THIS was a good idea.

"I'm fine," you nervously shuffled in place giving another look around the place. "But I think it might rain soon."

"Don't jinx yourself now, Buddy. Good weather will make the mission easier. Over."

"Y'know we don't have to say over after everything we say. I can hear you just fine." You could almost hear Taylor's pout on the other side. "But so far it's pretty good. Other than the looming storm and how creepy this place is."

"Keep your guard up. If I'm right then I'm ninety percent sure we'll find at least something in this place."

"Uh huh. Well I'm more worried about tripping over my gown. Can't I take the heels off? Or roll the hem of it up a bit?" The light wind made you shiver again before the lacey veil gently floated back down over your face. "And did I seriously need to wear the veil?"

"Sorry. No can do. You gotta look the part for when you fall into the cold dead arms of Elias Gallagher. Over."

Back To the over thing huh? You rolled your eyes and sighed. "Right. I'll look as classically ravishing as ever."

Honestly you didn't know why you kept this stupid outfit. It was nothing but a reminder of unhappy memories. You didn't want to unpack it ever again and honestly you should've just sold the dress to the drama club of Zephyr University instead of just tossing it into the back of your closet. You were surprised Taylor even remembered that you still had it. If you had known of his ideas to use it you would've definitely gotten rid of it.

...

"Hey. Do you still have that old wedding dress?"

The question was so out of nowhere that it caught you off guard and you nearly dropped your lunch of cafeteria pizza the university provided. You stared at his happy face wide eyed and blankly just taking a moment to actually process what Taylor actually said.

"...Why would you ask me that?," you slowly asked lowering the pizza back onto the tray. 

"Because I have an idea of how we could get Elias's attention!," he happily chirped ignoring your furrowed brows.

"And that involves my dress how?"

"Ghosts sometimes are drawn to things they're familiar with. That's why a lot of houses are haunted by former owners or something there'll be haunted objects that belonged to a dead person. Or sometimes they're drawn to people in similar situations to them when they were alive!"

"Taylor, in case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly dead!"

"No, but you both experienced tragic weddings-"

"No! Absolutely NOT!," you bluntly stated putting a stop to any wild plans as you pointed at him with a deep frown. "I'm not gonna go ghost hunting in a wedding dress that only brings me nothing but bad memories. I can't believe you'd even suggest that to me!"

"Oh, come on, Y/n! It's like the perfect plan! The groom who lost everything meets a bride who lost everything! It's full proof! It's perfect! It's-"

"A blatant disregard for my feelings and will nothing but stir up bad memories!," you spat before turning away to stare hard at the pizza on your tray.

Taylor seemed to pick up on the nerves he touched wincing and also looking away with a guilty look. There was silence except for the background murmurs of dozens of other people using the cafeteria. Eventually Taylor looked over glancing at your uneaten tray before looking at your face. 

"Hey. I'm.. sorry. That was a real jerk thing to suggest," he apologized.

"It's fine. I'm not really using the stupid get up for anything really, and it wasn't being used anyways-"

"Wait. You'll do it?!" He looked surprised but then concerned. "You don't.. have to. I mean what if your dress gets ruined?"

You shrugged still not looking up and just grabbing the pizza again. "Like I said, I never used it anyways and it's not like I bought it so I won't really lose any money by it."

"Oh. Um. Ok! Cool! We can totally use this!"

"But you're buying me lunch for the rest of the year."

"WHAT?!"

"I'm gonna be ghost bait right? The least you can do is feed me for saving the club."

"Wha- Rrr. Fine."

You smiled at Taylor's pout. Free pizza never tasted sweeter.

....

You shuffled more looking back behind you. Down the road from the open gates was Taylor's car where he stationed 'HQ' for this whole thing. You were almost tempted to just leave and go back and demand to be taken home to your own bed but... Technically you did promise and one last ghost hunt before the club retired forever would be fun. With a sigh you turned back to the entrance of the manor.

"Hey. I have a question before I start this mission."

"Shoot."

With an evil smirk you asked, "Did they still have jesters in the Victorian era?"

"I don't really know...or why you'd be asking me that."

With a bigger grin you chuckled. "Im just saying what if Elias isn't the only ghost here? What if I run into his personal jester?"

"G-G-GHOST CLOWN!? NO!," Taylor squealed out of the other side as you began walking. "Why would you even suggest that?!"

"But my life could be in danger. Unless it was a nice clown ghost that makes people laugh-"

"Quit stalling and start the mission already!"

You couldn't help but laugh practically hearing him pout on the other side. It at least helped to calm your nerves as you approached the giant doors. Instinctively a hand reached down to pull up the bottom of this ballroom nightmare of a dress. Each step of your heels made a clicking sound with every slow step you took against the pathway leading up to the old doors. The nervous feeling returned as you approached the front entrance. The wooden steps of the porch creaked as you stepped up onto the first one and continued u-

CLINK!!

You jumped and looked over as a glass bottle fell off the steps and landed somewhere in the grass. You sighed in relief and scolded yourself. It was just a bottle no doubt left from someone partying here a long time ago. Get ahold of yourself. With a breath you Willed your body to turn and click your heels back up the rest of the way to the porch and reach out to the door only to hesitate. The wind had picked up a little bit by then making you shiver and the gate creaked as the wind pushed its heavy frame. Yep. This is definitely the start of a horror movie. The only difference is that it was still sun up but just barely. Sunset was so near and it would officially be night within an hour. You didn't want to be stuck inside during the night but you didn't want to be stuck outside during the night. So with a breath you reached out to one of the old heavy doors, turned the old brass knobs, and pushed it open.

CCCCRRREEEAAAAKKK-

It slid right open with a loud creak and you poked your head in looking around. Seeing nothing of danger you slowly stepped the rest of the way in careful to not let the long veil or train get stuck in the doorway before the door slowly closed from its own weight. The entire place was no pun intended dead quiet. The air stale and colder than the wind outside making you feel strange. But you were more surprised that the whole place wasn't more..Well destroyed. Wasn't this supposed to be a known party house? There should've been more bottles and trash everywhere but there wasn't. You expected more graffiti and for the place to be at least more in disarray with all the parties that supposedly go on here but it looked almost untouched. Abandoned but untouched. Strange.

"How's it lookin' in there, Bud?"

You again nearly jumped at Taylor's voice but shook your head. "Perfectly ripe for a haunting complete with a creepy portrait on top of the stairs." You squinted your eyes up the stairs in the darkness but could barely make out the portrait with the painted face staring at you from the too of the stairs. "In fact you'd probably have an asthma attack from all this dust."

"Is your sixth sense tingling?"

You took a moment to pause and look around again. "Not really but it is weirdly cold in here. Might be a sign."

"Then it's time to summon a ghost!"

"Right." Without a pause you brought up your phone and put it to video and audio recording. "Alright. I think I'm ready to start the recording. Let's see if we can get some spooky audio recordings."

"Alright. Remember we're trying to entice him out, so be polite about it."

"Is there any questions you want me to ask?" 

"Well... don't ask him for the fortune up front, he might get offended. But maybe start with a greeting."

"Right." You walked a little more into the manor until you stood right at the end of the stairs, your heel clicks echoing everywhere. With an inhale you slowly sighed and pressed the record button on your phone. "Hello!" Your voice echoed throughout the building as you shouted at the air. "My name is Y/n. What's yours?" You waited a small moment to just allow anything to be caught on the recordings. "Is there anyone here who wishes to make contact with me?" Again another small pause. "Can you give me a sign you're here? Maybe move something or make a sound?" You stayed quiet maneuvering your phone around the place to record anything you might've missed ...but other than the wind and distant sounds of thunder, nothing answered you and all remained still. "Do you want me to leave? If you want me to leave please let me know so I can respect your space." Again... nothing but silence.

"Anything?"

"Nope. Not a thing. I'm gonna stop recording now and replay the video. Maybe the audio caught something we didn't."

Your thumb pressed the end button and you quickly went back to playback the video recording. "Hello!" Your voice echoed from the recording clear as day. "My name is Y/n. What's yours?" There wasn't a thing but silence next. "Can you give me a sign you're here? Maybe move something or make a noise?" You held it up to your free ear to listen closely...not a thing but static. "Do you want me to leave? If you want to leave please let me know so I can respect your space." You listened EXTRA carefully and closely...still nothing to be said. A little disappointed you removed the phone on your ear and went back to replay it. Ok. Nothing on the audio. Maybe the video? Just in case you slowed the video as slowly as the phone settings would allow you and painfully watched as it played all the way through...but saw absolutely nothing but a regular abandoned building you recorded.

"Ugh. There's nothing. It's a dud, Taylor."

"W-Wait! We can't give up now!," Taylor desperately shouted as if panicked you'd leave right now. "Maybe it's because it's still daylight out! It'll be nighttime in less than an hour. Ghost generally are more active at night right? Maybe we're not asking at the right time?"

You sighed before turning to sit down on the stairs and frowned. "Fine but Im sitting down. These shoes are killing me."

"Haha! I guess that's one downfall of dressing up so fancy."

You frowned.  "Let me remind you Mister that it was YOU that insisted on me dressing up in the full get up!"

There was an awkward pause on the other end as Taylor cleared his throat nervously. "W-Well it's all part of the plan. A groom ghost is about to be attracted to the real thing. Even if you're not his actual bride, he still might get curious enough to come out."

"Lucky me. I get to wear it once for a groom who ghosted me and twice as bait for a literal ghost groom. Nice."

Again there was more awkward silence. "Y'know. That wasn't your fault. Clearly that guy didn't know what he was missing! He was an absolute scumbag!"

You did smile a little bit. This is why he was a good friend. "Hmph. Thanks. I knew I could count on my knight in shining armor."

He gave a couple laughs. "Well then that makes you the damsel in distress."

"Nah. With how I'm dressed now, I might as well be a princess. Sure have the tacky get up for it."

"Hm. Fair enough point."

"Don't think I'm pretty enough for the role though."

"Hey. Don't put yourself down, Bud. You totally have the looks to pull it off."

...You smirked. "Oh. So you think I'm pretty now?"

"GAH?!" You snorted hearing Taylor sputtering and you can imagine the red on his face matching his hair perfectly. "N-N-Now that's enough! Get your head back to the mission."

You still  couldn't help but giggle at him. "Alright, alright. But I mean it. Thanks. I appreciate it."

Taylor didn't say anything but there was a few grumbles in response. You couldn't help but chuckle. You still remembered how he reacted to when Taylor saw you back in this whole get up back an hour or two ago when you got ready for the mission.

*****

"Come on, Y/n! It shouldn't take this long to throw on a dress and some make up." Taylor impatiently tapped his foot against the floor as he stood outside the room you were changing in.

"Hey! YOU were the one who wanted me to 'dress the whole none yards'. It takes a while to squeeze into this entire get up when I haven't even worn these in two years!" You answered back muffled by the door. "And I'm not exactly make up extrodinare. You can wait just a little bit more."

Taylor groaned rubbing his face. "Elias could've crossed over by the time you get done! Heck. I could become a ghost by the time you get out here!"

"Oh hush up you big baby. I'll be out as soon as I get these stupid shoes on."

Taylor only rolled his eyes as he still stared impatiently at nothing. How long could it take to put shoes on? Aren't girls supposed to be really good at dressing up? They're supposed to be shoe and fashion crazy! He pouted arms crossed for five more minutes until the door knob turned with a click and the door opened.

"Oh finally!" He turned around. "It was taking forev-"

Anything else he might've said died on his tongue as he turned and laid eyes on her mage walking out of the door. The white silky, sparkly white dress floated around her steps and hugged her body just so. Making her seem like Cinderella had just walked out of the fairytale books. The soft train drawling behind her along with the longer part of the giant veil that not only flowed down her back but covered her shoulders and sides too, with a smaller part of it covering her face. To which she reached up to push from her allowing him to see her fluttering lashes and shiny lips. There was enough make up to enhance her without taking away from her natural beauty.

She was...

BEAUT-

"Taylor?" He jumped when she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "You ok there pal?"

"Huh?! UH. YEAH!!" He cleared his throat and quickly looked away. "You look...You look exactly h-how I imagined for this!"

You rose a brow. "Thank you I guess." You blinked looking at his hands. "Taylor, are you holding a bouquet of roses?" He nodded. "Why?"

"W-What's a bride without her bouquet?" He shoved the bouquet at you. "H-Here."

You blinked but slowly looked at the bouquet. It wasn't a big bouquet, probably because Taylor and you couldn't spare a whole bunch of money being broke college students. There was about five roses all tied together and wrapped up in that fancy paper florists always used. You slowly took it from him in surprise and gazed over it.

"Wow... It's been a while since someone gave me flowers." A soft smile appeared on your face.

Taylor flushed more. "*Ahem* W-Well you gotta look the part. Um...You can just keep'em after the mission's done."

"Thanks, Taylor. They're beautiful."

"Um. Yeah! *ahem* C-Come on. It'll be dark soon. We better get going."

******

The sun soon disappeared over the horizon. Darkness took over the rest of the space and you sat there resting your legs as the darkness crept up enough to get you to shiver. The creepiness factor increased so much now that it wasn't bathed in light. Now that you were alone in the dark you used the flashlight on your phone to look around the place. Still looked the same as always. No changes. 

"Any noticable changes?"

"Nope. Everything looks the same only darker. Doesn't feel different either."

"Are you ready to give it another go, Bud?"

