#maybe i'll write a full post on it

[findafight]

Thinking about Dorothy, twelve and scared and wanting to go home, walking back to the Emerald city after throwing water on the Wicked Witch of the West. The adrenaline wears off as her and her companions, her friends, set up camp for the night, and it hits her. She's killed a woman.

Again.

And brave little Dorothy Gale tries to hold it together, tries not to worry the wonderful new friends who have supported her throughout her journey in Oz, tries to be brave. But eventually, once Lion and Toto are cuddled up and asleep, Tin Man has taken to staring into the small fire, and Scarecrow stays just inside the circle of light staring up at the stars, Dorothy lets herself cry.

She shifts to hide it, lies down and curls away from the fire, muffles her sniffles in the blanket they've carried for her. All the fear and loneliness, the frustration, the guilt that has built up since she dropped into Oz spilling silently out.

She breathes deep, trying to contain the sobs, until there's a hand on her shoulder, and Scarecrow is there looking at her worriedly. His eyes are buttons but the burlap surrounding them folds and crinkles around them, stitched eyebrows furrowing. She sits up slowly, watching as he tilts his head to the side, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Suddenly, she wraps her arms tightly around Scarecrow's middle, needing the comfort of a hug. (Dorothy is brave, yes, but she is twelve and homesick and guilt ridden.) She burrows her face into his chest, breathes in the familiar scent of straw. Her friend carefully rubs his hands down her back, whispering reassurances that she can't accept.

"oh, Scarecrow! I didn't want to kill her! I never--i never wanted to hurt anyone. I-I just want to go home!"

Scarecrow pauses, stills unnaturally for a moment, before pulling back from her. He looks her face over, button eyes twitching as his stitched mouth pulls into something like a grim frown. It is so unlike what Dorothy has come to expect from her boneless friend that it is mildly unsettling. The only time she recalls him being this serious is perhaps when they saw the Wizard and the man gave them the task to retrieve the Witch's broom.

Her Scarecrow friend is so often happy, carefree in a way that lifts her spirits. It wouldn't do now, would assuge her guilt, and his lack of levity grounds her in an odd way. She knows he had been afraid, or timid, or... Something else about killing the Wicked Witch. But now she's dead and Dorothy killed her, even if it was an accident to save him. She's unsure how long his seriousness will last. Or if it will reassure her.

He looks at her, unblinkingly (for Scarecrows with button eyes don't blink) before glancing over his shoulder towards Tinman tending the fire. He makes to stand, unusually graceful. "Let's go for a little walk, alright, Dot?" He says, almost casually, but there is a tension in his voice. She nods, allowing him to help her (however unsteadily) to her feet and wrap the blanket around her shoulders. They wander a ways away from their campsite, but still within sight of the fire Tin Man resolutely tends to.

Scarecrow loops himself down to lean against a tree and gestures for Dorothy to join him. When she's settled and the blanket is readjusted to let as little of the cooling night air touch her, he begins.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you before all this." He gestures aimlessly. "But there were a lot of moving parts, and my mind is rather slow and tangled these days. Still. you should've known before hand."

"known what?" She can't help but ask. Scarecrow is acting mysterious. Though along their journey he sometimes would seem to know more than he left on, he'd never been avoidant of sharing with her before.

He sighs. "what I am about to tell you, Dorothy Gale, you must swear-" he grasps her hands and holds her gaze. "Swear you will never, ever, tell anyone."

Dorothy swallows. She nods. "I swear. Scarecrow, I swear."

"you must mean it. No-one in Oz can know of any of it."

She looks at Scarecrow, his button eyes meeting her perfectly human ones, and it strikes her that he has never seemed more human. He is obviously not; he has no bones and no organs; he feels no pain, can have his straw strewn about and restuffed and be perfectly fine; he does not need food or water or sleep; and he is, clearly, a scarecrow. But he has always had an air about him, a light in his eyes that leaves it without question that he was alive.

Now, though, with him asking, begging, her to swear she will keep some terrible secret for him; there is desperation in the way his voice trembles, his hands grip hers, his eyes stare her down. With that desperation, he seems fully human.

Dorothy squeezes his gloves hands, nodding. "I won't speak a word of it to anyone. Your secrets will be safe."

"Good. Good." He nods to himself. Shakes his head. "I am not quite sure where to start." He admits.

"the beginning?"

