#not sure if I should make Joe a human or a monster…

[knightinink]

Pacifist route Pip!

pacipip…

[jooba]

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too. 

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?” 

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing. 

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?” 

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details. 

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest? 

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded. 

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text. 

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair. 

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made. 

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe. 

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter. 

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!” 

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are. 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare. 

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased. 

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. 

.

.

.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity. 

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch. 

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head. 

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.” 

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed. 

“Oh, okay,” you mumble. 

[elf-kid2]

Modern Witchers

So this contractor drives into this tiny town, way out in the sticks, in the kind of beat-up white van used by many tradesman, and allegedly favored by murderous kidnappers.

He's got white hair that you're not sure is bleached or not, strange eyes short manners. Maybe (probably) he kinda gives you the creeps. White van, stranger-danger, big guy with muscles, and all. Bad vibes.

But you've got a problem, no denying: there's SOMETHING in those woods that doesn't belong there, and recently, when the local boys went to DO something about it... that SOMETHING went from killing livestock, to killing people to. And you know, once those types of creatures get a taste for human blood... best to deal with it sooner, rather than later. Hence, the out-of-town contractor.

Witchers specialize in hunting monsters, after all.

Better to put together a fundraiser to pay the (frankly, outrageous) fees now, then to have to pay all that later, plus the surcharge for beasts that've killed multiple people, plus pulling together the funds for more funerals.

A stitch in time save nine, as the saying goes.

He's got a musician hitchhiking with him, which you weren't expecting. Some hapless hitchhiker with a dufflebag over his shoulder, and a guitar on his back, who got lost on the way to Vegas, or Nashville, or wherever it is starry-eyed musicians go to Make It Big, these days.

Auntie said that any hitchhiker with sense'd be better off walking down a lonely road, instead of getting into a van like that, driven by a man like that. But I guess it takes all kinds of kinds, and that musician hadn't been murdered yet, so make of that what you will.

Anyhow, the musician started busking in the farmer's market-- some decent covers, a few original songs, and some kind of surprisingly catchy jingle for the contractor who'd given him a lift into town. It was pretty good; live music is always a treat when you can get it, and it'd been a while since the last Bluegrass Festival.

He knew how to charm people, work the crowd, how to ask for "donations to the fine arts" without being irritating about it. People dropped cash, and pennies, and quarters, into his open guitar case, at any rate.

I reckon he scraped together at least enough for lunch, form himself'n his friend. Witchers are surly and stingy as anything, y'know, so I wondered why he wasn't covering the meal, with how much he'd charged for slaying the monster...

...But I overheard mention of how he'd had to get that van fixed up at Joe's Auto-Mechanics, over by the old factory in the valley-- and everyone knows that Joe's Auto'll charge three times what the repairs are worth, with parts that cost ten times as much as they oughtta. Lord knows, those scammers'd be out of business, if there were any better options within 50 miles of their shop!

And that is why if you think your truck's getting ready to break down, you should try an' make sure it breaks down closer to home. And also why I figure it makes sense that even a Witcher'd be short on cash, after dealing with 'em.

Anyway, the Witcher spoke with the Sheriff, and he went out monster-hunting that night.

Meanwhile, that hitchhiking musician was playing at the local bar, and let me tell you-- he was pretty damn good! Played a few drinking-songs, and the kind of songs you can't play in front of the kiddos at Farmer's Market, played some catchy tunes that had people dancing and clapping along...!

I particularly enjoyed the murder-ballad about the woman who turned into a vengeful fire-monster when she found out her man was messing around with other women. Very clever wordplay, "flames of desire lighting up your funeral pyre!" Good stuff.

Then the Witcher came in-- fresh from the contract, and half-covered in mud and blood! Barkeep wouldn't even let him sit down until he'd hosed off the worst of it, out back!

Musician-- Jaskier, he called himself-- raised a toast to a successful hunt, and another to monster-hunters who let loving families sleep safely, and rowdy drunks stumble home un-eaten, and soon enough somebody was buying that Witcher a drink, and the barkeep gave him a plate of food on the house, and it was good times all around!

Beats toasting newly-dead friends, and drinking to forget the monsters at the door, any day.

The thing is, this is a small town. Not a lot of people come visit, and if they do, they're generally staying with family. Which is to say, there aren't any motels around here.

Now, that contractor, that Witcher, he'd asked around, beforehand, about what was available, in terms of overnight accomodations-- which, let's be honest, isn't much around here. Come morning, I saw that beat-up van parked outside the Rosebud Bed & Breakfast.

Now Rosebud's is a nice place, a respectable establishment, but we all know they've had some trouble since that big storm last month, when a tree smashed through the roof! Las I checked, that Bed & Breakfast only had the one bed fit for guests to sleep in!

Might've been a rather one-sided bidding war, or a tight fit, with two out-of-towners vying for a roof overhead, that night. But that's none of my business.

Jaskier the musician left town with the Witcher-- Geralt Rivera, I think the name was-- same as he came in. Well, makes sense that he wouldn't want to stay long enough to put down roots, a young musician on a mission to see the world and/or become rich and famous.

The Witcher, Geralt, did good work with the monster, too. I guess that's why they're the experts... Some folks are talking about having what's left of the beasty taxidermy'd, did you know? Might make a decent tourist attraction, or a decoration for Town Hall, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, all that's to say... don't let anybody tell you there's not still a need for Witchers, in the modern day.

[honeyhive65]

LIST OF MONSTERS/CREATURES FOR PUNCH OUT

Someone said I should post the list. I know it was one person but I wanna do it. I’ll also make concepts for their contender and TD matches (I only have joes which I’ll probably put here)

MINOR CIRCUIT

Glass Joe- originally was the only other human. Got turned into a vampire after trying to help someone near an alleyway. Woke up in the dumpster and still trying to adapt. Unfortunately never told his doctor about his predicament (he has woken up in the morgue multiple times).

Von Kaiser- a monster similar to Frankenstein monster. Some scientists wanted to create a boxer using the body parts of some of the best boxers they knew. Unfortunately the product did not meet their expectations and is sitting comfortably down in the minor circuit.

Disco Kid- a friendly zombie who recently rose from its grave. No memory of his life but recently rediscovered boxing, disco, and Micheal Jackson. Managed to be so inspired by thriller he likes to break it down right there in the ring. He’s a bit stiff but he’s still got that spirit in him.

King Hippo- nobody really knows why he came from the sea to land JUST to box. Maybe someone threw an old poster into the ocean and made its way to him. This sea beast may not speak any human language but he sure knows how to throw a punch. Stole clothes from a drowned sailor however the pants are a bit loose even on him.

MAJOR CIRCUIT

Piston Hondo- some people mistake this spirit for a yokai, however he’s just a regular looking ghost. In his life he was an excellent boxer. Most knew his training methods were extreme but nobody ever thought that he’d take “train til you drop dead” a little too seriously. Still he manages to haunt the WVBA determined to keep boxing.

Bear Hugger- he may seem like a human at first but there’s always that one day most people avoid taking a match with him. From evening to morning on a full moon is when his schedule is almost always free. Most people don’t want to get clawed by a werewolf but there have been a few who tried…let’s just say the results in the hospital weren’t pretty. (NOTE: despite the species rivalry, he’s actually pretty good friends with Joe. Being someone who was a human himself he tries his best to give as many tips as he can to adapt)

Great Tiger- a genie who tricked its master into freeing him, tiger now spends his freedom here in the WVBA. He never gives a straight answer for why he wanted to spend his free time here of all places but hey he’s happy at least. Enjoys human opponents the most since they’re the most easy to mess with.

Don Flamenco- did he come from outer space? Was he given a little too much fertilizer? Or perhaps he is just a nymph who lied about his origin. Don was a rose who somehow gained sentience and has taken a more humanoid form. The best way to find out how to be more human to him? Well boxing of course! This plant somehow even got himself a girlfriend but who could resist the passion of a rose?…he may be carnivorous though so watch your back.

WORLD CIRCUIT

Aran Ryan- with Joe now being a vampire, Aran has taken the place as the only human contender in the WVBA…at least before Mac joined. Despite this he seems just as freaky as the others. His superstition keeps him from bonding with the other boxers and maybe even some humans that occasionally join. He gets a little…paranoid.

Soda Popinski- Seeing an advertisement on the WVBA, this abominable snowman quickly left home to check it out. Coming out from his home, he quickly discovered his love for boxing and sugary sodas. It’s however too hot for him to look presentable so all he wears most times is a speedo.

Bald Bull- A Minotaur who’s been at the WVBA for what seems to be forever…at least to most people here. Some don’t even know when he joined and others never bothered to ask. Only exception is doc but he never seems to want to talk about it. He tends to enjoy time alone so best not to bother him or else you might find a horn in your chest.

Super Macho Man- Most people have to avoid being in the front of him and sometimes the sides due to one of his so called signature moves. Macho is a trans gorgon who thought that going into a sport involving punching one’s face was a good idea. You really couldn’t afford his sunglasses although best not to break them. You could end up cold as stone if you do. Where do you think all those decorative statues came from?

Sandman- not much is known about his species but he claims to be something called a dreamcatcher. A creature who can manifest dreams into reality. Nobody knew about it before he came along but what does matter is he seems friendly enough and has even taken a liking to that Gorgon just below his rank (SURPRISE SUPERSAND RAAAAAAH sorry. Also credits to @wvbaandtheboys for making the species/creature I used)

Okay that’s all also I’ll probably also make tempered glass for this. Why? Cause I can and I like the ship so I have to feed myself somehow. Also here’s the concept for joes contender and TD.

Contender- Mac got lucky and doc managed to talk Joe into a day match. A good beginning for someone’s career for Joe is a bit sluggish and looking like he’s on the verge of passing out. He may not burn up in the sun but it sure does exhaust him. Constantly drinking a mysteriously red substance during intermission.

Title defense- His poor unassuming doctor can’t understand how Joe keeps coming back from the dead. His vitals are all off but Joe insists it’s just a cold. His doctor decided to put him on a different diet to help him be healthier and maybe put some weight on those bones of his…unfortunately the doctor gave Joe a not so vampire friendly diet and Joe as slowly gone in a more crazed state from it. For the safety of the other boxers, the WVBA graciously gave Joe a makeshift muzzle from a helmet and something attached. He’s faster and more unpredictable in this state and will try and lunge at opponents to get something in his starving state. Not even the sun can stop him from getting a meal but hey the helmet protects his head at least! Just…try not too hit it too hard or that piece covering his mouth might detach.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

So I was wondering if you could do like a Joel miller fanfic where reader ends up like el and is infected but not? And the reason this happened is bc Joel and reader were dating post outbreak but like during the outbreak Joel thought it be better if reader went with Tommy and all that jazz but how Joel and Eli find out is reader asks el how long she been infected and she says how ever long and reader kinda grins and say something along the lines of ‘damn a few months? Lucky try being infected for 2 years’

I as always switched thingies around but hey it's still along the lines. 😌🤍

You had been watching the newcomers for some time. It was natural that the town was slightly uneasy, especially since it had been quite a while since anyone new had arrived in Jackson. Naturally, people were scared of infection spreading or some unnecessary fighting breaking out. New people also meant that dynamics in work groups would have to change. And most weren't too eager to welcome new people for that reason alone.

Yet staying away got harder once you noticed how the kids had practicality isolated Ellie from their afternoon activities. She would always sit on her own, playing with her fingers, waiting for the man who she came here with to come by so she could run off. "You fancy a sandwich", the girl quickly turned your way, shaking her head. "I think you should eat it, I didn't see you eating anything today", you tried to encourage her by unwrapping the paper rapper from around the sandwich. "It's okay, dad made me breakfast", so dad, you thought to yourself, "Still think you should eat this. I'm known for making the best sandwiches here". A slight smile tugged on her lips as she took the sandwich away from your hands, thanking you quickly.

You two started to form a bond in the following weeks. You made sure that she was more involved with other kids, always standing by so she wouldn't feel all alone and Ellie had started to warm up to you to the point where even after all the kids have gone home, she would linger by your side as you two talked. She was a talkative kid and gosh did she have an option about everything. But you loved that about her, that still not crushed hope about the world.

You also met Joel. He had come looking for her when she hadn't returned home on time and found you two sitting by the strawberry patch laughing. Joel stopped in his track instantly. Sure, he had seen Ellie smiling, and had heard her laugh but this seemed a lot more wholehearted. He always feared that one thing he couldn't give Ellie was a mother figure. Yes, he could be the protector, he could keep her safe, teach her a thing or two, love her the best that he could but... Every girl needed a mother.

"Joel, come by, the strawberries are so ripe", Ellie shouted at him, waving her hand happily. The moment he found you smiling at him, Joel could swear his heart nearly burst. He didn't remember the last time someone looked at him like that. So he inched closer, looking over Ellie quickly, making sure she wasn't harmed in no way before he sat down beside her. "Joel Miller", the male held out a hand to you. You let out a light laugh, "Oh, I'm aware, heard quite a lot about you", Joe instantly turned to Ellie who was happily smirking. No, he didn't want to know what that little monster had told you. "Y/N Y/L/N, happy to finally properly meet you", you shook his hand, before encouraging him to eat.

So now Joel made sure to always stop by to pick Ellie up. While it truly was just an excuse to see you. Soon most of your evenings were spent at their place as you taught them some easy recipes to cook. Because all the two of them knew was how to warm up canned food and with all the fresh produce it was a shame to only eat canned ravioli.

"So... are you two coming to the gathering tomorrow?", you three sat around the table eating. Jackson always had these town gatherings. Lots of baked goods, warm drinks, music, lights, and dancing. A way to keep humanity going in a way. But also a chance to form stronger bonds, and ensure that everyone was well and taken care of. "Joel hates things like that", Ellie said bluntly, earning a light kick from Joel from under the table. "Not true, we were coming", he said firmly, "Didn't you just yesterday...", "Eat the vegetables, kid", Joel said firmly, "Are you coming?". You nodded your head, "Responsible for one of the stands actually. Need to build it still, but my hammering skills...", you trailed off, laughing slightly. "I can do it for you, tell me what you need. I'll build it", Joel insisted. Ellie looked up at him curiously, the eager side of him when it came to you making her rather suspicious. And well making it obvious that the old man liked you. "Oh I wouldn't want to bother...", "Nonsense, I would be happy to help and Ellie can also help, right?", Joel shot the girl beside him a look and she quickly turned to you nodding, "Just not promising that I won't eat most of it". You let out a laugh that the two of them joined instantly. The warm feeling builds up in your chest.

Joel was at your door early in the morning the next day, starting on building the stand while you and Ellie twirled around the kitchen. It was the closest Ellie and Joel had been to normality since the outbreak. The closest they had felt to home. And watching you gently kissing the side of Ellie's head while she poured flour into the bowl, making Joel's heart beat just a little bit faster. A happy smile spread on his face.

And the day truly had been so much fun. Joel wasn't in the front lines of it all, choosing to stand more to the side as he watched over the two of you. Handing out slices of pies and smiling at people walking by. All so calm and wholesome until Ellie reaches up for the upper box that held the rest of the baked goods you two made. Her sleeve moved down her arm, revealing the bite mark on her skin.

A shriek echoed through the square. People instantly started to back away. Fingers pointed at Ellie, "Infected", someone shouted. Some of the guards rushed over with the guns. You moved closer to Ellie, pushing her behind you, and her trembling hands reached out to hold onto you. "Move to the side, Y/N, we need to shoot her", Ben the morning guard said coldly, motioning with his gun for you to stand to the side. You saw Joel walking closer to you two, a gun in his own hands, aimed at the grounds. "Lower the guns, all of you", you said firmly, glancing between the males, "Lower them before someone gets hurt".

You felt Ellie pressing her head against your back, you didn't even have to look at her to know that she was probably crying. "Think about it, they have been here for months. The site is healed. If she was to turn she would have already", you said calmly. The last thing you needed was for the mass panic to break out. You caught Tommy's eyes, the knowing look there didn't seem to soothe you. In a way, it seemed more like a silent plea to not do it.

"I don't want to shoot you too, Y/N", Ben said. Joel instantly stepped closer to you, face drenched in rage. And you knew that if he truly wanted to, he could kill them all in the blink of an eye before they even placed their finger on the trigger. "She's not infected, Ben", "How would you know that? I haven't been working my ass off for some little infected shit to take it all away", he bit back, motioning to the other guys to surround you. "Pick your fucking words carefully or I'll blow out your brain", Joel barked at him. And the moment the two of them aimed their guns at one another you ripped your hand out of Ellie's grip, pulling the side of your shirt by your neck to the side. A couple of gasps came from around you, "Cause I've had this for over two years, Ben, and as you can see I haven't eaten your brain. Even if now it sounds fucking delightful now".

You turned around, taking a hold of Ellie's hand. Quickly wiping away the tears that had already dampened your cheeks from the awoken memories. You placed a hand on Joel's arm, quietly asking him to lower the gun and just come with you. You knew that if they were going to shoot you, they would have already. So you wrapped your hand around Joel's arm, tugging lightly. Before Joel finally budged. Continuously looking over his shoulder as you three headed back home.

The moment the door was closed behind you. Joel kneeled in front of Ellie looking her over just how he always did, before bringing her closer to his chest. You stood there staring ahead of yourself. You never imagined that you would be in a position like this. Never imagined that you would have to let more people in on the secret and now most of Jackson knew.

You felt a gentle hand being placed on your shoulder. You shook slightly but once you met Joel's concerned eyes, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his torso, letting him hold you just for a moment. Letting his warmth seep into your body. Ground you. Make you feel safe once again. "You're also immune?", Ellie's voice made you lift your head from Joel's chest as you nodded your head. "It happened while I was out on patrol with Tommy and Maria. I begged them to shoot me but they refused. They left me there alone and... I just...", you trailed off, Joel's hand ran up and down your back. Closing your eyes for a moment you tried to steady your breathing, "I never turned and then I found my way to Jackson after a month. They haven't told anyone what truly happened".

Ellie inched closer to you, wrapping her arms around your middle. You moved your hands to run through her hair, "They won't touch you, I promise", you spoke softly. "Your scar is cool though", she muttered and you couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Try hiding it for two years though. A nightmare", you admitted, leaning back into Joel's chest. His arms held onto your sides tenderly. As he places a loving kiss on the side of your head. Now well aware that he had you both to protect. No matter what it took. He was going to keep you both safe.

[bindi-the-skunk]

There are other ways to make LxG film fics "closer to the comics" other than making Hyde a rapist, which, in the end, was done for no reason but to make Hyde seem more evil, heck, freaking Griffin in the comic was a pedophile raping schoolgirls and shit.

It serves no purpose, especially if you want us to at least partialy stomach them as part of the hero group and comic!Jekyll seemed like the type who couldn't even take a piss without asking permission first, much less have RAPE fantasies he wishes to live out through Hyde.

Hyde IS Jekyll, don't give us this weak and pathetic worm of a man and expect us to believe a rapist cannibal erupted from him! (And no just because Movie!Jekyll has more agency does not mean he can be labled a better canidate for a rapist, when sources say it is his TEMPER that made Hyde, not lust or anything like that) it serves no purpose to do this and should only be reserved for characters who will later get their testicles burnt off in a beaker of acid.

Nemo's comic version was very much a psychotic blood knight, perhaps have him enjoy fighting a few baddies a bit TOO much and start to slip back into his own ways and has to be pulled back by the rest of the League.

Heck, this could even apply to NemoxJekyll fics, Henry is BRITISH, from a people who Nemo spent almost his whole life despising and wanting dead (women and children might be an exeption to this given his movie reaction to the idea of using them as hostages as "monsterous" but movie!Nemo has a moral compass that seems like it would work most of the time)

Since even comic!Nemo paid Jekyll a compliment on his genius (and I don't think Captain Nemo of all people would use that word lightly) but I can see him sometimes slipping back into old habits on bad days, not out of malice, but old habits die hard as they say, and book!Nemo already suffered from a mental break once, so he could have moments of coldness despite legitamitly loving his new friends or drama from Jekyll thinking he might just be a replacement for Ishmael (or in MinaxHenry fics thinking he is a replacement for Jonathan) instead of being loved for himself

Movie!Quartermain could have had a drug habit after losing his wife and son, but got clean by the time of the movie but someone tries to lure him back into that life by bringing up bad memories

There are ways to make the story itself "darker' without having to go the rape route, or if there is rape, kindly do not make it someone we are supposed to ENJOY watching or reading about.

Or if you did wanted to toe other issues, Sawyer could mistake one of Nemo's crew for Injun-Joe in the dark and panic, having to explain the story and maybe bringing up his friend Huck helping a runaway slave (Sawyer did not seem racist in the film despite when he was supposed to come from so PTSD not racism would be the cause of the fear)

Or Nemo letting Janni think he is dead because he feels she would be happier that way (do people just assume ALL foriegn parents are sexist assholes to their girls? I do admit that several families are awful to girls, but I'm sure not ALL were like that even back when the story takes place, and especially not in modern!AU) And Movie!Nemo did not seem to mind Mina at all even before she revealed the ability to rip out necks, and even saved her life in the library scene )

Tom seems like the sunshine child, but he would be a PTSD ridden MESS after what he has gone though in both the book and in the canon backstory of his best buddy Huck finn being KILLED pre-movie )

Mina has lost EVERYTHING, her husband, her humanity and perhaps even her child and other friends from either time, illness or wanting to keep them safe from her condition, her taking Dorian and possibly others as lovers admittedly sounds on the surface like a woman embracing her sexuality and not fearing it.

And yes that can be seen as true, or you can look at her like another version of Nora Fries from the Harley Quinn show, as in taking lovers as a way to disconnect from the pain of losing her husband

So many ideas but people just choose to fall back on rape…ughhh

sorry just needed to rant...

[biosurvive]

@chiropterx -> Surprise! Man-Bat hangs overhead, his jaws smacking appreciatively as he devours a banana. Somehow he's gotten ahold of a bunch of fruit, gobbling one down after another skin and all. Sensitive ears swivel in the direction of approaching footsteps, the creature looking away from his feast before oh so generously dropping a single banana skin at Chris's feet. Well, at least one monster isn't attacking him for a change...

It was at this point in this life, Chris decided to stop being surprised. How many absolute terrors would he face in one lifetime? How much trauma? Strife? Beasts from childhood nightmares come to life from greed and malice? At some point he had to accept everything at face value, go with the flow or surely lose his mind in the absolute bonkers of it all. So when the handsome scientist he met while grocery shopping turned out to be... different. He should have just nodded and accepted the fact.

Of course he didn't, he was rather shocked, and even now he stood there, watching the man he had plans on seducing munch away on a platter of fruit in a very non-human form, he was wondering about just why every connection he tried to make turned out to be so odd. Once the bat drops the banana peel, he couldn't stop the sarcastic smile slipping onto his features, arms crossing against his broad chest as he peers up at the creature. " Gee thanks. You know, even if you're a giant bat, and a friend of mine had to take down a scary version of you once, you're a little on the adorable side. Plus, don't tell the less fuzzy version of yourself, but I'm a little attached to his face. "

Picking up the banana peel, he makes a show of seeming thankful, holding it within his grasp. " It's not a deal breaker, Batty. I have accepted that if I'm going to kiss a guy, that guy won't be some average joe. "

[arrestedforhomestuckcrimes]

Fics I will write one day....

Eridan x Alpha kids - <> Roxy, <3 Dirk, c3< Jane + Gamzee, <3< Jake. No plot ideas yet just want it. All I know for sure is Jane is NOT the one stepping between Eridan and Gamzee, but I can't decide whether Eridan or Gamzee as top leaf is funnier. Also Eridan ends up with Dirk b/c he panicked and asked him to pretend to be his bf so he didn't have to go to something Feferi planned.

Eridan x Karkat - No game AU. Feferi decides Eridan is FAR too stressed (AKA stop messing with her attempts to reform Alternia boy) and as a good ex, decides to hire a palesale for him. Pale BDSM, posture collars, gill fetishizing, impact play, etc etc etc. Actual WIP

Eridan x Gamzee - <>!!! I need this okay Eridan needs to be a dumbass about clown religion right up until he realizes it's the one thing Gamzee is actually serious about I HAVE THOUGHTS.

Eridan x Signless - :3c This one involves multiverse transversal. Universe A, instead of Signless getting killed and becoming a martyr, the empire decides to break his spirit by making him fight gladiator style. He wouldn't fight for his OWN life but knowing it's the only way to keep Disciple/Dolorosa/Psiioniic alive.... :3c When Feferi takes the empire, she tries to keep Eridan out of her hair by giving him this old Empress touched relic. uwu And when Signless dies for one reason or another Eridan tears the universes apart to get a new one- One who Isn't Perfect. But he can mold them... Right? Obsession!!! Might actually do this as two distinct Things. Part A as Eridan x Signless part B as Eridan x Kankri?

On that note an ACTUAL Eridan x Kankri <3< nonsense. They would be terrible for each other and I love it. Also Kankri's just fun to write.

Gideon Nav is Actually G1deon's kid AU. G1deon lands on the ninth chasing Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity. Lands far enough after that Gideon has been claimed by the ninth house, well before the baby murders. This is mostly about G1deon interacting with the other lyctors and Jod, deciding to keep Gideon on the ninth (and the ninth Intentionally not killing her b/c u can't kill the Saint's Kid. Not when he's visiting every year.) Maybe last chapter is Gideon and Harrow go to the lyctor trials but she recognizes Cytherea... Idk. It's in my head now and I can't get it out.

Omegaverse, Miya asks Joe to teach him to cook because he wants to impress the omega he has a crush on. Lasanga time. uwu Miya has a crush on Cherry and Cherry DOES tease Joe about this. Actual WIP

Draluc feeding off of Ronaldo and they both get horny about it. Ronaldo thinks he's straight so it takes a hot minute.

Pure PWP. Asriel and Ralsei should fuck IDK context yet but it's gonna happen. Haven't decided yet how involved Kris is going to be.

THAT SK8 VAMPIRE AU. S is a vampire bar. Or maybe monster bar in general. Ainosuke keeps draining his meals completely. Tadashi is a werewolf. Reki and Langa are both humans. Miya is CURRENTLY a human and one Ainosuke is thinking about turning when "this lovely young rose finishes blossoming." Miya is jealous when Langa starts getting all of Ainosuke's attention instead.

More sk8 omegaverse. Do every threesome combo in that "how not to start a pack" thing.

Matsucest stuff. There's like. So many options here. Too many. ChoroToto thigh-highs, every vampire brother gets one of the 18matsus as a servant, 18KARA GETTING BULLIED BY THE NEETMATSUS. Oso/Jyushi stupidity starting with "Bet you wouldn't lick XYZ" and ending with blowjobs. Etc.

[kcyars520]

they’re going to be in hell fuck them very much and I’ll make sure of that

Watching people backpedal in response to this leaked audio of tory & kelsey’s call making my blood boil cause y’all really put meg through all that for nothing. Y’all had more than enough evidence.

Y’all can go to hell for your disgusting dickriding

Drake can go to hell for that disgusting and corny line calling her a liar and he can take his bbl and tummy tuck with him

Joe budden can go to hell for disrespecting her

Zach Campbell can go to hell for spreading lies

Mariah the scientist can go to hell for being such a pick me biiich

Dababy can go to hell for collaborating with him in a song that Nobody listened

Jack harlow can go to hell by association because he collaborated with him and dababy(ironically his remix of what’s poppin is lames biggest hit at least according to billboard charts. So the motive for the infamous shooting is basically summed up as toxic masculinity and fragile ego , that leprechauns can’t handle the fact that a black female rapper had more success and Grammys than he does and when she said that his music is wack) and this hurts because i like the guy

Iggy azealia can go to hell for collaborating with him

Lebron James can go to hell for listening to his music and praising it(and he’s got a black wife and daughters and sons Smgdfh, he should be lucky to have his family though he’s slutting himself out for a bald head degenerate)

Dj akademiks can go to the 7th circle of hell for spreading lies and because he’s an ugly looking honey bun

50 cent can swim in the lake of fire because he mocked her trauma twice and he’s only sorry now because he heard the audio of him admitting to it.

The bloggers can go to Dante’s inferno because while two white women were telling the real information about the trial as real journalists should be doing, these gossip girls were d!ck munching a midget who was an abuser and violent degenerate. What does that say about black media when I’m praising white women for doing their jobs? Black bloggers who are professionals and ethical, be ashamed and outraged of your anti black and anti black women counterparts lack of respect, ethics and professionalism

I don’t gaf if they back pedal or apologize. They had two years to do the right thing and they chose evil. It’s too late. There’s lashings and a$$ whoopings for them arssholes who’s necks and a$$ my feet are stomping on and biiiches it’s here to stay!

You can’t have degenerate d!ck familiarity and then when you learn that he’s the bastard everyone else knew he was take it back, it’s too late, you choose this. You were willingly selling your soul, your dignity, your humanity, and your sense of judgment to be a groupie for someone who is a coward at the expense to retraumatize a black woman for years. Have you learned anything from what happened with r Kelly and Ian walkins ? Yeah clearly not! I heard the stories, I get mad with rage when I think about it and feel sick. Parents and enablers were so star struck with their idols despite they’re open pedophiles That they would literally let their children be raped by these monsters who deserve far worse than a long prison sentence ijs.

toxic fandoms are a problem in society and social media and clearly that leprechauns fan base is not the exception. One of his fans said that he’s our modern emmitt till. 🤬🙄😤Harriet Tubman should have capped those fans ancestors. George bush, your no child left behind policy sucks because some children should have been left behind in school.

Let this be a lesson for anyone. Believe survivors of abuse until it’s backwards, don’t trust or protect anybody, never be so willing to worship a famous person that if they become problematic you’re willing to lose your self respect and black women deserve better

[lordnot]

Harm Reduction: The Liberal, Progressive Argument for Voting Trump in 2024

(DO NOT POST UNTIL RFK AND MARIANNE DROP OUT AND ENDORSE)

Well, it sure has been quite a primary season, hasn't it? Not in terms of debates, of course. That would have been a waste of time. But the ups and downs, the twists and turns! I don't know about you, but I was kept on the edge of my seat right up until the end!

But now that it's over, it's time to start focusing on the general election. It's time to give up on the purity tests, the pie-in-the-sky aspirations, and discuss the most strategic decision on who to support with our vote, our dollar, and our time. And that is why I implore you to give very serious consideration to supporting Donald Trump in upcoming 2024 election.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "What is this accelerationist nonsense?" But nothing could be further from the truth. I am no irresponsible accelerationist, and I certainly am no Republican. I am instead focused on causing the least amount of harm to our country in 2025 and beyond. And, sadly, due to circumstances that I will now explore, another term of a President Donald Trump is our best chance to do that.

Look: I love Joe Biden. And I am not at all fooled by these stories put out in the media that he is too old to be President. That being said, we cannot overlook what has happened to our country during Biden's first term. The loss of abortion rights. The rise in violence against trans people. Immigrants and refugees having their very lives turned into a political game. The Republican Party is absolutely out of control. And one of the reasons why I respect President Biden so much is also one of his greatest weaknesses: his respect for Rule of Law. He is not going to try to use executive orders to wield greater power than an American President should have. He is not going to undermine the traditions of our great country by politicizing The Supreme Court, or pushing for the removal of the filibuster. In short: he fights fair, and the Republicans fight dirty. What, then, can be done? Simple: we bring The Resistance back from brunch.

The re-election of Trump will bring out outrage the likes of which The Republicans have never dreamed of. The angry tweets, the memes, Nancy Pelosi's tearing up Trump's State of the Union? Simply the tip of the iceberg. The Republicans will barely have the courage to pass more tax cuts, let alone any transphobic legislation. They will no longer be able to hide behind the argument that the bad things happening to this country are somehow Joe Biden's fault, and we will be a better country for it.

We also need to talk about the elephant in the room: Ukraine. We all know that Joe Biden will do everything in his power to support Ukraine to the last man, because of how much he cares about its people and how much he hates fascism. It's why he is a hero. But when the other side has an insane, twisted, and heartless monster with access to a stockpile of nuclear weapons in charge, it means we are playing with fire. The Biden Administration is full of incredibly smart, experienced, and rational people, but even they can make a mistake. We simply cannot take the chance of drawing out this war any longer. And no, I do not believe for a second that anyone in the Republican Party is actually less hawkish than the Democrats. But what I do believe is that Putin's Puppet will continue to be Putin's Puppet. Trump will withdraw support out of self-interest, out of apathy, out of cruelty. But he may inadvertently save humanity by doing so.

And so I ask you, I beg you: take your personal feelings out of it. There has never been a more important election in our lifetime. This country is too important to gamble our future on voting for the person who represents our personal priorities and needs. Do the responsible thing. Vote Trump.

[alexandria-is-my-firstname]

More sketches as always,,,

First one would be a Charles Raisinburger sketch, didn't like his boss form and felt like making him more menacing,,, perhaps having boss phases, starting with this Chainsaw Man inspired design as his half or mid-form,,,

(Raisinburger having his hammer as a head that could combust like a rocket aand having a chainsaw-attached gun arm, a mix of Denji's chainsaw and Gut's prosthetic arm)

Second yet supposedly first sketch,,,

Monster Ethan wearing a bigass bath robe cause there's nothing else he could wear in that form, was kinda inspired by Lady D,,, in a way,,, (couldn't find a thicker pencil, reason why the sketch doesn't look visible)

Third sketch,,,

Fairy God-mother and Meowy, Rose's two besties. Ethan's dynamic with Meowy is basically the dad who doesn't want pets but ends up becoming bros, as well Ethan sorta mimicking Meowy without realization (really deepens the Catboy Ethan headcanon, damn),,, (I did had an idea where Ethan - before getting booted to death - was allergic to cats, reason why he isn't fond of cats nor' having any pets nor' there were any pets shown in his and Mia's house)

Idea of Meowy started from here,,,

Lastly,,, the continu-angst-tion,,,

Last sketches were supposed to be drawn for a previous post but artblock hit me like a brick, but here we are,,,

Sketch 1-5: Thought about Ethan saying something that resulted Mia to stare and have interest in him, the quote "the rain sure is beautiful, surely an angel is near" was both from my mom who believes the rain were led by angels, and from a cultural belief where rain brings good luck (mostly for farmers) and kudos to my friend who turns it into a dialogue,,,

Sketch 6-11: I think Ethan watches a lot of movies, being the geek one in the office while Mia barely watches any movies, giving a reason for the two to hang out and afterwards date,,, (edit: it was supposed to be Ethan saying "we should have a movie night", damn my dialogue-forgetting arse)

Sketch 12-15: Imagine the happiest moment and the most painful moment drawn in one paper,,,

Sketch 16-19: Dunno what to write,,, so, for the people of RE7,,,

Sketch 20-23: for 20-21, Ethan and Mia were about to plant a flower (dunno know what else to say),,,

Sketch 24: Alas,,, they snuggled,,,

Origin of the last sketches,,,

Before ending it for today, Ethan being a systems engineer and geeky everyman to becoming the megamycete's host and the second-coming of the black god felt like something particularly out of Devilman, the protagonist who once lived a normal everyman or avarage joe life only to become a devilman yet who's heart still retain humanity and love.

I mean, Mia and other characters aside,,, imagine being Ethan's co-worker from the beginning of RE7, your acquaintance or perhaps office buddy called you and informed that he found his presumed-dead-wife's location,,, and of course, you'd be surprised by the news yet skeptic knowing that 3 years had passed and how would your office buddy's wife survived all those years?,,, and,,, after the call, your office buddy was never seen nor' heard again except for the article/newspaper relating to the Bakers' estate,,, and you were the last person to hear your office buddy,,, and as years passed by, you're not aware that your ol' buddy turned out to be a moldy corpse, had a mushroom-messiah-daughter and (in the continuation) became a mold god,,, shit escelated hard,,, and you're just a human continuing your joey days til' your dead,,,

To make it short, the concept of some normal guy being put in a situation where they develop into a dangerous entity who's heart is still pure really fascinates me as both artist and writer (I do have original works involving with that concept but i'll share later),,,

And alas, Mia putting Ethan in varies dangers - resulting him becoming a moldy boi - and feeling overwhelming guilt yet still being loved by Ethan after all the painful events is really something,,, can't find the right words to describe it but yeah (LIES!! IT'S THE SONG "Juan Karlos - Kalawakan" THAT HAS THE VIBE!!). That's it for today,,,

.

.

.

And yes,,, Ethan's now a god and here's how,,,

[dndeed]

Crit Role Miniature Rollout: C3E11 Chasing Nightmares

With Andrew Harshman

An archive and analysis of the minis used on CR.

Lots of action and plot development this sesh! New villain, new miniatures, new moon, and new questing horizons. Plenty of plastic and resin on display this episode, let us analyze the new models.

Buy yourself a chisel and bark at the moon, it’s time for Crit Role Miniature Rollout Campaign 3 Episode 11!

Chest and Trove 5E Condition Rings

Dwarven Forge Dungeons

Dwarven Forge Dungeons of Doom

Dwarven Forge Chair

Dwarven Forge Castle Stone Stairs

Dwarven Forge Dungeons of Doom Cages

Dwarven Forge Dungeons of Doom Vaulted Open Arch Wall

Dwarven Forge Powerstone Charger

Dwarven Forge Dungeons of Doom Bars Insert

Dwarven Forge Pathfinder Plaguestone - Alchemy Poisoner's Bench

Dwarven Forge Dungeons of Doom Vaulted Large Curved Walls

Pathfinder Battles Crown of Fangs: Court of the Crimson Throne Torch Pillars

Terrain Crate Round Table

Terrain Crate Torture Rack

Terrain Crate Debris Barricades

Dungeon Lair Chair

Hirst Arts Large Crate

Halaster’s Lab Candles and Summoning Circle

Tiny Furniture Dark Magister Workplace (barrel on top shelf iteration)

Arcknight Spell Effects

Custom Campaign 3 Party Minis

D&D® Icons of the Realms: Spell Effects: Mighty Conjurations Arcane Eye Spiritual Weapon - Warhammer

Volo & Mordenkainen's Foes #27 Boneclaw

Night Below #42 Trained Carrion Crawler

Mythic Odysseys of Theros #03 Oracle

Monster Menagerie #20 Werewolf

Flaming Sphere - Blood War #27 Living Flaming Sphere

Monster Menagerie 2 #001 Giant Rat

Assorted scatter terrain

The Heroes

At last, there’s our boy! Chetney’s miniature looks amazing. Quite the imposing pose. And the paint looks very good from over here.

Like the rest of the party figures, Chetney’s werewolf form appears to also be custom. A very nice werewolf mini, Joe Manganiello would surely approve. But you know what would take this wolfmangnome to the next level? The werewolf’s shorts should really be the same colorful pattern as Chetney’s beanie. Ah what fun that would be. 

The Villains

Nightmare King Volo & Mordenkainen's Foes #27 Boneclaw Mini image sourced from minisgallery.com

Zoinks Scoob, it’s a BUH-BUH-BUH-BUH-BONECLAW! Spoopy. Say, this is a pretty good model. With impressive table presence that makes for an intense looking boss monster, despite the rather flat paint. And for some reason the boneclaw’s skirt looks like it’s made of black pudding ooze:

Screenshot from C2E116

The Nonplayer Characters

Gurge Human Form Mythic Odysseys of Theros #03 Oracle Mini image sourced from minisgallery.com

Wildman Gurge is lookin’ fit. And he’s got that sweet championship belt. No wonder he’s famous, this man’s got an impressive aesthetic. I like this character and I like this miniature.

Gurge Werewolf Form Monster Menagerie #20 Werewolf Mini image sourced from minisgallery.com

Well will you look at that, Matt Mercer picked two miniatures with matching poses. That’s clever as all get out! Well played dungeon master. Not an especially engaging werewolf miniature, but I’ll give it a pass for the pose matching. Spectacular. Inspired mini picks.

Test Subject Monster Night Below #42 Trained Carrion Crawler Mini image sourced from minisgallery.com

A carrion crawler with a beanie, what fun! A bit puzzling, but fun. When I started collecting prepainted D&D miniatures, I kept encountering this model and not purchasing it. Cuz like, when I’m building a miniature collection, I don’t want a trained carrion crawler. I want a buck wild, ferocious carrion crawler! Kind of a curious sculpt with limited uses. But it just so happens that one of those uses is in a fey villain’s secret laboratory. Another great miniature pick.

Closing Thoughts

The mini rain is here after a three episode drought and it feels so refreshing! Now that all the PCs and their miniatures have been revealed, I expect some promotional miniature photos to appear on the Critical Role social media pages. Excited to get a closer look see at these fine figures.

See ya next sesh!

#critroleminiaturerollout

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Facebook thrives on criticism of "disinformation"

The mainstream critique of Facebook is surprisingly compatible with Facebook’s own narrative about its products. FB critics say that the company’s machine learning and data-gathering slides disinformation past users’ critical faculties, poisoning their minds.

Meanwhile, Facebook itself tells advertisers that it can use data and machine learning to slide past users’ critical faculties, convincing them to buy stuff.

In other words, the mainline of Facebook critics start from the presumption that FB is a really good product and that advertisers are definitely getting their money’s worth when they shower billions on the company.

Which is weird, because these same critics (rightfully) point out that Facebook lies all the time, about everything. It would be bizarre if the only time FB was telling the truth was when it was boasting about how valuable its ad-tech is.

Facebook has a conflicted relationship with this critique. I’m sure they’d rather not be characterized as a brainwashing system that turns good people into monsters, but not when the choice is between “brainwashers” and “con-artists selling garbage to credulous ad execs.”

As FB investor and board member Peter Thiel puts it: “I’d rather be seen as evil than incompetent.” In other words, the important word in “evil genius” is “genius,” not “evil.”

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1440312271511568393

The accord of tech critics and techbros gives rise to a curious hybrid, aptly named by Maria Farrell: the Prodigal Techbro.

A prodigal techbro is a self-styled wizard of machine-learning/surveillance mind control who has see the error of his ways.

https://crookedtimber.org/2020/09/23/story-ate-the-world-im-biting-back/

This high-tech sorcerer doesn’t disclaim his magical powers — rather, he pledges to use them for good, to fight the evil sorcerers who invented a mind-control ray to sell your nephew a fidget-spinner, then let Robert Mercer hijack it to turn your uncle into a Qanon racist.

There’s a great name for this critique, criticism that takes its subjects’ claims to genius at face value: criti-hype, coined by Lee Vinsel, describing a discourse that turns critics into “the professional concern trolls of technoculture.”

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

The thing is, Facebook really is terrible — but not because it uses machine learning to brainwash boomers into iodine-guzzling Qnuts. And likewise, there really is a problem with conspiratorial, racist, science-denying, epistemologically chaotic conspiratorialism.

Addressing that problem requires that we understand the direction of the causal arrow — that we understand whether Facebook is the cause or the effect of the crisis, and what role it plays.

“Facebook wizards turned boomers into orcs” is a comforting tale, in that it implies that we need merely to fix Facebook and the orcs will turn back into our cuddly grandparents and get their shots. The reality is a lot gnarlier and, sadly, less comforting.

There’s been a lot written about Facebook’s sell-job to advertisers, but less about the concern over “disinformation.” In a new, excellent longread for Harpers, Joe Bernstein makes the connection between the two:

https://harpers.org/archive/2021/09/bad-news-selling-the-story-of-disinformation/

Fundamentally: if we question whether Facebook ads work, we should also question whether the disinformation campaigns that run amok on the platform are any more effective.

Bernstein starts by reminding us of the ad industry’s one indisputable claim to persuasive powers: ad salespeople are really good at convincing ad buyers that ads work.

Think of department store magnate John Wanamaker’s lament that “Half the money I spend on advertising is wasted; the trouble is I don’t know which half.” Whoever convinced him that he was only wasting half his ad spend was a true virtuoso of the con.

As Tim Hwang documents brilliantly in his 2020 pamphlet “Subprime Attention Crisis,” ad-tech is even griftier than the traditional ad industry. Ad-tech companies charge advertisers for ads that are never served, or never rendered, or never seen.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

They rig ad auctions, fake their reach numbers, fake their conversions (they also lie to publishers about how much they’ve taken in for serving ads on their pages and short change them by millions).

Bernstein cites Hwang’s work, and says, essentially, shouldn’t this apply to “disinformation?”

If ads don’t work well, then maybe political ads don’t work well. And if regular ads are a swamp of fraudulently inflated reach numbers, wouldn’t that be true of political ads?

Bernstein talks about the history of ads as a political tool, starting with Eisenhower’s 1952 “Answers America” campaign, designed and executed at great expense by Madison Ave giants Ted Bates.

Hannah Arendt, whom no one can accuse of being soft on the consequences of propaganda, was skeptical of this kind of enterprise: “The psychological premise of human manipulability has become one of the chief wares that are sold on the market of common and learned opinion.”

The ad industry ran an ambitious campaign to give scientific credibility to its products. As Jacques Ellul wrote in 1962, propagandists were engaged in “the increasing attempt to control its use, measure its results, define its effects.”

Appropriating the jargon of behavioral scientists let ad execs “assert audiences, like workers in a Taylorized workplace, need not be persuaded through reason, but could be trained through repetition to adopt the new consumption habits desired by the sellers.” -Zoe Sherman

These “scientific ads” had their own criti-hype attackers, like Vance “Hidden Persuaders” Packard, who admitted that “researchers were sometimes prone to oversell themselves — or in a sense to exploit the exploiters.”

Packard cites Yale’s John Dollard, a scientific ad consultant, who accused his colleagues of promising advertisers “a mild form of omnipotence,” which was “well received.”

Today’s scientific persuaders aren’t in a much better place than Dollard or Packard. Despite all the talk of political disinformation’s reach, a 2017 study found “sharing articles from fake news domains was a rare activity” affecting <10% of users.

https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.aau4586

So, how harmful is this? One study estimates “if one fake news article were about as persuasive as one TV campaign ad, the fake news in our database would have changed vote shares by an amount on the order of hundredths of a percentage point.”

https://www.aeaweb.org/articles?id=10.1257/jep.31.2.211

Now, all that said, American politics certainly feel and act differently today than in years previous. The key question: “is social media creating new types of people, or simply revealing long-obscured types of people to a segment of the public unaccustomed to seeing them?”

After all, American politics has always had its “paranoid style,” and the American right has always had a sizable tendency towards unhinged conspiratorialism, from the John Birch Society to Goldwater Republicans.

Social media may not be making more of these yahoos, but rather, making them visible to the wider world, and to each other, allowing them to make common cause and mobilize their adherents (say, to carry tiki torches through Charlottesville in Nazi cosplay).

If that’s true, then elite calls to “fight disinformation” are unlikely to do much, except possibly inflaming things. If “disinformation” is really people finding each other (not infecting each other) labelling their posts as “disinformation” won’t change their minds.

Worse, plans like the Biden admin’s National Strategy for Countering Domestic Terrorism lump 1/6 insurrectionists in with anti-pipeline activists, racial justice campaigners, and animal rights groups.

Whatever new powers we hand over to fight disinformation will be felt most by people without deep-pocketed backers who’ll foot the bill for crack lawyers.

Here’s the key to Bernstein’s argument: “One reason to grant Silicon Valley’s assumptions about our mechanistic persuadability is that it prevents us from thinking too hard about the role we play in taking up and believing the things we want to believe. It turns a huge question about the nature of democracy in the digital age — what if the people believe crazy things, and now everyone knows it? — into a technocratic negotiation between tech companies, media companies, think tanks, and universities.”

I want to “Yes, and” that.

My 2020 book How To Destroy Surveillance Capitalism doesn’t dismiss the idea that conspiratorialism is on the rise, nor that tech companies are playing a key role in that rise — but without engaging in criti-hype.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

In my book, I propose that conspiratorialism isn’t a crisis of what people believe so much as how they arrive at their beliefs — it’s an “epistemological crisis.”

We live in a complex society plagued by high-stakes questions none of us can answer on our own.

Do vaccines work? Is oxycontin addictive? Should I wear a mask? Can we fight covid by sanitizing surfaces? Will distance ed make my kind an ignoramus? Should I fly in a 737 Max?

Even if you have the background to answer one of these questions, no one can answer all of them.

Instead, we have a process: neutral expert agencies use truth-seeking procedures to sort of competing claims, showing their work and recusing themselves when they have conflicts, and revising their conclusions in light of new evidence.

It’s pretty clear that this process is breaking down. As companies (led by the tech industry) merge with one another to form monopolies, they hijack their regulators and turn truth-seeking into an auction, where shareholder preferences trump evidence.

This perversion of truth has consequences — take the FDA’s willingness to accept the expensively manufactured evidence of Oxycontin’s safety, a corrupt act that kickstarted the opioid epidemic, which has killed 800,000 Americans to date.

If the best argument for vaccine safety and efficacy is “We used the same process and experts as pronounced judgement on Oxy” then it’s not unreasonable to be skeptical — especially if you’re still coping with the trauma of lost loved ones.

As Anna Merlan writes in her excellent Republic of Lies, conspiratorialism feeds on distrust and trauma, and we’ve got plenty of legitimate reasons to experience both.

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

Tech was an early adopter of monopolistic tactics — the Apple ][+ went on sale the same year Ronald Reagan hit the campaign trail, and the industry’s growth tracked perfectly with the dismantling of antitrust enforcement over the past 40 years.

What’s more, while tech may not persuade people, it is indisputably good at finding them. If you’re an advertiser looking for people who recently looked at fridge reviews, tech finds them for you. If you’re a boomer looking for your old high school chums, it’ll do that too.

Seen in that light, “online radicalization” stops looking like the result of mind control, instead showing itself to be a kind of homecoming — finding the people who share your interests, a common online experience we can all relate to.

I found out about Bernstein’s article from the Techdirt podcast, where he had a fascinating discussion with host Mike Masnick.

https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20210928/12593747652/techdirt-podcast-episode-299-misinformation-about-disinformation.shtml

Towards the end of that discussion, they talked about FB’s Project Amplify, in which the company tweaked its news algorithm to uprank positive stories about Facebook, including stories its own PR department wrote.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/22/kropotkin-graeber/#zuckerveganism

Project Amplify is part of a larger, aggressive image-control effort by the company, which has included shuttering internal transparency portals, providing bad data to researchers, and suing independent auditors who tracked its promises.

I’d always assumed that this truth-suppression and wanton fraud was about hiding how bad the platform’s disinformation problem was.

But listening to Masnick and Bernstein, I suddenly realized there was another explanation.

Maybe Facebook’s aggressive suppression of accurate assessments of disinformation on its platform are driven by a desire to hide how expensive (and profitable) political advertising it depends on is pretty useless.

Image: Anthony Quintano (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mark_Zuckerberg_F8_2018_Keynote_(41793470192).jpg

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[detectivejigsawpines]

Just a Normal Day

A short drabble about sea grunks having an average adventure, written in honor of their birthday.

Even before they got attacked by the Cthulhu beast, it had been a pretty average morning on the sea for the Pines twins.

Wake up at the crack of dawn (Ford) or closer to late morning (Stan); eat breakfast; reset the spell to ward off the vengeful leprechauns who might still be after them for stealing their treasure in case they’d figured out they were chasing a decoy trail by now; do a little late morning fishing, while keeping an eye out for that golden fish Stan was sure he’d seen swimming under their boat last week, and which he was hoping laid golden fish eggs or something; finally notice what time it was (Stan) and head inside to make lunch.

Just another normal day.

Stan was examining their supplies, trying to decide if it was worth breaking out some of the canned hamburger meat and throwing together sloppy Joes instead of making them eat fish again, when he was knocked skiwampus by the boat being yanked to a halt; as he struggled to regain his balance by grabbing onto the table, a vicious, blood-curdling roar came rumbling through the air from outside.

Stan sighed, and wondered if the kraken was back. In one swift motion he grabbed the spare harpoon they had hanging over the door, and stepped out to see if Ford needed help dealing with it.

It wasn’t the kraken.

It still looked like some kinda big octopus monster, though, with a mass of writhing tentacles where its face should be, and a bulbous head in the back just like an octopus body. The rest of it, at least as far as the torso, was kinda like a human’s but a little bigger (about the size of a baby whale), with slimy-looking green-brown skin and a pair of big, wrinkled, wet wings sticking out of its back. Whatever this thing was, it had grabbed onto the back of their boat, and was looming menacingly over Ford as Stan stepped outside.

“...and you are now my prisoners!” he bellowed, as his piercing golden eyes landed on Stan. “Surrender your weapons now, puny mortals, and I might be merciful!!!!”

“Yeesh, did we trespass on his territory or something?” Stan asked, leaning on the harpoon.

Ford shrugged with one shoulder, since he was trying to write in his journal at the same time. “He didn’t really say; he just jumped onboard and started threatening me.”

“Huh.” Stan looked up at the beast. “You the lord of this part of the ocean or whatever?”

The beast blinked-which looked pretty weird, his eyelids went sideways instead of up and down like humans-before nodding vigorously. “Yes! I am the lord of this part of the ocean, and you must surrender to me now, or else suffer my wrath!!!!” He slammed a fist down against the side of the boat, making it rock up and down so hard he had to scrabble to keep his balance. Stan coughed into his fist to hold back a snicker.

Ford tilted his head. “I could have sworn this was still the primary territory of the Manatee-Merfolk Alliance. Are you sure you haven’t made some kind of mistake?”

“What part of prisoners did you not understand?!” the beast demanded, spreading out his wings and shaking them as his tentacles writhed angrily. “Give up your weapons, now-all of them!!!!”

“...You sure you want that? It’s kind of gonna take awhile-”

“NOW, or I crush your boat in my mighty fist!!!!”

Stan glanced at Ford, who rolled his eyes and nodded. With a small sigh, they began disarming themselves.

********

...A minute passed and they were still at it.

Ford’s pile of weapons was almost as tall as he was, mostly consisting of long-range weapons like guns, but with a few vials of poisons and some handcuffs thrown into the mix.

Stan’s pile was more proportionate, but the number of places that weapons were produced from (including a smoke bomb that he’d somehow managed to keep tucked under his beanie) was frighteningly impressive.

The monster watched their progress with increasingly wide eyes; finally, as Stan produced another set of brass knuckles out of a secret pocket sewn onto the inside of his coat, he spluttered, “...Where were you keeping those?”

Stan just grinned shamelessly. “Trust me, sunshine, you don’t wanna know.”

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Ford said at last, indicating the pile of weaponry.

“Yeah, well, I’m still workin’, gimme a minute.” Stan produced a switchblade, and tossed it onto his pile. Then, in a brief sleight of hand, he snatched another one from the pile and pretended to draw it out of his coat to toss it on next. “Hey, tentacles-face-ya think you could bring us back by Wednesday? We got a Zoom appointment ta keep, and our niece and nephew hate it when we’re late.” Another sleight of hand allowed him to scoop up another weapon.

“That’s not how this-now see here!” The monster drew himself up to his full height, nearly falling backwards off the boat. “You guys-you puny mortals are my prisoners! And as such, you need to understand that this is not a joking matter! I could squash you both like sea slugs if I wished! I’m all-powerful, an eons-old abomination whose very name would send you into madness if spoken aloud! So you better start quaking in fear and begging for mercy like proper captives!!!!”

Stan looked at Ford. “Sounds like we’re his first.” He looked back at the monster. “You’re doin’ great, buddy-good job on the whole threatening schtick.” He offered a thumbs-up, while using the other hand to snag another weapon that he pretended to produce from another hiding spot.

Ford winked at him, and looked back at their ‘captor.’ “Is this some sort of coming-of-age ritual for your species?” He produced his journal again, pen poised. “Very clever move, by the way, threatening our boat to get us to disarm ourselves. In the future, though, I would suggest that you try taking one of us hostage first, in order to create maximum-”

“STOP IT!”

The monster abruptly started pounding his fists against the side of the boat, nearly tipping it over before instead pitching him all the way onto the deck. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO-I’M YOUR-IT’S NOT FAIR-!”

It took Stan a moment to realize that the angry noises leaving his mouth (?) were accompanied by the sound of frustrated sobs.

He hissed through his teeth, and shot Ford a guilty look.

“...Oh boy. Looks like we got a little one here.”

********

Stan crossed the boat and crouched down in front of the weeping monster, putting a hand on his back and rubbing the spot right between his wings.

“Deep breaths, in and out. You’re not gonna get anything done like this, so just take a bit ta calm down, okay?”

The monster hiccuped and coughed, shrinking in on himself in a way that was painfully familiar to both of them.

Ford knelt down at his other side. “Maybe if you tell us why this is so important to you, we can provide some assistance?”

The monster shook his head and buried his head in his arms. “I just wanted-hic-to show my friends I could catch the Pines twins all by myself,” he croaked.

The two old men looked at each other in a mixture of surprise and slight alarm. “...You know who we are?”

That was finally enough to get him to sit up, wiping his eyes with his tentacles. “You kidding? Every creature of the seas knows who you are! You’re the guys who beat up krakens and steal gold from leprechauns and then you and your boat vanish without a trace! You’re the coolest cryptids ever!”

It took both of them a moment to digest that. By the time they did, though, they were grinning in equal delight.

“We’re cryptids?!” Ford asked, eyes practically brimming over with overjoyed tears.

“Yeah! And people at school were sayin’ you’re just a myth, but I knew you were real cuz my uncle saw your ship up in the Arctic last winter, and I was gonna capture you and bring you to class to show everyone how wrong they were and then I’d be famous and they’d stop calling me a weird runt all the time!” After a second his wings drooped, and he stared miserably down at the deck. “...Guess it was pretty dumb of me to think I could catch you all by myself.”

Stan put a hand on his shoulder. “...Kid...as much as we wanna help, we can’t just be your prisoners. We got our own lives ta get back to.”

“Plus, neither of us is able to breathe underwater,” Ford added.

The monster sighed, and pulled a strip of kelp from around his neck, turning one of the leaves until it was facing him. He squirted a stream of black ink from one of his tentacles, and dipped the tip of another one into the ink and used it to trace something that looked like a bunch of gobbledygook to Stan onto the leaf. “Humans...don’t...breathe...underwater.”

Awww...he’s a super nerd, just like Ford and Dipper!

That gave Stan an idea.

“Hey.” He nudged the monster. “What about a picture of us instead? Along with genuine proof of a close encounter?”

The monster’s head jerked up. “A picture?! Like with one of those weird magic boxes you humans carry around sometimes?!”

“That’s the one.” Stan grinned. He looked at Ford and jerked his head towards the cabin; his brother took the hint and headed for it, returning with an antique Polaroid camera that Ford had been experimenting on, but still took good pictures.

The monster’s tentacles began writhing around his face like they’d come to life, and he let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement.

“This is the greatest day of my life!!!!”

********

It took a bit of staging and directing and trying out different angles, but eventually they produced a set of photos that appeared to be of an eldritch abomination in training being attacked by, and bravely fighting off, the ferocious monster hunter Pines twins (hopefully nobody would think to ask how and why the monster had managed to get these pictures taken).

Then, while Stan took them into the cabin and soaked them in a special substance Ford had invented that would render them waterproof, Ford sat on the prow next to the young cryptid enthusiast and offered tips on future hunting adventures, comparing notes with him on some of the creatures they’d both seen. He also (with permission) took a few samples from the monster, including a long strip of skin (“Make it look like a wound I got in the fight! Man, this is gonna be so cool, Yog-Sothoth is gonna eat his heart out! Possibly literally!”) and some of the ink from his tentacles.

When Stan came back with the photos, he also handed over one of his spare brass knuckles that had lost a corner. “Have another souvenir, kid.”

The monster’s tentacles lashed out and wrapped around their faces in what felt like a really weird version of a hug before pulling away, leaving them covered in some of the slimy stuff they were coated in.

“Thank you so much! I really really hope the leprechauns don’t catch you-if they come this way I’ll make sure to eat some of them so they won’t!” He waved at them joyfully as he dived back into the ocean and disappeared.

********

After a moment Stan wiped his face on his coat sleeve.

“...Well, that happened.”

He turned away and began gathering up his weapons.

“Such a strange mixture of childlike innocence and barbarity,” Ford mused as he pulled out a jar and gathered the slime into it for yet another sample. “His culture must be fascinating-I almost wish he would have taken us with him so I could have seen it.”

“You would’ve drowned before you could gather any data.”

“...You don’t know that.”

“He literally didn’t know that humans can’t breathe underwater, Sixer. Not gonna happen.”

He ignored Ford’s sulking and kept cleaning, while musing to himself over the possible monetary opportunities being a couple of cryptids could bring...

[regina-del-cielo]

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf. 

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine. 

The words ‘freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they’re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too? 

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could  easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain. 

He’s not alone anymore.

[thiswasinevitableid]

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

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“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

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Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.