"Sure. Why not? Got nothing to lose." You slowly stood up brushing the dust off your dress and looking around. There was no changes. So again you quickly shifted your phone to record with the flashlight on and pointed it around slowly. "Is there anyone else here with me tonight?" Your voice echoed throughout the place making a shiver run down your spine. But nothing happened.

"Try addressing him directly or asking something he might be interested in," Taylor suggested through the earpiece. 

Why not? "I heard that Elias Gallagher is here. Do you want to come talk to me?" You listened closely but still no answer. "Do you like my dress? I heard you were going to be married. Is that true?" You still heard nothing carefully turning your phone this way and that to record the area surrounding you. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not here to hurt you. I only wanna talk to you and hear what you gotta say. Is there anything you want people to know about you?" Still nothing. "Is there anyone here who isn't Elias Gallagher? I'd be happy to talk to anyone. If you can make yourself known that'd be great. Make a sound or move something to let me know you're there." Still nothing but the wind and distant thunder that didn't sound so distant anymore. "I'm gonna stop recording now."

"Anything happen?"

"Nope but maybe the recording caught something." You doubted it but it was worth checking out.

You stopped the phone and rewound it back. "Is there anyone else here with me tonight?" Nothing. "I heard Elias Gallagher is here. Do you want to come talk to me?" Nothing. "Do you like my dress? I heard you were going to be married. Is that true?" Nothing. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not here to hurt you. I only wanna talk to you and hear what you gotta say. Is there anything you want people to know about you?" Nothing. Not a single thing. "Is there anyone here who isn't Elias Gallagher? I'd be happy to talk to anyone. If you can make yourself known that'd be great. Make a sound or move something to let me know you're there." Absolutely, purely, positively NOTHING!!

A big fat ZERO with a capital Z!!

You did the same thing as before rewinding it back and slowing down the footage to carefully comb through it again...Aaasnd nothing looked out of the ordinary again. The only difference was that it was darker than the previous footage. 

"Well? What's the verdict?," Taylor sounded hopeful through the mic.

With a sigh you only shook your head. "Nothing. No audio, no footage, not even one spooky shadow. Taylor, Id hate to say it but this place really is a dud. If it was haunted surely something would've happened by now. I think it's just that. A ghost story."

"I-... You-..W-Wait. Maybe we're doing something wrong. Maybe you're not asking the right questions o-or maybe he only haunts a certain room in the mansion!"

"Taylor, I'm not just wandering around a mansion that's nearly two hundred years old and I'm the dark. What if the floor collapses under me or I breath in some kind of mold?" You crossed your arms with a frown. "Are you seriously asking me to risk my life for a ghost that's probably not even here?"

"I-...*sigh* No. I'm not gonna do that to you."

You half deflated at his disappointed tone. "Look, Taylor. I'm really sorry. We'll figure something out I promise."

"Yeah...Hey. Wait a second. There actually might be something!"

You rose a brow. "What?"

"The Gallagher's like a lot of wealthy families had a small cemetery on the property. It should be just behind the manor! Maybe we can get something directly from the source!"

Your brows rose. "Uh...Hold on a second there. Are you trying to say I should just walk into a cemetery in a wedding dress and try to make contact with ghosts?! That's how a horror movie starts!"

"PLEASE!! You've investigated cemeteries before!" 

"Never alone! And you were always with me!"

"It's not a real cemetery though. Shortly after the death of the third Gallagher child, the family moved the all the Gallagher family remains to the community cemetery thinking that perhaps angry spirits on the property were to blame. So while there's no bodies, there's still the energy that they might've left behind."

.....Oh. Alright. That was..a bit better. You guessed. 

"I don't know, Taylor. I have a bad feeling."

"We'll make this quick. if you don't capture anything then..*sigh* Then we'll go home right after. How's that?"

You hesitated for a long time before sighing. "You are going to owe me BIG TIME for this!"

[frozenjokes]

To Keep (Signing Back In, Apparently Epilogue) // 1

Next - Ao3 Link

chapter 1 cw: organs being removed from body but not too graphically and honestly the victim isn’t too worried about it

For the sake of research, should any hands human or otherwise get ahold of his notes, Cub felt it rather relevant to clarify a few things about ghosts. Well, ghosts that lived here anyway, here on the island that met them halfway. Whether the island itself was half dead or the ghosts that inhabited it were half alive was up for debate, but ultimately irrelevant. This island held a long history of death and new beginnings, so naturally, a ghost that lived here could be quite powerful. They could interact with the place just as if they were human; they could build, fly, explore, but most relent to Cub���s current predicament, they could die.

Well, die was a strong word, but their bodies could only sustain so much damage before ceasing to exist, at least for a little while, until their spirits wandered back to and reformed at Spawn, the place they drew their power. Perhaps this was a symptom of ‘meeting life and death in the middle’ though that was only a theory. Ghosts under normal circumstances would only rarely interact with the world if they ever did at all. If the world can’t touch you, it can’t hurt you, but here, any plant, animal, or mineral native to the island could do sizable damage if you weren’t careful.

Naturally, ‘dying’ in several creative and violent ways revealed other odd things about the ghosts living here, or rather, what was inside of them. Cub had always been fascinated by the muscles and organs in his ethereal form, seemingly serving no other purpose than aesthetics. Maybe on the surface it doesn’t sound all too strange, but try breaking a bone in an undead body, and suddenly everything feels real weird. There’s something indignant about getting injured as a dead man, a ghost especially. You’re dead. Pain and broken bodies are behind you. Yet here you are, unable to finish up a project because a stray piece of rubble crushed your arm, and your useless ghost body is taking its sweet time regenerating. Ah, but he was getting off topic.

See, he brought it up because of Scar, or at least what used to be Scar, who was currently taking great pleasure in removing his intestines from his stomach. Not painful per se, but certainly uncomfortable. Enough to wish he’d just die already to get the regeneration process started, but hey, he couldn’t blame a vex for having a little fun. Well, maybe fun wasn’t the right word; Scar looked more frustrated than anything. Did he want Cub to be afraid (or was that just wishful thinking)? If he did, he wasn’t doing a great job. This was too slow, hardly threatening really, almost like he wasn’t trying at all. Cub wasn’t going to pretend to be scared for Scar’s benefit, he’d have to work for it. Though, maybe it was hard to come up with new and frightening ways to kill him; this was the fourth time after all. Cub furrowed his brow. Well, four wasn’t that many. Even Scar looked disinterested; how was Cub supposed to be engaged like this!

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Cub asked, trying to catch Scar’s eye. Scar paused in the ravaging of Cub's organs to consider the question, though he didn’t look any less annoyed. Finally, he curled his lip.

“You.”

“Ah! What a coincidence. I’ve been thinking about you as well. Quite a lot actually. Maybe we could talk about this, or even better, you could do the talking and I can listen. That sounds pleasant, doesn’t it?”

“No!” Scar shook his head, a little violent. More like an animal than a person. “This isn’t working,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but snapped his mouth shut. Cub waited a moment, but it didn’t look like Scar planned on changing his mind.

��I’d say so. I was looking forward to this, and I must say, I’m a little disappointed. I think you can do better.”

Scar gawked, his expression quickly folding to anger. “This isn’t about you. You- leave me alone!” he hissed, plunging a clawed hand through Cub’s chest. Well, that wasn’t very productive. Darkness edged his vision, promising release very soon. Irritation tugged at the back of Cub’s mind. Had he misjudged their last encounter? Maybe Scar had just been embarrassed. At least he was open to talking today, that was progress! Cub sighed, mourning the loss of the opportunity to use the net he’d brought today. They could have spent far more time together.

Finally, the entire world went dark, Cub’s senses failing until all that was left was his own thoughts.

The first time this happened, Scar’s teeth in his throat was a massive surprise. Well, that’s not entirely true, because the first time this happened Cub was dead before he was even aware Scar was there, but regardless. It was surprising because Scar was not born here. Under normal circumstances, a human visiting would be able to see the ghosts, but not touch them, not unless they were wearing clothes made from the island’s resources. Though, to say Scar was still human may not be completely accurate. On that, Cub still wasn’t certain. He’d have to subdue Scar first to know for sure.

He was certainly human when they had first met. A piece of shit, sure, but human. As far as Cub was aware, Scar only visited the island as a last ditch effort to appease his ghosts, former members of his pirate crew all killed by his hand. He was charming enough, certainly enough for Cub to let him live, which may have been a lapse of judgment on his part, but when someone is so eager to bargain for their life, how could you blame him for humoring the man? It was adorable the way he scrambled to find any sort of power in a place he had none, putting up a confident facade as if Cub couldn’t see right through it. Though he had really wanted Scar in his museum at the time, he couldn’t deny a different opportunity here. Scar wanted to live. Perhaps enough to be a willing participant in his own morbid experiments.

Indeed he was. Though, Cub hadn’t expected Cleo’s panicked message over the walkie a week later that Scar was some amount ‘possessed’ or however she had described it.

Cub hadn’t had any issues with his own body modification, certainly not threats of losing control over his own body. Then again, he was dead and the vex were undead, and Scar was quite alive. Forcibly combining the alive and the dead might have led to some issues, though, Cub never got to properly observe any changes. Or maybe it was that Cub had only used one vex for Scar, and for himself, he’d used multiple, possibly splitting souls and making them weaker? He wasn’t sure. However, he was sure now that Cleo had been right. Every encounter with Scar after that point, though brief, had pointed to the idea he had lost some, or maybe all control over his body.

For starters, after Mumbo, Grian, Impulse, and Pearl joined the ghosts on Hermit Island, Scar had disappeared. Now, the island was big, yes, but Cub found it difficult to believe any human could just vanish without a trace, especially when twenty or so ghosts were searching for him. No, no, Scar had help, Cub was sure of it. Maybe he wasn’t even ‘Scar’ at all after cutting his connection with his ghosts. Unfortunately, while all the other ghosts were looking, Cub had been busy reviving Cleo after an accident, so he hadn’t gotten the chance to help look. But now, at the beginning of the new season, no one else seemed to be interested in finding him anymore.

That might be a good thing.

Impulse had let the ghosts of the island know their history, and given what the old pirate crew had been through, Cub was relatively certain if any other ghost found Scar, he’d be killed. This island was meant to be a safe haven for ghosts like them. No need to risk him coming around and reopening old wounds while the four of them were trying to heal. Cub agreed! He did! He had no intention of letting Scar anywhere near his old crew, but come on, the opportunity to study something like this was so rare .

When Cub was done, he’d make sure to end it. That would be the responsible thing to do, after all. He would do it. He would. Probably.

Cub spent his time as his body regenerated repeating and organizing his thoughts, hoping he could put most of his scattered thoughts into a marginally understandable written form. It was easy at first, before his senses started to recover, but as the world faded back into perception (first sound, then the awareness of his fingertips and his tongue in his mouth, then fuzzy lights that gave way to sight, then-) it became harder to focus. That was expected. As control filtered back into his limbs, he stretched, then made his way for the spare fireworks left at Spawn. It was morning now; not a huge surprise. It must have taken a couple hours for his spirit to wander back to Spawn. Not out of the ordinary for a Scar death. He preferred to stay very out of the way. Oh well. It was time to get back to his starter base before he forgot everything he had learned.

[creativecuteness]

Introducing The Whitechapel Adventures Remaster Collection

Four years ago I started my fanfiction escapades on fanfiction.net by posting the first entry of Whitechapel Adventures titled Dawn of the Bloodsuckers. This mbav fanfic was the first I ever wrote on word doc and the first I ever posted. The memoir styled story follows my ten-year-old OC as she and her friends move to the sleepy town of Whitechapel with special guest star Mabel Pines from Gravity Falls. Meeting and befriending the main cast, this story served as a sneak peek into the crazy daydreams I created during my childhood days while also creating a starting point for the fanfic cannon I would expand upon in my many multi fandom stories.

But in that time, the first four stories have become outdated. I really didn't know what I was doing or even how to properly format, paragraph, or even convey more emotion for my characters. And as a result, the stories have an awkward feel to them not to mention the multiple spelling mistakes and missing words. (I was really bad at spell checking at that time.) Now I could go back and rewrite and update the original stories, but I don't want to overwrite them, not only are the original finished product near and dear to my heart but also because they were written during my early years of fanfic writing so while they're rough around the edges I think it's important to showcase that all writers have their working things out phase which is what inspired me to remaster these four stories and compile them into a long form collection.

Plus, now that the entire movie and first season had their uncensored scenes uncovered it's time to go back and put these scenes in their rightful place in my stories.

So how will this be handled simple, the collection includes (In chronological order) Whitechapel Adventures Origins, Dawn of the Bloodsuckers, Night of the Undead Critters, and Feels Like School Sprit. (I'm debating whether or not I should also include Blood Drive as well but I'm leaning towards no because number 1 it's the most recent one next to A Life-sized Issue and number 2 there's not much I can think of that should be remastered or changed. Let me know what you think.

The stories will be posted on Ao3, Fanfiction.net, and Tumblr with me adding my own developer's commentary and deep dive as to why I added certain things and what influenced either these changes or add on's. With that said Whitechapel Adventures Origins is already under revision and will be finished sometime this year. Shouldn't take too long since its five chapters and I was already getting the hang of writing at the time.

But once the story is remastered, I will post each chapter once or twice a week maybe. I have yet to create an upload schedule, but I promise you I will keep you updated with snippets and comparisons as I write. With that said I hope you're as excited as I am and tell me what story you're most excited for it might give me more motivation to get them out faster.