Scarecrow grins at her. Taps his burlap nose with his finger. "Ah, but where is that? When I met you? When I met her? Who's to say?" There is his silliness, sneaking through. It reassured Dorothy that perhaps this isn't some terrible story after all.

"you, I suppose?"

Shrugging, he sighs. "Yes. You're right." He rubs his ill formed jaw with his hand, takes a deep breath, and says with much gravitas, "her name is Elphaba Thropp."

Which doesn't make much sense to Dorothy. "Whose name?"

"The Witch of the West."

"how-"

"Dorothy," Scarecrow says. He rarely interrupts. "You must listen to the end. I am not telling you this to make you feel bad. Actually, hopefully it will ease your mind-" she doesn't know how knowing the name of the woman she killed will ease much of anything for her, but Scarecrow is so rarely serious. "Please listen. And-- and try not to judge me too harshly." She wonders what he might reveal that would make him think she'd judge him after he'd helped her so much. She nods.

He does what could be a swallow. He takes a deep breath, straw shuddering and trembling in him. His hands fiddle with the frayed hem of his shirt. "I know her name, because I know her."

Dorothy cannot hide her gasp. Scarecrow chuckles grimly. "Oh, Dot, it's worse than that." His head tips to the side as he looks at her. "I love her."

She shakes her head, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "But why--"

"I'll explain. I promise." He shrugs. "We met at school." He begins.

He tells her of almost-tramplings and of parties, and of roommates dated. "Glinda and I were never going to be long-term, if not for Elphaba, I suppose."

"Glinda? The good?"

"that's the one."

"oh my. Is it common for Scarecrows and Horses to attend school with Humans then?"

Scarecrow tilts his head again in that odd way of his. "Well, Animal bans restricted unsegregated businesses and schools. Under the Wizard things are very strict. Harsh. I had to make sure Feldspur was well away from the Emerald City a few years ago for his protection."

He sounded very grave, and the mention of the Wizard troubled Dorothy. He was behind Animals being pushed away? It didn't make sense. He was supposed to be wonderful.

"as for Scarecrows, I suppose I... Should have mentioned I... Well, Dot. I haven't always been a scarecrow."

"what?"

He scratches his cheek, shrugs. "I was Human, up until just before I met you"

"how??"

He winces. "I think I should tell it all in order, actually."

So he does. Explains how the Wizard tricked Elphaba, how she defied him, and he named her Wicked. Scarecrow tells her that he looked for Elphaba, that he and Glinda were sick with worry and grief, that they ended up in the Emerald City. How he continued his search.

Dorothy thinks he may never have told anyone this before. Scarecrow has been a steady presence for her during their travels, and now he unleashes secrets from his heart, she realises that he may have been pretending. For her sake.

His story continues mostly smoothly, until after he ran away with Elphaba (which, Dorothy can admit, she finds horribly romantic. Like something out of a fairy tale. It also causes acidic guilt to burn at her insides) and Elphaba had a vision of Dorothy coming to Oz and her sister's death. He trips and stumbles over their confrontation in Munchkinland, over him getting caught in Elphaba's place.

"I do not regret it." He says, steadily. And then avoids telling her anything that happened after except that they injured him, and he felt Elphaba's magic cover him. Then he met Dorothy.

She thinks the story finished, and is hurt and confused by why he would tell her all this. He loved the Witch, who was not so wicked, and Dorothy killed her. Why is he so kind, so gentle. He seems perfectly happy, now that all is in the open, despite that his love is dead. It makes no sense.

"I wrote to her, after we saw the wizard. Pure luck Chistery was able to get it to her."

He leans in, then, smiling. "Dot. Remember, I told you all this to ease your mind." He gives her hand a squeeze. "The most important thing you should know, from all of this. Is that Elphaba is a regular human woman that happens to have green skin." He says it significantly. Meaningfully.

It still confuses Dorothy.

He smiles, kindly, and asks "do you melt in the rain?"

Dorothy shakes her head.

"do you melt swimming in a pond?"

Another shake.

"do you cry in pain when you bathe?"

"no? It's just--" it hits her, then, what scarecrow is saying. She gasps. "It's just water." It comes out awed.

He nods. "Indeed."

"oh! It was a-a trick!"

His voice is sadder, now. "a cruel one, perhaps. But necessary."

"why?"

He tilts his head, hums. "For all the reasons I told you the story for. The Wizard sent us to kill her, and I love her, so I could not let it happen. If people know she's alive, she would be in danger. This way, we are free."

