#once i figure out what to call it

[loliwrites]

No one asked for this and if you've never seen The West Wing, you probably don't care. But the chokehold these two have on me. It's just a whole lot of pining and fluff.

AU of 4.10 Arctic Radar if Jack hadn't asked Donna out for drinks that night.

“The two CBO reports are right on your desk, as is the East Asia paper. Your call sheet is clear. If there’s anything else, I’m happy to come in early tomorrow. Do you think I could go?” Donna wrapped her scarf around her neck, dejected. Of all the things she’d ever done for Josh, and how little she tended to ask of him, his little trip down memory lane with Jack Reese was just the icing on the cake. 

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to eight,” she grabbed her bag. Somehow they both knew he was going to let her flee.

“Sure,”

Donna pulled on her long, wool coat and fastened the buttons to keep it closed. By the time she reached outside, the cold November air would be in full force and she wouldn’t have the hands to secure them.

“Those are good stories about you, though,” Josh paused, giving the briefest of thoughts back to Donna’s underwear and Karen Cahill debacle. “Those stories would make me like you.” It also wasn’t lost on him that those stories had made him like her.

“You like everybody,” she folded a note into her pocket and grabbed her bags.

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. You won’t be coming in early tomorrow. You won’t be coming in at all,” 

“Is there anything you need?” Despite whatever feelings she was having at the moment – of seemingly being forgone by her latest crush, there was true sincerity in her tone.

Josh wished in that moment she hadn’t sounded so sincere. He wished she hadn’t asked him that at all. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve her kindness when he’d so flagrantly decided to tell Jack those anecdotes. It was true, he did like those stories. Those stories were endearing. The minutiae added up to the whole of this woman he simply couldn’t live without. “No, I’m just saying,”

“Okay,” she flung her bag over her shoulder and left the bullpen. “Happy Thanksgiving,”

“You too,”

And yes, telling Jack those stories had been a decision, albeit not one laced with intended malice or meant to sabotage. How could someone not like those stories? How could someone hear those and not fall a little more in love with her? Josh had genuinely thought he’d been doing her a favor. If he liked these things, any man would. Any man would be lucky to have the woman in those stories. Had the roles been reversed, and he was hearing these stories for the first time, he’d have stormed the halls of the West Wing to find her. He wasn’t sure why Jack hadn’t, though he had to admit there was a hearty amount of relief that he’d hadn’t. 

It was unfair of him, he knew that too. How many times in the past had he sabotaged her dates, advertently or not? He kept her at work late. Gave her stacks of work she’d never get through, knowing she had dinner plans. It was work she’d have to do eventually, but it wasn’t so pressing that she miss a dinner date. His recurring jokes about Dr. Freeride. And more than a few times, he’d leave her with a parting comment that the man she was going out with was a dud. Or an idiot. Or a jackass. Or a subspecies of bipedal man. And when she’d come back from those dates, he wasn’t nearly surprised that she’d come to those same conclusions. Yes, it was beyond unfair. Donna had been nothing but supportive with the rise and fall of Mandy. And the re-emergence of Mandy. She championed him to go for Joey Lucas. She was even a cheerleader to his relationship with Amy. Even when Josh would recount all their horrible arguments to her, Donna was supportive every time they reconciled. And here he was, subconsciously (or not) sabotaging every lead she got on a relationship.

“Hi Ma,” he blurted into the phone and tilted his head to the side to cradle the receiver between his cheek and shoulder. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to this point. Hadn’t remembered returning to his office or hearing the phone ring. 

“Hi Joshua, happy Thanksgiving,”

“Happy Thanksgiving,”

“Roberta told me there was a cold front moving through the northeast. Said it looks like it’s gonna be pretty bad so stay safe with your plans tomorrow,”

Josh glanced down at his watch and then rubbed one of his eyes with the back of his fist. “I will Ma, I’ll probably just be here,”

She tsked him, “you don’t have to work, do you? Where’s Donna? Did she go to Wisconsin this year?”

“Donna’s in town.”

“Well invite her ‘round,”

He nodded like an obedient son, “okay.”

“Joshua, I mean it. Throw a turkey in the oven for that girl. She does enough for you every other day.”

“Jesus, okay Ma.”

“I’m just saying, cook her a goddamn meal.”

