#seems kind of funny now with the goat with dark fur too

[ninjasmudge]

i regret to inform you all that my crack au became a real au so heres sin lamb. they performed a sin ritual that turned out to be way more powerful than they were used to after ascending to godhood. realising that much sin would kill any of the regular followers, they gave it to themself and then they just.... never absolved themself of it.

the crown calls it 'falling to temptation' and they started off using the sin like a wrath berserker mode in battle, and then it was just a way for them to cut loose. theyre still in their right mind, theyre just much more impulsive and if they want something, they get it. god deserves whatever they want after all.

narinder is... extremely intrigued by sin lamb.

semi related heres sin narinder, something that can only happen during sin rituals (thats not blood hes just patterned like that)

[nerajaana]

Hello, not your recent rude anon. I just wanted to drop in and say that I love your work! It's so gorgeous, I don't have enough words to describe how good it's. I envy your talent (nothing malicious tho). Also, you make this fandom a better place so thank you. (Definitely envy your irl friends too) I was just wondering what are your favorite moments/scenes with Arya since she's your favourite.

Nonnie staaahp you’re wayyy too kind pls thank you ily💚💚💚

Arya, oh how I adore her my darling girl🥺💓😩😭💕 George for the love of all that’s in existence at the very least release the braavos novella as a companion piece to twow or something I need some happy Arya chapters gimme Arya hanging out with her friends in the marketplace

I just realized I had answered a similar ask a while ago😅 but I think I’ll do a part 2 (there’s just.....so many moments argh how I love her, she owns my heart istg)

In no particular order:

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.”

Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?” “Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased. “Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question.  (Too cute I cri)

When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.

Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s more wolf than man, and so am I.

"Lommy, you keep Weasel here." He grabbed the little girl by the hand and pulled her close. "What if the wolves come?" "Yield," Arya suggested.

She would make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave [Gendry and Hot Pie]. They were her pack, her friends

Alone, she slid through the shadow of the Tower of Ghosts. She walked fast, to keep ahead of her fear, and it felt as though Syrio Forel walked beside her, and Yoren, and Jaqen H'ghar, and Jon Snow.

“Harwin, it’s me, don’t you know me, don’t you?” The tears came, and she found herself weeping like a baby, just like some stupid little girl. “Harwin, it’s me!” Harwin’s eyes went from her face to the flayed man on her doublet. “How do you know me?” he said, frowning suspiciously. “The flayed man … who are you, some serving boy to Lord Leech?” For a moment she did not know how to answer. She’d had so many names. Had she only dreamed Arya Stark? “I’m a girl,” she sniffed. “I was Lord Bolton’s cupbearer but he was going to leave me for the goat, so I ran off with Gendry and Hot Pie. You have to know me! You used to lead my pony, when I was little.” His eyes went wide, "Gods be good," he said in a choked voice. "Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her.".... "She broke my nose." Lem dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. "Who in seven hells is she supposed to be?"…........"The Hand's daughter." Harwin went to one knee before her. "Arya Stark, of Winterfell." (Ugly sobbing)

The Tickler backed away. Arya could smell his fear. The shortsword in his hand suddenly seemed almost a toy against the long blade the Hound was holding, and he wasn't armored either. He moved swiftly, light on his feet, never taking his eyes off Sandor Clegane. It was the easiest thing in the world for Arya to step up behind him and stab him. "Is there gold hidden in the village?" she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?" Her hands were red and sticky when Sandor dragged her off him. "Enough," was all he said. He was bleeding like a butchered pig himself, and dragging one leg when he walked. (Only pain nothing else)

Arya watched and listened and polished her hates the way Gendry had once polished his horned helm. Dunsen wore them now, and she hated him for it. She hated Polliver for Needle, and she hated old Chiswyck who thought he was funny(he was laughing about participating in gang rape). And Raff the Sweetling, who’d driven his spear through Lommy’s throat, she hated even more. She hated Ser Amory Lorch for Yoren, and she hated Ser Meryn Trant for Syrio, the Hound for killing the butcher’s boy, Mycah, and Ser Ilyn and Prince Joffrey and the queen for the sake of her father and Fat Tom and Desmond and the rest, and even for Lady, Sansa’s wolf.

Arya stared at the face carved into its trunk. It was a terrible face, its mouth twisted, its eyes flaring and full of hate. Is that what a god looked like? Could gods be hurt, the same as people? I should pray, she thought suddenly. Arya went to her knees. She wasn’t sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit, I smell hot bread baking, I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf, I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me

Even sewing was more fun than tongues, she told herself, after a night when she had forgotten half the words she thought she knew, and pronounced the other half so badly that the waif had laughed at her.  My sentences are as crooked as my stitches used to be. If the girl had not been so small and starved, Arya would have smashed her stupid face.  Instead she gnawed her lip.  Too stupid to learn and too stupid to give up. (My baby is the the epitome of perseverance)

"Thank you," Sam told the girl when they were gone.........."Are you truly in the Night's Watch? I never saw a black brother like you before." The girl gestured at the barrow. "You can have the last clams if you want. It's dark, no one will buy them now.”

Have a lovely day ahead nonnie💛

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 4: THE DAY I LOST EVERYTHING

We have to loose them Loose who? He'll take them. Who? We can't save them now. But I want to save them. "Y/N! Focus on running!" My dad yelled who was right behind us. I stopped in the middle of my tracks everyone turned to me. D/N was barking loudly, as if telling me to move. Everyone was telling me to move "I will save you don't worry." I said looking at my parents. "What---" As on cue lightning struck them. They aren't gone They aren't gone We will save them someday We will save them Now run My heart felt empty. I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I wasn't. It was like someone was directing me what I should do. Finally getting in on the car they all looked at me worried D/N nuzzled to my lap, Percy and Grover looked at me emphatically. Mrs Jackson was driving but occasionally glancing at the mirror. We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Percy sitting next to me and I wondered why I chose to be with him and not feel the weight of loosing my parents. I pulled D/N closer and hugged him. I didn't know what to do. Percy then broke the silence, "So, you and my mom... know each other?" Graver's eyes flitted to the rear view mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you." "Watching me?" "Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend." "Urn ... what are you, exactly?" "That doesn't matter right now." "It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—" Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!" and cried, "Goat!" "What?" "I'm a goat from the waist down." "You just said it didn't matter." "Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!" "Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?" "Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?" "So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!" "Of course." "Then why—" "The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are. And not to mention there turns out to be two of you which is worse than what I thought!" "Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?" The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail. "Percy," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety. You and Y/N." "Safety from what? Who's after me?" "Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions." "Grover!" "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?" Don't worry. They won't hurt us. Have you thought of who you want to be your parent? We have plenty of options, I'd prefer if it was either Zeus or Hades but I wouldn't mind to be Ares's or Hephaestus's. I guess Athena isn't so bad as well. Who was your Father and mother's favorite? I want my mom and dad... to remain the same... Don't change them. As you wish. We have to leave soon. The moment you go get in the borders, we will loose connection. Who are we? I lied, we're not you. We're only messengers. We don't know when you'll contact yourself. But it's not anytime soon for sure. Only half of the prophecy has been fulfilled after all. But... you came and... told me to stay with Percy. Maybe you did try to make a connection. I only came to ask who you want parent to be. "Y/N!" "Huh?" "Do you know who your parent is? Do you know what's going on?" "What?" "You were talking about Greek gods..." Percy said. "I-I... was?" I asked looking at D/N as if he'd know the answer. "Where are we going?" Percy asked. "The summer camp I told you about." Percy mother's voice was tight. "The place your father wanted to send you." "The place you didn't want me to go." "Please, dear," his mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger." "Because some old ladies cut yarn." "Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die." "Whoa. You said 'you.'" "No I didn't. I said 'someone.'" "You meant 'you.' As in me." "I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you." "Boys!" Mrs Jackson said. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm. "What was that?" I asked. "We're almost there," Percy's mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please." I didn't know where there was, but I found myself anxious to arrive. I gripped Percy's hand as he leaned forward. Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded. I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time. I don't know how but I wasn't hurt... or didn't know until I saw D/N had grown... bigger. Big enough to hide someone. He had cushioned my fall. "I'm okay boy, thanks." He shrunk and barked. He had a confused look as well as I did. "Percy!" I heard someone shouted. "I'm okay..." I tried to check on Percy. "You sure?" "Yeah..." He replied. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to Percy in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!" He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Percy shook his furry hip. Then he groaned "Food," and Percy sighed in relief. "Percy," his mother called, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered. I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. I swallowed hard. "Who is—" "Percy, Y/N," his mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car." Mrs Jackson threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking. D/N must've read the situation and jumped out through the roof. "D/N!" He started digging on the mud occasionally barking. "There! Climb out the passenger's side!" Percy's mother told us. "Y/.N, Percy—you two have to run. Do you see that big tree?" "What?" Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill. "That's the property line," Percy's mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door." "Mom, you're coming too." Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "No!" Percy shouted. "You are coming with me and Y/N. Help me carry Grover." "Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder. The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns ... "He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line." "But..." "We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please." Percy helped me climbed across Grover and I pushed the door open into the rain. "We're all going together. Come on, Mrs Jackson." "I told you—" "Mom! We are not leaving you. Help me with Grover." He didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, Percy was dragging Grover from the car. Together, with Mrs Jackson they draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. I followed carrying D/N in my arms. Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders. His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener. I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories my parents talked about. But he couldn't be real. I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—" "Pasiphae's son," Percy's mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you." "But he's the Min—" "Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power." The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least. I glanced behind me again. The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away. "Food?" Grover moaned. "Shhh," Percy told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?" "His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough." As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded. "Percy, Y/N," his mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?" "How do you know all this?" "I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me. I'm not like (Father's Name) or (Mother's Name), I can't hide you for good." "Keeping me near you? Hide me? But—" Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill. He'd smelled us. The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker. I could tell the Jackson's were having a hard time with Grover. The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us. Mrs Jackson must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Y/N! Separate! Remember what I said." I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, Percy went the other way, we turned, and saw the creature bearing down on Percy. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat. He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at his chest. The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, and help Percy but I knew that wouldn't work. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, he jumped to the side. The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward Percy this time, toward Mrs Jackson, who was setting Grover down in the grass. Thankfully its like they never saw me. We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as Percy's mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it. The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing Mrs Jackson, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover. "Run, Percy! Y/N" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!" But Percy just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air. "Mom!" I ran towards Percy to try and hold him back. She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!" Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around Mrs Jackson's neck, D/N ran to bite the Minotaur's arm but they both dissolved before our eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if they were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and they was simply ... gone. Both Mrs Jackson and D/N... "No!" The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling him, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too. Percy stripped off his red rain jacket. "Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!" "Percy what are you doing?!" He shot a glance at me, "Trust me?" "Yes?" "Bad choice." "Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward us, shaking his meaty fists. "I hagve an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all." He pushed my back to the big pine tree and waved his red jacket in front of the bull-man, "I'm thinking we jump out of the way at the last moment." But it didn't happen like that. The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way we tried to dodge. Time slowed down. My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, only thought running in my mind was Percy's safety. Taking his hand which seemed to surprise him, I leaped straight up carrying his weight lighter than I had thought, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck with Percy in front of me. How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out. The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake us. I locked my arms around Percy while he went for the horn, to keep us from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils. The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward. Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off. "Food!" Grover moaned. The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. Percy had hit my shoulder with his head and pulled at the horn. Easing up to a more comfortable position to hold on, I got both hands around one horn and we pulled backward with all our might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap! The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry. Percy was on the other side, with the horn in his hand. The monster charged. Percy rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, he drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage. The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart. The monster was gone. The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just lost everyone. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover and Percy, needing my help. "Percy..." He looked at me weakly and took my hand. "Let's get out of here..." His voice was hoarse. This is where I say goodbye... Don't leave. I need you most now. I am always with you. And you have successfully brought yourself to another world. We will talk once you leave camp. I'm scared. You have Percy Jackson. Hold onto him. And you shall meet another hero. Save Percy. Save Luke. Save all of them. And you won't ever be scared again. Looking down at our linked hand I nodded. Stay with him. Save them all. You've hidden well, but its time for you to show who you are. I will declare who your parent is. I hope they claim us. Okay. We managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying and so was Percy, calling for his mother, so I held on to him—I wasn't going to let him go. "I'll be here... I won't leave you..." Successfully reaching the top, I could see eyes on us. Percy had lost his consciousness. I was tasked to carry the weight of these two. Seeing two people approach us, I didn't have time to process who, I cried, "Help them. Please." Before collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "It's one of them. They must be." "Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "The girl's still conscious. Bring them inside." "Percy..."

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[ikeromantic]

Horns

Day 24 of Ikemektober!

I chose Shakespeare - I’ve no idea what happens in his route. This is entirely my brain (caffeinated), the prompt, and deciding The Bard had to get his own story. It’s spicy fluff. Approx 1800 words.

Will picked up the costumes for his next production - a new play, inspired by his patron. They were fanciful pieces, with bat wings and goat horns and hooves. There was even a serpent-skin coat in the lot. Perfect for the story of a devilish king and his court of impish jesters. 

The play was equal parts suffering and passion. He hoped Comte would come to see it, or that rumors of it would reach his ears at least. Taunting the old vampire was a dangerous sport, but for William, that only made it a more alluring pursuit.

If he had eternity, or close to it, to make his plays, there was no subject that was taboo. He would push his art to its limit - and his life with it, as his plays were so enmeshed with experience that sometimes he had trouble separating one from the other.

“Will? Will, is that you?” The voice caught him mid-thought. His arms were so full of costumerie that he couldn’t see who was speaking, but he knew anyhow. 

“What fair maid calls mine name so sweetly? Could it be my newest friend?”

She laughed in reply, a bright sound. Unburdened. “I don’t know why you always speak in poetry, Will.” 

He felt her hand touch his arm, the lightest brush of her fingertips like a touch of fire. “Do you need help carrying those in?”

“Fear not, I’ve strength enough to finish - but if you could - the door?” Shakespeare heard her open the door to his home. He walked in and set the costumes on the nearest table. 

The girl followed him in, her eyes darting about in curious fashion - as if she wanted to see everything before he stopped her looking. 

Will smiled. It was strange to see her here, alone. He wondered if the Comte’s imps knew she’d come. He somehow doubted it. “To what do I owe this unforeseen pleasure? I hope tis nothing untoward.”

“Oh, no. I was just going to market to pick up a few things and I saw you getting out of the carriage.” She shrugged, the gesture gentle and indefinable feminine. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a coffee with me - or a tea. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

“No, indeed we did not. You are always most welcome here, whither you’ve only passed by or come to visit with intent.” He motioned to his parlor. “Please, go in and sit down. I’ll put on some tea.”

Her bright smile returned. “Good! I was hoping you weren’t busy right now, but when I saw you with all those - clothes?” She glanced at the pile with wide eyes, “I thought maybe you were in the middle of something.”

“I am never to busy to see you, fair one.” He found his own mouth curling upward with genteel pleasure. The sensation made him vaguely uneasy, as if this was dangerous ground he tread. She always did this - setting him on edge with her cheery disposition. He wondered if something dark lay beneath it, something that, with prying, he could uncover. If so, it lay deep.

Will left to put on a pot of tea. When he came back, she was still in the entry hall, picking at the pile of costumes. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “I - sorry! They just looked so interesting. I wanted to see if I could figure out the play from the clothing.” Her hands grasped her skirt, a nervous gesture. 

Shakespeare closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. He knew how unnerving his heterochromatic gaze was, especially on silly little girls. “And? Did you find me out?”

“M-midsummer Night’s Dream?” She guessed, voice full of hope. 

“No.” Will leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “I am afraid you’ve now been rude on two accounts. Searching through what belongs to another, and assuming a dramatist is bound by their older work.” The irritation he felt around her lent heat to his words, a sharpness despite his soft voice. 

She looked down. “I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She sounded almost at the edge of tears, far more upset at his reprimand than he expected. 

Will drew a line with his finger at the edge of her jaw and tipped her face up to his. “I shall forgive you this once, if you consent to a single favor. What say you, fair maid?”

“A favor?” She was trembling, her pulse racing. Excitement or fear? Will wasn’t certain.

“Indeed. I’ve need to check each costume you’ve handily sorted through in that pile. I can try on the gents’ clothing but the ladies’ outfits I must use a mannequin for. Today, you will be my mannequin.”

Her face brightened, though he could still feel her galloping heartbeat. “I could - could do that. It sounds exciting!” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. “Would you tell me what the play is about?”

“Perchance, if I am pleased.” Shakespeare stepped away from her, relieved and disappointed by the distance between them.

She immediately headed back to the pile of costumes, picking at them until she’d found a woman’s costume. “What is this one supposed to be?” She held up the oddly cut dress. It was all long, straight lines and harsh edges. Dark colors.

“It is clothing from the future.” He couldn’t help the wicked smile that lit up his thin face. 

“Oh! Neat!” Her innocent enthusiasm missed the point entirely. She took a step toward the parlor, uncertain where she should go to change.

“Yes, you may undress in safety there. I shall refrain from opening the door.”

The tea kettle summoned him with its high pitched whistle. He went to pour the tea, and brought back a tray to set out for them both once the costume-modeling was done.

For himself, he chose the horned outfit. It was Faustian, at a glance. The jacket was black-furred, and the boot cover was made of hoof. The horns themselves were from a goat, but polished to obsidian black. The knobby twists seemed to capture the afternoon sun, reflecting nothing back. 

