#local lizard man misses his children

[venusforfran]

Full Definitive S2 Good Omens Recap

Essentially, to illustrate both to myself and others, I’ve created basically a list of everything that happens per episode, including time-frames in order to both understand the plot better, and to force everything into a somewhat coherent structure for myself. Incredibly spoiler heavy of course, as its every event. This took like two hours. Enjoy!

Episode 1- The Arrival

Crowley and Aziraphale are shown as angels before the beginning.

Crowley creates a “star factory.”

Present day 2023

Aziraphale visits Maggie’s Record Shop to pick up several classical records. 

Aziraphale lets Maggie off with the rent she is due to pay.

Crowley is approached by Shax alone at a park bench, she tells him something is “up” with heaven and gives him his mail.

Maggie visits the coffee shop to see Nina and talk to her, they watch a naked Gabriel make his way to the bookshop.

Aziraphale takes him inside the shop and questions him (with poor results).

Gabriel mentions a something terrible. He is also renamed Jim.

Michael speaks on the phone up in heaven about Gabriel’s missing status.

Shax approaches Crowley as he’s throwing away his bills beside his car, telling him that the problem is that Gabriel is missing.

In the bookshop, Aziraphale opens the box, finding it empty.

Crowley and Aziraphale reconvene at the coffee shop a “naked man friend” is mentioned.

Crowley finds Gabriel in the bookshop, he angrily questions him.

Aziraphale and Crowley argue in the background about how Aziraphale wants to protect him and Crowley does not. Crowley storms off.

In the street, Crowley has his melt down.

This sets off the emergency lock system in the coffee shop thus Maggie and Nina are locked in together, with both phones dead,

Uriel and Michael in heaven discuss Muriel finding an empty matchbox on the floor of heaven.

On earth, Beelzebub takes Crowley to hell, offering him a promotion and somewhat protection if he brings in Gabriel. 

Crowley drives back to the bookshop, unlocking the coffee shop in the process.

Crowley does the “apology dance” for leaving.

They decide to perform a half miracle to hide Gabriel, believing it’ll be less noticeable. 

Heaven finds out they did the miracle.

Episode 2: The Clue

Land Of Uz- Past. FLASHBACK

Crawley kills Job’s goats upon a mountain. Aziraphale tries to thwart him, but its revealed the demons have a permit from God.

Up in heaven, Aziraphale discovers that all of Job’s livestock and children will be killed, but replaced with double the amount. Aziraphale says that they’d perhaps like to keep their old children.

Present day- 2022

Shax threatens Crowley in his Bentley, believing they are hiding Gabriel within the bookshop.

Maggie tells Aziraphale about her difficulty with Nina and love life in the record shop. He says he’ll get back to her.

Aziraphale asks about the song “Everyday” by Buddy Holly as he heard Jim singing it, Maggie tells him a pub in Edinburgh has the song constantly on repeat on their jukebox.

Uriel, Michael and Sahaquiel interrogate Aziraphale within his bookshop, he tells them it was to make Nina and Maggie fall in love. They let him know someone will check this.

Aziraphale invites Crowley to the local pub, telling him he has to get them to fall in love before Heaven realizes its a lie.

Mr Brown, the head of the “Street Traders Association” asks Aziraphale to host a meeting. He accepts.

Jim speaks of the beginning in a trance like state for a few seconds.

Land Of Uz- Past FLASHBACK

Crawley speaks to Job and his wife, creating a narrative that he is an old friend, he demands to see their children.

When Crawley arrives, Aziraphale tries to stop him from hurting the children.

When he is about to leave, the goats are revealed to have been turned into the crows in the yard.

The pair greet the three children of Job, with Aziraphale warns them about the demon trying to kill them.

Crawley sets the room on fire, but they all fall into the cellar.

They are turned into lizards by Crawley.

Crawley attempts to tempt Aziraphale to wine, he refuses, however accepts the pork happily.

The day after, God speaks to Job.

The angels arrive and tells them they get double everything.

Crawley performs a trick to let them have their previous children. Aziraphale lies to them and says its definitely new children.

Hours or possibly days later, Crowley comes to Aziraphale at a cliff side, he reassures Aziraphale that he wont be taken to hell for lying about Job’s children.

Episode 3- I know Where I’m Going (The Ressurectionists)

Mrs.Sandwich and Nina have a conversation about Lindsay's control in the coffee shop.

Muriel visits the bookshop to check that Nina and Maggie are actually in love, instead Crowley and Aziraphale talk in the backroom and Muriel is told that humans take a few days to fall in love.

Aziraphale leaves in the Bentley for Edinburgh.

Edinburgh 1827

Crowley has invited Aziraphale to view a statue of Gabriel in a graveyard.

They come across a grave-robber (Elspeth) and help transport the body to the surgeon who uses it for medical research.

Present day-2022

Aziraphale messes with the Bentley mid-trip.

Down in hell, Demon Josh talks to Beezlebub regarding Gabriel.

Back in the bookshop, Crowley is essentially baby-sitting and cleaning the bookshop.

Edinburgh 1827

Aziraphale makes the body unusable with a miracle, Elspeth goes home empty handed.

Aziraphale has to consult himself morally regarding medical research over a drink with Crowley and Aziraphale.

Present day 2022

Aziraphale arrives in Edinburgh, enters the pub and discovers Gabriel had visited with a year ago, around the same day the jukebox changed entirely to “Everyday”.

Edinburgh 1827

Morag (Elspeth’s) friend is shot by a gravegun trap in the graveyard digging up bodies.

They hide in a mausoleum.

Morag dies before Aziraphale can intervene, Morag is taken to the surgeon almost instantly by Elspeth, she steals a bottle of laudanum.

In the mausoleum, Elspeth attempts suicide by drinking the laudanum, Crowley drinks it instead and is dragged to hell.

Present day- 2022

Aziraphale returns to the graveyard and borrows two local’s phones to call Crowley.

After the phone call, Crowley tries to force Nina and Maggie under an awning by manipulating the weather, it backfires.

Jim speaks another prophecy.

Crowley speaks to Shax on the streets, learning that Beezlebub knows Gabriel is in the bookshop, but refuses to let her in.

Episode 4- The Hitchhiker (Zombie Flesh Eaters.)

Present day- 2022

Aziraphale, on his way back from Edinburgh, picks up a hitchhiker, Shax in disguise threatens him and knows the whereabouts of Gabriel.

London 1941- Post church bombing

Crowley drives Aziraphale just after the bombing to a theatre to deliver some black market alcohol, it turns out to be all smashed by the bombs. Aziraphale takes over for the lack of magician.

Down in hell, thousands of Nazi’s are being admitted, among them Mr. Harmony, Mr. Glozier and Greta Kleinschmid are allowed to return to earth as zombies for 24 hours in order to gain proof of Aziraphale and Crowley collaborating.

Aziraphale and Crowley purchase a bullet rifle magic kit, it goes well, despite their miracles being paused for a moment by the demon FurFur.

FurFur gets a photo of the two on stage, and behind the stage, shows them it, saying their in trouble. 

When returning to hell, FurFur discovers Aziraphale had performed a magic trick to switch out the photo with a show poster.

Present day- 2022

In hell, Shax requests a legion of demons to attack the bookshop, this is permitted.

Episode 5- The Ball

Present day- 2022

The two go around Soho to get people to come to the street traders meeting through bribery.

In hell, Shax is preparing the demons for the attack.

Crowley becomes infuriated with Jim and tells, and also stops him from jumping out the window.

In heaven, Muriel tells Michael about what she found, and how Aziraphale has an assistant, Nothing comes from it.

Aziraphale sets up for a Jane Austen inspired ball in the bookshop, everyone arrives.

The legions of hell arrive, they cannot enter the bookshop though, Gabriel tries to go outside, but hell doesn't recognize him due to the half-miracle.

Crowley “hands himself in” to Muriel standing on the street in order to visit heaven.

Episode 6- Every Day

Present day- 2022

Aziraphale begins to set up the portal in the bookshop.

Crowley and Muriel in heaven review Gabriel’s files, learning that Gabriel didn’t want a second Armageddon, and is heavily demoted.

On earth, Maggie accidentally lets the demons in, some are destroyed with the portal, but eventually fire extinguishers and heavy books are used to keep them back.

Eventually, Aziraphale uses his halo to rid the bookshop of demons instantly.

Everyone reconvenes at the bookshop and it is discovers that Gabriel was “in the fly” and that he is in love with Beezlebub.

The jukebox is explained as being a song Beelzebub enjoyed, so Gabriel miracled the jukebox.

Beezlebub and Gabriel leave to (presumably) Alpha Centauri.

The metatron, unrecognized by the angels originally, sends them back to heaven, leaving just Muriel, Crowley, Aziraphale and himself in the bookshop.

The metatron invites Aziraphale for a chat after giving him some coffee outside the bookshop.

While this is occurring, Maggie and Nina tell Crowley to confess to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale reveals he has the opportunity to become the supreme archangel, Crowley quickly rejects the idea, and then confesses.

Crowley kisses Aziraphale, it is not taken well.

Crowley leaves for his car and Aziraphale joins The Metatron to go back up to heaven.

[maybeimamuppet]

birds of a feather

hellooooooo!!! welcome BACK everyone!! i hope you’ve all had a wonderful day!!

so sorry it’s been so long since i’ve been posting! Life Is Happening Very Much All The Time and it’s a little hard for me to find the balance of this and the rest of. that nonsense. at the moment lol. but we have this!!

this will unfortunately probably be it for another little bit BUT i do have something special that i’m hoping very hard to post around the holidays so that’ll be fun!! and then we’ll be back to our usual. sporadic nonsense in the new year :)

this was requested by someone!! but i have lost it in the internet void and unfortunately have no idea who it is so if you do please let me know!!!

anyway. i don’t think i need any tws!! but if i’m forgetting something please let me know and i’ll add it in :)

enjoy!!

—————

Today is a very important day.

Why, you might be asking. Is it a birthday? A holiday? Some big achievement?

No, children, you’re wrong.

Today is the day Matilda and Miss Honey get a pet.

They don’t know exactly what sort, yet. Matilda’s read about practically every animal in the books, so to speak, so they know how to care for whatever they pick.

Matilda’s been begging for some little thing. Company, whenever one of them happens to be home alone, and a little friend for the both of them to have.

They finally reach the local pet store. Archibald Crumplebottom’s Menagerie of Animals and Other Eccentricities. Sounds like their sort of place. It has quite a large sign, but even still, the Eccentricities bit has a wooden board all of its own hanging below the rest so the whole name fits.

There’s a lovely sort of tinkling as they push open the front door and head inside, caused by a few jingle bells dangling from the door handle.

Dogs and cats and birds and all sorts of things start barking and meowing and tweeting and a myriad of other sounds at the two of them as they walk in. A man dressed in nice trousers, a button-up top, and a waistcoat pushes through a beaded curtain at the back and stops behind the counter to greet them, with a little green parrot perched upon the top of his head.

The parrot is the one to welcome them. It gives a great squawk followed by a, “Hello! Hello!”

Matilda giggles at the strange creature. The man gently feeds it a treat and simply nods at the two of them. Miss Honey keeps a tight hold of Matilda’s hand and starts winding them through the aisles.

There’s baskets full of little puppies towards the back. Another with cats. Matilda lets them sniff and nibble at her fingers and sees if any of them catch their eye.

Miss Honey coos over the kittens, scratching each little head and smiling at the content purrs she gets in response. “How about a cat?”

Matilda considers it. “I would like one. But I think we must consider all the options first.”

Miss Honey nods. “Alright then.”

They continue meandering up and down the aisles. They scritch at guinea pigs and bunny rabbits. Matilda does also adore the idea of a pet rabbit. Miss Honey seems a bit frightened when they get to the glass enclosures holding reptiles. Matilda carefully presses against them to observe the snakes. “Ooh.”

“A snake?” Miss Honey chuckles incredulously. “You’d like a snake?”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No,” Miss Honey replies immediately. Matilda hums and giggles as one of the snakes yawns. Miss Honey makes a small frightened noise and leaves as soon as she sees his fangs.

Matilda takes her time to observe the lizards and frogs and toads as well. Miss Honey seems more okay with these sorts of reptiles, but still not entirely keen. Matilda doesn’t completely understand why. For whatever reason, she’s always liked things that squirm and creep and crawl. Regardless, she moves on. It’s only fair to pick something they’d both enjoy.

Matilda holds Miss Honey’s hand as they continue meandering the aisles. This place has all sorts of things. Gerbils, hamsters, rabbits, guinea pigs, even squirrels in the small animals section. Dogs and cats and turtles and snakes and lizards and fish. Matilda and Miss Honey both spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the large fish tanks and watching the colorful creatures swim around. There’s even a little shark in one.

There’s even a few things they didn’t even think of as potential pets. Baby goats and little cows and pigs. There’s also something in a cage all of its own that neither of them are entirely sure they can identify. It’s almost like a small bear, or a large cat. It opens its mouth and releases a noise almost like a dog. They stand there taking guesses as to what it could be. They’re not positive they’re any closer than they started by the time they move along.

They pass the bunny cage again. Matilda carefully reaches in to stroke over their little heads. These bunnies seem much more friendly than the ones in the woods she’s met. They happily let her pet them, and a few even come closer to ask for some extras.

Matilda sees something move just out of the corner of her eye. It’s the shop owner, with the bird still on his head. He seems to be on his way to check on some of the animals. He winks at her, and motions her over with a finger.

Matilda frowns in confusion and heads his way. She loses sight of him, but heads down the same aisle he did.

The man isn’t there. She peeks around the far corner to see if she can find him, see what he wanted from her, but it’s as if he completely disappeared. She blinks in confusion and looks around.

Just as she sees the birds spanning either side of this aisle, she hears the faint clicking of wooden beads in the distance. She shrugs and steps closer to one of the bird cages.

The first one has parrots. Blue ones and red ones and green ones like the one on the man’s head. They squawk at her, and some even say hello. Matilda politely says hello back and continues wandering up the aisle. There’s canaries and doves and parakeets and cockatoos and… a chicken. It doesn’t seem to be the brightest creature, as it pecks at nothing on the floor. Matilda wonders if he’s not giving himself quite a headache doing that.

Matilda turns and pauses as she sees the cage behind her. Budgerigars.

They’re very cute. Some are awake and chirping contently to themselves, while others hang on fake branches or play with toys or nibble on pellets or curl up for a nap. Matilda’s eye is immediately drawn to two, cuddled up together in the back left corner and sound asleep.

There’s a sign hanging from the bottom listing how many budgies are inside. Pictures of each are listed, but no names. The two napping in the corner are pictured together, with a notice stating, Bonded Mother and Daughter Pair. Must Be Adopted Together.

Matilda looks at them more closely. One of them, the larger one, has belly feathers of a vibrant lime green. Its wings are striped, a yellowish-green and black, and it has a yellow face. The other one is facing the other way, so Matilda can’t see it as well. She can see its wings are almost like a zebra, white and black striped. The back of its head is a peaceful blue, almost the color of the sky.

She jumps when she hears a voice say, “There you are. Goodness, this place is huge. I swear it’s bigger than it looks like it could possibly be from the outside.”

Matilda smiles and nods, hooking her little fingers into the cage and leaning in closer to see them. Miss Honey gently rests her hands on Matilda’s shoulders and takes a look as well.

“Aww,” she hums. “Aren’t they sweet.”

Matilda tips her head up to look at her mother. “I like those ones.”

Miss Honey crouches down to her height and looks where Matilda points at the two napping together. “Aww. They’re quite cute.”

Matilda nods. “Can we get them?”

She feels Miss Honey smile and leans in closer to rest their heads together. “I don’t see why not. They seem to be good friends.”

“They’re mother and daughter,” Matilda says, pointing to the sign.

“How sweet,” Miss Honey says. “Well, we’ll need some bird things then, let’s go see about that.”

The next aisle over is all the things to care for birds. They choose a very large cage that they’ll have to put together themselves, so the birds can have plenty of room to play and live. They get a variety of perches and things for them to sit on and hang from. Even a cozy looking little hammock to suspend from one. Toys to hang in their cage and other things for enrichment.

Matilda grunts as she grabs a huge bag of bird food from a lower shelf. It’s so heavy that she topples over backwards and ends up with the food next to her. “Whoa!”

“Careful,” Miss Honey chuckles. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Matilda lifts the large bag with her legs and adjusts it so she can have a good grip. It’s all she can carry, so Miss Honey grabs a small bird bath that clips onto the cage, food dishes and water dishes, and some supplies to clean up after them.

They stumble up to the counter and deposit all their things on the splintering old wood. The man returns from the back, echoed by a roar of some sort from the room and the clacking of the beaded curtain as he pushes his way through. He looks at their items, and then at the two of them.

“We’d like two budgies please,” Matilda says softly, as politely as she can. The man nods and smiles at her. He lifts a portion of the counter and steps through it, leading them back to the bird aisle. He stops at the budgie cage and looks down at Matilda. Matilda points at the two. “Those ones.”

The man nods and carefully plucks the parrot off his head. He rests it on top of the budgie cage and gently taps its head with a gentle finger as he slides the lock open and lowers the gate. He carefully grabs the two birds in one large hand and replaces the parrot, gently resting them on his head. Neither of them seem too fussed by this, holding onto his hair with their little talons and sinking into his curls like a nest.

Matilda tips her head in confusion and watches as he carries the parrot back to the counter on his finger and the budgies on his head. The parrot gets rested on the ancient looking cash register. The man keeps the little birds on his head as he checks the tags on all the items and types them in, each of the cash register’s keys making a very satisfying clank as they’re pushed.

Miss Honey looks at the total when the man looks at her expectantly and opens her wallet. The man finally removes the birds from his head and places them in special little boxes so they’ll be safe on the journey home. The parrot is replaced, and chirps happily at the shiny coins Miss Honey gets as her change.

“Thank you,” Miss Honey says as they gather their things and start the trek out. The man simply nods, and the green parrot squawks once more.

“Please come again!”

Matilda giggles and grabs the birds to carry them home. She turns around just as the bells on the door jingle, and only sees the wooden beads in the back quietly clacking together once again.

—————

Matilda and Miss Honey spent the afternoon struggling through putting together the cage. Matilda read the instructions while Miss Honey tried to put it together, then they switched jobs, and still had no luck. It turned out they were missing one of the screwdrivers they needed and had to take a rushed trip to the hardware store.

Matilda clipped and placed in all the perches and toys and food dishes and other things just so, and kept pulling them off and snapping them back in (sometimes in exactly the same place) until she decided she was satisfied.

Food and water were filled, and in went the birds.

Matilda ran across town to Mrs. Phelps’ library in the empty field a ways away from the school and got every book on birds she could carry back home. She read them aloud to Miss Honey so they both had a refresher on how to care for their new pets.

They left the birds alone for the first few weeks. They gave them time to adjust to the new cage and new surroundings. Sometimes they close the doors to the living room, where the bird cage sits by the window, and open the cage so the birds have the option to fly around and explore. They haven’t yet, but they inch a little closer to it every time.

Every morning, Matilda comes down the stairs in her pajamas. She lifts the cloth off the cage and says good morning to the budgies. She refills their food and water, and gives the cage a quick clean. And she hooks her fingers through the metal grate, stares at them, and wonders what their names should be.

It makes sense for each of them to name one bird. They just don’t know which one. They both love both of them equally. They’ll have to decide soon.