He nodded again, “I will, I will. Scout’s honor. Look, Ma, I’m gonna pack up and get out of here. I love you,”

“I love you too,”

They both clicked the line dead almost simultaneously. Josh sat stunned in his desk chair for a moment. He stared at the phone and after a second, chuckled. Florida had turned his mom a little more… spicy than she’d been in his youth. He took a second to think about what his dad would say about this new version of his wife. Probably would’ve doted on her just as much. But before the emotions could fully sneak up on him, Josh took a deep breath and stood up from his desk. Inspired by his mother’s words, he threw on his jacket, flung his backpack over his shoulder, and all but ran out of the West Wing.

He wasn’t really sure what he was going to do – or say. What could he do or say that would make things better? Short of going back to Jack and really giving him a piece of his mind. Because all Josh really wanted to say to him was that there was no way in hell he deserved Donna. If he didn’t like those quirky and off-color stories about her, then he didn’t deserve the girl who also had stories that were a little more wholesome.

Like the time she left the festivities after the Illinois primary, booked herself a one-way ticket on some ragtag regional airline, and got herself to Connecticut eleven hours after Josh had gotten there. She was still new in his life by all accounts and had never met his parents. But having her there for his father’s funeral had meant everything to him.

Or all the times she’d been there for him after Rosslyn. She literally kept work away from him. She cooked for him. She cleaned for him. She nursed him back to health. And he knows that had he asked, she would’ve bathed him too. Though he’d never ask. She had run herself ragged for the months of his recovery. Most nights she never made it back to her apartment. When he’d become mobile again, he often found her curled up on his couch in the morning. 

And then, for the second time that evening, Josh wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here. He remembered stopping by the liquor store for a six pack. He thought he’d finish those off by himself. But he hadn’t remembered how he’d gotten here. At the steps of her apartment, looking up at her window. He knew she was awake. He could see the light coming from her great-grandmother’s lamp. He always teased her about that lamp. It was gaudy. It gathered dust. And for some reason unbeknownst to him, it gave off this low frequency buzz whenever it also gave off light. He ascended the steps, keeping his eyes on her window for as long as humanly possible, and only pulled his gaze away from it so he could ring her buzzer. Waiting and waiting, and growing colder and impatient, he rang the buzzer again. It wasn’t like her to leave someone – anyone – waiting outside. Then with a particularly strong and cold breeze, Josh ran his hand down the line of buzzers to the other apartments in the building. Surely one of them would ring him in. 

God bless the tenant on the second floor.

Josh whipped the door open and ascended the old wooden stairs, two at a time. He kept his hand on the banister as he turned the corner and ran up the next flight. Just as Donna had been to his apartment countless times, he’d been to hers too. Usually he was drunk and yelling at her roommate’s cats. And by the following morning never remembered why he’d been there in the first place, but he had been there before. Now as he knocked on her door as gently as he could as to not startle her, he hoped he’d be happy to remember this night.

He heard the chain on the door slide and when the door started to creak open, he raised his gaze and soon found himself staring upon Donna.

“Hi,” he offered, taking a moment to take in the sight. She was wrapped in the enormous flannel blanket he knew usually lived on the back of her couch. It didn’t look as though she’d been crying, though her expression didn’t exactly look pleased. “I brought a peace offering,” he lifted the six pack and flashed an overcompensating smile on his face, hoping she didn’t slam the door on him.

Donna glanced at the beer, then pulled the door open a little wider and stepped to the side to let him in. Josh took that as a win and Donna figured as much. Truth be told, she didn’t exactly know what she was feeling. It was no secret that her past romantic exploits hadn’t gone spectacularly well. From Dr. Freeride and the lobbyist who couldn’t shut his trap about his agenda once he found out she worked for the deputy chief of staff. To any number of blind, and otherwise, dates she’d been set up on. And perhaps the worst of all was her last more serious encounter – Cliff Calley. Serious. What a joke, she thought. It had been two nights that were great, followed by two depositions that weren’t. Not to mention the sheer and utter embarrassment of having her boss hand over her diary to Cliff for him to read. She could’ve died in her skin right then and there. Not to mention the trouble and grief she’d put Josh through. And thank God he’d been mature… or sane… enough to realize that he didn’t need to read her diary to make it all go away. Perhaps he would’ve been confused why he showed up so often in her nightly recounts of the day.

“I really am sorry, Donna,” Josh offered again as he rounded into her kitchen and pulled open the drawer where he knew the bottle opener was kept.

“Quit apologizing. What are you, moonlighting as a Canadian?” She took the open bottle and downed a first sip. “I’ve already done that,”

He suppressed a smile as he popped off the cap to a beer for himself. On their way out of the kitchen, he reached forward and clinked his bottle against hers for good measure. “I wasn’t trying to ruin that for you,”

“I know that, Josh.”