Shakespeare stepped into this study to change. It felt odd to slide on the heavy jacket. The pants were a little big on him, but solidly made and adjustable with the addition of a belt or suspenders. He slid the headpiece on last, savoring the weight of the horns.

The mirror showed him what a monster he’d become with just the change in wardrobe. He looked wild now, like a faun or a devil, out to hunt virgins in sacred groves. Will shook his hair loose to further the effect. In this, he was the divine hunter. The gentleman demon. It was funny how a costume could often bring out secrets closely held.

He stepped back into the entry hall. The girl was still shuffling around in the parlor. He could hear her. 

“Are you in need of assistance, fair one?”

“I- uh - the buttons are, they’re kind of hard to reach.” 

“Then rescue you, I shall. For what troubles lie under the sun that cannot be bested by two hearts in concert?” He pushed open the door.

Sunlight came through the curtains, painting the room in sunset hue. The girl was standing straight, trying in vain to hold the gown up with one hand, the other reaching for buttons ill-placed. Her cheeks were stained pink, eyes wide.

“Tis no matter, fair maid. I’ve seen many a pretty half in, and half-out of costume. You’ve no need to fear my eye, nor my helping hands.” Will tried to reassure her, though he found her discomfort amusing. He had, in fact, seen many beautiful actresses in all stages of undress, but none quite like her. 

Her face didn’t have the diamond hardness of the determined beauty. She lacked the edge of feminine weaponry, as if ignorant of her body’s charms. It only made him more away of her bare shoulders, the curve of her breast at the side. The naked line of her back as she turned to present him with the impossible buttons.

“You look amazing,” she babbled. “Like a faun! It’s called a faun, right? But . . . more cultured?” She inhaled sharply as Will brushed a finger down her spine. 

“More of a devil, I’m afraid.” Her shiver provoked in him a need to touch her. He resisted it. He was the writer of passions - a witness. Not a participant. The director did not star in his dramas. He buttoned the dress and stepped away from her.

The girl turned to face him, brushing a hand down the front of the dress to smooth it. The dark blue was perfect for her. And the way it clung to her curves - indecent. Will did not think he’d see a clearer map of her body even if she stood nude before him. Best was the slit up the side of the skirt, as if made for a dancer. Her skin tantalized in glimpses, drawing the eye.

“You’re staring. Is it - is it bad?”

“No.” Shakespeare shook himself. “It is a perfect costume for the victim of a demon.” He gave a wicked sharp smile. “Do you feel like a victim, fair one?”

She started to laugh, but stopped at his forbidding expression. “You kind of scare me sometimes, Will.”

“And fear me you should. For I am a wicked creature.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled sweet, like perfume. 

“Will,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“It is too late for you, fair maid. To my lair you came, and now you shall never leave.” He lowered his head to her neck, letting her feel the slightest prick of his fangs.

“Th-this isn’t funny. Let me go,” she whimpered. 

Shakespeare realized his own heart was beating as wildly as hers, his breath as ragged. He pushed her away. “I am - am only acting my part. The horned devil.”

“Then you’re a pretty good actor.” She stared at him, wary. “I think I should probably go.” 

Will reached up, touching the cold, sharp tip of one of the horns. “Yes, perhaps you should. Send the dress - no, better, keep the dress. It fits not the character of my new script, but I think it sits perfectly upon you.”

She blushed. “Ah, alright. If you’re sure.” Though she took a few steps toward the exit, it seemed she would hesitate, now uncertain if he posed a danger to her. 

Shakespeare stepped closer to her, widening his thin, sharp smile. “Unless, fair maid, you’d like to stay and allow me to remove the garment from your skin . . . with my teeth.” 

“Nope! No thank you!” She practically ran away, comical in her haste. 

Will stood there in the sun-drenched parlor, still smelling her light perfume. It felt so much emptier with her gone. And though he’d hoped for peace in her absence, he felt only turmoil. 

“Perhaps I truly am bedeviled,” he mused. The blackened horns atop his head bobbed in silent agreement.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lost/Found chapter three

chapter one || chapter two || chapter four || chapter five complete fic on ao3

They continue on in the morning, but Jaskier's mood doesn't improve. He never should have sung that song in public, nor even in private, because now Geralt is on his mind all hours. He wonders if he and Yennefer reunited, if she would even have him if they did. It's not that he really wants to know, but he doesn't like not knowing about Geralt.

It's another week or so before they find an inn that will take them, and Jaskier spends the time between considering his music. He tries and fails to write anything worth performing, although when he sings his songs to the darkness, Eskel seems to approve. The night they spend at the inn, Jaskier makes no attempt to seek out employment.

The next time, he does and it's a mistake. He barely gets through the first set; he's worked himself up again about Geralt and all anyone wants to hear is Toss a Coin tonight. At least news hasn't travelled of Her Sweet Kiss because he doesn't think he could bear to play that again. He's a good showman and that's all that gets him through the first few songs; a smile here and a well-placed wink and no one would suspect anything.

No one but the Witcher sitting at the back of the room.

He comes to see Jaskier while he's putting his lute away, snapping the clasps shut and rests a hand between Jaskier's shoulder blades. Jaskier shuts his eyes and presses back into the warmth of his touch. It's one thing he doesn't realize he'd been missing, just the touch of someone else. And when Eskel sits down and pulls him into his lap, Jaskier goes easily.

He lets himself be drawn in even as he can hear the distaste of people who were singing his praises only moments ago. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care what they think right now because Eskel is the only one who's worried about him.

"Let me take care of you," he breathes and Jaskier nods.

He lets himself be bundled up and Eskel takes him upstairs and lays him down on the bed. It's an act of desperation that has him reaching out when Eskel walks away, pulling him back.

When Eskel kisses him, it's soft and sweet and not at all what Jaskier wants. He pushes and pulls and Eskel gives him what he needs.

In the morning, Jaskier feels awful, but Eskel silences him with a rough kiss, assuring him that he has nothing to feel bad about. It's fine. Eskel goes about his morning, but Jaskier is still dwelling. As they make to leave the inn, Jaskier steps between Eskel and the door, turning to face him.

"I can't-" he starts and it's as far as he gets before he doesn't know how to continue. This isn't a relationship and they both know it, but he feels like he's using Eskel and he doesn't know how to explain it without assuming things are more than they are. "I can't do it again, what I had with him. If we travel together, I can't-"

"I don't want anything from you." Eskel lifts his chin and smiles at him. "I just like your company."

It's an agreement that suits them both and Jaskier finds having someone nearby at all times makes him feel better. It's not a desperate need for touch when they come together and there's nothing expected of either of them afterward. He doesn't like to admit it, but having Eskel around and in his bed helps him to keep his mind off other things and Jaskier starts to move on.

But the weather turns quickly and Jaskier starts to worry about what happens when it gets too cold. In the past, he'd go back to Oxenfurt and spend the colder months there, but he's never had a travelling companion in the winter before. Geralt, presumably, also spent the winters tucked up somewhere nice and warm.

It's a bitterly cold day when Eskel approaches him about his winter plans. They haven't been able to find an inn and Jaskier's taken back to the early days he travelled with Geralt. He'd forgotten the sheer hatred of Witchers that people still hold and Eskel doesn't have the notoriety to speak for him that Geralt does. It's better than it used to be, he says and Jaskier can't imagine how bad it was before if this is better.

Jaskier's huddled under both their blankets, barely inches from the fire and he's still shivering. He tries not to let it show because he doesn't want Eskel to know how bad it is, but he's a Witcher and Jaskier knows better than to try and keep things from a Witcher. Eskel comes back with a pair of rabbits and sits next to Jaskier.

"I can't keep you out in this weather any longer. You'll freeze."

"I'm alright," Jaskier shrugs, but his fingers are too cold to play and he can't feel his toes.

"I'm going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It's a Witcher stronghold in the North. I'd like you to come with me."

It's a bad idea. Going to Kaer Morhen means almost certainly running into Geralt and he doesn't want to see him and he's been doing better. But on the other hand, they're nowhere close to Oxenfurt and Jaskier's only other viable option is Cintra, which is further. Kaer Morhen is the closest, it's likely the safest and he'll be with Eskel so he won't be alone.

"All winter with a bunch of Witchers? What could possibly go wrong?"

Everything, as far as he's concerned, but Eskel seems happy with his answer and they head out early the next morning. They're two weeks out from Kaer Morhen and Jaskier can only hope he lasts that long.

Eskel tries to keep close to the few cities along the way and tries to keep Jaskier housed whenever they can, but they reach a point where there's nothing left between them and the keep. It becomes a decision of whether to keep on and walk as much as they can to get there quickly or to stop more often and risk taking longer. Most days, it depends on how Jaskier is feeling and they stop to make camp when he gets too cold.

He feels like a burden and tries to keep going as long as he can. He's not going to complain more than the goat. But when they finally make it to the mountains, Jaskier presses on longer than maybe he should, eager to finally get out of the cold.

When they reach the keep, Jaskier nearly collapses at the front gate, relieved and exhausted and desperate to be warm. Eskel takes him inside and briefly, introduces him to the only other people there at the moment; Vesemir and a younger man named Leo. It's strange to meet Vesemir after hearing about him from Geralt but he seems kind enough, as far as Witcher's go. Leo is different. He doesn't seem like a Witcher and Jaskier isn't quite sure how to react to him. He's quite happy when Eskel takes him away to get settled.

The rooms are large and comfortable and Jaskier drops onto the bed. There's only one, but Eskel assures him it's not going to be a problem. Presumably, that means he's going to sleep on the floor or something otherwise ridiculous. Jaskier has better plans; they've shared smaller, less comfortable beds.

For the first time in weeks, Jaskier is hot and he revels in it, sprawling on the fur in front of the fire. He grins up at Eskel. "We don't really have to leave again in the spring, do we?"

"We'll see how the spring turns out."

Jaskier spends three whole, glorious days lazing around the keep and playing for the Witchers in the evenings. They're all much more appreciative of his music than Geralt ever was and he savours it while he can. Then, on the fourth day, Geralt arrives. And he's not alone, which is the only thing that makes his appearance slightly bearable.

Eskel goes out first when he arrives and Jaskier holds back. He has no reason to follow Eskel; as far as any of the others know, Jaskier knows no one but him. He sits back and listens though, as Eskel goes forward.

"Ah, the Great White Wolf returns."

"That's still not funny."

Jaskier's stomach turns and he considers escaping up to their room. It's the first thing he's heard Geralt say since the day they parted and he shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"You look like shit."

"Hmm."

"And who's this?"

"Princess Cirilla-" is all Jaskier catches because oh, Geralt went back for her. He wonders what could have happened to get Geralt back to Cintra. Gods know he wouldn't listen to Jaskier when he suggested it. Ciri talks a little more and Eskel is quiet while he listens and then-

"There's someone I want you to meet too, actually." And Jaskier's stomach clenches.

"I thought you smelled different," Geralt hums. Eskel scoffs in response.

"Julian?" he calls and Jaskier knows he can't delay any longer. He's going to have to face Geralt sooner or later, it might as well be now.

He gets up and forces his feet to move, pushing himself through the archway to where Eskel is standing. He slips up next to him, standing maybe just a little too closely. He can hear Eskel introduce him, but he sounds far away and Jaskier can't manage to speak for himself. Instead, he looks at Ciri and she gives him a huge smile which helps to calm him significantly. Even if that's going to be another thing he'll have to admit to Geralt.

When he finally looks up to meet Geralt’s eyes, he’s frowning. "Who the fuck is Julian?"

"I'm Julian,” Jaskier admits. He doesn't even know how he gets the words out, but the look he gets from Geralt is nearly enough to render him mute for the rest of his life. Geralt looks from him to Eskel like he's expecting an explanation and Jaskier realizes he does look like shit.

And Jaskier feels terrible about it. He would have thought he'd feel better knowing that Geralt was suffering, too, but he doesn't. He just feels worse. Geralt takes Ciri and leaves the room and Jaskier's heart sinks. He didn't think things could be worse between them than they were and yet.

"Geralt-" he calls, but the Witcher shows no indication that he even heard him. Jaskier knows better and that knowledge makes him ache. He's left standing alone with Eskel, who looks thoroughly confused and Jaskier drops his arms to his sides, aiming for comical. "Well," he says, "that could have been worse."

Eskel doesn't say anything and Jaskier can't blame him. There's no way he doesn't understand what just happened or at least a part of it. And Jaskier can't just sit here and look at him. He makes an excuse and heads up to their room to avoid seeing Geralt. Jaskier feels like he's shaking so hard he's going to fall apart and it's obvious that not much has changed. Geralt still wants nothing to do with him and all he can hope is that his feelings don't rub off on Ciri.

The fire is out in the room when he gets there and he piles logs in but struggles to get them lit. He’s fumbling with bits of kindling when the door opens behind him and footsteps cross the room toward him. When a warm hand presses down on his shoulder, Jaskier relents, dropping the sticks and slumping back against Eskel's legs. Eskel gently pulls him aside and kneels down, forming a sign with his hands and lighting the fire with ease.

"Thanks," Jaskier mumbles and Eskel takes a seat next to him.

"Geralt," Eskel says quietly. "He's the one who hurt you? He looks terrible."

"Good," Jaskier says instinctively.

"I mean, it doesn't seem like he's been handling it well. Whatever happened between you."

"That's his own fault. He had a choice, I didn't."

"I'm not defending him,” Eskel says gently. “I did wonder why you didn't run away when you met me. It wouldn't be the first time someone took off when they saw me." It's supposed to be a joke, but Jaskier leans into him.

"I think you're lovely." Eskel snorts and Jaskier looks up at the fire. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I knew you and Geralt knew each other and I didn't want to get involved. I know he's your friend, but he hurt me."

"I don't blame you for being upset. It's not my fight," Eskel says. Jaskier nods and he understands. Right now, he just wants to go to sleep and Eskel doesn't try to stop him. He finds Jaskier an extra blanket and wraps him up in it, leaving him in front of the fire.

When Jaskier wakes, he aches from sitting in the same position for so long and when he stretches out, a chill runs through him. The fire is burning low and he wonders how long he's been sleeping for. Getting up and holding the blanket around his shoulders he adds another log to the fire and hopes not to stifle it.

He moves from the floor to the bed, leaning back against the wall. Of all the messes he's landed in, this one is without question, his own fault. He thinks back to Geralt's words on the mountain and squeezes his eyes shut.

It's late when Eskel comes back to the room and Jaskier shuffles over to make space for him. Eskel sits down next to him, but faces out into the room, not climbing into bed as Jaskier expected him to.

"Geralt told me what he said to you. I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to him."

"It's not-" he tries, but Eskel turns to look at him.

"Geralt is an idiot," he says and it's the first time Jaskier realizes he's upset about the situation. But he's not mad at Jaskier, he's mad for him.

"I know," Jaskier agrees, "but the worst part is I want to but he obviously still wants nothing to do with me."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Jaskier doesn't sleep well and he wakes up early. Eskel is still asleep and Jaskier creeps around him, determined not to wake him as he slips from their room out into the cool morning. He sneaks out onto the balcony and wanders down into the yard, the blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

He likes it out in the yard because he likes the snow and it's peaceful enough that he can hear himself think. Only this morning, thinking doesn't go very well because he's only alone for a few minutes. He turns at the sound of footsteps, expecting to see Eskel coming up behind him, but it's not Eskel. Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Geralt walking across the balcony and he turns back, staring directly ahead.

"You smell like him," is all he says and Jaskier doesn't scoff, but it's a close call.

"I don't think it's relevant to you who I smell like."

"Jaskier-"

"No," Jaskier turns, heart pounding and stares at him. "You have no right to comment on anything I do. You left me Geralt. You told me you didn't want me anymore and so I left. I spent more of my life with you than without you and that still wasn't enough for you. You hurt me, Geralt, it's none of your business who I smell like." His voice comes out shakier than he means it to and he looks up above Geralt's head to keep from saying something stupid.

Geralt comes closer and Jaskier can't do anything to stop him because he knows if he tries, he'll break. And when Geralt's arms wind around his waist, Jaskier does nothing to stop him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, and Jaskier, because he's weak and desperate, clings to him.

"I'm still mad at you."

"Okay," Geralt says but he doesn't let him go and Jaskier doesn't make him.

[thetygre]

30 Day Monster Challenge 2 - Day #10: Favorite Goblin/Orc

1.      Uruks

I wanna’ tell you a story, folks. It might sound a little familiar, but stick with me. Once upon a time, there was a farm-boy. A simple lad, who had high hopes for a life of adventure beyond the town. He wasn’t the brightest, but what he lacked in brains he made up for in bravery. One day, as you do, farm-boy was working out in the field with his family when a monster attacked. The local guard piled on to the monster, but they just couldn’t bring it down. It tore through soldier after soldier after soldier, just for the fun of it. Our farm-boy knew he would probably die, but he didn’t care. He had his chance and took it; he picked up a stick, ran at the monster, and brought it down. Our farm-boy became a hero.

That farm-boy’s name was Kravitz the Marked One. He was an orc slave working in the fields the first time he killed me. The warchief promoted him on the spot and gave him a set of armor. The second time he killed me they gave him a caragor to ride. The third time he was given command over a company of hunters. I got him on the fourth time, though, and recruited him to the Bright Lord’s army. I was going to make him Overlord of Nurn, and raise him up to sit at my right hand, a real rags-to-riches story. He helped me take the Overlord’s fortress, riding with me at the siege. But poor little Kravitz took a mortal wound there, one I couldn’t save him from. And as he lay there, dying in my arms, he looked and me and he said, “Remember this moment, Tark. Remember it for as long as you live.” And I always did.