This morning, the little blue budgie is sitting right on the other side of the cage when Matilda lifts off the cover. Matilda jumps and blinks at the little creature. The bird does the same at her. It cheeps quietly.

“Hello,” Matilda greets. She gently pokes one of her fingers through close to the bird just to see what it does. It scoots back a bit, hesitates, and then inches back to her. Matilda doesn’t move, and eventually, the bird hops onto her finger and just sits. Matilda smiles.

Miss Honey comes down the stairs, yawning and stretching. “Morning, dear.”

“Good morning,” Matilda says softly.

“How are our little friends today?” Miss Honey asks, coming up and peeking over Matilda’s shoulder. She smiles as she sees the one perched on Matilda’s finger. “Aww. I think she likes you.”

“Can I let them out?” Matilda asks, looking up at her mother.

“Sure. Let’s close the doors,” Miss Honey responds. She goes to do that, while Matilda gently nudges the little blue one off her hand. When she hears both of the heavy wooden doors that lead to the room click shut, she carefully unlocks the latch and opens the little grate so the birds can leave the cage if they should want to.

Miss Honey returns to her, and they both stand a ways from the cage so the birds don’t feel pressured by them standing so close.

Nothing happens for a few minutes.

They aren’t really surprised. The budgies have taken their time acclimating, and it’s normal for them to still be hesitant to leave the safety of their cage. Matilda’s a bit disappointed that neither of them want to fly around yet, but she understands.

Her eyes widen when there’s suddenly a blue blur flying across the room, followed by a light weight on the top of her head. She crosses her eyes and looks upwards, and can just barely see a little blue face with a beak perched on her head.

Miss Honey bites her lip and giggles into her hand so she doesn’t laugh too loud and startle the little thing. “I think that one must be yours, then. She really seems to like you.”

Matilda smiles and carefully reaches up to offer her finger again. The bird happily hops onto it and lets Matilda hold it for a little bit.

“I still don’t know what to name her,” Matilda grumbles to herself.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” Miss Honey acknowledges. “Have you had any ideas?”

Matilda shrugs. “Sort of. None of the names of birds in books really suit her.”

“Mm,” Miss Honey hums. “Well, take a good look at her close, now. See if anything comes to mind.”

“What are you naming yours?” Matilda asks, looking up at her mother.

“I’m not completely sure, yet. I think this one looks quite a bit like a Winnifred. Winnie.”

Matilda looks at the little green bird. That one is the mother, they’ve surmised, and she’s sitting on the open gate. Half in the cage, half out. Just watching the world outside. Matilda nods.

“It suits her.”

Miss Honey smiles and gently reaches out a finger for Winnie. Winnie seems to be the more nervous of the two, but she does allow for a few gentle scritches on her feathery head.

Matilda looks back to the blue one. What to name her?

Sky? How unoriginal. Zee? Cute, but doesn’t feel quite right. Lavender suggested Tweety, and Amanda said Matilda should name her Daffy.

Nothing feels quite right.

Miss Honey notices her internal turmoil and comes over to her. This bird allows for even more pets.

“You’ll think of something perfect,” Miss Honey comforts Matilda. “Don’t stress. She doesn’t know any difference whether she has a name or not.”

“But every creature deserves a perfect name,” Matilda says quietly, furrowing her brow in frustration.

“Well, let’s think. What sorts of things would you like to name her after?”

“I dunno.”

“Then what sorts of things do you like?”

“Books,” Matilda says immediately. “Um… history. We’ve been doing Greek mythology in my history class. That’s quite interesting.”

“Oh, yes, ancient Greek history is fascinating,” Miss Honey agrees. “What about them? Do you have any favorite figures?”

“Helen,” Matilda says immediately. “I think that’s a bit formal for a bird.”

“It’s nice, but if you think something else might work better…” Miss Honey says. “Anyone else?”

“Athena,” Matilda continues. Miss Honey glances to the little bird on Matilda’s finger.

“Well, she’s not exactly an owl, but I think Athena is a beautiful name.”

Matilda looks at her sky-blue plumage and beady little black eyes. She moves the little bird closer to her face and stares into her eyes. The bird blinks. Matilda blinks back. The bird cheeps quietly. Matilda smiles.

“Athena,” she says with a nod.

“Winnifred and Athena,” Miss Honey says. “Quite the pair we’ve got, eh?”

Matilda giggles. “Yeah. I like them though.”

“I like them too,” Miss Honey says, looking at the girl and her bird with a loving smile. “Hello, Athena.”

Athena peeps at her.

“She said hello back,” Matilda translates.

“You speak budgie, hm?” Miss Honey chuckles, gently ruffling Matilda’s hair. Matilda nods, and Miss Honey laughs even louder. “I wouldn’t be surprised. But I think it’s time to put this little one back and come have breakfast.”

“Okay,” Matilda sighs. “See you in a bit, Athena.”

She slips the little bird back in the cage with her mother and latches the door, and heads into the kitchen to have breakfast with her own.

How nice to have two new family members.

—————

thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed

in other more unfortunate news, one of my Recent Life Happenings is that my own real life miss honey got very sick and passed away at the end of this summer. so, this is dedicated to her :) thank you, SB, for teaching me to sing like a bird.

anyway!! have a wonderful. period of time. until i next see you and thank you very much again for reading !! lots of love, ezzy

[the-golden-ghost]

ooh what do you know about uhh goosebumps!

Okay this one's funny cause I was a huge Goosebumps Kid so I'll try to just summarize every one I can remember from childhood LET'S GO:

Welcome to Dead House: Girl moves to town. Town's haunted. Havoc ensues. I think this was the first one ever published.

Phantom of the Auditorium: R. L. Stine deciding "what do kids love? Phantom of the Opera references?" and making a whole book dedicated to the concept. +1 for really good twist at the end

Ghost Beach: Beach with ghosts on it. I remember this one had a reaper thing on the cover but the actual ghosts were just kids who died of plague in like, 1800. I think it was also in New England! :)

Ghost Camp: Camp's haunted

Shocker on Shock Street: Kids go on a theme park tour but the theme park monsters are REAL and the kids are ROBOTS and idk man this one was wild. I liked it though

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Librarian's a monster and he eats bugs or something? Or turtles? I dunno man

Night of the Living Dummy 2: Okay this one's funny cause there was an earlier book called Night of the Living Dummy. And it's almost completely forgotten. Slappy, the evil dummy who became the FACE of the series and the most notable standout character in the entire run? He only appears in the sequel. I don't even know what the original dummy was called. They also filmed this one for the TV series but ONLY this one, not the original. So the TV episode is called Night of the Living Dummy 2 and there is no Night of the Living Dummy 1 in the TV series at all. Anyway it's about a ventriloquist dummy who tries to enslave his owner

Go Eat Worms!: I don't really remember what this is about at all I just found the title really funny. I think it's about a kid who's cursed and worms show up everywhere.

Lawn Gnomes Attack Manhattan: No but I don't remember the actual title of this one. I just remember it was about evil lawn gnomes and even as a kid I thought it was stupid but they can't all be bangers

Night in Tower Terror? Terror Tower?: I think I only saw the TV episode of this and it freaked me out. However it's also based on the Actual Real Life Murder of two children (the nephews of Richard III, Edward V and Richard of York) which makes it possibly the bleakest inspiration for a Goosebumps book albeit Stine really fictionalized it and also it happened in the 1400s

Calling All Creeps: Some kid puts a prank ad for creeps in his local newspaper and gets creeps to show up. I think they were like lizard aliens idk

The Beast From the East: What if the jungle was real and tried to KILL YOU

Chicken Chicken: Girl gets cursed to turn into a chicken. Slightly scarier than it sounds

How to Kill a Monster: Terrible grandparents summon a Swamp Thing and try to feed their grandkids to it

That Weird Vampire Time-Travel One: Kid finds his grandpa's vampire corpse in the basement and Vampire Grandpa wakes up and tries to eat him. And then time travels back to the 1800s for some reason cause I guess vampires are only scary in the 1800s?

Ghost School: A lot of these are just called "Ghost *regular place*" but this one was particularly fucked up cause the ghosts were actually kids who got trapped in a living photograph by an evil photographer. Which sounds dumb but they were permanently ensnared in this black and white void where time never passed for like... decades and decades as the outside world slowly moved on and forgot about them. And they never got rescued or anything. They were literally just left to their fate. One of the more messed up endings in the series

The Haunted Mask: OH MAN how did I miss this one. This was probably the Gold Standard for the TV show episodes. Freaked me out SO bad as a kid. It's about a girl who wears a mask that permanently affixes to her face and it's WILD

The Cuckoo Clock of Doom: Kid gets trapped in a Time Vortex and ends up erasing his bratty sister from the face of history etc.

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight: Evil scarecrows. That's pretty much it but this one and Harold from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark are probably the reason for my lifelong Scarecrow Phobia so

The One Where The Kids Turn Into Dogs And Never Get Changed Back: !!! honestly the ending made me so mad. I forget the name of it though

One Day At Horrorland: A classic! It's about an evil theme park :) Don't go down the Doom Slide!

Stay Out of The Basement: Kids' dad turns into an evil mad scientist but it turns out he's actually an evil plant clone of their dad who's just posing as their dad. Wild

That One Where The Camera Kills You: I don't remember the title but the camera predicts the future. However it causes whatever Future Event it depicts to also be like. You Will Be Maimed And Slaughtered Horribly

Jack O Lanterns... Attack... Manhattan?: I don't remember the title of this one either. It was basically What If You Got Kidnapped By Pumpkin Monsters and they Made You Celebrate Halloween For All Eternity. Would that be fucked up or what

Uhhh Bnuy: Evil Stage Magician Turns A Kid Into A Rabbit or something I forgor. I think there was a sorcerer named Greg in there somewhere? Like I remember that being a joke

Piano Lessons Can Be Murder: Kid goes to piano lessons and gets murdered. I mean not really but almost lmao. Also the freaky handless ghost woman who scared the SHIT out of me when I was 12

Help My Neighbor's A Ghost: I don't remember the name of this one either but the main character thinks the new kid who just moved in is a ghost. Turns out she (the main character) died in a fire 20 years ago and she's the actual ghost and her best friend never writes to her because she died ages ago and stuff. It's actually kind of sad; I don't recall the title but it stuck with me

How I Learned to Fly: About a kid who learns to fly which ISN'T SCARY OR A HORROR CONCEPT

The Abominable Snowman of Pasadena: Bigfoot but he lives in California now. Yeah a scientist found him and brought him back. Yeah he's got Scary Bigfoot Ice Powers too and keeps freezing people solid

Beware the Snowman: I think this was actually the first one I ever read? This one's about a cursed town under the domain of an evil snowman (not like Bigfoot I mean like an actual irl snowman. Like Frosty) but the snowman's actually an evil magician who was turned into a snowman by his rival or something. This one's also kind of wild but it's decently good!

[ghostiehatesithere]

Carry On Chapter 4

 Mal missed his kids. 

End of story,

You guys can keep scrolling now,

...

Fine, there’s a little more to the story. 

Not long after Lotor’s exile had been announced, Zarkon had scheduled a fight for Malevotor in the hopes that his gradually declining health would finally spell his end. Malevotor managed to win the match and made a scene as though he’d finally lost his mind. He rampaged and roared and terrified the masses to the point where an entire team of drones and Galra soldiers had to restrain him and physically drag him back to his room. 

This worked perfectly in his favor as they shoved him into his room and shut the door. He made sure to make a lot of noise and seemingly tear apart the cell so that no one would care or notice when he ripped off one of the ceiling vents and crawled in. He was already half-way to the loading docks when they sounded the alarm. He could hear the drones running around and above him as he slithered through the vents. For once, he was thankful for his declining health and weight loss otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to fit in the vents. 

He’d lulled the security detail into a false sense of security with his “good behavior” and the stopped thinking of him as a threat. That is until he actually managed to escape. He made them believe that he was tunnel focused on murdering Zarkon and now they were most likely sending a majority of their forces to defend Zarkon, leaving the bay completely unguarded. 

Well...almost unguarded. 

When he dropped down into the loading bay without a sound, he hid behind the nearest drone ship. He peaked his head out and jerked it back, muttering a curse to himself when he realized that Sendak was guarding the fighter ships. “I know you’re here Malevotor. Surrender now and I won’t have to hurt you.” Mal felt his hearts clench at the sight of the commander. He honestly didn’t remember much of his first match besides the fact that he was pitted against Sendak and that there was screaming. 

One of his pretty golden eyes was missing, replaced with a bright red lens and one of his arms had been replaced with mechanical prosthetic. Mal felt ready to vomit at the physical evidence of what he’d done to Sendak. He hadn’t deserved this. He was angry with Zarkon, not Sendak and yet he’d almost crippled him. He remembered starry nights on Daibazaal with those very hands tracing his every feature and now they held a gun that would shoot at him without hesitation. 

Mal shook is head and pushed his longing away and began to climb the walls until he was back on the ceiling directly above Sendak, his gaze intensely focused on the soldier before he dropped. Sendak had looked up just in time for Mal to land on him, the Kelekonian’s tail lashing the gun out of his hands. Sendak could see the patches of dry scales that hadn’t been completely shed. 

Sendak remembered how those dark scales would seemingly absorb all color reflected shone onto them and how smooth they would be after their baths. He remembered how honored he was when Malevotor would allow him to assist his shedding process. 

Mal merely sat there, straddled over Sendak’s chest, pinning his arms above his head and staring into his eyes. Sendak’s jaw was clenched as if welcoming his end with open arms. Mal’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion and he seemed to age before Sendak’s very eyes. The escapee pressed his forehead to Sendak’s and took in a deep breath, inhaling his scent for what felt like the last time. “You always forget to look up,” he whispered.

Sendak’s expression softened as he leaned into the contact and let out a soft sigh. ”It’s difficult to remember when you tend to be beneath,” he retorted with a fond snort.

Mal chuckled before he lowered his lips to the side of Sendak’s neck where he knew a certain nerve lay hidden under the fur and sank his teeth into it. His gaze never leaving Sendak’s face as immediately he fell limp. Mal quickly removed himself from Sendak’s chest as not to crush his ribs and moved him to lean against the wall, away from the thrusters of the fighter jets. It was a bittersweet feeling when he left the Galra base ship and leapt into hyper drive. “Here’s to hoping that things are better when we meet again.”

It didn’t take too long for Mal to come into his planet’s orbit. He ignored the hailings from the Galra ships and instead sent out a mass message all over the planet.“People of Kelekoni, this is Malevotor Erga to let you know that I have escaped Galra custody. There are no more chains to hold you down. No oppressor to make you slaves. It is time to rise up and fight! Their quintessence weapons cannot harm us! Show them why no one crosses the Kelekoni!” 

It was as he entered the atmosphere that he set the jet to autopilot and opened the doors. It was flying over a field full of of his people bound in chains, forced to work in an orchard that grew crops not native to Kelekoni. He leapt out of the jet and felt his skin crawling and shifting as grew larger, his neck elongated, wings grew from his back, and horns grew from the sides of his head. He had become what humans would recognize as a dragon, a staple of the Kelekoni people. He was a white dragon, a bad omen, a sign of death and yet in this moment he was his people’s symbol of hope in the darkness of their despair, inspiring them to shed their bipedal forms in favor of their draconic ones. Red, blue, gold, silver, one by one their chains broke as they rose against the Galra soldiers and drove them off of their homeworld. Leading them, was Malevotor, weaving through the masses and spewing white flames of pure destruction at any drone that dared to come near him or his subjects.His was the loudest roar among many when the Galra retreated. He was welcomed by his people with open arms but they mourned the loss of his brother. 

There was a three day mourning period for the fallen half of the King Brothers, Ulelna. The first day was to mourn the loss of his life and though Mal never asked for it, he received many gifts from his subjects to help him in his time of mourning. He wasn’t really ready to see people during this time because it was when he’d entered his brother’s cleaned and pristine room that it truly hit that Ulelna was gone.

Ulelna’s room was rarely, if ever truly clean. The floor would be covered in papers that he was to go over for the military. HIs bed was never made, leaving his sheets perpetually wrinkled. The window seat would have his knitting supplies resting in it for his rare moments of reprieve. Now, standing in the room, there was a sense of...wrongness. The bed was made, the floor was easily navigated, his knitting supplies were placed in the drawer under the window seat. There were no stacks of papers anywhere to be seen and all of the weapons he’d accumulated from the planets they had allied themselves with were placed in display cases that had never been there before. It was like his brother never even lived there and instead he had walked into a museum. 

An attendant had been sent to deliver Mal’s dinner only to find their remaining king on his knees in his deceased twin’s room sobbing brokenly. The attendant chose to place the food on a nearby table and left Malevotor to grieve in peace. He would have to be strong for his people for a while and he could at least afford this one moment of weakness. 

The second day of the mourning period was the Lantern Launch. Everyone would make or buy lanterns that they write their wishes and words of farewell and send them to the stars where Ulelna would hopefully hear or see them among their ancestors. The planet was completely silent through this event  as Mal sent his lantern floating into the air as the sun was setting on the horizon with the Kelekoni citizens following after. The final day was the Burning Festival. It was just what it sounded like. A festival was held in the capital city to celebrate the life that Ulelna led up to that point and there would be bonfires as per tradition. 

Mal was bitterly grateful that Zarkon had sent Ulelna’s body back to send a message. His ashes now rested in the catacombs among the ashes of their family. The servants had been kind enough to go through with his cremation despite the great risk it would have posed to them. He was eternally grateful for this act of loyalty that they had shown to him and his brother. 

After the Festival, Mal spent a good portion of his time rebuilding what the Galra had destroyed in an attempt to destroy his people’s spirit. He wanted to get revenge on Zarkon more than anything, but he also had his responsibilities as a king to uphold and without Ulelna to split the responsibilities with, he’d be held up for a long time before he could actually do anything against Zarkon. As much as he wanted to make his former friend suffer, he needed to look out for his subjects first and foremost. They need him right here and now. It wasn’t until he had to run the entire planet by himself that Malevotor truly realized why there were always two rulers. 

In Ulelna’s absence, he had to take full control of both the military and law enforcement which was already hard on Ulelna but now that he had both that and his regular duties such solving high level disputes and checking in on the schools to make sure that they were using the proper funds to better the education of the students. There were many a sleepless night as Mal work hard to make sure that everyone was happy and heathy. Eventually, he managed to find a rhythm in his schedule that would best allow him to take care of the needs of the people while maintaining his mental and physical health. If he ever felt as though he was being run ragged, he would hide away in the palace library and do what he needed to recuperate. In these rare moments of peace, he would think of Lotor and his generals. He had tasked two of his most trusted soldiers with the task of keeping tabs on Lotor. The parameters of the mission weren’t very serious. All they had to do was gather information on where Lotor was and how he was before reporting back to Mal. 

The last that Mal had heard of Lotor was that he’d been racing near Nowhere. That was until he had gotten word that Voltron was making its way through the stars in order to add more planets to the Voltron Coalition. He had given orders to his spies to keep tabs on the coalition and report back on their findings. If their goal was to topple the Galra Empire then that would not do. The Galra had innocents, as hard as that was to believe.

There had even been members of the Galra who would have rather been prisoners on Kelekoni than to return to Zarkon as perceived failures. Some had made connections among his people or started families and Mal couldn’t bring himself to make them leave, however, that didn’t mean he fully trusted them. He knew the fierce loyalty that Zarkon inspired either through sheer fear or through inspiration.

