#the other four look like they been through the stone mill and then we have him

[polarpolarpolarx]

recent Ri <3

[in-your-reflection]

Somewhere, beyond space and beyond time…

[TW: Domestic abuse, suicide]

A town of polished white stone sits stop an endless sea, buildings stacked upon buildings like a great pyramid, as if reaching up to touch the sky. Orange light covers the whole of it, glistening off the water and bathing the town in an eternal twilight.

Beneath a pure white gazebo, two youths sit across from each other, one bearing four arms and a flower in his hair, the other with horns and a patch over one eye. The table between them is covered in a lavish display of pastries - macarons, miniature tarts, financiers, mille-feuille - with an ornate tea set alongside them, with plenty of everything for the two to share.

To one side lies a chessboard, in the middle of a match, though some of its pieces are conspicuously missing. The white-clad boy adjusts its bishop, planting it near the center of the board.

"Checkmate." "Fuck you mean checkmate." "Look. It's threatening your king in both timeline A turn 7 and timeline C turn 9. You can't save them both."

The blond lifts his tea to his lips with his upper-right hand, lower-right taking another slice of tart while his upper-left lifts the knight.

"Yeah I can. It's turn 4."

The piece hits the board with a clack.

"…So you can. Impressive work, morning star." "What's this all about, anyway? This whole setup, the tea party. Clearly you're trying to win me over. Spill it." "But I just made this tea…" "The truth, not the tea." "Ah. Well, in truth…"

The teary-eyed boy bows his head, pony-tailed hair hanging over one shoulder.

"…I felt my apology was insufficient. I had hoped to find time for us to just…talk. Thus I asked you to make time for us. …I would have done so myself, had I the strength." "Your apology." Two arms fold over his chest with a skeptical twitch of an ear and a crisp bite into a macaron.

The boy in white pinches his single eye shut.

"…For everything. I have been…a horrible husband. For as much grief as I have caused you regarding your memory, I…was unable to control myself under the weight of my own."

The boy in black returns his teacup to the table with a click.

"Thousands of thousands of years, and you never once actually told me about your past. About what All was like before the universe we made."

He lets out a deep sigh.

"Why won't you just talk to me? What's with all this memory-erasing husband-beating doormat-act bullshit? Maybe if you would actually talk about what's been bothering you, we could work through it."

The gaze of that red eye would burn through steel, piercing directly into the fallen god's soul.

"You know what it looks like on my end? It looks like malice. You haven't bothered to give me any sort of justification for why you've been doing what you did, so the only logical conclusion is that despite how much you suck up to me, you actually want me to suffer." "I--" "Is that how you feel? Is that any way to treat the person who brought you back from the dead just so we could be together again? I could put you back. Your corpse is still there, you know. I can easily pay it another visit."

The sinner chokes back a breath.

"…But I won't. Cause despite everything, I do have some love for you still. And I know we could work something out. If you would just open your fucking mouth for once in your life."

Pale as a ghost, the ivory prince stares into his half-emptied teacup. The liquid quivers between his shaking hands.

"…Please. Put me back. I cannot continue--" "CUT THAT SHIT OUT ALREADY!"

Four hands slam against the table's edge, scattering treats across the sky, before they abruptly reverse in trajectory and gently resettle themselves back into formation on their platters.

"You can't just keep saying that you want to die every time you run into something uncomfortable! Sometimes you just have to open your fucking eye and face the reality in front of you. That's life, Ayin! That's what being alive is about!" "Prrh…mm…tlif…", a shaky voice mumbles in response. "WHAT? Speak up, dammit." "Perhaps I am not meant to live."

The eternal twilight comes to a gradual end, the moon rising to bathe the plaza in shadow. As if on cue, the one of shadow stands up, gazing down in silhouette as his glowing red gaze brands itself into his partner's mind.

The quiet lasts for what feels like an eternity. It may well have been, in the absence of time.

"If what you want is to suffer, then suffer." "What?"

A two-fingered gesture towards the fruit-covered tart in the center of the table, cuing the platter to rise up.

The knife takes flight. Gently, deliberately, moving to rest on the plate of the boy in white, blade towards his chest.

"…Lucifer, what does this mean?" "You know what to do. Do it. Right now. Like the coward you are."

He takes the knife in his hands. Holding it primed, ready to thrust.

Minutes pass. Hours. Days, perhaps. Who could possibly tell?

The newly-established night turns pitch black, not a thing in sight but that crimson gaze.

And in the black, metal clatters to the floor.

A boy's voice timidly speaks, sobbing into the cold midnight air.

"Okay…okay. I'll talk. I'll tell you everything. No half-truths, no tricks. I… I…!"

The night is cold, and lonely. One cannot face the darkness by oneself.

[codenamehazard]

.:Feast by the Fire:.

Chapter 23: Feast by the Fire

Hey guys!

Some cozy feels just in time for the holiday season! This one of the scenes I've been wanting to do ever since No Man's Land started to evolve from a silly little one shot to what it is today. I have to thank @rogueshadeaux for putting up with my ramblings as well as giving me the push to actually write the whole fic in general! Without further delay, let's jump in!

---------

Crimson light bathes the land as the sun begins to set, I start to make my rounds around the HEMTT. I had volunteered to take the first watch while the others set up camp, mainly to be alone with my thoughts and boy howdy do I have a lot to think about.

I look around at where we had stopped, some sort of abandoned ranch or farm. A place where we could scavenge for scrap should we need to, quiet enough to set up shop for the night. I can see signs that people before us have thought the same, remnants of human activity littered the area in the form of burnt firewood, disrupted stones and used cans. I take one of the metal tins and toss it up in the air before shooting it with a mild bolt and walking on.

As I milled about, I started to think back about the “Night Warped” the Misfits mentioned before we had set off for Tri-Point. Bigger, nastier monsters that could only be out at night due to the UV from the sun frying them. I have asked for clarification before, but couldn’t get a straight answer from them as, apparently, there were just so many different types that somebody could run into if they wandered off into the night.

I think back to the monsters I had dealt with in the past. The Swamp Creatures and the Icemen that terrorized New Marias, the giant cockroach that Bertrand turned into, the metal monstrosities that the Dust Men created… Then there was that four armed freak, David Warner.

Now there were the recent additions to the rogues gallery of things I had to deal with, the literal zombies that were trying to turn Droptown into an all-you-can-eat Conduit buffet… And the less said about the Summoner, the better. I shudder at the still fresh memory of that ugly fuck, another thing to haunt my nightmares.

I remember the fight with that tumor-turned-skinned gorilla thing, how tough it was and how it healed when I used my Beast abilities. How the only thing that stopped it was the Amp shoved in its back and 100 million volts of fuck you channeled right into the spinal cord.

How much worse can these things get??

The smell of fire catches my attention before I could get too deep down that rabbit hole of potential nightmare fuel. I turn my head to see Kestrel and Dove setting up a fire and Pangolin bringing over a big-ass witch’s cauldron looking pot. A voice draws my eyes as I see Mako with a checklist and her calling out to the other three. Something about checking stashes. As the three head back to their trailers, I head over to Mako to ask what all the shouting’s about.

As I head over, I watch the Shark pull out various ingredients from a communal food storage. Hm, must be getting ready for dinner. My stomach growls at the thought. Damn, forgot to eat lunch earlier today.

“Whatcha got going on here?” I ask as I look over the ingredients, looks like some beef, potatoes and some veg, looking promising so far. Mako grins and puts her clipboard down.

“You remember the stew I brought over for lunch back in Droptown?” She asks in kind. Of course I remember, it was amazing! Especially after spending so long eating mainly shitty protein bars and whatever else I can get my hands on. I smile and nod as the memory of the first taste of actual, proper food flits through my head. Mako’s smile widens as I reminisce. “That’s what's on the menu for tonight, it’s called Hodge-Podge stew.”

“Hodge-Podge stew?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. She nods in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s pretty much a staple for us and any other nomadic Wildlander. Simple, easy to make, filling, hearty, everything you’d need in a meal.” I feel excitement well up inside as I continue to remember that thermos lunch. If it was that good as leftovers, having it hot from the pot would be even better.

“Just… Don’t expect it to taste the same as the leftovers.” Mako points out as she starts prepping the veg. “It’s never the same way twice.” I chuckle and smile.

“Don’t need it to taste the same way, just needs to be good.” I state before stretching. I give a wave before leaving her to do her prep work after saying a quick good-bye. My stomach growls again as I start to smell the ingredients. I hope there'll be enough for seconds.

I watch as the Misfits go through their trailers to find their personal stashes and bring them up to a card table where the ingredients were laid out. Mainly some spices like garlic and cilantro and other things. Now I see where the Hodge-Podge comes from, everyone contributes something to the meal. Part of me wished that I had thought of something like that for when I led way back when, but then I remember how much of a pain in the ass Kuo would have been about it and how it wouldn’t have worked with the amount of people under my leadership.

The thoughts of the comradery makes me frown a bit, not because I had something against it or I disapproved of it, but because I really didn’t have anything to contribute myself. Food-wise anyways.

I think to myself, despite the spats I’ve had with Kes and Pangolin, these guys have been decent hosts. Never asked any favors of me despite knowing I’m the Beast, hell, the Beast topic doesn’t really get brought up at all outside of said spats. Maybe every now and again in a joking way, but never seriously. They treated me like I’m just another person, no different than them, for better and worse.

I know they wouldn’t expect me to do anything, as I am their guest, but the thought just didn’t sit right. I look over and see everyone falling into their roles and an idea pops in my head. While I can’t contribute with food, maybe I can contribute by lending a hand? I see Pangolin lugging logs out from a storage compartment before pulling out a clipboard and looking over it. I’m guessing I’m gonna have to play nice for a little bit and talk to him about if there’s anything that needs to be done.

I stretch before walking over to the Brick Spartan, Mako turns her head to watch, wondering what I am planning.

“Hey Pangolin!” I call out as I walk over to him, I see him stiffen a bit, but once he sees the neutral expression on my face, he relaxes some. Seems like my little chat with him made an impact. Good. “Is there anything that needs done?” I can see Mako’s eyes widen in surprise out of the corner of my eye, but I focus on the shit brickhouse as he looks over a list and at what’s around.

“I’ve pulled out some logs for the fire.” He starts as he gestures over to the neatly stacked pile of wood. I look over at it and hum. “If you’re looking for something to do while dinner’s cooking, I’ll give you an axe and you can get to chopping.” I smile and nod, I can feel a certain itch making itself known at the thought of starting fires, but when I look over to the cooking fire, I see that Kes had it handled. Oh well, prepping the fuel will sate the itch for the time being. I hold my hand out and Pangolin gives me a chopping axe. “What, not gonna give me the monster you have?” I joke a little, he and I may not be on the best of footing at the moment, especially with how he treated the Gunsmith, but right now is a peace time, no point in stirring up shit when it’s not needed. Besides, me and Zeke still had our fair share of laughs even when things were shaky and I wasn’t ready to forgive. Pangolin chuckled nervously before rubbing the back of his head.

“Sorry Cole, just as the Amp is your baby, Rifter is mine.” I give a chuckle and a grin, but I can feel a bite of anger in my chest. If you already had a weapon you loved dear then what in the name of God was with your behavior towards Kes, Pangolin?? I note it as something to question him about later, but for now I take the axe and I head over to the wood pile to get started.

Putting my backpack to the side for the time being, I unhook the straps of my vest and use them to tie the vest back to open it more before taking the bandana from around my neck and tying it on my forehead. Do I look like some hick? Maybe, but I don’t care. I need more airflow to keep me from overheating and the bandana will keep the sweat from getting into my eyes.

I give the axe a good feel and a couple of practice swings. They take good care of their gear, I have to admit, the blade actually gave me a slight nick on my finger when I felt it. Grabbing a log, I stand it up before centering and taking a swing. Chopping the hunk of wood in half and then into quarters before I pile them up nearby, ready to be used to feed the hungry fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mako walking over with an amused smile.

“I have to ask, who are you and what have you done with Cole?” She questions with a grin. I chuckle and roll my eyes.

“He didn’t go anywhere, Mako. I’m still me.” I hum between the swings. Even though the tool is light compared to the Amp and the movements are familiar, my muscles still give a slight satisfying burn from the repetition. In a way, I’ve missed this.

“I don’t believe you.” She teases as she puts her hands on her hips. “The Cole MacGrath I know wanted nothing to do with any of this. Any time the word “chore” is brought up, he’d walk away, put up a fight or would have complained the entire time!” I can’t help but to chuckle, it is true that I did throw up a stink whenever chores and labor were involved, but granted, I had a reason.

“That’s because “the Cole MacGrath” you knew was either “volentold” to help, pestered until he said “yes” or was outright demanded to help, even when he was in the middle of something else... Like trying to keep a bunch of mad-dogs from tearing each-other to shreds.” I point out, still keeping the playful tone. “Back in the Conduit Army, I really wasn’t given any choice in the matter. Here? I chose to help out. Nobody asked me to help, it wasn’t expected or demanded of me, I got to make the call of my own free will.” Mako nods in understanding.

“Besides, the pyro-itch was getting to me and I figured this would hold me over.” I can hear Mako snicker at my comment before I see a mischievous grin split across her face, oh god, not again. “Penny for your thoughts, Mako?”

“You’re just wanting to spend more time with the resident hothead, aren’t you?” Fucking called it. I roll my eyes before looking at her.

“And what, pray-tell, gave you that idea?” I scoff as I cross my arms.

“Hmmm… Let’s see. You’re working on a task that is connected to fire-tending, which is Kes’ responsibility… You’ve opened up your vest more so that the goods are on display… You’re standing in a spot where she can see you easily and watch you show off how strong you are…” My god, if I could roll my eyes any harder, they would have fallen out of my head. She’s losing her mind over this!

“Mako, how many of those sappy, fluffy, cutesy-wootsy romance animes have you watched since you’ve been on your own? Because the’ve rotted your brain, you’re looking for something that isn’t there!” I guffaw loudly, looking at her like she’s nuts as she just grinning away like the cat that ate the canary.

“Uh huh…. Suuuuuuure.” She hums while still grinning that shark-tooth smirk. “Don’t think I didn’t catch those wandering eyes.”

“What the hell is that supposed t-” Mako runs off giggling like a gremlin before I can even finish my sentence. What has gotten into her?! I let out an irritated sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose before going back to chopping wood.

Time seemed to fly as I got lost in the rhythm of my task. It’s only when I hear Pangolin bellow out to everyone that dinner’s ready and it’s time to eat. I stop what I was doing and use my bandana to wipe the sweat off of my brow and hands before wringing it out. As I walk over, I watch how everyone falls into place like a well oiled machine. Pangolin handing out the bowls and silverware that looked like they were fashioned from scrap and rebar, Mako at the giant iron pot, ladle in hand.

The two remaining Misfits line up and I take a cue from them and line up behind them. Moving with them and doing as they do. Taking the bowl given, heading to the pot so Mako can fill the vessel with the delicious smelling stew and then sitting down around the fire to relax and tuck in.

As Pangolin and Mako get their portion, I take a deep breath of the steam coming from the food and a big smile grows across my face as I take in the scents of the meal. Mmmmm…. Savory, meaty, hearty… Maybe spicy? Who cares, it smells tasty and I want to eat.

I take the rebar made spoon and get some of the broth from the bowl and blow on it before taking a sip. My eyes widen as I feel the tell-tale immediate burn of peppers and spice. The capsaicin stringing my tongue and throat and flooding my nerves with a sweetly tortuous heat that added thrill to the hearty and meaty flavors. Reminding me of some of my favorite dishes from New Marias. The more it burns, the bigger my smile grows before feasting, eating the meal like a man starved.

As I chow down, I started to notice a cacophony of pained gasps and pants. I look up and see the two brothers with red faces and angry tongues. Dove’s damn-near squawking while fanning his tongue with his hands and Pangolin was trying to keep a straight face, but the reddening of his cheeks and the tears pricking the corner of her eyes gave him away. I look over and see Kestrel happily eating while the corner of her lips twitch in struggle and Mako was trying not to laugh at the two dying brothers.

“What’s up with them?” I ask as I point over at the two while looking at Mako and Kestrel. Dove snaps his head to look at me in shock, staring at me like I’ve grown three heads.

“HOW IN THE NAME OF GOD IS YOUR TONGUE NOT ON FIRE, MACGRATH?!?” The pigeon squawks out and I have to cover my mouth to keep myself from spitting my stew in laughter.

“Quit your belly-aching, Dove!” I hear Kes snark out, her lips still fighting not to smirk. “It’s not even that hot! Barely a nose-runner!”

“Easy for you to say!” Dove croaks before glugging down a canteen of water. “You’re probably the one who spiked the stew again with your homemade god-damn hot hot-sauce!!” I struggle not to laugh as Kes puts on an overdramatic show of looking hurt and offended.

“Oh Dove, your cruel cruel words wound my heart!” The birdie teases in a faux hurt voice while doing the dramatic wrist to forehead arm and hand to heart thing. “Accusing me of such a thing! I would never ever eeeeeeeeeever do that!” I snort and sputter, trying not to absolutely lose it as Dove has a conniption.

“This is like, what, the fourth time this month you pulled this shit with the hot sauce, Morrison!” Dove yelps out as he continues to try to cool his tongue in vain. I can’t help myself anymore and burst out laughing. Holy hell, she has done this multiple times and they practically let her get away with it?!

“Well whose fault is that?” I chime in between laughs. “You’re the ones leaving her with the stock-pot unsupervised, so y’all got no-one to blame but yourselves for that.”

“How are you not dying from this?!” I hear Pangolin bellow out as he stares at me in disbelief. I laugh more as I try not to choke on soup. Kes looks at the brothers with a smug grin on her face.

“He likes it, three to two, you guys are outnumbered!” Kes points out with her spoon before taking another bite. It isn’t long before Dove and Kes get into a bit of a heated debate about hot-sauce tampering and if it’s sabotage so she and Mako could have the whole pot or not. I continue to laugh at the bickering birds as Pangolin continues to stare at me like I’m some sort of anomaly and Mako falls into a gigglefit.

In my fit, I thought I could hear the sound of scraping stone. I stop to look around, but saw nothing of note. I shrug and go back to watching the squabble. Probably just needing some rest.

After all, since when can a boulder move?

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 41 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Dane Hunter

Chief Laura Coleridge arrives less than a quarter hour after our call ends.

I tell her the short version and leave werewolves out of it but after only a brief spate of shock and denial, she accepts the evidence with which she is presented easily enough.

More importantly, she agrees to my plan.

Maybe people are more open-minded in the middle of the night.

While a deputy drives Ingrid and Danni home, Freya packs four of the Fae, the seven children and Halloran's body in my old Ford Explorer and drives them up to the standing stones to wait for us.

Julian, Erickson, his niece, the two warrior Fae... Alyth and Sylv... and I go with Coleridge to Erickson's sister's house in a police SUV.

When we arrive, however, I see we're not the first ones there.

A fire engine idles outside, lights flashing and a police cruiser has just pulled up at the curb.

"Oh shit," Erickson breathes.

"Pauline."

As we pop the doors and pile out, though, I see Savannah's mother dashing down the front steps, tears streaking her face and a wild, frantic look in her eyes.

Then she sees Savannah and screams.

Running towards us, she snatches the sleepy, still-damp girl from Erickson's arms and collapses in tears.

As the Fae slip past her and into the house, I gather that the mother had awoken to a strange sound, gone into her daughter's room and found the window open and the child gone.

Fearing she'd been taken, she'd called the police.

"Skin-changer must have sensed or known we were coming, somehow," I murmur.

"Probably through Savannah. The mental link, remember?" Julian says.

"I bet as soon as we came through the portal, it knew the game was up and fled."

A moment later, Alyth and Sylv return, shaking their heads.

The skin-changer left no trace.

While Erickson invents some story about finding his niece sleepwalking 'his house is apparently nearby' the rest of us withdraw.

"Where do you think it went?" Julian asks and shudders.

"No idea," I say.

"But if it knows what's good for it, it'll stay far away from here."

Coleridge shakes her head.

"You and I have a long talk ahead of us, Hunter. I'm rolling with this now, 'cause it's that or arrest you all and that's too much paperwork. But I want a full, thorough and complete explanation as soon as you don't look and smell like shit."

Despite my tiredness, I bite back a smile.

"Yes, ma'am."

Leaving Erickson with his family, Coleridge drives the rest of us out of town and up into the hills to the standing stones.

She parks as close as she can get and then, with weariness weighting our steps, we cross the open meadow to the natural outcrop of white granite.

There, we find the others already gathered, along with what appears to be a small delegation of Fae.

The doorway between the arched stones is open, the air shimmering like rippling glass and a dozen Fae wearing long garments that flow like silk mill about tending to the time-orphaned children and to the dead.

Halloran's body lies uncovered upon a much grander bier than the stretcher of ferns and branches on which we carried him from the Shadowlands.

Candles burn around him and flowers cover him.

A woman kneels at his side and when she straightens, I bite back a gasp.

For a moment, I thought she was Rhiannon but from the likeness and Julian's description, I recognize Eirnín.

Spotting Julian, she approaches with her hands outstretched.

"Son of my daughter's son," she says, tears making her eyes shine bright.

"We meet again. I am glad to see you well, though I wish it were not under such sorrowful circumstances. I feel as if I have lost my daughter a second time and now my son."

"He was... very brave," Julian says.

"So were you all, I have heard but I am told you will speak on my daughter's behalf."

"Yes. I..." Julian sways on his feet and I steady him.

He's on the verge of collapse, now dangerously exhausted and badly in need of food, water and rest.

Eirnín gets the message.

She beckons to one of the Fae, who approaches bearing a silver tray on which rests a pitcher and a set of small silver cups.

Pouring some liquid into one, she hands it to him, then does the same for me.

"Drink. The tea will restore you, at least for a time and clear your mind."

Julian downs it without a second glance, so I do the same.