Dorothy can see it. See why Scarecrow told her all about their past. She had to know he loved her, had to know why he loved her, to understand why they did it, to accept it.

"I see. When will you meet her again?"

He smiles, big and full and bright. "As soon as I see you safely home, I shall meet her, and we shall leave Oz as well."

The thought swells Dorothy's heart. He sounds happy, her Scarecrow, self assured and unworried. He leaves his home to live with his love. It is tragically romantic.

She hugs him, smiling for the first time since they entered that castle. "thank you for telling me, Scarecrow."

He wraps his arms around her, squeezes, and says. "Fiyero."

She hums a question, making him chuckle.

"my name. It's Fiyero."

Dorothy pulls away, and continues to smile. "It has been very nice getting to know you, Fiyero."

"same to you, Dorothy."

She leans back in to hug him more thoroughly.

Tomorrow they will again set off to the tell the wizard of the Witch's death, but now it is enough for her to know that Elphaba lives.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[white-hole-station]

Everybody warns you about the Outer Wilds spoilers, but nobody warns you about the "I'm not going to make a Hearthian OC" to "I have eight pages of alternate endings written out for my hatchling" pipeline

[renirae]

Tim Drake and stalking as a love language

I have this idea that Tim has been stalking people as a love language actually years before he ever discovered Robin's identity.

It started when he was six and his parents were visiting. Tim was already being taken care of by a live-in nanny, so he rarely saw his parents - even while in Gotham, they were still usually out of the house, going to galas and dining with important businessmen.

However, one night they actually did stay home, and Tim was so excited to finally spend a day with them before they flew out the next day!! ...Until he learned they were only home because they were having a dinner party.

Now, it was clear that Tim wasn't a part of the guest list; but Janet made the mistake of not telling Tim to go to his room. Instead, she specifically said "Timothy, I don't want to see you for the rest of the night".

Tim, of course, realized the loophole; they weren't allowed to see him, but he could watch them. And as long as he wasn't caught, he'd be following his parents' rules AND spending time with them before they left!

So before the dinner, he found somewhere to hide in the dining room, and he watched his parents the entire night. And it was great! They even talked about him to some of their guests, called him a "smart and independent young man". They'd never said that to Tim's face, but he glowed with pride from the compliment for days after. His strategy had worked perfectly.

For the next few visits he did the same thing. Every time his parents were home but didn't want to see him, he simply watched them instead. It was basically spending time together!

Eventually though, Tim grew older, and visitors to the mansion started to ask why their son was never a part of the dinners. But rather than adding Tim to the guest list, his parents simply stopped ever hosting events.

Tim at this point had already started stalking Batman and Robin, so he had a genius idea; he could follow his parents around Gotham to watch them too!

So yeah, this continued until Janet's death; whenever his parents came to Gotham and went to go, for example, meet a colleague in a restaurant, Tim would find a way to sneak in or otherwise watch over them. Obviously by this age he was now aware just how... not-normal this behaviour was, but it was also basically the only time he ever saw his parents interacting with each other without Tim around. And again, they even sometimes complimented him! He would never have known that if he hadn't kept watching them! So... yeah, no matter how creepy he knew it was, he couldn't convince himself to stop.

Of course, the canon stalking of Batman and Robin continued as well - after Robin switched hands, Tim even sometimes went to Bludhaven to stalk Nightwing around too, although those trips were much more few and far between given the necessary added amount of planning and travel.

That, of course, continued until Jason's death... and then Tim's mother and later his father died too, so you'd think Tim would have nobody else to stalk, right?

...Well, old habits die hard.

Even after getting friends and family, Tim couldn't quite stop himself from stalking them. Perhaps it was because his parents always got annoyed when Tim tried to spend time with them, so he grew paranoid that his new friends and family were the same way - if he was too clingy, they would stop wanting to spend time with him. So if he wanted to see a certain family member but he'd spent time with them too recently, he ended up just hiding and watching them instead. Just like with his parents, he could spend time around them without them getting annoyed at him. It was a win-win!

(Of course, he now lived with a bunch of other stalkers (even if most of them did it for vigilantism reasons and not to their actual friends and family like Tim did), so this couldn't last forever. I imagine they slowly caught on, one by one, and once the entire family was aware they all worked together to stage an intervention.