Mal didn’t even truly believe that Voltron had returned. He thought it was a rebel group that had taken Voltron’s name to inspire hope in the rebellion. It wasn’t until his spies returned with word that Olkarion had been liberated from Galran rule by the actual Voltron. Mal wanted to see who the lions had chosen to be the new Paladins of Voltron, so he’d told some of his spies to make contact with the Paladins and invite them to Kelekoni. If the lions chose them then there must have been a reason. However, the lions were not perfect. They cannot foresee the corruption of their Paladins or the gradual change in them as time goes on. 

He left his spies to do their work until word reached Kelekoni of Zarkon’s demise and the Galra scrambling to get into contact with Prince Lotor. Mal couldn’t help but to scoff at this but he also began to worry. It was no secret that the Empire didn’t think much of Lotor because of his half-breed status and Zarkon’s public disdain towards him. So, why were they suddenly turning to him for leadership? Why were they not initiating the Kral Zera?

He told his spies to keep a look out for any new information. He wished that he could be back out in the field with them but he needed to make sure that these schools were built. He couldn’t let education stagnate otherwise his kingdom could not flourish. The next generation needed to be better off than this one and he would personally see to that. All he could do is wait was wait until the time was right and hope that he was doing the right thing.

Tag List: @starfaring-princelotor @marvelheaux @fandomsoffeelings @motheroflittlelions @legendofcarl @done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh @lotor-for-emperor @yanderemommabean @lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[daily-rs-redux-prison-edition]

Any intros for people we don’t know yet?

haha well you see

i could do that

or i could just-

hey guys welcome to the shook character intro masterpost, yes this will be updated when i inevitably make more, cry about it-

anyways let's get on with it:

Vara Dorobo: A 26 year old catgirl with a knack for stealing. Arrested for stealing a large gem from a museum, though the gem has not yet been recovered. Overly flirtatious and crass. Hates her brother in law Saino but loves her nephew Piero.

Lilliannah Glitzern: A 19 year old girl who loves cute things and weapons. Arrested for the murder of her parents, though some think her to be innocent despite her willingly confessing to the crime. Seemingly perfectly fine with her current situation. Kind and upbeat. Misses Xayvion, and tells Vara to shut the fuck up regularly.

Samantha 'Sam' Dynamis: A 32 year old woman who likes selling things. Works as a prison guard and takes it seriously, but acts incredibly laid back. High energy, high spirted, and loud. Sells items to prisoners regularly. Likes to go drinking after work. Best friend is Sousuke, and works under Sumi.

Marco Perditus (not yet on the blog technically but he exists so-): A 32 year old man who doesn't talk very much. Arrested for taking part in a violent confrontation after being accused of several murders. Keeps to himself for the most part. Blood makes him nervous. Likes Sam.

Sumi Yukikara: A 28 year old woman who likes fighting. Works doing prison interrogations. Incredibly strong, and surrounded by strange little guys. Friendly and likes to help people improve. Happily married to Midori with 2 children.

Momorio Yukikara: A 5 year old girl who really likes the beach. Attends a local elementary/middle school. A bit of an energetic gremlin, but well meaning. Likes to catch lizards with Akihiko.

Celari Yukikara: A 78 year old woman who moved to Florida to stay close to her daughter and grandchildren. Very good with kids despite her seemingly aggressive demeanor. Incredibly fit and healthy for her age. Wishes she could truly relax for once.

Naliok Fulgur: A very odd 33 year old man who claims to be from another world. Arrested for trying to take over a cul-de-sac. Confident and cunning, but plays dumb so people underestimate him. Finds Miumehime to be amusing but pleasant to be around.

Elizabeth Sherry Justice: An 18 year old girl who is well known, but not well liked due to her tendency to lecture others. Arrested for disturbing the peace, after she accidentally started a massive brawl. Serious and a bit abrasive, but very well meaning. Best friends with Konaco.

Konaco Joki: An 18 year old girl who's the star of the cheerleading team. Attends a local high school. Laid back and kindhearted despite her moderate popularity. Has a tendency to get caught up in messy situations. Best friends with Elizabeth.

Lucie Hart: A 34 year old woman with an oddly polite demeanor. Arrested for murder, but believed to have actually committed many more. Keeps one eye covered. Offputtingly happy. Bares a mild resemblance to William.

Hugo Acoris-Pitra: A 21 year old man who is literally just some guy. Arrested for vandalism, specifically graffiti. Argues a lot with his father. Pretty chill, all things considered. Very concerned about most of the things happening around him.

Merridith Ishihara: A 30 year old woman with both looks and power in spades. Owns and runs a successful talent agency. Definitely not involved in any other possibly shady practices. Happily married to Kunio, and often works with Sumi.

Ayanei Utsukushi: A 30 year old woman with a successful modeling career. Works with Merridith. Very down to earth despite her fame. Still too nervous to confess to her crush. Wishes she could hang out with friends more often.

Ski'nei Yami: A 29 year old woman who covers most of her face. Works as a security guard at Merridith's talent agency. Very social and can talk to anyone with ease. Apparently prettier than Ayanei, though almost no one has actually seen her face.

Chiyoko Meiwaku: A 33 year old woman with a love for alcohol. Works as a defense lawyer, and is surprisingly good at her job, though she allegedly only tries her hardest if she's sure her client is innocent. Very laid back and prefers to drink alone or just with a few friends.

Saino Seiryu: A 30 year old man who loves flowers. Owns a small plant nursery that he runs with his wife Keina. Quiet and seems to be shy, but is actually quite the opposite. Hates Vara, but is happily married to Keina, and has a son named Piero.

Piero Seiryu: A 6 year old catboy who loves the outdoors. Attends the elementary/middle school his mother works at. Very curious and innocent. Has a small collection of bucket hats.

Keina Seiryu: A 31 year old catgirl who always gives things her all. Works as a secretary at an elementary/middle school. Often underestimated or put down, but does her best regardless. Kind but stern and competent. Cares about Vara, but is still a bit disappointed in her.

Grace Traupe: An 18 year old girl who spends a good 80% of her life being anxious. Arrested after she ran over her father while trying to learn how to drive, which was an accident but literally everyone else in her family hates her. A human bundle of nerves, and is almost always on edge. Has grown attached to Chiyoko.

Saori Sukui: A 39 year old woman who leads a cult. Arrested for the murder and complete mutilation of several people. Still trying to recruit new members, despite being literally in prison. Cold but charismatic. Makes and collects straw dolls.

Brigitte Von Couronne: A 26 year old woman who co-owns and runs a bodyguard for hire business. Came to Florida on a job, and got stranded after the client was arrested. Claims to be royalty, but she's only technically nobility at best. Confident and competent. The straight man.

Dao'shin Hudisha: A 29 year old man who co-owns and runs a bodyguard for hire business. Came to Florida on a job, and got stranded after the client was arrested. Still a bit scared around women, but keeps it internalized. Skilled and curt but polite. The funny man.

Miumehime Asaiume: A 28 year old woman with an... Eccentric personality. Was arrested for impersonating law enforcement. Claims to be a foreign princess, as well as a police officer. Seemingly not at all concerned about her current predicament. Finds Brigitte and Dao'shin to be amusing.

Carmine Chatarra: A 45 year old and very shady woman. Arrested for driving with an expired license. Sells used cars for a living, but is allegedly involved in other more questionable things as well. Somehow knows general info about everyone in the prison.

Ellie ______: A 34 year old woman who is surrounded by mystery. Arrested for assault and battery... probably. Selectively mute, and chooses to not use sign language despite knowing it. Seems put off by Carmine, but has taken a bit of a liking to Miumehime.

James Spill: A 31 year old man with a love for video game preservation. Arrested for mass piracy and distribution of said pirated materials. Very active in online forums. Cynical and a bit of a jerk at times. In a long distance relationship with Mira.

Mira Terebigēmu: A 29 year old woman who enjoys making and modding video games. Lives in California. Very active online. Kind of an ass, but a solid friend. Very close with her younger brother. Has definitely modded Sumi into several Street Fighter games. In a long distance relationship with James.

Erika Spire: A 23 year old woman who really just wanted to go skydiving one weekend. Arrested for breaking the obscure law of being a single woman parachuting on a Sunday in Florida. Athletic, social and a bit goofy. Her bestie was also arrested for the same crime.

Hayate Wazawaza: A 29 year old woman with a knack for finding a scoop. Works as a free-lance reporter with both a news blog and YouTube channel. Is always sneaking into the prison to try and get some interviews. Persistent and comes on strong, but values honest reporting above all else. Best friend is Tomoyasu.

Tomoyasu Taki: A 28 year old man with a love of all sorts of stories. Works as a free-lance camera man with Hayate. Always keeps the cameras rolling, incase anything interesting happens. Quiet and prefers not to speak if possible. Has been crushing on Hayate for years, but doesn't want to ruin their already great relationship.

Mae Okane: A 29 year old woman at the top of the business world. Has moved the main branch of her company to Florida due to it's strong tourist economy. Cold and stern while on the job, but much more relaxed and personable while off the clock. Still can't die. Hasn't had a single successful relationship, and is very depressed by that fact.

Aleino Rinri-Teki: A 35 year old man with a gift for biology. Still lives in Japan, but no longer works for the SPW. Found work elsewhere somehow, and has done nothing but make massive strides in his field since. Cynical and smug. William's superior, much to his amusement.

William Akumu: A 38 year old man with a gift for chemistry. Still lives in Japan, but is no longer imprisoned (sorta). Found work alongside Aleino due to their talent and experience working together. Cold, calm, and collected. Aleino's subordinate, much to his annoyance.

this took way to long to do h-

[nclson]

**        important headcanons to consider !

can they use chopsticks :   yes, he’s not like awesome at it but foggy can get by. mainly he can get by because his older sister bullied him relentlessly about having to ask for the fork of shame at their local chinese takeout place growing up and sheer stubbornness let him learn. 

what do they do when they can’t sleep :   my man pretty regularly gets some sleep issues due to medication, but he’ll wander his apartment for a while, make tea ( exclusively the pomegranate or grapefruit one ), and find something easy to read; most of the time it’s whatever repair manual or hockey journal his dad has sent that he thought fogs would find interesting.

what would they impulse buy at the grocery store :   gum, pens, magazines. nothing crazy, just stuff he see’s at the checkout line, except for pens. foggy loses pens chronically, my man puts them down and they fucking disappear? every so often he’ll see a nice pen and impulse buy it, telling himself that this time it will not go missing and this time it will become his pen and so well known for being his pen that his great grandchildren demand it as an heirloom. it never works.

what order do they do things in the shower :   ( brief tw for foggy having to do things in a certain order due to ocd ) first, he washes his hands in hot water in the sink, then he gets in the shower and washes his hair twice before dropping some conditioner in it, then he washes his limbs and chest as well as stomach and back, then he washes his conditioner out. after that, he washes the rest of himself and after he gets out he washes his hands again. that’s when he brushes his teeth. 

what’s their coffee order :   okay with my man it totally depends: if he’s in a void of paper work and court preparation or talking to judges it’s a black filter coffee with six sugars stirred solely with one of the wooden stirrer things because spoons give him the creeps sometimes. if it’s any other time though, he’ll order whatever the seasonal drink is with extra creamer and whip. 

what sort of apps would they have on their smartphone :   a whole barrage of awful and credible news sources, a braille dictionary, snapchat to communicate with the youth in his life, instagram on which he solely posts pictures of dogs he meets around new york and rates them on a scale of one to ten ( one being punisher-esque, ten being downright cuddley ), subway surfer, order app for the local boba place, that self care app that offers breathing exercises. 

how do they act around children :   this guy grew up with one older sister and a younger one and then, when his dad remarried, another younger one. he didn’t love helping out with his older younger sister too much since she was only a few years younger than him, but he loved hanging out with his step sister because that girl was fifteen years younger than foggy. chilling with that toddler was his favourite excuse to get out of anything and everything; he taught her how to skate and throw a proper punch, and in return- now she’s in high school- she teaches him terrible new age slang to annoy everyone around him with. also, now he has about five nephews and two nieces that he adores! they endlessy turn up at the office or his apartment when their mums or even foggy just needs a break from their lives. 

what would they watch on tv when they’re bored and nothing they really like is on :   fogs is a real sucker for podcasts when there’s nothing to watch on tv. not necessarily true crime ( leaving the office in the office and all that ) but just podcasts where someone is rambling that he can leave on low over the speakers whilst he bustles around doing whatever. if you want super specifics though, my man casts a show from youtube to his tv called ‘ lizard lick towing ’. he loves it, he thinks it’s like being with his uncles, foggy loves how batshit insane it is as well.

tagged by @ascnsion​ !

tagging @diaboluse​ , @sevenbulletsavior​ , @wintershieldedheart​ , & you !

[agnes-come-back-challenge]

Who wants a full comparison of episodes 1, 25, and 111 of Welcome to Night Vale? Because I love comparing these episodes and also I have no impulse control. Let’s go

(Spoilers up to episode 111, obviously. Also, I’ll bold every other segment so that it’s easier to tell which ones I’m comparing)

((This is gonna be an incredibly long post. I’m very sorry))

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (1)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is still hot, the moon still beautiful, and mysterious lights still pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (25)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead, while we lay open eyed, watching it all. Welcome to Night Vale. (111)

Hello listeners. To start things off, I’ve been asked to read this brief notice. The City Council announces the opening of a new Dog Park at the corner of Earl and Summerset, near the Ralphs. They would like to remind everyone that dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. It is possible you will see hooded figures in the Dog Park. do not approach them. Do not approach the Dog Park. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous. Try not to look at the Dog Park and especially do not look for any period of time at the hooded figures. The Dog Park will not harm you. (1)

One single year since two major events in our town’s history. First, the opening of our lovely, state-of-the-art Dog Park, which is forbidden, and which I will not mention again. (25)

The City Council reiterated for the 1,874th consecutive day that the Dog Park is off limits for both dogs and humans. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous etc. Hooded figures and all that. Since its construction we have shied from and feared the Dog Park. The Dog Park is neither a park nor for dogs, and so what does it even mean to call it a dog park? Why do we use language that means one thing to describe something that is entirely else? I don’t know what the word is for that place the City Council calls the dog park, but I do know it’s time to start searching for that word, and once found, to use it boldly. (111)

And now the news. Old Woman Josie, out near the car lot, says the Angels revealed themselves to her. Said they were ten feet tall, radiant, one of them was black. Said they helped her with various household chores. One of them changed a light bulb for her, the porch light. She’s offering to sell the old light bulb, which has been touched by an angel (it was the black angel, if that sweetens the pot for anyone). If you’re interested, contact Old Woman Josie. She’s out near the car lot. (1)

[none] (25)

The angels, who I can now say are angels, and will say are angels, because they are angels, held a memorial for Old Woman Josie in her house. Everyone in town came, overcome with a feeling that finally they could look at these beings and recognize them for what they were. Even the City Council attended the memorial, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Of course, this positive, concrete identification only led to more mysteries, for if these are angels, then where did they come from? And what does that mean for us? Even now we find that we cannot voice these questions. Not because we are not allowed. But because we cannot find the words to ask. Instead we ate cake and drank coffee in the living room of Old Woman Josie, which was once just that, a place she lived. Now it is only a room. One by one, we laid our hand on the Angels’ hands, and in that moment of contact each of us, in turn, found ourselves weeping. As the party wound down, we all heard a soft pop outside. It was the lightbulb on Old Woman Josie’s porch, burning out. (111)

A new man came in to town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well, we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with all those beakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he’s renting, the one next to Big Rico’s Pizza. No one does a slice, like Big Rico. No one. (1)

Second, and more important, it is one year since the arrival in Night Vale of our most beloved and singular citizen. (25)

A man who I know very well came into my house today, which is also his house. He laid his head, with its perfect and beautiful hair, upon my shoulder, and crossed his arms over his perfect and beautiful lab coat. I embraced him. We are creatures of touch, humans, and we retrieve so much meaning and happiness from contact. “I have become too complacent,” he said. “When I came here, I understood this town as scientifically fascinating. And then, gradually, it became my day to day life. I could no longer see the strangeness, but only my home.” “We are all guilty of that,” I said. “But I am a scientist,” he said.“Well,” I said. “We have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.” (111)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. Are the unmarked helicopters circling the area black? Probably World Government, not a good area for play that day. Are they blue? That’s the Sheriff’s Secret Police, they’ll keep a good eye on your kids, and hardly ever take one. Are they painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? No one knows what those helicopters are, or what they want. Do not play in the area. Return to your home and lock the doors until a Sheriff’s Secret Policeman leaves a carnation on your porch to indicate that the danger has passed. Cover your ears to blot out the screams. Also, remember: Gatorade is basically soda, so give your kids plain old water and maybe some orange slices when they play. (1)

Parents: Let’s talk about safety when taking your children to play out in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. All children in Night Vale are missing this week, so there’s no current safety issues. Hope we find them! (25)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. I asked my best friend and brother, Steve, to talk me through which helicopters belong to which organizations. Obviously the black helicopters belong to the World Government, although I had not realized, until Steve laid it out for me, how closely they are also associated with the Lizard People. The blue ones are Sheriff’s Secret Police, the pink ones are the new Double Secret Police, and the ones painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? Well not even Steve knows what those helicopters are, nor what they want. On Steve’s chart, those are just labeled with the word RUN and then a few hundred exclamation points. (111)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear in the Night Vale Elementary gymnasium during basketball practice, disrupting practice quite badly. The jet roared through the small gym for only a fraction of a second, and before it could strike any players or structure, it vanished again, this time apparently for good. There is no word yet on if or how this will affect the Night Vale Mountain Lion’s game schedule, and also if this could perhaps be the work of their bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pre-game snacks, and quite possibly by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes at least. For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame. (1)

In other news, a commercial airliner appeared today inside the home of surprised Night Vale citizen Becky Canterbury, who said she was about to get in the shower when it roared down her hallway and then disappeared, as suddenly as it had arrived. There is no conclusive evidence that this is the same airliner last seen in the Night Vale Elementary gym one year ago, but we have jumped to that conclusion and will defend it against all naysayers, violently and without mercy. Our truths may or may not be true, but they are ours, and we stand by them, even as the experts and skeptics hold aloft clipboards and intone to us about snow and mountains. Becky added that she would like to take that shower now, and that she has no idea how we managed to arrive for an interview mere seconds after the incident occurred. “My doors are locked.” she said. “My windows too. I’ve had my eyes shut for years. How did you get in here?” (25)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear at the fifth hole of the Sagebrook Pines Private Golf Club and Bulk Supplier. This disrupted all golf activities badly, as well as scaring a family of four who were perusing bulk paper towels offered at a discount price in a nearby sandtrap. I feel, for the first time, that I can articulate that this airliner had flown into some other universe, those divisions being particularly thin here in our quaint little community. This also is the cause of things like dead relatives occasionally joining us for breakfast, or the shimmering skyscrapers and crowded cities that appear for flashing moments in the sky. Of course, it also could be the handywork of the East Night Vale Cacti, the basketball team at the new East Night Vale Elementary School. Those scamps are always pulling pranks. Could they transport a large plane through multiple universes? Who am I to say? But probably yes. For shame, East Night Vale. For shame. (111)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read: “Guns don't kill people. It's impossible to be killed by a gun. We are all invincible to bullets and it's a miracle.” Stand outside of your front door and shout “NRA” to order one. (1)

The local chapter of the NRA has begun market testing some possible new slogans. These include: “Guns don't kill people. Blood loss and organ damage does.” “Guns don't kill people. People kill guns.” “A list of things that kill people: 1. Conceivably anything. 2. Not guns.” “Guns don't kill people. We are all immortal souls living temporarily in shelters of earth and meat.” and “If you say guns kill people one more time I will shoot you with a gun and you will, coincidentally, die.” To vote on the new slogan, simply fire a gun at the object or person that best represents your choice. (25)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl and they read “We genuinely do not value human life.” Cute! (111)

Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” explained Carlos and his perfect hair. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not” But, he says, they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientists are standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door. (1)

Scientists, and science in general, would like to remind you that some things exist and some things do not. Usually, you can apply the simple test of seeing if it is there. If it is there, it exists. If not, it probably doesn’t, but it might just be currently existing somewhere else. Existence is tricky, the scientists say. Research shows this. For instance, there is that house in the housing development of Desert Creek out back of the elementary school, the house that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists. Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist. They have proved this with science. The scientists still haven’t gotten up the nerve to ring the doorbell and find out what happens. Do you want to do it? They’ll pay you five dollars if you do. Just ring it once ok. We’ll be watching from back here. You’ll probably be fine. (25)

Carlos and his scientists, like Luisa and Nilanjana, are renewing their investigation into the house in the development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house that doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” muttered Carlos. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But he says, it is actually a doorway to another world. A world he himself was once stuck in for a year. There seem to be secrets about that year he is keeping to himself. Maybe someday we will learn what they are. (111)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. We know the difference. We’ve caught on to their game. We understand the lights above Arby’s game. Invaders from another world. Ladies and gentlemen the future is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (1)

But here, Carlos and I sat on the trunk of that car, his car, looking together at the lights up in the sky above the Arby’s. They were beautiful in the hushed twilight, shimmering in a night sky already coming alive with bits of the universe. [...] We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. (25)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. One night, years ago, two people, scared and vulnerable and loving and ready, came together for a quiet moment under that sky. And I pretended at the time to understand the lights. But a big part of recognizing the world for what it is, is recognizing when you have no idea. Invaders from another world? Harbingers of future terror? A fragment of another universe, fading into our own above reasonably priced lunch meat? Maybe any. Maybe all. Maybe none. But here is what I do know. The lights are, among other things, a part of my memory, and a part of my marriage, and a part of my love. They are a piece of my past, and I don’t need to understand them to understand that. Ladies and gentlemen the past is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (111)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are privileged information, known only to City Council members on a need to know basis. Please to do not speak to or acknowledge any angels that you may come across while shopping at the Ralphs or at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. They only tell lies, and do not exist. Report all angels sightings to the City Council for treatment. (1)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you still should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are still privileged information. Also, angels aren’t real. “I really get tired of having to say this,” a City Council representative said to a group of disgruntled angels. “Angels aren’t real. They just aren’t.” The angels became unruly and were dispersed by a thunderclap from heaven. (25)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is the Council is grumpy that all of this is not forbidden knowledge, but due to the new laws, they are required to inform you that the angels have made all of that information available. Stop by the house where the angels live if you want to pick up a free packet outlining exactly how all of that is organized. While the packet itself is free, it is likely the angels will ask to borrow five dollars. They tend to do that. (111)

Speaking of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, its owner, Teddy Williams, reports that he has found the entrance to a vast, underground city in the pin retrieval area of lane 5. He said he has not yet ventured into it, merely peered down at its strange spires and broad avenues. He also reports voices of a distant crowd in the depths of that subterranean metropolis. Apparently the entrance was discovered when a bowling ball accidentally rolled into it, clattering down to the city below with sounds that echoed for miles across the impossibly huge cavern. So, you know, whatever population that city has, they know about us now and we might be hearing from them very soon. (1)

Word is in about a disturbance at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. There has been the sound of chanting and machinery from under the pin retrieval area of lane five, and Teddy Williams has changed all the bowlers’ names on the electronic scorecards to “THEY ARE HERE”. This is causing some confusion and has completely ruined Jeremy Godfrey's 50th birthday party, which had rented out a few lanes for the afternoon. Jeremy was last seen drinking a light beer out of a plastic cup, shaking his head sadly as he swished the liquid around and looking out the window at the sky, mostly void, partially stars. Teddy Williams was last seen howling, commanding his militia to surround the pin retrieval area and prepare for an attack. (25)

Over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, Teddy Williams, its owner, reported the startling news that there is nothing under the pin retrieval area of lane 5. As you may remember, there has been a tiny city of warlike people under the bowling alley for several years now, which has caused some trouble, although not a lot of trouble, because they were very tiny people. But now there is just a hole in the earth under the pin retrieval area, an empty space containing only my own memories of a night that someone I loved almost died before I had a chance to truly love him. So good riddance to whatever that town was. (111)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. Said he was testing the place for materials. I don’t know what materials he meant, but that box sure whistled and beeped a lot. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. Carlos looked nervous. I’ve never seen that kind of look on someone with that strong of a jaw. He left in a hurry. Told us to evacuate the building, but then, who would be here to talk sweetly to all of you out there. (1)

I arrived at the parking lot to find Carlos, perched on the trunk of his car in flannel and jeans, his perfect hair mussed, his perfect teeth hidden. “What is it?” I said. “What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?” He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “After everything that happened...I just wanted to see you.” My heart leapt. My heart soared. My heart, metaphorically, performed a number of aerial activities, and, literally, it began beat hard. (25)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier, and we ate lunch together out of Tupperwares. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. He asked if I remembered it. He had brought it by on the first day we had met. He had told me that it tested for materials, but he wasn’t actually sure what materials it tested for. He had just wanted an excuse to come by and talk to me. “Anyway,” he said, “I thought it was a nice memento. Back when we were fumbling awkwardly toward this life we share.” “But,” he added, “it’s a real instrument that is detecting some actual materials of some kind, so there is a good chance that everything about this studio is deeply dangerous. Please be careful.” (111)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with, or at least good memories of when you did. Good night, listeners. Good night. (1)

We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. Good night, Night Vale. Good night. (25)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale, this weird, weird town. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. I know I do. Good night, listeners. Good night. (111)

[doctorslippery]

1d50 Fantasy Rumors

In a bathhouse to the far south, there is a well that grants wishes to those who please the guardian Naiad.

The Lord of a nearby country has set an enormous bounty on the head of a wicked bandit chief. However the old folk whisper the bandit is actually the true King, having been spirited away in the night when he was but a small boy.

The dwarves of the Jarring Peaks only surface mine and refuse to go underground. Something terrible drove them from the deeper mines generations ago, and still rests there today.

A foreign dignitary repeatedly insulted the Governor, however this is because by custom speaking praise of someone invites upon them ill luck. An international incident is looming.

In the Hinterlands, defeating someone in a fair duel entitles you to their lands or their lives. The duels, however, have incredibly complex rules that are nearly impenetrable to outsiders.

In the eastern seaport, the bay is supposedly teaming with mermaids. Dangling your toes off the docks is a sure way to get their attention, for better or worse.

There exists a flower that blooms once a century in the depths of the Sparkleberry Swamp that can cure any illness, no matter how dreadful. A tribe of lizard folk have been protecting the site for countless generations.

The mausoleum in the center of the city’s graveyard refuses to remain sealed, the bricks always burst outward in the night. Nothing, however, has been seen going in or out of it.

The old hag who sells flowers in the market place is in fact a powerful witch, waiting for a prophecy to fulfill itself.

The old orphanage at the edge of town doesn’t house real children, but changelings who were discovered in the crib.

Gert the Butcher once got into regular rows with his brother Bert. Bert vanished a few weeks ago and Gert had a sale on delicious sausages.

During a New Moon, the tides dip low revealing an isthmus connecting to Finnegan’s Atoll. The very best pearls can be found in reefs, it is a race to find them first.

Hjalmar Bjornson defeated the evil conjuror Illhugi and took residence in his tower. Recently, however, dark things have been coming from the tower again.

Cattle has been disappearing recently from local fields, a crime that the thieves’ guild refuses to claim. The town fool claims they are being abducted by invisible creatures for their heinous rituals.

The baron’s daughter is set to marry the heir of a neighboring fiefdom. Her maidservant, however, claims she plans to elope with the captain of the Guard, Providence Blanchard.

The Gleaming Desert gets so hot during the summer months that whole areas melt into glass. A local alchemist thinks if conditions are right a huge and perfect lens could be created.

The White Forest is so called for the strange, color draining sickness that affects the animals within. Farmer Gregor claims, however, to have seen a giant black stag with glowing rainbow antlers.

A pair of river traders have brought a new, powerful and addictive medicine which they initially gave away for free. However prices have risen and addicts have taken to increasingly aggressive acts of robbery to fuel their addictions.

Gloria Haversham is a tinker who travels the countryside in her one donkey cart. People say she can fix absolutely anything, but her prices are never in mere coins.

Word on the street is that the fireworks prepared for the New Years celebration have been tampered with and their glowing bursts will in fact place a hex on the city.

A new tattoo artist from the far west has set up shop, creating beautiful works of art on their patron’s skin. They’re almost too lifelike.

Parents always told their children that the Weeping Man would take away naughty children on full moons, but recently children have actually started going missing and the bogeyman has turned into hysteria.

The Wizard-Archeologist Philipa Saint-John claims there is a lost ziggurat buried in the permafrost of the Karngorm Tundra, she just needs the funding and manpower to uncover it.

Jenny Greenteeth has haunted the swamp since time out of mind and the locals now live in a tenuous peace with her. However a rich merchant has brought in foreign workers to fill the swamp and build a road.

The Count’s fortune was read in tea leaves last month. He was so horrified by the prophecy that he banned all fortune tellers and all tea from the county.

A giant hand made of an unknown metal was uncovered by flash floods in the hills.

Migratory patterns have shifted, taking game away from the barony. Something is happening up north that is scaring all the animals away.

The cats hold a monthly sabbath where they make reports to their true master.

The border marauders have been getting more bold after their leader uncovered a trove of strange weapons that fire burning light.

Stay away from the harbor on misty nights, that’s when the ghost ship and her dread captain looks for new crew to take aboard.

13 O’Clock, the Witching Hour, only strikes for those who know to listen for it.

The King in Chains, an especially rowdy tavern, has a terrible rat problem, but for some reason the landlord refuses to do anything about it. He also despises cats.

The Patron Saint of Thieves famously stole themselves right out of the hangman’s noose as they dropped. It is said the holder of that noose cannot be barred by any locked door.

A truly massive thunderhead has been passing back and forth across the plains for weeks without a drop of rain. The locals have taken to calling it the Thunder Anvil.

The city on the other side of the mountain throws a truly spectacular street celebration each year. Its participants, despite the fireworks, feasts, and music are all masked and silent.

A powerful noble was cursed in her youth to never be able to eat the same meal twice. She is elderly now and is desperate for truly exotic ingredients for her increasingly bizarre diet.

The old barrows have always been a haunt of fairies and their mischief was mostly benign. A necromancer recently desecrated those ancient tombs and the fairies have gone berserk.

A travelling circus filled with exotic animals of all kinda passed through last year, however a fire at the big top consumed it. Strange trumpeting and growling are still heard from the village green.

Theodore Goldfinch, the secretary of the magistrate, ran screaming out of the courthouse last week claiming he uncovered a snakeman conspiracy.

“The Slithery-Dee came out the sea, he ate all the others but he didn’t eat me,” claimed the only survivor of a fishing village, found covered in blood and holding a notched whaling hook.

There is a deaf musician who wanders the south who knows a tune terribly sad that those that hear it die of a broken heart. They say the musician is in fact a master assassin.

Giant petroglyphs cut across the shrublands where the sheep graze. The wizards claim that the petroglyphs have actually been walking across the land at geologic speed.

Everyone ties a ribbon with wishes on it to the Angel Oak, hoping they’d come true. Sometimes, they actually do!

Keep a ring of iron in your left pocket when you travel the road at night, otherwise the Wyld Hunt will turn you to a beast and hunt you till morning.

Anyone who dies without fulfilling a contract is damned to rise against to complete it. It is important to burn or transfer contracts to avoid terrible revenants.

After a long bender that the PC barely remembers, their wanted poster has been pasted across the land for the kidnapping of a rich silk merchant’s son.

A bat covered in gold dust was found in the church’s belfry, setting off a rush searching all the local caves for a rich vein.

A strange light was seen pouring out of the canyon in the night and no one who has gone to investigate has returned.

Sir Zoray and his band of knights were tasked by the High Priestess to seek a holy artifact to cure a terrible wasting illness. They were last spotted spending their gold the the most expensive brothel in an eastern city.

A wingless wyrm was spotted swimming through the Frothy Run River and coins of foreign make were later found on the pebbly shore.

[theofficersacademy]

Northeast of Garreg Mach lies Ailell, Valley of Torment. Most know to steer clear, and for good reason: these barren lands full of flame and ire are inhospitable at best, and downright deadly at worst. And yet, there are those who have made for themselves a home nearby, and make of the valley and what scant resources it provides a modest living. These are the monks said to have long used Ailell as a training ground.

TEAM MEMBERS

Ylgr, Rhys, M!Kris, Salem, Merric Constance, Bernadetta, M!Kana  Serra, Celica, Marth, Marianne

TEAM TAG: #LabyrinthValley2021

Locations:

Seitra:��The quiet, religious village of Seitra, nestled just beyond the valley at the mouth of the river feeding into the bay. Its people live a predominantly ascetic lifestyle: they take not more than they need. What necessities they cannot gather for themselves, they acquire through trade. Up until somewhat recently, the village had been united… but now they are split into two factions: the Devout, and the Heretics.

The SS Ambrus: Ailell may or may not have been filled with water at some point - at the very least, that is one of the many rumours surrounding the shipwreck sitting abandoned on the outskirts of the Valley of Torment. While much of the ship has fallen into disrepair, there are a few pieces left remarkably well preserved, seemingly made of a foreign material and inscribed with strange symbols. The locals give it a wide berth -  some say it even glows at night…

People of Interest:

Kassian Wright, aka Kass: Seitra’s fearless leader. He showed up out of the blue one day spouting what must have sounded like wisdom and, seeing it as a sign from their beloved Seiros, the villagers bestowed upon him the mantle of leadership. Some have come to regret such a course of action given the man’s unconventional manner but they keep this judgment quieter than not. He has been missing of late, but it’s fine. Perhaps he is simply on an extended trip into the valley, off to meditate and offer up his prayers for divine guidance.

R’wena Llmlasca: Head of the so-called Heretics faction. Gentle but steadfast to first appearances, she is more than capable of snapping a man in two. She blames the Devout for Kass’s disappearance, but isn’t likely to share much more than that… at the least, not without a drink or ten in her system. She is fiercely protective of those she has taken under her wing, and is wary of the new extremes the Devout are reaching in their worship of Saint Seiros. Rumour has it she is rather infatuated with Kass, but no amount of drink will see her admitting this as truth.

Argeldt the Holy Fist: Head of the self-titled Devout faction. At a distance, he might seem a frail old thing, hardly worthy of the name bestowed upon him in his youth. To underestimate him however is to do so at one’s own peril. The Devout he commands are growing restless, and seek to rise to ever greater heights in their quest to prove themselves worthy of Seiros’s blessing. The conflict between the two groups has yet to fully come to a head, but that is most likely because Argeldt is R’wena’s father. How long remains before the precarious balance tips?

Things to Do:

Get to know the locals! Most of what they need they can get from the bay or the plains near Seitra, but what they cannot they venture into town to trade for… and in order to acquire aught of value to exchange, the monks delve into Ailell to scavenge. Their quarry? Precious metals, rare, hardy plants, or even piping hot lava... Anything goes. Might be they’d appreciate a fresh set of eyes to scout new prizes worth exchanging.

While some monks may hunt for treasure, others prefer to track live prey. Whether it’s capturing rare lizards that scurry between patches of lava, or the flesh and bones of the monsters that call Ailell home, there’s no shortage of suitable goods. If you’re lucky, you might even run into a lava worm. There is no higher honour than besting one of these, although rest assured the locals will offer stiff competition.

Join the Heretics for a lovely afternoon of song and prayer to the Saint. Of course, there is much to be done, so as soon as they are finished, it’s back to work for most. Some, however, stay behind to chat with the potential new blood Garreg Mach has dropped at their gate. While the monks of Seitra are content with their minimalist lifestyle, that doesn’t mean they can’t show you how they go about making small gifts for friends and family. It is their way of appreciating nature’s wonders and sharing Seiros’s bounty with all, and they are glad to impart such teachings with others. The most important part of the process? Keeping whoever you’re making your gift for in mind as you work.

Or, if one prefers, they can join the Devout and learn how worship is really done! Wander over yonder to the back of the village, where their ceremonies take place. Something’s… off about this specific statue of Seiros, properly towering though it may be. Perhaps it’s the tears of red painted beneath the eyes. Or maybe it’s the brambles threatening to choke out the light all about, thick enough to shield from the coastal air. Might be the gravestones scattered at the statue’s base. Anyway. Bad vibes. Oh, and let’s not forget the Crest Beast sitting chained at the altar.

The village children have arrived, and they demand of these strange intruders a tribute for trespassing on their land. This tribute, of course, is to be paid for by way of games: whether it be Extreme Freeze Tag (in which everyone frozen goes after the last man standing - does it pay to win, in this case?), Extreme Hide and Seek (do be sure not to lose one of the kids in a puddle of lava somewhere), or some other manner of entertainment. Oh, and they won’t leave you be until they are satisfied their tithe has been paid in full.

[thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny]

Toll The Dead

On the day he opens his eyes, the sun is blindingly harsh. He tries to move his hands only to be greeted by astonishingly smooth skin and dark waves flopping into his vision. He’s trapped for so long that both he and the ancient tree actually died. The difference is, he came back. He wept, although they weren’t tears of joy after being finally freed from his (admittedly deserved, he could say that now) captivity. They were tears of sorrow. Actually, neither freedom nor captivity were in his mind upon his awakening. Instead it was one, all-consuming question took up that space.

How long have I been dead?

The old, dead tree was still the same apart from being a mere husk now. The old grove, the forest was still the same. But Camelot...Camelot was totally different. It no longer existed.

The mighty Pendragon Castle had all but crumbled to dust, the inhabitants long gone either to their respective afterlives, or as shades haunting what was left of the ruined halls. He’d heard whispers that there’d been a great battle long ago, a battle where Arthur had been betrayed by the son he conceived in sin and shame. Arthur. Arthur was gone too, then. Tears pricked Merlin’s eyes anew when he’d heard it...he would never see either of them again. He would never go to heaven and see Arthur’s smiling face, he wouldn’t even float through the gates of hell and embrace his beloved Uther after centuries of being apart. Arthur’s grave was at Avalon, a place that was forever closed to him. Even after all this time Morgana and Nimue’s memories had not dulled, and neither had their power it seemed.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

There were too many memories here, too much had remained the same and too much had changed. All the work of decades was lost, friends and loved-ones were lost. There was no longer a godson, a lover. A mother, a sister or an apprentice to stick around for. Everything around him was a reminder of loss, the world had moved on without him and he had no choice but to move on too.

There was no place for him anymore. Limbs still stiff after being fused to wood for so long, Merlin summoned his weakened magic to conjure not food, not water, but enchanted roses. A bouquet of them: not his finest work but he hoped that the recipients would appreciate the thought.

. . . .

He left one on Uther’s grave below the crypts of Saint-Peter. “Take care, my love.”

He left the second on the floor where Arthur’s throne used to stand, and what was left of his portrait underneath it.

The third he had left at the grave of his mother, who’d insisted she be buried with her fellow sisters.

Speaking of sisters, he gave the fourth to a raven and instructed it to find Ganieda, wherever she was. He would like to see her again, but he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

The fifth and sixth went onto Igraine and Gorlois’ tombs: at least the lady got to be buried beside her true love at the end. Poor, unfortunate woman...she’d been through so much. He figured it was the least he could do. I know nothing I say or do could make up for what I’ve done...but I’ve looked after Arthur. I raised and protected him the best I could, and he became a marvelous king. A marvelous man, I know you’d be proud of him. I am, even though I’ve no right to be.

When the air turned chilly around him for no reason at all, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome. He was not forgiven, that much was clear.

“Why are you here?! You’re not supposed to be here! You don’t have the right...!”

Merlin didn’t even have to look up when the door to the crypt slammed open, he already knew who it was. “Hello, Morgana.”

“How dare you. How dare you defile my parents once again!” Her hair was a halo of fire, wreathing her thunderous face. “You and your lover already took their lives, you could not leave them in peace at their deaths?!”

“I only meant...” Coming here was a mistake. A second step of footsteps rushed into the chamber, that thin face and those blue eyes and that dark hair was burned into Merlin’s brain. He’d last seen it when she was fusing his old and silvered body into the great oak. “How did you get out of the tree?!”

“The tree is dead, Nimue. Look, coming here was a mistake. I’ll take my leave...”

“Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk away?” Morgana took a step forward. “Not this time.”

There were bolts of magic exchanged and smoke kicked up around them, a confusing jumble of light and sound and smell. Merlin barely missed the thorny vine aimed his way...Morgana had always been the more talented of his students. Nimue chimed in with her own magic, like two perfectly synchrd dancers performing a pas-de-deux. He had to get out, he knew he wouldn’t survive much longer if they’d had better aim. In the cloak of smoke and rubble, he slunk out through the first opening he saw, not having the energy to turn into anything bigger than a lizard at this point.

. . . .

It was taking an excruciatingly long time for his magic to come back...of course he’d loved without it before, but it was just so much easier to have it at your disposal. When you have magic, it becomes a part of you and losing it is a lot like losing a limb. He felt like he’d lost a right arm. When he barely escaped with his life, Merlin ran. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he ran. He kept running, and when his magic finally became strong enough he flew.

He didn’t know where he’d ended up, all he knew is that he was on his knees in a thick forest, hair falling in front of his face. It was just as much gray as it was brown at this point, as well as his beard. It was odd, really...forests were once a place of comfort for him. He used to sleep in them to keep dry, he and his sister would play in the forest when they were children but ever since the whole Nimue debacle, forests felt eerie and suffocating to him. He no longer felt free, he felt trapped instead. Perhaps, not as trapped as the unfortunate soul he stumbled upon though.

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?!” Merlin approached warily, making his way toward the figure who was slumped under a great pine...they didn’t have many of those in Britain. The air was much colder here than it was back in Britain as well. Wherever he was, he wasn’t home anymore. It was a woman, that much was certain from the stained yellow-green skirts and delicate fingers. Her dark hair, as salt-and-pepper as his obscured most of her face like a veil. Her one visible eye, which she turned to him was the deep marble-green of bottle glass. She said nothing for a long time, merely stared. It chilled Merlin to see it. When she finally spoke, he merely stared at her in confusion. This was a language he’d never heard before.

“You don’t even speak our language, do you? You’re not from around these parts.” Perhaps noticing his bewilderment, she switched to English...but it was in a thick, somewhat strange accent. At least he could understand her now.

“No ma’am, I am not. I don’t even know how I got here, I was just...”

“Running away from demons?” She tilted her head and gave him a chilling, impish grin, her eyes twinkling with...mischief? Or something else entirely? Merlin sighed, seating himself on the ground next to her. “Yes. They’re of my own making though, unfortunately.”

“We all have demons...we can choose to run from them, we can choose to work with them. I think the latter offers more possibilities, don’t you?”

“I suppose so? Anyway, why are you here? Just resting?”

“Some boys stole my walking stick and when I tried to run after them, I collapsed.”

“That’s awful! Children these days, no respect. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“You’re rather gentlemanly, aren’t you?” Her smile grew wider, and Merlin actually found himself smiling back. “And very kind.”

“Thank you. Did you get your staff back?”

“Unfortunately, no. But it’s alright, I have others. Those little toads will learn the hard way that this old lady’s walking stick isn’t a toy.”

“I wouldn’t call you old, Miss.”

“You’re kind, but a tad slow-witted.” Merlin felt himself stiffen up at that. “Well I...!”

“Don’t get your beard in a knot! I am old, it’s as plain as the age on your own face. I’m not ashamed of it, why should a lady be ashamed of her age?”

“Do you need any help?”

“If you could help walk me home, I’d be grateful.”

. . . .

“We’re here.” The cabin was small, but rather well-kept and surrounded by a thicket of trees. “You live here alone?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m alone. It’s not as if the only company worth keeping is that of the human variety, you know. Come in, I’ll have dinner on the kettle in a minute.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t...”

“I insist! You stopped to help me, at least let me give you a hot meal as a thank-you. And besides, I can use someone to speak to for a while.”

Merlin had intended to leave as soon as dinner was done, but he realized that he had nowhere else to go. He was used to making his own way, he’d be fine. But the old lady offered to let him stay, provided that they exchange knowledge. She could learn from him, and in turn he could learn from her. It confused him until he added it up in his head. Alone in the woods, sprites and imps as housekeepers, all sorts of odd charms hanging about the house? She’s a witch. A powerful one too. Ever since Nimue, he was cautious of sharing his knowledge with anyone...but then again, he knew that was going to happen. And this one didn’t make him promise not to use magic against her...plus she hadn’t poisoned him, maybe it was safe.

He didn’t know her name, and she told him once when he asked that it’d been so long since she used her true name that she’d quite forgotten it herself. But the locals called her Grandmother, at least the ones that came to her for help.

“Why do they call you Grandmother?” Merlin asked one day while she was pouring over one of his borrowed tomes.

“Because I am more powerful than they, and far older and they know it.” They’d pay her tidy sums for her aid, and she’d help them...sometimes at least. Other times, a far more unfortunate fate awaited those that she refused. It was almost as if she could read the hearts of men, and judge whether or not they were worth helping. He actually quite liked it here, a new start where nobody knew who he was. Freedom from politics...he still had his powers as a Seer, but he’d lost his taste for shaping the future long ago. We all know how the last attempts ended...and good company. He and Grandmother seemed to get on like a house on fire: “fortunate for you, because don’t really like many men.” They seemed to understand each other, he liked her clever ways and her cunning and even her strange house. They were in one position when he was awake, and when he was asleep he would find that they’d moved somewhere else in the middle of the night. Whenever he asked her about it, she’d just give him that rapacious grin and ask him to help her with the garden.

. . . .

It went quite well, until Nimue and Morgana found them. The little tin bell that announced visitors had been rung. “Merlin, could you get that?” Grandmother didn’t even look up from the potion she was stirring, and Merlin opened the door to find two familiar faces. “So this is where you’re hiding out now, eh Teacher?” Nimue mused.

“What are you two doing here?” Morgana wrapped her arm around Nimue’s shoulders, and the girl leaned into the embrace. “Why we’re here to kill you, of course!” Her voice was as cheery and light-hearted as a child. “You avoided us for some decades, but now we’ve finally found you!”

“Technically, Nimue already killed me. She trapped me in that tree and I died, remember?”

“Like it was yesterday...but we’re here to make sure that you don’t come back.” Merlin heard the shuffling of feet behind him and Grandmother peered over his shoulder. “Merlin! You didn’t tell me your friends were coming over, I would’ve made more soup!”

“They’re not my friends.”

“We’re not his friends.” The sentences were said in tandem so that they blurred together, making it hard to distinguish who spoke first. “Look lady, you don’t know what that man in front of you has done...” Morgana began, but Grandmother held up a hand to silence her. “Oh I’m very aware, he’s told me. I trust you young ladies punished him?”

“Not nearly as much as we would’ve liked...but the tree thing was marvelous, I have to give it to Nim.” Morgana leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Nimue smiled up at her. Merlin noticed the way the girls hung off of each other; that easy rapport they had developed. The aura they radiated reminded him a lot of he and Uther once upon a time. When had that happened? Not that it mattered now.

“This is my battle, I’ll deal with them. You don’t have to involve yourself...” Merlin whispered to her, but Grandmother’s glare made him quiet instantly. So much so that it puzzled the redheads in the doorway...who was this woman that could silence the most powerful wizard in the world with a single look? That’s when Morgana noticed it, the staff in her hand. “You’re...you’re...” the sorceress whispered, recognizing the symbol from her books.

“Yes, I am. And you’re not going to take my study buddy from me, are you?”

“But Grandmother!” Nimue protested. “He’s...!”

“Done his time. I believe in women taking back their power, but it seems you’ve already done that. I mean, I think trapping him in a tree for some centuries and leaving him to die is a suitable punishment...I would’ve done the same thing myself. I like him, and I’ve decided to keep him. It seems he’s had quite a bit of time to think while in confinement.”

“He’s a slippery one, Grandmother.” Morgan’s tone was heavy and wooden, much like her house.

“I’m even slipperier. Not to worry girls, I’ve been taking care of myself before him and if he gets out of line, I’ll take care of that too.”

“And if he gets up to his old tricks again?”

“Then he’s for the streets and I’ll personally call you so you can take him off my hands. If there’s anything left of him.” Her voice was as cheery as ever, but there was something coming from the old woman. Something sinister, frightening...wreathing her like flame. Morgana shrank back. “Yes, Grandmother.” The young sorceress’ jaw tightened in protest, but she said nothing further.

“Good. Now run back off to your country, girls. I’m sure you must have things that require your attention.”

Morgana made to turn around, Nimue rushing after her. “We finally have him in our grasp and we’re just going to walk away?!”

“Nim, that witch is more powerful than you, me and perhaps Merlin put together! He’s not worth it...what chance do either of us have against Baba Yaga?”

The cabin’s two “human” occupants watched Nimue and Morgana’s retreating backs, Merlin turned to Grandmother in shock. “I thank you. But...why?”

“Because I like you, you amuse me. Like I said when we first met, I keep all sorts of company. But sometimes human company can be pleasant too.” Her face turned into the sinister, somewhat terrifying mask it was when they’d first met. “This is your second chance. Don’t fuck it up, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. Crystal.”

“Excellent!” The grin was back on her face. “Now come along, let’s get out of here.”

“Baba Yaga, huh? So you do have a name.”

“It just means Granny Yaga. Yaga is a word that means wicked or frightening, more of an epithet than a name. Come on.”

. . . .

Later that night, Merlin simply placed the last rose into the vase on the dining room table. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got left.” The witch gave him a slow smile. “Well, aren’t you quite the gentleman?”

“Hey, I was thinking...”

“I’m not the marrying type, so you can save it. I tried it once and it didn’t end very well, so I swore never again.” She stared through him as if he were made of glass.

“We don’t have to get married!” Merlin said quickly. “We can still be friends, with a...side hustle, if you want.”

“Side hustle? Is that what they call it these days?”

“I panicked, alright?!”

“No persistent pleas to return your love?”

“The last time I tried that shit, I was trapped in a tree for eight hundred years. And I have a fear that you would do even worse to me so no, not worth it.”

She gave one of her rare low chuckles. “Friends with a side hustle, I like it. Let’s be off then, I’m bored and I have locals to terrorize. Plus I haven’t really made the little shits that took my staff pay yet.”

There was a rumbling beneath them, but the witch didn’t seem to be affected. Merlin looked over the cabin’s porch and watched as they rose into the air, higher and higher before finally stopping. “Are those...chicken legs?!”

“Of course, how else do you think the house moves? Did you think it just floated on its own?!”

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 19

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 19 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 19/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

[A/N - I spent all morning finishing this episode! You are not ready.]

The phone attached to the console started ringing.

The Doctor answered it. “Yes? What? I'm trying to read. That's always pointless. What did she say? Well? Well?”

Whatever Madame Vastra said got the Doctor’s attention, because Elise could see it on his face. He took off his glasses and stared at them. He hung up and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are we going?” Elise asked.

“You, are not going anywhere.”

“What?”

“You’re going to wait in the carriage.”

“You know, if I had known you were going to keep me locked up, I would’ve left with River.” But Elise was bluffing. She could have never left the Doctor. He was all she knew.

The Doctor grabbed a deerstalker hat and took her by the arm, leading her to Madame Vastra’s.

Strax took them to the Institute and true to his word, the Doctor locked the carriage behind him. He’d even taken her sonic screwdriver from her so she couldn’t get out.

Elise crossed her arms over her chest and sulked in her seat. She knew why he was doing this. For the same reason he’d told her to stay by the TARDIS that day in the graveyard. He didn’t want to lose her, but he was starting to irritate her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Doctor walked around the edge of the pond, sonicing it. He’d still not returned Elise’s screwdriver to her, which Elise didn’t appreciate. “Body frozen in a pond. The snow gets a good long look at a human being, like a full body scan. Everything they need to evolve. A pond. Good point, Clara.”

He turned around and saw Strax holding an alien weapon. “What are you doing here?”

“Madame Vastra wondered if you were needing any grenades?”

“Grenades?”

“She might have said help.”

“Help for what?”

“Well, your investigation.”

“Investigation? Who says I'm investigating? Do you think I'm going to start investigating just because some bird smiles at me? Who do you think I am?”

Strax smirked. “Sherlock Holmes.”

Elise let out a high pitched giggle, shocking herself. This was the first time she’d laughed since losing Amy and Rory.

“Don't be clever, Strax. It doesn't suit you.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I'm the clever one, you're the potato one.” The Doctor poked him between the eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now go away.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” Strax chuckled at his own joke as he walked away.

“Oi! Shut up. You're not clever or funny and you've got tiny little legs!” The Doctor turned around and saw Clara watching them from a window. She waved and he waved back.

Clara gestured for them to come up.

The Doctor spun around, talking to himself. “Okay, just tell her you're leaving, you're not going up. Leaving. Not going up.” He spun back around and showed her five fingers and a thumbs up.

Clara closed the curtains and the Doctor smacked himself in the head. “What was that about? Five minutes, where did that come from?”

Elise found herself smiling as they walked towards the house.

“What?” the Doctor asked.

“Nothing.” Meeting Clara was the best thing to happen to her since arriving in Victorian England.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clara and the children ran into the next room.

“What do we do?” Digby asked.

“Franny, Franny, imagine her melting,” Clara told her.

“What?”

“In your head. Melt her.”

“I can't!”

“I'm getting impatient!” the ice woman shrieked.

The door burst open.

“You have been very naughty!”

“What about the man? You said the man was here, the cloud man and his daughter!” Digby cried.

“Well, he's not, is he?” Clara said.

“Where's the Doctor?”

“I don't know!”

A puppet popped up and said, “Doctor? Doctor? Doctor who?” The puppet soniced the ice woman, who shattered. The Doctor stood up. “That's the way to do it.”

Elise rolled her eyes and stood up, going over to Clara and the children. “Are you alright?” Elise asked.

“We’re fine. Thank you,” Clara said.

Elise smiled. At least someone was happy to have her around.

The Doctor walked over to the rug and soniced the wet spot.

“Where did she go? Will she come back?” Franny asked.

“No, don't worry. She's currently draining through your carpet,” the Doctor told them, “New setting. Anti-freeze. And you're very welcome, by the way.”

“I'm very grateful. I knew you'd come,” Clara said.

“No, you didn't, because I don't. Because this isn't the sort of thing I do any more.” He whipped off his scarf as he stepped in front of the mirror. “Next time you're in trouble, don't expect me to… Sorry, it's just. Didn't know I'd put it on.”

Elise smiled, seeing his straighten the bow tie, like his old self would have done. She hadn’t said anything when he put it on because it seemed like he was returning to the Doctor she knew. Ice was forming on the windows.

“Old habits.”

“It's cooler,” Clara said, noticing the change in the temperature.

The Doctor smirked. “Yeah, it is, isn't it? It is very cool. Bow ties are cool.”

“No, the room. The room's getting colder.”

Something was forming under the carpet.

“She's coming back!” Digby cried.

“What's she going to do? Is she going to punish me?” Franny asked.

The Doctor tried sonicing her. “Er, er, she's learnt not to melt. Of course, she's not really a governess, she's just a beast. She's going to eat you. Run.” The Doctor grabbed the children’s hands and they ran to the foyer.

A man came into the foyer. “Children, what is the expla…” He stopped seeing Elise and the Doctor. “Who the devil are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“It's okay. I am your governess' gentleman friend, and we've just been upstairs…kissing!”

Elise’s eyes went wide as she stared at the Doctor. What on earth made him say that?

The maid came running in. “Captain Latimer. In the garden, there's snowmen! And they're just growing out of nowhere, all by themselves. Look!” She threw open the front door and Madame Vastra stood there with Jenny.

“Good evening. I'm a Lizard Woman from the Dawn of Time, and this is my wife,” Vastra told her.

The maid screamed and turned around, running into Strax.

“This dwelling is under attack. Remain calm, human scum.”

The maid screamed again and promptly fainted.

The Doctor ran down the stairs and checked on the maid, before standing up and putting a hand on Captain Latimer’s shoulder. “So, any questions?” the Doctor asked.

Latimer turned to Clara. “You have a gentleman friend?”

Clara sighed.

“Vastra, what's happening?” The Doctor ran into the living room to look out the window.

“The snow is highly localized, and on this occasion not naturally occurring.”

“It's coming out of that cab parked by the gates,” Jenny explained.

“Sir, one pulver grenade would blow these snowmen to smithereens,” Strax said.

“They're made of snow, Strax. They're already smithereens. See, Clara? Our friends again,” the Doctor said.

“Clara? Who's Clara?” Latimer asked.

“Your current governess is in reality a former barmaid called Clara.”

The ice woman appeared on the stairs. “That's the way to do it!”

“Meanwhile your previous governess is now a living ice sculpture impersonating Mister Punch. Jenny, what have you got?”

Jenny threw a device that created a force field at the top of the stairs. “That should hold it.”

“Sir, this room. One observational window on the line of attack and one defendable entrance,” Strax told them, gesturing to the study.

“Right, everyone in there. Now. Move it. You, carry her,” the Doctor ordered.

“Nice to see you off your cloud and engaging again,” Vastra said as the Doctor soniced the force field.

“I'm not engaging again, I'm under attack.”

“You missed this, didn't you? I know Elise did.”

Elise smiled.

The Doctor gave Vastra a smile. “Shut up.”

They entered the study.

“Strax, how long have we got?” the Doctor asked.

“They're not going to attack. They made no attempt to conceal their arrival. An attack force would never abandon surprise so easily, and they're clearly in a defense formation.”

“Way, aye, aye. Well done, Straxy. Still got it, buddy.” He kissed Strax on the head.

“Sir, please do not noogie me during combat prep.”

“So there's something here they want,” Vastra said.

“The ice woman,” Clara deduced.

“Exactly,” the Doctor said.

“Why's she so important?” Jenny asked.

“Because she's a perfect duplication of human DNA in ice crystal form. The ultimate fusion of snow and humanity. To live here, the snow needs to evolve and she's the blueprint. She's what they need to become. When the snow melted last night, did the pond?”

“No,” Clara answered.

“Living ice that will never melt. If the snow gets hold of that creature on the stairs, it will learn to make more of them. It will build an army of ice. And it will be the last day of humanity on this planet.”

The doorbell rang.

The Doctor cracked his neck. “Stay here.”

Both Clara and Elise followed after him.

“Oi, I told you to stay in there,” he told Clara, “With Elise I’m used to it.”

“Oh, I didn't listen.”

“You do that a lot.”

“It's why you like me.”

“Who said I like you?”

Clara grabbed the Doctor and kissed him, shocking both Timelords. “I think you just did,” Clara said.

“You kissed me,” the Doctor argued.

“You blushed.”

“And with…this… Shut up.” The Doctor ran to the front door and opened it.

Dr. Simeon stood there. “Release her to us. You have five minutes.”

The Doctor closed the door. “We need to get her out of here but keep her away from them.”

“How?”

The Doctor grabbed an umbrella from a stand. “With this. Do I always have to state the obvious?”

“Those creatures outside, what are they?” Latimer asked.

“No danger to you, as long as I get that thing out of here. You, in there, now.” The Doctor went up the stairs and soniced the force field.

“What are you doing?” Clara asked.

“Between you and me, I can't wait to find out.”

The force field disappeared and reappeared behind them.

“Right, if you look after everyone here, then I can…” The Doctor realized Clara was standing next to him. “Clara!”

“Doctor!”

They managed to get around the ice woman and ran up the stairs.

“Stupid!”

“You were stupid, too!”

“I'm allowed. I'm good at stupid.”

“That's the way to do it!” the ice woman shrieked.

“Why does she keep saying that?” Clara asked.

“Mirroring. Random mirroring. We need to get on the roof,” the Doctor told her.

Clara turned around and grabbed the Doctor’s hand. “This way!”

“No, I do the hand grabbing. That's my job. That's always me!”

[atamascolily]

An Appointment in Sawarra, 9/?

In which Luke is sorely vexed.

(previously: one two three four five, six seven eight)

The official reason they wouldn't let him fly the X-wing through the Ring--their name for the neutron star cluster--was safety, though Luke suspected security and paranoia were equal concerns. His brain turned to mush from the interminable paperwork, Luke met this turn of unexpected turn of events with as much grace as he could muster.

It wasn't as if he had much in the way of luggage--just the simple rucksack he'd packed with a few changes of clothes, back when he'd thought this would be a simple trip out and back again. He should have known it wasn't going to work out that way.

<i>"I have a feeling you may be gone longer than you think,</i> Mara had said back on Coruscant. Her hunch had been spot-on. Luke was starting to get the same feeling--though like her, he wasn't sure whether it was good or bad yet.

If Karrde's contact could help him with the uneti seeds, all of this would be worth it. If not--well, he'd been on wild bantha chases on much less cause. And perhaps he could use the time in transit to learn more about his mysterious hosts.

The journey through the Ring was uneventful to the point of boring. In theory, Luke was allowed the run of the transport. In practice, they treated him as a bizarre cross between an honored guest and a poltical prisoner, and he didn't understand why.

Luke's attempts to coax out information out of the rank and file proved fruitless. The crew pretended that he wasn't there, with no eye contact or acknowledgement of his presence unless he spoke to them directly. Even then, they were curt almost to the point of rudeness, reverting to cursory nods or gestures whenever possible. Despite the translator box looped prominently around Luke's wrist, they refused to speak anything but simple Basic in his presence, making conversation about anything more complex than the direction to the 'fresher impossible.  

Eventually, he gave up and retreated to his assigned quarters for the remainder of the journey. The room was simple and spartan, the only spots of color a holographic image of a flower arrangement and calligraphy scroll on the shelf over the bed. Luke didn't recognize any of the flowers, and the translator was voice-only, leaving him effectively illiterate--an oversight, he realized now. He sat cross-legged on the bed and tried to meditate, but he couldn't let go of the thoughts swirling around his head.  

Why had the authorities let him enter Sawarran space if they clearly didn't want him? Either they weren't as xenohobic as Leia and Winter had claimed, or they had mellowed considerably since throwing off the Empire and declaring their independence. Neither of those explanations fit the evidence. Why, then, had they made an exception for him? Because he was a Jedi?

Luke had grown used to people treating him differently once they learned he was a Jedi--sometimes with awe and reverence, sometimes with gestures to ward off the evil eye. The customs agents been intrigued, but not impressed, by Luke's lightsaber and his claimed occupation. It was his connection to Yoda, of all people--a direct, tangible connection, as teacher and student--that had captured their attention.

What was Yoda to these people? And, more importantly, <i>why</i>?  

Their arrival in Ri'tarn City a few hours after local dawn was routine to the point of anticlimax. Luke didn't know what he'd expected--a parade? a riot? another horde of bureaucrats?--but there was nothing and no one waiting for him at the docking bay. He was escorted politely but firmly off the ship by the crew and abandoned outside in the bustling street.

"Hey!" Luke shouted at their rapidly retreating figures. "What am I supposed to do now?"

The leader turned back long enough to shrug and gestured off to the side. "Temple that way," he said in Basic, and hastened off after the rest of his squad.

Luke stared, blinking in the morning sunlight, as the crowd bustled around him on the cobbled street past elegant wooden townhouses with open-air shops on the lower levels. They'd let him come here, to a place where foreigners were never supposed to come... and now they were letting him wander around unsupervised?

Then again, he thought, taking in the dark skin and voluminous, colorful robes in the press of people around him, maybe the authorities didn't need to hold his hand to track his movements. Between his pallor and his tightly cut clothing, he stood out like a Wookiee at a Jawa family reunion.

He was relieved and confused to be left to his own devices so abruptly---and, he had to admit, more than a little insulted. He'd been prepared for anything--except, apparently, total indifference. No one in the bustling street was paying the slightest bit of attention to him, the crowd parting around him like a crowd of Coruscanti swoop-bike racers around a cloudcutter.

That, too, was unnerving.

He was alone on a strange planet outside the New Republic's jurisdiction--and, thanks to the pulsars of the Ring, no means to contact anyone on the outside should things go sideways, except through the Force.

Thankfully, <i>that</i> still worked. He could probably reach Leia in a pinch if he violated some taboo by mistake, though she wouldn't thank him if he ended up triggering an intergalactic incident.

<i>Why am I here? What do THEY think I'm supposed to do?</i>

<i>Pay your respects</i>, the head customs agent had said.

"My respects to what?" Luke said aloud. "Yoda is <i>dead</i>. How does this even make <i>sense</i>?"

The crew's mention of a temple intrigued him. Perhaps there were answers waiting for him there. But that wasn't why he was here. He needed to find Dr. Mendoza at the university and ask her about the seeds. Maybe she could help with the other mysteries, too.

But he had to find her first.

***

Luke had assumed it would be easy enough to locate the university with the address Karrde had given him, but it quickly became clear that Ri'tarn City, like everything else in this system, was determined to make even simple tasks an ordeal. Whatever rhyme, reason or logic underlay the streets was nothing like standard grid/level system for ships, stations, and Coruscanti high-rises. Signs were few and far between, not that he could read them anyway.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants seemed intent on thwarting his efforts through sheer indifference. As with the transport crew, none of them would acknowledge his presence unless Luke forced them to. Even then, they refused to meet his eyes or say much beyond the simplest gestures when he asked for directions. Even the wooden seal representing his visa didn't impress them.

The only exception to the general impassivity were the children, who stared openly as he passed, pointing in his direction and giggling among themselves, only to flee if Luke approached them. The contrast between the stoic adults and their offspring made the former's stoic unconcern even eerier.

The sun inched its way across the sky overhead, bright and hot as he wended his way through the streets, increasingly lost and confused. He was thirsty, but there was no sign of water anywhere, and none of the shops he passed would serve him.

A high, piercing alien cry came from overhead. Luke looked up to see feathery lizards gliding overhead, a welcome breeze breaking the heat with a distinctive salt tang. Was it his imagination, or were those ocean waves in the distance?

Out of ideas, he wended his way in the direction of the flying lizards, hoping it would somehow get him to the university. The docks didn't seem like the typical site for an institution of higher learning, but maybe the Sawarrans did things differently here. Either that, or the entire population was in on some big joke they weren't going to share with Luke.

He came around the corner to find himself on the edge of a stark, man-made seawall a dozen meters above the bay--or would be a bay if there were any water in it. A bare tidal flat stretched to the horizon in an endless expanse of sand, a mockery to his hopes. There was no sign of anything even remotely approaching a university, only crabs skulking in and out of their burrows as they dodged the attentions of flocks of hungry lizards wheeling and diving from above.

"Maybe I should have gone to the temple after all," Luke said, to no one in particular, slumping against the wall.

He was tired and thirsty, light-years from home on a strange planet where no one would meet his eyes, let alone talk to him. He'd been here for hours there was no sign of Karrde's contact, and now he was faced with yet another dead end. <i>How did I get into this mess?</i> he wondered, not for the first time.  

He hadn't been this off-balance since--since his first trip to Dagobah, actually. <i>Maybe that's why they like Yoda so much</i>, Luke thought sourly. <i>Or maybe they're testing me, the way Yoda tested me at first?</i>

<i>I failed that test back then. I won't fail this one, too.</i>

He had to be missing something, something obvious.

He leaned against the sea wall, and stared out into the distance, struggling to calm his racing thoughts. <i>Think. Think. Think. There's got to be some sort of key. What am I missing here?</i>

Something shimmered on the edge of the horizon.

<i>Wait.</i>

It wasn't his imagination. There was a tower rising out of the tidal flat, with what looked to be a small city at its base, far enough away that he hadn't noticed it on first glance.

There were no signs at this distance, of course, but Luke <i>knew</i> what he was looking at. It was the university. Had to be. What <i>else?</i> could it be?

He squinted. There was no bridge or road leading to the tower from the mainland. The buildings rose out of the sand, shimmering like a desert mirage in the afternoon heat, completely disconnected from the mainland.

"You have got to be kidding me," Luke said in dismay.

It made a weird kind of sense, though. Who needed roads when you had speeders? Or, when the tide was in, boats.

Luke scanned his surroundings. He was alone on the sea wall, the wind whipping through his hair, lacking both a speeder and a boat. The only way he was going to get out to that hazy tower on the horizon was under his own power.

This was stupid and crazy and pointless, and he ought to just give up and go home, but it was too late for that. He'd come this far.

But he'd done plenty of stupid things over the course of his life, both before and after joining the Rebellion. And at least this time, nobody was shooting at him.

"All right, then," Luke sighed. "I guess I'm doing this."

He stripped off his boots and socks, and stuffed them into his rucksack, wishing he'd brought a hat to protect himself from the broiling sun. Then he jumped down onto the tidal flat, landed with a roll, and set off barefoot across the sandy expanse towards the tower.

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: The Secret Journal of 'Stanford' Pines

Size: ~3000 words AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864183

Stan Pines keeps a journal of brief daily notes during the summer of 2012.

Note: We all know that the Gravity Falls timeline makes no sense whatsoever. Therefore this is based on a headcanon timeline I made a year or so ago, trying to incorporate as many of the canon dates (in show and published J3) as possible, but ignoring the ones that were contradictory or made no sense. This still means some episodes did not happen in a strictly chronological order.

June 1

Kids are here. I have no idea what to do. Why did I agree to this.

Boy is a grump and girl made macaroni art in the kitchen. Did I even have macaroni?

 June 2 Sunday

I think boy got spooked in the forest. He seems fine, though. Good taste in gold chains.

Girl is now dating some punk kid.

 June 3

Kids looked like they’d been run over by the golf cart when they got back tonight. Not good.

Gave them some free gifts from the shop to cheer em up. Yes I know

Boy got a new hat. Should get him to wear a Mystery Shack shirt next. Girl found a grappling hook that was not in my inventory. Bold choice.

What would they say if they knew about me?

June 4

Fishing Season Opening Day – took the kids fishing.

Of course, they got excited about monster hunting instead. They’re listening to reason about as well as I and Fo did as a kid.

But. They came back to me in the end. We had fun.

I love those kids.

 June 5

Soos found those cursed old wax statues I sealed up some ten years ago. Don’t seem all that cursed now. One had melted.

Mabel’s gonna make a new one for the wax museum. Meaning I’ll have to figure out how to make suckers pay to look at wax statues again.

 June 6

Mabel’s wax creation nearly gave me a heart attack. It looks just like my twin me.

She’s crazy talented.

 June 7

I’d say the wax museum reopening went well. Assuming “well” means “profit”.

Did anyone actually think I’d hand out free pizza?

 June 8

Hanging out with my wax twin Stan, and the moment I turned my back he was murdered.

 June 9 Sunday

Tried to hold a funeral for Wax Stan. Failed to keep it tounge-in-cheek.

Face it, Ford is long gone

 June 10

Guess the wax people were still as cursed as I remembered. Kids killed them with fire – I should have done that long ago.

Dipper crawled in the vents all day looking for a wax head that got away.

If I keep telling him he’s delusional, he’s got to stop looking for trouble eventually, right?

 June 11

Mabel decided I should date Lazy Susan. Couldn’t stop her. Now Susan and her cats keep calling me.

This was a bad idea. (I will never tell Mabel that.)

 June 12

Went on a date with Lazy Susan to shut her up. That ended just as well as expected.

Need to figure out some more specific excuses.

 June 13

The worst thing is, the Portal should work now. It’s functional. I just can’t get it to start.

Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all along

I did fix that old copier. Don’t know if it still makes copies of people, but at least it makes copies of paper again.

Caught Dipper making oogly eyes at Wendy. I smell drama.

 June 14

Did not expect “The Duchess Approves” to be that good.

 June 15

The traditional Mystery Shack party that has nothing to do with any birthdays.

Mabel is a great singer, and that Northwest brat cheated.

Happy birthday, Sixer.

 June 16 Sunday

Gideon Gleeful’s running TV ads again.

Of course my family goes to his show just to spite me.

 June 17

Mabel played with Gideon today. Did not see that one coming.

As long as she’s happy, I guess.

 June 18

I hate Pioneer Day.

Stupid people acting even stupider than normal, nothing works, then someone (me) ends up in the stocks.

 June 19

Gideon and Mabel are dating!?

Seemed like a horrible idea, but Bud Gleeful has a point on the moneymaking opportunities if we play it right.

 June 20

So if Mabel marries Gideon, his business will be incorporated into mine. I sure like the sound of that.

Bud is already making t-shirts.

 June 21

 June 22

OK, no. No deals with the Gleefuls. Not now or ever.

Mabel broke up with the little pest. Good riddance.

Got me a nice painting from Bud’s house, though.

 June 23 Sunday

The Mystery Fair! It may look cheap, but it brings in the money.

Though someone broke all safety protocols and brought a futuristic laser gun to Dunkle the Grunkle. That’s unfair.

Mabel has a pig now.

 June 24

Got roped into the gaming arcade with the kids.

Maybe get one of those games for the Shack?

 June 25

Mabel decided to fix my fear of heights.

I can say this – being on top of a water tower about to fall over was unpleasant. Compared to that, a high but stable ground isn’t so bad.

Dipper got into a fistfight with Wendy’s boyfriend over teenage drama, but good on him for standing up for himself.

 June 26

For some reason Gideon has gotten it into himself that he wants the Mystery Shack now.

Good luck, kid. I’m a better conman than you’ll ever be.

 June 27

Mabel is slightly taller than Dipper. This is funny.

Gideon Gleeful trying to be threatening while throwing a hysterical fit after breaking my new mirror maze – mostly confusing. Wish I knew what went on in that kid’s head.

 June 28

Kids made me wear the golden teeth. Guess they think I’m a dishonest man.

Fortunately, I’m good at bullshitting even when telling the truth. Think I scandalized the poor things. Hilarious.

Could have been disaster, though. Could have easily made them hate me.

 June 29

Spent half the day falling down the Bottomless Pit.

 June 30 Sunday

Summerween, now that’s a respectable local holiday.

Scaring children for fun and profit. Celebrating true evil together with family.

 July 1

Hottest day of the year. Wax Stan was permanently murdered by the weather.

Closed the Shack and went to the municipal pool with the kids.

Gideon stole my perfect pool chair. It’s on.

 July 2

Broke into the pool area at night to get the chair to myself. Which was a good plan, until I wanted to get up later in the day. The pest had coated it with glue.

The kids broke into the pool at night, too. Didn’t ask.

 July 3

Opened the Shack again.

Can’t be too lazy. Tourists to fleece and all that.

 July 4

 July 5

Mabel bet she could run the Shack better than I can. Well. I’m nothing if not a gambler.

So, three days of vacation, in which I will make more money than she will make running the Shack. Winner takes the Shack, loser sings a silly song.

Best case scenario, she learns something about business and stops complaining. Worst case, she actually makes money and then runs the Shack for me the rest of the summer. Not bad.

 July 6

Made it past the line to be a contestant on Cash Wheel, using my Old Man powers and lack of common decency.

Why is it so hard to sleep

 July 7 Sunday

Well. I lost at Cash Wheel.

Guess that means I lost the bet with Mabel, too. Unless I go rob a bank or something in the time I have left. Hm.

 July 8

Turns out Mabel barely broke even when running the Shack. She did win the bet, but she didn’t want my job, no surprise there.

I’m proud of her for learning something.

She still made me sing that song. On video tape. It’s kinda catchy.

 July 9

Mabel’s friends came for a sleepover. They make a lot of noice.

 July 10

Soos managed to uncover the door to Ford’s that old study I sealed thirty years ago the very moment the kids demanded separate bedrooms.

I never wanted to see that room again. His glasses were still there

Guess they didn’t want the room in the end, but now it’s open. Can’t re-seal it.

I think they messed around with the freaky carpet. Took it away at the end of the day just in case.

 July 11

I fucked up, but I fixed it.

I got Mabel’s pig back, even when I had to punch a pterodactyl in the face for it.

She doesn’t hate me.

I love that kid so much.

 July 12

That weird egg I pocketed from the dino-cave hatched. Dipper says it’s a compo-whatnot.

I call him Compy. He’s now my Mystery Pet.

 July 13

Soos’ birthday. The kids tried to throw a party, which is. Bad idea.

Think he appreciated laser tag, though. And the magic pizza they got him. Never seen him so happy on a birthday.

 July 14 Sunday

Turns out Compy is a very tiny dragon. Hoards stuff, mostly cash. In places I can’t reach.

It’s no good. Gonna hand the chicken-lizard over to farmer Sprott first thing in the morning before he bankrupts me.

 July 15

Mabel and her friends went to some boy band concert. Got back late with a large pack of spoils. Probably robbed someone.

Wendy’s boyfriend is charming her with homemade music. Dipper suspects magic. Can’t rule that out.

 July 16

There was a hypnotic message in the music, but telling Wendy about it only made the teenage drama worse.

Went bowling with Dipper afterwards to cheer him up. Should have a chat with Wendy, too.

 July 17

Gideon   I’m   How could

Didn’t know Gideon was that serious.

As if half-lucid dreams about that yellow triangle wasn’t bad enough. (The kids know something. Not asking. I want them to stay away from that stuff.)

We’re staying with Soos as I panic figure out how to fix this.

 July 18

I can’t fix this.

Gideon’s got the whole town eating out of his hand and I’m just a grouchy old man.

Doing the responsible thing. Got bus tickets to send the kids home tomorrow.

Whatever I do next, don’t want them to watch.

 July 19

GIDEON IS A LITTLE SHIT AND I AM AWESOME.