The effect is immediate and strong, like a mix of caffeine and alcohol... warming, relaxing and energizing at all once.

Julian holds out his cup.

"More, please."

"One is plenty and now, tell me this tale of yours."

[twistedisciple]

starter for @melusinezephyr, @lauscanis, & @royalknght

Fate was a funny thing. For nearly three decades, it had never given Griss any reason to put stock in coincidences and red string. Chaos had ruled the fell church and his own life, and whether it came from the gods or a force beyond the realm of divinity, a supernatural power had not paved him a path nor placed flags along the way to guide him to someone or something. He had, for as long as he could remember, relied solely on instinct as he stumbled through a dark and violent world.

He couldn't attribute instinct to the reunion of the Four Hounds though, not after their group had collapsed the way it had. He had died. They had died. But one by one - Zephia, Marni, Mauvier - they'd all become faces among the students and staff of the Officers Academy. If that was a mere coincidence, it was one for the ages. But fate hadn't stopped there.

"Huh... Marni 'n Mauvier's here, too," Griss remarked to Zephia as they approached the ruined reception of the research facility. Among toppled shelves and broken walls milled a few of the researchers well enough to stand, but the armor of a pair of knights stood out amidst their dirtied robes like silver in a trash heap. They were, so far, the only ones from Garreg Mach.

Griss hiked one leg over the remnants of a blown-out wall and ducked his head to enter the fractured shadows of the facility's lobby.

"Now ain't this cute," he called in lieu of a greeting, rasping voice echoing off stone walls and turning curious heads. "The Four Hounds all together again, just like old times."

"You already know each other?" asked one of the researchers. This one looked like the leader of the clean-up, and held a long scroll of paper in one hand, a quill in the other. Griss gave him a nod, but a quick one. He made sure Marni and Mauvier had full sight of his toothy grin and the devilish gleam in his eye.

"Yeah, we're family."

"Well--" The researcher glanced down at his list, scribbling something near the middle. "That should make working together easier. We have more on our plates right now than we know what to do with." He turned and pointed toward the open door behind him, through which a makeshift infirmary of sorts had been made. The door itself had been blasted clean from its hinges, and its frame still bore scorch marks from whatever had destroyed it to begin with, but the room inside was sheltered and more or less in-tact. It was, however, crowded, with up to three people sharing each mat on the floor.

"We don't have enough hands to tend to the wounded, but we also need more space."

The man then pointed to stones and broken wood piled up against the wall at the other side of the room.

"We need help clearing the rubble away so we can access the room on the other side. It should have survived the brunt of the fire, and we'll be able to set up a second infirmary inside. The four of you can handle these tasks, I assume."

He started to turn away from them to go back to the books he had been sorting through, but remembered one final thing: "Oh. My name is Senan. Just give me a shout if you need something."

Broken Pieces Never Fit Again [Four Hounds]

Fracture | Faith +1

[keingleichgewicht]

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............  readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!) 

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and: 

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

All about the Dullahan

Thomas Croften Croker’s Fairy legends and traditions of the south of Ireland (1825-1834) seems to be the main – if not only – written source of full folktales about the Dullahan. It contains a section titled “The Dullahan” which consists of four folktales, one ballad, and some research notes that refer to further stories.

Not all these stories actually even use the name Dullahan, but Croker seems to have gathered them together on the basis of them being headless. Explaining: “Headless people are not peculiar to Ireland, although there alone they seem to have a peculiar name” (1928, p. 98). So which Dullahan does Mr Croker have on offer? The answer is: a set of very different creatures which he all calls Dullahan, but which are not always referred to as Dullahan and who are, from story to story, revenants, fae, death omens, and a restless spirit.

I will sum up their characteristics for every story and give a verdict on their supernatural nature under the cut (this got very long):

The Good Woman (1928, p. 85-98):

Type 1:

A short woman in a large cloak that conceals her completely who is:

Headless, and isn’t carrying her head

Shows up in twilight, seen only by a man riding home alone

Very quick and nimble, can leap onto a horse and over a wall, seem to glide rather than run

Does not speak, does not make a sound when jumping on the ground

Is corporeal, as she can be touched

Is described as a “merry wench”

She allows a man to give her a ride before jumping off his horse and running away from him, clearly making a game of letting him chase her

She runs into the ruins of an old church near a pool to meet with:

Type 2:

A crowd of “well dressed ladies and gentlemen, and soldiers and sailors, and priests and publicans, and jockeys and Jennys, but all without their heads”

These Dullahan are having a party, where they dance around a torture wheel set with skulls (unclear if these are their own heads) amidst the ruins of the church, to the music of ringing bells and rattling bones

Accompanying them, but not dancing, are:

Type 3:

Skeletons with loose heads that they bowl and throw around as a game

They have bleached bones covered by moth-eaten shrouds

These Dullahan speak, but only in unison “as with one voice, that quavered like a shake on the bagpipes”

One of them carries his head under his left arm while he offers the human protagonist a drink

All three types are referred to as Dullahan

They all leave in “a great hurry scurry with the noise of carriages and the cracking of whips,” presumably making off with the protagonist’s horse as well, who accuses them of being “the horse stealing robbers of the world, that have no fear of the gallows”.

VERDICT: Revenant. Having wild parties, tricking people, and stealing from them is definitely fae behaviour, but apart from that these Dullahan seem to be playful and rather powerful undead, that once were human.

Hanlon’s Mill (p. 103-109):

A great high black coach drawn by six headless black horses, with long black tails reaching almost down to the ground, and a headless coachman dressed all in black sitting up on the box

Possibly heralded by strange sounds during twilight: “such blowing of horns and hallooing, and the cry of all the hounds in the world and “the golloping of the horses, and the voice of the whipper-in”

They appear near a pool of water, bringing darkness with them that blocks out the moon

Neither whip, nor hooves, nor wheels make any sound

The day after a hitherto healthy man has fallen ill and dies

Not called Dullahan by name

Verdict: Omen. Specifically the ghostly coach-a-bower, the death coach. The image of a black coach (or hearse) riding by to foretell someone’s death is quite a common occurrence in folklore.

“Another legend of the same district (as Hanlon’s Mill)” (p. 109):

A black coach, drawn by headless horses, drives to and fro every night, both through the countryside and through a town

It stops at the doors of different houses, but anyone who opens the door to it gets a basin of blood thrown in their face

Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full

VERDICT: ??? Supernatural prankster? No mention is made of this coach foretelling death, so this seems to be mischief for mischief’s sake. Throwing blood at people is also not very spectral, nudging them a step towards fae in my book.

A legend from Dublin (p. 110-111):

A coach, sometimes driven by a coachman without a head, sometimes drawn by horses without heads, drives furiously past a castle where a clergyman hung himself, possibly with supernatural aid

Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full

Verdict: Omen. The coach-a-bower again, but this time not to foretell a death but to announce that an (unnatural) death has taken place.

The Harvest Dinner (p. 112-128):

A great old family coach, drawn by six headless horses, driven by a headless coachman

There are headless passengers inside and four fine footmen standing behind the coach, also headless

They emerge from a moat with a great rumbling noise and go towards an old church

They are driving at the rate of a hunt and make sparks fly out of the stones of the road (which implies their horses were horseshoes!)

Even with the whole coach they are faster than a man on horseback

A gate opens for the coach as by magic

Not called Dullahan, but referred to as “fairies”

Ahead of them in this procession are other fairies: “the prettiest little fellows you ever laid your eyes upon. They were all dressed in green hunting frocks, with nice little red caps on their heads, and they were mounted on pretty little long-tailed white ponies, not so big as young kids"

All are seen by the light of the (full) moon, by a man going home alone at night, but he is not afraid of the headless fairies after he notices they have no eyes to see him with

VERDICT: Fae. They are clearly taking part in a fairy procession and are minding their own business, possibly going to have a party at the old church.

The Death Coach, a ballad (p. 134-136):

A coach decorated with a shroud, with headless horses, headless driver and headless passengers

The wheel spokes are thigh bones, the pole a spine and the lamps sculls

They drive at great speed and the coachman cracks a whip

They stop at a churchyard where they speak with the dead in the ground, arguing with them to let them rest there for the night

They plan to go on tomorrow: “for having no heads of our own, We seek the Old Head of Kinsale" (this is a place in Ireland, the whole ballad is full of puns like this)

VERDICT: More rowdy revenants. They have a very gaudy death coach, but do not foretell death, and are clearly accustomed to sleeping in graves.

An anecdote from Cork (p. 136):

Dullahans “drive particularly hard wherever a death is going to take place”

They come in a great crowd, with a large procession

The coachman has a long whip “with which he can whip the eyes out of any one, at any distance, that dares to look at him”

VERDICT: Omen?? Fae that are into death for the goth of it??

The Headless Horseman (p. 138-150)

A headless rider who carries his head under his right arm or in the pocket of his coat, on a headless white horse, who has its head floating in front of it

The head is gaunt and ashy pale, with “depressed features” that look “like a large cream cheese hung round with black puddings” and has two large, fiery eyes, matted black hair, and a mouth that reaches from ear to ear

He wears a scarlet single-breasted hunting frock with “a waist of a very old fashioned cut reaching to the saddle, with two huge shining buttons at about a yard distance behind”

He appears to a man on horseback, at night, in the rain

The head speaks in a hoarse voice, but only sparingly, most questions only get a “Humph”

The horseman rides without use of whip, spur or stirrups

The ground shakes under the weight of the hooves, which make a fearful clattering noise and stir the water of nearby pools into waves

Gladly enters into a race with the protagonist and he even promises the man that his horse will be safe

He is never called a Dullahan but just “the headless horseman” and even refers to himself in this way

After the race the headless horseman reveals that ever since he and his horse broke their necks at the bottom of a hill he has been trying to find a man brave enough to ride with him, he gives the man his blessing, promising him that he will never desert him nor the old mare he is riding (and supposedly helping him to win horseraces)

VERDICT: Restless spirit. To me this fellow has very little in common with the other stories. This is very much a doomed rider type of figure, although the curt conversation has a striking resemblance to a similar headless rider in the story A Queen’s County Witch (Yeats, 188, p. 151-154), where the figure is a witch in disguise.

Croker collected his stories in the typical 19th century folklorists’ style, through correspondence, interviews, and borrowing from other authors. He also rewrote the stories quite extensively, and has been criticised on his attitude towards “the Irish peasantry” as he did so. Yeats was one of these critics, (while he did still consider Croker an expert), and as he is the only other 19th-century source on Dullahan I thought his short notes are worth quoting too. He refers to the Dullahan (or Dallahan) both as “headless phantoms” and one of the “solitary fairies” (p. 81), and mentions them in the section “The Banshee”:

“An omen that sometimes accompanies the banshee is the coach-a-bower [cóiste-bodhar]—an immense black coach, mounted by a coffin, and drawn by headless horses driven by a Dullahan. It will go rumbling to your door, and if you open it, according to Croker, a basin of blood will be thrown in your face. These headless phantoms are found elsewhere than in Ireland.” (Yeats, 1888, p. 108).

CONCLUSION: If it’s Irish and headless and walking or riding around ominously, it’s a Dullahan. Which may be a fae, a ghostly omen, or a revenant, just as they please. There clearly is no one coherent definition to be found.

I still insist on putting the cursed headless horseman in another category though. Dullahan clearly have some shared preferences, like a love for twilight and moonlight, horses and coaches, ruined churches and pool. And, interestingly, they seem to always show up either with a coach or a whole company. So I feel justified in saying that the spectre of a solitary person who remembers his own death and knows his reason for still roaming the earth, does not embody the Dullahan sprit.

[lazuli-bloom]

Roses and Styx

Chapter 2 – The Man In The Rotting Suit

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5051

You get to go home early, which is nice. Now if only you could shake that guy from the graveyard. It doesn't help that no one else is able to even see him. There has to be some way to get rid of him, right?

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--=--=--

Deep breaths. Inhale through the nose, and exhale through the mouth. You're fine. Just ignore the man grinning at you seated in your passenger seat. Everything was normal and fine. He's not really there.

"So, where to, babes?"

You sucked a long sharp breath and glanced over to the delusion. He definitely looked at home in a graveyard, with the patches of moss on pale skin and sporting a frayed suit coated in dirt and grime. The man flashed you another grin showing off sharp teeth that likely have never seen a toothbrush.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and ignored the apparition while you get your shitty car started. A few minutes later, the car clanged and sputtered awake. You shoot whatever was in your passenger seat a glare before pulling out of the small lot and headed home.

The man next to you groaned after you passed the first stoplight. You glanced over to him. He crossed his arms, and wore a frown on his face. The green color in his hair dulled from when he was in the store. His tone looked to be a more purple hue.

"Come on, babes, I know you can see and hear me!"

You stayed silent and tapped your fingers on the steering wheel while stopped at a red light. He was right—much to your vexation—you could perceive him. In more ideal circumstances you'd seek professional help from a doctor or therapist, but that costs money. So you're forced to bank on the hope that ignoring the delusion makes him disappear.

He huffed and pouted more. "You have no idea how long it's been since anyone could see me. I ain't leaving so soon."

You press your lips tighter into a line and kept your eyes on the road. His peculiar wording bounced around in your head for the next few stops. Soon that bled into playing the events of the funeral. He was there, bugging the mourners and going unnoticed.

"Fine. What are you?"

You catch the dimmer purple wash away from his hair and brighten to a vivid green.

"Aw babes, I knew you'd come around!"

"Please answer the question."

"Oh, and so polite! Alright sweets, since you asked so nicely; I am a ghost!"

You spared a glance over to him as you turned onto the dingy road leading to your apartment. The skeptic in you wanted to counter and say that wasn't possible, but you doubted voicing that would magically make your unwanted passenger disappear.

"Alright then, mister ghost, why are you following me?"

"Already told ya, you're the first breather able to see me in a long time."

"So, are you planning to haunt me? Make my life worse than it already is? Because so help me god I'll kick your ass straight to Hell if you try."

You parked your car and turned, giving him a pointed glare. His citrine eyes lit up as his grin stretched so large it threatened to split his face.

"Feisty! I like that in a breather."

You grumbled under your breath and looked around the parking lot. Your car was one of maybe four parked there. There weren't any milling tenets out, either. Nevertheless, you weren't keen on staying out in your car the entire day talking to a ghost.

"I'm going inside. If you want to follow me, then you're going to have to answer my questions. Got it?"

"Anything you want, babes."

You breathed out through your nose and unbuckled yourself. As you stepped out you caught sight of the ghost floating out the front of your car where he waited for you on the curb. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he rolled back, putting his weight on his heels. The ghost flashed you another grin, and you doubted any good could come from this.

No second guesses or weaseling out by that point. You told him to follow you as you made your way to the apartment. Up the flight of stairs and to the end of the hall, you were almost home free.

"Parker!"

The harsh rasp of a smoker shouted at you. Every fiber of your being tensed up, and you fought to put on a smile in front of the dragon. She marched up to you with narrow eyes locked on you.

"Hi Donna."

"Who the hell left your apartment yesterday? I swear if you're smuggling a roommate in there I'm going to raise your rent."

"That was my friend, Sam. They're moving and stopped by to say goodbye. Wait, how did you know Sam even visited? Didn't you go out last night?"

"I got complaints about you."

You keep your mouth shut for the moment. This was a conversation you preferred not to drag out. You simply nodded to her as you carefully thought over your next words.

"Sam only dropped by to say goodbye."

"And who is 'Cassie'?"

You tensed up to the point your muscles could turn to stone any minute. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands and you struggled to keep up a friendly act.

"They're a co-worker."

Donna huffed at you, followed by a sneer showing off tobacco-stained teeth. She waved you off and turned, pulling out her smokes as she left. Donna uttered an insult your way before descending the stairs.

"Ain't she a delight."

You whipped your attention to the gravelly voice and found the specter with narrowed eyes pointed at the landing. His brow and nose scrunched up as he glared and you noted odd flecks of red in his hair.

You got your keys out and unlocked your door. "She's a bitch, but this apartment was the best I could afford. Easier to just grin and bear it."

"You know sweets, we could help one another with our problems." He said. You raise a brow at him before you stepped into the apartment. While he didn't exactly need you to, you stepped to the side and held the door open for him. "Babes, you are adorable. I'd give ya a big ol' 'thank you' kiss if I could."

"Please don't," you said, closing the door.

He let out a hardy laugh and then winked your way. You frowned and leaned against the wall with crossed arms. He scanned over the apartment while you studied him. The ghost's ragged appearance gave the impression that he recently crawled out of the grave. His pale skin grew bits of moss that blended into his hair. Dark rings circled his amber eyes. And a layer of rot and grime coated his odd frayed suit.

"Like what ya see, sweets?"

Heat rushed to your face, and you furrowed your brow at that. "You could use a bath."

"You breathers and bathing. What's even the point of it?"

"Health. It cleans away dead skin, and any diseases stuck on you, helps with sore muscles and aches, and can just help improve your mood overall."

"Shit. I didn't expect you to actually have an answer."

"Had one or two school wide lessons back in high school telling the kids that body spray was not a substitute for a shower."

He blinked at you. He shrugged a moment later and took a step closer, with his hands behind his back. "Anyway, back to my point. I think we can help each other out."

"How?"

"You and me could get rid of that awful hag! Decapitation, eaten alive by rats, electrocution, I'm open to suggestions!"

"Real casual with murder, huh? Yeah, no, not interested."

"Wait! Okay, it doesn't have to be murder. I could scare her so bad that she runs off and never comes back! We can workshop that later. But first I need you to say my name!"

"What would saying your name do to 'help'? And I don't know your name, you never said it."

The nameless ghost rolled his eyes and heaved out a sigh. Did the dead still need to breathe? That didn't seem right.

"Right now I can't affect much of anything. You saw how that guy walked right through me, right?"

You nodded.

"But if you say my name three times, I get my powers back and won't be stuck being invisible." There was a certain excitement in his tone when he said that. One that lit up his amber eyes with... something.

Your lips twitch downward as you mulled over his words. He said earlier you were the first person to see him in a long time. How long you couldn't be sure without asking, but truly any stretch of time sounded so lonely. However, you couldn't just let him have free range to do whatever he pleased. He already proposed murder as means of dealing with your landlady. This ghost could be impossibly destructive if unleashed.

"I don't know. How can I—"

A vicious yowl made you jump. It came from the other side of the wall.

"Shit!"

You rushed around the corner and opened the bathroom door. A white blur ran past you to the underside of the coffee table. Aqua colored eyes glared at you, only to shift focus in the ghost's direction.

You ignored that for the moment and instead turned your attention to the bathroom. The smell hit you first, the acrid scent of cat piss. You groaned as you looked over the state of the bathroom. The toilet paper shredded in tethers on the cheap linoleum, food and water bowls flipped with contents scattered, and a yellow puddle next to the litter box. Fantastic.

"Why was your cat locked in the bathroom?"

"I'm pet-sitting for a friend, and I can't have pets in the apartment," You said while you dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink. "I'm keeping him mostly confined to the bathroom, so it's not obvious a cat's here for two weeks."

"Why are you pet-sitting if you can't have pets here?"

"Because my friend couldn't board their cat anywhere else. They promised me a couple hundred bucks to do it too, so I bit the bullet."

"If you're hard up for cash, I know an easier way to get it."

You glanced back at him with a raised brow but kept quiet to focus on cleaning. A minute later, once cleaned of Rigel's mess, you tossed the toilet paper in the bathroom trash and asked, "And what method would that be?"

"Just taking it! I won't get caught, babes, and even if I did, there's nothing a breather could do about it. Come on, all you gotta do is say my name three times in a row!"

You stay quiet for a minute as you washed your hands. You dried your hands and turned to face him, saying once more, "I don't know your name."

"Well, I can't say it."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm cursed. I can't say my own name."

"Is it... Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Sweets, that hurts. You really think my sexy self could be that little imp?"

"Well, other than taking more shots in the dark, how else would I figure out your name?"

"We could..." He trailed off, scratching the stubble on his chin. His face lit up a moment later as he said, "We could play a game or something so you can figure it out!"

His grin stretched wide as he wore an earnest hope on his features. It was rather sweet, strangely enough, and made the notion of turning him down seem harsh. You mulled over your decision. While you didn't want to say no, you weren't keen on agreeing either. If you said yes, he'd expect you to say his name afterwards.

"And if I figure out your name, then what? Setting you free doesn't seem like a smart idea."

He instantly deflated when he heard that. Smile gone, brows furrowed. Even the vibrancy of his green hair looked like it dulled to a blueish purple. He looked crushed, and knowing you caused it struck you with a bit of guilt. You couldn't blindly trust him, but you didn't want to see him so hurt.

"Look. We just met. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Cause we're BFFFFs Forever!"

"B-F-F—... You want to be friends?"

He nodded vigorously, with a glimmer of hope rekindled in his eyes. Your guts twisted into tighter and tighter knots the longer he gave you the lost puppy look. If he truly was alone and unseen for any stretch of time, then desperately wanting a friend made sense. And for whatever strange reason, you were the one able to see him.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. We can be friends, but I won't free you until you've earned my trust. If I feel like I can trust you by the end of the month, then I'll say your name."

His grin reappeared, showing off sharp yellowed teeth. His hair also grew to a vibrant green. "Aw babes, you're the best! We are going to be great friends!"

You gave him a half smile, finding his excitement endearing if not a tad contagious. You finished up with cleaning the rest of the mess, and while doing so, you threw out a few more guesses of what his name might be. They were all wrong, but "Cthulhu" got a laugh out of him.

Once done with tidying the bathroom, you check on the furball under the shoddy coffee table. The devil cat hissed at you and swiped a clawed paw at you for daring to get so close. His eyes were thin slits and seemed to shift between yourself and somewhere behind you. You followed his gaze and landed on the ghost. You even asked him to move and the cat's gaze followed him.

"Huh. Looks like Rigel can see you."

"Rigel?"

"The fuzz-bucket of pure rage over here. His name is Rigel."

"Like the star in Orion?"