And since I refuse to write unhappy endings - during the intervention, it takes some prodding, but Tim finally opens up. He tells them about his parents, and admits he stalks people because he's worried he'll be seen as clingy like they did. And after many many reassurances that his parents were wrong and everyone loves him the way he is, they all hug him and have a movie night or something and it's happily ever after :))

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[wolfofcelestia]

Holding Pattern

Summary: Caleb finds out about MC and Zayne. He doesn't take it well. Ships: Unrequited Caleb x MC, background Zayne x MC Warnings: Angst, suicidal ideation, general mental instability, yandere Caleb, bad ending Word Count: 1040 AO3

Caleb held on to her hands tightly, running a thumb over the silver ring on her finger. His eyes looked almost lost and distant, his voice straining under the reality he was forced to accept.

"He always had a thing for you, you know?" The words cut through him like a rusty blade being dragged through his chest, his own hand twisting it deeper into his heart. "I never thought you'd end up with him." He never thought he'd lose her to him.

"He was there for me when you weren't."

He flinched, gripping her hands even tighter, unaware of the pain he was now causing her. Her accusation echoed in his mind louder and louder, drowning out her pleas for him to let go of her. It took a swift kick to his shins for him to return to this world where she no longer stayed by his side, no longer called to him for help, a world where she was no longer his.

His grip loosened but his thumb remained on her ring. It froze her. Forbade her to slip her hand out of his grasp lest she lose the symbol of her union with Zayne.

A heartless chuckle bubbled up in Caleb's throat at the sight of such conflict in her eyes, the way her hand trembled in his, like a little bunny caught in a trap. He fed her, protected her, did everything for her, but still... 'He was there for me when you weren't'.

"He even put a snowflake on it. How romantic."

Condescension, disgust, spite, jealousy, hatred all collided together in a confusing hurricane inside him. There was nowhere for him to go. She was always his home, his destination. But now, he was stuck, circling in the turbulent air with no fuel left, all runways closed, and no help from the control tower.

He may as well push the nose down into a death spiral.

"Let go of me, Caleb!"

He stared into her eyes. The fire burning in his direction felt cold. It wasn't the warmth he felt when she would yell at him for taking the last donut or holding her teddy bear out of her reach. It was the same cold gaze that his enemies looked at him with — right before he put a bullet into their heads.

He was starting to realize that he had lost her. The numbness in his body was starting to spread from his heart, to his legs, to the tips of his fingers.

He reached out with his left hand, knuckles lightly brushing against her cheek. He looked her over as if she were a broken doll and he was trying to figure out how to fix her.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, cupping the snowflake earrings hanging from her lobes.

He could just rip them off.

It was as if she could read his mind. Her hand flew to his wrist but she was unable to push him away, his evol making her arm feel several hundred pounds heavier.

She was glaring at him with those eyes again, but he simply let out a huff of laughter in response. There she was, still somewhere deep inside her — The girl who was so in tune with him that she almost knew what he was thinking.

Do you know what I'm thinking right now?

The challenge in his eyes sent her into fight or flight mode. She struggled against him, trying to shove him away. The scuffle was quickly over, though, when she pulled out her gun and fired.

Everything froze.

The ear-piercing bang of the gun still echoed through her apartment.

The two of them were at a standstill, wide eyes locked on each other, the bullet hovering in the air between them.

She actually pulled her gun on him.

Pointed her gun at him and pulled the trigger.

Did she hate him that much?

The bullet fell to the floor with a sharp ting, signaling the severance of their connection like a death knell.

It was her turn to leave him this time.

He shook his head in disbelief.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no! This can't be happening.

They were always going to be together. Their history, their shared trauma, everything they had been through together... Did all of that mean nothing to her?

No.

They didn't.

Because she doesn't remember.

Their shared pain was his to bear alone.

He used to be the only one who was there for her when no one else was. But he had failed her in that way, the only way that mattered, when he stepped into the flames and drove her to seek the cold for comfort.

His evol sent her gun flying across the room and it landed with another bang. The accidental discharge fired a bullet in his direction, but he didn't stop it this time. This was his punishment.

"Ngh...!"

The bullet pierced into his side but he didn't let go of her.

"Caleb, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Would he take a bullet for you?" He countered, his voice rough with pain. "Would he throw his life away to protect you?"

His dares only angered her further, digging her nails into his wrists as she fought him off.