Figured out his trick, proved it in public and now he’s in jail.

Got the Shack back. Got the kids back.

And. Get this. Gideon had one of Ford’s missing journals. I have it now.

 July 20

I can’t believe it. Dipper. Had the third journal all summer.

All three of the dumb books are right here in front of me.

I activated the Portal. Simple as anything.

It’s scanning for Ford right now.

I’m actually bringing him back.

 July 21 Sunday

Grand reopening of the Mystery Shack turned into a zombie-fest.

Kids could’ve died because I was too busy with the Portal to pay attention. That won’t happen again.

Should have talked to them about weirdness sooner. Hope they believed me when I said I have no more secrets.

A little worried that government might have picked up signals from the Portal.

 July 22

Repairing the Shack. Too much undead slime to attract tourists like this.

 July 23

Re-reopened the Shack.

Dipper got himself an old laptop computer from somewhere. Probably stolen. He tried to hide it.

 July 24

Went minigolfing with the kids.

Mabel challenged Pacifica Northwest to a duel at midnight. I’m so proud of her.

Letting kids into minigolf courts at night to take a rich snob down a few pegs – finally putting my skills to good use.

 July 25

I still can’t believe the Portal works.

It keeps scanning.

 July 26

Tried to bring old Goldie back to the gift shop but apparently he’s unhip and scary. Had to throw him away before the parents sued me.

What I do need is a singing animatronic robot badger. That’s what kids like these days.

 July 27

Soos missed work for the first time ever. Seems to be girl trouble, but the kids are handling it.

Would’ve stolen myself a robot badger if it hadn’t tried to kill me. Saved by old Goldie. No way I’m not keeping him now.

 July 28 Sunday

Went for a Vegas vacation because I deserve it.

Not because I’m nervous.

Brought Goldie, might have gotten slightly drunk. And slightly married.

 July 29

Mabel found herself a new obsession with hand puppets.

She’ll throw a big show on Friday. Made me rent Gravity Falls theatre for her. (Can’t believe I did that.)

 July 30

The Shack is full of sock puppets and kids and Mabel keeps singing.

Guess this is my life now.

 July 31

 August 1

Soos went to his cousin’s wedding with his new girlfriend. Good on him.

Mabel’s still obsessing about puppets.

Dipper looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Can’t blame him with all this ruckus.

 August 2

Play was good! Think it paid for the costs, too. Mabel’s got showmanship.

Don’t get the ending, though.

I mean. Children fighting always makes for good footage, but was it necessary to beat Dipper up that bad? I swear Mabel don’t know how strong she is.

A little worried about Dipper. He seemed high as a kite all day. Probably sleep deprivation. At least he’s sleeping now.

 August 3

 August 4 Sunday

Gravity’s going more crazy around the Portal the longer it’s on, but I don’t care.

It hasn’t found Ford yet.

It won’t find him if he’s dead

 August 5

The Portal ate my notebook.

Got a nasty cut on the back of my hand from some debris, too. Could have been worse.

 August 6

Tried to advertise the Mystery Shack for the kids at the Woodstick Festival. Hilarious disaster.

Being feared is worth more than being loved anyway.

 August 7

 August 8

IT FOUND HIM.

He’s alive. There’s a lock on his position.

Fuck I don’t  I have to

I know how it works. It needs to calibrate for a while. It needs to be fueled for the big moment.

I’ll go rob a government facility right now.

(So glad the kids are off at the Northwest party tonight.)

27 hours and then I’ll see him again.

 August 9

Ford is back.

I had to run from the feds and the kids found out everything the wrong way but it worked and he’s back.

But he doesn’t  He still hates me.  

Why would I expect anything else.

Don’t know what I’d do with myself if the kids weren’t here.

It’s fine. I fucked up everything, but. Mabel trusts me. Dipper forgives me. I’m fine.

not crying

 August 10 Sunday

The Shack needs repairs again.

Spent most of the day making Duck-tective finale preparations with Mabel. We had fun.

Told the kids to stay away from Ford.

 August 11

Dipper has predictably decided to be nerd friends with my brother.

Can’t stop him. He looks happy. Both of them do.

Still can’t figure out why Ford would have reality altering dice lying around in his sci-fi pouch.

Anyway. I knew Duck-tective had an evil twin.

 August 12

I hate everything.

Ford will take my his place here soon enough, does he have to undercut me while I’m still here?

I’m running for mayor now.

 August 13

Kids are helping me with a political campaign. Apparently I know nothing about politics and have unpalatable opinions. Bah.

 August 14

The Stump Speech went great! I relax, words happen, people cheer.

Dipper got a lucky tie for me. Think it really works.

 August 15

Should’ve tried being a politician before. Almost feels like people like me.

 August 16

Nope. Politics is not for me. Too much mind control.

Should’ve known it wasn’t me making those speeches.

(The kids shouldn’t get into politics either. Can’t always be there to save them from murder.)

Turns out I’m not mayor material, but I’m a HERO.

Take that, Ford.

 August 17

Rented an RV and took Soos and the kids and Mabel’s friends on a road trip.

Pranking the tourist traps. Good old Mystery Shack tradition for the last time.

Dipper’s practising flirting like a pro.

 August 18 Sunday

Almost got eaten by a spider-woman. That could have gone better.

Have to admit, the kids are heroes too.

Don’t think Ford noticed we were gone.

 August 19

Opened the Mystery Shack for the final stretch.

Two more weeks, then I’m gone for good.

 August 20

Made a good deal on illegal pugs. Still got it.

Ford and Dipper put some magic mojo on the Shack. Not gonna ask.

Might have something to do with how badly Ford is sleeping.

 August 21

Ten days left until the kids’s birthday and the end of summer.

Guess I’m doing a countdown now.

 August 22

Nine days left.

 August 23

Eight days left.

I’m gonna order a ponytail kit.

 August 24

HELL NO I DON’T NEED THIS.

It’s the literal end of the world and the kids are missing.

Suddenly orange skies, goats turning into monsters, the whole shebang. I thought I had enough troubles.

That magic on the Shack seems to be protecting it, but. THE KIDS ARE MISSING. So is Ford.

 ??? 1

Day and night are replaced by eternal glowing orange and every single clock is busted, so no more dates.

Went out looking for the kids, but all I find is other people. Also demons. No sign of Soos or Wendy, either.

Been taking people to the Shack. Safest place on Earth for all I know. I have enough brown meat and elected myself Chief.

The kids are fine. Probably with Ford. That’s the ticket.

 ??? 2

Went out looking again. Found the Northwest girl dressed in nothing but a potato sack. She was crying and I don’t want to know, but she didn’t deserve it.

Been told the head honcho is the yellow triangle. He calls this Weirdmageddon.

Old McGucket showed up more coherent than usual, herding a whole flock of forest creatures into the Shack. Starting to get crowded here.

The kids are fine. Of course they are.

 ??? 3

There’s still people alive out there. I heard cars over at Gleeful’s place.

Didn’t see anyone else.

I’ve lost  I couldn’t even

Mabel and Dipper are definitely still alive. So is Soos and Wendy. And Ford better be.

 ??? 4

They’re alive!

All four of my kids, bursting through the door like cops doing a raid but they’re alive!

Now all I want is for them to stay here and be safe. Why can’t they see that?

I’m done saving my brother’s skin and getting nothing but scorn for it.

Ford made his own bed with that demon. Forget it.

 ??? 5

Did I mention, the plan concocted by five kids, Soos, and a known madman is utterly insane?

They’re rebuilding the Shack. I just had it repaired, too.

It’s my house, but no one’s listening to me.

 ??? 6

I keep having this bad feeling about Ford.

It’s dumb. My brother has made it perfectly clear how he feels about being saved.

 ??? 7

Well then.

Not letting the kids lead an apocalypse rebellion against a demonic triangle without me.

 August 25 Sunday

 August 26

 August 27

 August 28

Huh. I can’t remember writing this, but it does ring a few bells.

It’s like I

I need to talk to Ford.

 August 29

So. The apocalypse is over, and we’re all fine.

We killed the demon by burning my mind out when he was inside, pretty much.

My mind’s still there, but it’s kinda. Well. In need of repair.

Spent a few days reliving good memories.

Turns out there’s more than a few bad ones, too. But.

Everyone is so good to me

I don’t deserve this

 August 30

I remember how Ford looked at me after I brought him back.

Now he acts like  he likes to   he thinks I’m

Now it’s like he’s my brother again.

He said. “Thank you.”

 August 31

The kids have left. I’ll miss them, but I’ll see them again.

Until then, my brother and I are going sailing.

[wingedships]

A Reminder of You

Street markets were always a sight for sore eyes for Eris. All the travel on missions really wore down on her along with all the fighting. Sometimes, a few hours of shopping local goods was good for the soul. Something about all the cute little trinkets and snacks never failed to make her happy.

Qrow was never as enthused it seemed, but he could never say no to Eris, and they had already finished their mission so there was no excuse for him to say no. So here they were, Eris bounding from one stall to another and Qrow slowly trailing behind.

Every once in a while Eris holds up something, yelling out to Qrow, smiling wide to show him. Qrow never really gave her a big response but Eris could tell by his small expressions how he felt. A no on a small glass animal, a maybe to a wooden box. Eris politely slots them back into their places, mostly content to just share her finds with her partner. Hunting partner. Nothing more.

Well friends, of course, but the word partner could get so loaded in her mind that she had to stomp it out whenever it sprouted up. She wanted it, sure, but she was only one half of the partnership and the potential of ruining what they had... the price was too heavy. So she was content to spend her days and nights fighting by his side, because being with him was what matters.

Lost in her thoughts she almost missed a stand, but thank goodness she didn’t because it made her eyes light up. Sure it was probably made for small children, but a stand full of plushies was right up her alley. So many small stuffed animals, so little money. But they did just finish a mission so one little one couldn’t hurt... but which one to pick. A little cat, a lizard, a crow-

A crow! Eris quickly grabs it and runs to the outer edge of the stall, poking out to find Qrow. There he was, only two stands back.

“Qrow! Qrow!” Eris hides the plush behind her back.

Qrow perks up at his name, turning to Eris with a raised brow. With a huge grin on her face Eris pulls the crow out from behind her back.

“Look, it’s you!” The small orb-like crow sits perfectly in her hand, looking at Qrow with red bead eyes.

Qrow’s face immediately fell into the ‘really’ look, but not one out of malice, but fond annoyance.

Eris continues to beam as she waggles the crow around a bit. “My name is Qrow and I’m tiny and grumpy. Caw caw caw.”

“Eris.” Qrow is clearly hiding a grin as he walks closer.

“I’m so scary and intimidating caw ca-“ Eris is cut off by grabbing the plush out of her hands. “Hey!”

Qrow looks it over carefully, holding it up out of Eris’ reach. “I’m not this tiny. Or this round.”

“You wish you were that cute!” She jumps up and snatches the bird back and holds it close to her. “Don’t get jealous cause there might be another man in my life.”

“Yes. I’m so jealous and wounded you would pick someone else over me.” His voice is filled with sarcasm, accented with a smirk.

“Well I’m going to get him.” Eris pulls out her wallet and walks back over to the seller, handing over the cash. She then walks back out, very proud of her new purchase.

“Now there’s two of you.” She hold the bird next to her face, looking up at Qrow.

“You’re really going to drag that everywhere aren’t you?” Qrow says as they start to wander to the next stand.

“Of course I am.” Eris slides him into her bag, making sure it’s little head was poking out.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you stick around me so who’s really the ridiculous one.”

“You’ve got a good point.”

After that they fall back into their regular pattern, with one extra little bird joining them. And after that she does carry it everywhere, it never straying too far from her person. At night it sits in bed with her, not exactly a perfect stand in, but a comfort none the less.

The little crow wasn’t him, but she loved the reminder of him all the same.

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4​ and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her.  Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

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If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category. 

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off her rain slicker. Throwing aside the envelope of what was probably more of her husband's accounts that she was now responsible for, Emma opted for a nap before work instead. It was until she landed a successful skip that night that she felt ready to tackle another batch of what remained from Neal's legacy. 

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script. 

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her late husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it. 

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her. 

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the insides she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

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 The estate reading took place in Ireland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham Grimm since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude. This man was funny, even when she teased him about his name and he had sighed, an eye roll so loud she could hear it through their original phone call. 

(Yes, my name is Graham Grimm. Yes, they do sound alike. No, I am not involved with fairytales, unless you consider me a fairy Godmother of estate and divorce settlements. No, I am usually very happy. No, I cannot change into a black shaggy dog, can you please just tell me what the approximate appraisal value is?) 

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now. 

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark. 

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking. 

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present. 

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded. 

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand. 

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

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 Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road. 

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows. 

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door. 

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, eyes blazing bright blue, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh. 

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling. 

And it was hers. 

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet. 

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on. 

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand. 

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her. 

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed. 

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 In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan. 

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone. 

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school. 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook. 

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised. 

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion. 

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life. 

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled. 

<

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard. 

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The English accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Irish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She gave him a curt nod, before pointing to herself, which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.” 

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 The Gold family estate had beautiful gardens. At one time they even had cultivated a rare buttercup and rose hybrid, so they had been very particular on who tended their gardens. A quick call to Graham that took several minutes of cell phone aligning to make confirmed that Killian Jones actually was listed on a small ledger, his family name written on yellowing paper, noted as “horticultural help”.

“I don't know how I missed this, it's like it just appeared here Miss Swan,” Graham had groaned, yawning into his end of the line. Static cracked through her cell phone speakers as fog rolled over the driveway. “But yes, he is explicitly listed as coming with the property.”

“Great. And you're sure I can't fire him without penalty?” 

“No, I'm sorry. This is written in a ridiculously old way, as if they're counting him as property. He can resign, but even then -” There were several moments of garbled reply that was incomprehensible. Emma huffed, kicking rocks and pacing until she caught a better signal, and Graham's voice snapped back on the line. “-Look into it more as I do some digging. You're out of luck. Do you want me to come stay? I'm happy to while you wait for another friend -”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s not creepy, he just seems…” Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she struggled for words. “He seems, lonely. Just sort of desperate and excited for company, which I thought I could avoid by being out here. I just wanted to be alone, or at the very least I guess with someone I didn't worry about… Well. I just don't do yokels or men, and he seems a pinch of both.”

Dead air hung on the other line, followed by a faint, eerie whispering. 

“Graham?”

The sound of a low laugh, as quiet as blown leaves over cold pavement sounded over the line, and Emma dropped her phone with a start. 

“Are you alright?” came the sudden voice from behind her, and she whirled on her heel. 

"I'd be fine if you made noise when you walked, buddy, and if I could get some damn reception out here." Emma huffed, and the grounds keeper seemed to decide against saying anything, quickly snapping his mouth shut. "Do you know a better place to get service?" 

In the fog and chill breeze of the gravel drive, Emma suddenly felt a deep sense of foreboding and unease. The shadow of Carterhaugh loomed, as if reaching for her, Killian already swallowed by the scrawled shape in the morning sun. He seemed uneasy as well, even unnerved. Emma watched as his jaw muscles worked as if he quite literally chewed on her words before speaking. 

"I could set up a tea service, if you'd like, but I'm afraid you'll find neither a service or reception out here. Nothing but chill." He made a gesture for her to follow him, which she did with a wry smile. He thought he had a sense of humor. Wonderful. 

As he prepared tea from a silver set in one of the many kitchen cabinets, they made attempts at conversation. Killian was also a caretaker for the property, and he asked her how she came about ownership as they sat at the large oak dining table together. The furniture was remarkably well preserved in the majority of the main rooms, much to her delight.

The sunshine through moth eaten curtains had dust motes swirling in the air as her face fell, and she swallowed the bile that rose before she uttered her tight words. 

“My husband passed away.” Killian had winced at that. 

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was -”

“I don't… I don't discuss Neal.” She closed her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths, feeling her skin flame. Even after what felt like an eternity, Neal's shadow still darkened her day. She sipped her tea, trying to cool herself, even with the scalding liquid. 

He hadn't asked any more on the subject, only asking about changes to what affected his work. Emma found it comforting; if he was to stay, at least he would leave well enough alone. 

“I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind. I have a master suite facing the sea on the third level of the east wing, and I know there'll be nothing in town for rent,” he stated. Emma chewed her lip in thought, mapping out his room in relation to her own. The answer struck her, and she groaned with a scrunched face of annoyance. 

“Do you get up early? Probably don't keep a fire lit?” she grumbled, and he looked at her with eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, I'm up as early as possible, and I find I enjoy the chilled sea air. Why?”

“And I bet you have a dove gray comforter.” Emma sighed, head falling into her palm with a wry laugh. “Because of course, just of course -”

“I do, aye -” He blinked and his brows shot up. “Were you..? Did you sleep in my room?” 

“Well, no, but I didn't know it was -”

“I mean, it's fine. I'll choose another, I guess -”

“No. No need to be ridiculous. I… You probably know where the next best preserved bed is?” she asked, and his eyes lit up. 

“Well yes, but you'd be in the same wing, is that alright?”

Emma hesitated, and then nodded. “With you up so early I doubt we'd see much of each other. And I'll be busy inside as you work outside.”

He made a non-committal noise, and stood with a stretch. Emma inhaled sharply; he was well toned and very good looking, but the thought of anyone’s hands on her after Neal had… 

Her stomach churned. 

“Follow me, then,” he said, offering his hand. Emma could feel her lungs tightening. Her expression must have frozen on her face too, because his eyes widened and he lowered his hand. “Or we could do this later, if you -”

Emma stood, and shook her head. “Just got a bit dizzy. Lead the way.”

They made no conversation as he led her up the staircase to the third level, the other suite he mentioned on the far end of the hall whereas his was at the beginning. The large door was imposing but carved with floral inlay, the stain perfectly applied to add to its richness. Both sides were flanked by stained glass in the same twisted vine and flower designs. 

“I almost chose this room. It was for the lady of this house at one time, and should serve you better than me.” Killian produced a key with the same designs swirled around the brass, unlocking it to reveal a sun warmed sitting area the color of blushing peonies. An ornate vanity sat in one corner, while a matching bureau and canopy bed sat before a balcony, from which the sea and his own room visible. Stained glass curved around the doors to what she assumed were the closet and bathroom, and more carved wood and glass made up a truly spectacular fireplace. If Killian’s room was big, this room was truly gigantic. 

Emma was at a loss, the furniture was all beautifully intact except for the bed’s canopy curtains and linens. Beyond that, the fabrics and rugs showed no large evidence of wear, the patterns still bright and soft underfoot. She poked her head in the closet and found it relatively large, possibly a maid's room or changing salon at one time, then turned the handle of the bathroom while Killian watched from the entrance. 

The huge claw foot soaking tub and gold veined marble under her feet could not prepare her for the large stained glass framed window that captured the sea, as if she was sailing away in the tub itself. A double sink, open shower, and large mirror completed the space in luxury. It was exquisite, and left Emma aching for a bubble bath. 

“I'll move your things, if you -”

“No,” she whispered, still in awe, before clearing her throat. “No, that's alright. I'll move everything. I… I don't like people touching my things.”

“At least allow me to give you my spare set of bedding, love, and -”

“I am not your love, alright?” she snapped, and his eyes widened. She took in a steadying breath, chewing her lip to rid herself of the sourness she wanted to throw at him. He seemed mollified, scratching behind his ear. 

“I'm sorry, I -”

“No. I'm sorry. It's been… I have… I don't do people very well.”

“Well, I'll get you the linens and be out of your way, then.” There was resignation in his tone, but Emma could only hug herself as she let her armor build back up around her. 

“Perfect. Thank you.” Her tone was clipped, but she didn't expect the annoyed response, huffed under his breath as he pulled blankets and pillows from a hall closet. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

Emma's tone was colder than ice, her words spoken in frigid staccato. “Excuse me? I must have misheard you.”

“I wasn't expecting the new owner to be all business, is what I said. These corridors are old. If you aren’t careful, these halls will try to trick you. You’ll get used to them, though.” Killian deposited the mountain of linen on her bed, and spread out the fitted sheet. 

“I don't think halls,” she snatched the pillows from the bed, pulling the sheet roughly on the other side, “are capable of trickery. Only people. People are difficult, they need to be watched. You have to keep your eyes on them or they'll do who knows what.” Pulling roughly on the sheet again, she glared with narrowing eyes at Killian, his own eyes glowering under dark lashes. “Especially people who say things under their breath like a petulant, scorned, self absorbed, preening -”

“Well, I would despair if ‘People’ took their eyes off of me. Some might say this attention is in the beholder’s benefit, and I'd say so as well. I'm quite dashing, or so I've heard.” Gripping the comforter tightly, he laid it out and smoothed it down while returning her glare. “So, I suppose we are well matched, since you are an icy, insufferable, stubborn, spoiled -” Reaching for a pillow, his hand grazed her own, and Emma yelped in surprise. 

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her skin, Killian’s insults and attempted arguments drowned out by an increasing electrical whine mixed with her heartbeat thumping. Stumbling away into the bathroom, she turned on the tap, desperately washing her skin where they had touched in the rust colored water, scouring the place their skin had met with her nails instead of the absent soap. 

Killian’s hand found her shoulder and Emma flew at him, pushing him away as she screamed profanities. He stumbled backwards into the tub, watching in fear at her transformation, her rubbed raw hand bleeding as she renewed her focus on the new area he'd touched. Without soap it was pointless, hot water her only real advantage, pouring the scalding water onto her skin. She mumbled to herself, trying to focus against the onset panic.

Emma's thoughts were burning away elsewhere, the fires she could not escape when Neal had locked her away; smoke, embers and ash acrid in both the air and her lungs. 

It took what felt like hours for her to come back to herself, her fingernails bloody and skin blistered from the heat. The gentle chime of the clock in the room indicated it had only been ten minutes to her relief. It was the worst attack she had in ages, the first time in so long she hadn't been able to control herself. The first time in so, so, long that she had fallen back into the flame of those memories, of that pain. 

A soft voice whispered gently to her, taking her off guard, and she looked up to see Killian slowly extricating himself from the bathtub. He raised his hands in supplication, kneeling several feet away from her. She choked out a strangled noise and he shook his head. 

“It's alright, it's OK, lo - er…” He gave a sheepish look, thinking for a moment. He smiled in a sad sort of way after a moment, before continuing, “It's alright. Just tell me how I can help. Maybe a glass of water?” Emma nodded slowly. “Alright, I'll fetch you a bottle.”

At his retreat, Emma let her herself take stock of what had happened, falling back into her times under clinical observation. Mary Margaret had been a stone faced angel, taking in her pain and working a life around it, going as far as releasing care notes when she felt Emma was ready. She had met David, Emma's adoptive brother that way, resulting in a very happy marriage.

“Patient refuses to accept human contact, even using high concentration chemical cleaning agents on skin.”

“Patient has no history of obsessive or compulsory behavior, but violence and destruction of property are noted in their state welfare file.”

“Attempts at getting patient to explain what happened on the night of the incident to victims causes patient to become increasingly distressed when her husband is mentioned. Questions regarding other victims or the causes of death are met with silence. Patient claims no memory of her actions.”

“Patient indicates possibility of further witnesses or victims at scene - hallucinations caused by trauma or psychosis?”

“Repeated attempts at questioning or explaining patient's obsessive actions or fear of touch are met with hostility, while questioning in regards to matrimonial life is indicative of abuse. Patient advocate (M. M.) recommends home based care, with patient's brother.”

“Patient continues to allow touch in sparing amounts among family, friends, and in situations where they are prepared. Therapy with preferred Doctor is continuing as part of a deferred sentence. Patient advocate (M. M.) states that large improvement has been made outside of care facilities. Recommending end of observational treatment.”

Killian placed the water next to her, as the feeling of oxygen in her lungs weighed her down. 

“Thanks.” Emma croaked, voice raspy. Killian sat down in front of her, legs crossed as he watched her drink with shaking hands. 

Scratching behind his ear, he looked sideways across the floor, picking at a chipped piece of tile. “It was nothing. I'm sorry that -”

“Don't be. I just have a thing about touch.” Emma stood briskly, ice back in her unsteady tone at glacial levels. “You couldn't have known, and since you are going to be scarcely around it won't be an issue, as we discussed earlier.”

Killian snorted, and stood as well, rocking on his heels. “I was going to say that I'm sorry it took so long, and I brought you some… other items.” His face changed, haughty to solemn, watching her hands tremble as she shoved them in her pockets. “You're right, we won't be seeing each other often. If you need help with something, or finding your way around the estate, leave me a note under my door. If I need garden supplies, I'll leave a note in the kitchen.” 

He turned, walking towards the bedroom door. After a moment Emma followed tentatively, walking towards the door behind him in silence. She shot a glance at the bed, noticing the bandages, a tube of some ointment, a key ring, and a few pink roses. She stopped in the small salon, watching Killian open her door and give her a strained smile. 

“I'm sorry for touching you, as well.” Emma made a sound of protest, ready to tell him again that he was blameless, but he persisted. “While I couldn't have known, my presence here has never been… convenient. I had hoped that had changed with the new owner. Good day, Miss Swan.”

“Wait -” He looked as surprised as she felt, the words racing past her lips, blurted at the last second. “What is your cell phone number? It'd be easier to get a hold of you that way, if I should need you. Not to say that I will…” Killian stared at her in abrupt confusion, his brows knitting. 

“I don't have a phone. The manor has one, should you need to use it.” There was something off in his tone, but her own cell phone had fought every attempt at service on the property, so this shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. The manor phone, she could work with that. 

“What's the number?” Emma pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up. Killian looked amazed in her peripheral, which didn't surprise her. The town was practically medieval, and this phone was the newest of its brand. Emma scarcely knew how to use it. 

“You have to set it up later, if you want communication by wire. Your device there -”

“It's an Android, I let the kid at the store set it up for me. If you want me to get you one, I can the next time I go to the city. They have a walkie talkie app that I think might work with a wifi connection once I have that set up.” Killian nodded, looking at her blankly. “Have you ever had Wi-Fi in the house before?”

Killian hesitated, his jaw ticking as he bit into his lip in thought. “I wouldn't know, love. I'm afraid that we’re a bit behind the rest of the world here, I don't believe we know what year it is most of the time.”

Emma laughed lightly, and relaxed a little bit more. “Most of us are trying to forget that it's 2019, so I suppose that's fair. I just enjoy Netflix and the occasional game of Words with Friends too much to go without internet.” Killian looked down at his feet, his face unreadable for a moment, fists balled. When he looked back at her and relaxed, Emma caught a glimpse of pure sadness, a mirror of her own pain, before it was carefully pushed behind walls of his own. 

Smiling softly, Killian laughed. “I have no idea what a Netflix is, but you are the Mistress of the estate. I encourage you to do as you wish. If you would like me to have a…” He hesitated again, as if searching for something. “A, er, shell phone, I will gladly oblige if you provide it and give me instruction.”

Emma snorted, and found herself genuinely laughing as Killian’s cheeks turned red. “You're actually funny. Alright. I'll try to get you a ‘shell phone’, old man.” Killian’s eyes darkened, his smile turning almost sour. “Between the two of us, we'll bring some life back into this place.”

He nodded, that same pensive look on his face, almost hidden by his smile. “Yes. Well, taming the estate is not going to be an easy task. I'll help you where I can, should you need me. Good day.” He closed the door slowly, and Emma listened as his footfalls fell away. 

Climbing into her bed, the mattress surprisingly plush under her, she bandaged her hand slowly. The roses he'd laid next to the first aid were beautiful, their strong aromatic scent filling the air already. Picking up one of the roses delicately, she sniffed, the full scent absolutely breathtaking. The throbbing of her skin faded, and all at once Emma felt herself relax. She felt invigorated, but her muscles were loose, and she happily moved her things into her room, making sure to place the roses in a porcelain vase. 

The rest of the day was spent taking pictures and taking full stock of every room in the large estate. It was exhausting and by the time darkness settled Emma had barely scratched the surface of the repairs needed. Neal had left a large sum of money for her, but this was a giant and expensive endeavor. Back in her room, she started a fire in the hearth and tugged on a robe over her pajamas. Opening the door to the balcony and stepping out onto the cold stone, she stared at the waves. 

Never, never in her wildest dreams did she believe that this could be her life. In the moment it was overwhelming, the only silver lining in the thunder cloud that was her marriage to Neal. A true story of a love turned into something poisoned, a once healthy plant that grew into twisted vines, strangling everything in its path. 

His hands tight around her neck, the air in her lungs not enough, she wasn't enough. The other women being led somewhere by the red haired woman with green nails, Ari's and Tam's bracelets heavy on her wrist even as she starts to feel herself go slack. The pressure is too much, black spots dotting the air, and somewhere close, another man hooting like some primate - Brown eyes meet hers, and for a moment he falters, fingers loosening. 

Emma kicks, kicks with all her strength, and when he crashes backwards she screams, screams like her chest is ripping apart just to resonate this noise, this wail of everything he lied about. It is a trick of light, a symptom of lack of oxygen, a freak occurrence spurred by the old home and poor insulation, bad wiring and mice chewed exposed cables. 

Neal looks at her and sighs as Emma can hear the red haired woman and her underling shriek. 

“Thank you,” Neal whispers, reaching for her, but Emma's banshee wail is not over and her mouth is a perfect ‘O’ as the rafters shake, tears stinging her eyes. A Swan song, she thinks, the end of her sanity and her life, the feeling of this cry flowing through her like breathing with every inch of her body. Her skin burns too, but not like theirs. 

He makes it to her on stumbling steps, a vision from a nightmare, her scream unending even as she stares at him in horror. His touch is like a branding iron, his embrace like raw flesh dipped in salt. Neal touches her face as he burns away, ashes to ashes, his hand becoming embers and dust. This is hell fire, and Emma can't stop her scream long enough to beg for this to end. His lips are against her ear and his last words echo as he falls away, falls to her feet, the building crumbling around them. Her scream ends when the ceiling piece hits her skull, and the world too, finally falls into blissful, silent, cool darkness. 

Far off there are sirens, and she can feel the burning when her body is lifted, but for now, Emma prefers the darkness even as Neal's last words occasionally echo through the stillness. 

“I'm so sorry, Ems." 

Emma came back to herself soaking wet, the rain that threatened from the horizon now in full force. It pelted her, cold, salt rain, pulled from the waves and forced from the sky. She was crying, sobbing in silence, but no one is here to see the rain wash away her tears. 

[fatehbaz]

Man-eating plants in early horror fiction and public consciousness - Part 2 - Colonialism and “Victorian eco-Gothic”

Rescuing a victim from a carnivorous plant. An illustration from a reprinting of The Flowering of the Strange Orchid: A Tale of an Orchid Enthusiast by H.G. Wells, originally published 1894.

An excerpt:

In 1889, Londoners gathered excitedly for a unique and distinctly unpleasant experience: the rare specimen of amorphophallus titanum which the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew had acquired almost a decade earlier had finally bloomed, its flower releasing an odour akin to a rotting corpse. This corpse flower, as it is colloquially known, was an import from Sumatra, one more addition to the Kew’s sprawling, global collection of plants made possible thanks to Britain’s far-flung colonial concerns; consequently, the plant’s popular draw stemmed from its exoticism as well as the rarity of the bloom and the peculiarity of its odour. The nauseating stink is meant to attract carrion insects which the plant could then consume, a lure that simulates death in order to bring about death to maintain the plant’s life, a predatory irony Victorians associated, thanks to travelogues and pulp fiction, with the equatorial rain forests as the supposed sites of perpetual, vicious Darwinian competition. Teeming with seeming contradictions—life and death, beauty and revulsion, flowery fragility and carnivorous intent—it was for the Victorians an uncanny plant, a Gothic structure made not of stone or brick but of petals and stems, which Nature had painted in garish hues of green, red, and purple in seeming sharp contrast to its funerary scent and function.

We do not tend to associate the uncanny, or other concepts related to the Gothic, with plant life. If a landscape is Gothic is it usually because of an absence of vegetable vitality, the arthritic branches of leaf-shorn trees and the sickly scrub and stones of the moors. But the nascent discipline of the EcoGothic asks us to call into question our assumptions about where the uncanny can be located by demonstrating how the anthropocentric urge to distinguish ourselves from our environment also leads to our alienation from, and therefore monstrous alterity of, the natural world; an ecophobia that arises from the simultaneous awareness of how absolutely our survival depends on an environment we have continuously abused and consequently fear escaping our control and even seeking its revenge. Building off recent, foundational texts of the EcoGothic,1 Dawn Keetley and Angela Tenga have gathered together another collection of essays—Plant Horror, released 2016—that details the monstrous potential of vegetable life. Keetly sums up the monstrosity of plants for us:

(1) Plants embody an absolute alterity; (2) Plants lurk in our blindspot; (3) Plants menace with their wild, purposeless growth; (4) The human harbors an uncanny constitutive vegetal; (5) Plants will get their revenge; and (6) Plant horror marks an absolute rupture of the known. (v)

Although Plant Horror’s contributors bypass the 19th century, I see perilous plants and other botanical monsters proliferating (yes, I’ll say it: like weeds) in the popular fiction of the fin-de-siècle. And while Gothic monsters can express a multitude of alienations, the particular anxieties evoked by botanical monstrosities at this time were tied to imperialism, and fears of reverse colonization.

Like the corpse flower, perilous plants were closely associated with the tropics in the Victorian imagination. This was a deliberate manufacture: in 1874, the American Edmund Spencer (not to be confused with his more famous, earlier English namesake) presented as fact a fictional explorer’s encounter with an African tribe that offered human sacrifices to a man-eating tree. Several other writers followed suit, fabricating accounts of carnivorous plants capable and willing to devour humans across Africa, Central and South America, and the then-Dutch East Indies. Such plants therefore became part of the imperialist mythos about the bizarre and dangerous recesses of the so-called primitive parts of the world, there to test the mettle of white explorers.

Pulp fiction writers eagerly took up the theme, abandoning the patina of truth. Prolific periodical writer Fred M. White provides an exemplary case in “The Purple Terror” (in the September 1899 issue of The Strand). Set in Cuba, the story revolves around a man-eating tree that uses purple vines like tentacles to ensnare the unsuspecting as its next meal. Although White is not uncritical of the colonial project—his American protagonists demonstrate their greed in desiring the plant’s blooms, and arrogance in considering themselves masters over a land they barely understand—most of his venom is reserved for indigenous targets: the Cuban natives who lead the erstwhile heroes into peril are just as treacherous as the environment, with murder hiding under the innocuous façade of both the plants and people of the colonized territory.

The Gothic teaches us that anything repressed will resurface again, often in violent ways, and so it was for imperialism. An entire genre of imperial gothic literature evolved to deal with the perils of foreign elements invading English bodies and English lands, as the colonizers had themselves inflicted on distant countries. Either out of provocation or opportunism, the once safely remote monsters of the colonized world retrace the explorers’ steps back to the metropole. Such monsters range from Kipling’s heathen curses to Haggard’s sorcerous queens, but also includes potential ecological threats such as H. G. Wells’s “The Empire of the Ants” (1905), in which organized, aggressive ants establish themselves as potential rivals to Britain’s global dominion. The same year, Wells released another, lesser known short story—“The Flowering of the Strange Orchid”—pairing the entomological threat with a botanical one. An orchid collector buys the last samples taken by an explorer who perished in the swamps of South-East Asia, and one in particular attracts the collector’s fascinating (and his housekeeper’s scorn). In the end, the housekeeper barely manages to save our protagonist when the orchid releases a soporific scent and begins to leech his blood with tentacle-like roots. Implicit is a critique of the imperial urge to collect and turn into curiosities flora (to say nothing of animals, people, or artefacts) from the world over—much as was done with the corpse flower—without respect for the inherent dangers to both the life so abused and those exposed to it.

This latter set of fiction also reflected contemporary fears—both genuine and overblown—about the effects of invasive species, like insects and plants, on local English ecology. There are few examples of invasion literature more famous than Wells’s 1895 The War of the Worlds, but in our awe at the Martian machinery of death—their tripods and heat rays—we often forget that their tools of invasion are as much biological as technological. The red weed, the pernicious Martian plant evocative of other vegetative invaders like the kudzu vine, is another botanical monster, one that soon overruns the English countryside, overcoming local flora as easily as the sentient Martians do humanity (though ultimately doomed by the same weakness to terrestrial bacteria). Looking past the anthropocentric bias of the narrator, we realize that humanity is but one of myriad earthly species being replaced by the Martian’s ecological invasion.

But the preeminent Gothic text of the fin-de-siècle is also one that articulates a botanical monster: Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), a book often read as an example of reverse colonization. There are many ways in which the EcoGothic can inform a reading of Dracula. The count’s proximity to animals, both in his various transmutations (into wolves and bats) and by Harker’s characterization of the vampire as a “lizard” (66) has oft been commented on. The count’s transformations, however, are not only animal but atmospheric: he can turn into mist or motes of dust, and summon storms to cloak his passage. But I wish to attend to the way Dracula manifests as vegetable. This may seem like an odd way to describe a vampire noted for speed, strength, and cunning—yet this same creature must, during the day, sleep in a coffin filled with earth from his native Transylvania. He must pot himself every day, in other words, for only buried in soil of particular characteristics can he maintain his strength. And in this state, as the novel’s protagonists discover and rely upon, he is utterly passive and defenseless, vegetating in the pejorative sense of the word, fixed—indeed rooted—in his native soil.

Dracula is his own botanist, insofar as he carefully transplants himself from his own clime to England, having first studied the language and culture to acclimatize himself, but always carrying his native soil with him in order to be at home even in a foreign land. He does not bring the female Transylvanian vampires with him on this journey, but instead seeks to hybridize himself with local English women by feeding on their blood and having them drink of his in turn, a vampiric graft that creates a British vampire crossbreed in the form of Lucy. This New Vampire built off the English New Woman know—thanks to the knowledge of a native Londoner—exactly how to lure to herself (like a Venus fly-trap) the lower-class children who will not be missed. Like the corpse flower, the vampire straddles the line between life and death, simulating the former in order to spread the latter. It is with a stake—a weapon drawn from a horticultural repertoire—that the novels heroes plant Lucy back into her own native ground. The use of the stake is only partially ironic: stakes usually support plants, and Van Helsing’s crew wield them destructively—yet stakes also fix plants in place, and what is most alarming about Dracula as a botanical monster is his uncanny mobility.

-

Excerpted from:

Zoe Chadwick. “Perilous plants, botanical monsters, and (reverse) imperialism in fin-de-siecle literature.” In The Victorianist: BAVS Postgraduates. October 2017.

Part 1: http://fatehbaz.tumblr.com/post/182100690519/man-eating-plants-in-early-horror-fiction-and