"Yeah, actually. The bright white star, that's why Sam named him that."

"Do you know any other stars in Orion?"

"Not off-hand. Why?"

"Eh... can't say."

You raised a brow at him. You wanted to find out the other stars in the constellation after he asked that—but with no internet access at the apartment or even a smartphone, you couldn't do that. All you owned was a cheap little prepaid flip phone straight out of the early aughts.

You shrugged it off and made a note to search that the next day on the store's computer. In the meantime, you sat down on the couch, kicking your shoes off to pull your feet up too. You didn't want to take the chance of that cat getting ballsy and going after you.

"So Mr. Whatsyourname, how am I going to figure out your name?"

He floated down to the other end of the couch and shrugged. You pressed your lips tight and hummed in thought as you worked out a means to find out his name.

"Well, playing twenty questions is getting us nowhere. Then again, throwing out random guesses isn't how you play that, but whatever. You can't spell it out, can you?"

"No, I suck at spelling it. And I can't, cause that would count as telling you it."

"Hmm, do you think you could use pictures to 'spell' it? Like using—a fly, a car, and a dog, to get the result of a flying carpet?"

"That might work, but I can't affect things, babes."

"But I can. Give me a sec, I'll get some paper." You rushed off to your bedroom and come back with a pencil and sketch pad. You took your seat back on the couch and turned to sit side by side with the ghost rather than facing him. "Alright, you tell me what shapes to draw."

You flipped to a blank page, skipping the older pages filled with various sketches and doodles. Once you got to a clean page, you held the book at an angel he could easily see.

The first thing he said to draw was a rectangle, a narrow one standing upright. Then a shorter and much thinner one at the top of the first. Followed by a third the same size as the second but connecting with it at an angle.

"Is that a juice box?"

"Nix the box."

"Juice?"

He nodded with a Cheshire grin. "Great! Now draw a circle on the front of the box."

You did so, as well as draw the six lines going out from the circle like he asked.

"Bug?"

"No, more specific. Draw lines on it in a 'T' shape."

You drew the segments on the bug, which gave it a distinct head and a line along its back. You look over the drawing and ask, "Is it a beetle?"

"Yes!"

"Beetle... juice?"

"Yes! You got it!"

You hum to yourself and look over the picture more. Such a strange name. Was that his name in life, too? Or did he get a new name upon death? Does everyone? Can you choose your name?

"I can see why your name's Art."

You shook out of your thoughts and jerked your head to the ghost—Beetlejuice—sitting beside you. You huffed a small laugh and closed the sketchbook.

"That's not my name."

"But that guy at the store—"

"I don't put my real name on my apron."

"Okay, Parker—"

"Not my name either."

"What? But that bitch called you Parker."

"I don't want people knowing my name. So, I don't give out my real name."

"Not even to your BFFFF Forever?"

"How about instead of telling you, you try to guess it? No hints either."

Beetlejuice groaned and whined at that, but you didn't budge. You instead gave him a sly smile of your own. He puffed out his cheeks and glared at you, and you did your best to not break into laughter. How was that disheveled ghost able to look so cute?

"Babes, tell me! You know my name now, I want to know yours."

"I had to play a game to figure out your name, only fair you have to do the same to learn mine."

"I'm cursed though. I can't say my name. Well, my middle name anyway."

You blinked and tilted your head as you processed his last comment. His middle name? How odd. You shrugged at him and said, "You can either try to figure out my name or maybe if I end up trusting you, I'll tell you. But for now, you don't need it."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"You've been doing just fine with nicknames like—babes, sweets, and breather."

"Fine. But I want to know your name at some point."

"When I'm more comfortable, it's a personal thing. What about you, though? Can I call you by a nickname?"

"Sure! You could use—sexy, or handsome, or hot stuff."

"Or none of those," you said, shaking your head. You did your best not to crack and laugh. "How about Beetle, or Bug? Simple and sweet."

"You think I'm sweet?" He asked with a purr that caused your face to burn.

"I think you're weird, and strange, but not the most terrible at least."

"I'll take it!"

There was that bright smile again. Wide and full of sharp teeth. This ghost was a very perplexing being. The more you saw his smile, the more your own lips curled into a smile of your own.

"Okay, so if you're going to hang around here, we should set up some ground rules and get other things squared away. Like—I don't want you going in my bedroom unless I invite you in and stay out of the bathroom too."

"Aw, that's no fun."

"Do you sleep or anything?"

"I can, but I don't need to. Same goes for food when I'm not stuck being invisible."

"Can you affect anything while you're like that? Lights? Electronics?"

"No. The air gets cold around me. Other than that, can't do much of anything while invisible."

You nodded with a small frown. That must be so boring—stuck watching the world go by, unable to affect anything or even seen by anyone. That experience didn't sound pleasant. As much as you wanted to keep a low profile, you couldn't bear to be that level of unnoticed.

"Well..." you said, getting your thoughts back on track, "If you don't need to sleep, what do you want to do while I'm asleep? You want me to set up a movie for you in the living room? Or I guess you could go snoop around the other apartments and see what everyone else is doing. Lord knows there's always someone awake in this place no matter the hour."

"You're giving me a free pass to spy on your neighbors?"

"You said you can't affect anything other than making it cold, so I don't see a problem. Hell maybe if you annoy enough people with cold spots Donna will have to deal with a bunch of complaints. Maybe she'll even waste money trying to fix things, that'd be fun."

"We are going to be such great friends."

You huffed out a small laugh. As strange as he was—and maybe a little too gung ho with murdering your landlady—Beetlejuice seemed like he would make for... interesting company.

You checked the time on your phone. Five in the afternoon. Only an hour left of your shift. Well, if you hadn't left early. You tossed your phone on the coffee table with a clatter. Your action earned a venomous hiss from Rigel.

"So, um, if you don't need to sleep but can, do you want me to set up the couch as a bed? I don't have anywhere else to set one up and if Donna thinks I have other people living here, she's going to be pissed."

"Good thing I'm dead."

You pursed your lips and rolled your eyes. "Well yeah, technically. Existing here then, which dead or alive; you do exist. And that would still piss off Donna."

He huffed and narrowed his eyes, but glanced away from you. "I know you said you want to trust me first, sweets, but I could do a helluva lot more than just annoy her with cold spots. Just give me a chance!"

"I don't know... I don't like her but I don't think that would be a good idea." You sat looking blankly at the couch cushions as you hummed in thought. Even if he had good intentions going in—or more accurately, intentions that benefited you—things could go wrong and land you in a worse spot. Good intentions paved the road to Hell, after all.

"Babes, please, I'm begging. Ya gotta let me do something! I can even hold back on hurting her if that's what you want! I'll just scare the shit out of her!"

You thought over the proposition, and it sounded enticing. You tapped a finger against your cheek as various scenarios of Donna, scared out of her mind, played out. "That does sound fun, maybe later—Wait! It's October!"

"It is? Huh. I thought it was still July."

"Wait what? How...?"

"When you've been around for over a millennium, you stop bothering to keep tabs on time."

"A millennium? That's, holy crap. Okay, I have questions, but first what I was originally saying; It's October. So that means at the end of the month is Halloween. So, what if, if things go well and I trust you by then we plan a big scare for this All Hallows' Eve?"

The ghost shot up, bouncing on the couch. The sudden movement freaked out Rigel enough for him to scurry off to another hiding spot. "Hell yes! Babes, you're the best!" This ghost vibrated with barely contained excitement and you could have sworn he was glowing green.

You held up your hand to hold in a laugh. Beetlejuice radiated a pure joy that was not only endearing but also infectious. While precious to see him so happy, you asked him to compose himself and sit. Incorporeal or not, it’s difficult to carry a conversation while a ghost jumped on the furniture.

He sank back and sat on the couch, though he chose the arm of the couch as his seat. He faced you, still sporting a grin and vibrant green hue, and you couldn't stop smiling at this happy dork. Wanting to keep your discussion going, you cleared your throat and picked things back up with a question.

"You said you've been around for a millennium. So does that mean you lived during the... eleventh century?"

"I was around then, but I've never been alive. I was born dead."

"Born dead? Do... you mean like a stillborn?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I'm a demon straight from Hell."

"You're a demon-ghost? Ghost-demon?"

"Both, yeah. But enough about me, as great as I am. How'd a pretty little breather like you end up in this shitty apartment?"

You frown and grabbed at your sleeve, not wanting to look him in the eye anymore. "It's kinda complicated and I don't want to go into all of it. I'm just... scraping my life back together and this place is the best I can afford right now." You stayed quiet for a moment before looking back at the ghost. The vibrant joy on his features faded drastically. Guilt stung in your heart for dampening the mood and offered the best masking smile you could muster. You weren't sure it looked all that convincing.

Beetlejuice stayed quiet a moment longer before a smirk pulled at his lips. "Well, now you know who you can call if ya need help dealing with a few problems."

"The ghostbusters?" You asked and cracked a genuine smile.

"Pff. Them? Nah, babe, the ghost with the most! Just gotta say my name three times, spoken unbroken!"

The self proclaimed "ghost with the most" puffed out his chest in a bid to look impressive. It earned a soft chuckle out of you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

A low growl filled the room. Heat seared your cheeks as you wrapped an arm over your stomach. Lunch wasn't as filling as you had hoped. You sighed and stood with a stretch. If you didn't make dinner soon, you'll end up nauseous from hunger later.

Your new familiar spirit stayed put sitting on the arm of the couch. However, when you glanced back at him, his head turned around to face you. It unnerved you, and the longer you looked at him the worse the feeling got.

You shook it off as best you can and headed to the fridge, which hid behind a wall jutting out to separate the living room and kitchen. And right then doubled as a divider that blocked you from view of the couch.

Once you dug out the mixed vegetables from the freezer, you turned and caught sight of a large blur on your counter. You seized up, knees locking, and heard a loud laugh bellow out.

"Aw babes, you should've seen the look on your face."

Beetlejuice wiped away some tears, then snapped his fingers. You blinked a few times, unsure what to think of seeing your face on his body. He twisted his—your? features into an expression of shock before cackling. Your mouth hung open, but you couldn't find any words. So you just shook your head and carried on making dinner.

As you worked on getting your dinner prepared, you pick back up the conversation. You and Beetlejuice took turns asking questions to get to know one another. Beetlejuice opened by sharing about his banishment—no clear details, just stated the fact it happened. He also said he got a kick out of the spread of the bubonic plague through Europe.

You grabbed a bowl and poured in your steaming dinner. The savory flavoring of the noodles mixed with the thawed vegetables and wafted in the air. Once you turned the stove off, you sat back on the couch. In between bites, you divulged a few minor details about yourself, like how you've worked for Mr. Turner close to a year and a half, and your hope to one day work in a haunted house attraction. That topic piqued Beetlejuice's interest.

"So, you get to scare people. As a job?"

"Y-yeah. I've thought being a haunted house actor could be a lot of fun. But there's no acting job close enough willing to pay the rate I'd need to make it worth it. And it's seasonal. So it's gotta stay a dream job."

You ate your noodles and mixed vegetables, allowing the specter to take over the conversation and regale you with various stories. One of his stories got you to laugh so hard you ended up swallowing wrong. It took a minute of coughing and sputtering before you stopped choking on your food. You cleared your throat with a short groan and fought to stop laughing.

After you finished dinner, you checked the time. It wasn't too late, but with everything that happened, drowsiness gnawed at the edge of your mind. You tapped your fork against the rim of the bowl as you walked through the mental checklist of what you needed to do before bed. Beetlejuice asked what you were doing and frowned when you told him.

"You're going to bed already?"

"I have work tomorrow and you gave me a few good scares today. I'm getting tired."

He pouted, but you noticed he cracked a smile, hearing that he scared you. You rolled your eyes and got up to put your dish in the sink. When you returned, you pulled several movie cases and set them on the coffee table.

"Pick whichever one you want, I can put it on for you before I go to bed."

You give him a small smile and leave to get ready. A few minutes later, once in your pajamas with your teeth brushed and the cat wrangled back into the bathroom, Beetlejuice picked out a movie. You got it started and tidied up the couch for him.

"You don't have to clean on my account, babes. I don't mind the mess."

"I don't mind, you're my guest, and I want things to be nice." You said and gave him another smile. "G'night, Beetle. See ya in the morning."

[its-monster-mash]

Marko(Lost Boys) X Frog!Reader Imagines

Gender Neutral Reader

Content Warnings: gun, near death, brief mention of weed

• You spent most of your life on the East Coast, but you had a lot of family out west, including your beloved Grandfather. So when he passed, you dropped everything to attend the funeral

• You didn’t even recognize Edgar and Alan when you showed up at the trailer with your bag; last time you saw them Ed was just learning his first words(“Bullshit”, thanks Uncle Frog), and Al couldn’t even walk yet. Now here they are, a couple of Angsty sullen teenagers

• “You guys used to be so cute, what happened?” “We grew up.” “Oh please, what are you, 12?”

• You decided to stay for a while, help out with the comic book store while your Uncle deals with the legal stuff about your grandfather’s death. Dying sure was a pain in the ass, you guessed

• All things considered, you liked the work. You were a huge comic fan, and the store was slow enough that you had plenty of time to spend working on your own art. You hoped maybe you’d have your own comic some day, if only you could stick to one idea...

• In fact, you were so focused on your art that you forgot to lock up after closing time; so you were more than a little bit started when someone tossed a comic on your desk

• You look up to see a curly-headed blond man, with one of the most beautiful faces you had ever seen, and you can’t help but blush, he smiles at this. “New in town? I think I’d remember seeing you.”

• You notice his friends snicker as they mill around the store. So he IS flirting with you...this does nothing to help your blushing

• You try to collect yourself, ringing up his comic book as you explain your situation; about your grandfather, and how you’re staying with your uncle for a while...how you accidentally kept the shop open way late

• He seems infinitely more interested once he hears that you’re an artist, and absolutely wants to see your work. In fact, he doesn’t even wait for you to respond. “Is that your sketchbook?” Is all the warning you have before he’s snatching it off of your desk and flipping through it

• His jaw all but drops as he appreciates your work. “This is so sick!” Suddenly he’s pushing the sketchbook back to you. “Can you draw me?”

• Normally, you hate that question as much as any other artist, but you’d been dying to draw him since you saw his face, so you absolutely take him up on that

• It doesn’t take you very long to sketch him, and the second you’re finished he snatches it out of your hands, staring at it like he hasn’t seen himself in years

• While he’s busy being in awe, you snatch the sketchbook back from him, much to his surprise, and you hold up a finger to tell him to wait while you scratch your phone number onto the page. You hope he can read your terrible writing

• You tear the page out of the sketchbook, handing it to him. “Here, my phone number...you could call it sometime...if you want to.”

• Your heart flutters when he smiles, and you think you might die when his fingers brush yours when he takes the page. “I want to.”

• His spikyheaded friend nods at him, signaling it’s time for them to leave. “Name’s Marko, I’ll call you!”

• After a couple of late night phone calls, you never leave the shop open late again; Marko never failing to pick you up just after the sun goes down. You tease him about never seeing him in the daylight, like he’s one of those vampires from your cousins’ favorite comic

• “I’ve never seen you in the daylight either.” “Fair enough.”

• Unfortunately, your cousins overhear this little talk just outside of the shop; and one very early morning you notice them sneaking out of the house...you follow of course, you are the adult after all

• Following at a distance, you watch them climb into an old cave...very clearly labeled “Stay Out”. You wonder if maybe they go down there to get stoned with their friends or something...they have friends right? You consider leaving them be...but decide it would be so much funnier to bust them

• Except it isn’t funny at all. By the time you get down there, you hear your cousins’ screams. You frantically follow the sound, and much to your surprise you find Marko, his face distorted monsterously, ready to tear Edgar’s throat out

• You hardly even notice his friends, making a daring slide to pick up the stake Ed had dropped, and grabbing onto Marko. You aren’t strong enough to pry his grip off of your cousin, but the shock of seeing you here causes him to let go anyway. Ed scrambles to Al’s side, terrified under the gaze of the other vampires

• You press the point of the stake to Marko’s chest, and he looks at you with the most devastated expression. “Touch my cousins and he fucking dies.”

• Contempt and fear plays across the faces of the other vampires, guys you thought had become your friends since you started dating Marko; they didn’t know if you could kill him, but they didn’t want to take that chance. David nods for them to part so your cousins can start climbing out of the cave

• Marko...Marko looks at you with his golden eyes full of sorrow and anguish. Seeing him now for the monster he is, you know that the only reason you’re still alive is because he doesn’t want to kill you. You have a stake pressed to his chest, but you both know he could tear your throat out before you ever got the chance to use it

• “(Y/N), please, I-”

• As soon as your cousins reach the safety of daylight, you toss the stake violently to the floor, glaring into Marko’s eyes. You don’t even spare him a final word before you turn and walk away

• Every night, the phone rings; your Uncle doesn’t even bother to tell you anymore, just hanging up the second he hears Marko’s voice. If he knew the truth about what happened that night he’d be terrified, but as it stands he just thinks you had a nasty breakup; and you’re grown...so it’s not his business

• You hate yourself for it, but you miss him...you want to blame it on his Vampiric Charm, but you know in your heart that he never had to manipulate your feelings...they were real

• One night, you just can’t stand lying awake staring at the ceiling anymore. At damn near 3am, you leave quietly so not to awaken your family, and take off for your grandpa’s old shooting range

• Perhaps it was unwise to take yourself to a secluded area so far from any civilization in the dead of night, but you don’t care anymore. You load your grandfather’s old shotgun, the one he taught you to hunt with, and fire at the target

• Eventually, you hear a lone dirtbike pull up the long road behind you; you don’t even turn to look at him. “It’s four AM Marko, what are you doing here?” You fire at the target in the distance

• He walks up behind you, watching you lazily reload. “I could ask you the same thing.”

• “S’my grandpa’s range. I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d get in some target practice.” *Ting* “You know that’s no good against Vampires, right?” “It’s not for vampires.”

• He can’t help but be frustrated with you; how could you just come out into the open like this? In the middle of the night? Were you stupid or suicidal?

• You don’t need to read minds to know what he’s thinking. He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off. “If you wanted me dead, I never would have left that cave.”

• “So why didn’t you do it? You know what I am now, so why didn’t you drive that stake through my heart?” “Even if I could have stabbed you faster than you could have killed me, your brothers would have torn me to pieces.”

• “My brothers aren’t here now.”

• You finally turn to look at him, tears welling in your eyes at the sight of him. Your heart tenses at the sight of the sun threatening to rise on the horizon. “If you don’t leave now, I won’t even have to kill you.”

• “No (Y/N).” You can see the tears in his eyes as he shifts into his monstrous form. “No, if you really want me dead, you’re gonna see it.”

• You’re confused at first, until you see the smoke beginning to rise as the first rays of morning light threaten him. “Marko, what are you doing?”

• He lets out an agonized hiss as his skin begins to singe. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

• Tears well in your eyes as you run to him, throwing your jacket over him in an attempt to shield him from the sun. “Knock it off!” You practically drag him into the old gun shack

• He collapses to the floor once you get him inside, too weak to stand. “If I’m gonna die, I want it to be you.” He sounds so raspy and exhausted

• You shake your head, tossing an old blanket over him. “Well too bad. You’re not dying on me today.”

[ethanredotter]

My ideas for Zootopia 2

Ah, Zootopia. It broke the record for the biggest opening weekend for an animated film, went on to be Disney Animation’s third most profitable film ever, became the second highest grossing original film of all time, and was nominated for and won innumerable awards including many for best animated picture, and rightfully so. It introduced us to a beautiful, creative, and lovable world populated by amazing characters, and had a poignant message that was conveyed, in my humble opinion, in the best possible way. I liked it a lot when it first came out, but after recently getting into stuff with a similar concept (Beastars), and being subsequently recommended various fan content on YT (Savage Company, Return to Zootopia), I got back into the film again and absolutely fell in love with it to the point that it’s joined my top three films alongside Coco, and The Land Before Time. 

Which is why I am really, really craving a followup of some kind.

Seriously, of all of Disney Animation’s recent films (or heck, films in general), I feel like this one has the greatest potential for a sequel. The setting oozes creativity from its every pore, has so many nooks and crannies that we didn’t manage to explore in the film, its two main leads were perfect and I really feel still have plenty of room to grow, and there are still so many ideas old and new that can be explored. So far we’ve received a few tie-in books, a hidden object game which is no longer available, a few comics, including a series about stories from Nick and Judy’s childhoods, a very large and intricate land expansion under construction in Shanghai Disneyland and a game starring Nick and Judy in Epcot, and a Disney+ original series focusing on various characters from around the city. All of these are fantastic, but four years after the film’s release, we’ve received no official confirmation of a proper continuation to Nick and Judy’s story like a sequel or TV series, just a few rumors here and there.

We’ll get some kind of proper followup eventually, that’s for sure, but what could it do? What kinds of places could they take us to? What ideas could it explore? What could happen to our leads, and what kinds of new characters could they befriend or combat? Well, I’m gonna give my ideas right here; buckle up, because I have a lot.

The City

Let me start off with the City itself. I mean… It’s marvelous. The architecture, like the Oasis Casino, central station, first precinct, the various neighborhoods. The accommodations like the sprinklers, water tubes, Little Rodentia, and the climate wall! The city of Zootopia is a star in and of itself with just how much care, attention, and creativity was put into its every crevice, and we barely got to see half of what it has to offer, as we only got a proper look at five of its twelve districts. They’ve revealed a few other districts via some maps and books (Meadowlands, Outback Island, Canal District) but there are a bunch of others yet to be revealed, and plenty unexplored.