"I never asked you to do any of that! What the hell is wrong with y—"

She was cut off by a knock on her door. Xavier's voice came from the other side asking what was wrong. At that moment, the entire apartment shifted. The air grew hazy and disorientating. All her organs felt like they were forced out of their original positions, bile crawling up her throat. Her knees buckled under the weight of her own body. Even her lungs struggled to expand and take in another breath.

Her vision began to blur, darkness taking over her. Before she fully lost consciousness, she felt his fingers delicately stroke her hand, tracing around her ring. The silver ring, adorned with a snowflake and an everlasting pleasant chill that soothed her and always reminded her of Zayne's love for her, slowly slipped off her finger.

"It's okay. You'll always be okay with me. I won't let anything happen to you."

[sunshades]

cleaned up everyrine's sprite and made some cathys 🕊💜...

+ bonus because i like playing with dolls

[vynxwave]

[A crumb of ES MegaSound angst writing]

Never in all of Soundwave’s functioning had he envisaged that a wedge could be any other shape, yet this was his reality: the literal life-force of their true home, manifested in the shape of a cube, had divided them. Did all that time standing behind him, carrying out his word and will, now amount to nothing? All those cycles spent by his side had meant everything to him, but what remained of Megatron now betrayed all that he once proudly stood for. 

The thought of him never failed to make his fuel lines boil, and by Primus did he fume ceaselessly no matter how much Ravage wove around his legs or laid in his arms attempting to soothe him. Never had he been wounded so deeply by a bot whose betrayal was much worse than unthinkable — utterly unfathomable! How could he contend with the fact the bot who had embodied the Cause now spat in every proud Decepticon’s face? It insulted him greatly! By no means was he unfamiliar with rage, but its newfound unbridledness had woven into his very spark. 

[spottedenchants]

Stay Here Beside Me - Chapter 4: We Choose Each Other

M, M/M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chapter 4/4

Relationship: Essek ~ Caleb

Chapter Specific Tags: Demi Essek, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Pillow Talk, Comparing Cultures

Chapter Word Count: 9.8k

Chapter Summary:

Caleb, evidently not napping, nudges at Essek alongside a flank’s caress.

“Essek.”

“Caleb Widogast.”

“I have, a question.”

Ah, so the interrogation game begins.

-

AKA The wizards play word games as they wind down for a nap

Read on AO3

[rudnitskaia]

White Chrysanths for the Swallow

Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.

But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.

In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.

It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…

“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”

The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.

“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.

The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.

“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.

Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.

“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”

Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.

“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”

“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”

“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”

“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”

“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”

“Who?”

“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”

“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”

Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.

His silence was more frightening.

Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.

But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[serpentface]

Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.

[redladydeath]

It makes sense since it skews so young, but the Hazbin fandom really needs to learn the difference between "bad writing" and "a plot point I don't like"

[cracklinhaze]

warning: me nerding out about grammar ahead.....

okay okay i'm saying this with deep love and obvious respect for the creative team behind thisisnotawebsite.com because, shit, man solving those codes was my FAVORITE part of the summer. I love it so so much.

every time i go back to the platinumpaz section with the pacifica narrative, i itch to fix the grammar and prose convention mistakes. they're so quick to fix just gimme five minutes with it.

using the wrong versions of "whose" and who's"

correct version #1: "That know-it-all sweat stain Dipper, whose giant head was always butting against hers"

correct version #2: "Anyone who's not angry is an idiot."

the sentence above uses "two" instead of "to."

correct version: "On the mirror, words slowly started to write themselves..."

wrong capitalization of The Shack -> referring to a proper noun, should be capitalized.

correct version: "She looked at a napkin where Dipper had written The Shack's phone number in case killing the ghost..."

wrong dash. there are three common dashes: em dash, en dash, and hyphen. this looks like the hyphen. it should be an em dash.

correct version: "It had been a rough summer for Pacifica—first, she came alarmingly close to losing a Party Crown..."

missing apostrophe to designate possession in the first sentence.

correct version: Pacifica started sobbing and suddenly, she was a little girl again, hiding behind the vine-covered tombstones in the graveyard behind the Manor after one of her parents' fights."

numbers are typically spelled out in prose! and wrong dash again. AND missing apostrophe. and wrong capitalization!

correct version: After everything she did for her parents—get up at five for fencing lessons, beauty pageants, fox-hunting, butler-hunting, cleaning up the black feathers after Dad's weird "grown-up masquerade parties"—THIS is how they repay her?

these aren't even all of them.