Stay tuned for updates.

[talesofsonicasura]

To Become Maddening

(Remade without poll so I can edit.)

I figured why not have my first Trollhunters AU be angst with a side of hurt/comfort involving a certain Jim Lake Jr. Whether this has half Troll or full Troll Jim (my own design, not Wizards) is up in the air.

It begins when on our future Trollhunters tenth birthday, a normally happy event turned sour as he found a strange stone in his backyard. A very magical one cause the moment he touches it, Jim disappears within a flash of red light. Where did he go? An alternate universe specifically Madness Combat's Nevada.

(I'll be filling the blanks whenever necessary. Madness Combat is a Newground series made by Krinkels and is VERY violent. You don't have watch the series to understand the AU as I'll keep things about it vague. The characters are a species called Grunts or Crosslings. Defining traits are: clay like skin, facial features hidden by a cross similar in appearance to what's used to sketch faces and floating hands.)

Maddening universe where the sky is blood red, the undead walk the earth, and reality itself is broken. A kill or be killed environment Jim is forced to adapt to. Luckily he isn't alone for long as the kid meets another displaced human by the name of Marin. She runs the Skyfall Organization, a rescue team with her right hand MAG Consternation alongside trusty MAG Fluffy Grunt Buck and takes him under her wing.

Jim is taught how to not only survive but thrive in this apocalyptic environment than just rescue responder training. He returns to Arcadia Oaks at the age of 13 albeit quite traumatized. During Jim's disappearance, Barbara may have started dating Stricklander and Toby stumbles upon Trollmarket earlier than in canon.

The latter occurs because he was searching for any possible clues to his best friend's disappearance. Jim's partner in crime accidentally stumbles upon Kanijar, who finds the stone responsible for the disappearance, and follows him back. It didn't take long for a certain Krubera to find Toby in Trollmarket.

Now Team Trollhunters is in the prototype phase as a result of these change in events. He wants to find Jim and if that means the possible of danger the Troll world brings then so be it. Toby is Kanijar's "chair guy", filling the Trollhunter about any events using a drone or RC car. He thinks the whole Trollhunters working alone thing is dumb and is slowly chipping away at that mindset.

You never underestimate a determined kid especially one who would go to the ends of the Earth for his friend. Kanijar is the type who wouldn't have a kid be left unprotected upon discovering the existence of Trolls. Especially as Toby's determination could lead to someone like Bular finding him.

Our wingman's tenacity definitely caused changes for the Trollmarket residents. Draal is like a teasing old brother when it comes to Toby, a courtesy later extended to Jim. He also helps Blinky with any research so our loveable sassy boi has some knowledge in magic too.

Anyway, both are relieved that Jim is back but quickly notice the scars, equipment and WEAPONS he gotten during his stay. Marin didn't want to leave the boy defensively so taught him how to use guns, knives alongside her favorite (stolen) weapon: the Dragon Sword.

(It's Jim, a child Jim. The guy would definitely try to use equipment without proper training so Marin's hands were tied. She rather not have the kid hurt himself or become zombie chow trying to be a hero.) He does keep the stuff from Nevada like the Dragon Sword but the guns; a Sig P365 semi automatic handgun, Desert Eagle 11911 Commander, and a 50 Beowulf rifle to be precise, are locked up until his 20th birthday.

I'm debating whether to give Jim serious facial damage. Not the subtle stuff either. Like Jonah Hex(left) scarring where his teeth is visible or worse a prosthetic lower jaw like Antipathy Hank(right). Maybe a mix of both. As for how he got it, let's just say Nevada has its own devil. Someone who doesn't like Marin and got no qualms hurting a young child.

It does open up a chance for more bonding but also Barbara getting dragged into the Trollhunter business early as well. Rescue responders do need a medic when shit hits the fan and lives are on the line.

Jim finds out about Trollmarket as his time in Nevada allows him to spot even the smallest signs of suspicious behavior. He follows Toby when his best friend goes to tell Blinky about Jim's return. You can imagine the entire Trollmarket's shock when they see an extensively scarred child, especially one who seen the horrors of battle.

Jim tells about his experience in the apocalyptic Nevada and suggests a rescue/emergency system to be implemented. He has an obvious huge distaste for not only the Trollhunter working alone nonsense too but the major lack of contingencies. Marin practically drilled the consequences to such actions in his head.

Now Jim isn't going to be the Trollhunter as these early precautions keep Kanijar from dying like in canon. Although the troll might get discharged from such duty and Draal taking his place due to severe injuries in the future. (Plus I want to take a shot at writing him.) Our human trio of heroes still get directly involved when canon events start.

Strickler is very hesitant to go against Jim and his resolve to free Gunmar been severely cracked. How? Well, Jim has a group photo of him with his fellow rescuers in the Skyfall Organization. Something that Strickler finds when it drops outta the boy's bag. Barbara later sees it too.

Jim only tells the concealed Changeling about his experiences in Nevada, nothing else. The kind of stuff that leaves the man awestruck. In Strickler's opinion, the place sounds worse than the Darklands as reality is literally tearing apart, yet it has one thing the lost Troll world would never have: hope. An actual Pandora's Box that opened up future possibilities he hadn't realize until now.

Just because Jim isn't going to be the Trollhunter doesn't mean certain canon events won't happen. He still acquires the Eclipse armor and most likey becomes a half troll or full troll albeit a different reason. If he has the prosthetic lower jaw then it'll alter to fit his new form. Will Marin, Consternation and Buck appear? I'm split down the middle for that but if so then it's around mid second season or start of the third.

That's all I have for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back at Arcadia! Have this little track that sums up the aura of this AU, Dawn of the Red Sun by MonoCronic.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch. 141 thoughts

[Autumn Leaves...Forever]

So a lot happened this chapter. Not so much in the sense that the events of the chapter were particularly ground breaking or impactful, just that each chapter usually only covers one plot point at a time, whereas this chapter covered three

When I say plot point, I don’t mean that they’re just a single scene, but that broadly speaking, each chapter could be summarized as a single event. For example, rather than “Fuuko skips a batch of Quests, introducing Ghost, then skips another batch, introducing Crab, then...”, that particularly chapter can be summarized as “Fuuko skips several batches of Quests until Remember is offered as a reward”

While last week’s chapter has three distinct scenes (finding Autumn, Gina watching Fuuko’s memories, Gina emerging to protect Nico and Ichico), it can be summarized as “Gina enters Fuuko’s memories to learn how to master Unchange.” This week’s chapter, though, cannot be summarized so easily as each segment is completely distinct. Whether each segment could or should have been their own chapter is up for debate, but while I found the lack of cohesion somewhat jarring, I also found the transitional scene to be the kind of character-focused breather that I would like Tozuka to do more often. Not that it never happens, just that it doesn’t happen often enough in my opinion

Onto the content, Gina fends off Autumn’s attacks with a barrier, then whips off her beret to create a giant air-sword that bisects not only Autumn, but also the clouds above as if she’s unlocked Conqueror’s Haki. Honestly makes me wonder exactly how long that sword was and what else she hit along the way

This fight honestly could have been an entire chapter by itself, with Gina actually getting the hang of doing certain Unchange techniques, coming up with new ones that the previous Gina didn’t, Autumn reaching phase 2, etc., but honestly I think this fight being so fast was completely necessary for two reasons. First, it proves just how wildly overpowered Unchange truly is, and second, it proves that Fuuko was absolutely right in her judgment that Gina could one-shot Autumn. This shows that not only is Fuuko a good judge of her teammates’ abilities, but that she’s correct to put her faith in them in the way that Victor and at times even Juiz couldn’t

I also like the detail that Gina’s bow flew off and her hair came undone as she took off her beret, it really makes that simple action impactful

Fuuko emerges from the book after Autumn’s defeat, and Gina knocks the wind out of her with a tackle hug. Fuuko apologizes for making her watch her own death, but Gina forgives her because the previous Gina loved Fuuko. I don’t remember Gina 100 explicitly saying that, but I suppose she interpreted the fact that she currently loves her as being an extension of what Gina 100 said about feelings remaining unchanged beyond the end of time

Fuuko calls Gina “Ms. Gina,” but Gina rejects this because it refers to her previous self and presumably because it’s too formal, and she asks Fuuko just to call her Gina. This exchange was very cute, and god dammit, if this series doesn’t have a poly-ending I’m going to riot. Old Gina loved Andy, new Gina loves Fuuko, it writes itself... Also, seeing them teary-eyed under the sunlight shining down from the split sky is just a beautiful little vignette, once again showing that Tozuka really knows what he’s doing when setting his scenes. Like how last week the rain was both dramatic and an excuse to allow us to see Gina’s Unchange constructs, now the splitting of the clouds was a way to show how powerful Gina is while also setting up this lovely composition. Tozuka really loves that two-birds approach, and I greatly appreciate it

We cut to the aforementioned breather scene with Gina showing off her new look (Gina 100′s look) to Fuuko, saying that she wants to pay tribute to her past self while also taking an interest in Japanese fashion. I think it’s pretty interesting that Fuuko isn’t familiar with the particular trend that Gina is referencing, but I suppose I don’t really know anything about fashion trends that I’m present for, either, so why would Fuuko be familiar with one that was before her time? I tried to look into “shinora fashion,” but I couldn’t find anything helpful and I didn’t want to get too distracted from writing this review, so I’ll just have to assume it’s referring to her current style

Gina notices that Fuuko is holding Soul Calibur and recognizes that it was the reason she was able to see Fuuko’s memories, which does act as a bit of connective tissue between these two scenes, even if only loosely. Nico and Ichico are fighting about Ichico’s overworking, and Fuuko uses Soul Calibur to remove Ichico’s soul, forcing her body to rest because Unsleep would be follow the soul out of the body

I mentioned in a previous review that Fuuko’s experiences are what allow her to act as she is now, and this is chapter has two examples of exactly that. Fuuko herself has been under the influence of Soul Calibur before, so she knows that her Unluck stayed attached to her soul rather than her body and that her body was rested after the fact; Fuuko has also seen an Unchanging sword cut through one of the seasonal UMAs before, when Andy and Billy cut the Phase 3 Spring in half, so of course she knew that the same weapon would be able to cut a Phase 1 Autumn

My wife noted that all of Fuuko’s solutions have been really convenient so far, which isn’t a bad thing, since it means that we’re not going to be bogged down with a bunch of long-winded explanations or roundabout attempts at fixing things we already know the answer to, she just feels that they lack a bit of the groundwork. While I see where she’s coming from, I don’t think it’s so much that the groundwork isn’t there, it’s that the groundwork is a little disjointed from the payoff. I only just realized while writing this that Autumn was defeated using the same method as with Spring, and it’s easy to forget that Fuuko has been planning how to save everyone for about 200 years now. We don’t see Fuuko’s thought process because it’s already happened, and it’s more important that we see the fruits of her labor than the labor itself. Still, I see where my wife is coming from, and I think it would make for some nice tension for one of her plans to go sideways, even if only momentarily, so we can see her struggle to get back on track. Now that we’ve had three or four ventures, though, I think it’s about time for the pattern to break and something is liable to go awry with recruiting Void, but we’ll talk more about that in a bit

As I was saying, Ichico is finally able to sleep, and Nico is so overjoyed that he holds her body to him and weeps, not realizing that Ichico’s soul is still conscious because he, as a non-Negator, can’t see ghosts. When Fuuko reveals that she’s still watching him, he gets embarrassed and tosses her body aside in the most hilariously tsundere act I’ve ever seen. Nico is seriously becoming more and more one of my favorites, I’m so excited and anxious to see how becoming Unforgettable again will affect him

Fuuko asks Ichico to practice astral projection, since using Soul Calibur is apparently a strain on the user, which I think is a really interesting application of Ghost’s Rule. We’ve already seen Andy astral projection in combat by being able to fight the incorporeal Ghost by imbuing his sword with his own soul, and Feng has implied he can weaponize his soul as well, so I’m curious if Ichico is going to be able to take a more active role in a future battle? Not that she needs to, it’s absolutely fine for her to remain in a support role, but I’ll never object to a support character having a surprisingly involved battle

Yokezu, the current Unavoidable, is reported dead, confirming the transfer of Unavoidable to Void, prompting Fuuko and the others to come up with a plan to capture him. Fuuko declares she has an idea, to which Nico asks if it’s a reasonable one and does not receive a straight answer. Without hesitation, Gina agrees to whatever it is, as Fuuko has faith in the group and has pretty much exclusively had good ideas so far. Nico looks over to Ichico, who seems to have returned to her body just so she could agree too since she was still out of her body literally a single page ago, and acknowledges that Fuuko’s track record  for helping the Negators is pretty substantial so far. Like I said, now that everyone has such strong faith in Fuuko, it’s a good time for that faith to be tested by something unexpected coming up

We cut to the night of Void’s match, and we learn that Fuuko’s bright idea was to publicly challenge Void to a fight. Nico does question whether or not the group can still trust this plan, but this isn’t what i meant by their faith being tested. No, something about this match isn’t going to go the way that Fuuko’s envisioning it. I don’t know what’s going to go south here, but something is going to happen so that her friends are legitimately worried about her and we’ll actually feel some tension here. One more Quest before we get real tension is definitely too long to wait in my opinion, so right now feels like the perfect time for Fuuko to be wrong about something or for a third party to intervene or something

Granted, maybe saving that for the 2002 tragedy (presumably Billy’s and Tella’s) would be more appropriate, since that’s the section that has the highest stakes (preventing the formation of Under and saving presumably the largest number of people outside of Gina’s and her own tragedy), so the possibility of failure is a lot more palpable there than here

Whatever the case, I’m really just excited to see Void in action. Like with Gina and Nico, I imagine getting actual character moments will make Void more endearing to me. He really wasn’t that interesting when he was just “big faceless muscleman” hiding in a robot suit, so seeing the man underneath and coming to understand his wants and struggles should make him just as memorable and likable as all of the members of the Union

Sadly, no chapter next week, so we’ll see how this develops in the new year. See you all then!

[sinnersandsaints-linwrites]

hello! can i ask how everyone would react if, while crushing, they found mc stress-crying somewhere? thank you!

When Riven sees you, it feels like someone ran a blade through their chest. Cold, sharp pain radiated from their heart, and their hands twitched, forming into fists. Their first thought is -- someone hurt you, and they were not there to protect you. Little ridiculous, since you were not together, but some part of their brain just howled with guilt. The other -- with anger. “Who?” Came through their gritted teeth, as they kneel next to you. When you explain, that it’s stress that’s causing this, their face does not relax. “If you need time off, tell me. I’ll make Hayes give you time.” They offer, and extend their arm to you, so you could hug them if you’d only desired to do so.

Morgan is quiet, debating whether to leave you to your emotions, or get involved. When it comes to cheering people up, they were least equipped to do so. After all, they dealt with grief most of their life. Positivity was something foreign at this point. What they did know, however, was how to get through the worst times. So, they come back with a cup of your favorite hot beverage, and a blanket. No words are spoken, no questions are asked. They just remain there, to stay with you for as long as you need.

Roan’s heart breaks a little, when they notice you. They waste no time in getting at a comfortable distance, concern written all over their face. A few questions break the silence, about what caused this, and “how can I help? Tell me, I’ll do anything.” They offer you their arms, whether as something to cry on, or for an embrace, and they hum a lullaby to you. They make a mental note to talk to your superior later, and explain the necessity of not pushing someone to the point of stress-crying.

Sage’s face turns stone cold as soon as they see you. For just a moment, they look more like a statue, or an undead, and not a human. Their eyes seem darker, and their lips are pressed into a thin line. They reach out to you, with a silent question. If your answer is yes, they lift your chin up, brushing off the tears from your cheeks. “Tell me.” It’s not a request, it’s a command. Even as you speak, their expression does not change, and their touch remains as gentle as possible. “This won’t happen again.” They promise you, and settle beside you, handing you a handkerchief with their initials. 

As soon as Khari realises what’s happening, you can see them tense. For just moment, you think they might bolt and take Captain’s door off its hinges, but instead they make their way towards you. Their expression is stern, determined, as they stop right in front of you. “Tell me what to do.” The unspoken ‘because I don’t want to make this worse’ hangs in the air. They do exactly what you say to them, and don’t ask any questions. If you’d wish to tell them, it would have to come from you.

Once Ariel notices you, you can see something flash over their face. It’s hard to tell if it was just pure fury, or extreme worry, but they quickly end up right next to you. Their hand hovers over your arm, staying there if you decide you want or need it. “What do you need?” Their voice, while hoarse, is almost gentle. Similar to how someone speaks to a spooked horse. They stay with you long after you calm down, still eyeing you with concern. 

Sasha’s face falls when they see your tears, and they choke on their own voice. It feels as if invisible claws grabbed their throat, strangling them. A fitting punishment in their mind, since they clearly failed to protect you from something. Once they can move their limbs again, they shakily walk to you, sitting as close to you as you allow. “How do I fix it?” They ask, desperate. Their eyes searching for the answer on your face. Once they learn of the reason, you notice a brief change in their expression. For just a moment, they look ready to rip someone’s head off. But, they stay by your side, offering their arms, or just distracting you with random stories.

thank you for the ask! <3

[starlessea]

𝐅𝐨𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 - Part 1

A/N This is part 1/2 of a collab with the amazing @whitexwingedxdoves​​! The first part is in Daryl’s POV, and the second will be in the reader’s. Part 2 is here.

Summary: Daryl Dixon was a good hunter, but there were still some things that he struggled to find. Such as the patience to deal with you.

You wore a rabbit’s foot keyring, but Daryl thought you were the furthest thing from lucky. After all, you ended up stuck with him, too.

Words: 3974

Daryl never really expected Judith to take an interest in hunting; she was far too sweet.

But then again, so were you - and Daryl had never met anyone who could make a better twitch-up snare. Though, he preferred using bow traps, himself, when he had the arrows to spare for them.

Takes more skill, he’d argue, and watch you shake your head vehemently at him - as though you couldn’t disagree more.

You hadn’t changed since then; you were just as stubborn, if not worse. But Daryl definitely had, even if he didn’t want to admit it. You had changed him. He wasn’t the same man who’d first stumbled through the gates of Alexandria all those years back, scowling at your traps which got in his way and stole his game; nor was he the same person who insisted on butting heads with you until he got a migraine.

Daryl Dixon had grown since then.

And that was probably the reason why he was stuck crawling through the forest on all fours, teaching Judith Grimes how to set a twitch-up snare (and not a bow trap).

“Now what?” she asked him, adjusting that sheriff’s hat which was still a little too big for her.

Daryl could remember the first time he’d placed it on her head, and tipped it up to get a glimpse of her gummy smile. She’d been so small back then; she still was.

He held out his rope in front of him, weaving it slowly so that she could follow the steps. It felt natural to Daryl’s hands, like he’d done it a thousand times over. He probably had, but he could remember a time where he’d been the student - and you were his teacher.

“Make the ears an’ weave the end through ‘em,” he instructed.

Just like a rabbit, you’d told him, and laughed.

He felt his lips twitch a little, but Daryl bit back his smile. Instead, he watched as Judith made a mistake - and he let her. That was the best way to learn, after all.

The young girl pulled a face at the tangled rope in her fists, wondering where she’d gone wrong. Then, she looked up at her uncle Daryl for the answers.

“It doesn’t look right,” she noted, showing it to him.

It didn’t. It definitely looked more like a dog with stubby ears than a rabbit.

Daryl shook his head gently, confirming her suspicions. “Give it here,” he mumbled, and carefully took the half-formed knot into his lap.

Judith shuffled over to get a closer look, and Daryl took his time in showing her how to correct it. He remembered when his father and brother would try and ‘teach’ him something new - which usually involved berating him until he was too anxious to ever mess it up again.

He hoped he was a better teacher than that.

“Ya folded it wrong,” he explained, pointing to that part of the fraying rope. He unwove it, and tucked it back into the right place. “See, ya fold the loop over itself to make the ears.”

Judith watched intently, holding her breath as she tried to memorise the steps. Then, Daryl undid the rope, and she let out a yell in protest. But Daryl just shrugged, and smiled a little to himself. She’d need to figure it out on her own if she was going to learn - as much as he wished he’d always be there to help her.

Daryl handed the rope back, and watched as she fumbled with it again; but this time, she didn’t make the same mistake.

“Who taught you how to do this?” she asked, eyes still trained in her lap as she spoke.

Daryl was silent for a few seconds, as if debating whether to tell her. He could already picture the triumphant look on your face.

He sighed. “This knot? Your aunt did.”

His words came out muffled, but Judith was still able to decipher them. In response, she smiled a smile that looked much too familiar - reminding him of another Grimes kid when he was up to no good.

“I thought you knew how to hunt before that,” she chirped, purposefully not meeting Daryl’s eyes as he narrowed them at her.

Damn girl’s gettin’ cheeky, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t pull her up on her mistake. Maybe she deserved to do the knot over once more.

“Mhm. I did,” Daryl answered naturally, as though her teasing tone didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Jus’ hunted in a different way is all.”

Judith looked up at him, and cocked her head to the side.

Yeah, he thought, she’s growin’ up jus’ like Carl.

“Which way’s better?” she asked curiously, as though forgetting the messy knot in her lap.

Daryl sat back on his hands, feeling his palms meet the damp leaves of the thick, forest overgrowth. That question had been the one that started it all. The sky was beginning to darken, and he knew that he should be getting back home soon. You always did give him one hell of an ear-full whenever he was late.

He smiled at the girl, before nodding in the direction of the abandoned knot - prompting her to try again.

“Depends on who ya ask.”

Daryl let loose his arrow and listened to it whirr through the air, and strike that possum straight down from its tree. Carol grimaced as he collected it, picking the animal up by its tail and slinging it over his shoulder as they walked. He would have made some remark back at her - but he just didn’t have the energy.

None of them did, really.

That’s why he’d shot the possum. He still wasn’t convinced by the promised land that Aaron had tried to sell to them - a place called Alexandria - so at least they’d have something to eat if it fell through.

It usually always did.

Every time Daryl felt like he had a solid footing on the ground beneath him, it somehow always managed to find a way to cave. First there was the farm, then the prison, and finally Terminas. These days, he just couldn’t catch a break.

But he could catch possum, he thought, and trudged on along the road.

The gates to Alexandria reminded him of the prison - those wire lattice fences and the metal bars that stretched up to the sky. It was like a damn cage, but Daryl had somehow gotten used to living in those.

What he could never get used to was the sight of those faces, looking down on him as though he was something they’d stepped in whilst navigating the side-walk. He was familiar with those looks by now - he’d gotten plenty of them back in Georgia even before the world had ended - but they never failed to make him feel a certain shame he didn’t like to admit to.

This time, though, he may have deserved them.

It took him a while to realise that their eyes weren’t actually on him, but rather lingering on that dead possum - still hanging by its tail. Then a woman stepped forward, with an air about her that made Daryl think that she was the leader. Although, it definitely wasn’t the same air he felt when he was around Rick.

“We’ll need to interview you, so that we can assign you all jobs,” she said warmly.

And Daryl laughed a bitter laugh he didn’t realise he’d been holding back - but once he let it out, he felt much better. From the moment he’d stepped foot into Alexandria, Daryl Dixon already had a job.

It was to try and keep the rest of these idiots alive.

Deanna’s office was stuffy; with too many dusty books and not enough fresh air, it nearly made Daryl forget how to breathe. He’d almost knocked that camera straight from its tripod, too - until Rick shot him a warning look against it.

“He’s a hunter and a damn good one,” the man quickly interjected, his hands falling into place on his hips.

Daryl lifted his chin with pride at the sheriff’s words. Hunting was the one thing he could confidently offer to the group; it was second nature to him. He could also tell that Deanna held Rick in high regard, so to hear him praise Daryl like that only proved his worth.

But she remained skeptical. “I can see that, but we already have one of those.”

The woman was assertive, that’s for sure.

She crossed her arms at her chest and examined the limp possum that swung proudly from Daryl’s shoulder. Though, she didn’t seem to share that same enthusiasm for his skill. Daryl shuffled on his feet, and repositioned the possum on his shoulder as if trying to shake off her judgemental looks.

“Just the one?” Carol piped up, from the doorway.

She had a good point; only one hunter for the whole of Alexandria?

It didn’t seem to add up quite right in Daryl’s head - and from the look on his face, it didn’t convince Rick, either.

“We’ve never needed more than that.” Deanna replied curtly, her lips pursing into a tight line. Daryl couldn’t help but scowl at the pride in her voice.

Bullshit, he thought.

“Well if you ask me, you’d be making a mistake not giving him that title,” Rick cautioned, but again his words seemed to be lost on the woman standing before them.

Deanna shook her head. “No, that’s not all he has to offer,” she said quietly.

Daryl felt a chill wrack up his spine as she stared right through him - as if trying to figure him out.

“I’ll find a job for you, but in the meantime feel free to join our hunter,” she continued, decisively.

Daryl tried his best not to scowl. Perhaps he would do just that, and show Alexandria what they were missing without having him hunt for them.

Maybe he’d even bring back a feast.

The interviews took up a hefty while, but Daryl promised Rick he would accompany him on a perimeter check whilst it was still light out - before the rest of the group settled down for the night. Even with those tall fences, he wanted to make sure there were no cracks - inside or out - for walkers to slip through.

The interior of Alexandria seemed secure, but beyond those sturdy gates was a world they hadn’t accounted for. Daryl toed each steel beam with his boot, as Rick started to dispatch the undead stragglers that lingered a little too close.

A regular culling, he called it.

They’d tried to implement that at the prison, too, but their defences had been only a tenth as sturdy as Alexandria’s. So, Daryl helped the officer, aiming his crossbow at the walkers nearby - even the ones that were caught on car doors, trapped.

He even went out of his way to follow the footsteps he came across, left so blatantly that they disturbed the mud and leaves - allowing him to track them clear as day. Rick accompanied him, knife in hand and pistol still holstered on his belt.

Then, a twig snapped.

“Son of a-” the officer cursed, and Daryl whipped his head back.

There was rope caught around his boot, and it only tightened the more he tried to twitch his foot free.

“The hell is that?” Rick cursed, looking over at him for an answer.

Tha’s a damn snare, Daryl realised, and pulled out his pocket knife to cut the other man loose.

He narrowed his eyes; it was constructed well. The knots were tight and the trigger reacted as it should have. But it still wasn’t as efficient as the types of traps Daryl used.

“Damn twitch-up, nothin’ but trouble,” he replied, crouching down to free Rick’s boot, “don’t catch nothin’.”

But a voice retorted just as quick.

“Caught your friend just fine!”

Daryl flinched, and dropped the knife in favour of the crossbow slung over his back. He hadn’t even heard her. He trained his weapon on the woman, but soon lowered it at the sight of her - unarmed.

“Would appreciate if you removed your dumb foot from my trap,” she yelled, pointing to Rick’s combat boot - still floundering in the rope like a fish on a line.

Daryl sighed. So this was Alexandria’s hunter.

She carried a big leather satchel, and had a string of woven rope circled over her shoulder. Daryl also noticed the charm hanging from her bag - a tattered rabbit’s foot. It was appropriate, that’s for sure. But he wondered how she’d even been able to catch one with such temperamental traps.

Daryl bent down near the twitch-up again. He knew how to disable it, but Rick had already damaged some parts with his heavy steps as he struggled to get it loose. So, he just glanced back at the woman over his shoulder, and made a show of cutting through the rope with his pocket blade.

“Ain’t worth the hassle,” he muttered, once he was done.

He could tell from her face that she wasn’t impressed. She stalked over to him and shot them both a look so fierce that Daryl thought her eyes might roll back into her head.

“And who the hell are you?” she asked - but it was more of a demand.

Daryl had heard enough of that tone today. He was already sick of the false authority Alexandria had exuded over them. So, he ignored her question.

He pointed at the ruined trap, instead. “If officer clumsy over ‘ere broke yer trap in two seconds, then walkers could spring it in one,” Daryl remarked.

The woman scoffed, crouching down to retrieve the rope.

“Maybe that’s the point,” she snapped back, “keeps them away from the fences.”

You’re lying, Daryl thought. It seemed like everyone around here had too much damn pride.

“Nah it aint,” he argued, shaking his head. “Tha’s what them car doors were for.”

He’d noticed it earlier - the way the vehicles were all parked along the perimeter of Alexandria, doors wide open and windows down to bait the walkers and snag them there. They weren’t perfect, though, since a few had still slipped through.

The woman went silent, and Daryl felt a small smile tug at his lips as he watched for her reaction.

“Yer tryna catch rabbits with these,” he concluded.

He’d expected her to admit defeat - maybe even ask for his help since it was clear he knew what he was talking about.

But, she didn’t.

The hunter shook her head straight back at him, and flipped open that worn leather satchel - pulling out a rabbit by its foot.

“Not just trying,” she corrected, with a smirk much more full than the one Daryl had dared to wear.

Rick let out a sound under his breath, but he still heard it. Daryl scowled in return. There were still plenty of traps better than that old-fashion twitch-up.

“Ya coulda caught more with-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Just who’d you think you are, again?”

This took Daryl aback, and he was stunned into silence. Already, he couldn’t stand the arrogance of these people. His jaw clenched, and Rick seemed to pick up on the unsettling quietness. So, the man cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“This is Daryl,” he announced, clapping his hand down onto his shoulder. “Best hunter I know.”

The woman wordlessly stuffed the rabbit back into her bag, leaving its ears to flop out over the side. Then, she looked between him and the officer, with an expression that got completely under Daryl’s skin.

“Well then I guess you only know one,” she laughed.

Daryl couldn’t quite remember how the rest of the story went. Over time, the details became as hazed in his mind as the sight of freshly fallen snow - obscuring any tracks he might try to follow. The only thing he could briefly recall was the different animals they had hunted during their time at Alexandria.

Yes, he could remember it now.

After that first rabbit, there had been a fox - caught right in the dead of winter.

“Should have guessed you were a bowman!”

Daryl sighed and stopped in his tracks. For someone so bothersome, that woman was remarkably quiet.

He picked up the red fox, which looked more of a gingerish colour against the snow, and twisted his arrow until it became dislodged from its side. A few blood spatters trickled out onto the ground, landing in perfect circles - like red wax seals against white paper.

“Gets the job done quick and easy,” Daryl grumbled, slinging the fox over his shoulder by its bushy tail.

The woman watched him, leant up against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh now you’re starting to sound like my dad!” she laughed, and padded along after Daryl as he turned to leave.

Recently, the two hunters would sometimes run into each other like this - and Daryl had started to expect the company.

“Ya ol’ man teach you those god awful traps?” he rasped, his voice coming out as puffs of smoke in the cool air.

The woman jabbed him in his side, and Daryl scowled.

“No, actually that was my uncle,” she corrected, looking down at her feet as they made imprints in the snow.

Daryl glanced over at the woman, and narrowed his eyes. He just couldn’t figure her out yet.

“Ya whole damn family hunters?” he questioned, and she laughed again.

For someone so stuck up, her laugh was shy. - as though she were scared of it.

She nodded. “Some girls got Barbies for Christmas. I got a boning knife.”

And some kids got nothin’, Daryl thought.

They walked together back to Alexandria, mostly in silence - save from the crunching of their boots as they stepped heavily through the snow. Daryl kept catching that rabbit foot charm in his peripheral, swinging from the woman’s satchel as she stepped. He also noticed just how red her nose had gotten, and how it occasionally twitched from the cold.

“What ya doin’ out ‘ere?” Daryl eventually asked. “Too cold for rabbits,” he remarked.

They reached the gates, and the woman stopped as she waited for the guard to open them.

“Was tracking a fox,” she replied, eyes settling on the reddish fur bunched up between Daryl’s fingers. “But it looks like you beat me to it.”

After that, once the snow thawed and spring had come around, the next hunt had been for a deer - and Daryl was called upon to help her carry it back.

Thought they only needed one hunter, Daryl cursed, as he readjusted the deer’s hooves in his grip.

He could have easily carried the animal himself, but she was stubborn and insisted she share the weight. He watched as she struggled to hold the back end of the deer, propping it up every so often to relieve the strain on her arms - that damn rabbit’s foot flailing about from her satchel.

“Why the rabbit’s foot?” Daryl finally spoke, breaking the silence between her exaggerated grunts.

“It’s lucky” she managed to huff, before admitting defeat and letting her end drop to the floor.

Daryl took that as his cue to pick the deer up himself, and sling it around the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk at her disappointed stance - but he knew better than to say anything.

“Didn’t you keep the brush?”

Daryl cocked his brow at her question, taking slow steps back towards Alexandria.

“You know the fox’s tail?” she finally cleared up, matching his speed.

“Why? They lucky too?” he quipped back.

He didn’t intend for it to sound so sarcastic.

“I don’t think so,” she sighed, “but they’re pretty!” A small giggle passed her lips, which only made Daryl roll his eyes

This was Alexandria’s big scary hunter.

“Could swap it out for that damn rag you take everywhere,” she teased, nodding her head towards his back pocket.

Daryl watched the way her lips pressed together in a thin line, as if holding back the urge to let out yet another laugh. He scoffed.

Rags were practical; rabbit’s feet and fox’s tails were not.

During the rest of the trip back home, she would go on to tell him the story of how she’d caught that particular rabbit’s foot; it was a story he had since misplaced - but he still remembered the way her eyes lit up as she told it.

Looking back, that deer had been the last thing they’d caught - in Alexandria, at least. Though, Daryl could remember what they had been hunting for when it happened.

Damn rabbits.

The grass was thick and overgrown. Neither of them had explored the area yet - a little ways out from Alexandria. She’d told Daryl about it the night before, claiming to have stumbled upon it in the daytime. The woman swore that she could barely take a step without tripping over one of the dozens of burrows she’d found there.

Daryl wasn’t quite convinced, but he followed her nonetheless.

“You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed, looking over at Daryl much too expressively. “Fox meat? Over rabbit?”

It’s too early for this, Daryl thought, catching sight of her lopsided grin.

“Tastes better,” he mumbled back, navigating through the long foxtail grass and thickets that were up to his waist.

The woman looked over her shoulder and shook her head at him. Daryl reminded her to keep on walking, or let him lead if all she was going to do was trip him up.

She ignored him. “No! Foxes taste like pennies,” she argued, waving her hands around like she had a point to prove. “You know, that weird metallic-”

The woman stopped, and cocked her head at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she remarked, and Daryl felt as though he couldn’t even keep up with the conversation.

“I ain’t even lookin’ at ya,” he bit back - frustrated.

Daryl could barely recall how the hunter had gone from being so reserved back when they had first met, to whatever the hell was standing before him now.

Bark worse than ‘er bite, tha’s for damn sure.

She ran on ahead, and Daryl followed her tracks in the long grass until they reached that deserted area - so quiet that it almost unsettled him. There wasn’t even a breeze; it was as though the world was completely still.

Unnaturally so.

“See!” the hunter exclaimed, triumphantly. “I told you, it’s completely untouched.”

She had that same, smug look on her face as she did when he first met her - entirely proud of herself. But for once, it didn’t bother Daryl in the slightest.

He shook his head, but it was more out of habit than anything else. “Won’t be for long,” he chided, “best keep quiet or yer gonna scare ‘way the game.”

The woman laughed at him, less timidly than how she used to.

“I know how-” she started, but Daryl never did find out what she was going to say.

A loud metallic sound rang through the open air, and the hunter disappeared from his sight, as though sucked into the ground beneath her. In a matter of seconds, she’d gone from laughing so carefree to becoming lost in the tall grass - leaving Daryl behind to only listen to her scream.

Daryl knew that sound; he couldn’t mistake the clang of those metal jaws as they clamped shut.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Bear trap, he realised, and ran through the foxtails to find her.

Also, if you enjoy my writing, you might want to buy me a coffee or commission me - tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N I really hope you enjoyed reading this. It is one of my favourites so far. And it has truly been a joy working with @whitexwingedxdoves​. Make sure you stay tuned for part 2!

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[accursedkaleeshi]

write the firewalls fic you Horde-playing coward /lh --Solstice

First of all, I played Forsaken so I don’t know how Horde representative they are anymore since I heard about that incident m’lady had with the tree. Unapologetic undead sympathizer, here.

Second of all I would never maintain enough focus to write a full fic like that, so I figured I could bang out a plot outline I got attached to while brainstorming for other people to write or enjoy.

Synopsis: In a moment of lucidity, Grievous takes stock of what technical systems he has access to & some things he does not. Knowing me, there would be like 5 pages right out the gate waxing poetic about his relationship with technology.

· Grievous noclips through the very particular firewalls put on his tracking systems specifically to keep him out of them because he was being nosy.

· The goths are alerted. There are consequences for his actions.

· Made to attend a Separatist HR meeting about it where they talk about him like he’s a new car & not even there. Wat Tambor is being weird. Grievous can’t tell if it is usual Wat Weird or not bc he has had some drugs forced upon him in Dooku & Poggle’s attempt to make him forget that he found the tracking signals.

o Sorry. Just. Imagined the Separatist council bitching in a conference room & Grievous is just standing behind Dooku with dilated pupils wishing he was dead. Wat Tambor keeps making eye contact that he is not registering as weird.

· Grievous was kind of used to being in altered states by then & he remembers much more than the Separatists even know about. Except for Dooku, they said all kinds of shit around him bc they thought of him as a droid. Wat Tambor dropped the name of the new encryption tech they were going to use.

· The general continues doing general things, playing dumb when it suits him. He is an Olympic gold medalist at playing dumb, maneuvering around xenophobes & the like that think he is far beneath them.

You could kind of do anything you wanted with the plot from here. A couple that would be fun were “GG succeeds in actually receiving all of the information from R2D2 in that one episode but decides to sit on some of the info for himself” or “GG decides to let witches turn Dooku into soup & strikes a deal with Ventress for Separatist Deserter shenanigans”. Most of my various trains of thought all contained Anakin being the only accessible code breaker. So here was my plot for that if you’re bored.

· The main characters manage to be nice enough to the gungans that they agree to help them make a Sombra Ult EMP bomb with their very limited & precious booma plasma. (I hate star wars bc I spent minutes of my life on the wiki looking for what the bombs were called just for them to be called boomas).

· I don’t remember exactly how the TCW Gungan vs Grievous episode happened bc we try not to think about it but that could actually be a great point of entry. Alternative episode timeline, things would occur wherein they have a hard time keeping Grievous locked down

o Bonus: Grievous would immediately pick up on Anakin & Padme & keep calling her his wife. Maybe if she gets a second alone w/ captive Grievous, Padme would lowkey chew him out about professionalism & he actually stops bc she’s obviously the smart one lol.

o Bonus bonus: I would get to write the gungans. Grievous deadpan threatens to fry Boss Nass with citrus & scallops.

· Anakin has a big brain comms jammer that reroutes all military comms in the are to one predetermined channel & is very proud of himself until he notices there is still a signal coming from Grievous & he’s like “Hey, wtf man, turn that off”

· Grievous is like “BOY do I look-?? I can’t. Turn it off yourself if you are so clever.”

· They try to be lowkey about shoving General goddamn Grievous in their ship but they can only circle awkwardly until the signal is cut. Because Dooku was definitely coming to pick up his dog.

· Grievous debated on whether he would rather deal with Dooku given at least two more levels of sheer hatred towards him freshly added or deal with, ugh, Jedi. Has a yolo-synapse misfire & tells Anakin about the firewall.

· Anakin is a huge nerd about it. He knows what it is & has been keeping up with whatever bits of public development he could find about this same encryption.

· Kenobi calls & is like “What is happening, why did I get a call from Jar Jar that was just wailing in terror??” in the middle of Anakin hacking the world on this old fucking monitor bc he wasn’t about to hook Grievous up directly to their ship.

· “Master! I don’t know why this smart-refrigerator gave you such a hard time. I caught him the first time out, with the gungan’s help! They gave us the blue bomb for getting rid of him.” Kenobi dies a little inside.

· “But uh, the Count is coming with back up & I am trying to turn off the good general’s parental lock before he gets to us. You gotta meet us somewhere. Everything is under control but holy kriff make sure you guys have something to contain this thing- GOT IT okay bye!”

· After much Scooby-doo level cat & mouse they finally manage to get Grievous more or less contained in the depths of some ancient temple structure with a lot of industrial grade cable & a lot of jedi. His faceplate is off whether via violence or for some other reason empathetic jedi reason that I want his faceplate to be off. for DRAMA

· The cool kids of the Jedi Council (& maybe Ki-adi Mundi just so I can roast him for no reason) make it a point to gather in the room with the pissed off cyborg. Very scared clone troopers keep having to control his limbs. (Except Cody, who has been waiting for this moment his whole life)

· Its hard for them to stay in the room bc he is just radiating anguished rage into the force like a sun. He’s feral & fucked up looking from previous shenanigans. He’s pissed off beyond words like a cornered animal.

· They’re all just kind of standing there trying to look hard when Yoda steps forward. Grievous wrenches forward with all the psi his pistons have & snatches the little bastard off the floor in both/all hands.

· They hit him with the EMP from hell. All the lights died & were replaced with half a dozen lightsabers pointed at Grievous, still clutching Yoda with a death grip, as he convulsed, froze, & then jolted again. His eyes lost some edge somewhere in that full body reset protocol

· Yoda wrapped his little gremlin hands around the edges of the back of his faceplate & is like “Super fucked up, you are. Tired, you are.” Grievous goes down.

· Kenobi, whom is very perturbed by this entire situation, is like “How did you do that? You think we haven’t tried that? He never even flinched before. We couldn’t pierce the anger with such suggestions.”

· Yoda troll shrug. “Disrupted perhaps, a mechanism was?”

· Anakin is helpful, “He said the tracking chip was in his head case. If we can destroy it, the Separatist’s goons can’t get the tracker back online. Honestly… shouldn’t we just put him out of his misery?”

·      Half of the jedi are like “He do be fuckt up tho”. The rest are like “He has to have a trial or we forfeit our values”. But they all agreed he must have hella information. Anakin is suddenly urgent about it, realizing that if the Sith can wirelessly back access systems in Grievous they could potentially corrupt or wipe him.

·      What if he self-destructs? Is that a thing, holy shit?? We did not think this through. As usual. We have to remove his wireless access point (das a wap omg). Anakin is the best mechanic on this little planet with only a few other flight crew clones that had supplied the industrial cables. He is not a doctor.

·      The clones had meanwhile started taking limbs off of Grievous. They didn’t ask but none of the Jedi generals looked particularly happy but they were not in a hurry to stop them.

·      Kenobi agreed to help Anakin, if not just to supervise. He’d frowned at the clones tossing limbs to the side. He couldn’t blame them, of course, Grievous could & would snuff out the life of countless clones even without the use of lightsabers. He supposed they weren’t exactly in a position to save any of the general’s dignity.

·      “Alright, boys, my life is in your hands & hopefully not…his hands,” Anakin had said to the troopers. They had sort of rested Grievous at an angle where they figured he would be the least trouble & at which Anakin could stand & access the back of his head.

[To be continued if I keep on thinking about it]

[photiniainsummer]

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

[that-house]

Viego Rant (villainy and character design and tragedy and all that jazz)

Introduction The more I think about Viego, League of Legends’ newest character, the more enamored I am with him as a villain (unrelated to his general sexiness, though that does tie in with what makes him such a good villain).

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about his design. The Ruined King, one of the greatest threats in Runeterra, the progenitor of the Shadow Isles, the lord of the undead, is finally released as a playable champion and he looks like this:

People were expecting another Mordekaiser (who is similarly an undead king with a ghost army), a lich-tyrant clad in iron, decayed flesh peeling from an aged face. What we got was an angsty anime prettyboy, and it was infinitely better than the alternatives. 

Lore Viego isn’t a conquering king. While his combat abilities are indeed badass, his personality is far from it. He’s a whiny brat and that’s incredible. He isn’t bent on world domination. His character arc revolves around just how human, how fallible he really is. For those unfamiliar with his lore, I’ll paraphrase it here:

Viego was the second son of a great king. Overshadowed by his brother and with no expectations upon him and near-limitless wealth, he wandered around being an idiot fuckboy for the vast majority of his formative years. Disaster struck when his brother died in an accident, and Viego took the throne with no training, no experience, and no desire to be king. He was a shitty king. The worst king. Just all-around apathetic. Gave zero shits. Can you blame him? It’s a lot of responsibility to be thrust upon someone who isn’t much more than a child, and with no preparation. He didn’t care about anything, that is, until he met Isolde. She was a poor seamstress, but he fell in love with her upon their first meeting. Together they ruled the country but it was really just them staring longingly into each others’ eyes. His allies were kinda fucking pissed about that, and one day an assassin came from Viego. The assassin fucked up and stabbed Isolde instead, and the poison on the blade made her fall gravely ill. As she lay in her bed, slowly dying, Viego went mad seeking a cure. He ravaged the land seeking any knowledge that might help, pouring all of his money into finding an antidote. He failed. As a last resort, he brought Isolde’s body to the Blessed Isles, a place rumored to be able to resurrect the dead. It worked, to an extent. Isolde’s wraith, confused, afraid, and angry at being ripped from the peace of death, unthinkingly stabbed Viego in the chest with his own magic sword, creating basically a magic nuke that turned the Blessed Isles into the domain of the undead. Viego resurrected as the king of the Shadow Isles some time later, having totally forgotten that Isolde killed him. He controls a big-ass ghost army, could probably beat up any living thing in a fight, and has evil ghost magic. Now this stupid simp wants his wife back and if he has to kill every living thing on Runeterra, well, anything for his queen. He’s even a tier 3 sub to her Twitch.

Music His musical theme isn’t some heavy metal anthem or intense cinematic piece (unlike the Pentakill song named after his sword, Blade of the Ruined King). It’s mostly sad and slow, almost sinister, with a piano and a music box. It has its loud moments featuring violins and choral bits like any villainous music, but the song is mostly subtle. It is a banger though.

In the comments section of this video, someone pointed out that the music reflects his story from beginning to end:

Everything about this champion is so well done. Riot Games really outdid themselves on this one. Bravo, encore please.

Motivation While the Mordekaiser circlejerkers on r/LeagueofLegends won’t shut the fuck up about how powerful Mordekaiser is, Viego is the better villain. Mordekaiser may be a bigger threat to all life on Runeterra, but Viego is a better character. (There’s a guy on my League discord server who won’t shut up about Mordekaiser so forgive me for being pissed at Morde stans).

Mordekaiser is motivated by a desire for control, to rule the world. Viego is motivated by obsession and misplaced love. There aren’t a lot of Mordekaisers on Earth. Supervillains are rare in real life. But Viego’s motivations are a lot closer to home. People in positions of power that they don’t deserve can do a lot of harm (for example: Trump).

He’s a grieving husband who was never prepared to deal with anything more difficult than choosing what wine to drink with dinner, who is trying to get his wife back because the world had always complied to his every whim. He’s a funky mix between a truly hopeless romantic and a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum.

Obsession is scary. It’s a real-world emotional state that’s been the cause of a lot of murders over mankind’s history. In contrast, Mordekaiser’s cartoonish Genghis Khan XXL schtick isn’t something that we encounter often. Of course a superpowered ultradictator would be worse for the world, but if you give ultimate power to a random person, you’re more likely to get someone like Tighten from Megamind. Or, more relevantly, Viego.

Design His design is sexy and stupid, just like him. He wears an open shirt into battle and wields his sword like an idiot (I’ve seen all the rants about how that’s not how that sword is meant to be used) because he was never really a warrior. Even at his most violent, right before the end of his mortal life, he didn’t do much combat himself, leaving his military endeavors to his underlings. Even now that he’s essentially a god, he still has a colossal wraith army that causes far more devastation than he ever could personally.

Despite his slim build (by League of Legends standards), he easily wields his colossal sword because of the strength of his state of undeath. Like his political power when he was alive, his posthumous magical and physical powers were never something he sought out, they were just given to him by circumstance.

The big cool-ass triangle hole in his chest where Isolde stabbed him is the source of the Black Mist, which is evil ghost mist that ebbs and flows from the Shadow Isles, bringing with it hordes of the undead. The sadder Viego is, the more Mist he creates. Poetically, his invasion of the world is inspired by his sorrow at his wife’s death and enabled by his wife’s reluctance to return to him. His story is perfectly reflected by his design.

Isolde Isolde’s spirit took up residence inside a young Senna (who’s another League champion, not particularly important here). This led to some Black Mist-related shenanigans and at least for the time being, Senna uses Isolde’s power to fight off the servants of Viego which threaten all life on Runeterra.

It seems pretty clear that whatever love Isolde felt for Viego is gone by now. Whether or not she ever loved him or was just unable to say no to the king is up for debate, but I’d like to believe there was something there. In my opinion, Viego’s story hits harder if they really were a great couple at first, torn apart by circumstance and obsession.

Much like the Maiden of the Woods in that one comic that circulates around here, to whom the knight gave his heart and she was like “yo what the fuck i literally never asked you to do this,” Viego went a little too far in trying to save her. They may have once been happy, but the Ruined King ruined his own life, too.

Unless Isolde is a lot less morally decent than we’ve been led to believe, I doubt she can forgive all the massacring that her husband’s been doing lately. In the recent cinematic, she was shown to be pretty anti-Viego. Maybe she’ll get a bastardization arc, but it certainly seems unlikely.

All of Season 2021 is based around Viego, Isolde, and the Shadow Isles, so we’ll just have to see what comes next. It’s possible that we’ll get Isolde as a playable champion, which should clear a lot of things up.

Final Thoughts Unlike so many villains, he’s not fueled by rage or hatred, but rather by sorrow. He’s stuck in his past, unable to move on. He regrets the actions of his life but is set on his course now. The sunk-cost fallacy comes into play here; he’s put so much time and effort and blood into bringing back Isolde, that turning away from it would feel to him like an insult, not only to her but to the innocent lives he’s taken in her name.

His tale is a tragedy, a love story gone horrifically wrong. Viego has suffered throughout his thousand-year life. Despite this, he’s undoubtedly the villain. His permanent death would be a net positive for the world. In has rage and grief he’s destroyed multiple civilizations, and will burn down the world to get Isolde back.

His heart may be in the wrong place, but it’s in a very human place. I don’t think he’ll get the ending he’s looking for, but I hope he finds some closure in the end.

[knifesxedge]

hi love im deep in ur art blog for reasons and im SO in love with the fact that ur ghoul has his OWN nickname tattooed on him in party's writing they are SO 🥺 was wondering if you wanted to talk a bit more abt ghouls tattoos??? theyre just SO gorgeous and intricately laid out

HI i LOVE u i am KISSING u i would love love love to talk about ghoul’s tattoos 🥺❤️

^ yeah ghoul & party have each other’s handwriting tattooed!! for party it’s one of the only tattoos they have & it’s right over their heart (im sure ive mentioned this fact before but idk if ive explicitly noted that it says ‘sunshine’) and ghoul didn’t have the space to put his right over his heart because poison’s kj symbol is there so his is on his upper arm (they ARE soooooooo 🥺 i love them)

ghoul’s tattoos are a healthy mix of sentimental ink and things he just thought were beautiful. when he met the rest of the four he didn’t have THAT many tattoos because 1. he was 14 2. he’d only been in the zones for a little under a year and a half at that point but the ones he DID have (aka his oldest tattoos) were his knuckle tattoos (‘freed’ and ‘fuck’ what can i say he was 13), the big raven on his upper shoulder and neck (he started believing in the witch very early compared to other cityborns but yeah that tattoo was both a way of symbolizing his devotion to the witch and a way of marking himself as a killjoy/shedding his past in the city in the way that he considered clearest), the fangs on his hand, two bats on his leg, the zombie bite on the other side of his neck (i could get a little more into this but BASICALLY ghoul being an ex-crow trainee + a cityborn + being the only surviving member of his first crew had a problem with feeling inhuman and a lot of survivor’s guilt and so he really. idk he connected a lot with zombies & frankenstein’s monster and ghosts & the like when he was a runner for dr. d post-his crew’s deaths. he got better about Seeing Himself as a Person especially once kobra + the other two showed up but the fascination remained) (also not tattoo-related but that’s when he chose his name. before that he’d been called ‘sandpup’ by his old crew & he never had a chance to tell them before they passed but he really loved that they used that as a name for him especially with how much he didn’t want to associate himself with the city) (ghoul had A Lot of issues but the difference there is that he worked thru them a lot earlier than the rest of the four) and “I FORGIVE U” on the back of his neck (in remembrance of said former crew).

umm along with that kind of fascination with the undead/feeling that kind of connection are the frankenstein stitches on his wrists (tho thats more of a common hc) and he has this pretty big tattoo of abstracted bones following his vertebrae down his throat and chest that he’s gotten expanded/fixed/touched up over the years. ik i do a lot of b&w doodles but i feel like i’ve been kind of inconsistent about coloring (most of his tattoos are color). pretty sure ive mostly drawn them in green (???) but in my head they’re like a faded light blue using natural skin tone as highlights.

his more sentimental tattoos…let me see if i can outline them here. this might not be exhaustive but i will do my best to list what ive figured out at least thus far:

the two little bats on his right thigh are for his grandmother and little sister. his sister (juliet adele fujikawa, b. april 2009 d. december 2014) was killed in a car crash shortly before he left the city, and likewise, his grandmother (charlotte fujikawa [藤川 千尋] b. june 1936 d. december 2014) was “moved to retirement housing” at about the same time. that was pretty much the last straw & ghoul left battery city within the week

there’s his crewmates’ symbols on his chest (in order from his right to left: kobra, jet, party) (gotten when their crew had been together for a while. dating this one is based on a couple things: 1. ghoul had been with them for long enough that he felt secure 2. poison and ghoul were friends by this point, or else he wouldn’t have included their symbol and 3. poison’s is over his heart so you can read into that as you will)

text from the graffiti bible on his right calf, as protection for his crew & as a reminder of one of his former friends who was a droid that believed very strongly in destroya’s return

his raygun on his chest (he was pretty proud of the design! this was when he was ~15 or 16) that he had poison’s added to post-sing post-engagement pre-commitment ceremony (so. september 2023) (yes i have my handwritten timeline + my own drawings + my fics out in front of me rn cross-referencing sldkdksksbx!)

one of the girl’s childhood drawings (one she drew of him & her & the stuffed animal he made for her when she was a baby all having a tea party together) from when she’s about 5 or so on his right hip (december 2022 or so)

shooting stars on his upper right shoulder, partially because they’re pretty and blend well with his other tattoos and partially because they’re a reminder of a lot of things, including but not limited to his first night out in the zones seeing the stars for the first time, stories his grandma used to tell him, and right when he’d first joined the fab four and him & kobra sat on the roof during a meteor shower

besides the other one i already mentioned ^ he has more of poison’s handwriting on his left inner forearm — this is also one ive mentioned before but once they’ve been in a relationship for a while they get into the habit of leaving little love notes around for each other! there’s nothing particularly special specifically about the one he got tattooed, besides the fact that it reminded him of poison and they love each other. the text in full (which i don’t think ive ever put anywhere, though im pretty sure ive put fragments of it in fics and art) is as follows:

Good Morning baby <3! I needed new paints, went on a run. Kobra has the Girl @ the Crash Track, Jet’s at the station. call me when you wake up! I love you, be back soon. XO Party <3

he also has the anniversaries of when they started dating and their commitment ceremony (03•03•21 and 10•26•23 respectively) on the inside of his right wrist ^ !

he’s got a snake wrapping around his left leg that kobra picked out and a hand of cards with the ace of spades face up that jet picked out (and these ofc are because they remind him of his crewmates!!)

he has the phoenix witch tattooed on his ribs, left side, styled vaguely after catholic saints (since that imagery can still be found in the inner zones & especially where ‘joys who still practice that religion gather!)

there’s a version of the eye from the mailbox on his right shoulder, and this one is also a sort of symbol of protection/good luck, to show devotion to the witch and to help protect himself and his crew

the constellation libra on his left forearm! this one was done a little while after he started running transmissions and supplies for dr. d! he liked the connection that astrology — whether he believed in the practice or not is up for debate — gave people to the stars, and the feeling that he had a place in the universe, predestined or not

after charlie is born, he gets a portrait of her (~age 4) with her name and birthday underneath done on his left thigh! (~2036)

and on his lower back, he has a fairly simple tattoo of two crows on a wire with their beaks pressed together (aughhhhhh romance) that he gets done as an anniversary surprise for their 10-year (so. 2033)!

his non-sentimental tattoos are largely based off of images from books, either from dr. d’s collection when he was working as a runner for him or from cherri’s after he joined up with the fab four, or else they’re naturally occurring in the zones!! this includes but is not limited to: california golden poppies on the back of his left shoulder, strawberries around his left bicep (he doesn’t ever have a strawberry until he’s like 35, this one is absolutely based off of a particularly pretty illustration), a thundercloud with lightning on his left elbow, a moon on his right inner bicep, a ring of thorns around his right forearm right under the elbow, a dagger on his inner left calf, and a sun, small bat, cross, rose, ribbon (with the word ‘faith’ in script), and wing on his right forearm and hand, all picked from flash sheets

so yeah! that’s about everything i have to say about ghoul’s tattoos atm but ty ty ty sm for letting me ramble abt them i think about his tattoos so much 😔❤️

[notbecauseofvictories]

oh I'm interested in the tag novel on how fan spaces becoming more meat spacey benefits the producers!! also happy Halloween! 🖤🧡🖤🧡

It’s not a particularly academic argument---I don’t have sources to back this up, I haven’t done research. I’m also wary of painting a picture of “fandom” as anything more than a lot of weasels in a trenchcoat, because that word means a lot of things to a lot of different people, some of whom hate each other. But as long as everybody understands that this is the ethnographical equivalent of drunkenly throwing darts at a copy of the AJS...sure.

[under a cut because it’s long and baseless, and also I had a lot of thoughts and feelings. Sorry.]

My basic premise is that fandom occupies “fanspace.” Fanspace is not solely online, since fanzines and conventions are fanspace too, but since the 90s it has become increasingly and primarily internet based. While some websites are designated fanspace (e.g., AO3, ff.net, stand-alone fansites) fanspace is not necessarily contiguous with a hosting site (e.g., there is fanspace on tumblr, but tumblr is not a fanspace). Fanspace is really just those urls, message boards, threads, blogs, accounts, etc. designated for fandom and/or where fannish activity takes place.

Its deeply-rooted internet presence has allowed fanspace and what I call “meatspace” to operate on different rules. Meatspace has always informed fan spaces, of course---disclaimers on fic to ward off accusations of copyright infringement, for example, or asking readers to attest that they’re over 13 before reading an R-rated fic. But traditionally, fandom has accepted as norm things that don’t apply to meatspace: fake names and anonymous posts, pictures of someone else’s characters, lengthy self-published stories featuring violence, explicit sex, sometimes even gay people. Fanspace is in many ways an artificial carve out from meatspace, where fewer of its rules apply; fanspace supplements these with its own norms.

The division between fanspace and meatspace is not and has never been a clear, settled line, however. Debates on how much meatspace should inform fan spaces have been raging for as long as I’ve been on the internet, and to be fair to meatspace, it has made good points. (I’m not sure if “don’t be racist,” counts as a meatspace rule given...racism, but fandom frequently reacts to it like a meatspace intrusion so I think it should count.)

However, what used to be intra-fandom conversations have become increasingly more public, for a few reasons:

Part of this is just the natural development of the internet---it’s not like fanspace was ever hidden, but there just weren’t as many people online, and stuff was harder to find in a pre-google, pre-algorithmic promotion world.

Part of it is the changing architecture of fanspace---websites shutting down, Strikethrough, and the tumblr porn ban have all, in their own ways, served to alter fanspace and move towards more and more public-facing sites.

But part of it---and this is the biggest factor, I think---is that over the last two decades, we’ve seen content-producers** increasingly willing to engage with fandom. 

On its face, this sounds good! After all, fans like people who make things, people who make things want fans. What could possibly be wrong about both sides recognizing their mutualism?

I think this works when the most interaction you could expect with a creator was showing up a bookstore to ask Tamora Pierce a question, or writing fanmail to Paul Gross. But it falls apart when you consider just how public-facing fanspaces have become, and just how much interest content-producers have taken in cultivating the fannish audience. Content-producers engaging directly with fandom are a thumb on the scales of mutualism, and a heavy one. After all, one side of the relationship is a loosely collected anarchic cult, migrating along a series of websites they mostly don’t control, making do with nothing but ongoing wank and general obsessive tendencies. 

The other side has D*sney, Harper Collins, and Comcast.

That thumb on the scale has paid off, more than I think even the content-producers could have anticipated. Fandom is good at loving what it loves and talking loudly about it, but capitalism is way better at doing what it does---turning everything into profit. So now people pay $100 a pop to go to Harry Potter World. Conventions are well-produced extensions of their parent companies, raking in money and providing a blitz of publicity---directly to the source most likely to take your messaging and amplify it. Make a superhero movie and the minute the trailer drops you conjure up thousands of online fans will be your de facto, unpaid publicists---generating interest via fan art, fic, and controversy with minimal corporate effort.  Of course fic writers who have established online presence are the darlings of the publishing world---what publisher wouldn’t want a built-in hype machine for a new author? 

And, just coincidentally, of course, fanspace and meatspace are drawn closer together, that line further blurred by this new and very, very interested third party.

I’m not saying this is some big conspiracy. No tv exec is out there rubbing their hands together and cackling evilly about how they’re going ruin fandom. But in exchange for meatspace validation and an endless stream of new content, I think fandom has ceded important ground. And I think it’s changing fanspaces, even now:

One of the founding rules of fanspace is that it does not generate money---you risk real copyright infringement that way. (This isn’t to say that money hasn’t been involved in a few massive fandom scandals, but it’s not typical.) Increasingly, however, the grumblings about getting paid for fan art and fic have gotten louder, probably due to meatspace’s general emphasis on the side-hustle, and seeing content-producers churn out more and more fan-like things for a profit.

(It seems unimaginable now, but once upon a time the HP Lexicon was an invaluable resource, a rare unicorn in a pre-wikipedia age. Now, D*sney wouldn’t even think of releasing a tentpole movie without a novelization, a picture dictionary, and a tie-in novel.)

Also, those calls for fan art that “might be featured” by a content-producer are (rightfully) scorned for asking for work pro bono. But the takeaway seems to be “we deserve to be paid for our fan art!” rather than “how dare the content-producer intrude on our fanspace and its activities!”

Fanspaces have never expected or required legal ID, permitting anonymous or pseudonymous activity in order to protect individual privacy. And while there’s still no expectation you link your legal ID with your online/fan ID, the norm has shifted---it’s no longer considered gauche to go by your legal ID, even necessary when turning mutuals and followers into an “audience.” We’re not anonymous fans, engaged in our mutual hobby anymore---some people are doing that, and others are potential content-creators.

I’d argue that even purity wank if an example of this new blurring, classic “don’t like don’t read” arguments taking on new life now that meatspace is so nearby---we wouldn’t want to offend the neighbors!

Even these things benefit the content-producers: the more fan-like stuff they churn out, the less fanspaces will create on their own; the more fanspaces that emphasize linking legal ID to online ID, the less people will be able to engage in fan activities privately; the more meatspace rules assert themselves on fanspaces, the less fanspace we’ll have.

Now, maybe this is just...evolution. As I said before, there is a porous and shifting border between fanspace and meatspace. I remember angry threads about whether m/m fics should be rated higher than a het equivalent; I remember the tagging debates, the incredible resistance to accurately describing what happens in your fic. Maybe in a few years, my longing to return to a more separate fanspace will seem equally as embarrassing, incorrect, and unnecessary. 

But right now, it feels more like an erosion---one fandom is about as willing or able to resist as the tide.

.

** “Content maker” is a term that’s come to mean “anyone who makes something” which is sheer nonsense. There’s a difference between publishers/television producers/movie studios and someone recording a podcast in their bathroom. There’s even a difference between D*sney, a vast undead creative monopoly animated by copyright protections, and someone like James Patterson, who uses a stable of ghostwriters to churn out “his” works. We shouldn’t be scrutinizing all these things them the same way, it’s lazy, and intellectually dishonest.

[phantaloon-books]

(some) Riordanverse characters (bc I never read TKC) and which Hogwarts House I think they would be in

Warning: this is a long one

Nico: the dude is definitely Gryffindor without a doubt. Like Sorting isn't about some traits and some characteristics, it's about core personality. He may have gone through some of the roughest stuff when he was 10-12, and he was resentful and bitter, but he was brave and bold af throughout everything he did. From learning about his powers, to using them relentlessly despite knowing how exhausted he is afterwards, to his willingness to do whatever is necessary to do what has to be done, because it has to be done. You can't change my mind that he's Gryffindor lol.

Grover: Do I even need to explain why he's Gryffindor? He's a satyr, and even if we're shown strong satyrs, they're not really supposed to be brave fighters. Yet he is one of the strongest, bravest nature spirits we've ever encountered in the Riordanverse, and one of the bravest in general. Like he's so passionate about doing what is good, he's a hero, and the only thing he doesn't match with common Gryffindors is that he's humble and as far from arrogant as could be possible, but it doesn't take his courage away.

Hazel: She's Gryffindor, and core personality-wise, she and Nico are very much alike. They don't ever think about themselves, like Hazel really always does what has to be done, no matter the cost, I mean she literally died preventing Gaea to rise the first time, and she freed Thanatos while believing he would take her back to the Underworld. She's brave af, and she has one of the most strong willpower we've seen in the Riordanverse. She's a passionate hero, and she's the closest thing to a real knight in shining armor.

Lester: I'm gonna place him in Gryffindor because I don't think he fits in in the other houses lmao. That said, as Apollo he's very shitty, but as Lester, he's one of the most courageous people. He's grown so much, he's so willing to actually do stuff now, and sacrifice everything to do what's right, including his life, even if he doesn't know he's gonna survive. Hell, he really went most of TTT with an incredibly painful wound that nearly turned him undead, and he cared more for the future of Camp Jupiter than his own life. Additionally, he's a bit arrogant and cocky, but he truly means well, I love Lester so much.