Let’s start with what could be done with the ones already revealed. The Canal District could accommodate the city’s highly aquatic residents like hippos, otters, muskrats, beavers and manatees, and also be one of the city’s primary trade hubs. In terms of layout, it could be like Venice meets the Mekong Delta on steroids where the citizens live and make their living either in boats, or in buildings whose entrances are right on the water. There could be some walkways for less aquatic animals, but most of the transportation is through the water; either via swimming, or via motorboats, riverboats, jet skis, and ferries. And indeed, this is possibly what they had in mind judging by the concept art of the canals. I hope to see them implement something like this in the future; this stuff is just insanely cool! In terms of infrastructure, alongside the various docks and warehouses, I’m thinking that it could be a place for aquaculture where all manner of freshwater seafood are raised, as well as plenty of touristy stuff like river cruises. Maybe we could have a boat chase here, or perhaps just a relaxing moment between our leads, or maybe both. 

The meadowlands would be a place for more temperate grazers like sheep, horses, bison, and various kinds of deer. It could be akin to a massive park district with plenty of recreation and places to enjoy a bit of fresh air, and its buildings could possibly be like hobbit holes and built into the hills. I’m thinking it could also be a place with a lot of mills to process both food and textiles, and its overall atmosphere could be quite agricultural and country while being in the middle of a city and not having much in the way of crops.

Now on to potential districts

Credit to @florenze​

The one that I and many others have thought of the most is a nocturnal cave district. This would be located beneath the rest of the city, and would, of course, have little to no light in order to accommodate its main inhabitants such as moles, mole rats, and bats. This place could have homes on the ceiling and walls for the bats, with various cranes and elevators for the non-bats to get around both to visit, and do maintenance. I imagine bat homes could be quite atypical compared to other species since they’d likely sleep upside down and crawl on walls a fair bit, and if they need to get anywhere they can just fly, so much like the canals, they might not have much in the way of front yards and instead just have elevators and sheer drops on their front doors. Likewise, the less residential buildings could have entrances at higher floors for the bats as well. Entrances to the district could be drive-in cave mouths, as well as big openings for the bats to just fly straight out of to see the other districts at night.

As an opposite to that, I was thinking that a central mountain district would also be cool to see. This would accommodate mountain sheep and goats, takins, pikas, llamas, as well as snow leopards, brown bears, and other mammals who like high and rocky locales. This place could be even more vertical than the cave district, and require either elevators, stairways, or surefootedness to get around, as well as perhaps some oxygen tanks depending on how high it goes. Therefore, cars would be nowhere to be seen, and if anyone wants to get in, they’ll need to park outside, or better yet just take public transportation to allow room for residents’ vehicles. Buildings could possibly be carved out from the stone, and the overall atmosphere could be a mix of the Himalayas and the Andes, and also a bit of the Rockies and Urals.

Regardless of what districts they show us, I would like to see a few more angles to the city than just a bright and clean middle class. Show off its dirty underbelly too, and I don’t just mean more of the street hustlers and thieves like Nick, Finnick, and Weaselton. The first film did an excellent job of showing us that Zootopia wasn’t some perfect society with its discrimination and criminals, and while we did get a nice glimpse of its dirtier side, I want to see more of the run down neighborhoods and their residents. Heck, maybe make poverty an aspect of the plot and a motivator for the villain. Although, they also could also easily cover it with Nick due to the fact that his family was struggling back in the day. Alongside that, I’d like to see high society too, especially the oasis casino that they really wanted to show off, but couldn't find a way to. Show us just how both lavish and run down this city can be.

New Characters

Of all the things I love the film for, its characters and their arcs are probably the biggest things, especially those of the leads. This film has a very diverse cast from a big old cape buffalo to a tiny little fennec fox, and they’re all quite memorable and fun. Now I know what some of you are thinking, “why are you covering new characters before the old ones”? Mostly because I have fewer ideas, but also because the ideas I have for some of the old characters are quite big.

Firstly, I’d like to talk about Nick’s family, starting with his mother. Yes, Mrs. Wilde is already an established character, but I’m still putting her in here since I want to talk about Nick’s family in the same section, and she’s gotten very little characterization; heck, we don't even know her name. She seems like a very nice and supportive vixen from what we saw from the flashback, there was a tweet from Rich Moore that we can infer a fair bit from, and the end of a comic that showed her being a very nice mother and a massive fan of a rock band made of rabbits. Nick is seemingly an only child since no siblings are mentioned anywhere, and they certainly seemed to be financially struggling at some point since he said that his mom “scraped up” the money for the scout uniform, and in the comics he was always extremely short on money and didn’t even have an allowance. Rich referring to her as “Mrs. Wilde” as opposed to “Ms. Wilde” shows that she was/is married and that the husband was probably Nick’s father. The last line of the tweet highly indicates that she and Nick are in contact and on speaking terms (although it really begs the question of where she was during his graduation as there’s not a fox in sight (although there were plenty of seats out of sight and obscured)), and also potentially hints at, uh… Things we’ll get to later. Unfortunately, we don’t know anything more about her. Did she know about Nick’s bad behavior? Did Nick even tell her about the incident with the scouts? Was she ever estranged from him? I’d like for it to be talked about, preferably with her present. I don’t want her to just show up in a call or something, I want her to actually have a scene with her son, and I’d love for her to meet Judy as well.

At least we know a thing or two about her, but we don’t know a thing about Nick’s father that has been confirmed. In one of the original cuts of the film, Mr. Wilde was a tailor who wanted to start up a company with his son called Wilde and Son’s Suitopia and give his kit the best future he could possibly have. Unfortunately, after many attempts at getting a loan to start it up, Nick tried to stop some lemming bankers from denying their loan by trying to grab the stamp from them, was spotted by a guard, and was forcibly and permanently separated from his dad because the city in that cut was was a horrible place full of horrible prey who thought that predators were nothing but horrible monsters ready to blow at any time to the point that they were forced to wear shock collars that would zap them whenever they got even remotely excited. Seriously, screw this setting, it made Beastars look like a freaking paradise. Anyway, back on track. Nick only mentions his mom, so where is his dad? Again, a fair bit can be inferred from the sources on his mother. The simple fact that he wasn’t mentioned in the flashback or the comics seems to indicate that he was out of their lives at that point in Nick’s childhood. Go figure, fans have gone nuts with the possibilities. I’ve seen depictions of him ranging from dead, to estranged, to a genuinely good dad who’s back in their lives now, and a psychotic criminal mastermind who wants Nick to be his heir… Yeah. Out of all those depictions, the loving father one is my favorite. Sure, Rich didn’t mention him in the tweet, but that could have been a simple omission since the question was about Mrs. Wilde. I’ll be honest, my perfect version of this idea is from the fan comic It Should Have Been Me, in which which his backstory and character is almost exactly what it was in the original cut: he was a fabric worker who moved to Zootopia with his wife and son in order to make it big on a tailor business, as he strongly believed in the ideals of the city and wanted to show Nick what a fox could become. He was repeatedly denied a loan, and eventually his obsession with making the business made his wife leave with Nick. After some time, he finally realized that being a role model was not the same as being a father and returned to them. I adore this interpretation for how it shows a family that struggled to stay together for reasons mostly within their control, but still managed to, and are now seemingly happier than ever, something I can’t recall seeing at all in any of Disney Animation’s films (if you know any examples, please list them), and also the fact that Mr. Wilde is a great, likable, and kind of complex character here who is a good man who just messed up as opposed to a simple deadbeat dad I've often seen him depicted as. I want to see something like this out of his father in an official follow-up, but even if he is still separated from his wife, I’d like to see him, and if he’s dead, still give us something; I want to know who this guy is and where he is now, and if there’s anyone else in the Wilde family, I’d love to meet them too, and I want to know how they feel about Nick turning his life around and bucking expectations and stereotypes. His mother is probably exceedingly proud of him, and his dad probably is too if my preferred version is used. Either way, give us a lovely father, mother and son scene (or just mother and son scene, because you know, she’s the only one confirmed to still be around).

On to the villain! The villain should be as opposite to Bellwether as possible; big, male, predator, and not trying to fool anyone into believing that he’s not the mastermind behind anything. We’ll know, at least partially, who this guy is from the moment he’s introduced and what his motivations are early on. Unlike Bellwether, we’ll dive into his character more and more as the film goes on and see what makes him tick. So, what could he want? The idea I’ve conjured up was that he could be a segregationist extremist who sees the founding principles of Zootopia as foolish, believes that this all mammal society is unsustainable, and that all species should completely separate from each other. Perhaps he just wants to get back at the city that he believes wronged him and/or his kind, or perhaps he wants to go back to the wild square one where it’s every species for themselves, and perhaps he thinks that will genuinely be better for everyone. Regardless, I think that this idea would be an interesting continuation of the first film’s ideas of prejudice and living in peace with your neighbor, where this villain would want to bring down the city because he hates prejudice, wants to bring down what he sees as a hypocritical city, and wants mammals to be better off by being separate and under harm. Also, unlike Bellwether who was a power hungry sociopath, this guy will be far more genuine in his pursuit and see himself as a liberator. But as I said, he could very well just be using it all as an excuse for petty vengeance and lashing out at the world in a spiteful rage.

Despite what I said before, I do think that there should be an air of mystery around him. Since he’ll see himself as a demagogue for all animal’s “liberation”, he could conceal himself in shadows during his broadcasts, and also cover himself from head to toe in feature hiding clothes such as a helmet/mask, and specially designed gloves and shoes that hide what his hands and feet look like in order to not show off what species he is. Basically, he could be a twist on the twist villain; he’ll be all mysterious and some could think that he may be a character that we’ve met, but in reality he’s the same character we’ve known all along. As for what species he could be, I was thinking that he could be a less looked at member of a well known family of animals. My best bet would be a smaller and less predatory species of bear like an American black bear, sloth bear, or a sun bear since we saw so many brown and polar bears in the film, and while he’d be small by bear standards, he’d still be quite large, and heck, maybe they could make him particularly large and scary for his species of bear. Also, since he would be a kind of bear whose protein historically consisted entirely of insects (especially in the case of the latter two), he could have extra reason to be angry with society since his kind never wronged prey (although again not quite the case with American black bears since they will sometimes eat fawns and even fully grown deer), but yet he was lumped in with the brown and polar bears. Of the three species I listed, I think the sloth bear would work the best since their protein entirely consists of insects, but, despite their small size and goofy appearance, they’re one of the most aggressive species of bear and have been known to charge at elephants and rhinos at the drop of a hat, and this could play into his characterization as bear Kratos. I think there could be some hints to his species throughout the story, despite how well he may try to hide it. For instance, American black bears when scared tend to do things such as pulsing and clapping their jaws together, while the south Asian bears tend to rear up and stretch their chests out to expose their white stripe. Perhaps he could unconsciously do things like that when particularly agitated or under pressure.

What exactly could make him want all of this? I was thinking that much like our favorite fox cop, he could have experienced much discrimination throughout his life, only far worse, and been downright spiteful instead of rolling with the punches like Nick did. And again, it could have been more pronounced on him since the discrimination was due to “Sins of the cousins” and his kind had nothing to do with any of what they accused him of. A tipping point could have been the Night Howler Crisis, which could have either personally affected him, or just confirmed his beliefs and made him want to go through with his plans to try and tear Zootopia down, and now, about a year or so after that Crisis, his plans can finally go into motion. As for how he’ll go about things, well, he’d go for the hearts, minds and the infrastructure of the city. Perhaps he could broadcast all over to spread his propaganda and instill doubts in in the population (notably in his fellow preds by reminding them what happened not long ago), and also strike fear in those who oppose him. Other than that, he’ll of course go straight for the city’s infrastructure via sabotage and kidnappings. One victim could be the mayor, who this time could actually be a good person and politician, or, as one official comic showed, Lionheart again… Was this an error, or was he seriously canonically reinstated after the shady crap he got up to!?

Anyway, expanding on the idea of the concealing outfit, I’m thinking that his followers (who I’ll just call The Cell for now) could do the same thing with tail hiders, stilts, and padding which would be especially effective for bigger animals to possibly lean over and look like something shorter and fatter in order to make themselves appear roughly the same as to make themselves not see each other as another species for the duration of this insane operation (it also has the added effect of making them harder to differentiate and track). This will eventually be their downfall for reasons you may have surmised, but I’ll explain that later.

Speaking of more villainous characters, I'd like to see a bit more of the criminal syndicates and mobs throughout the city. I'd like to learn who rules what parts of the city, how far their reach goes, and how they operate. Although, we’ll probably only get a glimpse in the film, but we could see the criminal organizations focused on more in a TV series or official comic book, because I think a film would be about a much larger and complex threat that could change the city and characters as we know them.

What about more heroic characters? Well, perhaps we could see the return of concepts from the original pitch of the film like secret agents. Considering that the villain’s plot could be citywide and insidious, I think it would make sense. It could be cool to see conceptual characters such as Skye developed and implemented, and have them helping our leads with the case (or perhaps they could just be a cameo in a movie theater, I dunno, they had a billion other ideas when conceptualizing). I’d like to see her come back because she seemed like quite an interesting concept of a mechanic and badass secret agent (Also, look at that concept art; she's flipping adorable). Perhaps she could be undercover in The Cell, and Nick and Judy could meet her after being ambushed by them. As they’re driving away, Nick gets shot in the shoulder with a dart, but when they reach safety, he realizes that he’s fine. He pulls the dart out and finds that it’s hollow and clear and has a note inside it. They read the note and it includes an apology and directions to a garage in the meadowlands. Later they go to the address and find a light tan fox working on a car. She introduces herself, apologizes further to Nick for shooting him, and then brings them into a safehouse where she gives them vital info on The Cell, and gives them a number to call her at and a few special signals and monikers to help out.

If I were to describe the character I imagine her having, it would be extremely enthusiastic, friendly, and possibly coming off as a little childish, but also intelligent, savvy, and consummately professional and well trained. Basically, a quintessential bunny ears lawyer.

Some people have wanted her to have some kind of past affiliation with Nick, but I’m not sure. I mean, it would be interesting and a good callback to the cut where she was his sidekick, but in this version him knowing someone who just so happens to also be a secret agent would seem a little odd. Then again, he knows everybody. Maybe she’s that mysterious Lady Friend mentioned by Finnick…? (she is a mechanic after all, and he loves his van).

Other than that, I’d love to see the ZPD itself expanded and characterized a heck of a lot more. Maybe we could actually get to know Nick and Judy’s fellow officers like McHorn, Pennington, and Wolfard, and finally see some actual detectives as opposed to just patrolmen, and also get to see the city’s other precincts. I’d love to see the folks at first precinct all working with and respecting our leads, and for all of their strengths to be shown to the max. As in, I want to see them in full SWAT gear conducting a raid; Bogo and the big boys breaching doors, the wolves and cats on marksman duty, and Nick and Judy doing infiltration.

Returning Characters

Let’s start with everyone’s favorite tiny fox, shall we? Finnick wasn’t in the film all that much and only said a total of 37 words (yes I counted), but despite this, he still left a shockingly large impact on audiences for his in your face attitude and vocal dissonance of being a little fennec fox played by a giant former pro wrestler, Tommy Lister Jr (may he rest in peace). And honestly, I flipping adored him too. The creators also liked him a lot and have featured him extensively in newer material such as Zootopia Crime Files, which had him heavily involved in a case and really managed to flesh out his character and specify what his relationship with Nick was like (which is to say, they are genuinely friends), and he even appears as a playable character in Disney Heroes: Battle Mode, and they have said that they wanted to feature him more in a sequel. So what could he do in a follow up? I’m thinking that he could become a major supporting character. I’d like to see him having some genuine friendly times and conversations with Nick and Judy such as going out to eat with them, and also get them out of some scrapes; perhaps by going nuts on a perp that’s threatening them and/or driving them out of a sticky situation. Perhaps he could also help the investigation by acting like an informant or mole (but as I said, in this cut that could already be taken by someone else). Or perhaps he’s gone or will go relatively straight and operate a totally legitimate ice cream shop instead of running a complex hustle. Perhaps he could also act as a shippe- again something we’ll get to later. I’d also like to learn more about him as a person; did he get into the hustling life because of some kind of discrimination like Nick, or is he just a roughhouser who genuinely likes what he does and wouldn’t have it any other way? Who’s this lady friend he mentions? Does he harbor any resentment for Nick for getting off the street and into the force? Obviously it’s not too strong if he’s still giving him Pawpcicles and interacting with him in a cordial way, but is there any there? I’d really like to see. Also, what's his real name? The directors said that Finnick isn't his real name, so what is it? Maybe tell us, maybe don't. As for who could replace Zeus, I’m thinking Kevin Michael Richardson. Whoever they get, I hope he does him justice.

Leave Bellwether out of this; she's served her purpose.

I wouldn’t be mad at seeing Mr. Big return, but I don’t really have any ideas for him. That said, I think that Fru-Fru could be a nice inclusion as a good friend of Judy. Perhaps Judy could hang out with her and do a few things like a little bit of Godmothering for the little shrew bearing her name.

Flash… If he shows up at all, make it a minor appearance, maybe even a cameo.

Bogo was technically the tritagonist of the last film, and I’d like him to remain in a prominent role. I loved his character and evolution in the last film; he starts off barely giving Judy the time of day and repeatedly gets really pissed off at her antics, and also blows off Nick on the simple basis of him being a fox. But he’s an extremely principled and just fellow, and in my opinion, an example of what a good police chief should be, especially since he gets over his prejudices and comes to respect our leads as much as his other officers (which is to say, a LOT). And it’s that respect that I really want to see in a follow up. I want him to send Nick and Judy out on important missions, I want him to trust them with their conduct and intel, and most of all, I want him to protect them and treat them like valuable members of the force. For instance we could see him chew out another officer for talking badly of them, and also risk his life to keep them alive. Speaking of, I also want to see him in action, not just in his office playing with apps (although I certainly wouldn’t complain if we saw him messing around) or showing up after the fact to arrest a perp; I want to see this big bull kicking tail and taking names. Again that prospective swat raid. Other than that, I’d like to learn a bit more about him as a person outside his job, and maybe get a full name.

Benjamin Clawhauser… I don’t have much in the way of new ideas for him other than seeing him interact with Nick. I and many others think that the two of them would be great friends with some awesome banter (and in the Tame Collar cut he was supposed to be one of Nick’s employees at Wilde Times, so they’ve got some of their dynamic figured out already). If I were to imagine Nick's nickname (or I guess we could say Nick Name) for him, it may be Chomps. Other than that, for the third time, flesh him and his backstory out a bit more; he’s a likable guy and I’d like to know more about him. I also absolutely think that he’d be yet another shi- Oh yeah, the main characters!

Nick and Judy

And finally, the part that I’ve wanted to talk about the most; Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps. These two are incredible. I know I’ve already gushed about every last little thing this film has done even remotely right, but these two are genuinely just plain perfection. They’re my favorite cinematic duo ever, and some of my favorite fictional characters ever. Their dynamic, their chemistry, their dedication and adoration of each other, the way they grow because of each other, it’s all just wonderful. If you want more details as to why they’re so wonderful (especially together), check out @beastars-takes​ post on their relationship and why it’s so darn awesome; there is not an off word in there, offers a lot of insight into the hidden depths that you may not have noticed, and helped me understand these two and the film all the better and gave me the intense love I have for it. Buckle up, these two are the longest part of the essay, because they were the best and biggest part of the movie, and thus I’ve got the most to say.

Honestly, my favorite parts with them were in the last 20 minutes of the film where they are just a perfect buddy cop duo (and ironically enough, weren’t even cops at this point) who clearly had an unbelievable amount of love for each other and even faith in each other while kicking serious butt, and seeing Nick give off that extremely genuine smile upon finally being able to live up to the oath he made as a kid at his graduation was absolutely heartwarming. I want to see more of THIS duo in the next film; a duo of true companions absolutely brimming with charm and endearment who you want to be on screen as much as possible. These two had such good chemistry by the end of the film that many people wondered whether there was something more between them than mere friendship. Were they… Romantically involved? If not, should they be in the future? Many people have been against this idea because they either don’t interpret their relationship that way, and/or they feel that a romance would be cliched and/or forced. What’s my opinion on this whole thing? We’ll get to that soon, for now, let's talk about character focus and development!

I think that Nick should be in the protagonist seat this time, and Judy should be switched to deuteragonist, although she’ll be more in focus than Nick was last time. I want to see how Nick feels about his new life as an officer, his past and connections, his home (does he live in a leaky pipe ridden apartment and sleep in a drawer like in this concept art, or does he live in a better place?), him kicking but with his new training, and as said previously, his family. I want to see him being truly happy and fulfilled for the first time in his adult life, and how it affects him. I want to see the full weight of everything that he’s gained and will continue to have at the forefront of his story arc, and likewise with Judy. I want to see him open up to people more, and I want to see him continue to prove to the world that a fox can be more than a shyster, and heck, maybe he and Judy are becoming something of celebrities from their adventures and maybe the two of them are using their status to help their communities in ways other than police work. Maybe the two of them will visit schools, more run down neighborhoods and communities of stereotyped animals to tell their story and show them what they can become if they believe in themselves and in others. I also want a big emotional scene from him, or at least an adult big emotional scene. While we did see plenty of big emotional scenes from him and certainly saw the depths of what he’s been through, it was Judy who really brought out the most emotion. This time around, I want to see Nick carry the most emotional scene, tears and all. My choice would be him realizing the weight of what he has gained and how much he doesn’t want to lose it. For instance, perhaps they could have a party at the station in honor of their promotions (I'd guess detective given their skill sets) with him, his fellow officers, his parents, and even his and her civilian friends such as Finnick. He’ll sit down next to Judy and his folks with a plate and a cup, and they’ll start conversing. Suddenly, officer McHorn comes up and commends him and Judy for their great work in their short time on the force, and how they deserve to be detectives after all the cases big and small that they've solved. Nick will look at him with a smile as he’s talking, and then notice something: all of the most important people in his world are right there in that room, and each and every one loves, respects, and appreciates him. His parents, his friends, and most importantly his brothers in arms, and especially the one who brought him into the fold and changed his life forever. The realization that he’s achieved the camaraderie he wanted and fulfilled the promise he made in his youth, how he's made people see him for who he is and not what he is, and how whole his life has become from this job and how it will get even better from this promotion hit him like a train and he starts shedding tears. His parents, Judy and McHorn notice. He tries to play it off initially, but he realizes that he has nothing to hide anymore and explains everything. McHorn says he really meant what he said and that he’s an integral part of the PD, and Judy and his folks begin comforting him and eventually Judy says “Oh you foxes, you're so emotional”. Nick gets a big smile on his face and gives her a tight hug, and then chooses to get up on a table and say a big speech of thanks and cheers to his family, friends, his fellow officers, and especially to the greatest gal he’s ever known.

Speaking of the sly bunny, I want to see how the events of the last film have affected her and have shaped her into a wiser person and more effective officer. Much like with Nick, I want to see her continue to buck other’s expectations of her and prove that rabbits can be far more than just meek farmers. I want to see her grow even more street smart, wise, and a better problem solver from seeing all that Zootopia has to offer and from her proximity with Nick. I want her to see more of the world’s complicated problems and for her to start to understand the bad parts of it even more, but at the same time continuing to see plenty of good as well (sometimes, a bit of both). Also, there’s a lot of Zootopia as a city that she still hasn’t seen; species, districts, holidays, you name it. I want a big part of her story to also be her experiencing everything the city has to offer, preferably with Nick at her side, and the wonder on her face. That said, I want the wonder to be shared. I want to see Nick enjoying this city like never before since he can look at it in a whole new light, and do so with the one who made it all possible. And likewise, Judy would feel the same in regards to being able to explore it with the one who changed her for the better, helped her keep her career, learn more about herself, and has continued to be there for her. And again like Nick, I want her to really feel what she’s gained: a great career, comrades who respect her, the ability to help others, and fulfillment of the dream she’s wanted since childhood, and an amazing partner who helped her achieve it all and got all the same things because of her.

And all that of course brings us to the big question. How should their relationship evolve? Well, uh…  I think… You see, I… I uh… Well...

This is on the bookshelf in my room

And this is one of my most viewed images on furaffinity (credit to RelaxableFur)

Of important note; I’m not someone who casually ships characters. I may consider the idea of them being a couple when they’re together on screen and have good chemistry, but I’m never like “Oh my god, they need to get together!” (in fact, I was neutral about the idea of WildeHopps until last year when I dived back into the movie), and I’m especially not one of those people who ships characters who obviously have no chance in hell of being romantically involved. I only really get on a ship if I think there’s a strong precedent for it in terms of character plausibility and storytelling potential (and it also helps if they’re absolutely adorable on screen). And in the case of these two, I absolutely think that they hit all three categories.

Now, let’s get into details. Do I think they’re just friends at the end of the film? Not necessarily. Do I think they’re romantically involved? Again, not necessarily. I think their relationship is complicated. As I said, they trust, respect, and care for each other to such an incredible degree that they were willing to do THIS all for the sake of milking the scene and keeping up appearances to keep the bad guy talking (and as you may or may not have noticed, Judy’s nose didn’t move even a bit during the entire act until Nick was right on top of her, whereas before at even the slightest sign of distress it would twitch like crazy), and then just casually laugh about the whole thing while holding each other. Speaking of which, they are clearly very comfortable with physical contact; Judy comforts Nick with some arm caresses

Nick let Judy cry into him and wrapped his tail around her when making up (how else would she step on it)

The two of them share the aforementioned very nice embrace when gloating to Bellwether (yes, Judy had a wounded leg, but the way they’re holding each other and how comfortable they are indicates way more than just physical support)

And there was also this part in the concert… 

Y’all thought that was just a hip check, didn’t you!? 

There’s also the fact that, while it’s obviously a rather playful exchange,  they just casually threw the big, big L out there in their last conversation, and not only that, but the whole thing is delivered in a kind of longing fashion, and depending on the translation the wording gets either more or less explicitly romantic.

As myself and Beastars Takes have stated, they are perfect kindred spirits who have irrevocably changed each other’s lives for the better, and they believed in each other when no one else would. For those reasons they have grown closer to each other than anyone else and can’t get enough of each other. They made each other’s dreams come true, they’re the greatest things that have happened to each other, and they will continue to be so, especially now that they’re together nearly every day of the year since they’re now on the job together. To me, that’s not a will they get together, that’s a when will they get together, and I’d find it more forced if they didn’t become an item (unless their sexualities don’t match, but I doubt that, because again all of their dialogue and physical closeness) 

And this officially licensed merch…

And these park character interactions.

And honestly, I think that many mammals will probably think the same way. As I almost said throughout, I think plenty of folks like Clawhauser and Finnick will see the spark between them and be Shippers on Deck. I could imagine Finnick teasing their obvious affection for each other, and Clawhauser could just be his usual self and just make little squees and mental notes whenever he sees them interacting, and there could be a few rumors about them floating around the PD.

So how should their romance develop, and how should their couple dynamic be? Subtly, and not too much of a change from how they already are, respectively. As I said, these two already think the world of and can’t get enough of each other, and I really think that there’s already a romantic spark between them that they just need to think through and expose. I give them half a year on the force before they’re all over each other, a year at most. I don’t think that they’ll even have to make any real confession of love to each other, I think they’ll just have to have the right moment to properly figure out that their relationship already is romantic and/or that it really would be able to work out between them, and actually cement it right there and then. That said, don’t drag the hookup out. Don’t have their entire arc be about them getting together. Don’t have them magically be together at the start of the story, but certainly don’t drag for the whole time. Give us time for them to be the slightly better than best friends we saw at the end of the last film while building up some extra tension, and then have them properly hook up in the second act. But as I said, their dynamic shouldn’t change too much. Again, it’d be more of a realization than a decision since they already have an unbelievably high opinion of and affection towards each other (and they seemingly already know that there’s something between them), and it’d be an enhancement of what they already have as opposed to a change; they’ll continue to be the best friends that they’ve been, just with an extra openly romantic component. Have them be even more willing to show affection both physical (hand holding, cuddling, and kissing) and verbal (more flirtation, and some I love yous). I want this romance to be sweet and unique with a lot more friendly banter, discussion and enjoying more platonic fun stuff (like playing games and joking together), and way less lubby dubby crap. I want their trust and love and respect for each other to be extremely apparent; continue to have it be clear that they think the world of each other and show the reasons for it, and don’t have them be too doting, or at least not that often. That said, absolutely feature some powerful romantic moments like a little dance, or the hookup stated before.

As I said before, I also really get on to a ship if I believe that it can add to the story, and in this case, I really do think it can. I think that their relationship could bring up and/or amplify a lot of strong themes that would complement the first film’s message perfectly. For instance, friendship, love and family not knowing the boundaries of species.

Now, it’s clear that interspecies relationships and marriages are a thing in this city: the directors talked a bit about how society could see their relationship and how Zootopia is probably open to the idea; the first couple that Judy meets in Zootopia are her neighbors Bucky and Pronk Oryx-Antlerson, who are a greater kudu and a gemsbok (they’re also same sex, so that indicates even more societal openness)

There was also an official comic about Flash trying to ask Priscilla out on a date to a movie, but he was too slow and lost out to a Hyena, so that indicates that even predator-prey relationships aren’t widely looked down upon. 

However, as the first film showed, Zootopia’s not a perfect society, so they absolutely could receive some nasty stares and insults in the city, and Bunnyburrow Seems to be less open on the whole. Yes, I’m bringing up the ever so popular “Nick meets Judy’s parents after their hookup” idea that hundreds of people have written stories about, but I genuinely think it’s a fun idea, and I’d like to see their reaction to Nick if he’s romantically involved with their daughter, and Nick trying to get used to country life and bonding with a new family. We saw in the last film that Bonnie and Stu are opening up to foxes, and I would imagine that they met Nick around the time of the concert in the credits, but how could they feel about their daughter being with a non-bunny? That could be a fantastic storyline to cover, and it could be a fantastic way to explore that theme of interspecies bonds, and also of families being built on love. That being said, them visiting Bunnyburrow (AKA my hometown in upstate NY: we seem to have an infestation of rabbits here), would be best for a TV series arc or a comic as opposed to a theatrical release, but they could still have the Hopps family visit Zootopia in the film and have many similar things go down. Another scenario could be from Nick’s family. Remember what Rich said about his mother waiting for a grandkit? Does this mean that she actually wants him to continue the family line, or does it mean that she just wants another little tyke to help raise? Either way, she could be an interesting addition to this idea since the creators have specified that they normally fall back on what is scientifically plausible for the film, meaning that Nick and Judy probably wouldn't be able to conceive a child, so they could introduce some hesitance or vice versa into the story through her.

With my previous villain idea, the theme of bonds beyond species could come up quite often. Nick and Judy could become targets of The Cell from the beginning for their friendship, but they could perhaps become more of targets once it becomes clearer to The Cell that they may be more (and because they’re likely foiling their plans). If the villain actually saw proof up close that they were together, he could absolutely lose it and just try to tear them limb from limb. But of course, their bond could also be used to their advantage alongside the villains’ hypocrisy and foolishness. For instance, in a final confrontation. Here’s my prospective scene: Nick, Judy and possibly other characters are surrounded by Cell members who are armed to the teeth and pointing all they have right at them. Everyone in the room is weary from all that’s happened over the course of the film, and are hesitant to start fighting again. Then, Nick speaks up and asks The Cell why they’re still fighting. He brings up the fact that they’re all fighting for the downfall of Zootopia and the separation of all species since they believe that animals only see each other for what they are and are cruel because of it, and that they’re going as far as to hide their species from their comrades to not see each other as separate, but only until the job is done, and then they'll go their separate ways. Of course, why should they see each other as one only for now? They’ve all bonded and seen each other as comrades all this time while not knowing each other’s species; why should knowing what they are be any different? This would result in some taking the plunge and removing their helmets, which would then result in the others seeing what they are. Our leads would tell them that they have not known each other's species this long and yet they’ve bonded together as brothers in arms; why would they want to break that because of stupid differences, and why would they want to use those differences to separate themselves? Some folks can tear and digest meat, some can clip and digest grass; what difference should that make? If they want things to be better, then they must be better, and show those who hate them that things can be better (and for extra effect, Nick and Judy could show off the bond that they’ve gained despite being not just two different species, but predator and prey). One member throws his mask out, then another, and another. More and more continue to throw away their masks and even suits, either because they were convinced or because they see the cause as hopeless, and within a minute the floor is littered with masks and discarded body suits, and the members of the once mighty Cell walk out of the room, many with their arms around one another, and some holding hands, and soon it’s just the leader and the officers alone.

Conclusion

So those were my ideas for a Zootopia sequel. To recap, I want to see even more of the city’s districts and more of its socio-economic angles. I want to see new characters both brand new and from old drafts, and I want an interesting and fresh villain who we can gain a bit of sympathy for. I want to see all of our favorite supporting characters from the first film continue to be great and have expanded roles. And above all, I want our leads to continue to grow themselves and their bond into something even more wonderful. I want to see Nick grow as a person and officer, and I want to see Judy grow alongside him. I want to see Nick’s family and connections, I want how his new life is affecting him, and I want to see him open up emotionally with himself and with those he loves, and I want Judy to continue to grow wiser about the world and everything ugly and beautiful about it, and how being on the force, and with the one she cares about most no less, shapes her into an even more effective problem solver.

So when could we see a sequel? Well, we may have to wait a while longer. While it’s very clear that the franchise isn’t dead, we’ve heard absolutely nothing official on a sequel, and current events at Disney Animation Studios are making it seem like we may have to wait more for one to come. The director and mastermind behind the film, Byron Howard, and the co-director and screenwriter, Jared Bush, are currently working on a musical film currently called Encanto which is set to release in November. Why did they do this instead of going straight for Zootopia 2? Rich Moore, the other head director, had to scramble back to work on Ralph Breaks The Internet after leaving it for a year and a half, and that pretty much left the team in pieces. Considering how much he seemed to want to be a part of the development of a sequel and how they said that they didn’t want to rush it, the other guys seem to have started Encanto to do something new while Rich was busy, and of course shake up their creative juices. However, Rich left the studio in 2019 to join Sony Animation, although he said he left the studio in good hands, and I certainly hope that’s true. Considering that Disney tends to announce films around two years before release, and also tends to have directors work on films released two years apart, 2023 seems like a likely release year, but 2024 would work better for getting a bit more development time into it, get some test screening done and to iron out any possible issues. 

That said, the extra year may not be totally necessary. Considering how well developed the first film’s world and characters were, and how much they conceptualized during its production, I don’t think they’ll have to conceptualize quite as hard, and most of what they’ll have to create from scratch will be storylines, themes, character development, and brand new characters, as well as possibly a few districts and species designs. But again, there was so much that they have already made that they just need to show us, as well as so many concepts to fall back on with developing brand new content that even in the conceptual stage that it may have be in they’ll have a relatively easy time coming up with incredible new content; unlike Frozen II & Ralph Breaks the Internet where they had to make up totally new locations, concepts, and everything in between. I’m of the opinion that with all the time that it’s likely been in partial production that the relatively little new stuff that they've had to come up with has probably already been quite refined, and by the time Encanto is done, they may well have something extremely robust and just need to refine it, and then make models and animate it, and give us Disney Animation's best sequel ever. But then again, that extra year may be good for it. But then again, I'm not a filmmaker, so I don't know crap.

And after that, we could end up getting a TV series with further adventures of Nick and Judy, and also flesh out the world even more by showing us districts, criminal groups, precincts, and all manner of other things. Perhaps it could be a police procedural with our leads taking on whatever the city has to offer as well as de  showing off more about them and other characters than the films could, and also potentially be a bit of a Segway into the next film (why yes, I think a Zootopia trilogy could be amazing). Thankfully the majority of the cast is made up of accomplished TV actors, so they’ll probably be able to get almost everyone back (but I am hoping for Jason Bateman the most since he IS Nick Wilde and no one can replace him (the same applies to Ginnifer Goodwin with Judy to a very slightly lesser extent)). My hope is that it'll be a D+ original, and thus have an extra good budget that'll hopefully bring in a great cast, and excellent animation and writing.

But anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed my ideas. Was there anything you'd like to add, or anything you didn't quite agree with (or any mistakes I didn't notice while proofreading)? Well then please do discuss them. Until next time, may your battles be won and your day be blessed, and may you be excellent to all those you meet! 

[love-and-monsters]

Vampire Commission

M vampire X F human, 8,300 words.

This story was very kindly commissioned by @demigoddessqueens. She requested a story where her OC, Hazel, falls in love with a sweet vampire, with some angst and hurt comfort. There is also an NSFW version on her blog, so go and check that out! I hope you enjoy, and I am very grateful for the commission.

The castle stood at the base of a mountain, surrounded by pines. It was only a short distance from the rest of the town, a little more thana twenty-minute walk, but Hazel had elected to take a cab. It may not have been a long walk, but it certainly was a steep one.

Up close, the castle was no less intimidating than it was from a distance. It was made of dark stone, with great spires reaching upwards, as if in mimicry of the mountain it sat beneath. Despite the clear sky, Hazel almost expected lightning to flash and thunder to rumble as she stepped out onto the grounds.

The interior of the castle was somewhat less intimidating. The owner had apparently seen fit to modernize, so the main foyer was bright with electric lighting. The furniture looked old, made of dark wood and lined with tasteful golden touches, but it was clearly well-cared-for. The rug in the entranceway was deep red, the color bright and appealing. There was a regal air to the decorating, but it was a warm sort of regal, not uninviting.

A few other people milled around the entranceway. Presumably, they were the other members of the tour. Hazel moved to join them.

“That looks like everyone!” Hazel looked around to see a middle-aged woman with brown hair in a tight bun and a formal uniform. “Welcome all. I’m glad you’ve all been able to make it here and I’m sure you’re all excited to spend the night in this wonderful piece of history. Before we begin, I have someone to introduce you to.”

Hazel blinked. The man standing next to the tour guide had apparently just melted out of the shadows, moving so swiftly and silently that he almost appeared to be gliding. He stepped into the light like he was half expecting it to burn him, tensing subtly underneath the glow.

He was pretty, was Hazel’s first though. Long, black hair, pale, flawless skin, fine features, and strikingly golden eyes. He glanced around the crowd and gave a small nod of greeting. “This is the owner of the castle, Asterius,” the tour guide said. “He’s going to be your host for the evening.”

Asterius cleared his throat. “I am pleased to welcome you into my home.” His voice was low and smooth. A tingle worked its way down Hazel’s spine.

“Wonderful,” the tour guide said. “Now, first stop on our tour is the parlor. If you’ll all follow me?”

The tour moved through room after room, each one draped in tasteful finery. There were similarities in the style in each room, dark furniture, gold accents, and bright red splashes of color. The tour guide spoke hurriedly about the history of each location and of a few specific pieces of furniture.

“As you can see, this room was once used for balls, where the ladies and gentlemen of the day would meet their potential suitors,” the tour guide said as she led the group through an enormous room with a high, arched ceiling. Hazel examined a large painting over the fireplace. It showed a great garden scene, a man with long black hair bending over a flower bush, back toward the viewer.

“This is a beautiful painting,” she said. “When is it from?”

The tour guide stumbled a little over her prepared notes. “Oh, er, I’m not sure. Quite old, I would say. It’s been in this castle for as long as I can remember.”

“Two hundred and seventy-four years old.” The low voice made Hazel turn. Asterius was gazing at the painting, apparently unaware that he had even spoken. He caught sight of Hazel’s gaze on him and he ducked his head. “The painting has been hanging in this room for two hundred and seventy-four years.”

The tour guide gave a bright smile. “Thank you, Asterius. There you go. Now, if we continue on to the dining room, we’ll see-”

Asterius didn’t follow the tour for a few minutes, staring up at the painting. Hazel lingered with him as well. His eyes flicked toward her, catching her gaze and he stared. She gave him a warm smile before following the tour into the next room.

The dining room was enormous, with a long wooden table in the center. Ornate chandeliers lit the length of it and illuminated the gilded carvings on the wall. The deep teakwood of the table groaned under the weight of the feast that had been set out onto it.

The other members of the tour hurried to find a seat. The tour guide seated herself at the far end of the table and Asterius settled at the head of the table. Oddly, most of the other tour members seemed to shy away from him, picking seats closer to the tour guide. His end of the table looked rather lonely. Hazel sat in one of the seats next to him. He was even prettier up close. His cheekbones were as sharp as broken glass and his eyes seemed luminous. He gave her an uncertain look, but didn’t ask her to move away.

Dinner was a spectacular feast. It was all old-fashioned food, each different plate explained by the tour guide. Roast pork, roasted potatoes, some sort of lamb stew- Hazel found herself eating all sorts of things that she never had before.

There was lively chatter at the tour guide’s end of the table, but Asterius’ end was quiet. Hazel took another bite of food, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t appear to be eating. There was a glass of wine in front of him, but he seemed more interested in swirling and sniffing at it than actually drinking from it.

“Not hungry?” Hazel asked. Asterius’ gaze shifted to her, apparently startled he’d even been spoken to.

“No,” he said. His voice was softer up close, and strangely shy. He didn’t seem fully capable of looking her in the eyes.

“It’s good food,” Hazel continued, trying to keep the conversation alive. “But I suppose you’re used to it, since you live here?”

An odd expression flicked over Asterius’ face. “Not really,” he said.

“Only for special occasions, then?” Hazel asked, gesturing to the feast.

“Something like that,” Asterius said. He’d turned his attention more fully toward her, golden eyes flicking over her body.

“It’s an amazing place to live,” Hazel continued. “You do live here, right?”

“For a long time,” Asterius said.

“A long time?” Hazel repeated, peering into his face. “You can’t possibly be older than mid-twenties. How old were you when you purchased the castle?”

Asterius’ mouth twitched like he was repressing a smile. “I’m older than I look,” he said, then laughed. It was surprisingly warm and gentle and something in the pit of Hazel’s stomach jumped. Asterius caught sight of her and his hand jumped up to cover his mouth. “What?” he said from behind his fingers.

“You look nice when you laugh,” Hazel said. Asterius ducked his head. His skin was as pale as ever, but Hazel wouldn’t have been surprised to see him blush.

“You’re not local,” Asterius said. “You’re not from this country, are you?”

Hazel shook her head. “French Canadian. I’m on vacation right now. Old European architecture is really interesting. There’s nothing like it back home.”

“I suppose it would be interesting to someone who’s never seen if before,” Asterius mused. “It’s quite normal to me. I would be interested to see what your home looks like. I’ve never left the country.”

 “You’ve never traveled?” Hazel asked. Asterius shook his head.

“The idea of traveling makes me a little nervous,” he said.

“Fear of flying?” Hazel asked. Asterius gave another quiet laugh and again, when he realized that he was laughing, he covered his mouth with a hand.

“Something like that.” Even with his hand over his mouth, Hazel could still see his eyes crinkling in a smile.

Dessert was served, and though Asterius didn’t partake in that either, he seemed at least more comfortable with the conversation. “Have you been enjoying your time here? I know that the castle does not always seem hospitable to guests.”

“It’s been nice here, actually,” Hazel said. “Very comfortable.”

“I’m glad,” Asterius said. He smiled again, eyes soft. “If there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, let me know.”

Hazel beamed at him, which seemed to fluster him into another strange not-blush. “Thank you.”

After dinner, the tour guide led them up into one of the two castle towers. Hazel hung back, walking with Asterius. “It’s a nice tower,” he said. “Possibly the best one in the castle. Excepting mine, I suppose.”

“Maybe I could see it some time,” Hazel said, nudging him teasingly. He looked so startled to be touched that he seemed to completely skip over the innuendo. There was something unbearably adorable about how flustered he seemed to be. Hazel giggled as he focused on the stone steps.

“All of the towers were built well over three hundred years ago,” he said, apparently casting about for another subject. “They’re in quite good condition, despite that.”

“Everything in this castle seems well-maintained,” Hazel said. “It’s a beautiful place.”