ANYWAY i really really love this story. it adds SO much pacifica lore that i adore. probably some of my favorite companion content we got with the website. and clearly, the team had way more important things to worry about with, yknow, making an actual BOOK.

I REPEAT: NO HATE AT ALL TO THE CREATIVES BEHIND THIS PROJECT. THIS IS ME BEING A NERD ABOUT GRAMMAR THAT'S ALL I SWEAR.

[spinnysocks]

trick or theat :)

my first trick or treater! :D have this lil snippet! for a bit of context: this is an AU where the outlanders are taken and trapped by poachers, nduli is injured because he got shot, and the outlanders are still learning to be nice and trust one another. just some wholesome stuff after they escaped and on their journey back to the outlands :]

Nduli stirred awake as something rolled into his body. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to see a coconut, then raised his head to see where it had come from. For a second, he thought he could see glimpses of surprise and relief in the eyes of the vultures and jackals staring back at him.

“What are you doing?” The crocodile asked, noticing there were a few of the brown balls surrounding them.

Goigoi padded over, putting his paw on the coconut and rolling it back. “Sorry, didn't mean to wake ya.”

“We're... playing a game.” Mzingo answered, seeming reluctant to admit such a thing.

“It's to help Mzingo and I stretch our wings!” Mwoga added, showing off with a wide flap that sent a coconut rolling a few metres.

Nduli stood up, instantly noticing he found it easier to stand now that his injury wasn't hurting as bad as before. “Can I play?”

“Sure, but I warn ya - Goigoi doesn't play easy.” Reirei smirked, guiding the croc over to their makeshift play area. “Here's how you play: two start in the middle to try to get hold of the coconut first. Your packmate - or, uh, flockmate - helps you defend or attack in order to get the ball into their web. That wins you a point.”

Goigoi chuckled, tail wagging excitedly. “And whoever gets the most points gets first dibs on dinner! It's a tie right now, but the hyenas should be back soon. It's the final round!”

“They're letting a game decide who gets to eat their kill? Wouldn't they just hunt it for themselves?” Nduli asked, surprised.

“They ate earlier, and Janja said, well - dared that Mzingo and Mwoga wouldn't be able to win. And they won't!” Goigoi snickered.

Nduli thought for a second before smiling and padding over to join the vultures' side of the field. “If you say so!”

The five animals got into position; Reirei and Goigoi tensed their shoulders in anticipation, though the grins on their faces showed they were all fun-and-games. Mzingo and Mwoga opened their wings, ready to hop forward in the attack. At Reirei's word, all five leaped forward.

Goigoi got to the ball first and batted it with his paws. Nduli, using his larger and longer body, curved under Goigoi to reach it. He quickly coiled back his tail before slamming it into the coconut, sending it flying where it landed directly into the jackals’ web.

“WHAT?!” Goigoi yelled in despair. Reirei admitted defeat quickly, rolling her eyes at her mate and nuzzling against him.

“YES! Birds and reptile win!” Mwoga cheered.

“I gotta say - that was pretty cool!” Janja's voice came from a ridge above them. He climbed down the slope to join them, his clan in tow.

Cheezi nodded enthusiastically. “Hey, we should get the others to play too! Then we can all play and bet on each others' food!”

“Yeah! Maybe Tamka and Kiburi should join in!” Cheezi agreed.

“There’s no way that-”

“Play what?” Kiburi's voice interrupted the scene as he and Tamka stepped into the clearing.

Reirei put on a smug grin. “Nduli got the ball into the web and now he gets to eat what the hyenas caught. So, I guess crocodiles can play games.” She mocked his previous words.

Kiburi sighed and turned to Nduli, about to scold him, but the youngest croc's face was full of such joy that he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Beside him, Tamka's eyes widened. “Does that mean we get to eat too?”

Mzingo rolled his eyes. "No, since your bellies are full of fish. We vultures, plus the goal scorer, are getting premium feeding for our efforts.”

Janja huffed. “Don't forget we're the ones who got yous the food.” He motioned to himself and his clan.

“And we're you're humble entertainment!.. Thank you, Janja.”

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

My favorite Mortal Leviathans pairing depends on the day (since they are all my babies and I love them all dearly even though or maybe because most of them are absolute dumpster fires) but I will say there is a real je ne sais quoi to [redacted]/[redacted] because one half is just full of pure incandescent rage at the other's existence and is vibrating with fury over their deep and vicious rivalry and the other half is like: