#in repeat seasons like fantasy high

[copper-ice-cube]

Main D20 Seasons Ultimate Ranking: part 9

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part X, Part XI)

[vitamin-zeeth]

Thinking about Kristen Applebees so hard rn. Might go rewatch literally all of freshman year.

[cleo-fox]

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable. 

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

*

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest. 

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands  make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

[callmebrycelee]

Advice from a Queer Almost-40 BuckTommy Shipper

Over the last several months, there's been a one-sided war brewing between Buddie shippers and BuckTommy shippers. As we get ready for Season 8, I want to give all of you fellow BuckTommy/Tevan/Kinley shippers some advice:

Do NOT let them ruin something truly groundbreaking and special.

I repeat:

Do NOT let them ruin something truly groundbreaking and special.

Let me take you way back to the early-2010s. Glee was quite popular in the cultural zeitgeist. The show spawned a plethora of ships including Finchel, Brittana, Samcedes, and Fabrey. However, there was one ship that reigned supreme on Beyoncé and Al Gore's internet. If you were on Tumblr during this time you definitely remember the chokehold Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson aka Klaine had on the Glee fandom.

Now I'll admit, at first, I was into the two glee club gays being together but then episode 2x06 aired. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, episode 2x06 titled "Never Been Kissed" is episode where closeted football jock Dave Karofsky cornered Kurt in the boys' lockerroom and kissed him. What followed was some of the best storytelling in the history of the show.

Over the next few seasons, we watched Dave Karofsky come to terms with his sexuality, apologize to Kurt for his relentless bullying, finally embrace his sexuality, get outed, and attempt to un-alive himself. Those of us who initially hated Dave and his initial treatment of Kurt became fans of him due to how realistic he was. If you went to high school in the early-2000s, chances are you either knew someone like Karofsky or you were him. That's why he resonated with so many of us in the queer community.

However, the showrunners weren't invested in Dave and Kurt becoming an item. You have to remember, this was the era of listening to the fandom and giving them exactly what they wanted. The fandom wanted Rachel and Finn to be together so that's what we got. The fandom wanted Brittany and Santana to be together so that's what we got. And what the fandom wanted was Kurt and Blaine.

Till this day, I still resent the fact that the showrunners and writers went the safe route when it came to couples on Glee. For the most part, all of their main pairings were expected and boring. Over a decade removed from the show, a lot of folks have come around to the idea that maybe Kurt and Blaine aren't the #couplegoals they initially thought. A lot of us will forever wonder just how different (and possibly better) the show would have been if they took a chance on Kurt and Dave.

Fast-forward to the year 2024. We have, on another Ryan Murphy show, Klaine and Kurtofsky 2.0. The moment Eddie came on the scene back in Season 2, folks on the internet started shipping him with Buck. Nevermind that these two were coded as platonic friends, here we had, once again, two good-looking guys played by two actors who have impeccable chemistry.

Much like Klaine, a lot of us see Buddie as boring. The ship smacks of cis straight women overlly fascinated by two good-looking, masculine guys. It reminds me of the overabundance of m/m romance written by straight women which have little interest in showcasing real queer male relationships and instead serve as fantasy fulfillment for straight women using two queer men as avatars to satisfy what they feel is lacking in their own heterosexual relationships. I don't necessary have a problem with those books existing but I do take issue with that kind of storytelling overshadowing queer male content written by queer male writers.

Whew! Now that I got that out of my system, let me tell you what I loved most about the latest season of 9-1-1. It seems the showrunners and writers of this show took note of what happened with Glee and they decided to go a different route. Instead of listening to the relentless noise on the internet, they have decided to not go the safe route.

Enter: Tommy Kinard.

The romance between Buck and Tommy is truly revolutionary. As someone who grew up consuming the queer media of the 90s and early-2000s, it is quite refreshing to have a couple like Evan Buckley and Tommy Kinard on primetime television. I love that many of the scenes between these two is just slice of life. Very similar to the scenes we get between Athena and Bobby and Chimney and Maddie. I've always said that true equality is when queer people can be just as mundane as straight people. Mission accomplished. Finally, we have two queer characters just existing and being happy. No AIDS. No gay-bashing. No Don't Ask Don't Tell. No epic coming out scene. Buck and Tommy are a shining example of what queer couples can and should look like in the 2020s.

So, back to my original point. When it comes to the great ship war, please do NOT let them ruin something so groundbreaking and special. If the showrunners wanted , they could have made Buck and Eddie a thing years ago. However, that's not the direction they wanted to venture. Thank you Tim Minear for not going the safe route. I look forward to all of the rich storytelling we will get in Season 8 and I have decided that whatever happens, I'm going to enjoy this era of 9-1-1. Oliver Stark and Lou Ferrigno Jr. are amazing actors but so are Angela Bassett and Peter Krause and Aisha Hinds and Kenneth Choi. All of the actors on this show, whether main or guest or supporting, are putting their whole self into crafting the characters we know and love. Regardless of what ship you champion, keep in mind that behind these beloved characters are real, human actors who do not deserve to be bullied and harrassed and threatened due to them simply doing their job. At the end of the day, everything we see on the screen is fiction.

Okay, this has gotten really long. Stepping off of my soapbox. Remember ladies and gentlemen, it's just a show. And although it makes us feel real emotions, 9-1-1 nor Glee is real life.

[precioustarkey]

journalism at its finest

summary: you have made a career for yourself by interviewing celebrities, but are feeling a little uncomfortable when one hits close to home.

warnings: none

i nervously climbed into my car. the engine only makes my nerves rattle more. growing up, i was infatuated with actors and musicians. i found myself watching movies for the actors instead of the plot. listening to songs for the singers instead of the message. i can't explain my relationship with the media. i guess being online a lot as a teenager is to blame.

regardless, i knew from an early age that i wanted to work in the industry. not as an entertainer, but in the background. i wanted to observe the lifestyle up close. going to college for journalism was the best decision i have made for myself because now i get to live out my fantasy. 

i get paid to interview these people. and though i find a lot of them uptight and spoiled, the nosy side of me loves picking them apart. because of my job, i try my best to stay neutral on these celebrities so that they don't feel uncomfortable. apart from the research i do in order to come up with my questions, of course.

today is different. there is a show called "outer banks" that came around during quarantine, so with my free time, i binge-watched the entire first season. as i mentioned, normally i watch tv shows and movies for the actors, but i hadn't seen anyone in this show. 

however, when i delved deeper into google, i found the name of one of the actors to be familiar. drew starkey. i quickly found out that he grew up in north carolina, as did i. confused, i pulled myself from my cocoon on my couch to find my old high school yearbooks. grabbing one at random, i see him grinning in his senior photo. how could i forget? 

ever since i discovered this, i avoided the show like the plague. even though i had been surrounded by celebrities for years now, i had never known one of them personally. it almost ruined the glamorous aura surrounding them. imagining him as a regular teenage boy in the classes we shared was humbling. he wasn't mean in high school, not at all. if anything, i remember finding it odd that he hung around the theater kids because he was a total jock.

because of quarantine, i knew that press would be difficult for the actors, and because of this, i never anticipated having to interview them. which helped ease my nerves. moving to los angeles meant that i would interview every celebrity on the new up-and-coming shows. part of me hoped the hype surrounding the show would die down before the lockdown did.

the entire ride to the studio, i told myself over and over again that there was no way he would remember me. he was a jock, and i barely spoke. it wasn't the fact that i was shy, high school just wasn't for me. i counted down the days to graduation. i was only there because i had to be. i put more focus on my studies than my social life. 

in the back of my mind, i can't help but fear that seeing him will bring back memories of being the closed-off kid i was back then. as long as no one mentions it, everything will be okay. i repeated that to myself a few times before parking my car in the lot. removing my seatbelt as slowly as possible to buy time.

my hands are shaking as i walk to my studio. i send passing smiles to my coworkers as i make my way to the bathroom. i confirm that my hair, face, and outfit look presentable, and read over my questions one last time. 

the cameraman walks up to me as i take my seat to wait for the cast to arrive. "i just got a call; austin and drew are going to be the only ones you're interviewing today. madelyn, rudy, and  madison will be interviewed tomorrow," he says, looking for any sort of confirmation. "that sounds perfect," i say, smiling, still looking at my cards. 

i hear footsteps coming from the hallway and quickly stand up. austin and drew emerged into the room with their crew. "hello! so nice to meet you, my name is y/n," i say with a grin as i hold out my hand to them. they do the same, introducing themselves as they take turns shaking my hand. 

all three seats are now filled, so we can begin the questions. the first fifteen minutes go perfectly; we're laughing, they're thoroughly interested in the questions, and they're giving great answers. turning my attention to drew, i ask, "has this sudden change in lifestyle been difficult for you at all? to go from putting your all into basketball, to then deciding on theater in college?" 

he looks taken aback by my question. that nervous feeling in my stomach is slowly creeping back. i made sure that his sports background was easy to find online, so i was confident he wouldn't be too surprised. "wait a second. y/n? y/n y/l/n?" i can feel my cheeks flush at his realization. 

"can i be honest? i was hoping you wouldn't notice," i said, covering my face with my note cards. we are now sharing smiles. "oh my god. i sat behind you in algebra, you're the only reason i passed that class," he says in between laughs. seeing him in person has brought all of those little memories flooding back. 

after a minute or so of catching up, their team urges us on. "we've got other interviews, guys," the man says impatiently. we carry on for an additional fifteen minutes or so before i have run out of questions to ask. we said our farewells, and i thanked them for coming.

just as they were leaving, drew turned around, brushing past the guys they had walked in with. "y/n can i get your number? i would love to catch up properly whenever we both have time," he says, pulling out his phone. "yes, of course!" i smile, quickly typing in the numbers before they are once again rushed away. 

it felt like no time before my phone started dinging.

part two is here!

[pureblx0d]

“IN THE BACK SEAT” Bada Lee x Reader.

Summary: Bada and reader are best friends who share everything, even fantasies.

W: Nsfw, oral sex, dom!bada x sub!reader, a light mention of alcohol and smoking, like porn with a pretty poor plot, Open ending maybe(?), no readproof

You and Bada have been best friends since high school, you two basically grew up together and knew everything about the other from your favorite color to your most dirty secrets.

It was something almost natural and without taboos in your friendship, that's why you weren't surprised when after she got her driver's license and bought her first car told you that she wanted to fuck someone in the back seat.

What did surprise you is that months later she still hasn't fulfilled her fantasy and even more so that those words had been engraved in your brain.

Now, you were drinking with your classmates celebrating that exam season was over when suddenly the conversation wasn't so entertaining anymore and the beer was starting to taste like "I want to go home."

And that's what you did, you said goodbye to your friends before assuring them that you were sober enough to take a taxi on your own.

A taxi equal Bada, who had also become your personal driver.

Who was outside the bar leaning on her car smoking a cigarette wearing her practice clothes already waiting for you, when she saw you she put out the cigarette against the floor opening the passenger door for you.

"You know, you could get your own license so I don't have to be looking for you at 2 in the morning." Bada spoke half jokingly, half seriously once you were both in the car. "or take a taxi, a real one"

"Please you know that you love being my driver." And she couldn't deny it, she really didn't mind looking for you at 2 in the afternoon or 2 in the morning. if that ensured that you were going to arrive safely at your destination.

Once the car began the journey to your house, both having casual conversations about how her day was and some college gossip, your head was resting on the seat as you watched her speak.

But you weren't really listening to her, you were too focused on the way her fingers were tapping on the steering wheel and the car was filling with her smell that consisted of in her usual perfume mixed with the smell of her menthol cigarettes while in your mind the "I want to fuck someone in the back seat" repeated itself over and over again.

"What's the matter?" Bada asked when she saw how you watched her in a suspicious silence stopping at a red light.

"I want you to fuck me in the back seat" you blurted out without mincing words, You didn't know if it was the alcohol speaking for you (even though you hadn't had enough to drink) or the fact that you really wanted it.

Bada looked at you surprised, she knew that you were always direct and sincere to talk about what you wanted but she never expected you to say something like that so easily.

It's not that she hadn't thought about it before, she never thought about you romantically or sexually (at least not seriously) but that didn't mean that sometimes her mind will play tricks on her imagining you on situation like that.

"don't talk nonsense" She scoffed try to lighten the situation as she turned her attention to the road when the light turned green. "you should stop drinking"

"I'm being serious." You adjusted yourself better to look at her. "What's wrong, don't you want to do it or don't you want to fuck me?"

The answer to both questions was no, She wanted to do it and especially with you but you were is best friends, she didn't want to ruin your friendship by fulfilling a silly fantasy.

The car was silent, you regretting your proposal and Bada having an internal debate which ended in her grunting and stopping the car a few blocks from your house, At that time the place was deserted.

"In the back seat now" was the only thing Bada said before moving herself behind, you wasted no time and quickly positioned yourself on her lap, joining your lips with hers in a desperate and messy kiss.

Without stopping kissing you and in one smooth movement you ended up against the seat beneath her, her hands roaming your body as if she had been wanting that for a long time.

Bada moved her hands up your legs acknowledging that you had chosen to wear a skirt that day giving her better access to what she planned to do, her lips moved down to your collarbones as her hands began to play underwear teasing you.

She wasn't planning on stripping you even though what she wanted most was to be able to rip off your clothes But on the contrary, she only left a few kisses on your stomach before finally removing your panties.

Leaving wet kisses on the inside of your thigh when her tongue connected with your clit a gasp of surprise for the sudden pleasure escape your mouth and unconsciously your legs closed "you wanted this, now don't run"

Bada murmured into your skin, her hands gripping your hips to prevent you from moving, before connecting her lips to your pussy again, licking every part of you.

Your hand settled into Bada's hair, burying her head even deeper into you, both of you wondering why you hadn't done this before.

Bada took her time on you, making you enjoy every second of it, leaving little praises about how well you taste and how she could become addicted to this.

And she wasn't lying, this was a situation that she was going to repeat over and over again, she had many things planned for you.

It didn't take long for Bada to feel how your grip became looser and your breathing faster announcing that your orgasm was near, so she inserted two fingers. hitting your sensitive spot making you see stars.

When you managed to pronounce "I'm close" Bada removed her lips from your clit and starting to kiss you, leaving only her fingers to do the work.

"It's okay, you did well." Bada put her hands on your back holding you while you tried to catch your breath. "Let's go home so we can finish this."

.end.

~Mich<3

[formulaorange]

Winter 2024 Anime Review

Solo Leveling - 24 Episodes

This has been and will be my most anticipated series. We've only scratched the surface of the story and people are going nuts. I've been reading the light novel translations for a while now and I'm not even a little ready for when certain things are animated.

Easily one of the best anime adaptations out there. More to look forward to.

Sidenote - A1 is killing the animations considering it's one of their bigger ones in a while.

Also - they did a really solid job with the sound design, a lot of the timing made certain scenes feel just that much more intense.

9/10 - Amazing

Frieren - 28 episodes

Such a unique watching experience.

I think so many shows these days are fast paced, and action oriented, especially within the fantasy genre. This is such a relaxing and enjoyable watch.

The story is moving and the animations are warm and fuzzy.

Not much I'd change about the series.

10/10 - Masterpiece

The Apothecary Diaries - 24 Episodes

The second half of this series kept up with the flow of the first half really well. I feel like that shouldn't be a feat but it really is these days.

I genuinely love watching the subtleties of the romance in this series and the medical mystery cases are just as fun to watch.

The story has so many little bits and pieces working throughout the show and the last episode had me wrecked for reasons I never saw coming.

Just overall a big fan of this series.

9/10 - Amazing

Delicious in Dungeon - 12/24 Episodes

This series has no right to be this much fun.

The animations match the energy of the show so well and I think it's one of the best "entertainment" series of the season.

I was worried it would start to repeat itself but found that the characters become the highlight of the series and I looked forward to every episode.

(This is the series this season that I'm high-key obsessed with.)

8.5/10 - Very Good+

Shangri-La Frontier - 25 Episodes

One of the most fun looking MMORPG animes I've seen. I remember reading the teaser manga a while ago and was stoked to see it animated. Just a genuinely well done gamer oriented series.

They do such a good job at showing exactly the kinds of small things gamers pay attention to and some of the combat learning is stellar.

Not to mention the sound track honestly did not need to go as hard as it did?!

Really hoping they continue on with this for another season.

8/10 - Very Good

Bucchigiri?! - 12 Episodes (Updated)

I haven't seen any coverage for this show for some reason. It's a one shot that Mappa animated. The story felt quite slow but I personally had fun with it, the character design was satisfying - gives a bit of Jojo's and SK8 vibes. After a few weeks I couldn't stop thinking about it and went back - it ends up being a decently satisfying story. It's rare to see single season shows and I think that was really refreshing.

(Opening and ending are both bangers)

7.5/10 - Good+

Mashle - Season 2 - 12 Episodes

I decided to watch this once all the episodes had aired. I found that it's not one you can be in the mood to watch all the time, but when you are it's just as hilarious as the first season.

I've enjoyed the pacing of the story and I'm looking forward to future seasons.

7.5/10 - Good+

Unwanted Undead - 12 Episodes

Another series I read the manga for when it premiered. There's something about this series that gets me hooked. While the animations aren't anything of note, I find the story is oddly unique and I ended up bingeing all the episodes in one go. Definitely one I'm curious to see where it goes.

7/10 - Good

Mr. Villain's Day Off - 12 Episodes

This is purely for my own personal interest in attractive moody villains with alter ego's. It's a lot of fun to watch and it's just so wholesome.

That's it.

7/10 - Good

[thisisnotthenerd]

Notes on the Bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

We've had some revelations in this episode, so I thought it might be a good time to go back to my Musings on the Greater Solisian School District.

Before this season, we had learned a few things about the Aguefort Adventuring Academy's Bylaws from Fantasy High, Fantasy High: Sophomore Year and the Seven that are ambiguously canon:

Adventuring Parties are established on the first day of freshman year so that the party can graduate together and begin working as an adventuring party. The party is expected to participate in activities together such that they might go forth and be violent lunatics enforcing their will upon the world.

There are a variety of reasons one might leave an adventuring party--the one that applied to the members of the Seven was severe injury, incapacitation, or capture to the point of losing more than a semester of school. By technicality, the Bad Kids circumvent this by virtue of going to jail as a group for ~2 months towards the end of their freshman year--not enough to cause them to repeat the semester or break the party.

The Crowning of a Prom King & Queen was prohibited due to the prophesized return of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste, given that Kalvaxus was in fact working as the Vice Principal in the form of a dragonborn named Goldenhoard.

Arthur Aguefort keeps numerous magical artifacts in his office and in various locations around the school, this includes objects like Watches and Wards, an abjurative ward that can only be affected by Arthur Aguefort and the Elven Oracle [Adaine Abernant], the Crown of the Nightmare King, and the Bylaws of the Greater Solisian School District.

Presumably, beginning in sophomore year, an adventuring party attending the Aguefort Adventuring Academy must complete a quest that accounts for 60% of their grade for that year. It is unclear whether this rule is universal or whether it applies to specific parties who have direct involvement in larger quests, i.e. the Bad Kids tracking down the Crown of the Nightmare King, the Seven Maidens going to the Red Waste to eliminate the remainder of the Cult of Kalvaxus. This ties into a later application of the bylaws regarding the Last Stand Exam.

Parties can have members in different grades, however, graduation and further work can cause the disbandment of the party.

To acquire a GED diploma from the Solisian School District, an adventurer/adventuring party must get the signature of the Superintendent of Schools of the Solisian School District and complete a class A, B, or C quest [reference my previous meta for more discussion of this]

Now, at the halfway mark of Junior Year, we have some more bylaws and school rules to consider.

Administrative

In the absence of the Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy [Arthur Aguefort] the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth] is the Acting Principal of the school and carries out all administrative decisions thereof.

In the absence of both the Principal [Arthur Aguefort] and the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth], administration of the School falls to the Principal's appointed emergency staff: Principal [Interim Emergency Backup Principal Grix] and Vice Principal [Jace Stardiamond]

The bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy in particular are based on a combination of written and oral proclamations from Arthur Aguefort; thus some bylaws may be contradictory in their application, given the man's proclivity for bits and exaggerated speech.

The election of a student body president typically occurs around the end of a given school year, with students in their junior year competing to be president in their senior year. There is no indicated option for a vice presidential position, though there are other administrative positions such as treasurer.

Thus, when all options for administrative staff have been exhausted e.g. all appointed candidates have passed or are absent, the role of principal falls to the student body president, who presides over the Academy as a democratically-run educational institution.

Academic

Generally, students are expected to progress in the class in which they first joined the Adventuring Academy. While leveling can differ based on extracurricular achievement as well as background, the existing hypothesis places students in tier 2-3 starting in Junior Year*. Currently the Bad Kids are exceeding the hypothesized levels, but given their extracurricular achievements in adventuring, this is to be expected.

To Multi-class and effectively take both classes in which the student has interest, they are able to utilize the MCAT, upon given the consent of the class instructors for both courses. Reference previous meta for more information on the MCAT.

Measures of success in each class varies significantly; a wizard is not graded on the same curve as a sorcerer. One of the more extreme examples of this is the conditional pass of the rogue class; upon finding the rogue teacher, the student passes the year and no longer has to attend class.

Pass-Fail and Conditional Examinations

If a member of an adventuring party leaves for any given reason: irreconcilable differences, severe injury/incapacitation, capture or other forms of imprisonment, death, etc., the entire party is shifted to pass-fail for the entire year, and is thus prohibited from extracurricular activities.

If the faculty member/instructor of a particular class passes away during the school year, the entire class is shifted into pass-fail. This can have further effects on the adventuring parties of those students, since they are shifted into pass-fail along with their allies in the given class. The most recent example of this is the death of Yolanda Badgood and the shift of the Cleric class to pass-fail.

If a student, for whatever reason, has had difficulty throughout the year with academic success, especially due to systemic barriers, they may be eligible for a exam called the Last Stand, which is taken later in the year, and replaces the student's transcript. This exam can be taken as a party, or individually, depending on the students' needs.

*Tier 1 = Levels 1-5, Tier 2 = Levels 6-10, Tier 3 = Levels 11-15, Tier 4 = Levels 16-20

[horizon-verizon]

I'm still on my self-imposed Tumblr writing break but I had to share this comedy gold mine where Condal tells us all about "impostor syndrome" before I'm overtaken by the urge to write an essay on it instead. I have no time to cook. Fortunately, we've been served a meal on a silver platter.

https://bigthink.com/high-culture/house-of-the-dragon-ryan-condal/

House of the Dragon, which premiered in 2022, might have continued that [Game of Thrones] trend. Instead, the show proved a return to form, offering the same Shakespearean dialogue and political intrigue that made people fall in love with Martin’s fictional universe back in 2011. The second season is just as good, if not better.

I can see that this is going to be a very fair assessment of Condal and his work.

“Every day,” Condal confesses when asked if he suffers from imposter syndrome. “For me, though, it was less the scale and scope of House of the Dragon and more its visibility that intimidated me."

😭😭😭 It's okay! He wasn't worried about whether he'd do a good job! He was just worried about how visible his ingenious work would be.

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

The business major is about to tell us about historiography. The question is, does he understand historiography? Or does he think he's inventing a new concept?

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated.

Yes, we know. It's actually very related. Especially the way Condal does it. I'll also point out here that his university was a private Catholic institution. I don't feel the need to connect those dots right now.

"I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there."

I... this tells us two things about the writing process and attitude behind it. Two things we already knew. But... it's sure telling.

"I was able to navigate challenges that some of my colleagues with filmmaking and art history degrees maybe weren’t prepped for."

In theory, nothing wrong with this^ statement. But in context...

While some criticism is valuable, too much can lead to creative paralysis. “I tend more towards the negative than the positive, so I made a conscious decision to stay away from social media when I got this job,” Condal says. If anything, he believes the healthy distance he maintains between himself and his audience has improved the show: “Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

I repeat my prior sentiment.

Ultimately, Condal’s own passion for Martin’s writing outweighed any doubt he had about his own. “I’m trying to make the type of show I would enjoy as a fan, which I am. And while I realize my ideal fan show will be different from someone else’s, I still think that it’s a good true north heading on my compass. Actually, I think that’s why HBO hired me in the first place.”

Oh, we know.

“It was hugely intimidating, moving to a new country [the U.K.] and working with a new but also hugely talented crew that I had to — not tell them what to do, exactly, but lead them; collaborate with them. I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show — those relationships were easy to establish.”

Make it stop.

The most important part of making a successful fantasy show isn’t the sets, costumes, or special effects, but lore. Fictional places like Westeros have their own unique cultures, customs, and social institutions, all of which help create the illusion that this fantasy world is as real and complex as our own. To transfer that illusion from page to screen, the writers must know Martin’s work as thoroughly as Martin himself. “It’s not just me,” Condal says. “We are all deeply entrenched fans of George. One of our writers has worked with him for many years. If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

Well that explains why they're worse than Gyldayn.

Condal: “Textual references are best done in light touches to remind people that this is a fully realized society with hundreds of years of mapped-out history to it. And you don’t need an entire scene to do that. Instead of writing, you can communicate details environmentally through props like heraldry. For the fans, these little touches tell them they are in good hands. Better yet, they know the details are there just for them, the hardcore fans. For everyone else, the casual viewers, this stuff is flying by 100 miles an hour, and they probably won’t notice it. But it’s there.”

Again, there's nothing wrong with this^ in theory. In. Theory.

“I’m definitely an architect,” says Condal, “and I think I have to be as a screenwriter, because our life is so deadline-driven. The literal definition of a playwright, W-R-I-G-H-T, is ‘one who builds plays.’ A dramatic writer is almost by necessity a structuralist, and I very much fall into that camp.”

Now wait for it... wait for it... Keep in mind these are Brinkhof's (article author) words. But wait for it.

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall. Sticking to Martin’s analogy, “gardening stories” grow like trees, their narratives branching out in an exponential number of paths, making them difficult to finish. As of today, Martin has spent more than 14 years on the next installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series, his prolonged bout of writer’s block forcing Weiss and Benioff to come up with their own ending.

No words. Now back to Condal.

“The advantage we have over them is that we’re dealing with a finished text, where they were working with an unfinished, living work,” Condal says. “Where the Game of Thrones team had to trim down 5,000 pages into a few dozen scripts, we’re challenged in the opposite direction, turning around 100 pages into a multi-season arc of television, and that requires a lot of invention.”

Oh? So... you do know where it's going. Which means your "inventions" should... probably lead there?

Condal treats Fire & Blood like a real-world historian might treat a manuscript from the Middle Ages. “These three writers all had personal agendas which, to me, seem to reflect one of the main themes of our show: powerful women living in an unbreakable patriarchy. The writers, particularly the priest, appear to blame the war on the squabbling between Rhaenyra and Alicent.”

No comment for now. No... comment...

House of the Dragon pretends to show the real history that Fire & Blood recorded and distorted. Some events happen the way the one of the three authors describe it, while others contain elements of all three conflicting accounts. Others still indicate that none of them got it right. As a rule, every character in the show is far more complex than the jester, maester, and priest made them out to be.

I... I... I... I... I...

“Alicent can be the stereotypical evil stepmother at times,” says Condal, “just as King Viserys, played by Paddy Considine in season 1, can come across at weak. However, the thing that in-universe historians don’t get about Viserys is that he was carrying the burden of a prophecy passed down through generations and couldn’t tell anybody about it. A lot of his supposedly weak decision-making was actually in service of this secret prophecy. We were trying to show that there was more to him, that multiple things about him could be true at the same time.”

Must... Resist... Urge... To... Write... Essay...

“We have to arrive at the same endpoint as the book,” he reminds himself. “Whoever George said becomes king must become king at the end of the war. Hopefully, though, we have a bit of latitude leading up to that, to show how history has been interpreted differently at different times by different historians. I realize I’m playing with fire, but it does excite and fascinate me — to be able to comment on how history is made, not just this fictional history, but all history. It’s all propaganda to some degree.”

😭 The clownery.

Historiographers weep.

@rhaenin-time, you must be stopped. Ryan should be , too, but you have decided to bring me in close proximity to this nonsense. I am sitting here, eating chewy ChipsAhoy, and you came in here like a wrecking ball with this news....I hate you. [read, this is a joke]

I don't think I'll be able to address every thing I want to address in this. I want to be done with this show, I have been tired since the 6th epi of the last season.

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated. [...]

I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there. [...] Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

Who tf does this man think he is?!!! Yes, I needed mother-son coochie eating. I needed to have a brown girl erased for a rapist to become a family man with a sick child. I needed Cole fucking Alicent at least 3 times instead of a brown haired Targ make instrumental alliances with more people to add to his stepfather's armies in the Riverlands. I needed to see nonexistent and sterile parallels. I needed to see a black woman be burned alive when she actually died at least surrounded by family, her ignored by her husband so his later marriage to a white girl be that much more special. I needed to see a disabled man jerk it over a queen's bare feet like she's in OnlyFans and doesn't know where her next meal is. I needed to see a pretten prince jerk it over a window and barely even tell what his brother was doing later with Vhagar instead of another preteen girl bond with the most powerful dragon of the then living ones. I needed to see a woman so much more hypocritical than her book counterpart be framed as one of the wisest women to exist while she praises Jaehaerys I of all people for having a peaceful reign as if his decision to have that council have no bearing on the burgeouning war coming up right now.

He can't even properly write character ACRTION as opposed to REACTION (Seth Abramson's article on substack):

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

And yet Daemon dislikes his daughter or grow impatient with her bec she doesn't have a dragon....while he only claimed one at 16 or a bit younger with Caraxes AND Targs don't actually bond with dragons in the cradle that often, actually usually doing it in preteens to teens AND Aegon I definitely had to bond later in life as well. And said that Aegon I lived/was alive when Old Valyria still existed. Allowed Criston Cole to be called Dornish both by Alicent and the fans without giving us any explanation or exploration of that identity esp when canonically he came from the Stormlander part of the Dornish Marches. "Encyclopedic" my nonexistent ballsack! He has no authority to claim that F&B is so unreliable that he can't tell truth form agenda-motivated fiction and then claim himself intelligent or "brilliant" at the same time!

"avant-garde"...yes bc it's so revoluntionary and creative to have a man lick his former home from his own mother in a "vision". As if making a woman her son's character tool wasn't something HBO already did with its female characters and perform male gaze....okay...As if he's special and different from other male writers and it not just keeping with ASoIaF adaptation tradition. It added so much to the story other than the sick eroticism of something already cleared up last season.

I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show

No you didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have had a such a problem with the pacing, the numerous inconsistencies, plotholes, the [if true] possible merge of Rhaena and Nettles and many episodes would't contradict each other as if one writer disagreed and vetoed another. And you'd see why/how show!Rhaena's purpose must be kept more or less the exact same as her in the bk for the post-Dance environment. We'd have Maelor. We'd have Daeron mentioned and described much earlier, not as some sort of random ass surprise that is bound to thrown so many locals off when he does appear.

If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

....what the fuck does this even mean?! There are no fucking graduates of anything in Westeros and there are no archmaesters of real life bc the set ups in education of EU medieval history vs Westeros are so different it's not even funny. there are no universities for one to even imagine there are Westerosi "graduates", and there is no way you can tell if a graduate would be more or less educated than a grandmaester, bc we don't have rules of "graduation" or gradations of maestership. the modern school system can never be properly equalized in structure or depth or habits to Westerosi maestership, the instituton.

Therefore trying to create some sort of analogy as if grads exist in Westeros by immediately using "grandmaester" for another you're aligning yourself with is just so stupid. worst part is, I know exactly what he's trying to say, but his use of this device is so wrong, that I'm mad and ure people will just take this at face value instead of see how inept this man is with literature analysis and thus creative writing. Reminds me, ironically, of his saying he's inspired by PARADISE LOST in writing S2...if you don't sit yourself down to hell, sir!

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall.

And there it is, Ryan is prepping to use the ole fan excuse of "not much story left" excuse people had for D&D, and it makes sense how he would considering how F&B is considered to unreliable to adapt even the clearest events and characterizations as they are given....

[anetherealpoetess]

a rings of power haladriel spoiler from a certified critic and my humble predictions for the finale:

so here is the full review from the critic, but it opens thus:

Deep into Star Wars: The Last Jedi, shortly after defeating the Supreme Leader’s highly trained elite guards, the anti-hero Kylo Ren extends his hand out to the protagonist Rey and asks her to join him. Together, he says, they can rule the galaxy. He pushes her to confront her greatest fear and assures her that she means the world to him. On the whole, the scene is both epic and intimate. A similar moment occurs late in the second season of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power as the series’ two most central forces clash in a swordfight. Sauron (Charlie Vickers) reiterates his desire to make Galadriel (Morfydd Clark) the queen of all Middle-earth. There’s nothing he wants more—and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to have her by his side.

on the one hand, okay; we really are repeating the ending of season one. on the other hand, i will always love sauron's obsession with galadriel being so overt a thing. the critic seemed to enjoy the confrontation (a running theme in reviews) but took umbrage with clunky dialogue undercutting the emotions, which ... yeah. the rings of power is intent on being a traditional high fantasy, but it's better when grounded in the modern (like sauron using darvo tactics and language on celebrimbor for chilling effect, rather than the stilted, pseudo-poetic declarations the show often attempts which does undercut the emotion.)

as for my predictions, i fear adar is mortally wounded and returns to galadriel her ring in the hope of helping her defeat sauron. i would love adar to live but fear he's a goner. i would also hope that galadriel keeps the nine rings, and next season is sauron hunting her down to retrieve them, but since the show seems intent on degrading galadriel at every turn, she probably gives up the nine to him during their confrontation (granting the incels permission to spend another two years whining about how everything is her fault) and flees.

i'm not here for the plot though. i am just here for the vibes, the beautiful villains, and sauron's profane and seductive worship of galadriel.

[copper-ice-cube]

Main D20 Seasons Ultimate Ranking: part 6

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

[littleabriel-blog]

Why You Shouldn't Watch Loki S2

With Season 2 of that show making its debut tomorrow, I thought I would make one last ditch effort to convince people not to watch it. It's not just because it's a horrible show that makes a mockery of my favorite Marvel character. There are a lot of problematic elements that contribute to the long list of reasons why people should not give Disney their money or ratings.

I am imploring people, one last time: If you must hate-watch the season, pirate it. If you must watch with some lingering hope that the real Loki will somehow make an appearance (and based on the reviews I have seen, that seems very unlikely), pirate it. Please don't contribute to Disney's ratings. Disney isn't going to care if you're hate watching or if you are only watching it hoping to get a glimpse of the Trickster we all know and love. They only care about numbers, and high ratings might mean we'll get stuck with another season of this utter dreck.

That said, here are some reasons why you should rethink giving this show your views:

It glorifies abuse and torture

In this show we are treated to the sight of Mobius using torture as "therapy", emotionally beating Loki down to the point where he capitulates to the TVA's demands, punishing him for having a crush on someone else by sticking him in a room for hours (at least) with an illusionary Sif who kicks him in the balls and punches him on repeat while further hammering the whole "you'll always be alone, you don't deserve good things" message, and generally working for an organization that subjects Loki to mockery, bullying, sexual assault (being stripped without his consent--that scene wasn't hot. It wasn't sexy. It was horrifying and I really, really have to wonder about the mental state of anyone who is at all turned on by it. Think about it, if Loki were a woman who was being forcibly stripped, there would have been loads of hatemail filling up Disney's servers), and slavery.

That's even before we get into the atrocious way Sylvie treats him. I've gone into how she treats him many, many times, how she belittles, invalidates, silences, and oh yes tries to kill him for daring to ask her to reconsider killing HWR. If the roles were reversed and Loki treated Sylvie like that? You ladies who love the ship so much would be boycotting Disney. It's no less abuse just because it's a woman doing it to a man.

It glorifies fascism

The TVA is very much Nazi coded yet they are framed as heroes...well, except when they're picking on Sylvie of course, since she's all pure and good and can do no wrong (Mary Sue powers activate!) They torture a character who is very much Jewish coded, an effeminate man who is very much the Other in the home he grew up in.

And what the hell is this?

As a Jew, I find this image deeply, deeply disturbing. It's a fucking gas chamber, y'all. It. Is. A . Gas. Chamber.

I don't know how anyone can NOT see how problematic it is.

It has Jonathan Majors in it

I really don't give a flipping shit if they're "only" allegations or if they wrapped up filming before the allegations came out. People boycotted Flash for Ezra Miller doing basically the same thing, so I don't see why it should be any different with Majors.

But then I know from experience that some of you so-called feminists out there are only about protecting or believing women when it suits you. Can't have a little thing like not supporting a domestic abuser get in the way of your wish fulfillment self-insert fantasies of beating the crap out of Loki before fucking him.

The first season was written by a total creep, and that same creep is producing the second season

'Nuff said.

Selfcest/Incest

I don't want to hear how "selfcest doesn't exist", especially in a fictional universe where you have sorcerers, witches, men with super soldier serum running in their veins, magic plants that turn individuals into superstrong Cat People, and talking raccoons.

And even without the selfcest, that ship is a very problematic one, as I stated above, and have continued to talk about at length.

It's just plain awful

The plot is predictable, full of holes, and not even that original (it's cribbed directly from a script Waldron wrote that was so awful, even SyFy wouldn't produce it, plus see my post with the clip from Batman Returns). Loki is grossly OOC in it...seriously, there is not a single hint of the character I had grown to love from Thor 1, Avengers, and the Dark World. He's nerfed all to hell (an Asgardian god who can take on Thor easily is beaten up by human rednecks?), and he's lost all his cunning, wit, intelligence, and grace all in favor of turning him into a sophomoric slapstick clown and the butt of everyone's jokes. The newer characters are poorly mapped out and one dimensional.

It's just...bad.

So there, that's my last ditch attempt to convince people to boycott this piece of shit. I realize my pleas might be falling on deaf ears, much as Loki's pleas fell on Sylvie's, but I had to get it out there.

Other Loki show antis can add to this or elaborate if they want. I'm too tired to be too coherent right now.

[aloekat]

giving pokemon teams to d20 characters!

The Bad Kids / Fantasy High!

pt 1/?

part 1 || part 2

hello chat and welcome to aloe shoves their hyperfixation onto everything they enjoy! making pokemon teams for fictional characters has always been a fun past time for me that i enjoy greatly so i wanted to apply that to dimension 20! i plan on doing every season once i’ve watched it, starting with all the intrepid hero seasons before moving on to side quest seasons

(also i finally decided to post these after @jadelion made posts sharing their team picks, so go check those posts out as there are some great choices! i also wouldnt be inspired to finally post these without him doing so first! i made my list completely independent of hers so if there's the same pokemon its purely coincidental lol)

first i want to talk about some guidelines i’ve given myself for this, which will apply to future posts as well:

only 4 pokemon per team - this keeps things more easy and makes them feel closer to mid-game trainers rather than fully stacked end-game ones. or feel like gym leaders maybe? it also helps with rule 2…

try to have no repeat pokemon - this just keeps things unique between seasons but sometimes a pokemon is a perfect fit for more than one person but for the most part everyone gets unqiue pokemon and there are almost no doubles

low to no legendaries on teams unless for a good reason - same goes for shinies but im more lenient on the shiny rule lol

i made a lot of these these like 3 months ago as of posting this - some choices may be outdated or the character has changed enough that a choice may not fit as well but i didnt want to change it lol (this is solely for the fantasy high kids tbh)

thats all for the rules! finally it’s time to get into the teams!

! SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE CURRENT SEASON! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !

Kristen

Lycanroc - representing Tracker, again i made these before junior year so trackerbees was still a thing but i imagine it can count for cassandra also since it’s a night themed pokemon. don't know which form of lycanroc she would have though Solrock - she was given solrock during her time with Helio, and while i know sunflora exists i think solrock makes a little more sense, since she was a chosen of Helio she would be at an elevated status and therefor have a better pokemon if that makes sense? it also pairs with... Lunatone - representing her change to Cassandra, a goddess of night. there's like cool symbolism with her pokemon now wow isn't that so cool and awesome!! Unown ("?") - a question mark unown to represent Yes? (and the other Yes forms) along with her cool question mark staff! can also ALSO symbolize doubt with cassandra

Fig

Toxitricity (Low Key) - low key form gives the vibes of a bass and Fig plays the bass! toxitricity would help fig practice her instrument and come up with music. also literally called “the punk pokemon”

Obstagoon - similar reasoning, obstagoon has The Vibes that fit along with also being a sort of rock n roll pokemon

Moltres - representing Ayda, i imagine Ayda gifted it to her once they became girlfriends :)

Mimikyu - a pokemon known for its imitation of another pokemon, very much fits into Fig’s actor feat and her high deception and her not wanting to be her real self sometimes

Fabian

Dhelmise - big connection to his father and being a pirate, his father probably gifted it to him as his first pokemon

Marowak (Alolan) - fun idea i had for this is he originally just had a cubone with him during freshman year, but once he went to Fallinel and learned about the power of dance it evolved into an alolan marowak! it's a fire dance pokemon of course he would have it lol

Sirfetch'd - representing his mother and also his general fencing/fighter style that he works with

Tentacruel - just a cool ass water pokemon i feel he would have, also vaguely pirate-y with big kraken vibes

Riz

Pikachu - detective pikachu go brrrrr i imagine he would have gotten a pichu when very young, and it's evolved over time! it would wear a tiny detective hat as well because um i said so

Inteleon - super spy/gun pokemon also go brrrr, very much a reference to his father and just the general super spy-ness of Riz and Pok in junior year especially

Togekiss - ok this one feels very out of place and i forgot why it was here originally BUT i think it's to represent like a guardian angel sort of? again another reference to Pok because i love Pok and think he's very cool

Voltorb - he's the ball. this is a pokeball pokemon. are we starting to connect the dots

Adaine

Politoad - representing Boggy of course, nothing much else to say

Espeon - a very psychic pokemon representing her oracle powers, it would be fun to think that she had an eevee that simply evolved into an espeon once Adaine realized that she in fact was the elven oracle!

Delphox - another powerful psychic pokemon, again this is just vibes and it's a cool pokemon and adaine is a very cool character lol

Audino - these pokemon are known for being able to hear super well and know how their trainers are feeling from listening to their heartbeat. a gift given by Jawbone to help with Adaine's anxiety but still a good member of her team regardless

Gorgug

Archen - "i'm Cloaca, i suck!"

Gogoat - a grassy pokemon which can sorta represent the tree he lives in but also intended to represent Zelda in some ways (again i wrote these before junior year came out). it would help him carry around a lot of scraps for tinkering

Rotom - found in the village near the Nightmare King's forest, this rotom had gotten lost in the forest and, with no tech from solace nearby, couldn't find a way home. gorgug rescued it and lets it inhabit the Hangvan a lot

Rillaboom - another grassy pokemon but this one is also a drummer! can we take a wild guess as to why i picked this one. for it's drumming ability. because. because gorgug is a drummer.

=====

whew ok that's the first season done! i'll probably do unsleeping city next, which will be linked to this post once it's done!

have a better option that would fit a PC better? please tell me i would love to hear everyone's takes on this!

ok that's it that's the post everyone go home now (once again go look at @jadelion for their pokemon team picks!)

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Fantasy High Junior Year and Not All Who Wanda Are Lost

This is the first time I'm watching a Fantasy High season as it airs, instead of binging it--and I hate it! I am itching to see what happens next. Itching. Like I can't focus on anything else without having that itch scratched.

Also: two things right off the bat:

One. The bitch is back. This is not a drill. THE BITCH IS BACK.

Two. GORGUG AND ZELDA REALLY ARE BROKEN UP? GOSH DARN IT!

Okay, now that I've calmed down somewhat. The episode is also a bit of a breather after the high-octane and high-emotions of the first two episodes. We do get some answers to some questions, like: yeah, Gorgug and Zelda are indeed broken up. Cathilda is at Leviathan, which is why Fabian is all alone at the Seacaster Manor.

And, yes, the projections are very much alive. Which I love.

There's an energy surrounding the Intrepid Heroes that really makes their seasons engaging even when their characters are doing bits I don't agree with. I guess because we've seen them play the most in Dimension 20, we trust that we know where they are going. And that's really the main part of why their seasons work, isn't it? We trust them. Even when they make mistakes or flub a deception that Brennan can then use against them, we trust that they mean well. That they have a story to tell.

That's one of the reasons why I've held on judgment with what seemed to be a repeating storyline for Kristen in the first two episodes. Now that we've seen the third episode, it does make sense for Kristen to enter a cycle. It does make sense for her to treat Cassandra the way she treated YES!. And, of course, Brennan is going to use this to fuck with the Bad Kids.

And Brennan is setting up so many villains, and maybe some red herrings… But it's hard not to panic. It's hard not to go into a worry. Because, yeah, I am going into a worry.

I guess, though, this season's biggest villain is real life. Not real-real life. But real life for our bad kids. Reality isn't cut-and-dry. We don't defeat monsters and then get to live happily ever after. Because life continues. And consequences matter. So of course Gorgug doesn't get an approval to multi-class as an artificer. Because of course it doesn't make sense.

We got a taste of the financial villainy last episode when Sklonda and Riz discussed how good grades might not be enough for him to get into a good college. And now Adaine is facing the reality of what being a wizard with no rich parents means. While, on the opposite side of the spectrum, Fabian is realizing how having money might get you perks but it still doesn't shield you from getting bombarded with other problems.

And then there's Fig. Our beloved wild child whose past actions are now, quite literally, chasing after her. And the poetry of Ally setting up a Hilda Hilda callback just as Brennan reveals an investigation about a missing person's case at 22 Hilda Boulevard.

If you're reading up to here, you probably understand my reason for hating having to watch an episode at a time, right? Because I am itching to find out what happens next. For each Bad Kid.

Especially after that revelation in the end.

…

One last thing: I laughed way too much at Riz using the term "constituents" when referring to the student body of Aguefort Academy.

Also: is Brennan intentionally letting the Intrepid Heroes go off tangent so he could get his almonds in?

I guess that's last two things. Oops.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

A Respite

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Forty-Two

A JSE Fanfic

The chapter's on the shorter side this week. For me, at least, haha. It's only about 5000 words. I've been busy doing seasonal Halloween stuff. Honestly there wasn't much to cover in this chapter, anyway. After the revelation about the spirit, the guys regroup, getting more information from the ghost of King Sam. They camp for the night, and Chase tries to visit Jack in his dreams again, while Jackie expresses some worries he's been having. And yeah. It's a fairly simple chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it regardless ^-^

Previous Part | | From the Start | More AU | Read on AO3: CrystalNinjaPhoenix

Taglist: @brokentimewatch

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chase sat on the edge of the steep, cliff-like hill, looking down into the blasted heath, staring at the cabin and the strange trees in the center. It was hard to believe what they’d learned in there. He looked down at the mask in his hand, tilting it back and forth, watching the golden glitter sparkle in the light. He’d just finished telling the others everything that the Horned Elder One had conveyed to him. Everything about the true origin of the spirit who’d been possessing the King.

“This is... so hard to believe,” Jackie said, leaning back against a tree, his arms folded. “How could none of us have heard of this before?”

“Well, there’s that magic causing the spirit’s identity to be unspeakable,” Marvin said. He was also sitting on the ground, with Draco in his lap, purring. “That’s the reason.”

“No, I know that,” Jackie said. “I know that. In my thoughts, I know that. But it’s hard to accept. King Sam is a legend. His stories have been repeated for ages, over and over! Everyone knows about King Sam.” He glanced at the ghost standing nearby. “Uh...”

King Sam smiled slightly. {Thank you. It’s very interesting to know that I’m still held in such high regard.}

“Of course you are,” Jackie said, awkwardly reassuring him.

What’s your point, Jackie? Jameson asked. Surely you’re not having such a hard time grasping the concept of this strange magic. Even if we’ve never heard of it before, it seems easy enough to figure out. Nobody could say anything about Sam’s brother before now.

“Well I just... I think there would have been some signs, wouldn’t there?” Jackie asked. “We have tapestries of King Samuel, but none of his brother?”

“Perhaps...” Henrik, pacing back and forth, spoke slowly. “Perhaps there are some signs of him, but not many. After all, Samuel lived long ago. Before the alphabet from the east had fully taken hold. So there would not be many writings about him. And in terms of art, well, again, it was a long time ago. Things do not last that long. All the tapestries and songs we have about King Samuel now are based on legends that were passed down from mouth to mouth, over generations.”

Chase looked over at Sam. “Can you... try to explain?”

Sam hesitated. {I can try, but I cannot promise how clear or easy it will be to understand. The unspeakable still has a hold on me.}

“Why?” Jackie asked. “The rest of us can say Aneirin’s name!”

{One thing at a time, please.} Sam held up a hand. {Let’s start with why none of you knew it. I think Henrik’s explanation is pretty accurate. After all... stories change within just a few weeks. Is it hard to believe that some things could be forgotten over hundreds of years?}

“I can understand that,” Marvin said, nodding. “But I’m curious. What... caused this unspeakable magic? Did Aneirin cast it himself? Did the Elders do it? Did you do it, or did you just try to say your brother’s name one day and found you couldn’t?”

{The Elders did not do it,} Sam confirmed. {And neither did I. Either it was a natural reaction from the world, or it was intentionally done.}

“Why would this Aneirin want to be unspeakable?” Henrik wondered.

Probably because it would be easier to operate in secret, Jameson said. He looked at Sam. Was it... like how Marvin said, then? You just one day were unable to mention him?

Sam nodded slowly. {I once tried to speak to a friend of mine about... about the matter. But my throat closed up. And everyone else was the same. Weavers who tried to make tapestries found their fingers stilling. When we began to try and write things with this new alphabet thing, feeling that records would be important, we could not chisel in the letters that spelled... certain things. We talked around the subject. We all knew what we meant, exchanging specific looks. But over time... it became less important. The world moved on. And I could not tell new people I’d met about certain things. And so, the memory died quickly.}

“That’s... that’s sad,” Chase whispered. “To be forgotten so soon.”

“Hey, this spirit is possessing the King!” Jackie said. “He’s done so many terrible things while possessing him! I’ve seen warriors harass farmsfolk to pay taxes that they can’t afford, encouraged by direct orders from the King. He’s trying to build a navy! Probably to sail off and declare war on other kingdoms. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

Chase’s head snapped up to look at him. “I know! I saw him try to kill Sam! His own flesh and blood. Clearly, a man like that, and a man who went to such lengths to get power, does not deserve sympathy.” He sighed. “Still... it’s a terrible thing. And in the end, it’s hurt us more than helped us, hasn’t it? After all, maybe if we knew about Sam’s traitor brother, something would’ve been different.”

Jameson shrugged. I think we wouldn’t have expected the spirit to be him, anyway. Who would expect that?

Marvin nodded slowly. “While people can become ghosts, possessive spirits are different things. And even if people could become possessive spirits, those types of spirits can’t cast spells like the King could. That lightning that Chase and Jameson said he threw at them. And magic doorways. I think we can confidently conclude that the magic doorway that sent the warriors to Wyvernlair was done by this Aneirin.”

Jackie pointed at him. “Okay, that brings me back to a question I asked earlier. Why can we say Aneirin’s name but King Sam cannot?”

Sam shrugged. {Perhaps the Elders were able to cut through that magic for you. Or perhaps it is weaker now than it used to be when it had a hold on the rest of us. Perhaps it is both, combined.}

Chase stared off into the distance, once again looking at the cabin. “It wouldn’t be the first time magic hasn’t affected me. The King tried to command me once, with enchantment. He wasn’t able to.”

{I know that that, for sure, is because of the Horned Elder One,} Sam said. {They’ve paid close attention to you. Chosen you to help. And as someone chosen by the guardian of wild, uncontrollable places... well, naturally, you can’t be controlled.}

Chase blinked. He looked back down at his mask. It still felt strange that one of the Elders chose him for this. They clearly thought he could do it. But...

Well... he hoped that he wouldn’t let them down.

Some time passed in silence. Then Henrik cleared his throat. “Well. Now that we know all that we came here to know... do we just trek back through the Wyldwood?”

Jackie pursed his lips. “That dullahan might still be in the area. I don’t know if we should leave in this direction. Maybe we cross this heath and get up at the opposite end so we can circle around it by a wide berth.”

“We only have half a day of daylight left,” Chase said. “And we... I-I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think I’m going to be... fully alert while walking. My mind is definitely going to be stuck on this subject. And if the Wyldwood has proven anything, it’s that you need to be alert.”

Are you saying we camp for the rest of the day? Jameson asked.

“Yes. And leave early in the morning.”

Marvin frowned. “I have no objections to that. Well... I have one objection. Can we not camp in this... clearing? It makes me uneasy.”

“Oh yea, I was thinking we’d stay on the edge like we are now,” Chase said. “I don’t want to go back down there, either.”

“Let’s circle around it, then.” Jackie pushed away from the tree. “King Samuel, will you be... coming with us?”

{I can walk to your new camp with you, if that’s what you mean,} Sam said. {But if you’re asking me to follow you on your journey, I cannot.}

“Are you bound to this location?” Marvin asks.

{In a way—}

“Can we walk and talk?” Jackie interrupted—then immediately looked like he regretted that. “Uh, my apologies, King.”

Sam laughed. The sound rang in their thoughts like the memory of wind chimes. {Don’t be so formal, Jackie. Just calling me Sam is fine. I’m no longer the King. A dead man can’t rule over anything, regardless of if he possesses the living.}

Chase got to his feet. “You’re right. That’s not his right anymore, no matter what he thinks he deserves.” He sighed. “Alright. Let’s find a place to camp. Continue what you were saying, Sam. Something about being bound here?”

The group started to walk. Sam followed alongside them, his feet not quite touching the ground. {I suppose I am bound to this location, in a way. But not for reasons you think. You see, the longer a ghost exists, the weaker it gets. I am, as you all have notes, a very old ghost of a man who died long ago. I am thus, very weak. It is difficult for me to... be present. To take form and reach out to you all.}

Marvin nodded along. “Let me guess. Something about the Wyldwood makes you stronger?”

{The Wyldlands are places where magic pools. And magic does indeed make ghosts stronger. But even then, I am such an old spirit that I cannot move far beyond the center of the Wyldwood, where the magic is strongest.}

“We are near the center of the Wyldwood...” Henrik breathed. He looked down into the blasted heath. “That is why that dark deed was done here, then. But in turn, it has left a scar near the heart of this place.”

Marvin growled. “This Aneirin is a real bastard.”

{I can agree with that statement,} Sam said. 

Even though he is your brother? Jameson asked.

“His brother who tried to kill him,” Chase emphasized.

Sam laughed again. {Honestly, Chase, though that is true, I was once more sad than angry about it. Even when I died. It is only now that I know about... about the terrible deed that was done, that my anger has eclipsed the sadness.}

Jackie sighed. “I guess that makes sense. He was still your family.”

“Family can be bastards,” Marvin muttered. “Even siblings.”

Jackie nodded. And after a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and put a hand on Marvin’s shoulder. Marvin did not shake it off.

Henrik coughed. “So... what is it like being a ghost? It must be terribly boring.”

{Boredom is an emotion for the living,} Sam said. {Though I used to get bored very easily, I no longer do. In fact, now that you all have come up with names for some of people’s mental strangeness, I do wonder if my boredom was a symptom of... What do you call it?... Something about distraction.}

“Impulsive distraction?” Jackie asked. “That’s what I have. I can’t imagine not being bored at the first sign of nothing happening.”

“You would be able to cope with the boredom better if you actually took a mind soother,” Henrik muttered.

Sam chuckled. {Yes, that. Though we did not have mind soothers when I was alive. But even knowing a name for it would have reassured me.}

Jameson looked at him curiously. If you’re stuck in the Wyldwood, how do you even know about things like mind soothers?

“Do you know it magically?” Marvin asked.

{Well, I used to be able to move across the whole kingdom as a spirit. No one could ever see or hear me, but I was able to watch and learn a lot.} Sam paused. {The same is true for certain people.}

“Aneirin,” Chase mumbled. “How else would he have known about Jack if he wasn’t watching the royal line in some way?” He shuddered. “A silent presence stalking you down, and your children, and their children, and waiting for one to pounce and... Th-that’s unnerving.”

“Quite unnerving,” Henrik agreed, eyes darting to the side for a moment.

{These are the sort of deeds that turn sadness to anger,} Sam said. 

The group didn’t go all the way to the other side of the clearing, but rather stopped about a quarter of the way around. They found a spot where the trees weren’t so thick and decided that this was a good place to set up camp. Draco settled down in a gap between tree roots and closed his eyes, taking a nap as the humans put out their bedrolls. Sam watched, standing on the edge of the clearing.

“Are you going to stand there protecting us?” Chase asked jokingly.

{If that’s what you wish,} Sam said calmly. 

“Oh I-I mean you don’t have to—”

{Chase, a ghost might not get bored, but I don’t have much else to do. There is no greater priority to me than your safety, and if me being here would help with that, I’ll stay.}

Chase blinked, then nodded. “Th-thank you.”

“Can a ghost do much to protect people?” Henrik wondered.

“He definitely did something to drive off that dullahan,” Marvin said.

“Yeah that sword may be ghostly but it worked enough for the headless bastard!” Jackie agreed.

You were able to cut down a monster with a ghostly blade? Jameson asked.

Sam shook his head. {The slices I managed to get were not enough to fell it.}

“That is still very interesting,” Henrik said.

“And impressive,” Chase added. “Have you... ever fought one of those before? Or are you just that skilled or lucky?”

{Yes, I fought one in a graveyard once, along with some comrades of mine. Fellow traveling companions, I’d gathered a small party by that time on my journey.}

Marvin’s eyes lit up. As did Jackie’s. “We’ve never heard that story before!” Marvin said.

“And I thought I’d heard just about every story about you!” Jackie fiddled with his cape excitedly. “Can you tell us about that?”

Sam blinked, then smiled. {Of course. And you tell me some of the stories you all have, too. I’m sure there’s a lot I haven’t learned about you and the Masked Phantoms.}

As the rest of the day passed, the group sat in a circle, exchanging stories, until eventually they had to eat, digging into their rations for the first time in a while. The strange magic of the Wyldwood had kept them from getting hungry, but now they were near that circle of dead earth, a dead spot in the magic, so they once again felt the rumblings of hunger. After that, they all agreed it was best to try and rest so they could leave early.

Or... try to rest, at least. Because two people found themselves awake as time went on. Chase laid in his bedroll, staring up at the tree boughs, before eventually rolling over to look at where Sam was standing. One side of the camp was darker, as there weren’t any glowing plants over near the blasted heath. But despite standing in that shadowy part, Sam seemed to be outlined in a faint light. He was staring out towards the clearing, but he seemed to sense Chase looking at him, turning back around to look back at him in turn. {Need something?}

“Huh? N-no, I...” Chase looked over at the others, but didn’t see anyone moving. So he sat up, assuming they were asleep. “I’m thinking about Jack,” he whispered. “I haven’t had one of those magical dreams since entering the Wyldwood, and the last one I had was... I-I’m... I’m scared for him.”

Sam tilted his head, thoughtful. {I... understand your worry. I watched over him a little, while I could. He was... a bright, energetic child, and a good, kind man. He... doesn’t deserve any of this.} He made a sighing motion.

“...He’s your descendant, isn’t he?” Chase asked. “You, uh... He looks a lot like you.”

{I know. And I wonder if that’s another reason he was targeted.} Sam shook his head. {I hope I can help him.}

Chase blinked. He never imagined the first King of Glasúil would look so... vulnerable. So much like... like how Chase himself felt. “Yea... me too,” he said quietly. “Look. Do you, uh... do you have the power to... give me one of those draíslings?”

Sam shook his head {I can speak with you in your mind, but as weak as I am, my enchantment powers can’t do much more than that. But... the bridge is already established. Perhaps if you asked the Horned Elder One for help, they will guide you there tonight.}

“...you mean, pray to them?” Chase blinked. “Huh. How have I not thought of that yet?”

{Sometimes the simplest ideas evade us.} Sam smiled encouragingly. {It’s worth trying, isn’t it?}

“Yea, it is.” Chase nodded. He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Sam.” And he laid back down, closing his eyes, silently sending his thoughts into the air. Please, Horned Elder One... he needed to speak to Jack. He needed to check on him. He didn’t care if Aneirin would stab him in the dream again. He just... had to reassure him... that they knew the truth now...

Chase drifted off, but someone else stayed awake, listening to Chase’s breathing slow. Jackie stared out at the surrounding trees. He knew that Sam being here meant that they didn’t have to take shifts to keep guard, but it wouldn’t hurt to look out as well, right? He kept shifting direction slowly, turning back and forth, moving his bedroll ever so slightly occasionally so he could look everywhere. But he couldn’t wake up the others, so he had to be very quiet.

But evidently, he wasn’t quiet enough.

{Is there any particular reason you’re rolling around like a caterpillar?}

Jackie inhaled sharply at the voice in his mind. He rolled over again and found himself staring at a set of ghostly boots. Sam crouched down next to him, waving. “...hello,” Jackie said. “Good evening.”

{You’re really having trouble dropping the formalities, aren’t you?} Sam said.

“Well... you’re the first King!” Jackie sat up, careful to keep his voice down even as he wanted to get loud with excitement. “I grew up hearing stories about you from my mam. I loved hearing about your daring exploits. It... was one of the things that inspired me to be a warrior. To help people and do good, incredible things. Like you did.”

Sam shifted position, sitting instead of crouching. {I came from the same place you did, you know. Not literally. I hear you’re from the west-center farmlands, while I grew up on the island you now call Suilthair. But I mean... I grew up hearing stories and wanting to do incredible things, too. So out of any of us, you and I should be the ones who are least awkward around each other.”

Jackie laughed. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?” His eyes drifted over to the trees, scanning them instinctively. “But as similar as we are, you are... you are legendary. Strong. A protector of good. A leader who looks after people. Everything...” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “E-everything I... want to be.”

Sam tilted his head. {Do you not think you are a strong, protective leader?}

“No, I know I am,” Jackie said. “You’re just... more of it.”

{Well... believe me, I never fully felt like that,} Sam said gently. {Especially after the events you now know about. Something like that does a lot to shake your confidence in your skills.}

Jackie laughed. “I-I guess it would.” He fell silent, continuing to look at the trees, searching for motion.

{You can sleep, you know.} Sam’s voice sounded like a whisper, like a feather floating into Jackie’s mind. {I can watch over you.}

“...I know,” Jackie said reluctantly. “But... I...” He shook his head. “I-it would be better to have two people on watch, right?”

{Not when one of them is an unsleeping ghost and the other is going to soon be exhausted from lack of sleep and too much activity. It was a busy day for all of you.}

Jackie didn’t say anything. He pulled his knees close to him, taking the bedroll with him.

{...there is something bothering you.} It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Jackie denied. “I just... I want to stay on watch.”

{Why?} Sam asked.

“I... I-I just want to. It would be better. If I could help, I should.”

{Because you are the leader?} Sam asked. {The strong one? The protector of others?}

Jackie’s breath hitched. Tears sprung to his eyes, though he didn’t know why. “I... If I have the ability, I... I should, shouldn’t I?” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t... I don’t want anything to happen to them. Especially since I’m weaponless now. That damned dullahan’s axe broke both my swords. All I can really do for now is look out for threats.”

{You can rest,} Sam said quietly. {And be sure that you’re prepared to fight tomorrow.}

“Fight with what? As I said, I’ve lost my weapons.”

{I can help with that.}

Jackie’s head snapped towards him, confused. “Huh? You’re... you’re a ghost, though.”

Sam smiled. {You can say I have connections. But it’ll probably take a while. The night. So, that means that once you fall asleep, you’ll wake up to something new.}

“Hah. That’s the sort of thing my dad would say to me as a child, when I wanted to stay up before the spring equinox, so I could catch the Growing Elder delivering presents. He always said they wouldn’t leave them if they knew I was awake.”

{It’s good to see that tradition persists.} Sam smiled slightly. But then he looked serious. {Jackie... I said we are alike. And because I said that... I know that it’s very easy to put others over yourself. Not because you think low of yourself, but because that’s what you think you should do. As the strong one, the one who is able to keep them safe, you must keep them safe.}

The tears were in Jackie’s eyes again. He looked away.

{But if you push yourself when there is no danger, you will be unprepared for when there is true risk,} Sam continued. {You cannot stay awake all night every night. Please. Let me help you. Just get some sleep, okay?}

Jackie faced him again. One of the tears slipped out but he still smiled. “I... guess I can’t disobey a request from a legend. That’d feel disrespectful.”

Sam grinned. {Still with those formalities, hm?} He laughed quietly. {Get some rest. I’ll keep watch. But I’ll also make sure your swords are replaced.}

“You can do that without leaving our sides?”

Sam nodded. {Magic is a fun thing, isn’t it?}

“It really is. Even if I don’t fully understand it.” Jackie stretched, then laid down again. He turned his eyes away from the trees and up at the branches stretching overhead. Then he snuggled down into the bedroll and closed his eyes.

Sam sat next to him for a moment more, making sure he fully fell asleep. Once he was sure he drifted off, he stood up and returned to the spot he was standing before, making sure that they were safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chase’s praying must have paid off, because as he drifted off, he found himself in the draísling again. The hallway to the throne room, while recognizable, looked much worse for wear. The walls were darkened with dirt, and the stone bricks had cracked with age, mold lining the tapestries. The Horned Elder One wasn’t here, but they also weren’t here last time. But there was someone else here.

That man from last time blocked the way to the throne room. The man with green eyes, wearing dark leather armor over a green and black outfit, who looked a lot like Jack. As Chase stared at him, he felt that invisible force pushing him backwards. “You,” Chase breathed. “You’re him.”

Aneirin narrowed his eyes. “Get out of here. You don’t belong here.”

“And you do?” Chase asked. “This is Jack’s mind! You’re the intruder.”

Without even answering, Aneirin darted forward. Copper flashed through the air, but Chase was expecting it this time. He jumped back to avoid the slash—but then felt the world start to fade away. “No!” He shouted, focusing. Right, if he stepped backwards, he would wake up again. He needed to get past Aneirin.

Aneirin slashed at him, and Chase cried out, blocking the seax with his arm but feeling it slice through his skin. But wait—his skin wasn’t really there, was it? Why would a wound in a dream do much? Actually—why couldn’t he change this hallway? Just using his imagination? He’d been able to break Jack’s chains in the well just by thinking he could.

Another slash, but Chase imagined a shield, and suddenly there was a loud CLANG! as the blade hit a circle of metal on his arm instead of his chest. Aneirin’s eyes widened—was he surprised? Chase took the moment of hesitation to run to the side, right at one of the tapestries. There was a hidden tunnel behind there! He would make there be!

And there was. There was a tunnel, curving around, leading towards the throne room. Chase ran forward, while behind him, he heard Aneirin screech in anger.

He burst out of the tunnel halfway down the throne room. The whole room was slanted, a hill leading up to the dais, stairs after stairs after stairs. Chase ran, pushing himself as fast as he could towards the throne.

“Chase!” Aneirin’s voice screamed. “You’re going to die!”

Chase flinched, but hurried upwards anyway. He could feel wind pushing him backwards, Aneirin trying to expel him from the dream. He felt pain stab into his back, and cried out. Had Aneirin thrown a knife at him?! He started to glance back, but then the wind pushing him back grew stronger. No! He couldn’t stop for a single moment! He got close to the ground, grabbing onto the stairs for support. A knife flew through the air as he bent down, barely missing him. No time to worry about that! Keep going, keep going!

As he got closer to the top of this dais staircase, he noticed something. The throne was not... exposed. Instead, there were iron bars around it. A giant cage. But through the bars, he could see Jack curled up on the throne. “Jack!” He shouted.

Jack raised his head. That silencing mask was still on his face. Above them, his blue eyes went wide, desperate. Wet with tears.

“Jack, we’re coming!” Chase yelled. “We found something! We know something now! W-we can help you!”

Uncurling slightly, Jack started to reach out to him, the chains stopping him right before he was able to put his hands through the bars. Chase tried to reach out as well—

A scream pierced the air. Chase felt a hand on his shoulder: Aneirin. Before Chase could react, Aneirin pulled Chase off the staircase, sending him tumbling down, down, down. And Chase felt every impact, each one coming sooner as he picked up speed.

Until he stopped, falling flat on the ground. His whole body ached, and though Chase tried to remember that none of this was real, it was hard to keep that in mind when the pain felt so intense.

Aneirin appeared before him, glaring down at him. He crouched down by Chase. “This is my mind now,” he growled. “Your Jack will stay buried.”

Then he raised his seax and brought it down on Chase’s neck—

And Chase awoke, gasping in pain.

Morning had dawned on the Wyldwood. Bright sunlight shone through the tree branches. They must have slept a bit later than usual. As Chase looked around, he saw that the others were still sleeping. Sam’s ghost sat on the ground, facing the clearing instead of the group. He glanced back at Chase, concerned. {Are you alright?}

“Y-yea... I just... I...” Chase swallowed a lump in his throat. “Aneirin was... there. And... very insistent. On me... not being there.”

{...I’m sorry,} Sam said quietly.

“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Chase lied still, staring up at the trees.

Eventually, the others awoke, getting breakfast ready. Chase didn’t say anything about his dream.

Jackie was the first ready to start walking again, pacing anxiously as soon as he was done with breakfast and his bedroll was packed up. The others noticed this quickly. “Are you alright, Jackie?” Henrik asked.

“Yea.” Jackie nodded. “I’m just... ready to go. A bit worried about what we’ll face.”

Sam got to his feet. {Well, I have something for you that will help assuage those worries.} He held out his hands in front of him, palms up. Some silvery light glimmered above them. Curious, Jackie stepped closer. The light grew stronger, brighter. It flashed, and when it faded, two swords were lying across his hands. Jackie gasped. The blades and hilts of the swords were gleaming silver. {These blades should cut down spirits and magical creatures with ease,} Sam said.

“M-magical swords?!” Marvin stammered. “That’s—h-how did you get those?”

Sam smiled slightly. {I have my ways.}

“I... I w-wasn’t expecting... Are you sure, my King?” Jackie asked.

{I’m not a King anymore, remember?} Sam said. {And I’m very sure. These will be very helpful to you. They can also absorb various energies. Magic, but also lightning and fire. Doing this will allow you to use it against others during your next strikes.}

Jackie’s eyes lit up. “That’s... that’s amazing.” He reached out, hands trembling slightly, and took the swords. “They’re... lighter than I expected.” He slid one into the sheathe for his old sword, finding it fit perfectly. Then he gave the other a few experimental swings. “Oh. But there’s power behind this. I can feel it.” He sheathed the other sword and bowed deeply towards Sam. “Thank you, Sam. I-I’m honored. We’ll save the kingdom. I promise.”

Chase recalled his dream, and he nodded as well. “I promise, too.”

We won’t stop until that spirit is taken care of, Jameson said.

“And until Jack is free,” Henrik added.

Marvin simply nodded silently.

{I know you all will,} Sam said. {I believe you can do it. And so do the Elders.} He bowed to them. {I leave it in your hands.}

And with that, Sam faded away, leaving the others to their journey back. 

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

Frightful Snow & Delightful Fire

○ fandom: fantasy high

○ main pairing: fabriz (fabian x riz)

○ characters: fabian | riz

○ genre/warnings: fluff and a bit of hurt/comfort

○ tags: Snowed In | Pining | Sharing a Bed | Post-Campaign 01 Season 02: Fantasy High Sophomore Year (Dimension 20) | Fabian Aramais Seacaster-centric | because Riz is out of commission for a lot of this | Fabian goes through the ringer baby! | Mentioned The Bad Kids (Dimension 20) | Fabian's Fire Elemental | In before Junior Year!

○ word count: 7,454

→ summary: Lost in a blizzard and separated from the rest of the party, Fabian does his best to keep Riz safe while trudging through snowbanks until he happens upon a lonely cottage...

○ note: y'all this was supposed to be short. I hope you enjoy it though!

White.

That’s all Fabian could see.

For miles and miles, all around, as he trudged through banks of snow across the mountainside despite the fall of night. In his mind, thoughts raced about, weaving in and out of the forefront of it like waves lapping at a shore.

Most were complaints and grievances over the chill seeping into his bones. The pieces of snow sneaked into his boots when one slipped deeper than expected into the heaps of snow. There was one thought that never left, though. That he kept repeating endlessly, like a broken record.

A prayer.

One to any deity that would listen.

To Cassandra.

To Helio or Sol.

Anyone.

A desperate plea for a sign, no matter how slight, that he was heading the right way.

He’d been sure of it back when he and Riz had first escaped the abyssal cultists’ sanctum. Stumbling out of a secret passage and into the harsh cold of an unforeseen blizzard, they’d only had seconds to decide before they either froze or got caught.

As thunderous, frosty winds buffeted their bodies and bellowed in their ears, they bickered about their next move. Seeing as splitting up hadn’t been the Bad Kids’ plan going in. But, then again, when had any of their plans ever gone off without a hitch? At least they’d had enough shrewdness to set a rendezvous point at The Last Boulder Inn in the Dwarven village they’d set out from last.

“We didn’t account for not being able to get to the rendezvous point, did we?” Riz yelled over the wind, clutching the artifact they’d stolen (An ancient tome of some kind, don’t ask him.) close to his chest, shielding it from the blizzard the best he could.

Faint shouts began to stir from the tunnel behind them, interrupting any quip Fabian could’ve shot back. Barkings of orders in Infernal—no, he’s heard The Hangman and Gorthalax speak it too many times—in Abyssal. And they were growing louder and louder despite the wind doing its best to drown them out. The cultists. Both of their eyes widened as they looked at the closed secret door, back at each other, and then all around.

Fabian soon realized that even at his height he couldn’t find any substantial path. So, he turned to Riz and said, “Get on my shoulders, see if you can spot a path or a-a cave or, or, or something!”

Passing off the tome to him, Riz scaled Fabian with practiced ease. Only thrown off slightly by the force of the winds, but he got up there nonetheless. The cultists’ cries of anger grew in volume in the panicked yet empty moments of searching.

“There!” Riz shouted from above, sticking out a gloved hand toward something Fabian couldn’t see. “There’s a cabin about a mile, maybe two away from here. We can make it. I know we can.”

“Well, you’re not making it anywhere. Take this,” Fabian shoved the tome back into Riz’s arms before he dropped to one knee. Slinging his backpack off of his shoulders. Zipping it open, he presented the open compartment to Riz. “And get in.”

Riz’s eyes went wide. “But—”

“In this sort of weather, the safest place for you and that book to be is in my backpack.” He said, desperation tinging what authority he tried to have in this moment. “The Ball, your tiny legs aren’t going to be able to keep up with me. Not in snow this deep and gales this strong. Get. In.”

Riz stared at the bag with a scowl before he let out a hiss and shoved his briefcase in the bag before getting in himself. “You’re heading due east, okay? Due. East. With all the ridges and slopes, it’s gonna feel like you’re going the wrong way but I promise you aren’t.” And a second before Fabian zipped it up after him, Riz poked his head out and said, “Oh, and remember—”

“Three pats on my bag if I’m going to open it because if I don’t you’ll shoot me.”

Riz grinned wide, his eyes sparkling. “Best Friends.”

“That’s quite enough out of you.” With a pointed zip of his bag, Fabian hauled his backpack onto his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he took a glance at Riz’s compass, due northeast, before setting off.

That must’ve been an hour ago.

Maybe longer.

He’d lost sensation in his nose, ears, and cheeks about fifteen minutes in, which was a blessing in some ways. No longer having to endure how the blizzard’s winds whipped and lashed against them. Such strong gusts that a stray thought settled in the back of Fabian’s mind of clothes torn by icy currents and boots rent by frozen snow.

About twenty minutes in, his fingers had gone numb as well, even with his gloved hands. More of a bane than the others, he’d been shaking so badly that, at some point, he’d dropped Riz’s compass. But he couldn’t stop to look for it. He couldn’t stop at all. Because if he did, he wouldn’t start again and if he didn’t start moving again…

Well, best not to think too hard about it. All he had to do was keep moving in the direction Riz had told him to. He’d said there was a cabin, so there must be a cabin. Fabian just has to make it there.

So, he kept trudging. One step after another. Through the mountainside, half frozen, enduring Constitution saving throw after saving throw. Making each one by the skin of his teeth. He crossed his fingers that Riz was as successful as he, though he didn’t know many Rogues with high Constitution scores.

At that thought, he faltered in his strenuous stride. In the crook of two hills whose sides rose well above his head, blocking his vision from anything but the bright grey sky. He stopped. Yelling was a pointless thing to do in a blizzard as severe as this one turned out to be, but Fabian had no other choice. He wouldn’t risk slinging his bag off of his shoulder and opening it up.

One, because he’s semi-convinced that his backpack has frozen to his thick jacket and he couldn’t take it off even if he wanted to. And two, exposing Riz to this cold would certainly finish him off if the failed saving throws hadn’t.

Yelling it was then.

“The Ball?”

No response. He didn’t yell as loud as he could’ve. So, Fabian tried again.

“The Ball!”

The howling wind swirling around him seemed oh so much fiercer and vociferous in the absence of a response. Even faster than it had been beating already, Fabian’s heart picked up speed.

“Riz!” Fabian shouted behind him, his voice shaking. “Riz, talk to me!”

A beat of silence, of stillness. Not that of a calming lake or the morning after winter’s first snow but the silence and stillness of a long-dead corpse. Another beat. And another. It’s only when fear spiked in Fabian’s heart and he jolted his backpack around, trying to get it off, that Riz’s voice reached his ears. Barely making it over the wind.

“I’m fine,” Came Riz’s voice, muffled and weak. Fabian could almost cry at the sound of it. “Just keep going, I’m… fine. We’re almost there, right?”

“Of course, we are.” He lied, his proud voice ringing out into the night because what else could he have said? ‘No, he’s starting to think he’s been walking in circles and that they’re going to freeze to death in the Mountains of Chaos’. Don’t be stupid. “I can see the cottage now. We’ll be out of the cold in no time at all.”

“Told ya. K-knew you could do it.”

Oh.

An epiphany struck him like a well-packed snowball to the face.

He’d thought that if he stopped in all this frost and fury he’d never get himself moving again. But after that, how could he have ever not started moving again?

Gazing up the snowy hill before him, the steepest he’d encountered yet, he resettled Riz on his back, took a deep breath of sharp, frigid air, and set off once more.

Reinvigorated by Riz’s conviction in him, Fabian began climbing up the side of the icy hill. He caught himself several times, seconds before he slipped and fell. Wondering if this is what Kristen meant about all that “As Above, So Below” Cleric business. How her faith, even as a single mortal, was enough to revitalize an entire deity. Simply because she wholeheartedly, unshakably believed in them.

Cresting the hill’s peak, he found not only a plateauing terrain and a sparse grove of evergreens but also a dark, ramshackle, old cottage. As he took in the sight of a sanctuary, Fabian knew he would never underestimate the power of belief. Or perhaps he’d never underestimate the power of Riz Gukgak.

It took three good shoves to burst through the cottage’s frozen door and another to get to shut it again.

Slumped with his shoulder still pressed to the door, Fabian’s laboured pants echoed out in the quiet of the stone cottage. The howls and groans of the blizzard still rang in his ears despite how muted they sounded now. As he inhaled and exhaled ever-shaky breaths, his eyes scanned the place.

Dusty.

Everything in the cottage was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt. In the center of the wall to his left was a sizable fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been lit in forever. A frightful-looking bed sat in the far corner. Made up of only a thin mattress, a threadbare blanket and a pillow. Which only left the tiny kitchen beside him on his right that spiders had long since colonized. Oh, and a crotchety chair that sat lonely at a rickety table next to it.

Whoever had lived here, had lived alone. But they didn’t anymore, live here that is. Not for many months, probably.

No pissed-off homeowners to run into then. A small blessing.

Alright. No rest for the wicked.

Pushing off of the door with a wince at his aching muscles, Fabian stalked toward the center of the cottage near the fireplace. Beginning the process of detaching his backpack from his back. As gently as he could, he placed his bag down next to the unlit hearth and collapsed into a heap beside it.

Giving the side of the bag the three pats required to signal safety to Riz, he buried his numb face in his numb hands and groaned.

“Ugh, remind me to never go mountaineering again, The Ball. Never again. I swear I had a more pleasurable time trekking through a literal Nightmare Forest than I just did through all that fucking snow. This book better be worth it or I solemnly swear to throw Adaine and her high Arcana checks off the nearest cliff. You hear me, The Ball! Off a very steep, very snowy cliff! Like to see her Portents save her from that. Ha-ha!”

The beat of silence that came after Fabian’s little rant stretched on for far longer than he thought it would. The acute quiet, well, disquieted him. Made his stomach churn and chest tighten. He had good reason to be anxious right now. They’d almost frozen to death in a blizzard and got separated from their friends. Oh, if the rest of the Bad Kids were here, perhaps this wouldn’t feel so bad.

“Do you think she and the others made it out alright? I mean, I have no doubt that Gorgug had those weird cultists handled with his axe and Kristen has all her anti-evil Cleric spells but… Adaine or Fig would’ve messaged one of us if something went really wrong, right? Of course. Of course, they would’ve. So if they haven’t that means they’re fine. Hopefully, all this blizzard shit will let up in the morning and we’ll all make it to that inn in one piece. If not…well, if not…”

Another beat of silence.

“The Ball? Isn’t this where you chime in with one of your numerous and lengthy backup plans?”

Fabian turned around and peered at his now unsettlingly still backpack. He called out again, “Riz?”

Crawling over to it, already flinching away just in case a stray bullet flew out, he hesitantly zipped his backpack open.

Fabian gasped.

Riz’s body trembled as his tail curled up around the tome. His eyes were closed tight while one hand gripped his gun, his fingers having long turned blue. Almost every inch of his visible soft green skin was tinged an icy blue, including his tightly wound tail. He’d failed nearly every Constitution saving throw, taking on exhaustion fivefold.

Worse yet, he’s still making them.

One more failure and he’d—

Fabian bolted to his feet, his heart racing once more.

How should he fix this? What could he do? He wasn’t a high enough level Bard yet to be able to cast Greater Restoration and even if he was, he could only feasibly remove a single level of exhaustion. If he couldn’t remove them… then the only thing to do was prevent Riz from getting his sixth and final level.

Steeling himself with a breath and a look at a freezing Riz, who always believed in him so fiercely, Fabian was prepared to do anything and everything to save him.

Quicker than he thought he could with sensationless fingers, he unbuttoned and ripped off his thick, fur jacket. Uncovering his battle sheet. Thanks to the carefully wrapped Elven silk, heated by his inner fire elemental, he’d been making all those Con saving throws with advantage. Riz needed it much more than he did right now.

Ignoring how the chill of the cottage raised goosebumps on his exposed arms and caused shivers down his spine, Fabian got to work. Scooping Riz out of the backpack and into his arms, he felt like a block of ice. And once Fabian pulled him closer, the soft chattering of teeth reached his ears. He didn’t have much time till the next saving throw arrived.

A precious moment or two was spent prying the thick tome and arquebus out of Riz’s hands. Fabian’s voice softened to a croon as he did, “Come on, Riz. I promise nothing bad will happen to them if you let go. Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

Eventually, thankfully, Riz’s grip loosened enough to slip the two items out of it. Setting them aside, Fabian got to work unsheathing his Sword of Shadows and swathing Riz in his battle sheet. The motions had a strange familiarity to them.

Bringing him back to a moment of relief within a lengthy battle as rain poured down on them and he held an unconscious Riz in his arms. Just as he’s doing now. His face had been more relaxed back then, instead being tensed and scrunched up in distress. Though, as he finished wrapping him up, Riz’s furrowed eyebrows and curled lips eased as the sheet’s warmth sank into him.

Fabian had almost lost him that day too. Only time would tell if they’d be as fortunate as they were that day to cheat death once more. But, watching Riz sigh and nuzzle into the fabric of the sheet, his boyish charm making a heartening return to his face, their chances looked promising.

Now that he had a warming Riz in his arms, Fabian almost placed him back on the ground. Ready to get to work on a fire when a stray memory of one of Sandra Lynn’s survival lectures stopped him. Something about never sleeping on cold, bare ground. Glancing down at the grungy, creaky floorboards, his nose wrinkled. Yeah, no, he wouldn’t want to rest his sheet down there, let alone Riz.

With a bit of maneuvering, Fabian managed to keep Riz in his arms as he nudged their stuff away from the front of the fireplace and he dragged the ragged mattress from the bed to place it there instead. Giving the old thing a couple of hits to get the dust off of them. He only succeeded in sending whatever foul substance blanketing it into the air.

One coughing fit later, he laid Riz down on the mattress, resting his head on the worn pillow and covering him in the blanket. Which in practice seemed to be just the suggestion of one and provided almost no actual warmth.

Well, it’s the thought that counts.

Nodding once at the sight, he rose to his feet and set out to start a fire in the hearth. Or rather, convince his inner fire elemental to light some logs ablaze. Whatever you wanted to call it, it’s about to get real warm in here real quick. Rubbing his hands together with a tiny smirk, he glanced around the fireplace for logs to burn.

Strange.

There don’t appear to be any logs stacked near the fireplace’s rack. None under the bed. Or resting against the sides of the web-bedecked kitchen counters.

There don’t seem to be any logs… anywhere in the cottage.

Right, nobody has lived here for a long time.

No person. No logs. No fire.

Cool, cool, cool.

That’s fine.

Fabian just needs to… to…

To…

By the Seven Winds and Jane Wren’s blade, this is hopeless.

Look, Fabian has never ever claimed to be the Smart Bad Kid. Adaine and The Ball had that on lock! Not the wisest either, Kristen and, surprisingly, Gorgug could take that medal. And hell! Fig had enough wit and cleverness to sink a galleon.

Figuring stuff out, remembering and recalling information, none of that was Fabian’s job. His job was to deal stupid amounts of damage, prance about with his sheet dealing out bardics and imposing disadvantage when needed, and, finally, to look hot.

That’s about it.

His Intelligence and Wisdom checks have rarely gone well and even when they did, even when he oh so desperately wanted to be the smart one, he could never beat out his friends’ rolls. And, ultimately, he’s fine with it because that’s not his job.

But right now, it is.

And worse, he needs to be good at it.

So, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and tried to come up with a solution for his crisis.

There’s no firewood in the cottage. He needs to find some or else Riz will freeze to death. Where does one get firewood? If they were back in Solace, he’d assume that there was a hardware store, one that the Thistlesprings surely patronaged, that sold the stuff. But they’re deep in the Mountains of Chaos and the closest town is too far away to go just for firewood. The previous owner must’ve gotten it themself, which means that… that…

Wait.

A shed!

When he had booked it over to the cottage, he hadn’t paid it any mind, but there had been another structure attached to it. Surely, if the previous owner had to have cut down the trees themself, they would have needed somewhere to put all that lumber! Yes, yes, that’s it!

Throwing on his thick coat and his gloves, he checked on Riz one last time before venturing back into the blizzard. He wasn’t quite the ice block he’d been before, but he was still much too cold for his liking. Ruffling Riz’s wild mane of waves and tucking him a little tighter in the sheet, Fabian went to search for firewood.

As he stepped out, all at once, every ounce of cold he’d shaken off once he stumbled into the cottage returned. Tenfold even, now that he didn’t have his battle sheet to keep him warm. It was like walking straight into a brick wall of frost and harsh winds. None of that discouraged him, though.

Raising a hand to block what little he could of the storm from his face, he trudged through the compounding snow. A gloved hand followed the rough stone exterior walls around the length of the cottage. Until he turned the corner and saw it. The shed wasn’t that big, which is likely why he discredited it at first glance, but it was plenty big enough to hold lumber.

Like the cottage’s front door, it took a few good jerks to yank one of the shed’s double doors open and shut, but only halfway. It would have to do, he wasn’t planning on staying long. Wrapping his arms around himself to preserve what little warmth he had left, Fabian hummed an old sea shanty as he did a once-over of the shed.

Good news: Amongst the lingering dirt and dust, sat bags of kindling and heaps of hefty logs were stacked on a sturdy, metal rack. More than enough for the night they’d be spending here.

Bad news: None of the logs lined up along the wall had been chopped small enough to fit in the fireplace. Fabian didn’t know a lot about survival tactics but all the logs he’d ever seen used in fireplaces were chopped into quarters or eighths. Not one big log.

Promising news: There’s a perfectly good axe nearby to chop those logs into the smaller pieces he needed.

Horrifying news: It’s clutched in the hands of a corpse.

Collapsed in a corner of the shed was what he could only assume was the cottage’s previous owner.

Almost jumping out of his skin, Fabian’s scream went muffled by the raging blizzard as he leapt a foot into the air at the sight. It was too cold for there to be a smell coming from it, but he covered his face anyway. Pressed up against the wall opposite it, he stilled. Controlling his panicked breaths the best he could. He’d dealt with the undead too many times not to have a healthy suspicion of “dead” bodies.

When it’d become apparent that no one was rolling for initiative, his shoulders relaxed. Pushing off of the wall, he crept over to the body. It’d been lying on the ground, curled up around the axe, next to a chopping block. Frozen despite the thick coat wrapped around them.

Riz would’ve probably inched closer to reveal the body’s face currently covered by a large hood, but Fabian couldn’t stomach it. Instead, he focused on the axe, careful to avoid touching the corpse as he took hold of the handle. Try as he might, his mild tugs weren’t enough to wrench it from the body.

Deep sigh.

His grip on the axe tightened. Already wincing at the act of disrespecting the dead. Counting down from ten, when he reached one he yanked the axe free. The sickening crunch of frozen bones breaking that sounded out into the quiet of the shed would haunt him for years.

Turning away from the body, Fabian dragged the axe behind him as he shuffled over to the rack for a bunch of logs. Settling one on the chopping block with a steading breath. Adjusting his hold on the throat and shoulder of the axe, he mimicked the stance he’d seen Gorgug take thousands of times now.

Drawing on every ounce of his strength, he heaved the axe up, his eyes never leaving the center of the log, and brought it down. Splitting the log in two.

The repetitive motions were soothing. In their own way. Even as his muscles began to ache and scream for a break. And even as the chill of the Mountains drained his energy. His mind found comfort in the raising and falling of the axe’s blade and the splitting of wood. It was like trudging through the snow. He didn’t know how far he had to walk; he didn’t know how many logs he’d have to chop. But he kept going anyway.

Fabian’s rhythm finally halted once the axe’s blade sunk so deep into the block that pure momentum wasn’t enough for him to be able to lift it again. Everything he’d been ignoring in favour of chopping hit him all at once. The sting of overworked muscles. The stiffness of his frame. The level of exhaustion.

Crumpling around the axe and onto the chopping block, a stray thought of falling asleep sounded like such a brilliant idea. Right here. Right now. He’d bring the firewood in afterwards. Just for a few minutes. Fabian’s heavy eyelids threatened to shut and stay that way for longer than he’d like. But not before his eyes landed on the corpse. Frozen to death in a crumpled pile in a shed in the middle of nowhere.

No.

That’s not how he’s going to go.

And besides, there’s a freezing Goblin inside who needs him.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring soreness and shaking limbs, Fabian brought himself to his feet. It took a good, solid minute but he eventually got there. Leaning heavily on the upright axe handle, he took a moment to take in just how many logs he’d chopped. The floor of the shed was absolutely covered in them. His eyes widened.

Okay, he’d kind of, maybe overdid it. By a lot.

Holy shit this is so much firewood.

Sheepish, Fabian gathered as much as could in the old, leather firewood carrier, along with a bundle of kindling,. Putting the rest up on the rack before heading back to the cottage.

With a noisy thump, he plopped the carrier and himself down next to the hearth. Unable to ignore how Riz didn’t flinch at its suddenness and volume. He got right to work.

Fabian could feel the palpable judgement from all the rangers and druids he knew as he built the fire. Deciding on something akin to a Jenga tower with the kindling on top. Sitting back, he stared at the logs. A deep frown on his face as he weighed the pros and cons of starting over again before shrugging and summoning his fire elemental.

After that fateful Spring Break, he and his elemental, whom he’d named Nar, had become quite the magical guinea pig for all of the Wizards he knew. Unable to stand the arcane anomaly laid before their inquisitive (read: nosy) minds.

Between Adaine, Aelwen, Ayda, and Zayne, they’d come to a peculiar arcane conclusion. You see, when he’d kissed Nar in Fallinel and swallowed that mote of fire, he’d become a material component of sorts.

Apparently, motes of elemental energy are usually only placed in expensive jewels. Thus becoming an Elemental Gem capable of casting Conjure Elemental. Which would make him the Half-Elven version of it, except better since the Gems are only one use. Or something like that. Fabian had only ever understood that much of their arcane babbling before zoning out.

To him, the academic reasons behind the source of his bardic power never mattered. Much to his Wizard friends’ exasperation. No, what mattered was how he felt and wanted other people to feel, and from there, his magic flowed into the world.

Knowing how freaked out Kalina made Kristen, he’d wanted her to feel every bit the hero she was when he cast Heroism on her. Whenever he cast Faerie Fire, it focused on his want, his need, to see what could potentially harm his friends. Fig had even once described his bardic inspirations as a surging seaside campfire after being shipwrecked. Hopeful and heartening in the face of overwhelming odds. While hers were more like a galvanizing jolt of pure hell-fiery rock n’ roll.

Whenever his Wizard friends had wanted him to conjure his elemental, he always went back to the moment when he summoned it forth for the first time. A time when he wanted nothing more than to protect his friends and keep them safe. More specifically, keeping Riz safe.

This must be why when he tried to summon it, wanting nothing more than to protect his best friend from the cold, Nar appeared quicker than it ever had.

In a rush of flames erupting from his sheet, Nar sprung to life in its sleek Elven shape of roiling flames. Immediately, it curled around Riz’s unconscious form. Adjusting the sheet around him before cupping his face and kissing his forehead.

A small spark of jealousy flared in Fabian’s chest as he rolled his eyes at his elemental’s cooing and doting.

Audibly clearing his throat so that Nar would pay attention to him, he gave a pointed nod at the fireplace. “Alright. If you’re quite finished with your little love fest over there, you have a job to do.”

Crossing its arms, Nar reluctantly left Riz’s side, not before one of their slender hands gave his curls one last ruffle. Without another word from Fabian, it dove into the hearth’s opening. Encompassing the stack of firewood and setting them ablaze. A tidal wave of heat crashed over him, almost to the point of pain against his icy, numb face.

Nar flowed out of the swelling fire to come to stand in front of Fabian, looking quite satisfied with itself. Rolling his eyes, Fabian gave it an obligatory round of claps, to which it did a ballerina’s curtsy before disappearing into his battlesheet.

Just as Fabian shook his head with a fond smile on his lips at his elemental’s dramatics, wondering where in Spyre it could’ve gotten that from, a small sigh pricked up his ears.

Whipping around just in time to watch as Riz sluggishly woke up. His eyelids opened to reveal golden gems, usually keen and hyperacute, now left hazy and weary by his levels of exhaustion. Yet they opened all the same.

“Riz!” Fabian’s heart leapt in his chest as he pulled the mattress closer to him and the fireplace.

“F’bian?” Riz murmured, looking like he was caught between wanting to curl up into the sheet further and sitting up to talk to him.

With a gentle hand placed on the center of Riz’s chest, Fabian guided him back to lying down. Maneuvering himself to sit behind the mattress and slightly above Riz. As not to force him to strain as they spoke.

Brushing a rebellious curl out of Riz’s sleepy face, Fabian said, “Yes, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

Riz heaved a shaky sigh, and Fabian’s heart skipped a beat as Riz leaned into the hand that’d lingered near his face. “Tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”

“And I’ve seen you not sleep for a month.”

Riz smiled at that memory. “Hehe, yeah, gotta be a record right?”

Yeah, Fabian’s memory of that whole ordeal was less fond.

It’d been over the summer last year, and Riz had gone into “deep cover” again. Only for Fabian to find him perched like a gargoyle underneath the Marigold Docks running on zero sleep and heaps of coffee.

Apparently, he’d been tailing someone for his Dad, official upper planes business. Fabian had hardly cared about the reasons Riz had blustered about when caught, he’d instead immediately cast Sleep at his highest spell slot. Making a Dex save directly after to catch Riz’s unconscious form before he fell into the river.

Riz had woken up hours later in Fabian’s bed more than unimpressed, but Fabian ignored his glares and grumbles. Only mentioning that his dad might prefer that Riz didn’t work himself to an early death, and his mother more so. That shut him up enough to eat the soup Cathilda had made him.

Hmm.

Fabian pursed his lips, still deep in thought. “Are you hungry, perchance?”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Riz answered, furrowing his brow as he sensed they got off-topic somehow. They widened a second later as he bolted upright. “Wait, the tome! Did it make it? Is it ruined?”

“The tome is fine, The Ball. Look see,” Fabian said, reaching over to where he discarded the thick, leather-bound book and presenting it to Riz. “You kept it perfectly safe.”

“Good, good, good,” He said as his body relaxed at the sight of the tome. As he laid back down, his eyes grew heavy and his voice drowsy as he said one last time, “Good.”

By the gods, Riz was adorable when he was tired. With a small smile on his lips, Fabian brushed a few of Riz’s curls from his face and readjusted the battle sheet upwards. “Don’t worry, you focus on resting up and I’ll—” He looked out into the desolate cottage, frowning. “—Find us something to eat.”

Scanning his eyes over the interior of the cottage again, Fabian couldn’t help the grimace that took over his face. Nothing to find but dust and dirt. And heading outside to hunt for food (something he’s never done in his life) definitely wasn’t an option. Oh, this night just wouldn’t end!

An ever-growing sense of fatigue settled over him and a huge yawn escaped his lips. He was just so tired. And his bones ached and muscles screamed at him every time he moved. But he couldn’t fall asleep. Not yet. Just one more thing to do. Find food and then sleep. That’s it. Just find some food.

The first place Fabian looked was in his backpack. Mainly because it meant that he didn’t have to stand back up just yet but also because there could be a couple portions of rations that he hadn’t eaten yet.

Rifling through it, all he managed to find was a bag of loose nuts and berries. Fig had gathered them a couple days ago and tried to figure out how to cast Goodberry. Though she never figured it out (no matter how many times she used the words and movements they’d seen her mother use), they were still berries. And nuts! And thus, food! Sure, they’re still a far cry from anything substantial, but discovering them gave Fabian a much-needed boost in energy.

No longer so hopeless and weary, he gave the cottage a more thorough look through. Opening up creaking, dusty cabinets and cupboards and looking under tables and benches. Until he realized one of the heavier sacks he tossed aside left a trail of scattered oats across the floor.

Oats!

Fabian dropped to his knees, his heart racing and breath bottled up in his chest and lifted the sack upright. Steadying it before he ripped its top seam open. Revealing an entire, large bag of thick rolled oats. Still hesitant, Fabian dipped a hand into the grain and lifted a scoop of it to his nose before letting it fall back into the sack through his fingers. It didn’t smell off. Didn’t look it either. No mould or rot of any kind. There was no way for him to be one hundred percent sure, but he was willing to take the chance.

Now, he isn’t about to act like he’s Spyre’s greatest chef, but he has watched Cathilda make him porridge enough times to know that even he can’t fuck up making oatmeal…. He’s pretty sure he can’t fuck it up…. He has burned water before….

Riz might be fucked.

But it’s worth a shot!

After grabbing a cast-iron cooking pot from beside the fireplace, Fabian ventured back outside into the blizzard to fill the pot with untouched snow. He brought it back inside and hung it on the hook above the livid, scarlet flames. Letting the snow melt and boil as he grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen and dragged the sack of oats closer to the fireplace.

Between Riz’s soft snores and the crackling of lit hearth, this moment was strangely peaceful and almost domestic. Safe from the raging snowstorm outside, Fabian sat next to Riz on the mattress. Wiping off the dust from the wooden spoon with his jacket. His gaze shifted from Riz to the pot to the spoon and back again.

Until the snow, now water, began to bubble and boil. Fabian then took the pot off of the hook over the fire and placed it on another away from it but still close enough to keep the water warm. Next, he carefully scooped out handfuls of oats and dropped them into the boiling water. Watching as they began to soften and thicken and cling to the spoon as he stirred. Slowly but surely, it became porridge before his eyes.

Click.

Fabian was startled out of his cooking reverie by the sound of a camera shutter behind him. He whipped around to see Riz, his cheeks still rosy and eyes filled with sleep, holding his crystal up and staring back at him with a lazy grin.

“The Ball!” Fabian said with a gasp. “You can’t take photos of man without telling him!”

Smug as can be, Riz grinned and said, “I just did.”

“You’re supposed to be resting!”

“I was.” He said defiantly before the photo he took on his crystal caught his attention again and his face and voice softened. “It’s just… you looked so content. And none of our friends will believe you cooked anything without photo evidence, so…”

“Alright, fine. But sit tight, it’s almost done.” Fabian peered over the lip of the cooking pot at the bubbling porridge within. His brow arched and lips pursed. “I think.”

Creeping forward until he reached Fabian’s side, Riz took a deep breath as he peered over the pot as well. “Smells good.”

“That’s promising.” Fabian said, following suit. The nutty and slightly sweet aroma filled his nose in short order. Hmm, yes. That does smell rather good. Chalk up another win for Fabian tonight. Stirring the pot with a little more pomp and self-satisfaction, Fabian went on, “I do have to admit that it’s going to be rather plain. All I have to add are some of the berries Fig found a couple days ago.”

“Oh! Wait,” Riz scurried over to the nigh-forgotten backpack and pulled his briefcase out of it. Clicking it open, he stuck an arm into the case and began to rummage through the infinite space within. “Remember the nice couple back near the base of the mountain?”

“You mean the throuple with the freaky ravens?”

“Yes, them. If I’m remembering correctly they kept a hive of bees and gave us—” He pulled out a glass container of something bright and golden and lifted it high in the air. “—Ah ha! Gave us some honey for the road!”

“Huzzah!” Fabian cried, throwing one of his arms up in the air with a little more flourish. “Here, come add it to the pot.”

Still wrapped in the battle sheet, Riz scampered over with the vial of honey. Uncorking it with his teeth, he poured the viscous, golden liquid into the steaming pot of thick oatmeal while Fabian mixed them together. The two of them breathed in the smell of oatmeal now with the added slightly floral smell of the honey and looked at each other with warm smiles. Perfect.

“Brillant as ever the Ball.” Fabian said as he picked up the pouch filled with boysenberries and walnuts and delicately sprinkled them on top of the oatmeal.

Riz shrugged and said with a wry smirk, “Well, I try.”

Huddled together on the mattress with the cooking pot between them, the two of them took turns eating spoonfuls of their dinner. Filling their stomachs with much-needed warmth and sustenance. Between the mouthfuls, they idly talked in hushed tones. Riz flipped through the tome that they stole. Explaining its relevance to their current adventure and theorizing what their plan should be in the morning to Fabian. Who was still only half listening.

Too wrapped up in gazing at how the fireplace’s flickering flames danced in Riz’s amber eyes and softened some of his harsh yet handsome features. Sue him. His best friend was cute. Not that Fabian could ever work up the courage to tell him to his face. He was still a coward in that regard. Far too afraid and confused to ruin what he and Riz have with all these pesky, lovey-dovey feelings. No, he was content to just watch. To keep safe. For now and forever.

Before long, the cooking pot was empty, only the sticky remnants of the oatmeal left clung to the pot’s insides, and their bellies were full. As Riz yawned, large and cat-like, Fabian moved to take the cooking pot and head back outside to fill it with more snow. Planning on washing it out with the boiled snow in the morning for their breakfast. Which, now that he thinks about it, will be a lot less tasty than their dinner. Thanks to them using up all their natural sweeteners.

Hmm.

Well, that was a problem for morning Fabian.

This Fabian was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to fall dead asleep. And he wasn’t the only one.

Once he got back in and hung the pot over the fire, when he went to say something to Riz, Fabian found him curled up on the mattress, passed out. Snoring the night away. Fabian smiled at the sight and gave a nod, more to himself than anything. Quest completed successfully. Time for bed.

As quietly as he could, Fabian brought one of the old wooden chairs over and placed it as close to the fire as he could get it. Settling himself down on it, he tried his best to get comfortable but eventually gave up and simply tried to get some sleep. Nodding off moments later to the sound of Riz’s snores and the glow of the firelight.

“Fabian?”

Maybe a couple hours later, Fabian awoke.

Groggy and half-asleep, he pried his eyes open to find a concerned, shivering Riz in front of him and a low burning fire to his side. And though it took his mind a moment to fire back up, Fabian jumped to his feet and rushed to the fireplace.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Clumsily reaching and fumbling for another log before tossing it into the hearth. “Sorry, The Ball. Just one moment.” Fabian said as he reached for the fire poker and started jabbing it into the log. Hazily wondering if he could give a fire bardic inspiration to last longer. He waved a hand at Riz. “Go back to bed, I’ve got it.”

But Riz didn’t move.

He stood there, bathed in the fiery orange glow of the hearth and asked, “Why were you sleeping on the chair?”

A beat.

“Where else I am supposed to sleep?” He answered with another question. Something he knew Riz hated unless he was the one doing it. Riz tilted his head to the side and he scrunched up his face before he took a pointed look at the mattress and then back to him. Fabian smiled queasily. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because, I—” Fabian gulped. “—I’d take up a lot of space. On the matress that is.”

“I woudn’t mind,” Riz said quickly, the words almost falling out of his mouth. “Goblins sleep in piles for warmth, even the ones that live up here in the cold. So…”

“Is that right?” Fabian asked. Riz nodded. Well… if he was fine with it. “Okay then.”

Timidly, Fabian followed Riz back to the mattress. Though he hesitated as he watched Riz get back under the battle sheet and the threadbare blanket.

Furrowing his brows, Riz reached out with his claws and gave his arm a tug. With his eight strength, it didn’t do much but urge Fabian forward. “We don’t have all night. Get in.”

“Alright, alright. Bossy much?” Fabian whined though he hurried to follow Riz’s orders. Slipping under the blanket and battle sheet, he had to stifle a groan as the magical heat of Nar sunk into his skin.

Almost instantly, Riz settled close to him, to his chest. Resting his head underneath Fabian’s chin before curling up into a ball, his tail winding around one of his legs. Without even thinking, Fabian wrapped his arms around him and tucked him deeper into the embrace, hiking up his knees to curl around him. It all felt so right. Like pieces of a puzzle slotting together. Perfect and satisfying. As if this was meant to be.

Finally at peace, Fabian basked in how correct this all felt. In the quiet of the cottage, the freezing wind still howling all around them, he’d never felt as untouchable as he did now. And looking down at Riz, an almost serene expression on his sleeping face, Fabian hoped he felt that way too.

One last thing, before he drifted off to sleep as well, Fabain kissed the top of Riz’s head and squeezed him a little tighter. Slipping off into unconsciousness, he only half noticed Riz squirming a bit in his hold before he felt a brush of lips on his jawline, heard a whispered, “Thanks, Fabes.”, and had one last thought.

Huh. Maybe someone heard his prayers after all.

And then,

Black.

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first d20 fic and though i know the fabriz fandom is quite small now, i look forward to enjoying Junior Year with all of you. Don't be a stranger! I'd love to hear what you think and if you have any requests, i'd be open to hearing and possibly writing them! Thanks again!