It might have been a trick of the flickering light, but Asterius’ chest seemed to swell with pride. “Yes. It is.”

The tower was just as richly decorated as the rest of the house, and the bed Hazel was shown to was wonderfully comfortable. Asterius hovered for a bit until he was assured that she was comfortable, then he swept back out into the rest of the castle. Hazel watched him go.

Sleep came fitfully to he during the night. Asterius’ shy smile kept creeping into her mind, and the new location wasn’t helping with her sleep. She managed to catch a few hours before the tour group was roused again for breakfast.

Hazel had been looking forward to seeing Asterius at breakfast again, but he was conspicuously absent at the breakfast table. She kept an eye out for him, head popping up every time she heard the door open, but he never showed.

By the end of breakfast, a flutter of worry had started to form in Hazel’s stomach. The rest of the tour group headed for the castle grounds, for a tour of the outside, but Hazel slipped away from them.

She worked her way through the castle. Fortunately, she remembered most of the layout from the tour, and was able to navigate with relative ease. Hurriedly and carefully, she worked her way toward the other main tower of the castle, where Asterius lived.

Eventually, she managed to find her way to a small room with a laundry hamper and an old-fashioned washing machine. She was just about to move on when something it he shadows shifted. Hazel squinted at it. The shape seemed to melt into the shadows, but she could just make out its long black hair and tall, slender form. “Asterius?”

He whirled toward her. Now that he was out of the shadows, Hazel realized that he was completely shirtless. The skin of his chest was just as pale as the skin of his face and she could see the slight definition of his muscles shifting as he stared at her. “Hazel?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. A part of her thought it was indecent that she wasn’t removing her gaze, but she really didn’t want to. “I was looking for you. You weren’t at breakfast and I got worried.”

A strange, but pleased expression crossed Asterius’ face. “You were looking for me?”

“It was nice talking to you last night. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye,” Hazel said. Asterius smiled, one of his hands moving up over his mouth again.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad to see you again, too.” He emerged more fully from the shadows. One of the lights on the wall flickered, casting a stronger beam of light over his face. For a moment, his eyes caught the light and Hazel froze. They reflected it, going solid white like an animal’s in headlights. Then the light shifted off his face and they returned to their normal gold. Asterius cocked his head at Hazel. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry. Thought I saw something strange. I’m all right.” Hazel brushed it off. She’d heard that human eyes could do it under certain conditions, right? It must have just been a weird trick of the light. “It was nice meeting you. I haven’t been in town long and I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone yet. I’m glad that I’ve seen at least one friendly face.”

“The entire town is friendly once you get to know it,” Asterius said. Hazel laughed.

“Maybe. I just haven’t been able to find my way around. Even the maps are unhelpful. It’s the old streets, I think. More modern cities have a grid pattern, but the roads here are winding.”

“If you’d like, I could show you around.” Asterius seemed slightly surprised at himself for speaking, but he continued regardless. “I’ve lived here for a long time- I know the town well. I could even show you some locations that aren’t usually placed on maps.”

“Really? As long as it’s not any trouble,” Hazel said.

“It’s not. It’s been a while since I’ve left this place, actually. It’s probably a good idea to get out for a little bit.” Asterius’ gaze moved toward the ground, his posture shy.

“Then I’d love to see the town with you,” Hazel said.

“I can pick you up tomorrow, around six,” Asterius said. “Don’t worry about money. I can pay. I’ve not had the opportunity to spend much recently, so it’s rather burning a hole in my pocket.”

Hazel beamed at him. “Then it’s a date.”

This time, she was surprised to see that his cheeks went bright pink. She’d almost thought him incapable of blushing. “I will see you then,” he said, then hurried out of the room.

He had already swept off by the time Hazel realized she had forgot to tell him where he was staying. Ah, well. It was a small town, wasn’t it? There was probably only one hotel in it. She turned to exit the room when a bright splash of color caught her eye, just at the edge of the light.

Hanging out of the wicker hamper was the sleeve of a white shirt. Presumably, it was the one Asterius had worn into the room. But that wasn’t what had drawn her attention. What had caught her gaze was the smear of red across the sleeve.

Feeling guilty, but unbearably curious, Hazel moved closer. With her pointer finger and thumb, she tugged on the shirt, revealing most of it.

There were bloodstains smeared all along the front of the shirt. They were fresh, too, still wet. Hazel dropped the shirt. Was it Asterius’ blood? No, it couldn’t be. If he’d had cuts bad enough to cause this much bleeding, she would have seen them. Then it was someone else’s?

For a moment, an image of a grim-looking Asterius, knife in hand, spattered in blood, rose to her mind. She banished it. No. He could barely look her in the eyes without getting flustered. There was no way he could hurt someone like that.

 An accident, then. And none of her business. If Asterius had wanted to tell her, he would have. Fixing that idea firmly in her head, Hazel turned and left the castle.

She was thinking about her tour with Asterius for the rest of the day, and for most of the next one as well. Excitement buzzed in her body, making it impossible to sit still. The clock moved unbearably slowly, no matter how much she mentally tried to urge it on.

Hazel stood outside her hotel at six. The sun was very nearly set, only a thin stripe of orange left at the horizon. A few lines of late sunlight stretched across the road, making Hazel squint even in the low light.

“You look nice.” Hazel jumped and whirled around. Asterius was standing right next to her. He was in the shadows, but he still held a dark parasol over his head. He was also wearing a set of darkly tinted sunglasses, which completely hid his golden eyes. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” Hazel said, giving him a broad smile. His returned smile was small and shy. “Though it seems a little late for a tour. I thought it would be easier to see the sights during the day.”

Asterius shook his head. “Trust me. You and I will have a much better time looking around at night. The sunlight can be a bit harsh.”

“I’ve found it pleasant,” Hazel said, but she didn’t push him. His skin was a lot paler than hers, after all. Perhaps he burned easily.

“Are you ready to go?” Asterius asked. Hazel nodded and linker her arm through his.

“Lead on.” He laughed quietly and started walking down the street. Even though there was only a little bit of weak sunlight left, he didn’t lower the parasol.

Asterius, as it turned out, had not been exaggerating when he said he knew the town well. Every brick in the street seemed to have a history that he knew about. “This corner,” he said, gesturing to a small chocolate shop, “used to be a bakery in the early eighteen hundreds. They used to put sawdust in bread, to try and make the flour last longer. When people found out, there was a bit of a riot and the shop got closed down. It burned to the ground a few days later. It was supposedly an accident, but there was a lot of suspicion of arson. People say the baker still haunts the area.”

The long river that trailed along the edge of town was another site that Asterius knew a lot about. “There used to be a festival where they made little boats and pushed them down the river. Supposedly, if your boat made it to the end, it signaled good luck in the coming year. They still do something similar, but it’s a lot more elaborate. There’s a contest for the nicest boat.”

The tour wound through town, and soon your mind was filled with interesting historical tidbits and cultural notes. Asterius lowered his parasol as the sun went down and removed his sunglasses. Every now and then, a passing shop window would make his eyes reflect oddly again. Hazel just put her mind to ignoring it.

Toward the edge of town, Asterius stopped next to an old building. It didn’t quite look derelict, but it was shuttered, and it didn’t to seem to have had anyone inside it recently. “There was a theater here,” Asterius said. “It closed only a year ago. Nothing’s replaced it yet, which is a shame. It’s a lovely old building.”

“It does look nice,” Hazel said.

“Would you like to go inside?” Asterius asked. Hazel looked at him in surprise, then back at the door, which had been secured by a heavy lock.

“You have a key?” she asked. She could almost hear Asterius’ grin.

“No. But I have another way in.” He guided her down the side of the building and down a small set of stairs. There was a door set into a recess of the building. Asterius jiggled the handle and the door creaked open.

Inside, the area was cramped, dusty, and smelled faintly of water damage. Hazel found herself pressed up against Asterius. “This leads to the dressing rooms,” Asterius said. “And this way goes toward the stage.” He pulled her into another cramped chamber. They were pressed awkwardly close to one another. Hazel felt her heart race speed up as his chest pressed against her back.

After a few moments of being pressed together, Asterius managed to wriggle into a larger space, stepping away from Hazel. The room around them opened up into the great expanse of the stage.

The wooden floor creaked under Hazel’s feet as she walked across the stage. It was deathly quiet, like the hush that fell right before a play started. It was dark beyond the bounds of the stage, but Hazel could just barely make out the seats of the auditorium.

 “I come here sometimes when I want peace.” Asterius walked across the stage and sat down on the edge. Hazel sat next to him. “I have a lot of good memories of this place. They used to have concerts here. Sometimes I would sneak in and listen up there.” He pointed up to a small alcove near the roof. It looked like it was just the right size for one person to sit in comfortably. It did look like it would be difficult to get up there, though. Hazel had the mental image of him crouching up there like a bat.

“It is a really beautiful place,” Hazel said. Even in the dark, there was a grandeur to the area. There was a quiet reverence in the air. It was just her and Asterius, alone in the room, together. No one was there to interrupt. There might have only been the two of them in the world.

Tentatively, Hazel leaned against Asterius’ shoulder. Her hand crept toward his, where it was resting on the edge of the stage. Their pinky fingers touched. His hand was cool against hers.

Asterius jolted, pulling his hand back close to his body. “Ah. Um. I suppose I sort of drifted off there. I apologize.” He scrambled to his feet. “We should probably be going. It is getting rather late.”

Disappointment kicked Hazel in the stomach. She tried not to let it overwhelm her. He did seem shy. Maybe all this was just a little overwhelming to him. “You’re right. It is a little late.”

They carefully made their way back out into the street. Hazel’s stomach gurgled, reminding her that she still hadn’t gotten any dinner. They’d been too preoccupied to even thing about food.

Asterius glanced at her, lips quirking into a small smile. “Hungry?”

Hazel felt her face burn. “You heard that?” Damn, she hadn’t thought her stomach was that loud.

“I can buy you something to eat,” he said. “There are a few places when we get further into town.” He set off at a quick pace, forcing Hazel to pick up her face in order to keep up.

After getting into the main part of town again, Asterius managed to find a small bakery that served a variety of delicious-looking breads and sandwiches and sweet buns. “I can buy you whatever you want,” he said. Hazel picked out a few things, unable to settle on just one. They all looked delicious. She started eating a sticky bun as they walked back to the hotel.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked as they approached the doorway. “It’s really good.” She attempted to press a roll into his hands, but he pushed it away.

“I assure you, I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never seen you eat. I don’t want you to starve,” Hazel said. Asterius laughed.

“I assure you that I’m fine. I don’t eat in front of other people.” He stopped in front of the front door of the hotel and turned to Hazel. “I’m glad you allowed me to show you around. This has been a most pleasant evening.”

“I enjoyed myself too. It was really good to spend time with you.” Hazel squeezed one of his hands. He squeezed back. “Will I be able to see you again?”

“You can stop by any time you’d like,” Asterius said. “I look forward to seeing you again. But I think I should let you get some rest. It really is late.” He gave Hazel a small bow, then swept off into the night. Hazel watched him until he vanished into the dark before entering the hotel.

Hazel didn’t see Asterius for the next few days. She spent most of her time exploring the town, trying to find something for him. He had taken his time to show her around town. It felt only right that she should give him something in return.

It took days of searching to find the right thing, something that would be a token of her appreciation. Eventually, she found a tiny music box. The color scheme reminded her of the castle and the song that issued forth was gentle and soothing while still filled with the rich sounds of an orchestra.

She headed back up to the castle late in the evening. It seemed like an odd time to stop by but she figured that Asterius might have been busy with work during the day. Anyway, he had taken her out in the evening. It seemed only right to return the favor.

It was fully night by the time Hazel made it up to the castle, but there was a glow of warm light around the castle. She made her way up to the front door and hesitated. Hm. Would anyone even hear her if she knocked on the door? The castle was big and she wasn’t really expecting Asterius to hear her. Maybe she should-

Something moved in the corner of her eye. She turned her head toward it, squinting into the shadows. Someone tall and slender was making their way away from the castle and across the grounds.

Asterius! Her heart leapt. That was a stroke of good luck. She hurried after him as he crossed the grounds with long strides.

He was heading toward a pen, she noticed. There were a few sheep milling around in it. One of them raised its head as he approached. He hopped the fence in a smooth motion and approached it. Hazel stepped out of the shadows, mouth open to call out to him when she saw something that made her words die in her throat.

Asterius opened his mouth wider than she thought a human could open their mouth and plunged his teeth into the sheep’s neck.

The sheep squirmed for only a moment before falling still. Asterius buried his face into its neck. Hazel could see him gulping, see the heaving motions of his body as he drank the sheep’s blood out of his body.

She stared, forgetting that she was in full view of him. A strangled squeaking noise escaped her throat.

Asterius’s head snapped up, his mouth tearing away from the sheep’s throat. Blood dripped down from the bite wound, spattering across his shirt. His fangs, enormous and sharp, glistened in the light streaming from the castle.

His eyes locked onto her and she saw his expression change. In one moment, he went from fearsome predator to an uncertain, horrified man. “Hazel,” he said, and even though his voice was quiet, it carried all the way across the field.

Hazel didn’t run. Now that she was over her shock, her brain was starting to put the pieces together. He didn’t like the sunlight. He didn’t eat. The bloodstained shirt. Obviously. A vampire.

 Intellectually, she knew she should probably be stunned, even scared. But she wasn’t. He’d been a vampire the entire time she’d known him and he’d never attempted to hurt her. He was still Asterius, still the sweet, shy man Hazel knew. Just because he had some extra-pointy canines and some unusual dietary needs didn’t make him evil or scary.

Asterius was looking at her like he was waiting for her to start screaming. He was tensed, poised to start running. “I can explain,” he said. “I- I-”

“It’s okay.” He looked so distressed and anxious that Hazel couldn’t suppress her need to comfort him. She strode toward him and he scrambled back. She froze. “It’s okay! I don’t want to hurt you. Are you okay?”

Asterius blinked, then seemed to register her soothing tone of voice and non-threatening posture. “You’re not scared of me?”

“Why would I be?” Hazel asked.

“Because I’m a vampire,” he said. “And I’m covered in blood.”

“It’s a little gross. But not scary,” Hazel said. “You’re still the same person. I’m not afraid of you, Asterius.”

He processed that for a moment. The sheep he’d been sucking on stumbled to its hooves and staggered off into the meadow. “Come inside,” he finally said. “It’s cold out here and I need to change. Then we can talk.”

They entered the castle through a narrow passage that opened up into a small sitting room. Hazel guessed, based on the direction that they’d been moving, that it was close to Asterius’ tower. “Sit,” he said, nudging her toward one of the opulent chairs. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? I don’t have much, but I’m sure I can find something.” He hurried off into the next room. Hazel could hear him rattling with ceramic items, presumably so that she knew he wasn’t bolting. She had no doubt he could move as silently as a shadow.

He returned after about fifteen minutes in a clean shirt and with a small cup of tea. “Here,” he said, passing it to Hazel. He settled in a seat across from her. “I imagine you have some questions?”

Hazel took a sip of the tea. It was faintly spiced, warming her throat and stomach. “You’re a vampire,” she said.

He nodded. “I was turned… oh, quite a while ago. Over two hundred years, I think. I keep it pretty well under wraps. I try not to let too many people see me about and I fake my own death every once in a while and lie low.” He fidgeted, toying with a few strands of his hair. “You are the first person to discover me.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Hazel promised.

Asterius smiled faintly. “You’re truly not afraid of me? I figured my discovery would come with more screaming and general terror.”

“You didn’t frighten me before. I don’t see why you should frighten me now.”

“I could kill you,” Asterius said.

“So could any human. I trust that you won’t. You seem far too kind.” An odd expression flickered over Asterius’ face, eventually resolving itself into a small, tentative smile.

“You flatter me,” he said. “Thank you.” You sipped your tea as Asterius gazed at you fondly. After a moment, he seemed to startle and looked down. “Ah, what were you doing here, anyway? I wouldn’t have been hunting if I was expecting company.”

You hurriedly patted your pockets, sighing in relief when you pulled out the present. “I got you a gift, as a thank you for showing me around the other day.” You held out the small, wrapped box to him. He took it delicately in his long fingers and pulled off the wrapping paper.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, opening the box. Soft music filled the room. “Thank you,” Asterius said in a low voice. “I haven’t received a gift in a very long time.”

There was several moments of silence as Asterius listened to the music. His expression was soft and open, strikingly beautiful in the soft light of the room. You couldn’t stop staring at him.

Eventually, Asterius cleared his throat and stood. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel,” he said. He led Hazel back through the passageway and into the castle courtyard. Together, they headed down the street to her hotel.

The walk was done in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. Hazel got the impression Asterius was still digesting that she knew and hadn’t run screaming for the hills. He kept looking at her like he was afraid she was going to suddenly vanish into thin air.

They stopped outside Hazel’s hotel. “Thank you,” Asterius said. “For the gift and for… accepting me.”

“It wasn’t difficult. You’re a good person.” Asterius looked unconvinced, so Hazel reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He stiffened. “I’d like to see you again.”

“I would like to see you again too,” Asterius said in a quiet, shy voice. “Perhaps we can go out again tomorrow evening?” He spoke quickly, like he was afraid he would stop himself if he didn’t get the words out in time.

Hazel beamed. “I would like that. I’ll see you then.” She squeezed his hand. He blushed again, gave her a slight bow, then swept off again Hazel saw him glance at her over his shoulder as he headed away.

Asterius picked her up again the next evening, and the evening after that, and the evening after that. He took her to places all over town, showing off his knowledge for her. The nights grew longer and longer, until they were arriving back at Hazel’s hotel at nearly four in the morning. After a few days of that, Hazel had practically become nocturnal, sleeping during the day and waking up in time for her dates with Asterius.

A little over a week after their first date when Asterius took Hazel back to his castle. “You seemed interested during the tour. I can show you a few things that they don’t usually show people.”

Hazel grinned at him. She was close enough that her shoulder was brushing against his, though she was a little nervous to get any closer. There were times when Asterius moved a little bit like a skittish horse. She needed to be slow and gentle with him. “I would love that.”

They returned through the castle through the secret passageway Asterius had shown her when she had learned he was a vampire. “There are a few passageways like this,” he said. “They’re all over the castle. I think I’m the only person who knows about all of them.”

Most of the passageways were small and dusty and led almost nowhere, but Asterius still showed them all off with the sort of pride one would expect from a proud parent.

“You see this one?” he said, waving his arm into a spiraling passage that led down into a basement. “It was built only a little bit before I purchased the castle. It’s supposed to be an escape passage, but it was never fully finished. It only leads down to a small room. I mostly just use it for storage.”

Another room had a storage area that was filled with paintings. “I had a period where I went a little crazy commissioning artists and buying paintings. I was in a bit of a spiral and I had quite a bit of money.”

The room that Hazel found the most interesting was a tiny room hidden behind a wall. It was small and cozy, with only a small lamp for light, a cozy-looking chair, and a small bookshelf overflowing with dog-eared volumes. “What’s this place for?” Hazel asked.

Asterius smiled, looking vaguely embarrassed. “It’s just somewhere to go when I want to get away from it all. No one can find me here, so I just need to go inside, close the door, and I can spend some time by myself, with my thoughts.”

His body was close to Hazel’s very nearly touching. Attraction coiled through Hazel’s body. His face was soft and distant and there was something unbearably sweet in his expression. Tentatively, Hazel reached up and lay a hand on the side of his face. He looked at her in confusion, but didn’t pull away. Before he could reconsider, Hazel leaned up and pressed her mouth to his.

For a long moment, Hazel could taste his mouth against hers. The sweet, gentle press of his lips. The way his long, silken hair tangled under her fingers. The way her heart pounded and her stomach trembled and goosebumps erupted all over her skin.

And then Asterius pushed her away, stumbling back, and the moment was over.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Kissing you!” Hazel said. “I thought- I mean, you said you wanted to get to know me better-”

Asterius didn’t seem to be listening. There was something distant and horrified in his eyes, like he wasn’t even seeing her anymore. “I can’t,” he whispered, and Hazel didn’t really think he was talking to her. “No, not again, I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Hazel said. “It was only a kiss. We don’t have to-”

She took a step closer to him and Asterius hissed, scrambling back from her. “Don’t touch me! It’s not safe! I’m not safe!”

Hazel held up her hands. Asterius seemed to be spiraling. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I trust you, remember?”

“You shouldn’t!” Asterius bared his fangs. “Stay away! Keep away from me!”

“I’m not going to let you go on some kind of self-sacrificial mission because you think you’re dangerous!” Hazel said. “I told you, I trust you and I’m not going anywhere.”

Asterius gave her a wild-eyed look, then darted for her. Hazel stood her ground, but Asterius simply slipped past her, melting through the doorway without touching her. She turned as he ran through the room, fleeing her.

“Asterius!” Hazel fled after him, but he was able to easily keep ahead of her. He slipped into a room and the door slammed shut behind him. There was the distinct noise of a lock clicking.

“Asterius!” Hazel slammed her fist on the door. “Let me in!”

“Leave!” Asterius bellowed. “Hazel, go! You can’t be around me!”

“Please, Asterius, just let me talk to you. We can discuss this!”

“Just go!” Asterius’ voice broke and Hazel heard the ragged breaths of someone breaking down into tears.

She stepped back from the door. Asterius was still crying, weak and quiet. There was no way she was going to get through the door, and even if she did, Asterius wasn’t going to talk to her. “Fine,” she said. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I’m not going to leave you alone.” With a final, reluctant glance at the door, Hazel headed out of the castle.

She could barely sleep when she returned to the hotel. She spent most of the day wandering around the town, thoughts full of Asterius. Was he okay? Why had he panicked like that? He had seemed so convinced that he was going to hurt you, even though he had never done anything even slightly aggressive. How could he think that?

When the sun set again, Hazel slipped back to the castle. “Asterius!” she called, pacing the grounds around the castle. She could see something shifting in the windows of his tower. “Asterius! Please! Just talk to me!” She yelled until her voice went hoarse, until the sun was peeking over the horizon again. Defeated, Hazel returned to her Hotel.

Every night, Hazel returned to the castle. She could see Asterius in his tower, but he never came down, never acknowledged her presence. Still, she didn’t let up. If he wasn’t going to talk to her, she was at least going to make sure he couldn’t ignore her.

She kept going to his castle every night for a week. As much as she was determined to keep doing it, she was starting to feel desperate. Her vacation would be ending soon. How could she go back home without seeing him again?

“Asterius!” she yelled up at his tower. She hadn’t seen anything moving in his window like she usually did. Was he out hunting? She felt a little silly, possibly yelling up to no one, but she didn’t want to just leave. “Asterius! I want to talk to you!”

“Don’t you know how to leave well enough alone?”

Hazel whirled around. Asterius was standing behind her. He looked somewhat rumpled, hair tossed carelessly over his shoulders, expression weary. “I would have thought you could take a hint,” he said. “Apparently, you can’t tell you’re not wanted.”

His words stung, but Hazel stiffened her back and stared back at him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

 Asterius bared his teeth. “Obviously.” He stalked closer to her. “Unfortunately, you seem completely incapable of doing the same.”

Hazel glared. “Of course I’m not going to avoid you. I can tell when something’s wrong. We were having a good time and all of a sudden, you just freaked out and ran off. If you didn’t want to kiss or you don’t think of me that way, you can at least be a man and tell me to my face.”

“It wasn’t about the kiss,” Asterius said, then looked pissed at himself.

“Then what was it about?” Hazel asked, softening her tone. “I’m not going to go away until you tell me.”

Asterius glared at her for a moment, then the fight visibly went out of him. His shoulders slumped and his expression tightened, like he was on the verge of tears. “It was wrong of me to get so close to you. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m dangerous. It’s dangerous for you to be around me.”

Hazel frowned. “I told you already. I trust y-”

“You shouldn’t!” The words burst from Asterius and he grimaced, clenching his jaw shut. “You shouldn’t,” he repeated more quietly.

“Why not?” Hazel demanded. Asterius gave her a mournful look and took a deep breath.

“It was a long time ago. Not too long after I was changed. There was a woman I loved. She knew what I was and she didn’t care either. We were happy. But then… I hadn’t hunted. I ate humans, back then. I didn’t kill, but I needed to be more careful, so I wouldn’t be discovered. I was so hungry. It’s not like hunger for humans. You can’t think of anything else when you’re like that. My love- one of her brothers came home from a hunting trip and he smelled like blood and I couldn’t think anymore. When I came back to myself, I had half-drained him. I tried to save him, but it was too late. My love came home and saw me covered in blood, crouched over her brother, and she knew what I had done. I fled. It was the last time I ever saw her.”

Asterius fell silent. He was staring at the ground, unable to look Hazel in the eye. For a moment, it seemed like he was about to start sobbing. Then he spoke again. “I started hunting animals after that. I avoid humans when I can. I just- I can’t risk doing that again.” He glanced at Hazel. “You should go. Please. If I hurt you- I’ve already done enough.”

Hazel looked at him for a moment. Then she strode toward him. He looked up at her, surprise written all over his face. “Hazel, you-”

She cut him off by pressing his mouth to his. He kissed back for a moment before regaining control of himself and pulling her off him. “What- Hazel, I told you to leave! Aren’t you… aren’t you horrified?”

“Asterius,” Hazel said. “It was terrible, what happened. But it wasn’t your fault. You already said you weren’t in control of your actions. You didn’t mean to and you’ve done everything in your power to stop yourself from doing it again.”

He made a quiet whimpering noise. “But if it happens again- if I lose control and you’re there- Hazel, I couldn’t stand it!”

“You won’t,” Hazel said. “I trust you. You’re more aware of it, you’re careful, you’ve been nothing but sweet and kind. Please. You’re not evil because you made a mistake once. Let yourself be happy.”

Asterius stared at her. His breathing was quick and trembling, but his eyes were filled with something like wonder. “You want to stay with me?” he whispered.

Hazel grinned. “I want to do more than that.”

She pressed her lips to his and this time, Asterius leaned into the kiss wholeheartedly. His hands splayed across Hazel’s back, lifting her off the ground. The kisses were heated, open-mouthed. Hazel’s tongue traced over his fangs, which were elongated with his excitement.

“Should we-” Asterius gasped between kisses. “Should we go inside?”

Hazel broke apart from him. “Inside. Outside. I don’t care.” She pressed her mouth back to his.

Asterius lifted Hazel up into his arms, lips still pressed against hers. Despite being completely involved in the kiss, he managed to carry Hazel back inside and up into his room.

The night melted into pleasure, their bodies pressed together. The separation between them felt thin, barely there. For several long moments, they were only aware of each other, huddled close in Asterius’ bed.

They lay there for a while, until Hazel’s stomach started growling and Asterius insisted on getting her something to eat. “I keep food around here for the staff,” he said. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you eat it.”

As it turned out, Asterius wasn’t a half-bad cook, as long as he was making something simple. “I can follow a recipe,” he explained. “I can’t taste anything, though, so I can’t get very experimental.”

The two of you sat together, half-dressed in his kitchen. You ate slowly, picking through the eggs he’d made for you. “You’re all right?” Asterius asked. “You’re sure?”

Hazel laughed. “Of course, I’m fine. I’m great. It was… It was incredible, Asterius.” He smiled at that, but there was still some tension around his eyes. Hazel leaned across the table to swat at his hand. “Out with it. I can see that something’s bothering you.”

Asterius chuckled. “I can’t hide anything from you,” he said. “I was thinking…” He hesitated. “Well, I’ve been worrying, really.”

Hazel focused her attention fully on him. “About what?”

Asterius sighed. “I’m immortal. You’re not.” He fidgeted, twisting his fingers together. “You’ll die.”

“Eventually,” Hazel said. “Is that what you’re worrying about?”

“Yes! Of course it is! I’ve already had one relationship end badly. I don’t want you to get old and or sick or even worse, you die in some kind of accident.” Asterius choked off, staring down at the table. He blinked rapidly. “Perhaps it would be better if… if we didn’t do this.”

“Hey,” Hazel said, setting her fork down. “Don’t talk like that. That’s idiotic. You’re not going to do the whole self-sacrifice thing again, are you? Where you lock yourself away, convinced it’s for my own good or something?” Asterius looked ashamed. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not helping anyone. You’re just making yourself feel worse.”    

“But I can’t stop worrying about it! I don’t want you to die, I don’t want you to get sick, and even if I turn you, I don’t want you to have to go through what I did-”

“Asterius!” Hazel said, lifting her hands. “Hey, hey, hey, stop talking! Shh! Listen to me!” She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Look. You can’t control what’s going to happen. Maybe something will happen to me and it’ll hurt. But if you let yourself succumb to this worry, you’re going to guarantee that you’ll be miserable. Let yourself be happy. Let yourself be with me.”

Asterius’ shoulders lowered as the tension went out of him. “I can’t stop worrying,” he said.

“You don’t have to. But you can’t let it control your life.” Hazel lowered her hands. “I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?”

Asterius gave a small nod. “I do.”

“Then let’s be together.” Hazel leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to his lips. Asterius leaned into her touch.

“Stay,” he said when she leaned back. “Stay with me. I know it’s only a vacation and you need to go home eventually, but just stay with me for a little longer.”

Hazel smiled. “Of course I will.” Asterius gave a relieved smile and leaned across the table to press his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he whispered. Hazel smiled.

“I love you too.”

[keltonwrites]

I'm not sure if that's a good thing

“Well you’re definitely the first.” This past week, we screened-in the eastern facing porch on the side of the cabin. The porch slopes to the South, with the brick-on-dirt floor crumbling in that direction as well until it reaches uneven slabs of stone acting as steps down to the “yard” below. A mixed material retaining wall wraps beneath the steps to the south facing garage, holding up one corner of the narrow deck on the front of the house. The deck, in the heat of a high altitude summer, droops off the house like it’s daydreaming about the winter snow’s embrace. It’s safe to sit on, though I would not recommend leaning on the railing.

The side porch takes the brunt of the wind. Our wooden rocking chairs have been rocked some 20 feet into the yard more than once in the two months we lived here. In the myriad of threats we heard about the weather, most people included the wind. We all know how I feel about this ongoing weather intimidation tactic. I asked, “what speed are the gusts?” “Oh, they get up to 70 miles per hour on some days.” This was the first quantifiable piece of weather information someone had offered — an actual number we could react to with data and our historical personal experiences of various weather events. And our reaction was: uhhhh…. OK???? Look, I get it. No one’s preaching the skin benefits of -20 degree wind gusts at 70 mph, building snow drifts against your house in the span of minutes that Cooper could die in. I am not going to pretend that’s pleasant. But 70 mph? Any wind I’ve driven faster than does not intimidate me. I used to rally the horses at 12 years old in winds over 70mph to get them in the barn before the latest tornado whipped through. I helped shutter the resort in the BVI as the Category 5 hurricane rolled in. Even in Topanga, 70 mile per hour gusts were not uncommon in Santa Ana events. We had our single pane windows shatter more than once from debris in the wind. We taped cardboard up and went to sleep. That “70 mph” was all I needed to hear to confirm our next project: we were going to build a catio for these cats, and we were going to do it on the pre-existing porch structure to save time and money. We spent a week framing out the structure. We had to carve into the logs of the house to embed the wood supports for the framing.

And from there, every piece of wood was custom carved and cut to fit around the existing timber supports. The existing porch was so wildly uneven that there are gaps between each piece of old wood and the new framing. Our plan is to mix all the wood chips from the project with mortar/chinking and stuff the gaps — a good solution for the log cabin look. We built a plywood pony wall up to 28 inches from the interior of the porch, which gives a height of ~4-5ft from the exterior ground below. It’s capped with a 2x6” railing for even the fluffiest of cats to find a perch. The exterior will be wrapped with corrugated metal that we’ll quick-age to match the metal that wraps the bottom of the cabin. On the interior of the porch, we’ll use shiplap to hide the framing.

The screens themselves can withstand winds up to 120 mph, but to-be-determined if they can hold the weight of a growing maniac cat who has already tried to climb them. In the event the screens succumb to cat (or wind or snow or neighbor judgment) we’ll reinforce with metal mesh. We’re going to maintain this screen porch regardless of what the screen is. We had the pleasure of running into one of our more industrious neighbors the other day, and Ben asked him, “hey we’re building a screen porch. Is this a terrible idea?” He laughed. “Well you’re definitely the first.” But he liked it. Great way to diminish wind into the house. Simple way to regulate the temperature with massive south-facing windows. And indeed a practical outdoor safe haven for cats in predator territory. Just because you’re the first doesn’t mean you’re foolish — just foolhardy. There’s plenty of that here. This town has the typical mountain town’s truncated version of a colonizers’ history: “established 1881.” But it was plenty established prior to that by the Uncompahgre Band of the Ute Nation, removed by the U.S. Army on September 7, 1881, nearly 140 years ago. The government relocated the Uncompahgre Ute People to Utah, and one year after the Ute were forcibly removed from their ancestral land, San Miguel County split off from Ouray County and was made its own political subdivision in the newly-formed State of Colorado. In 1879, the ore-laden valley already had 50 people living in it, with a new narrow gauge railway only 2 miles away. By 1885, it was a town of 200 people. There was a hotel, a couple saloons, a pool hall. Winters were treacherous; the valley was and is prone to avalanches. But where there’s gold, there’s gumption. The power needed to run the stamp mill to process ore drove innovation. Timber was scarce at such high elevations, so a wood powered steam mill wouldn’t cut it. But the San Miguel River just a few miles down from the mine looked promising. Thus began the development and construction of the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant. It was a hit. In fact, it was so successful that the Ames Plant led to the adoption of alternating currents at Niagara Falls and eventually to being adopted worldwide as a viable power solution. The plant remains, but the gold rush obviously didn’t. By 1940, the U.S. Census declared this little town I call home as tied for the lowest population in the country: 2 people. By 1960, it was one of four incorporated towns in the U.S. with no residents. But the joke was on the Census — the town’s single resident was just out of town the day the census came through. 1960 population: 1. By 1980 the population grew to 38, 69 in 1990, and about 180 now. (Plus 51 dogs according to the town’s website.) With modern amenities, it’s easier to be here. Studded snow tires, satellite internet, solar panels, instant coffee. No matter the hardships, there’s the reality of the present. In the 1880s, as the town boomed, the Ouray Times declared, “it will be at no distant day a far more pretentious town than it is now.” That day hasn’t exactly arrived, but I guess it depends on what you consider pretentious. I don’t think the town claims any airs of excellence beyond what’s true. In fact, the town hardly claims anything at all. There’s no sign indicating it’s even here. There’s just the old side and the new side. The new side, the Eastern half, was drawn out in the early 1990s, some 100 years later, and is separated from the Old Town by an avalanche zone—preserved open space for hiking in the summer, preserved open space for surviving in the winter. The town forbids short-term rentals, no one has a fence, dogs roam free, and all the houses have that cabin look to them. A boulder nests in a grove near a trailhead in the center of town with a plaque paying respect to the Utes who called this valley home. There’s no industry here. No businesses allowed. If you want a $7 latte, you can drive the 14 miles required to get it, assuming there’s not an avalanche blocking your path. You can, however, buy a pink lemonade in a

solo cup at the permanent lemonade stand run by the local feral child mafia. Crystals (rocks) can be purchased for an additional cost. We bought one, hoping to buy favor at the same time. The town plan has a few guiding principles, and it’s all in the name of preservation. We must preserve: 1 - the quiet atmosphere 2 - the rustic character 3 - the natural setting

And finally: 4 - protect the health and wellbeing of the people here No snowmobiles, no ATVs, no drones. In fact, the only sign of the outside world here are the passers-through. When you take the dirt road through town to the end, you enter National Forest, and you can hike over the pass saddle at nearly 12,000 feet before descending down the other side into Silverton. The pass road climbs rutted through an aspen forest before scaling across a scree field and then lurching over to the other side. Every day, it seems like 30 or so Texans and Arizonans in lifted and loud Jeeps with unused mods climb over this mountain in the comfort of their air conditioning, simply to drive down the other side. You could hike it, ride it, run it, and ski it, but they don’t. They rev their engines, kicking up dust in a town of feral children and roaming dogs, staring at us instead of waving. I’ve lived here for two months and look how salty I am. I’ll fit in yet. But today, there is a temperature that whispers of perfect trails and the dwindling of ogglers driving 35 in a 15. It’s already snowed in the mountains we see from our kitchen. Today, like a dedication to the Septembers of our youth, you can feel a chill in the air. A temperature akin to pencils and sweaters and reinventing yourself. A temperature that doesn’t exactly sing “screen porch” but could if you had the right slippers on. That’s what I did this morning: put my slippers on and sat there in the cool mountain morning air, thinking about the cemetery behind our house, about the Ute tribe, about the miners, about the mailman who died on Christmas in 1875 on the pass, about the 5 people who died in avalanches here just last year, about the people in their cars on their phones driving through, and all the people who’s very first question to us was, “so are you gonna live here part-time or full-time?” Maybe it will be a hard place to live. But at least we’ll have a screen porch.

Every week I'm writing about moving to log cabin in a small town at 10,000 feet. Subscribe here for free: tinyletter.com/keltonwrites

[tendertenebrosity]

Illiam and Helis on the road! Close sequel to here and here.  Masterpost for these characters is here. Mostly just some conversation and worldbuilding today; stay tuned for part 2!

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi   @thesleepysnapdragon @whump-cravings

Helis knew, from the conversations they had overheard at Illiam’s heel, that today they would pass into the south of Rosdan, the part the Toraldan army hadn’t taken yet. If they hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have been able to guess; the countryside was the same as it had been for the past few days. Heavily forested hills, a dirt road that wound side-to-side between their peaks like the track made by a snake. The ground was rocky, any snow long since trodden into black sludge peppered liberally with gravel. Helis had an impressive bruise on the underside of their foot from trying to make their way through it, and the little downy feathers on their ankles hadn’t been either white or downy in days.  

“We have quite a large ravine to cross next,”  Illiam commented. “The town is just over the bridge; we should be able to see both once we’re around this next bend in the road.”

Helis made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. They wouldn’t be stopping for the night in this town; they might pause so that people could mill about, make a mess and maybe have another urgent, terse meeting. Or they might not. Helis supposed they’d be glad for a chance to stretch their legs.

The thick pine forest on some of these hills was a lot like the country that they’d spent a few weeks camping in with Reed. Had it been this tiring, going up and down the hills? Not for Helis, but maybe for Reed it had been. He’d never complained.

“I built some bridges, you know,” Illiam remarked.  

Helis blinked, roused from their reverie. “What?”

“Bridges. You know, big structures, usually made of wood or stone, they allow you to get over bodies of water… ”

Helis hunched their shoulders. Yes, very funny. “You… built bridges? Why?” It wasn’t something they’d ever considered him doing. It seemed… beneath him, or at least that he ought to think it was beneath him. They didn’t remember him ever showing the slightest interest in that kind of thing before.

“It’s the kind of thing I’ve been working on, the last few years,” Illiam explained. “Not just bridges, but… large engineering work. Repairing dams, roads. You usually do that with magic in Crestmead, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Helis said. Their friend Diamand had taken a job in that direction; another scholarship student, like them, he’d chosen to go into government service in construction. “It’s usually done with teams of mages…”

“It’s not been used much here,” Illiam said. “Most things like that in the North are built the old-fashioned way. Bricks and mortar and a lot of peasants with shovels. It can be difficult and dangerous work, not to mention slow. I had seen a lot of… interesting things done in the South, and I wanted to try and replicate them. Not just structures, either - I still wonder if I could get some of your irrigation and wind shelter techniques to work with our farms.” He paused. “You came from a farm, didn’t you?”

“Yeees…” Helis wasn’t sure whether to be surprised he remembered, or brace themself for him to say something derogatory. “We didn’t use any magic, though. I think you’re talking about bigger places than ours…”

He barely seemed to be listening. “I imagine the climate to the south is better, so you probably didn’t need much help. The land to the west of our holdings is harsh, and crop failures are common. It would make a big difference if I could increase yield even a little bit.” He sighed. “Bridges proved easier, at least to start with. Of course, I was somewhat hampered by the fact that, as you say, I don’t have a trained team. I only have myself. So a lot of the techniques needed… adjusting.”

Despite themselves, Helis found themself a little interested. “That’s a bit more than just an ‘adjustment’,” they said. “You’re trying to do the work of, what - four to six people by yourself?”

“Mm,” he said, dismissive.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Helis said. They’d had to design the kind of spells Illiam was talking about as part of their course; they couldn’t imagine trying to handle that much magic, in that many different moving parts, at once. It was overambitious to the point of being irresponsible.

Then again, in light of his current project, they shouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh, maybe if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Illiam said, airily. They could practically picture the smug tilt of his chin as he said it. “I had it down pretty well by the third attempt. Besides, it was unavoidable. Even if I’d managed to get four or five mages together, there’s no guarantee they’d have been able to work together in that way. It’s not a common skill here.”

Helis’ brow wrinkled. “But… I’ve seen other mages here, in the army ranks.” Mostly men, a scattering of women, their uniform marked out with a red scarf or sash or hat. The common soldiers deferred to them, but nowhere near as much as they did to Illiam. Helis had seem them performing heat spells, wind spells, stick-fast spells - the kinds of minor workings any large group of people needed.  Are they mages or not? they wanted to ask. Why ‘if’ you get four or five people? Aren’t they trained properly?

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but the… culture, I suppose you’d say… amongst mages is different here. Much less collaborative. Much less standardised. A Northern sorceror works alone, or maybe with an apprentice or two if they’re inclined to that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing like the Academy here, or even the sort of smaller schools that teach people to read and write in Crestmead,” Illiam explained. “I learned my Northern magic from my master, Karlin, who learned it from his, and so on. I started when I was nine - that’s pretty normal. He didn’t have a second apprentice while teaching me, but I understand he often did. Some masters can get a bit… stingy, paranoid. They don’t like to share their knowledge too freely. Karlin was never like that.”

“Oh. You… always did seem like you knew a bit already, in the first semester,” Helis admitted.

Illiam was silent, just a beat longer than usual. “You could say that,” he said. “You know, I - ”

He cut himself off - the hands that had been fairly slack on the reins in front of Helis were suddenly moving, pulling the horse up to a sudden stop.

They had just rounded the curve of the hillside. As Illiam had said, they could look down and see the bridge - miles ahead of them yet, a squat and sturdy structure made from the same grey stone as the cliffs it straddled. The riverbed was a long way down.

They couldn’t see much of the town, though, because it and the forest to the east were obscured by a thick dark plume of smoke.

The soldiers in front of them were clogging the road, the whole unit that had been ahead of Illiam’s horse, pulled to an unplanned halt. Raised voices and curses reached Helis’ ears; people were pointing at the smoke, barking orders, shoving the people ahead or behind them.

“This town was supposed to be secured!” someone was insisting, harsh and strident. “Lord Garnier sent - ”

As the army milled, disorganised, there was a sharp whistle, thinned out by distance and followed by a crack. The light that flashed in the forest beyond the town was tinged pale blue, obviously magical in origin. People in the army flinched and swore as more clouds of dust and smoke rose up. As they watched, aghast, a wedge of stone split away from the cliff face and tumbled down into the ravine with a crash.

Illiam hissed wordlessly under his breath, and tapped Helis - more of a shove, really - on the shoulder.

"You’re getting off,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Get off the horse, lackwit, move!”

Helis let go of their grip on the saddle and drew their knees up slightly, uncertain of what to do next. Illiam lifted them unceremoniously around the waist, and they swung their leg awkwardly over the horse’s neck. They made it to the ground in an awkward, flapping fall, their legs nearly giving way under them.