“I mean it,”

“I know,” she folded one leg beneath her and sat back down on the couch. The blanket fell away from her shoulders as she moved to take another sip.

“Are you mad at me?”

Donna imagined that’s how Josh sounded as a child and had been the thing he’d asked his parents countless times after Joanie. Always searching for a sort of validation. Proof that he had been wrong or bad and was worthy of the anger; most of which he felt within himself. Just as she suspected his parents had, Donna couldn’t summon too much anger at him. Sure he knew how to push her buttons. And knew how to rile her up and piss her off. But the anger was always short lived and she’d be left with a sense of enduring love.

She took another sip of her beer and settled back against the couch as Josh sat at the other end of it, angled toward her with one leg crossed under the other and his free hand stretched across the back of the couch. “You did a fool thing, but… I expect you to do fool things. You’re a man, you can’t help it.”

“Donna,” he half-whined.

“Well I haven’t exactly seen you knock one out of the park when it comes to women. Watching you try to flirt is almost as painful as watching you do a press briefing.” She smiled, vindicated when he choked on his beer and coughed. “It’s just like that time you told the entirety of the communications staff about the history of our non-anniversary,”

“But that’s a good story, too.”

“But you got it wrong.”

Josh opened his mouth to speak but he quieted himself. It wasn’t worth saying that he only got the story wrong because she had told him a wrong version of the story. He’d reiterated the story as he’d been told by her. He couldn’t help if she had recounted a false narrative to him. But that wasn’t worth it. Being right wasn’t the point right now. 

“Despite what you say, guys don’t go out with everyone. At least not the ones worth anything. They want a well-to-do woman, not an assistant. And if by some stroke of luck or charm they can look past my job title, they can’t look past the fact you’re my boss.” Upon seeing a hint of a smile cross Josh’s face, Donna extended her leg and kicked him. She managed to pull her leg back before Josh was able to grab hold of her ankle, though he did try. Maybe a part of her wished she hadn’t been too quick. Or that he had been quicker. “Anyway, I really like Jack. So much so, that he’s the type of person I could see a lot of potential with. That’s why I asked you to talk me up to him. I didn’t imagine you’d do such a spectacularly awful job at it.”

“Donna, I think you’re missing a big aspect of this–”

“Josh,” she leaned forward and set her bottle down on the coffee table, effectively trying to cut him off completely. But he wasn’t having any of it.

“No, no, listen. Would you really, honestly want a guy that wasn’t endeared by those stories? I mean, your future husband is going to hear these so-called embarrassing–”

“Not so-called, they are.”

“Your future husband’s going to hear these and he’s going to think less of you for them? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life with a guy who you have to censor yourself around? Donna, I’m pretty sure you were attending your town’s Holland-fest, dressed in wooden clogs and a funky, white pilgrim hat well into your college years. You’re gonna have to hide a lot of your life from this husband.”

She shot up from the couch, “look at you with the sensitivity!”

Josh mirrored her movement and stood in pursuit of her. “All I’m trying to say is that a guy who doesn’t like all the little quirks that make you Donnatella Moss from Wisconsin, doesn’t deserve Donnatella Moss from Wisconsin.”

Donna exhaled and folded her arms over her chest. “Well that’s very kind of you to say. But for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t hide my life forever. Just until the guy knows me. Until he knows that I’m cute, and witty, and not an absolute nutcase.”

“I think you should give yourself more credit. You’re not just an assistant. You happen to be the assistant to a very important–”

And this time he was sufficiently cut off. He’d have rather it been because she interrupted him with another plea or remark. But instead he was cut off because her phone started ringing. She ran to it, though the man who was usually responsible for making her phone ring was currently in her apartment. And as soon as she greeted the caller, and Josh saw how she blushed and placed her free hand over her heart, he knew it was Jack. And he knew that whatever night they were going to have, was now over.

Josh sat back down on her couch as she continued her conversation in the kitchen. He stared at his beer for a second, and then with slow precision, lifted it back to his lips, tilted his head back, and took a long sip that finished it off. How many times was he going to have to lose this girl? And how long was he going to pretend like it didn’t shatter him every time she started up with someone new? His mother had been right, of course, and he wondered how long it had been since she realized her son was in love with his assistant. He ventured to assume she knew from the first moment she met Donna – the day after his father had died. 

As much as Donna’s presence had meant the world to him, he also sensed that it had meant a great deal to his mother, too. It was Donna, after all. She could make anyone feel comfortable or loved. And as soon as she got to his childhood home, she took it upon herself to begin tasks no one would’ve ever asked of her. She immediately entered the kitchen and whipped up a quick pot of her mother’s hearty stew. She had asked Josh to join her, and in between their light and gentle conversation (mostly of Josh recounting memories of his father), she would ask him to get her things from around the kitchen. Do you know where the lid to this pot is? Do you think your mom has vegetable stock? That’s alright, beef stock is fine. Where’s the vegetable peeler? Do you mind washing those potatoes? And when she’d finished cooking, Josh brewed a large pot of coffee and assisted her in scouring the kitchen. That night, Josh’s mom found her deep-cleaning all the bathrooms. And dusting and vacuuming the next morning. Finally Josh asked her why she was doing all this, and Donna just shrugged, “this is what I would want help with if someone important to me had just passed away.” From that moment on, Josh didn’t have one phone call with his mom where she didn’t ask about Donna.

Realizing he’d been caught up in a memory, Josh laughed at himself and glanced toward the kitchen. Donna was still on the phone, and suddenly growing uncomfortable being in her space while this other man was monopolizing her time and attention, Josh stood from the couch and carried his empty beer bottle into the other room. She made quick eye contact with him when he set the bottle in the recycle bin. 

He jut his thumb back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna head out,” he whispered.

“Hold on one second,” she quickly responded. Josh wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Jack, but he paused anyway. Donna set her phone down on the counter, “thank you, Josh.”

It wasn’t lost on him that she was keeping her voice down so Jack didn’t hear it through the phone. She neared him with outstretched arms, and taking him into a hug, he buried his face in her shoulder. “You’re welcome,” he backed away from her knowing that if he didn’t create some distance between them, he was going to inadvertently sabotage this new upcoming fling… or relationship. “Happy Thanksgiving, Donna.” He quickly side-stepped her and went for the front door, hearing the soft patter of her footsteps behind him. 

“Are you going to be alone tomorrow?”

He pulled open the door and looked back at her. “No, I… I have plans,” he paused. “Do you need somewhere to be tomorrow?”

She shook her head, a grin stretching over her face, “no, Jack just asked if I’d go over to his place. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be alone before I accepted.”

That one felt like a turkey carver to the heart. But Josh still shook his head. “No, enjoy your time. I’ll see you Friday at work. Early. I want to prep a bit before advising Leo on the CBO notes.”

“I’ll be there, boss.”

Josh let his smile widen a little bit, but he was soon out of her apartment. He was almost at the flight of stairs down when she shut the door and he looked back at it. Truth was, he was going to be alone tomorrow. In all actuality, he’d probably just go to the office and spend the day there. His intention was to ask Donna to do Thanksgiving with him, but once the phone call came through, he knew there was no way he was going to ask her to forgo a day with her newest flame to be with him. She would’ve dropped her plans in an instant.

Josh made it back outside. He looked up at her window. The glow from her great-grandmother’s lamp was still present but this time he also spotted her walk past the window, the phone still glued to her ear. Josh looked down at his feet and pulled his coat tighter around himself. Another Thanksgiving without the girl he really wanted around. He was starting to get used to it.

[samwise1548]

I was reading a lot of "Jon turns into a cat" fics recently and realized that no one has given Martin the opportunity to take feline form yet! So I'm granting him the privilege myself :)

Next

[ID: Four sequential drawings of Martin Blackwood from the Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat white man with short ginger hair, round glasses, and wearing a sweater.

Image 1) Martin reaches for a purple book sat on a surface in front of him. Curiously, he says "What's this?"

Image 2) The book cover is visible to the viewer now, where it was cut off from the frame in the previous drawing. On it is some text that reads "Nine Miserable Lives" where the first word is written in blocky text, and the last word is written in a white, cursive font. There is also an image of a cat in the cover. It is tall and glaring at the viewer. Martin, offscreen comments "Cute cat."

Image 3) A full landscape shot showing a bit of the archives stacks in the background. Up front, Martin stands next to a desk and has the cat book now open in his hands. He exclaims "Oh, wait. This has Leitner's name in it!"

Image 4) The same image, except where Martin was once standing there is now a fluffy, orange cat revealed behind a puff of smoke. The cat seems shocked.

\End ID]

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[whatudottu]

Hello I put way more effort than I needed to into this, but have it anyway :P

Boniface meets Bonifire, what will they do :P

A version of this page without text because technically this was the first page I drew and put all my effort into that one first lmao-

[desire-for-madness]

Can someone send me some sources as to why Korea loves the "sacrificial separations" trope so much, that it shows itself in almost every single romantic storyline (rarely suiting the plot)? I've heard it is because of the history of familial seperation due to North Korea and South Korea, but it's been so long I feel there might be more to it.

Almost everytime it is unnecessary seperations due to lack of communication. It doesn't make the relationships stronger, it actually makes it more unstable if your partner keeps abandoning you at any sign of trouble.

I loved the show Hidden Love because it was the only show where the couple went through everything together. Why can't Korea also push this instead of the idea that you're not worth fighting for. "I'd rather be miserable, than fight for happiness with you"...

[margoshamangolord]

Too tired for words

Waaagh sniffs sobs hhh.... cries sniffles sniff... wahh... starts rolling on the floor crying...... wahgh

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, This is the full original image:

According to the Tumblr post I originally snagged it from, it's an early piece of promotional artwork, meant to depict Keith as the series's central character. Shiro is shoved into the background, presumably to illustrate that he was intended to fulfill a Doomed Mentor role.

[snackugaki]

i CAN draw shit that isn't turtles i say knowing this is related to a goddamn centaur AU of them that someone's haunting me with h elp

[rapidhighway]

oh im just gonna do a quick warmup-- (succumbs to insanity)

moar ⬇️

knuckles and his twin brother cuckles who has every disease

⬆️⬆️⬆️ how it's going currently

unfortunately i didn't record the process of drawing knuckles bc i forgor but here's a speedpaint of sonic if anyone's interested in the rendering process. I am ignoring the existence of hands.

the song is life's coming in slow by nothing but thieves (i've wanted to use it for ages effgsgsgrf)

i also realized i'm gonna have to redo the entire floor bc i want larger slabs there, and i'll try to do a mosaic but idk how that'll go

[svtskneecaps]

if i get a purgatory 3 before the year is out i'm so sorry i'm going to be INSUFFERABLE

[renecdote]

I’m gonna need Tommy to put his hand on Buck’s cheek at least one (1) time for the tenderness but also for ex-girlfriend parallel reasons

[ka-wa-bunga]

Part 2 and 3 of the harpy au lets goooooooo!

Im have in way too much fun with this and hopefully I'm able to get parts 4 and 5 done by next week

(Also yes, Ghost LOVES shitty puns and you can't tell me otherwise)

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 2.

Previous part. Masterpost. Next part.

Content warning: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an unhuman whumpee, pet whump.

"In folklore, any mythical, magical creature is commonly called 'fey'," they book that Lord Teelo had ordered after returning to the inn room said. "It is, of course, a wide misconception that is not accepted in any theory that has even an ounce of respect for itself. Fey is not just another way to say "magical", but a registered phenomenon different from a spirit, a magic-infused animal or a demon, and especially has nothing to do with tiny folk with wings, whose existence is widely refuted…"

It went on and on, an irritatingly salty response siting some previous debates and calling out authors the lord had never heard about. It could be entertaining in its own right – Lord Teelo was anything but impartial to loud grudges and decades old arguments – if not for his lack of experience with the topic rendering the details tedious and the fact that it wasn't idle interest that led him to seeking out the book.

The papers had been signed in half an hour, the impressive sum of money changing hands as the decision had been finalized at the spot. The arrangements had been made immediately after to transport the creature to the lord's summer house. It was to spend its last night at the auction house, and then, in the morning, they would ride – Lord Teelo in his usual carriage and his new property in an impressive cage – towards its new home.

The thrill of the purchase was sure to keep the lord awake, and he decided to spend the time on research. Learning about the kind of thing that came into his possession was paramount – after all, he didn't want it to die before its time because of his ignorance.

"Fey is defined by any reputable source as an otherworldly creature. It does not come with as many defined characteristics as an unsoundly educated person would believe: a creature from another dimension does not have to have wings and three pairs of limbs, though it is not out of the realm of possibility. A fey can look exactly as your regular cattle. The one thing that makes it fey is that it is not from the reality we live in."

The text wasn't very useful. In the two chapters Lord Teelo had managed before throwing the book into his bag and settling in bed, there was an infuriatingly little amount of actual, useful advice. The further he read, the more sure he was: he would have to figure things out by himself.