There’s a lot of other stories I could tell you. About Ugakuga the Maddest One, who saved my life, or Kellec the Tree Killer who communicated only in screams, or Flug the Ghul Lover who would track a matron across Mordor just to protect her. Uruks are rambunctious, and violent. They fight with each other even if you get them on the same team. They’ll betray you at the drop of a hat for the smallest slight. They pick fights with warriors and monsters that can kill them in one hit just to make a point.

But when they’re your own, you love them.

2.      Greenskins

The greenskins are the puncline to the grimdark joke that is Warhammer. While they’re in both the fantasy and 40k settings, they really stand out in 40k. Warhammer fantasy still has halflings, dwarves, and typical fantasy shenanigans to pick up the slack; 40k NEEDS some comic relief. The Orks aren’t concerned about empires or Chaos or the greater good. The Orks, pure and simple, are in it for the fun. They’re work is at its finest when its fast, loud, and in flames. Put together, they can generate a kind of psychic field that makes their beliefs a reality. This power is not used to reshape the fabric of the cosmos, but to enforce much more important principles like ‘things go faster when they have flames painted on. In the grim darkness, the orks are a pie to the face filled with C4.

3.      Order of the Stick

The goblins in Order of the Stick are kind of different from how they’re commonly depicted, but not too unrecognizable. They’re a monster race, living in the wilderness, trying to eke out a living, though they’re a bit taller and smarter than standard goblins, about on par with humans. But the thing that makes them stand out is Redcloak, and Redcloak is pretty great, both as an antagonist and a character in his own right. Redcloak has made decisions, bad decisions, decisions that he could have not made but he did because he felt he had to. And it’s interesting to watch him now, filled with regret, committed to this course, and wondering what will happen next.

4.      Nyambe

Nyambe-Tanda was an African campaign setting for 3rd. Edition D&D that not a lot of people remember. They should, because it was pretty great, both at representing an underexplored area of fantasy and also for its own setting features. Somehow, it blended West African mythology and post-modern tabletop fantasy masterfully. One of the best examples is its orcs.

You’ve got your standard narrative; at the beginning of time, there were the various races, and each of the gods favored one race over the others. Originally, the gods only divulged so much to the races because they wanted to keep things fair. But the orcs were having a hard time of it, living in badlands and scrounging for food. So their god, Ogun, the god of war, decided to give them a little boost. He made them stronger, faster, tougher than other races. But Ogun wasn’t just the god of battle; he was the god of blacksmithing. So the orcs of Nyambe learned how to mine and forge metal while the other races were still wearing leaves and furs. And by the time the other races figured out bronze, the orcs had iron.

From there, things went about as well as you would expect. The orcs swarmed out, conquering the continent one region at a time. The other races barely had metal, much less iron; any resistance was like bring a stick to a gun fight. Even after Ogun withdrew his patronage from the orcs, they turned to worshipping dark gods and demons, adding sorcery to their arsenal. The orcs set up a dark empire across Nyambe-Tanda, and it took nothing less than an alliance between all the races, the dragons, and God to stop them. The dumb orcs of Nyambe today are the cursed remnants of that empire, and their demon-haunted ruins still litter the continent.

Just think about all that. Look at how much the orcs did in this setting. And they did it for themselves; not for any god or Dark Lord, but because they wanted to. The Evil Empire that the plucky last-ditch rebellion had to stop didn’t use orcs; it was MADE by them. They fundamentally shaped the setting. In Nyambe, orcs are legendary and feared. Even the few remaining half-orcs are watched closely and with fear, looking out for any sign that the old powers might return. And that’s just such a massive departure from the norms of fantasy while still staying true to certain elements; I love it.

5.      Pathfinder

Pathfinder’s goblins are clearly descended from Warhammer’s; cheerful, incorrigible pyromaniacs who enjoy arson, butchery, and singing adorable little songs about how much they hate horses. Even their designs are cute; oversized head, constant grins, beady little eyes, big flappy ears, and a shark-like nose make them look more like gangrene bats than monsters. When Pathfinder was first released, it was decided by the Paizo team that they wanted their monsters to stand apart from the standard D&D variants of monsters, remaining true to certain aspects while inventing new ones. Goblins were the first example, and are still the most beloved. They became mascots of the system, and even a playable race. So much malevolent charm has been poured into Pathfinder’s goblins that you feel almost bad for killing them. You’ll have to though, because they really don’t feel bad about killing you and then burning your house down.

6.      Eberron

Eberron orcs are another attempt to experiment with the standard formula, seeing what can be retained and what can be changed. An orc on Eberron can still be a wild berserker, but they’re more likely to stick to one of the villages they live in as a farmer. Orcs in Eberron are the oldest species on the planet, predating humans and all the other races. It gives them this kind of grouchy veteran persona that pervades the whole race, and they tend to look down on the younger peoples. Eberron orcs are also a lot more spiritual, trying to live in tune with the land and spirits. It was the orcs’ druids that saved the world from extradimensional horrors long ago, and most of them stick to that tradition. They don’t want any praise or to be raised up as heroes, though. They mostly just want the young races to listen to them when they say important things like, “Don’t poke the fabric of reality” and “Don’t trust elves” and “No, ma’am, I would not care to do that with you.”

7.      Warcraft

It was inevitable that Warcraft orcs would be on here. There’s no escaping them; by now they’re probably more popular than Tolkien orcs. They actually have a fairly complex history and lore; addicted to demon juice, tricked by an evil shaman, warring with the goat-people. Thrall is still the coolest shaman in anything ever, even if it is kind of hard not to just call him ‘orc Moses’. Even their explanation for the green skin is cool; an eternal curse for drinking demon blood in wars past. Honestly, though, I loved the orcs best in Warlords of Draenor. The Iron Horde is what elevated the orcs from ‘kind of cool’ to full-on ‘Metal’. It was a shame to see them go, but that’s just how it is.

8.      Rankin Bass

My first orcs. I watched the Rankin Bass Hobbit films when I was a kid, so these were the first time I met goblins who didn’t come out of a fairy tale. They were scary more than cool, but they also had a kind of dorky charm to them. The original Hobbit goblins with their gaping mouths and giant fangs are still a classic. They seem like perfect fairy tale monsters to me, and fit right in to the Hobbit’s original tone. Also got to love those classic goblin hits like ‘Funny Little Things’. The orcs in Return of the King had way more variety in shape, and there was even some blurring between them and the trolls, but no particular design stuck with me. You know what did stick with me? The best damn song in the entire world, that’s what.

9.      The Wolverines

Stan Nicholls’ Orcs series is more in the vein of the Black Company or the Golden Age of Berserk than it is any other kind of orc story. It follows the exploits of a mercenary band of orcs while they traipse around first one fantasy world, then more. By the second trilogy, they’re freedom fighters for orc supremacy on whatever world they can find them. All the while, they never stop being just unapologetically bastards. You get a feel for the commanders and the soldiers, while taking in that whole mercenary life pastiche. Not anything groundbreaking yet, but still a good band.

10.   Goblin Slayer

Credit where credit is due, Goblin Slayer tries its damnedest to take goblins and make them horrific, intimidating monsters. Does it succeed? Ehhhhh... I don’t want to keep saying ‘Berserk did it better’, but it really is hard not to compare the goblins to the trolls from Berserk. Still, there’s stuff to applaud here. These are some nasty goblins, even in terms of design, with jagged shark teeth and dead frog eyes. If nothing else, it’s interesting to see the kind of hierarchy usually reserved for higher-powered monsters like dragons and demons given to the ‘cannon-fodder’.

[intonertale]

Chapter 2: The Ruins

Silveria stared at Asriel, quickly pushing him back as she heard a familiar but powerful flapping sound and felt a strong downdraft of air. When she turned to look behind her, Lucifer was settling into a defensive position, mouth open. And the inside of his maw had the signature glow of preparing to breathe fire.

“Whoa, Whoa!” Silveria shouted, running to her companion’s side. “Easy. Stand down. That one helped me!”

Lucifer sent a jet of flame straight up and grumbled to himself, using some magic or other to shrink to the size of a parrot. Once stable in that position, he flew over to Silveria, who outstretched an arm for her to perch on. A small sigh left her as her soul returned to her body.

“Are you ok, Asriel?” Silveria asked, running a knuckle over the dark scales of Lucifer’s back. “Sorry about Luci. He’s quite protective of me.”

“Hey, no hard feelings.” Asriel said, grinning.

Silveria took a moment to get a proper look at him. His fur was as pure white as her hair on a normal day—thanks, rock dust—and he had bright, gold eyes that spoke of an endless kindness. He wore something similar to the robe of a priest, which made Silveria a little uncomfortable. The robe was green, with golden accents. On the chest was what looked like the language the Intoners sang in in a fancy design and in pure white.

“Kot goa aino shuna viveil.” The design read.

“Peace and Love sure prevail.” Silveria translated. “Huh.”

Asriel blinked, a slight pink tinge along his cheeks. “I didn’t think anyone from above could translate it. Mom said it’s a dead language.”

“I’d believe it. I’m the last Intoner, and I’ve been asleep at least a thousand years. I think King.... Jeggred Dreemur had just been coronated around the time?” Silveria shrugged.

“That’s.... my great-great-grandfather... Man, that’s closer to five thousand years.” Asriel’s jaw dropped. “Hey, come on. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest. Heck, my mom might try to adopt you. Just don’t mention your age, ok?”

Silveria smiled slightly. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Lucifer grumbled something along the lines of Silveria being too trusting. She just laughed and began to follow the goat. As soon as they exited the garden, they came across an area with a gentle shade of violet. It was a jarring change for Silveria, and she couldn’t help but think of a certain wyrm.

Then Silveria noticed a wall of spikes. And Asriel approaching it. While she was inclined to trust him, a pang got her chest.

“Asriel!” She cried out.

“Relax. Come on. Follow me, it’s a maze.” Asriel turned and smiled.

Silveria sighed and began to approach closer to follow. Just as Asriel had promised, some of the spikes went down as they were approached. It was a relief to notice.

“There we go.” Asriel smiled, patting Silveria’s shoulder. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“I guess you’re right. Sorry... I’ve.... seen a lot.” Silveria sighed, doing her best not to go to into detail.

“We do know a little of the Intoners. But given that information we do have, seeing a lot seems to be an understatement.”

Lucifer have a dark chuckle. “With luck, the world has changed since then. Saving the world from the end of time gets boring after a while.”

“You two must do that a lot then!” Asriel laughed. It took a lot of the weight from Silveria’s shoulder.

“.... Four times, I think!” Silveria giggled.

“It’s a bit soon to admit that much, Silver.” Lucifer sighed. “But you seem to have a knack for reading souls...”

Silveria mentally facepalmed as she realized that she had not read Asriel’s soul. She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. And got exactly what she expected. The upside down heart of a monster soul, but in a deep green. A soul of kindness.

“So.... can I just call you Silver as well?” Asriel asked, snapping Silveria back to attention.

“Of course!” She chirped.

“Awesome. So, I’m gonna run and talk to my mother about this. Stay here ok? It’d be too easy for something to happen with some of the puzzles here.” Asriel was already leaving as he spoke.

“Sure, no problem!” Silveria chirped. But as soon as Asriel was gone, Silveria looked to the dragon with a smirk. “‘Splorin’ time?”

Lucifer shook his head and chuckled. “As if I could stop you.”

Silveria began to walk, practically vibrating in excitement. If there was one thing she loved, it was exploring new places. And it showed in the way she worked around the puzzles, grinning and giggling like a child the entire time.

The pair wandered the Ruins practically aimlessly, befriending each Monster they came across. From the small Froggits who gave advice for living in the Underground and were incredibly receptive to being pat on the head, to the tiny Whimsur who stopped shying away when Silveria sang to them, to the Moldsmals that let Silveria get a better view of life from lying down. Even the local Looxes—if that could be considered the plural—warmed up after Silveria showed a little kindness.

But the most curious Monster that Intoner and dragon came across by far was a little ghost lying on the ground and pretending to be asleep. Silveria couldn’t help but be curious and pick up a stitck to poke the creature. The ghost immediately got up and seemed anxious.

“O-oh. Am I... am I in your way? O-oh jeez... Hey, hey, I’m sorry. Oh, goodness.” The ghost said.

“Oh, sorry!” Silveria practically jumped back, startled. “You are there. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m okay.” The ghost replied. “I’m surprised you seem to care.”

“Silveria here is too soft for her own good.” Lucifer laughed proudly.

“And Luci is an overprotective old fool.” Silveria pulled a face. “Oh—oh no. Don’t cry! It’s ok!”

Silveria approached the ghost carefully, gently resting her skeletal prosthetic hand on their head. They leaned into the touch, earning a giggle from Silveria.

“I’m Napstablook, by the way.” The ghost explained.

“Can I call you Blooky? You’re so freaking cute I can’t even!” The Intoner grinned.

“O-oh. Um.... sure!”

“Hey. Hey. If you’re a ghost, and this is the afterlife.... would making a friendnmake it heaven?” Silveria have the dumbest freaking smile imaginable. Oh she knew that was a stupid joke. She was well aware. But that didn’t stop her.

“This is starting a lot later than I expected. It’s still stupid though.” Lucifer sighed. “No more puns or you’re grounded for life!”

“But. But I spent five thousand years as stone. Wouldn’t you say I was grounded long enough?” Silveria started giggling.

“OH MY GOD WOMAN IS THIS MY PUNISHMENT FOR ADOPTING YOU?!” Lucifer roared.

Napstablook, however, seemed to be enjoying the exchange taking place before them. They were chuckling nonstop.

“Well, Blooky thinks it’s funny. So, I’d say it’s a win!” Silveria hummed.

“Hey. Silveria. Lucifer.” Napstablook called, seeming eager in a really laidback sort of way. The moment both were looking, the ghost began to cry, the tears falling upwards and forming a hat. They seemed really pleased with themself. “I call it Dapper Blook.”

“I love it!” Silveria squealed, getting all starry eyed.

“Looks good, kiddo.” Lucifer nodded.

Napstablook seemed incredibly pleased with themself. “Looks like I made a couple of friends when I normally come here to hide from the world. I should head back now.”

“Take care, Blooky!” Silveria chirped as the ghost faded away.

[an-ale-of-a-tale]

A Yarn of a Tale (Part 2)

Characters: Jenis Filcobrant, Soreas Lennart Series: Final Fantasy XIV Words: 3,963 / 14,346 Genre: Crack Description: While trying to help a guildmate with a rash of laundry thefts, Jenis and Soreas fall into a magical adventure filled with talking aldgoats, militaristic marmots, and vegetarian chigoes. Will they ever be able to save the guild’s laundry from a magical girl spriggan, or will love and laundry prevail? Disclaimer: This was written during 1.0 (and pre-Calamity), which means that you’ll see things that no longer make any sense, such as crystals being turned into shards (that was a thing!) and spells such as Shock Spikes.

                                                        [ Part 1 ]

Two idiots get lost in a frozen wasteland, news at 11.

The first thing that Jenis noticed is that he was cold. Feeling cold was a bit of a novelty for him; a native of Ul’dah, he was accustomed to the blisteringly hot days and the cool nights that were characteristic of a desert clime. Feeling downright cold, however, wasn’t something he’d ever felt before, and he could say with certainty that it wasn’t pleasant.

The Lalafell Alchemist opened his mouth to say something, and he felt something cold against his face. He looked up, and some white, cold fluffy stuff fell off his face. That’s when he realized that he was both covered in and surrounded by the stuff.

“What in Thaliak’s name...?” Jenis spat the cold stuff out of his mouth and looked around. He was in what seemed like a forest, except the trees were bare of any foliage that they might have once had. The same fluffy white stuff was falling around them. The air was deathly quiet, and though it wasn’t windy, there was a definite air current about that only seemed to be making the situation even worse.

Soreas was lying not too far away from Jenis, and before he could come near him, the silver-haired Lalafell moaned, and he stirred a little before bolting upright. “What the hell?!” He blinked in confusion at his surroundings, and he took a handful of the white stuff and stared at it before closing his hand over it. “Why are we in the middle of a snowfield?”

“Is that what this is?” Jenis tried not to shiver as he made his way towards Soreas. He was suddenly extremely grateful that he was wearing one of his thicker outfits – a dark brown canvas robe with buffalo leather shoulder guards. He glanced at his hip, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw he had his wand; the greenery that seemed to grow out of the branch stood out in the middle of all the white surrounding them.

“Y-yeah, but... shit, this is cold!” Soreas stood up, and he did his best to brush off the snow from his clothing. He was wearing what he usually wore; a white, loosely-laced cotton shirt, along with his signature red bandana. He was wearing some thicker sheepskin culottes and boots, but they seemed to be doing little to protect him from the biting cold.

“Funny, it’s not as cold as I expected...” Jenis shrugged as he took off his glasses and wiped the water from the lenses with the hem of his robe before putting them back on again. “A bit wetter, but I’ll endure, I suppose.”

“T-that’s great for you, mister I-wear-clothes-as-thick-as-my-ego.” Soreas glared at Jenis as he tried in vain to warm his hands by tucking them in his underarms. “At least I’ve seen this crap before and I’m not staring at it in starry-eyed wonder like you are. I’m not exactly dressed for traipsing around in this white shite, you know...” He sighed in irritation as he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. “Damn, it’s cold!”

“Well, I would say that’s your problem, not mine,” Jenis said with a smirk. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“Well, I’m stuck with you, so I must be in hell... no, wait, too cold.” Soreas glared at Jenis before looking thoughtfully at the scenery around them. “Based on my extensive travelling, I’d say we’re… in a forest in a very snowy area.” Soreas returned Jenis’ smirk, and he drew his two-handed axe and, after cleaning it off and drying it with one of his half-gloves, checked it over before returning it to its holder on his back.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Jenis glared at Soreas witheringly, and he looked around. “Last I checked, there’s nowhere in Eorzea that has a snowy climate...”

“No, there isn’t. It just doesn’t... I don’t know... smell right? Then again, my nose might be frozen...”

Jenis sighed in irritation. None of this made any sense. How did they go from chasing a spriggan in the laundry room to being stuck in the middle of nowhere?

“Hello?” A female voice carried on the wind, and Jenis and Soreas heard a pair of footsteps come towards them. “I say, is someone out there?”

Soreas reached for his axe again, but Jenis held up his hand and quietly shook his head. Before Jenis could respond, the two saw an aldgoat – a Nanny, from what they could tell – slowly coming towards them.

“Psh, it’s just a goat.” Jenis said with a sigh. “And I thought someone was here...”

“‘Just a goat’? I say, that’s not a nice thing to say.” The aldgoat said as she glared at Jenis disapprovingly. “You should be ashamed of yourself, young... er... whatever you might be!”

Both Jenis and Soreas gaped at the aldgoat. Soreas recovered more quickly than Jenis, who seemed more shocked that he got scolded by a goat than anything else, and he gently cleared his throat and bowed lightly. “I apologize; we’re not accustomed to your kind having the predisposition for speech, madam...?”

“Ah, well, at least you’re polite!” The aldgoat beamed – how could a goat smile? – at Soreas. “My name is Nanny... what manner of creature might you be?”

“What manner...?” Jenis recovered from his shock only to be assaulted by another one. “You’ve never seen a Lalafell before?”

“A Lalafell?” Nanny laughed lightly, and it sounded more like a snort than anything. “What a silly name! No, child, I’m afraid I’ve never heard or seen a Lalafell before. Is that what the two of you are?” She cocked her head as she looked between the two. “You seem different, yet alike. Might you be of different species?”

“Uh, I guess you can say that, madam Nanny...” Soreas gave a quick glance at Jenis before continuing. “Do you have any idea where we are? I’m afraid we’ve lost our way, and...?”

“Oh, dear children!” Nanny looked at the two in shock. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know where you are?”

Jenis glared at the goat angrily, and he was about to retort when Soreas quickly cut him off. “No, I’m afraid not, but if you can give us directions to the closest town, I’m sure we can manage on our own after that.”

“How very curious!” The aldgoat repeated, seemingly to herself. “Imagine that, children in the middle of nowhere, and they don’t know where they are! Truly, this is akin to a faerie tale, more than anything...”

“Um... madam...?” Soreas smiled a smile of patient tolerance at the goat, but the restraint he was showing was evident in his voice.

“Well, no matter!” Nanny beamed at the two – again, how does a goat smile? – and nodded. “Come, I will bring you someplace warm! Your winter coat clearly hasn’t grown in, and that thin undercoat of yours will do naught against the winter’s chill!” The goat started walking back in the direction she came from, leaving two very confused-looking Lalafell staring at her.

“Should we...?” Soreas looked at Jenis uncertainly, who sighed and shrugged helplessly.

“Do we have a choice? Neither of us know where we are, and she does...” He paused and looked at Soreas. “I’m... not dreaming about the fact that she can talk, right?”

“If you’re dreaming, then so am I...” Soreas shook his head. “Let’s get going before we lose her...”

The two easily caught up to the Nanny, and they followed a little ways behind her. The landscape was much the same as it was where they awoke – deciduous trees that were bereft of their leaves, and not much else. The three walked in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the snow being packed down by their footsteps. The two refrained from talking behind the goat’s back, mostly because they didn’t know how good her hearing was. After a while, though, Jenis turned to the Nanny.

“So... er, I’m just curious... did you happen to see a little black ball of fur, about this big, running around here?” Jenis held his hands apart to demonstrate, “It would’ve had a sock or something in its mouth.”

The aldgoat nanny suddenly stopped, and she turned to Jenis and Soreas with a frown. “Are you asking me if I’ve seen a spriggan with a sock?”

“Yes, exactly that,” Jenis replied with a nod.

“Now why would you children want to know such a thing as that?” The aldgoat said with a note of disapproval in her voice.

“Well, we have a friend who’s been troubled with the theft of her socks,” Soreas specified, “And our pursuit led us here... wherever ‘here’ is.”

“Pursuit?!” The Nanny seemed appalled at that. “Oh dear... oh dear, that won’t do... that won’t do at all. Oh, the poor dear... pursued by two children...” The Nanny continued talking to herself as she walked, seeming not to pay attention to Jenis or Soreas; the two looked at each other uncertainly as they continued walking behind her.

“What did I say?” Jenis said quietly. “It was a valid question, was it not?”

“Yeah, for once you didn’t put your foot in your mouth all the way up to your knee...” Soreas sighed and shook his head. “Let’s just lay low for a while until we get to this shelter of hers...”

Jenis opened his mouth to protest, but he clammed up and settled for glaring at Soreas as he followed.

It didn’t take too much longer after that to reach the shelter; the trees thinned as they continued on their way, and soon they were at a rocky cliff face with a cave dug into it. The aldgoat nanny walked inside without even a glance at the two Lalafell, and after glancing at each other in agreement, they followed her inside.

[bisexualdanavidan]

oh boy oh boy my friend tagged me in a WIP tag meme thing!  thank you @thepartyresponsible, you don’t even go here and you’re still my favorite 

we’re gonna go under a cut cuz i can’t ever shut the fuck up

i wanna tag uhhh @orgyforone @sweetiefiend @theseusinthemaze and whoever else that follows me that wants to do this, i don’t want to impose!! 

1. wip #1 (“and start again”) is a three-part thing about arin & co living in a little oregon town where arin is the elementary school art teacher and dan is a single dad to a seven or eight year old

The farmers’ market starts the first Saturday of September and ends the last Saturday of November.  It’s always been that way - it’s certainly been that way since he moved here, six years old and starting out the season in shorts and a t-shirt and ending it bundled up behind the little stall his mom rented to sell bread and muffins out of.  He’s made it a longstanding habit to get up early on Saturdays year-round, and it pays off by the time fall rolls around - he’s almost always the first person to get his stall set up on the town square.

It isn’t that he has anything very interesting to sell.  There are other gardeners and farmers with better tomatoes, and Mrs. Culver talks about different breeds and cross-strains of blueberries like his mom used to talk about horses, and anybody with opposable thumbs can grow herbs like he does, even if he does have twice as much mint and lemon balm as anyone else because he let it overgrow a couple summers back and never did get around to wrangling it back to a more manageable level.  He kind of likes the way it looks, more garden than yard on three sides of his little house.  

[...]

“Hey,” Ama’s dad says, “I’m sure Mr. Hanson has stuff to do,” even though Arin’s pretty visibly not doing anything other than talking to them.  Arin takes a moment to look him over while he’s distracted by his kid: they might be the same age - Arin might be a little older - but he looks harried, Arin thinks, and thin in a way that suggests he’s getting over a long illness rather than that he tries to stay that way.  He’s pretty, in a skinny sort of way, with Ama’s long face and curly dark hair.  

2. wip #2 is a record/bookstore au; dan is a former opiate addict whose grandparents/parents set him up with a small shop to run so that he would have something to occupy his time that wasn’t drugs (and set him up with an “employee” aka babysitter in the form of barry, who’s grandma probably went to shul with danny’s or something); arin moves to new jersey, which is as far away from los angeles and his cheating jerk ex-boyfriend as he can get without leaving the country, and ends up spending maybe too much time in this weird little shop; also, arin has a dog

(Part of him is aware what a romantic comedy this is - the whole post-breakup-get-a-dog thing - but there’s not a ton about his life that feels romantic <i>or</i> funny right now, so maybe that specific cliche isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.)

The guy at the front desk seems delighted that he's coming in with the express purpose of adopting a dog.  "If you don't fall in love with someone today," he says after he gets Arin's basic information, "we can get your email or your number or, like, your Facebook or whatever, we get surrenders all the time.  But we've got a really, really great group in right now."

He's short-ish, with a dense scrub of dark beard and bright, clever brown eyes, and his nametag says <i>Hi, I’m Barry</i>.  He's cute, Arin thinks, but there's no spark of legitimate interest like there might have been a couple years ago back home.  <i>Back in California</i>, he corrects himself inside his head.  He leads Arin with a surety through the shelter, past offices and vet tech rooms until they get to the actual anima holding areas.  

"Are you thinking, like," Barry says, "a puppy?  Size preference?"

"Not a puppy," Arin says immediately, because the little brown-and-white terrier puppy that's eyeing him from a couple kennels down is cute as shit, but he's never actually owned a dog by himself before.  "Do you have, like.  A beginner dog?"

3. cw for domestic abuse, skip to the next one if you aren’t cool w it; wip #3 is yet another normal-world-never-famous au where ross and arin are art students in philly and dan works a series of odd jobs in between open mic nights; arin befriends him and gradually tries to ease him away from his piece of shit boyfriend (mostly i want to write about the dynamics of a bad relationship where at least one half of the relationship cares about the other despite being able to acknowledge the toxicity/abuse and avoid the trope where there’s One Final Straw and they make a clean break the first time and live happily ever after)

There’s a chunk of hair ripped out, Arin thinks, and then realizes faintly that it’s not hair, it’s scalp, too, that there’s dried blood matted into his mess of curls, dry and flaky under his fingertips when he reaches to touch it.  Dan jerks away infinitesimally, breathes in, careful, and seems to make himself relax.  

“Sorry,” he says, and when he looks up, Arin can see the hemorrhage in his left eye, a little explosion of scarlet that makes his breath catch in his throat.  He still smiles, though, and it’s small and tight around the edges but almost believable.  “Sorry, that’s - uh - that’s pretty gross.  Sorry.”

4. wip #4 is weird and way overambitious; tl;dr egobang medieval semi-realistic fantasy where arin gets the attention of the seely court and gets arin-napped and dan, who is wildly unsuited for rescue missions, has to venture through the fae forest to get him back 

Morning comes cold and wet to the farm. Mist hangs low over the pastures and stables, clinging to the gardens like a lover; Dan wraps his cloak more snugly around himself before he steps outside, burying his fingers in the thick grey fur lining in search of the cords that lace it tighter.  It's Arin's cloak, made for someone far broader of shoulder, but there’s no one there to see how foolish he looks in a cloak twice his size. The wind from the east is brisk and cold, and it only seems to grow colder as he checks everyone over: the chickens first, who flutter their wings at him and cackle the news of the morning’s bounty - and the goats, the little doeling and her mother, who nips at his sleeve and vainly tugs him forward to her stall - and then all fourteen of the horses, the handful of colts and their nosing mothers and the three raw-boned geldings, ready to be traded.  Ice clings to the very tops of the long grass in the near pasture, and crunches under his feet as he walks the fenceline.

It seems lonely in a way that the farm rarely does.  He lingers in the barn with the hens, scatters more barley than usual so that they peck and prance around his feet, and even offers a handful to the goat doeling.  <i>It’s the cold,</i> he decides.  The doeling snuffles at his empty palm and bleats, a thin, piteous little noise.  Reflexively, he reaches into the bag for another palm’s worth.  <i>The cold has come too early, and without Arin - </i>

He stops himself there, shakes his head as if that will shake the thought away from it.  He’s given to spells of melancholy, and has been since he was young: they’re worse when Arin is gone away, but he only has only one more day to wait.  

so yes those are the myriad things i am Struggling with!!  tbh if any of those catch yr fancy send me an ask, if people seem like they’re more interested in one over the other it will probably be Much easier for me to write them lmao 

[wizardsnwookies]

DFD022218 - Stories by the Fire

Raven quietly bussed the empty dishes in front of one of her regulars, Talmuld the carpenter and was thanked with the traditional nod. The inn was filled with the usual suspects tonight, with no indication it would be unlike any other. She brushed a lock of her ebony hair out of her faced and contemplated again cutting it short. Back in her adventuring days she would keep it no longer than below her ears, chopping it hap haphazardly with her dirk if it got too long. These days there weren’t much cause for worry regarding a goblin grabbing hold of her locks and pulling her head back to slit her throat, it helped keep her neck warm, but damned if it wasn’t a nuisance.

The banging of the door as it slammed back against the wall broke into her thoughts, the cold wind blew in from the night and flakes of snow wafted in onto the floor. Heavy boots tracked it in even further. She’d have to mop that up. She looked at the clock that never kept that well a time, but it was enough to estimate. Everyone who was going to show was either here or came and went. Travelers. Her spirit lifted at the thought of full coin purses and she turned to greet them warmly, her smile was immediately wiped clean off her face when she saw who was among the newcomers.

“What is this a temple? This is a place of revelry and warmth!!” Baldric twirled off his coat and handed it to the nearest table to hang up for him, kicking the snow from his heels and already identifying the easy pickings in the crowd. “Come, pull up your chairs and I will tell you of our treacherous journey to your lovely town!”

Surtur rolled his eyes and relieved a confused young woman of Baldric’s coat, tossing it outside into the snow. “Long story short, he was hit by a kobold’s sling and cried!”

Baldric ignored the shot and sat on top of one of the tables, leaning in towards the crowd that had quickly become drawn to his energy. “Why, it’s so cold out there you’d freeze your beard off!”

“NO, not my beard!” A drunkard gasped.

“YES! Why look at me. When we began this journey I had a magnificent beard, but now...” Baldric rubbed his bare chin for effect. “Smooth as a baby’s arse!!” Baldric bellowed with laughter, slapping his knee. Laughter tended to be infections, even if it was disingenuous. Sure enough, the sleepy crowd followed in turn, perking up from their tankards.

Surtur and Siggrun hung their furs up on the rack and founds seats at the bar, trying their best to ignore the commotion beginning to grow around them. Raven moved towards them with baleful eyes cast in the bard’s direction.

“Food and drink, if you please.” Surtur set down his flail in the chair next to him as if it were his precious son.

“Of course.” Raven coldly poured two pints and shoved them towards the pair of dwarves. Her sour mood only to get worse.

“-for days now, with nothing but the packs on our back. Our feet have become bloodied and blistered, our bellies filled with nought but dried beef well past it’s due, our whetskins so dry we wring from them nought but the oil used to tan them...” Baldric was laying it on thick now, but damned him if it didn’t work.

“Raven! Get this man food and drink by Gods! On me!”

“Why sir, I am astounded and humbled by your generosity. If I may repay you for such kindness,” Baldric removed the look from behind him and shot a wink in Raven’s direction.

“Ugh...what are you doing traveling with him?” She scribbled the order down on a scrap of paper and slammed it down on the window behind her leading into the kitchen.

“Hoping to make a man out of him.” Surtur wiped the ale from his whiskers. Curious, it tasted somewhat sweeter than common ale, more like mead than anything else really.

“Good luck with that. Some free advice? That one’s bad news.”

“Aye, we’re well aware lassie.” Siggrun folded his arms on the counter and pulled a face. “Unfortunately we’re stuck with ‘em for the time being. Eh, but mebbe we get lucky and the mountain will put him out of our misery.”

“Not Death Frost?” She slid two bowls of steaming yak stew in front of them, the color drained from her rosy cheeks.

“Aye, that be the one.”

“Let me guess, Lord Umber?”

Siggrun and Surtur exchanged looks.

“You’re not the first he’s sent up that mountain, not the first dwarf either. About five years back, name of Winston. I tried to warn him that the pass was haunted but he wouldn’t hear anything of it. No one’s seen him since.” Raven felt a chill run up her spine. In her days of blood and glory she never stood down from anything that lay in front of her, but even thinking of that mountain...

“Hey, you pansy ass bastard, get over here, we’re talking business!” Surtur leaned over his shoulder and made sure to shout loud enough for the whole inn to hear. The look Baldric shot him could curdle goat’s milk.

“Please, do excuse me. I’m afraid I’m the brains of this operation, can’t do a thing without me.” Another boisterous laugh left his lips but was cut short the instant he was out of earshot. “What the HELL are you doing?? I was working that crowd!”

“And they weep for their loss I’m sure.” Siggrun shoved him into the counter, knocking the wind out of his chest before continuing. “Funny you should mention Winston, I ‘ad a friend of mine head up this way looking for ‘im. Human by the name of Norquist, ring any bells?”

Raven shook her head. “No, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

Siggrun frowned and took a solemn pull from his tankard, such news didn’t bode well. “Well, you were saying something about a pass?”

“Yeah, leads you straight up the mountain.” Raven cast her eyes over to the wall, as if looking through it and out into the snow, towards the dark shadow that loomed over the entire town. “Word is it’s cursed, so it’s still not something I’d recommend doing, but considering the alternative.”

“The alternative being?” Baldric slouched over, he was already bored.

“Scaling the mountain yourself, which is a death sentence. But in your case, be my guest.” She stared daggers at him. This one had been a thorn in her side before. Strolling into town with nothing to his name, coming into her inn, fleecing her customers, and walking out with everything he could carry.

The bard smiled, a thought slithering its way through his lizard brain. He wondered, did she hate him enough to not be worth the attempt? The payoff, on the other hand, was quite tempting. What the hell, let’s give it a go.

“I’d listen to her my friends, she may look like just another beautiful young maiden behind a bar. Don’t let that fool you. Why, in her day she was a thing of legends. I have sung songs of her achievements that have left the crowd in nothing short of awe.”

Wow. Did he actually think that would work on her, Raven thought? Did he think her simple? The bastard. She looked at the other two for some kind of sympathy or shared disgust in this little wart. These two dwarfs seemed decent enough men. Sturdy. Brave... I wonder?

Raven looked around her at the inn that sometimes seemed like it was falling down around her. Talmuld was a miracle worker with a hammer, but even he could only repair something so far before it needed fresh wood. Up here, that tended to get expensive in the quantities she would need it. New stairs, roof patching, doors, stools, table tops...we’re talking a lot of gold. The kind of gold an adventurer would pull in...

“Alright, you want me to go with you? Fine.”

Baldric smiled, got her!

“On one condition,” she jabbed a finger into his chest and dug in. “You pay these people back everything by paying their way tonight.”

Surtur chuckled, he liked this one! Meanwhile, Siggrun was busy admiring the well toned muscles hidden by her simple tunic. The way they bulged out of the fabric when she poked the bard in the chest told him she was no stranger to wielding a sword. There would be no objections from him.

“Fine.” Baldric surprised them all, gently taking her finger and moving it away form his chest he turned and bellowed into the crowd, arms raised high above his head. “Everyone!! Next round is on me!!!”

A deafening cheer rang out into the inn, tankards were raised in a toast to this delightful young man. Sour old men that Raven had yet to see smile at all this evening walked up and slapped him on the shoulder, eager to receive their next drink. Raven squinted her eyes, this, she was not expecting. Baldric spun back around and returned her confusion with a smile that was dripping with self satisfaction and pulled a small shift of paper from inside his tunic and handing it to the barmaid.

“You’ll want to pack your heavy coat. It’s bound to get cold up there.”

Raven examined the piece of paper and she cursed to herself. It was a expense slip, all to be charged in  the name of Lord Umber.

---

“Hey...whazzin this pie?” Surtur’s speech slurred as he struggled to maintain balance on the stool, eventually he gave up and leaned against the bar top. He gestured with his fork to the half eaten slab of warm fruit pie in front of him. It was all the Inn served, and he had had more than his share of it.

“Frostberries.” Raven smiled, taking the opportunity to slide his tankard away, hiding it under the counter. “It’s about the only thing that grows up here, so we use it for everything we can. Even the ale.”

“I thought it tassssssted sweet.”

“Come on now lad, I think you’ve had enough.” An armored arm wrapped itself around Surtur’s shoulder and pulled him to the ground, making sure he stood nice and sturdy on his own two feet. Siggrun tossed a purse of coins behind him to Raven. “I’ll see him to bed. Now get yourself some sleep, we’re off early in the mornin’.”

The two dwarves slowly made their way upstairs, stopping every few steps to make sure Surtur didn’t fall or worse, wretch all over the priest holding him up. In the corner of the inn, Baldric smiled and watched them dissappear at the top of the stairs and waited until he heard two doors close solidly. Separate rooms, thank the Gods.

They had been traveling together for some time now, and aside from the night at Lord Umber’s manor they had been sharing a tent the entire time. Two dwarves and a human, three sets of armor, Surtur’s ungodly large flail, and their packs, all crammed into a humid tent bathing in the scent of three individuals who were covered in callouses, scars, and had not bathed in days. Baldric was aching for a soft bed, and more pleasant company.

Looking around he was dismayed to find he was the last one awake, all of Wolfshead’s residents were warm in their beds now as far as he can tell...that is, all except himself and Raven, whom he suspected would awaken him with a knife in the back considering her past attitudes.

Although...perhaps not. He had managed to get her to come along hadn’t he? Besides, imagining a warm soft body smelling of ale and flowers was far too tempting. He could at the very least give it the old college try. Who knows, he might get lucky.

“So, Raven.” He poured every ounce of charm he had on reserve into his voice. The look he gave her was not promising towards his odds of success. “Seeing as we’re going to be spending a lot more time together, I was just wondering...

“Well, it’s awfully cold out there tonight, and you know what they say about body heat being the best way to keep warm.” He slipped his hand across the counter and rested it gently on hers. For a moment he braced himself, expecting a knife to come crashing down, sacrificing her own hand just to spite him.

“You know what Baldric, I think you’re right.” Raven cooed sweetly.

“I am?”

“Absolutely.” She leaned forward before pulling away, showing off her assets as she made her way into the kitchen. “Just let me get a few things.”

Wow, thought Baldric. I honestly didn’t think that would work. He smiled to himself noting to never again doubt his abilities. His self congratulatory mood was broken however by the emergence of a massive orc pulling off a stained chef’s apron.

“I hear you like body warmth.” Baldric’s eyes watered at the foul breath that leaked from a mouth of half rotten teeth. The orc’s hygiene habits made the dwaves seem like primed and proper. His massive chest was as if chiseled from stone and covered in a forest of hair. Scars littered his skin, the areas that weren’t covered in warts and sores that is. From beneath his arms an acrid stench combined with the breath and made the bard light headed. That cramped tent, suddenly seemed far more appealing.

Behind the orc Raven leaned against the jamb of the door leading into the kitchen, a triumphant smile plastered on her face. Touche, Raven, Baldric though. Well played indeed, but I’ll be damned if I let you think you’ve won. Otherwise, the journey up that mountain would be doubly insufferable.

Baldric straightened an composed himself, holding his chin high he turned and headed for the stairs. “Well, looks like I’m the little spoon then.”

---

Gor, prayed Siggrun, give me strength so that I may continue the work of the Bloodyhand. Your servants fought this evil once before, if it not be finished, I will bring their work to a close in your glorious name.

Ice cold winds pelted his skin, melting for the briefest of moments before freezing in his beard. He could feel the cold pressure of the snow through his furs as they trudged through the drifts of the covered pass. This was only the beginning, they had a long ways yet to go. He had strength enough for now, but he knew only Gor would ultimately decide his fate. He only wished that his god was kind enough to let him die a beautiful death, with a weapon in his hand, and blood upon his face. A warriors death, as all deaths should be.

On their second day of hiking, the town below appeared as it could be held in his palm, but still the mountain loomed ahead of them. He looked back at the Bard, struggling to keep up as was expected. Raven took the rear, bless her. She knew Baldric’s pride would not allow him to be the last in line. As long as she kept pace behind him, Baldric would keep moving and they would keep to their time.

“Hold up, we’ve got something up ahead.” Surtur held up a fist allowing Siggrun to catch up and peer through the flurries. Dusk was falling, so he was forced to squint to catch the rest but a warm campfire was easily spotted just outside a cluster of trees.

“What is it? We making camp?” Raven shoved the lagging Bard forward, not a bead of sweat on her brow.

“Someone is. A tanner maybe, or a fur trapper from the looks of it.” Siggrun motioned to the camp before them. They could smell it from here, the fresh gore of hide hanging from the trees. Wolf pelt, fox, even a bear. Bones and antlers littered the red puddles of melted snow, and the naked corpses of animals heaped to one side gathering snow.

“Old Zeke.” Raven wrinkled her nose as the stench, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. “Best be careful from her on out. He’s a bit...off, but long as we don’t upset him we should be fine.”

The group pressed forward slowly, more details coming into view and the foul odor coming more and more pervasive. On each hanging skin, were names, scrawled with a trembling hand and written in blood. These names it seemed, were being copied onto wooden plaques, delicately carved. Each one resting in various stages of completion below their corresponding skin. Just as they were about to hail the resident within the crude shack, a massive figure pushed back the heavy skins and stepped out into the snow.

The man was massive, standing nearly two heads taller than Baldric. The cold eyes that stared back at his visitors showed his years, years that had not at all been kind or easy. Blood covered him head to toe, dried flecks of red stained his long grey beard. For a moment there was only the dull clatter of the wooden bowl and spoon tucked under his arm as he examined the group before a weary grin curled from his lips.

“Well now, been a long time since I’ve had visitors up these parts. Raven, keeping them lads at bay down at the inn?”

“Best I can.” Raven forced a slight smile, but her stance was tense Siggrun noticed, ready for anything. A warrior’s stance. He was liking this woman more and more. “How you keeping up here?”

“Oh, I manage.” An old chuckle fell out of him and Zeke groaned as he lowered himself down onto a hunk of tree pulled up to the fire. Wrinkled hands, seemingly not bothered by the frigid temperatures reached out and stirred a bubbling pot of stew within a small camp cauldron. “Supper just about came on, you’re welcome to it if you like. Warm you up ‘fore your way back.”

“‘Way back?’“ The bard shifted in his place and sucked his teeth. Siggrun noticed it as a nervous tell, he was uncomfortable. For once, the warpriest couldn’t blame him.

“Afraid I can’t let you got much further than here.”

“Why not?” Surtur shot a careful look Siggrun’s way, a part of the unspoken communication they had perfected through their journeys. A careful look in his direction betrayed a slight tightening of his grip upon the flail heaved over his shoulder.

“It’s cursed land.” Stew slopped and steamed into Zeke’s bowl. Not once did he look up from it. His voice steady, very matter of fact.

“I ain’t afraid. I’ll punish whatever’s up there.” Siggrun finally spoke up, pulling aside his furs to flash the sigil of Gor emblazoned upon his armor. Only then did Zeke’s eyes lift from his dinner, they paused briefly on the sigil, then stared into Siggrun’s eyes with a burning intensity that sent a shock through his system.

“If you ain’t afraid, you ought to be. I’ll say it again, I ain’t letting you up that mountain.

“Ask Raven, she’ll tell you what the people in Wolfshead think of me. Think me simple, maybe even mad. Now don’t go fibbing little lady, I know it’s true.” Zeke held up a hand to stop Raven’s feeble attempts at protesting. He closed his eyes, setting his bowl into the snow and leaned forward on his knees.

“Fact is, I know more of the truth than most down there do about this mountain. Those that do, they’re content to keep quiet of the fact, try and forget. That’s fine, I understand. Some things are just too much for folk to bare. Sometimes the only way to keep on is to forget. Some days I wish I could, but the fact is, someone has to remember, for them.” Zeke motioned to the names carved on the plagues, painted in blood on hanging skins above them.

“I seen them graves the cult dug for them. Little more than holes in the ground really. Tossed them aside like rotten vegetables from the cellar. So many bodies, can’t hope to remember them all. They kept good records though, if’n I hadn’t lost my nerve I’d have made a copy of them while I was up there.”

Surtur sat down across the old man warming himself by the fire and grabbing his own bowl from his pack. “Maybe you can tell us where to find it. We could bring it back-”

“Ain’t you been listening?” Zeke snapped, almost moving to a stand. Siggrun felt his muscles tense instinctively, beside him he watched Raven’s hand reach for the hilt of her sword, Baldric was conveniently absent. Surtur put a hand up, shaking his head, the signal to hold.

“I told you, that place is cursed. You don’t bring nothing down from off that mountain or you’ll bring it with you, and you ain’t going up there anyhow. What you want up there anyways?” The old man’s eyes narrowed, staring through each and every one of them.

“Gold, obviously. What other reason is there?” Finally showing himself, Baldric was immediately met with Raven’s elbow in his gut. But it was too late, Zeke had heard him and replied with by spitting on the ground.

“What good is gold if you’re dead?”

“I’m looking for someone who went missing not a few days ago.” Siggrun stepped forward and returned Zeke’s stare unflinchingly. “He went looking for a mutual friend who was sent up that mountain on a quest and never came back.”

For a moment, Zeke’s eyes softened, his muscles relaxed some, and he almost appeared to sink back into the stump, deflating as he let out a long sigh. “He like family?”

“Aye.”

Everything was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire and soft flutter of snow falling from weighted branches. “It’s getting dark. Eat up, you can share my shack for the night if you wish.” He offered nothing else and ignoring his half-eaten dinner in the snow beside him, Zeke stood and retreated to his tent.

The group looked at each other, neither of them sure of what had happened, or what to expect from the morning. Eventually, cold and hunger forced them to comply and fill their bellies with a hunters stew of water, blood, and tough hunks of meat. Upon entering the shack they found the old man already asleep in a pile of furs in the corner, and when they awakened the next morning, he was gone.

[snippychicke]

The Pet Emporium

Title: The Pet Emporium

Chapter One

Rating: G

Fandom: Undertale--UnderSwap

Pairing: Reader/Papyrus

You had (foolishly) thought working in a petstore would be wonderful. Who wouldn’t love to be surrounded by puppies and kittens, along with fish and birds of all kinds.

And poop. Screaming kids. Birds screeching, nonstop barking. Pet ‘parents’ giving you lectures about some item in the store that would cause Instant Death or Endless Suffering to their dog/cat/goldfish. Having to keep an eye out for cruel people thinking it was fun to torment the animals.

You were wary when monsters appeared from underground, and couldn’t help but imagining how everything could change for the worse.

But the only thing that did was the fact humans were no longer your only customers.

Dogamy and Dogaressa were the first monsters you really met. The married white dogs always walked hand in hand one day and brought out nearly all the rawhide bones...and all the flea treatments.

“Endogy brought fleas home,” Dogaressa chatted as if she had known you for a long time, though her eyes shifted as if she was nervous. “And now Greater Dog and Lesser Dog have them too.”

“Oh no!” you answered, nervous yourself yet falling easily into the typical small talk as you checked out the bottles of flea shampoo. “Fleas are horrible. Do they like at least like water?”

You think Dogaressa smiled. It was hard to tell with her snout. Either way, she seemed a bit more relaxed. “Oh, they love water. Baths are different story, though. That's what the rawhide is for. It's their favorite.”

“Oh, you love it too, honey,” Dogamy answered with a heart felt tease, his watchful eyes returning to the other dog. “Especially with you being with pups.”

“Oh shush you!”

The pair visited at least weekly after that, and you did get to meet Lesser Dog and Greater Dog, twin brothers that acted more like canines but still possessed intelligence. Lesser Dog would pull out cash from somewhere when Dogaressa forgot her wallet, and Greater Dog often solved the crossword puzzle that had stumped you while you fussed at the computer when it gave you issues...which was quite often, actually.

And then there was Doggo. Lesser Dog helped him in once, with brightly mismatch clothes and beady eyes unable to focus on anything. Which you didn’t think much of as you rang up a box of dog treats, silently wondering if they were like dessert for them, when Doggo opened up the box, pulled one out….

And went to light it as if it was a cigarette.

Lesser Dog barked suddenly, grabbing the lighter from him as you exclaimed: “Sir! You-you can’t smoke in here!”

“What? Oh, right,” he apologized, tucking the burned biscuit in his pocket. “Sorry, it’s been a long week.”

Then there was an orange cat-like monster Felix (affectionately known as Burger Pants, oddly enough) and his best friend, Usagi the blue rabbit. By the time they visited, you were fairly used to the Dog family. So you barely blinked at the pair, you were more worried about the blue rabbit pulling the very reluctant cat through the store. They...reminded you a lot of a pair of teenagers, one coercing the other into a  prank. So while you continued served customers, you also kept an eye on the pair on the security cameras.

They made a straight line for the cat department, arguing in one of the aisles before Felix picked up a small container. You expected him to pocket or something, but instead the cat nervously brought it up to the counter while the rabbit waited anxiously by the doors.

“I-I want to buy this…” he stuttered as he placed a small jar of catnip on the counter, and you tried not to laugh.

Except, a slight smile did. “It’s not for me!” he quickly answered. “Usagi told me only cats can buy it…! Oh no, I wasn’t suppose to say that.” His eyes were wide as he covered his mouth with his paws. You did have to laugh at that.

“It’s okay. I don’t think there is any laws against that...yet.” None that you were aware of, but it made him relax.

“He loves the stuff,” he said as he paid for the small jar. “I honestly hate it, but he’s my best friend.”

The pair would wander in occasionally after that, no longer acting shady but rather friendly. Felix was one of the nicest people you had met, always upbeat and cheery while Usagi...well, you were fairly sure catnip was an equivalent to weed. While he had a relaxed smile, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Felix with a very dark and jaded humour.

Yet, the monster you saw the most was the skeleton at the hot dog stand across from the store, dressed in a orange hoodie every day that clashed with the mandatory green hat on his head. He was never busy, customers came in waves, a rhythmic ebb and flow that was hypnotizing to watch.

You...may also have this very strange...crush. More like a squish really. Initially, it just started as a slightly macabre curiosity. After all, he was a skeleton, for stranger than the Dog family, Felix or Usagi.

Then his lazy smile and puns drew you in closer. He realized you worked at the Emporium, and you heard every animal pun possible, from the classic: “Back again? You gotta be kitten me,” to “Whale welcome back,” or “Whatever floats your goat,” after ordering, said with a smile and a wink.

It got to the point where Papyrus had your ‘dog ready before you even arrived. You didn’t know if that was good or bad.

At first, you would just eat at the bench nearby, catching snippets of his conversations and the music from the bluetooth speaker he had set up. Snickering at the jokes and enjoying the variety.

Then there was a certain song that quickly became your favorite. It took a good week before you worked up the courage before asking.

“Oh? It’s one of Napstabots early songs, back before he got famous,” he answered, leaning on the counter as he pulled up the song on his phone. “Do you have an Undernet account?”

Just as the internet, or Uppernet as it was now called, was open to monsters, their own version were open to humans. Except it was rather different. More open-share than anything. You nervously gave him your username, which made him pause.

“Pawsome Kitten?” he slowly grinned as you covered your face.

“I was really tired!” you defended in embarrassment. You weren’t about to admit he inspired the name. That was bad enough.

“Fur real? You’re not kitten me?” the grin on his face was bigger than you ever seen, ernest too. “That is pawsibly the best purrsona I’ve heard.”

“You have customers and my break is over,” you pointed out quickly before rushing back to the emporium.

“See you tomorrow Kitten!” he hollered after you, making you flush.

A few minutes later, your phone beeped. Bonehead was following you on Undernet, and had sent you a music file.

The song opened a flood gate. The two of you bonded quickly after that. It started with music reccs, which led to movie reccs and book reccs. Funny memes was a logical jump, often leading to late nights swapping the funniest memes and cat videos you could find.

It wasn’t long and he started to close up shop as soon as you left the emporium, handing you the your usual as he joined you on the bench. He’d slump down next to you on the bench, long bony legs stretched out and his arms across the back, a subtle warmth against your shoulders.

Friend dates, you told yourself. Just two friends spending the lunch hour together.

Did friends get butterflies though? Like every time he called you ‘Kitten’ instead of kid as he did everyone else, including people well into middle and late adulthood. Or when he wore his honest smile and not the lazy one he seeme to wear out of habit.

Anyone else and you would be fairly sure he was into you. But...it was different. He didn't seem interested, just...more relaxed around you. Open. Happy?

You weren’t going to push it, either way. His friendship had become too important to risk. Besides, how would that even work? Would he even be interested in you in that way?

*****

You were set into a boring day. Papyrus was off and oddly not bombarding your phone, and none of your regulars would probably be in, seeing it had been only a few days.

Early in the afternoon, the monotony was broken as a shot of silver and blue streaked past. “Mweheheh!” echoed after it, making you worry.

You leaned on the counter, trying to figure out what just ran passed when a pair of bony fingers scratched the top of your head. “Heya Kitten,” Papyrus gave a lazy smile as you jumped, through the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. “How's it going?”

“Good,” you stuttered faintly, feeling flustered from his closeness as well as the zipping blur. “Did you see that blue blur…”

“Yeah…” he fiddled with his signature lollipop, his eyes searching the store. “ It’s my brother. He really wanted to come visit…”

Gone was the usual pride and love in his voice whenever he spoke of Sans. You hesitated as you studied his face. It was nothing like his usual self, instead he looked worried. Concerned. You brushed his hand that rested on the counter with yours without thinking. His gaze jumped to you, a faint orange tinge to his face that disappeared fast enough to make you question if you had imagined it. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed, removing the candy from his mouth. “Sans...came here to find supplies for Sprinkles.”

“Sprinkles?” you repeated, still confused. Before he could explain, the blue blur was back. Sans was short, barely a head taller than the counter. His bright blue eyes stood out, along with the fact he was dressed in silver and blue armour.

“Human!” he announced loudly as he set a moderate sized stone on the counter. “I require items for my pet rock!”

You stared for a moment, heart clenching. Your eyes glanced up to Papyrus, who looked rather awkward as he avoided your gaze. Oh, you realized with a sharp pang who Sprinkles was. “Sorry, we’re...we’re out right now,” you found yourself saying, a stab of pain as you saw Sans’ expression deflate and Papyrus flinch slightly. “But...if you leave me a list of what you need, I can see if I can order it for you.”

His blue eyes legitly turned to stars as he grinned, making you smile in return. You fetched a scrap paper and a pen for him, and allowed him to have at it. While he made his list, you glanced back at Papyrus. There was a soft orange glow across the white of his cheek bones, his eyes fixated on you for a moment in surprise. You offered a another smile, which widened as he unconsciously smiled back.

“That should be sufficient!” Sans announced, slamming down the pen with a grin. “Thank you for your service, Human! No other pet store had anything for rocks. They even insisted that rocks weren’t even proper pets!”

You were cursing those other pet stores while trying to hold onto your smile. “Well, that’s because only a few people can properly own and handle a pet rock. So, of course those little pet stores wouldn’t be able to help you. But, I’m sure you can handle it.”

You would never forget the grin on his face at your praise, his eyes literally sparkling at your words. He let out a little ‘Mweh heh!’ before dashing out of the store in a blue and silver blur.

“Thanks,” Papyrus said after a moment. “That...that meant a lot.”

You flushed slightly. “Not a problem. He...he reminds me of my own brother.”

You realized your slip at the curious look on his face. Your heart squeezed and you prayed for a distraction. Thankfully one was delivered as Sans returned. “Papy! Come on!” Sans yelled as he grabbed his brother’s sleeve. “You promised we could eat at Las Tapas before the movie!”

“Eh? Did I really?” Papyrus dug his heels in as Sans tried to drag him. “I don’t recall ever saying that….”

Despite his efforts, Sans wasn't gaining much ground with Papyrus, and the taller skeleton didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. “Yes! You did! Chara and Flowey are probably already there! So move your lazy bones!”

“Alright, alright.” He gave you a playful wink to match the smile on his face. “See ya later, Kitten.”

He started walking suddenly, throwing Sans off balance. The small skeleton stumbled, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Papyrus paused at the door to give a small wave that you happily returned.

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Seven

The answer to my tears is more writing! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: The Answer to Your Tears Point-of-View: Rikke

Sometimes you wake from a nightmare, and there’s a wonderful wash of relief as you realise the horrors you saw were just ghosts, and you’re safe in your own warm bed.

For Rikke, it happened the other way around.

(snorts) Classic Abercrombie writing trick, bring up the cliche, only to subvert it at the end. It’s still as effective as a splash of cold water to the face, and what a mood to start off this chapter. Cheery!

It was with great reluctance she opened her eyes, saw the cold, grey sky through branches creaking with the wind, and something swinging—

“Shit!” she squawked, scrambling from her clammy cloak. A man had been hanged from the tree right above where she’d been sleeping. If she’d stood up tall, she could’ve touched his dangling feet. When she lay down, it’d been too dark to see her own hands, let alone a corpse hung overhead. But there was no missing him now.

Well. What a body to start off this chapter, too. Certainly makes for an effective alarm clock, though I’m sure Rikke will be paying for it down the road in trauma. That’s a memory one never forget.

“There’s a dead man,” Rikke squeaked, pointing a trembling finger.

Isern barely spared him a glance. “On balance, I’d rather be surprised by dead men than living. Here.” She pressed something into Rikke’s cold hand. A soggy heel of loaf and a handful of those horrible bitter berries that left your teeth purple. “Breakfast. Savour it, for that is all the food it has pleased the moon to give us.” She cupped her blue hand and her white and blew into them, ever so gently, like even breath was a resource to be rationed. “My da used to say you can see all the beauty in the world in the way a hanged man swings.”

Rikke bit off damp bread, chewed it in her sore mouth, eyes creeping back to that slowly turning body. “Can’t say I’m seeing it.”

“Nor me, I will admit.”

Yeah, Crummock-i-Phail was a huge asshole in that sense, stuck in his old ways. If there was any “beauty” in a hanged man’s swinging, it’s in the beauty in knowing your enemy is dead, or if it’s a stranger or ally, knowing you’re still alive and breathing against the sight of a corpse swaying in the wind.

The difference between the old and new generation and what they take for blessing or curse. From Rikke’s trembling fear, to Isern’s hardened, yet not highly appreciative, outlook, to Crummock’s reveling in death mindset, three generations weighing in the “beauty” of a hanged man’s swinging.

“Who is he?”

“Honestly, he’s not had much to say for himself. Could be one of your father’s men, hanged by Stour Nightfall’s. Could be one of Stour Nightfall’s, hanged by your father’s. Not much difference now. The dead fight for no one.”

As the Dogman once said:

“The Great Leveller,” Dogman whispered to himself, since he was in a thoughtful frame of mind. That’s what the hillmen call him. Death, that is. He levels all differences. Named Men and nobodies, south or north. He catches everyone in the end, and he treats each man the same.

—Before They Are Hanged, The Great Leveller  

Stour’s men, Dogman’s men, everyone is equaled in the end. And all the dead can do is rot, in the ground or swinging, it matters naught to the living.

One of her father’s men? Had Rikke known him, then? How many folk she knew were killed, these last few days? She felt the ache of tears at the back of her nose, sniffed it up hard.

“How much more of this can we take?” And she knew her voice was getting shrill and cracked but couldn’t stop herself.

“Can I take?” asked Isern. “I was six when my da first sent me to cut arrows from the dead. I can take as much as there is. Can you take? If you fall down and can’t get up, we’ll have riddled out your limit. Until then…” She looked off through the trees, picking at her berry-stained teeth with a fingernail. “We can’t sit still. Nor make it up into the hills to my people. So we must find the Union, or your father’s men, and they’re all backing off towards the Whiteflow quick as goats before a wolf. We have to move faster than they are, and the enemy are between us and them, so the further we go, the more dangerous it gets. We’ll be marching for days, still. Weeks, even.”

You know, the more I read on, there’s definitely a sense that Rikke’s upbringing has been relatively coddling to her and something she took for granted, and maybe the Dogman should’ve eased more experiences into her so she could harden up sooner, but I’m sorry, Isern’s upbringing is the freaky one here to me. Six years old!? I’m not surprised, given Isern was right there in the first trilogy, shin-kicker she is, but SIX!? There’s a balance between as soft and sensitive as a baby’s skin and as desensitized as a damaged nervous system and hooo boy, Crummock kind of fucked Isern up a bit there. And it’s not like we don’t have a good sense of what a typical Northern upbringing is like, Beck’s chapters detail exactly how normal that is!

Ugh. Crummock.

She thought of her father’s hall in Uffrith. The faces carved in the rafters and the meat dripping gravy into the firepit. The hounds begging with their sad eyes and their chins on her knee. The songs sung of high deeds done in the sunny valleys of the past. Her father getting dewy-eyed at every mention of Threetrees, and Thunderhead, and Black Dow, even, raising his cup when a voice rumbled out the name of the Bloody-Nine.

D’awww, Dogman, you still miss your crew dearly, even Black Dow...

... Including the Bloody-Nine, huh. Oh, Dogman, you knew the Bloody-Nine was a shit back then. You might have followed him, regardless of his character, but you definitely knew by Last Argument of Kings’ end. I guess nostalgia smooths out the rough edges of bloody memories, I see.

She thought of the Named Men ranged along both sides of the firepit. All smiling at some joke of hers. Some song of hers. That Rikke, she’s a funny one. You wouldn’t want your own daughter wrong in the head, but she’s funny.

She thought of wandering comfortably drunk into her room, and her own warm cot with the blanket her mother made, and the pretty things she’d found placed nicely on the shelf, and the pretty clothes all dry and beautiful in the chest.

She thought of the steep streets of Uffrith, cobbles shining from the rain, and the boats on the grey harbour, and the people gabbling in the market, and the fish sliding glistening from the nets as the catch came in.

She knew she’d been unhappy there. She’d said it so often, even she was tired of her moaning. Now she rubbed at the torn and stinking fur on her cloak and wondered how she could’ve been so hurt by cold words and sharp looks. Seemed foolish and childish and weak. But that’s what growing up is, maybe. Realising what a fucking arse you’ve been.

By the dead, she wanted to go back to the safe and warm, and instead of being hunted just be scorned, but Rikke had seen Uffrith burn. It might be that the Long Eye can peek into the past, but of one thing there’s no doubt—you can never go there. The world she’d known was gone and wasn’t coming back any more than that dead man dangling, and the world she was left with was bitter chill and a mean bully besides.

(winces) 

1. Well, that just strengthens the idea that Rikke is neurodivergent-coded to me. That atmosphere of treating a disabled person as a “funny little thing” and elevating them solely in what they can give to you. Not wanting the “burden” of having a disabled person, but taking some mirth and joy in them and the jokes they can serve up, as long as you don’t get stuck taking care of them personally. I get where Rikke’s coming from with her jokes and songs, showing she’s got wit, but poor Rikke, even if this might be the best case scenario in this world. 2. Who’s Rikke’s mother? Is it something we know, and does Rikke actually know know her? And is she still alive? Dang it, Abercrombie, give me answers! 3. Rikke, you are a child. At the very least, a teenager. Of course you were foolish and childish and such. No one started off mature and wise, we all had to deal with the world and adjust and learn to grow from such experiences. 4. That’s an acutely relatable feeling as we grow up. Realizing that we’ve whined about blessings and comforts we took for granted, fixating on the bad of it instead, only realizing they were mere dust after enduring worse experiences as we grow older. Most of us have cringed at the memory of our past selves and the dumbfuckery we’ve committed to. Now, I don’t entirely hold Rikke against resenting her childhood, because, again, fuck those children, and she’s got every right to resent that part, but in the face of starvation and freezing cold and death, I understand where she’s coming from. 5. If the last chapter was focused on the Rikke/Isern dynamic itself, especially with Rikke re-conciliating with killing someone, even by accident, and reckoning with never going back home in a general sense, this chapter is all about Rikke explicitly re-conciliating with her life back at Uffrith in her memories, the men who might’ve been killed, the times she’s now lost, and the specific stones of the home she can’t ever come back. It’s loss etched in the precise memories.

She couldn’t help herself. So hungry and cold and sore and scared and with more of the same the best she could hope for. She stood with her numb hands dangling, and her shoulders shaking, and the tears silently trickled down her face and dripped from her nose and brought the faint taste of salt to her waggling lower lip.

She felt Isern step close. Put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Take her chin, and tip it up, and speak in a softer voice than she’d ever heard her use before. “D’you know what my da would say, whenever I cried?”

“No,” warbled Rikke, slobbery with snot.

With a sharp and shocking smack, Isern slapped her across the face.

Rikke blinked, jaw hanging open, putting one hand to her burning cheek. “What the—”

“That’s what he would say.” Isern shook her, hard. “And when that is the answer to your tears, you soon learn to stop mewling and attend to what has to be done.”

That’s straight-up physical abuse, Crummock Isern! Have you considered your dad didn’t have all the answers. Or, better yet, the right answers. Sheesh, Isern! She’s already cold and mourning her own life, she didn’t need that. Look, I get where Isern’s coming from, less time crying and more time running and surviving, but I can’t exactly take this as an objective truth lesson so much as the leavings of an abusive dickhead father. Now, Isern doesn’t quite strike me the same asshole as Crummock was, but she certainly took a few of his lessons to heart.

“Yes, you’ve had hardships. The sickness and the fits, and the being thought mad and blah, blah, blah. But you were also born with all your limbs and a fine set of teeth in your pretty face, the only child of a powerful chief, with no mother and a hall full of soft-headed old warriors doting upon you.”

I mean, sure, when you put it like that, it sounds petty, but consider that maybe war and violence and freezing your ass off in the wilderness shouldn’t be the norm? That being said, the Circle of the World isn’t that kind, and Isern’s not wrong in that Rikke’s not physically disabled, but I’m not entirely sure being considered “wrong in the head” is better, in terms of gaining respect. This reads more like the old-and-a-half generation imparting its hard lessons into the new, softer generation, rather than truth-teller to naif.

“You are used to twisting the old men around your fingers. But if Black Calder gets his hands upon you, he will twist you around his. He will twist you until you are all broken apart and you will have no one but yourself to blame. You have been coddled, Rikke. You are soft as pig fat.” And that merciless finger poked Rikke painfully in her tit again. “Lucky for you, I am here, and I will pare the fat away and leave the iron which I see beneath well sharpened.” Poke, poke, in the same old bruise. “Lucky for you, because out here that softness will kill you, and that iron can save you.” Poke, poke. “It may be just a needle now, but one day we might make a dagger—” 

“You cunt!” screeched Rikke and punched Isern in the mouth. It was a decent punch, snapping her head back and sending specks of spit flying. Rikke had always reckoned herself weak. More a weeper than a fighter. Now a fury she never knew she had boiled up in her. It was a fine, strong feeling. The first flicker of warmth she’d felt in days.

Ironically, I can’t help but think back to Calder, right after beating down Brodd Tenways way back in The Heroes:

He’d felt grand when he’d seen his father put on the chain and sit in Skarling’s Chair, three hundred Named Men on their knee to the first King of the Northmen. He’d felt grand when he put his hand on his wife’s belly and felt his child kick for the first time. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such fierce pride as he did in the moment Brodd Tenways’ nose-bone broke under his knuckles.

No way he would’ve said no to more of that feeling.

—The Heroes, Bones

Both Northerners thought themselves weak and non-fighters, both fought back and punched in an attempt to take some control back in their lives and alleviate their feeling of powerlessness that came from their immediate tragedies (Rikke losing her home, Calder thinking he lost Scale). Both didn’t want to say no to more of that feeling of power.

Calder went on to do some amazing things down that road to more power, and I dearly wish to know how Rikke walks her own road.

Though, as a side-note, is Black Calder really that sort of type? I never got the sense Calder was the torturing or twisting type so much as the diplomatic hostage-taker in the same vein as the better parts of Bethod. Did he change that much in the intervening years?

She raised her fist again but Isern caught her wrist, caught her hair, too, and wrenched her head back, made her squawk as she was pinned against the tree with fearsome strength.

“There’s that iron!” Isern grinned, showing teeth blood- as well as berry-stained. “Perhaps it is a dagger after all. One day, we might forge a sword from it that strong men will cower at and the moon itself will smile upon.” She let go of Rikke’s hair. “Now, are you warmed up and ready to dance with me westwards?” Her eyes rolled upwards to the dangling body. “Or would you prefer to dance beside our friend?”

Ah, clever, Isern. Poking the bear so it unsheathes its claws. Or, in this case, poking the needle until it pokes back with the force of a dagger. And asking whether Rikke will continue wallowing in her self-pities or move onward like a survivor, full of enough fire to last in the cold?

Rikke took a long, ragged breath and blew it smoking out into the chill air. Then she held up her empty hands, one now painfully throbbing across the knuckles to add to her woes. “I’m all packed.”

Such is the answer to her tears now.

As a chapter, this, in some ways, feels more like a set-up chapter with regards to plot, but at the same time, it’s doing some classic character set-up, getting Rikke to specifically deal with the fall-out of Uffrith’s burning, and getting her in a position where she’s got the fire to survive and out-last the bastards that burnt her home down and move onward now. It also serves the purpose of showing a nastier side to Isern, not necessarily evil, but nasty in a sense where you know she’s Crummock’s daughter.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

[drferox]

20 Questions with Dr Ferox #20

Sometimes it blows my mind how many questions and comments you all have and want to share. This makes 400 we’ve got to in this format. Once again I’ve tried to tag people, but if you sent a question on Anon you’ll have to look yourself to see if you were answered.

@crazy-aquarium-lady said: Do you have any experience with farm or large animals in general? Goats for instance?

I spent the first few years of my veterinary career working in mixed practice, which included large animals and goats. I really did enjoy goats, though they often weren't kept as seriously as other livestock, but I'd have to admit I'm somewhat out of practice with large animals.

Anonymous said: omg all of your animal names are incredible. i once met two cocker spaniels called Beans and Trousers and that was pretty amazing

Bean and Trousers are great names too

@sketchingblanks said: Hi there Dr. Fox! Thank you for your wonderful blog and all that you do. My dwarf hamster recently passed away at the age of 3 and I'm a wildlife rehabilitator who has dealt with animal death many times before, but it's never quite the same when it's one of your own. However it did make me wonder what is the smallest animal you have ever worked with? Was it more fun or challenging? Question tax: How do you take your tea? I usually have something herbal (like peppermint/spearmint) with honey.

The smallest patient I've personally dealt with was a mouse. But the finch with the broken leg was pretty close. Believe it or not I don’t actually drink tea.

Anonymous said: Question: have you ever treated an arthropod (specifically tarantulas, because they can rupture their abdomen pretty easily) or know someone who specializes in that? Because I'm quite interested in knowing if vets provide care to arthropods, or if its better for the owner to perform medical care to their tarantula at home (ICU's, helping a bad molt, treating hemolymph leaks, etc).

I haven't personally treated an arthropod, though I learned a bit about them during work experience at the Melbourne Aquarium, most of their medicine seemed to be 'just don't make them sick'. There are vets that will treat them though, the Bird & Exotic Animal Clinic is my go-to for exotics (you should check out their facebook page).

Anonymous said: You dont have to reply to this if you dont want to, i just wanted to say i have rats and i love them so much and i will do anything they need at the vets. Because idk i thought maybe you might need encouragement that there are people who prioritize exotic animals health. I hear a lot of stories of people that wont get vet care for their rats but not a lot about people who do. Thought it might give you a little bright light amongst all the dark. Have a great day youre amazing.

People like you are definitely out there. Thank you for your comment.

Anonymous said: just needed to blow off a bit of steam because this still annoys me, but my father told me that taking a hamster to the vet to make sure she's healthy before taking her to college with me as a support pet was "a waste of money." granted, he hasn't taken the family cat to the vet in about seven years, so he generally seems to think that veterinary care is a waste of money. i love my hammy and i just want to make sure she's healthy, but since she isn't a cat or dog, she's "not worth it"

Anon, sounds like your father would think any dollar spent at a vet clinic is a waste of money, regardless of what sort of animal it was. There's not much you can do to change people's minds about this, so just do what you need to do.

Anonymous said: It's amazing how many people don't understand how economics works. They seem to expect vets to do everything for free or for cheap, but if they did that, how could they afford to eat? And besides that, you guys DESERVE to be paid for your time and effort. I wish more people thought about it like that instead of just looking at their bill and thinking that their pet's life isn't worth that much. Thank you for everything you do.

Veterinary medicine is one of the fields where people seem to think it's criminal for a practice to make a profit. Most other professions are not vilified for making a wage, but we're expected to like our jobs enough to work for free. Partly this is our own fault because we start to believe it after a while but we do frequently undercharge, do desexing surgery at cost, and treat strays and wildlife for free. The difficulty is most of this charity is invisible

Anonymous said: I want to say thank you as well because I thought I wanted to become a vet for the longest time, but reading this blog among others has actually taught me that it probably wouldn't be right for me. Now I'm more interested in something like a research professor. The amount of respect I have for you is boundless. I love seeing your work and following you and I think it's a good thing that I stumbled across this blog. This way I won't be stuck in a career that I wouldn't like.

Being stuck doing something you don't really like isn't a fun place to be. I'm glad you've found some more options and hope everything works out great for you.

Anonymous said: My favourite part of your blog has always been your vet stories, so I've been curious -- What kind of case/problem gives you the most satisfaction to solve?

Anything where I actually find a treatable diagnosis. Animals that get better 'mysteriously' are great and all, but I want to know why. And getting the answer is only bitter sweet if the answer is catastrophic or terminal. EPI, Addison’s and reconstructive cases are my favourite, because you can do so much good for them.

@daedricprincessxoxo said: Cute story for happiness: So a nurse-for-people brought in her dog for a sick visit. Unlike most human med people I've met, she was so respectful of those of us in veterinary medicine, and absolutely fascinated by how similar it all was to human medicine. Not only was she a dream client, her dog had freckles on its nose, which the vet adored too. What was funny is when she referred to the dog's spay as a hysterectomy instead.

It's great when you get a good one instead of a know-it-all. Technically a dog spay is an ovariohysterectomy though, we take those pesky ovaries out too.

Anonymous said: Im a vet assistant at a local shelter, and while helping a family look at dogs they remarked to me, "yeah our daughter is allergic to dog FUR but not dog HAIR. Do you know which dogs have just hair?" Needless to say, i was a little speechless and just recommended a poodle. Theres no real difference....right?

It's only semantics but some people like to use it to feel special. Hair and fur are chemically the same, if you're really allergic to one you're allergic to both, but hair is finer and typically longer so either doesn't shed or sheds much more rarely. It's weirdly common for poodle owner to be proud that their dogs have hair instead of fur. As long as they end up loving the dog, it doesn't really matter.

Anonymous said: Here's one: I work at a pet store. A man came in asking for a remote electric shock collar for a 3 lb Yorkie. Told him we carried nothing small enough to be safe. He told me it wasn't for barking - he and his wife had cattle, and when they went to visit the herd the dog would go pelting towards the cows. He said, "I just need something to drop er so she don't get stomped." I suggested a leash. He replied, "Nah, she don't like leashes."

Nothing the general public does or says surprises me anymore.

Anonymous said: I have a natural English Cocker. Her tail is heavy, constantly wagging, and a hazard to any legs in the vicinity :) Where I am there's a lot of working cockers, and hunters will swear up and down that docking is necessary because they'll ruin their tails in the brambles, etc. I'm not convinced - my (pet) dog loves diving into thick cover and this has never been an issue. Their ears are surely more of a risk, I'd think, but no-one's trying to crop those. Is there any real merit to docking?

No, there is no real merit to docking healthy tails and you're correct in assuming the ears of cocker spaniels are far more problematic for these dogs. Cocker Spaniels are the most notorious breed for difficult, drug resistant ear infections, with quite a few of them requiring lateral or total ear canal ablation surgery, but nobody would even think about docking Cocker Spaniel ears. This is because docking and cropping are done for aesthetics, not function.

@cakeandpi said: A long time ago, I took my cat in to the vet because he was limping badly and did not want to be handled. Turns out, rather than breaking his leg or anything like that, his hip joint had essentially eroded away and - to quote - “looked like swiss cheese”. His leg was amputated and it healed nicely, though he never let anyone close to that part of his body again. He had a long, easy, and mobile life, until he was roughly 18 years old (he was a shelter rescue) when his kidneys finally gave out on him for good. Whatever happened to his hip bone, it was unusual enough that the vet sent a sample to a vet research clinic. It’s been a few years since my cat passed, and even more since his amputation, but it helps a little to think that that sample might one day help, I don’t know, with orthopedic research or something of the sort. Maybe. Question tax: I really like your fantasy-animal science posts!

I of course have no way of knowing where the hip bone went, but I'm sure somebody, somewhere will make use of it. Veterinary Medicine is advancing all the time, which is the best thing about science, and accumulating raw materials and data is critical for us to be able to do so.

Anonymous said: hi dr ferox! i love your blog! earlier today my sister cut our cat's claws with human nail trimmers. i know you're not supposed to do that, but i don't know why. i looked at his claws after she told me she did it and they don't look hurt. should i be worried? thank you so much!

I use human nail trimmers on my cats' nails all the time. It's fine if your technique is good, though they're not the easiest device to use for that purpose.

@gemma-handyman said: Dear Dr Ferox, I've tried to find the answer via google but have come up short. Do you know why some cats have such an affinity for loaves of bread? For instance, my grandmother's cat, Cece, would drag loaves beneath my grandmother's bed and fiercely protect the pilfered loaf. She's not the only cat I've heard of with a strange penchant for gluten and carbohydrates. Do you know why some cats love loaves of bread? Question tax: came for the mythical breed breakdowns- stayed for the irl info

Cats can digest carbohydrates, and from a metabolic point of view they're likely treating it as glycogen in terms of dehydration. Some cats like novel chewing textures, celery leaves is another common thing for cats to like, so may be just chewing it for fun.

Anonymous said: I want to be a vet tech but everyone always says I'm selling myself short... vet techs are just as useful right?

Of course they are. Have you ever seen a human hospital function without nurses?

Anonymous said: So our clinic has a batch of neonate puppies. 10 of them. I'm clearly not going to be able to sleep for the foreseeable future, as I'm on puppy duty. At least they're cute.

Good luck bottle feeding the little squeakers. They'll turn into waddling balls of chaos soon enough.

@fndm-trsh-sht said: my cat is a lil shit- but a cute lil shit- t h a t i s a l l- *slinks awaayyy*

Most cats are buddy, but we love them anyway.

Anonymous said: Something about the angle of trashbags ears reminds me of a goblin. Hes wonderful

He is a bit of a gremlin, he's starting to grow into his ears though.

[paige-s-pages]

Fertility research master post

NEW IDEAS BASED ON FERTILITY, WOMEN’S RIGHTS, POSITIONS OF POWER OVER WOMEN’S BODIES 

What foods are meant to help with fertility? 

‘…there are so many bodily functions that occur behind the scenes that are responsible for making this natural process happen, and the foods we eat can affect the level of our hormones, quality of our blood and its circulation, and how well our brain is able to send messages to the rest of our body - all things that play a role our fertility.’ - https://www.mother.ly/lifestyle/7-best-foods-boost-fertility' 

Wild salmon, quinoa, low fat greek yoghurt, spinach, lentils, blueberries, oysters

This article is by a women written for other women to help become healthy and boost your immune system to have a child. This is not so much a control thing rather than something to help with women who want to conceive. 

https://www.buzzfeed.com/carolinekee/crazy-historical-birth-control-methods 

I have found out that Egyptian people often used honey and acacia leaves as a spermicide or to stick ‘tampons’ in their vaginas. Honey is important. 

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/article-abstract/286666 

The ancient Roman gynecologist Soranus thought that women should take responsibility for the withdrawal method by doing the following: holding their breath when they believed their parter was ejaculating, then getting up immediately after intercourse to squat and sneeze repeatedly, then washing out their vagina. Because, sure. 

tarting around 700 BCE, the ancient Romans would use bladders from goats, sheep, and other animals to wrap around the penis during sexual intercourse. Apparently, the Romans were invested in ideas of public health and created this method to "protect women" and prevent the transmission of venereal diseases like syphilis.

Although these goat-bladder condoms were originally intended for protection against venereal diseases, they ended up being a pretty effective contraceptive method and people used them well into the Medieval Period. 

7. Smearing cedar oil and frankincense in the vagina - Although it sounds more like a potpourri or an air freshener, this natural ointment mixture was a popular contraception method around the fourth century in ancient Greece. Women would smear a mixture of cedar oil, frankincense, and sometimes lead into their vaginas and around their cervix to prevent pregnancy. It was believed that the oil mixture acted as a spermicide, and it was actually recommended by Aristotle in his early medical texts.

Around the 16th century in Elizabethean England, women were advised to wash their genitals and douche using vinegar — like the same kind you clean with.

"Women sometimes used other harsh astringents in the vagina before sex, because they believed it would kill sperm," Minkin says. Vinegar-soaked sponges were apparently a popular option for Elizabethan prostitutes

Imagine cutting a lemon in half and juicing it so the rind forms a little cap. Starting around the mid-17th century, women would insert this into their vagina before sex — the idea was that the rind would prevent sperm from entering the uterus through the cervix and the acidic juice would kill sperm, too.

"The mechanism of the lemon cervical cap, blocking the cervix, is the same idea behind the modern rubber cervical cap invented in 1927, which is still used with spermicide as a contraception today," Minkin says.

It's worth mentioning that many people in the US had to use alternative or outdated methods even up until the 1950s, because the use of modern contraception (like condoms, diaphragms, and pills) was a punishable crime. Actually, birth control was illegal in the US for nearly a century under the Comstock Act passed in 1873.

"Birth control wasn't officially legal until 1965 after the Supreme Court ruling in Griswold v. Connecticut, which made it unconstitutional for the government to prohibit married couples from using birth control," Minkin says. So we've technically only had access to safe, effective birth control for about fifty years.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/pill-anthony-comstocks-chastity-laws/ 

As late as 1960, the American legal system was not hospitable to the idea of birth control. Thirty states had statutes on the books prohibiting or restricting the sale and advertisement of contraception. These laws stretched back almost a century, reflecting an underlying American belief that contraception was lewd, immoral and promoted promiscuity.

Comstock's Crusade

The driving force behind the original anti-birth control statutes was a New Yorker named Anthony Comstock. Born in rural Connecticut in 1844, Comstock served in the infantry during the Civil War, then moved to New York City and found work as a salesman. A devout Christian, he was appalled by what he saw in the city's streets. It seemed to him that the town was teeming with prostitutes and pornography. In the late 1860s, Comstock began supplying the police with information for raids on sex trade merchants and came to prominence with his anti-obscenity crusade. Also offended by explicit advertisements for birth control devices, he soon identified the contraceptive industry as one of his targets. Comstock was certain that the availability of contraceptives alone promoted lust and lewdness.

Making Birth Control a Federal Crime

In 1872 Comstock set off for Washington with an anti-obscenity bill, including a ban on contraceptives, that he had drafted himself. On March 3, 1873, Congress passed the new law, later known as the Comstock Act. The statute defined contraceptives as obscene and illicit, making it a federal offense to disseminate birth control through the mail or across state lines.

Public Support for Comstock Laws

This statute was the first of its kind in the Western world, but at the time, the American public did not pay much attention to the new law. Anthony Comstock was jubilant over his legislative victory. Soon after the federal law was on the books, twenty-four states enacted their own versions of Comstock laws to restrict the contraceptive trade on a state level.

The Most Restrictive States

New England residents lived under the most restrictive laws in the country. In Massachusetts, anyone disseminating contraceptives -- or information about contraceptives -- faced stiff fines and imprisonment. But by far the most restrictive state of all was Connecticut, where the act of using birth control was even prohibited by law. Married couples could be arrested for using birth control in the privacy of their own bedrooms, and subjected to a one-year prison sentence. In actuality, law enforcement agents often looked the other way when it came to anti-birth control laws, but the statutes remained on the books.

Sanger's Crusade

These laws remained unchallenged until birth-control advocate Margaret Sanger made it her mission to challenge the Comstock Act. The first successful change in the laws came from Sanger's 1916 arrest for opening the first birth control clinic in America. The case that grew out of her arrest resulted in the 1918 Crane decision, which allowed women to use birth control for therapeutic purposes.

Changing Laws for Changing Times

The next amendment of the Comstock Laws came with the 1936 U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals decision, United States v. One Package. The decision made it possible for doctors to distribute contraceptives across state lines. This time Margaret Sanger had been instrumental in maneuvering behind the scenes to bring the matter before the court. While this decision did not eliminate the problem of the restrictive "chastity laws" on the state level, it was a crucial ruling. Physicians could now legally mail birth control devices and information throughout the country, paving the way for the legitimization of birth control by the medical industry and the general public.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/pill-boston-pill-trials/ 

https://www.bustle.com/articles/72266-the-6-craziest-birth-control-methods-in-history-from-weasel-testicles-to-crocodile-poop 

Many old-fashioned contraceptive methods display an impressive, if rudimentary, understanding of how conception and pregnancy occurred. The weasel testicle method is not one of them. Many medieval Europeans believed that weasel testicles could prevent conception — if they were hung around a woman's neck like an amulet during intercourse (and, presumably, were removed from the body of the weasel beforehand).

But if weasel balls hanging from around your neck sounds like a turn off, don't worry! You could also wear weasel testicles around your thigh for birth control purposes. Charms made from donkey poop, a mule's uterus, or a specific bone from the body of a black cat were also believed to offer the same level of magical pregnancy protection.

And if that last one didn't work? Many medieval folks believed it meant the wearer had selected a cat whose fur was not dark enough. I am not happy that anyone got unintentionally pregnant using this method, but it would kind of have been funny to watch the arguments that resulted ("I told you that cat wasn't dark enough! What are we going to do now?!").

https://www.plannedparenthood.org/files/2613/9611/6275/History_of_BC_Methods.pdf - read this 

Not all crazy birth control methods date back to ancient pre-technology societies.

In the 1950s, the idea spread that the carbonic acid in Coca-Cola killed sperm, the sugar exploded sperm cells and the carbonation of the drink forced the liquid into the vagina. So it became an after-sex douche: Women would shake up a bottle, insert it and let the soda fly.

Lots of women throughout history thought the answer to pregnancy was flushing it all away. Native American women tried steaming sperm out using a special kettle; others have tried seawater, vinegar, lemon juice and other acidic liquids.

As we all know, spermicide isn’t effective at stopping pregnancy once the seed is already inside the vagina, so steaming it never stood a chance. 

As cited in an ancient medical manuscript dating back to 1550 B.C., women were told to grind dates, acacia tree bark and honey together into a paste and apply the mixture to seed wool, which would be inserted vaginally.

The acacia in the cotton fermented into lactic acid, which has spermicidal properties, and the wool served as a physical barrier blocking insemination. These proto-diaphragms were buried with women so they wouldn’t get pregnant in the afterlife either. 

Tallents, Carolyn. "7 Best Foods To Boost Fertility." Motherly. February 09, 2019. Accessed June 06, 2019. https://www.mother.ly/lifestyle/7-best-foods-boost-fertility.

"The Pill and the Sexual Revolution." PBS. Accessed June 06, 2019. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/pill-and-sexual-revolution/.

"The Boston Pill Trials." PBS. Accessed June 06, 2019. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/pill-boston-pill-trials/.

Kee, Caroline. "13 Historical Birth Control Methods That Should Stay In The Past." BuzzFeed. March 21, 2017. Accessed June 06, 2019. https://www.buzzfeed.com/carolinekee/crazy-historical-birth-control-methods.

Targonskaya, Anna. "Ancient Birth Control Methods: How Did Women in Ancient Times Prevent Pregnancy?" Flo.health - #1 Mobile Product for Women's Health. January 02, 2019. Accessed June 06, 2019. https://flo.health/menstrual-cycle/sex/birth-control/ancient-birth-control-methods.

[shortsassysweet2018-blog]

The Curse of Aislinn

Have you ever felt like you could escape into a fantasy world through your window? The world you created in your mind becomes so real that the life you have now becomes so unbearable. You think and wonder what if I could just escape and never come back. What if I could make all my hopes and dreams come true. What if the world that I am living now is all a lie and my reality is actually what I fantasize about every day? Can’t I wake up? Just wake up! Wake Up! Please!

Vida awoke in a sweat. Heart pounding and aching. Her dreams seem so real at times and that her mind tends to play tricks on her. She got out of bed and walked to her window. It was dark out and the moon was shining so bright. She opens the window and the breeze from the night air flowed in ever so softly. She looked up at the moon wondering what this dream could mean.

This world that she sees is dark and overgrown with weeds and trees but in the distance, she could see something bright. Like the sun shining down on an opening of this dark and overgrown place.

“I wonder,” she said to herself, “I wonder why I dream about it every night? and My heart aches to know that I could never go there. My eyes do not see well, and I tend to be very clumsy. I dream about lands because I cannot see faces. The beauty of the landscape is what captivates me. What inspires me to want to dream.”

A tear fell from Vida’s eyes. She could not control these feelings she was having. She started to sob and when she went to wipe her face eyes, a hand reached out to her, and she grabbed it. “A hand in thin air. Where is the rest of the body,” Vida said out loud.

In an instant, she was pulled from her window and fell on top of something one that felt like a person. Vida closed her eyes and reached out her hands feeling for a face. She grabbed a nose or was it a snout? She reached for ears, and she felt something floppy and covered in fur. Vida opened her eyes and to her amazement what she saw in front of her was a dog. Her mouth widens, and she fell backward onto a tree trunk.

“What are you? Who are you?” Yelled Vida. The dog stood up and bowed. What Vida saw was not a pet but a human body with a dog's head dressed as a knight with a long sword at its waist.

The dog spoke, “My name is Cylas at your service.” Vida stood up and dusted herself off. She looked strangely at the creature and started circling Cylas, “I must be out of my mind! I knew I couldn’t see faces but dogs? Really! I am replacing peoples faces with dogs?” Vida yelled out. 

Just then, 

The sound of branches started shifting and a tree began to fall. Cylas pulled Vida’s arm and started to run, “We have to move. It’s not safe in this forest. Follow me.” Vida ran trying to keep up. She heard a large crash behind her. She looked back and what she saw caused her to trip over her own two feet. Vida fell to the ground face first and busted her chin. Cylas turned back around and stopped to help her up. They both looked up and a giant voice called out, "Where are you going little ones? I just want a tiny taste. I promise it won’t hurt too much."

“Naga! Please don’t eat us!” Yelled out Cylas. “We are sorry for entering your forest without permission. Please, let us go.” Vida was scared out of her mind. What she saw in front of her was a Giant Golden Snake. The snake laughed, “Oh Cylas is that you, I smell and who is this that I scent. Something different. Something new. Maybe tasty too.” Cylas pushed Vida to the side pulled out his sword, “Naga, I cannot allow you to eat her. If I must, I will fight ”

Vida ran behind a fallen tree far enough away but can still see. Cylas looked so brave and strong holding up his sword. He truly was a knight and shining armor. Naga laughed and then lunged at Cylas with its head missing him by a few inches. Cylas slashed his sword at Naga’s head and the snake screamed. He pulled up and threw his tail at Cylas and knocked him off his feet.

Naga head began to attack while Cylas was on the ground. Vida came running full force with a large branch from a fallen tree. It ran right into Naga’s left eye. Naga screamed in pain and Vida grabbed Cylas and pulled him up, and they began to run away as fast as they could out of the forest.

As Vida and Cylas ran out of the forest. They could hear the echoing cries of Naga in pain. They slowed down to catch their breath and Vida fell onto her back exhausted, “what an adrenaline rush that was. I can feel my heart popping out of my chest. This is the best dream I ever had. Did you see me charging into Naga’s eyes with that giant branch? I bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? Oh, I never want to wake up!”

Cylas kneeled down to Vida and said, “Vida, this is no dream. This is the land of Aislinn. A land you’ve created with your own mind. We, creatures, have come to live on this land in harmony. You are our Goddess of creation. When you speak the surrounding land change. Anything you say is created by your words and thoughts alone. When I heard your cries I knew I would find had to go and find found you. I followed your weeping into Naga’s forest and there I saw you. Floating in the moonlight sky, crying. I reached out to you and you took my hand. I did not think that the vision I saw would be so real. It took me by surprise and naturally I pulled back. When I did you came with me holding onto my hand and fell on top of me.”

Vida raises up onto her elbow and looked dead into Cylas eyes with a confused look. “Me, a Goddess? There’s no way. This is all a dream. A really deep lucid dream but still a dream.” “You will understand more once we reached the castle of Taygon,” Cylas responded as he looked ahead, and they continued onward.

It was morning by the time they reached the village. It was bustling with music and noise and yelling merchants. All walks of human-like animals were running around. Vida stood at the opening of the gate and watched with eyes as wide as they could go. She glanced up at Cylas and back onto the villagers. Goats, cats, horses, and even pigs. They all had heads of an animal with a human body. They were walking upright and spoke in the human tongue. Cylas began to walk into the crowd with Vida barely holding on to the thin fabric of his sleeves. Vida couldn’t help but look around her. The sight that she was seeing and hearing was filling her empty heart with excitement. She turned her head back to Cylas. A group of children came running through them. Causing Vida to tumble over backward. A strong arm caught her before she fell. Vida looked up to thank the person who saved her and when she did her face was shocked to see a horsed knight. “Thank you, kind sir, for helping me out there.” Cylas turned back to see what had happened. He rushed over to them and bent a knee. “Commander Arrington! I have found the Goddess of creation.” The commander was not very pleased with Cylas, but he looked over at Vida, swept her off her feet and carried her on top his left shoulder. The view was even better than before. She could see everything around her. Her heart swelled with love and joy.

At last, they reached the castle and it was covered in crystals. It shined so brightly against the sun. ��I can’t imagine the beauty once the moon comes out,” Vida said out loud. Commander Arrington gently put Vida down onto the ground. He did not speak a word and continued walking. Everyone followed until they entered the throne room. Vida was so small compared to the Commander that no one could see her behind him when they entered.

A voice called out, “Commander Arrington! What is the meaning of this? Why have you barged in, in such a manner?” The Commander moved to the side left and Vida walked in behind him. “My king, the Goddess of creation have arrived. Cylas has found her at last.” The king rosed up from his throne and walked towards Vida. He circled her as she did before to Cylas, and then he chuckled, “Why is she all dirty and have a bloody chin? I would assume that a Goddess would come to us in a beam of light with a beauty unmatched and not clothed in such a simple attire.”

Cylas bent the knee and responded, “My King, we ran into the Forest God, Naga. The Goddess saved me by injuring his left eye.” Vida felt funny standing there like she was a sideshow attraction. All she could think of was how long of a neck the king had. He didn’t have to circle around her like as many times as he did. She felt so uncomfortable and blurted out, “Stop circling me you, Llama King! Your neck is long enough to be able to see enough of me!”

The room became silent. The king finally took notice of Vida’s eyes. He grabbed her by the chin and whispered, “You dare to raise your voice at me? Do you really want me to believe that a simple girl like you could be the Goddess of creation?” He released Vida’s chin and commanded the guards to take her to a locked chamber.

The king could not help but laugh, “Ha, her? She is the goddess of creation? A child. She is but a child. A noisy one at that! I wanted a Queen. Cylas, why is it that you have brought me a child instead of a queen? The curse on this land has been here for 10 years. I want to see my handsome face and brush my hands through my flowing locks again.”

[ask-the-swapfell-crew]

SF!toriel fight?

SF!toriel:this is the barrier. this is what keeps us all trapped at the fucking underground...if... if by chance you have any unfinished business... please do what you must.

SF!toriel.........i see...........this is it...............ready?.............

*(the admist darkness fills the room moonlight is  shining through the barrier)

*(it seems your journey is finally over?)

*(you are filled with DETERMINATION)

SF!toriel:human.........it was good to be near you.................goodbye *a fireball is charged and hits her*

SF!asgore:what a fucking disgrace of a monster torturing a innocent child do not be afraid my child it is i ASGORE your friend and guardian or some shit like that at first i thought i would let you make your useless journey alone......... but i could not stop worrying about you your adventure must have been so horrible and ultimately it would burden you with a choice to leave this place you would have to take the life of another person you would have to MURDER toriel however i realized that i cannot do that to a child like you it is a horrible idea to sacrifice someone simply to let someone leave here is that not what i have been trying to prevent  this entire fucking time? so for now let us suspend this battle to the death as terrible and insane toriel is.......... she deserves mercy too

SF!toriel:asgora......... you came back........

SF!asgore:DONT “ASGORA” ME YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH OF A DREEMURR!!!!

SF!asgore:you pathetic piece of shit if you wanted to free our kind you could of gone through after you got 1 SOUL and slaughtered six humans then came back and freed everyone with no chaos

SF!asgore:BUT NO you made everyone live in hell because you would rather wait here then to let your citizens not kill each other with a slight hope a  human  NEVER comes

SF!toriel:..............i............asgora............your right i am a fucking disgrace....but do you think we can at least be friends again?

SF!asgore:HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOH

SF!asgore:NO TORIEL

*SF!alphys bursts in*

SF!alphys: BRAAAAWRRRGH!!!!!! TORIEL HUMAN!!! NOBODY FIGHT EACH OTHER!!!!!! EVERYONE’S GONNA MAKE FRIENDS OR ELSE I’LL!!! I’LL *looking up*.........................

SF!asgore:OH HELLO are you the human’s friend? it’s nice to meet you i guess

SF!alphys:umm yeah...... nice to meet you! hey toriel is that your  ex? jeez that sucks pal

SF!undyne:h-hey! nobody attack each other right now!!!

SF!undyne:............. *they look up*

SF!asgore:oh are you another friend or are you just a friend of the dragon lady i am asgore so hello

SF!undyne:um h-h-hi so theres two of them?

*SF!sans bursts in*

SF!sans:HEY NOBODY KILL EACH OTHER  IF ANYONE DECIDES TO KILL RIGHT NOW THEN I’LL THEN I’LL BE FORCED  TO RIP SOMEONES HEAD WITH ALPHYS HELP

SF!asgore:may i help you sir

SF!sans:OH HELLO YOUR MAJESTY  HEY HUMAN  DID TORIEL GROW A BEARD AND CHANGED THEIR SKIN  AND CLONED HERSELF

*SF!papyrus slides in*

SF!papyrus:oh hi what is going on or why is this going on

SF!asgore:oh.................it’s you so we have met i am assuming

SF!papyrus:i guess so too i am papyrus and its nice to see you again mr asgore

SF!asgore:so that means that this fat skeleton is  your brother named sans since i assumed you were near some weird homeless man that he found on the street and gave a outfit too after all he told me about your existence

SF!sans:WOWIE  I CAN’T BELIEVE TORIEL’S MALE CLONE KNOWS WHO I AM THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SF!asgore:hey sans what does a skeleton tile his roof with?

SF!sans:HMM WATER PROOF ROOF TILES?

SF!asgore:NO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT ITS SHIN-GLES! HO HO HO HO HO *SF!papyrus chuckles with them*

SF!sans:OK NO I CHANGED MY MIND THIS IS NOW RUINED BECAUSE A FUCKING CLONE GOAT RUINED IT WITH A FUCKING PUN!!!

SF!alphys:come on toriel it will be fine there are plenty of people to get tail from

SF!undyne:y-yeah toriel alphys is right about the  fish thing s-sometimes you’ve got  uh s-stop going after furry boss monsters and uh... j-just get to know a really cute drake.........it’s a metaphor

SF!alphys:well i think it’s a good analogy

*SF!NTT hand bursts into the scene*

SF!NTT:oh my fucking god! JUST KISS ALREADY YOU TWO YOU HAVE SO MUCH TENSION ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY THE AUDIENCE MAY LIKE IT

SF!alphys:H-HEY SHUT UP!!! MAN THE NERVE OF THAT LIMBLESS GUY! right undyne?....... uh undyne

SF!undyne:no...........he’s right LETS DO IT!!!

SF!alphys:ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm well uhhh i guess if you want too then DON’T HOLD ANYTHING BACK!!! *they start to get near to kiss while SF!asgore blocks them from doing that*

SF!asgore:wait not infront of this child!

*they just stare at him*

SF!asgore:ho ho ho my child it seems you may stay here for a long time still but looking at the great friends you have made i think i think you may like it here...in this hell hole

SF!undyne:h-hey that reminds me sans you called everyone here right? well besides her uh anyway if i got here before you how did you know how to call everybody?

SF!sans:LETS just SAY..... A LITTLE DOLL HELPED ME ME

SF!undyne:a little doll........... *suddenly a giant paw appears and traps them in fur*

SF!temmie:YOU FOOLS WHILE YOU GUYS ARE HAVING YOUR DEPRESSING CONVERSATION  I TOOK THE HUMAN SOULS!!! AND now not only  are those under my power but all of your friends souls are gonna be mine too awawawawawawawaww and you know what the best part is YOU DID IT its all because you tried to leave instead of staying with me because you were too busy ignoring most of my requests so you can LEAVE with them and now with their souls and the humans souls i will return back to NORMAL awawa huh? why am i doing this don’t you get it this is all just a game and if y ou leave the underground in peace you’ll win the game if you win then you will leave me alone....... and i don’t get to be happy anymore and what would i do then? but this time between us will NEVER  end i’ll hold victory in front of your face just within your reach and then tear it away just before you grasp it OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN awawawawawa listen if you do stop me i’ll give you your happy ending i’ll bring your friends back i’ll destroy the barrier everyone will finallly be satisfied BUT THAT WON’T HAPPEN MY FRIEND YOU i’ll keep you here no matter what *they are stuck in a box now with temmie flakes about to hit them* EVEN IF IT MEANS KILLING YOU  1,000,000,000 TIMES!!!!!

*they laugh* as they attack you while laughing suddenly fire attacks the temmie flakes before they hurt chara again*

SF!temmie:WHAT?

SF!asgore:do not scream my child no matter what happens weiwill always be there for you to protect you *they try again and they get blocked by a bone and a axe*

SF!sans:THATS RIGHT HUMAN YOU CAN DO THIS JUST DO WHAT I WOULD DO JUST BELIEVE IN YOURSELF AND JUST DO IT!!!!

SF!alphys:hey human if you got past me you can do anything!! WE ARE HERE FOR YOU SF!papyrus:so this fucking doll decided to snap come on they don’t got the STUFF on you *more fire and now electricity*

SF!undyne: technically its  impossible for you to win but somehow i know you can do it!

SF!toriel:human despite how worthless you are the future of humans and monsters you have to stay DETERMINED *more monsters are just supporting them*

SF!temmie:urrrgh NO! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING YOU... YOU....i i can’t believe you’re all so foolish ALL OF YOUR SOULS ARE MINE!!!!!!!!!!

(its time for the pacifist event i hope you got your fire rainbows ready because our eyes are gonna bleed by the angel without  arms ps i may add more icons later)