Clarisse: Look look, all I have to say is that no one could have pulled off less than half the stuff Clarisse has done, she's so Gryffindor it hurts. She's reckless and impulsive, but she's driven by her passion to do good, even if she's the daughter of war, and was bullied by her own father. She's daring, she's bold and she is the hero. She's also arrogant and thinks she can solve everything by herself, something characteristic more of the canon Gryffindors in the books, rather than what the fans have shaped. In fact, she's very much like Gryffindors in the books, who are actually very rude to other houses and think they're the best. Still, at heart, she's in this house.

Alex: I'm in a huge dilemma about where to put them, but I reckon they'd fit pretty fine in Gryffindor. Not only are they daring and courageous, they're proud of who they are, but not in a too full of themselves kind of way, rather in a 'I am who I am, and if you can't accept me, fuck off' kind of way. They can get carried away rather easily though, and very arrogant, thinking they don't need anyone else, when they do in fact need some company. They are one of the kindest and at the same time most ambitious characters we've met, but they are brave beyond understanding in a very personal way, thus, Gryffindor.

Percy: I think it's fair to say he'd be Hufflepuff, because loyalty is literally his fucking fatal flaw, and he is the kindest sweetheart to all those who deserve it, he goes out of his way to help those who need help, whether that be mortals, halfbloods, gods, magical creatures or even his own enemies. He's too good for this world, and even if he's grown a bit bitter, he always looks to fight justly for what is right, and never loses faith in others. That, and the fact that he turned down immortality so that the olympians were more inclusive of minor gods, and their children were treated better. He's just a lovely soul, he's like 80% Hufflepuff so that's enough for me. All that and he's stubborn as hell.

Jason: Hufflepuff. Just, undoubtedly Hufflepuff. Like he seems to be this cold and self centered hero with a superiority complex (bc of all the son of Jupiter stuff) but he's the softest guy there is. Not only is he hardworking, open minded and kind, he appreciates justice but he doesn't seek for revenge or anything, he makes sure people are treated fairly and wants everyone to be accepted. Proof of that is how he continued Percy's job of including more gods, and made sure Nico felt comfortable with who he was. He truly has a heart of gold. (He deserved better btw)

Meg: God I can't decide between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, but I think I'll go with the former. She's so strong, my baby, she's faced so much wrong, but she's still so kind and understanding of others, especially those who deserve kindness. She puts up such a hard facade, but she's so patient and warm and inclusive. She's brave and strong (as strong as the big three kids, if not stronger), but she's also so loyal to her beliefs despite how she was forced someone else's beliefs for years, so I'll keep her in Hufflepuff. Also, she's stubborn af, and she can be lazy, so that settles it.

Will: I KNOW some people will say Will could be in other houses that are not Hufflepuff, BUT I won't have it any other way. Will is literally the warmest person ever. He is kind and sympathetic and enthusiastic and patient and inclusive. Like Helga Hufflepuff would take one look at him and lose her shit screaming "mine". He's the guy who saw the son of Hades so many people were scared of and immediately grabbed his hand and transfered him some warmth and didn't let him go ahead and get himself killed. He's also the one who everyone loves and likes, so much that Clarisse gets along with him and he can calm her down. He's the ideal Hufflepuff, you can't change my mind.

Magnus: I mean, what else can you expect from the son of the god of summer? He's literally a guy who heals others with warmth. He's also the guy who spent years on the street with the most difficult situations, and accepts every single person the way they are. He's inclusive af, and tolerant of everything. He's the guy who's closest include a deaf elf, a Muslim valkyrie, and a black dwarf, and he's dating a genderfluid person. Yes he's brave, and he's kinda smart, and he's ambitious, BUT none of those qualities overpower his Hufflepuff nature.

Piper: Kinda debated whether Gryffindor or Ravenclaw fits more, but in the end I went with Ravenclaw. Even though she isn't a fighter, she's very very brave, yet her bravery isn't compared to her wits. Like others in the PJOverse, she wins her fights by outsmarting her opponents, but unlike others that's one of her strongest traits. She's witty and creative and a little on the negative side, she really struggled to work in a group rather than by herself. On another note, she's able to keep calm in crazy situations and come up with the craziest most unthinkable solutions (I'm talking borderline ridiculous) that always somehow work. She's not booksmart, but she knows so much about everything, and she's lifesmart you know?

Reyna: Why are some of these so hard? Deeply debating whether she'd be Ravenclaw or Slytherin. In the end I'd go more for Ravenclaw though. Reyna's smart as hell, she's strong and sharp, and she always sees the best way out of a situation. She's witty and observant, being able to keep her cool in battle and lead others in the best direction. She's always looking to grow, and she prefers to do things on her own, but she's a great leader. She has some Slytherin qualities, and she's not learning as learning oriented as others, but she's definitely Ravenclaw.

Sam: Let's face it, Sam has the only active neurons in all of MCGA, she's definitely Ravenclaw. I'm gonna be honest though, I've only read MCGA once, so I can't remember much of their personalities, but Sam is witty and clever, pretty much the only one who can come up with competent plans, while the others rely mostly on luck and whatever plan they can cook up in 5 seconds. She's loyal and true to who she is, and she's extremely courageous and proud of who she is, but her sharpness is what she stands out for me, which is why I put her in Ravenclaw.

Annabeth: I know the obvious option is Ravenclaw, but I genuinely think she's also Slytherin. Yes she is booksmart and wise like Ravenclaw, but her personality matches Slytherins' ambitious, cunning and resourceful nature. She's smart as fuck, but she's calculative, she always finds a way to end up winning, and while she does so by outsmarting her opponents, she wouldn't need to outsmart them if she weren't so competitive. I feel like there's this 40/60 odds on Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw, but it's that small difference that counts. Plus her leadership skills are so powerful that people don't ask, they just know she's the boss.

(Also just picture the sweet and loyal Hufflepuff boy with the strong and cunning Slytherin girl, like it should be as opposite as it is with Poseidon and Athena, but they're so cute)

Leo: Idk what you can expect that's not Slytherin. This boy is the embodiment of ambition and determination. Reminder that not all Slytherins are bad btw (I'm slytherin myself), but like he's life smart and cunning, and he can analyze situations faster than anyone else. He's charismatic and talented, and there's no one to stop him from triumphing. I don't have much to say, I just know he'd be in Slytherin.

Rachel: She's kinda a difficult one, and I struggle between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and tbh I'm still not sure. But I think I'd place her in Slytherin, because even if she's brave af (especially since she was a mortal fighting in a war out of her power), her main trait is her determination. When she's set on something, she gets it done. You can't tell her she can't do something, because she will find a way to do it. She's kind, and she's only a mortal, but she still has incredible power unlike any other. I don't think I can really name it, but I think she'd be put on Slytherin with much difficulty from the Sorting Hat.

Luke: Where else could Luke possibly go? On the meaner side Slytherins have created themselves, Luke would be part of those misled by who preceded them, by those who want to take advantage of their mistreatment (bc let's face it, Slytherins are mistreated by both students and Hogwarts staff), and turn them cold and bitter. Luke is ambitious and manipulative, being manipulated himself, and it comes easily because of his natural charisma and talent. He's very freaking determined and cunning too. He'd fit right into Slytherin, but he'd be viewed as one of the rotten lot.

Thalia: I don't have much to say about this, but Thalia is the girl whose fatal flaw is their desire for power (or smth along those lines), just like most Slytherins. She's ambitious, she's smart, she's truly talented, she stands out between the rest, and she knows it, and she actually kinda likes it.

(Also I put Annabeth, Thalia and Luke in the same house because they're all kinda similar, even if their beliefs and postures are different.

Frank: Ngl I'm having more difficulty with Frank than anyone else. I'm kinda torn between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I literally can't choose. He'd fit perfectly in any of them lmao, I just can't decide where he'd go. You decide this one yourself.

Please keep in mind, this is my personal opinion and my take on the characters, and not all of you will agree, and that's fine! You can let me know what you think (kindly please, don't come at me), and if you want to, send me an ask on a character you want me to do the same as these (as long as it's not TKC, I'M SORRY I haven't read those) go ahead, don't be shy!

[reallifeonthetheseventhfloor]

That ring would make a good wedding gift for Ainz and Albedo though.

...Well, y’all have successfully enticed my brain to make a snippet. (Flash fic? Is that what tumblr calls it, a flash fic? Doggone, I swear it’s called something like that!) Buuuut anyways, here’s some words I dropped that conveniently made a relevant short story as they smacked into my laptop screen!! Enjoy!

*————~ ✨💍✨~————*

It wasn’t easy that night to find a moment alone with Ainz, considering how Albedo was nearly glued to his side. But somewhere between the toasts and the dancing and the formal reintroductions, Mira slunk up behind the large skeleton, tugged on a sleeve, and they both slipped into a shadow to chat.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” she laughed. She looked back out at the crowd. The guests had cycled through the denizens of Nazarick overnight, and now noteworthy names invited from outside the tomb were present for festivities. “If I were you, I’d be ready to shut myself alone in a room for a week. What is this, the third day of celebrating?”

“The seventy-eighth hour, to be exact,” he groaned, amusement in his tone. “Luckily, we are nearing the end. If this is how an announcement of engagement is to be treated, I will certainly need to brace myself for the wedding.”

“The guardians went a little overboard, yeah. I’m sure Albedo already has elaborate plans prepared for the big day, but I promise I’ll see what I can do to make sure you actually get a wedding night, rather than get trapped in a procession for weeks,” she teased.

He chuckled. “She would likely be grateful for the push in that particular direction. Though… perhaps it would not be so unwise to make use of the time with celebration, if Albedo so desires. The traditional meaning of such a night, with an undead husband…” The glow in his eyes dimmed momentarily as he looked back to the succubus in white. She was brimming with joy, displaying the new ring on her finger with pride at every flourish. “I am of course aware of her enthusiasm. But, we… I cannot… ah—w-welll, that is—er—”

Mira could nearly feel heat emanating from the intensity of his emotional suppressor as he realized what he was saying.

“—Forgive me,” he stuttered, “such concerns are surely not what you have pulled me aside to discuss. What is on your mind?”

She looked at him. Then, to his surprise, she started snickering.

“Well—actually,” she said in between giggles, “that’s exactly what I wanted to discuss.”

“You… you did?”

A small box emerged from one of her pockets. “I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d want,” she admitted, “but I thought… you two deserve to have the option.”

The option?…

Taking the box from her, he held it up to his face between two metacarpals. He observed it closely, watching the light sheen across the golden bow that decorated the lid. He hummed, stalling. She put her hands behind her back patiently.

“I’m, uh, gonna go find Cocytus,” she said, “I want to make sure the Lizardmen are feeling at home among the other guests.”

She turned to go, stepping out of the shadows and glancing across the room. The big blue figure was on the far end, and a suited devil noticed her watching them speak. She debated on whether it was worth trying to dance her way through the social greetings the distance would take, or if she should just use the guild ring to teleport to an opposite door. It would save her so much trouble to just teleport over…

“—Mira.”

The red glow at her hand vanished. She looked back into the alcove.

The box was open, eyes fixed on the small gift Ainz had carefully lifted from within. He placed the Ring of Infiltration back down on the velvet interior, bony fingers lingering over it.

“… About the wedding plans. You said you might be able to persuade her to keep the evening free?”

Mira smiled. “I don’t think it’d take much persuading. But… maybe those are plans you two can figure out together, instead.”

His hood dipped, shading the red dots in his sockets. Gently, he closed the box, and covered it with both hands.

“Yes… I believe you are right. Thank you, Mira.”

She nodded, the smile warming her eyes. “Yeah, of course. Congratulations, ‘Monga.”

She turned, and he looked back to the box. Should he tell Albedo after the guests had left? Or maybe he would wait for a while. He had to collect his own thoughts on the matter now, after all. This small gift changed so m—

“Oh! And, um… I don’t know if you saw it,” Mira was back again, and Ainz nearly fumbled the box out of his hands, “there’s a little note in there? I might have sort of, maybe, not really told you how intense the change can be. So uh, you might want a test run first. With like, a death knight maybe? Or something without too much difference in body structure.”

“Er—yes. I will take that into account.”

“Oh, also—the racial drives can be crazy?? I mean, my first try was just as a devil, and those hormones were a lot, but if you and Albedo—”

“Y-yes, Mira, I see your meaning.”

“And if you have any questions about anything, I’m absolutely here for you; I’ve been doing some research on things, and—”

“Mira!” Ainz’s hand was blocking his face.

“I’m just saying, one Supreme Being to another, if you guys need any sex advice, Demi and I would be happy to—”

“I’m going to give this back.”

“No no, I’m going, I’m going! I’ll leave you to it, you’ve got this! I have faith in you,” she said, backpedaling verbally as well as physically. “... But if you have any questions at all—”

A green glow faded as the skeleton groaned.

Mira grinned. “Ok, right, see you after the party,” was her last farewell, and then she was gone.

It didn’t take longer than a count to ten before Demiurge found her. “Well?” he asked. “Did our Lord accept your gift?”

She slipped her hand into his. “Yup, he did. I think it’s gonna be good.” His thumb ran over her fingers as they both watched Albedo greet her fiancé, all her regal energy blossoming as Lord Ainz returned to her side. There was something softer about the lich’s movements, something more about the way his eyes lingered on her. Mira squeezed Demiurge’s hand a bit tighter.

“... But remember what I said about being ready to field questions,” she muttered to the devil, eyebrows raised. He laughed. “That man is going to have a million.”