It was the thrill that came with owning the never before seen creature, one he wasn't even sure was from the same world, one, if it wasn't, that would catch the interest and desire for experiments by mages all over the world.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he should get into contact with a few. Their insight would be valuable either way – the lord was doubtful that the rainbow marks on the creature's skin could be the result of anything but magic, and magic tended to come with complications he wasn't confident he could deal with by himself.

Getting in contact with the sailors who caught the thing was a good idea, too. He'd already asked for the name of their ship and drafted a letter to a good old acquaintance in Froien. She would get the information to him in no time, even if he'll definitely have to show the creature to her afterwards. Keya, as he knew her, was curious beyond all else. Lord Teelo couldn't wait to see her face and the faces of his other acquaintances when they saw the kind of prize he'd gotten. The images of their amazement and barely hidden jealousy made him giddy with anticipation.

He wanted to make the most out of the day, and so was up and in the back garden of the auction house barely an hour after sunrise, despite the morning chill finding its way to his very bones through the layers of fabrics and furs he'd donned. A cart made into a cage with thick iron bars – provided with the purchase, of course, and with how much he'd paid Lord Teelo would be personally offended if it wasn't – was hurriedly readied and brought to the doors of the building.

The sounds of clattering and clinging and human voices burst through the open door before the creature was dragged out. It was the size of a northern wolf, bound and twisted and carried by two cautious servants. It craned its neck and bared its teeth through the muzzle, a wild animal, a scared one, and if not for the lines running down its skin and the weirdly human-like hands – with thumbs even if they were too long to actually be human – Lord Teelo would have taken it for nothing more than a dumb beast. Then it opened its mouth as wide as it could and let out a whole string of sounds – low and guttural and constantly repeating in patterns that made the lord think that it was trying – no, saying something in an unfamiliar, alien language.

He felt his pulse high in his throat, watching the creature as it was pushed inside the cage, chains around its limbs secured and the door locked behind. It kicked and threw itself against the metal only to settle back a moment later, too smart to waste energy on a fight it couldn't win.

And then, it noticed him.

Lord Teelo thought it recognized him – or maybe it was a wishful thinking fueled by the way it stilled and stared and then craned its neck to the side and forward, baring fangs in a display that was chilling even despite the binds. The unblinking yellow of its eyes pierced right through him.

He felt goosebumps creeping up his arms but refused to acknowledge it. He was safe, he reminded himself. It was tied up and helpless. No matter how it bared its teeth and tried to look scary, he was the master.

He stepped forward, lifting a hand up to place at the edge of the cart. The creature glanced at it, then continued staring. The lord smiled, "Hello there."

The creature growled and then said something. Lord Teelo continued soothingly, "No need to be so tense. We'll get to know each other -- you'll get used to me in no time."

In the light of the starting day, its skin didn't look like that startling black he saw in the dim cell. It was more grayish – still dark, though, and still unnatural. The pattern of colorful lines didn't look any less striking. His fingers ached to touch it, to feel if its skin was rough under his touch or as human-like as some of its features were. As the black short fur framing its face and ending in the middle of its back in a sort of haircut. Fey, Lord Teelo thought fervently. It had to be one. It was too strange in some ways and too familiar in others. It had to be a creature from another world. What other explanation could there be?

"Lord Teelo?" A voice came from his side and soon he was regrettably distracted, finishing the transaction and discussing the details. Servants pulled a thick piece of fabric covering the cage from view. Lord Teelo dismissed the pang of regret at their actions, reminding that he was going to have months worth of time to play around with the new toy.

He wondered what it'd be like. How it'd act. Would it be able to learn the human tongue, or prove to be too dumb for it?

He wondered where it would live. And – ah, this was an urgent question, was it not? He should send a letter to make sure it was all taken care of by the time he arrived.

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[vaguely-concerned]

one of the things mourn watch rook has the most comments about/seems pretty knowledgeable about when they're there is the way the necropolis will just shuffle rooms around every now and then on a whim, so I'm headcanoning that rye's previous area of expertise, outside of general watcher duties, was keeping track of and rediscovering these lost or displaced areas. that, and basically acting as a sort of tour guide when need be, such as on the day they met varric.

'have we really misplaced the ashen cathedral again? *sigh* that's the third time this year, we really must strengthen the wards. oh well. someone send for ingellvar, they'll track it down in no time I'm sure. and it might keep them out of trouble for a while'

[silverskye13]

Trying to analyze the tropes in my own fics to see if I think they're successful as component pieces and getting so confused I give myself psychic damage send help

[zebratimw]

Spirit animal SQH