The horse stamped and sidled back and forth, rolling one dark eye as Helis stumbled back. Illiam gathered up his reins. He didn’t even look down at Helis.

“Go back and wait with the rest of the camp followers,” he said, his voice raised over the commotion. “Do not come and find me. Do not cause problems.”

He kicked the horse into motion. Helis shielded their eyes from the dirt he threw up; they could hear him yelling something at the soldiers down the slope. By the time they had collected themself, the crowd of soldiers had parted to allow Illiam and his horse to canter down the hill in the direction of the smoking town.

“Well, now what?” Helis asked aloud, to nobody in particular. They watched the figure of Illiam and his horse, dramatic black cloak flapping, until it was out of sight. Helis didn’t know much about war magic. But they had a hazy, uneasy idea how much damage a single magic-user could wreak against an undefended force. Was he going to fight? Or did he think the battle needed him in command? It still seemed unbelievable to Helis, that men twice their age, generals and leaders, actually took orders from Illiam, who wasn’t any older than Helis themself.

The crowd of soldiers was forming up into some kind of order in his wake, the person who’d been yelling about Lord Garnier unloading a series of profanities and insults on everybody in earshot.

The wagons and the rest of the army had been following Illiam and the advance party, much slower on the hilly ground. Helis had no idea how far away they might be.

They sighed, picked a rock out from between their toes, and set off back the way they’d come.

[today-only-happens-once]

and miles to go before I sleep

Title: and miles to go before I sleep

Word Count: 6,650

Chapter 1

Summary: Virgil came here to stop a curse and save his kingdom. But another Prince has the same goal in mind... and only one kingdom is supposed to come out on top. Slowburn Romantic Prinxiety. A Two Princes Podcast AU. 

Chapter Warnings: stealing; lying; Patton is kind of working in a gray area but he means well and is only trying his best; Janus does some light treason I guess?; violence; giant hornet; plant monster; killing monsters/violence; blood mention/description; threats; if you are a die-hard fan of the podcast please be warned that I do take a few creative liberties with stuff from the podcast at times. 

A/N: this idea has been knocking around my head for a while, and I finally started to write it. I thought I’d write it all before posting, but I’ve found that I’m starting to lose steam. So here’s the first part! If you like The Two Princes, I hope you’ll enjoy this Prinxiety twist to it! If you’ve never listened to it, I hope you’ll consider giving this a shot and then maybe going to check it out! <3 Editing done by yours truly. All mistakes are mine. 

...

“Stop! Thief!” 

Virgil takes a hard left turn down the Western Corridor of the castle, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. He sprints down the stone hallway, racing past the familiar stained-glass windows. The book in his hand is heavy and leather-bound, and Virgil tucks it tighter under his arm as he runs. The hood of his dark cloak nearly slips off his head in the process, and he uses his free hand to keep it from falling. 

“Halt!”

Ahead of him, three members of the Royal Guard appear from around the corner. Virgil skids to a stop, whirling around only to find two more guards running up behind him. He’s surrounded and cornered. Nowhere to go. Virgil huffs a breath, holding his hands up and kneeling on the floor in surrender. He lets the book thud to the ground. He’s grateful that the hood of his cloak swallows his head, and he keeps his head downcast to let it shadow his face from view even though he knows his anonymity is really only a matter of seconds.

There’s the scuff of boots against the stone floor approaching him, the clanking of armor as the guards move aside, and Virgil grimaces to himself. He has the sinking feeling it’s his older brother. 

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards from behind him greets the newcomer, confirming Virgil’s suspicions. “We caught this person attempting to steal the Forbidden Book.” 

Virgil keeps his face hidden in the hood of his cloak, but he sees his brother’s boots step into his vision. “What’s your name?” his brother asks with that familiar soft friendliness. 

Virgil knows that he can’t hide much longer--someone is going to pull the hood off his head at any moment--but he really doesn’t want to deal with the look of disappointment in his older brother’s eyes that he knows awaits him. He’ll push it off as long as he can manage. So Virgil stays resolutely silent. 

He feels a slight tug on the hood of his cloak and the silky material causes it to fall to his shoulder blades effortlessly. 

“Virgil?” 

Virgil looks up sheepishly. “Hey, Patton.”

His brother was twelve years older than him but only a couple of inches taller. His hair wasn’t much lighter than Virgil’s, and their eyes were the same shade of brown that their mother’s had been. But Patton had seemed every bit older than him. Virgil couldn’t explain why--if maybe it was the weight in his eyes that would show only when he thought nobody was looking or if maybe it was the way he’d mastered the ‘I’m not angry I’m just disappointed’ stare years ago--but there were times when Patton seemed even older than twenty-nine. 

“What the heck were you doing?” Patton swoops down and snatches the book from where Virgil had placed it on the floor in front of him. Virgil tries not to grimace. His brother hands it off to one of the guards who immediately rushes to take it back to the vault. 

Virgil sighs and accepts the hand that Patton extends to him to pull him up to his feet. Patton waves a hand and the guards only hesitate for a moment before they turn abruptly to head back to their post. Virgil waits until they’re alone in the corridor before he answers.

“Patton, come on. You know exactly what I was doing.” 

Patton frowns, his brow pinching together. “Virgil,” he starts, and Virgil has to stop himself from rolling his eyes because he knows that tone, “I already told you that book is no good for anybody.” 

“No, I know you keep saying that. But our kingdom is under siege, and--”

“Siege?” Patton repeats. “I think that’s a bit of an overstatement there, kiddo. I should start calling you just ‘Anxiety’ with as much as you worry.”

“How else would you describe the forest that is overrunning our kingdom and has been for years? It’s nearly at our palace walls.” Virgil gestures out the stained glass window. “You can’t go anywhere in town without having to step over and around roots and vines. It’s been choking our food supply, it’s overrun our farming villages… That’s not normal. And nobody in this godforsaken castle will talk to me about it.”

Virgil sees that flicker of something he can’t identify pass through Patton’s eyes. It was the same look he got any time Virgil tried to mention the Forest or the Curse. But it was always too fast for Virgil to be able to identify it. 

“Have you ever thought that’s because there’s nothing to talk about?” Patton tries. 

“When was the last time you looked outside, Patton? That Forest is going to destroy our kingdom,” Virgil snaps. “I know it’s the Curse and I know that book has answers. I just don’t know why you don’t want me to know them!” 

Patton presses a hand to his temple. “Virgil, will you just drop it? Please?”

“All I’ve done is drop it. From what I’ve been able to piece together from books that you will let me read, two kings from rival kingdoms held a grudge against each other a thousand years ago, and that grudge started some kind of curse. But I need more if I’m going to do anything to fix this.”

“Nobody is asking you to fix it--”

“Somebody has to!” 

“Virgil…” Patton looks at him then. He looks tired, Virgil thinks. And… afraid. “Please. I… you’re my baby brother. I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

Virgil wants to argue. He’s seventeen. He doesn’t need his older brother protecting him like he did when they were little kids. He sometimes wonders if Patton still sees him as that six-year-old kid that would run to his room when he had a bad dream. He wasn’t. But he doesn’t know how to get Patton to understand that. Besides, a part of him falters at the tinge of desperation that colors Patton’s words. 

“Okay,” Virgil agrees with a sigh, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Fine.”

There’s a grateful twitch to the corner of Patton’s mouth. Then, his expression brightens with a sudden idea and Virgil has the feeling he’s not going to like it.

“Hey,” Patton says. “Your birthday is almost here. What do you say we throw an early birthday party for tomorrow?”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “My birthday isn’t for another four days.”

“I know, but I think we all could use a little something to boost the kingdom spirit, y’know?” 

Virgil hesitates. “Patton, you can’t just use parties to distract yourself from problems.” It’s a conversation they’d had before, so he knows what Patton is going to say even before the words leave his brother’s mouth. 

“I’m not, Virgil,” Patton replies, right on cue. “But I think focusing on something good and happy is better than wallowing in the negative. Right?”

“Right,” Virgil says hollowly. 

…

Virgil hates parties. They’re crowded and loud and the repetition of forced, awkward small talk reminds Virgil of everything he doesn’t like about being a prince. Nobles and dignitaries mill around the ballroom, talking to one another without talking about anything that Virgil thinks ought to be discussed. He nods his appreciation and mutters a quick “thank you” as people wish him a happy birthday, and he tries to ignore the increasing desire to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Virgil snags a piece of bread off the snack table and clings to the edge of the growing crowd in the ballroom. 

“You look like you’re having a positively terrific time, Your Highness,” a familiar voice says to Virgil’s left. When he looks, Virgil feels a twinge of relief at the familiar face of Lord Janus: his brother’s closest political adviser. 

Virgil snorts. “Yeah, well. This was hardly my idea. You know how my brother is.” 

“Hm,” Janus hums, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Indeed.” Virgil stifles a yawn. Janus arcs an eyebrow at him. “Tired, Your Highness?”

“Sorry,” Virgil replies. “Just… didn’t sleep well.”

He thinks about the dream he’d had last night. He’d been cold, in the dark, surrounded by looming shadows that looked almost like trees. There’d been a deep, echoing, vaguely familiar voice calling his name. Virgil. Then a tugging sensation around his waist so strong it yanked his feet out from under him, and the falling sensation had jolted him from his sleep. He’d woken up in his room, trying to catch his breath, the echo of his name still reverberating in his head. 

“I see,” Janus replies, his gaze narrowing slightly.

Virgil avoids his eyes, instead letting his gaze flit over the crowd of people. Some of them he recognizes from various meetings and prior parties that Patton had thrown over the years. He watches as a tall man he recognizes as Sloane--a long time family friend--lean over to whisper something into the ear of Corbin, one of the royal scribes. Corbin suppresses a smile. 

“Are they… together?” Virgil wonders aloud. He couldn’t describe it, but there was something about the way they seemed to gravitate near each other, even while Sloane turns to talk to someone else, that makes him wonder.

Janus follows his gaze. “Yes,” he confirms. “To my knowledge, there’s an expected engagement to occur soon.”

There’s a part of Virgil that’s surprised. He wouldn’t describe himself as particularly close with either one of them, but they seemed like near opposites. His gaze lingers a bit longer on the two of them, catching the way Corbin deftly slips his hand into Sloane’s and squeezes. Virgil tears his gaze away, feeling oddly like he’s intruding on something intimate even though they’re in the middle of the ballroom. 

He finds Remy weaving through the crowd, seemingly at ease in the sea of people. Remy is another of his brother’s advisers, though he doesn’t work as closely with Patton as Janus does. Virgil knows that Remy’s area of expertise is primarily in trade and commerce. Most of that had stopped around a year ago, as the growing Forest cut off most trade routes into and out of the kingdom.

“How does he still have a job?” Virgil wonders aloud, watching as Remy laughs politely at a joke a dignitary that Virgil doesn’t recognize makes. 

Janus hums. “Your brother ensured that Remy’s original conception as an economic adviser would not be limited to inter-kingdom trade. Exchanges occurring within the kingdom and city walls fall under his domain of expertise as well.” 

“Won’t be long before he’s out of a job anyway,” Virgil mutters.

“There are few things that the king cares about more than the well-being of his kingdom.”

“And I’m one of those things.” Virgil looks at Janus, challenging him to disagree. Janus merely returns Virgil’s stare with a steady, silent one of his own. Virgil has known the adviser long enough to recognize it as silent agreement. 

Virgil releases a frustrated breath. “I’m not a child anymore, Janus. He doesn’t need to protect me.”

“I assure you that Your Majesty doesn’t view it that way.”

“I don’t even know what he’s trying to protect me from,” Virgil continues. Realization dawns suddenly, and Virgil narrows a glare on Janus. “But you do, don’t you?”

It makes sense to Virgil. There is little that Janus doesn’t know--he’s often said it’s his business to know things as the chief political adviser--and though Virgil may not understand how Janus gathers his information, he has no doubt that Janus knows exactly whatever it is that Patton has been hiding from him. The suspicion is only confirmed when he sees Janus’s lips press into a thin line. 

Virgil shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I don’t understand.”

Janus arcs an eyebrow. “I think Your Highness does.”

“No, no I don’t,” Virgil hisses back in a low, frustrated voice. “What is my brother hiding from me?”

Janus grimaces, his gaze flitting over to Patton across the ballroom. Patton doesn’t seem to notice, too engaged with a conversation with the Lady Valerie to pay them much mind. Janus sighs, then turns back to the prince.

“Your Highness--”

Janus cuts off as the floor beneath them rumbles. The dining ware on the table clatters loudly from the tremor, and the ballroom falls silent with uncertainty. Virgil braces a hand against the nearby wall to keep balance. 

“Uh, what is that?” he asks, too late.

With the sound of shattering stone, sections of the marble floor splinter open. Virgil watches, horrified, as green vines rise from the fissures almost like tendrils of an awakening monster. Cracking wood snaps sharply in the hall as what Virgil can only describe as tree roots thicker than his own body push their way up through the cracks in the floor. 

Screams and shouts of alarm fill the ballroom, ricocheting off the stone pillars. Virgil watches as a vine curls around the ankle of a dignitary, yanking her off her feet. One of the guards, sword already drawn, rushes forward. They slash at it, slicing through the vine and helping the young woman back to her feet.

“The Forest is invading!” the guard shouts. “Everyone take cover! Guards, attack!” 

The clamor of battle swells, and Virgil presses flatter against the wall. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, trying to locate his brother. Virgil sees a tree root snake around Corbin’s torso with a speed that isn’t natural for a plant. Sloane shouts for him, but a vine snaps around his wrist and he yanks a knife out of his boot to cut himself free. 

Virgil goes to move to help--he may not be athletic exactly, but he can’t just stand around and do nothing when people are in danger--but something yanks him back to the wall like he’s attached to it. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vine twisting in the jacket of his suit. Virgil desperately wrestles out of the garment, but another has already begun wrapping around his chest. 

“Hey!” Virgil yelps, trying to wrestle it off him. He sees a sudden flash of metal in the corner of his eye and the vine around his chest goes suddenly slack. Virgil shoves it off, looking over and realizing it was Janus, wielding the sword that had been at his hip, who cut him free.  

“Janus,” Virgil says. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Here, take this.” Janus pulls out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and shoves it into Virgil’s chest. 

Virgil stumbles back a step from the force, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s this?”

“A map,” Janus answers, quick and urgent. “It will take you straight to the Hollow. You have to leave immediately.”

“What? What Hollow?”

“Here.” Janus shoves the hilt of his sword into Virgil’s hand. “Take my sword.”

“Wh--No! I can’t leave you all in the middle of a battle!”

“You have to!” Janus snaps, and Virgil falters under the intensity in the adviser’s eyes. “The real battle--the one that will decide the fate of everyone in this kingdom--can only be fought in the Hollow, and only by you.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Janus grabs both of Virgil’s shoulders. “There’s a prophecy your brother has been hiding from you. You have to go to the Hollow. Once you get there--”

“Look out!” a voice barks.

Janus’s head snaps to the side before he gives Virgil a hard shove, sending the prince staggering back. A tree root slams into the wall, precisely where Virgil had just been standing.

“Janus!”

“Go!” Janus shouts sharply over the clamor of the raging battle around them. “Get to the Hollow!”

Virgil runs, not noticing the vegetation shrinking back into the cracks in the floor as he races towards the Forest. 

…

Hours later, Virgil is beginning to think that the Forest must hate him personally. If it’s true, the feeling is very much mutual. The Forest is dense with trees that leave long, lurking shadows on the damp floor. Virgil climbs over a particularly large tree root, hissing in pain as a thorn catches his shoulder.

“Great,” he snaps sarcastically. “You know, you go through all this trouble of getting me to come to you what with the weird dreams and then attacking during my birthday party--which, between you and me, I didn’t really mind the interruption, though I could have done without the violence--so you’d think maybe you could extend a little hospitality.” Virgil waits as if the Forest might actually respond to him. The chirp of insects and distant song of birds is the only answer the Forest offers. 

“Of course not,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know what I expected. You’re a monster-infested forest.”

Or in the very least, that’s what the rumors had always said. Virgil wonders if that might have been an old wives’ tale, passed on through the thousand or so years since the Curse first started to convince children to steer clear. Just because Virgil had heard his whole life that monsters lurked in the Forest’s shadows didn’t mean it was actually true, right?

Right.

Virgil sighs and yanks the map Janus had shoved at him out of his pocket. If the skull on the map was referencing the tree ahead of him whose branches vaguely resembled a skull, then--

A twig snaps behind him. 

Virgil freezes, his head snapping up. “Hello?” he calls, shoving the map back into his pocket and yanking his sword out of the scabbard. 

Nothing answers him. Wind rustles the leaves in the canopy above him. Virgil studies the trees and shadows around him. He can’t shake the vague feeling that he is being watched…

A distant buzzing interrupts his thoughts, and Virgil sees a dark blur rush towards him. He yelps, ducking his head and slashing blindly with the sword. When he looks, Virgil chokes. In front of him, buzzing loudly as it hovers a couple of feet in the air, is a giant hornet--nearly Virgil’s size. 

“Look,” Virgil says to it. “My brother always says to avoid violence, but the last few hours has been the culminating impact of years of frustrations, so my patience really isn’t up for--”

The hornet dives for him, and Virgil slashes at it, clipping its side. He narrowly dodges its stinger, slashing again. Virgil’s arms are suddenly coated in a dark, viscous spray of black blood. The giant hornet falls to the ground at Virgil’s feet.

He releases a breath, grimacing against the acrid smell of monster blood that stings his nostrils. His heartbeat is still thudding in his ears, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He just slayed his first monster. A relieved smile tugs at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He wonders briefly if Patton would be proud of him or horrified. He tries not to think too long about it.

“Not too bad for a--whoa!” Virgil steps back and immediately finds himself falling through the forest floor. 

He lands hard and takes a moment to blink stars from his spinning vision. With a grunt of effort, Virgil pushes himself up into a sitting position. The air around him smells… sweet and oddly familiar. On the ground beneath him is loose dirt and a carpet of white and pink mushrooms. A few bright green vines helped to cushion Virgil’s fall. A quick glance around also tells Virgil that he didn’t just fall into a hole--he fell into some sort of underground tunnel that continued on to his left.

He takes in another breath and feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders. It smells like… like Patton’s fresh-baked cookies on a rainy day and… was that his mother’s perfume? Virgil had never really been able to remember his mother’s face, but he remembers the scent the instant he inhales. He suddenly has the near overwhelming desire to curl up and sleep as the syrupy feeling of warm comfort spreads through his chest.

Maybe Virgil could just live here instead of… of… how did he get here again?

“Oh darling!” calls a soft, honey voice and for the briefest moment, Virgil wonders if it’s his mother. He dismisses the idea almost immediately. That isn’t possible.

“Wh--” Virgil’s tongue feels slow, his thoughts shifting through a molasses-sweet haze. “Who said that?”

“I did,” the voice echoes back, melodic and sweet. “Are you my darling?”

“I mean, maybe,” Virgil slurs, blinking owlishly at his surroundings. “I could be someone’s darling.”

“Where are you, darling?”

Virgil squints up at the hole he’d fallen through. “I’m at the bottom of a pit. Where are you?”

“I’m here too, just a bit further in. Come find me, darling.”

Virgil glances over to his left and sees a prick of light down the dark tunnel. Something in his chest tugs, urging, towards it. Virgil pushes himself to his feet, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his hip (why did he have it out to begin with?) and rushes down the tunnel, tripping over stray roots and the increasingly thick network of green vines. As he grows closer to the light, the smell of cookies and his mother’s perfume grows thicker and heavier. He can feel the way it clings to his thoughts in his mind, sticky like melted candy.

The tunnel opens up into a small cavern overrun with moss and flowers. Vines wrap up dirt walls, sprouting flowers of different sizes and colors so bright Virgil squints against the sudden onslaught on his vision. At the center of the clearing is a feminine figure--green skin and green hair that look almost like vines themselves. She turns towards Virgil as he steps into the clearing, her face brightening so much that Virgil almost doesn’t notice that her eyes are bright red like the flowers that dot her arms. 

“There you are, my darling. I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Virgil frowns, his brow creasing. “I’m sorry.”

She giggles, light and delighted. “Oh, that’s all right. What’s important is that you are here now. What’s your name?”

He… can’t remember. It starts with a V, doesn’t it? “V-V...Virgil. Yeah, that’s it. My name is Virgil. What’s your name?”

The woman floats closer. “My name is Flora. I’m the goddess of love.”

Her voice sounds like a music box, soft and lilting. Virgil wants to curl up and use her voice as a blanket. “Where… where am I?”

“This? Why this is the Garden of Delight. You needn’t worry about anything ever again.”

A soft, warm feeling squeezes around Virgil’s chest and it reminds him, distantly, of Patton’s hugs. “That… that sounds nice…” 

The woman hums, stepping closer. The dress she wears seems to shimmer, like it had been spun from spider silk and dripped with dew. It did feel rather humid in here, now that Virgil thinks about it. Virgil feels an unusual draw to her, but as he goes to take another step, he finds his feet don’t move. Confused, he glances down. Green vines have snaked around his ankles, locking him in place.

“What--”

“My darling,” the woman purrs, moving closer. “Virgil is a beautiful name. You’ll stay here with me, won’t you? Forever?”

Something about that sounds extremely tempting, and Virgil had the vague sense that it had something to do with the lingering sweetness in the air that reminded Virgil of when he was a child. When things felt easier. Simpler. But he… couldn’t stay, right? He… he was supposed to be going somewhere…

“I… I can’t,” Virgil says, beginning to wonder why it’s so hard to just think right now… “I’m supposed to… um… there’s something I’m… I gotta get to the, uh… I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” He can feel the vines snaking up his legs, wrapping around his waist and anchoring his wrists to his hips.

He feels like his brain is fighting through gelatin. 

“If you could uh, let me go?” he asks.

The woman smiles again, but Virgil swears it’s a row of sharp, pointed fangs that he hadn’t seemed to notice a moment ago. “But you only just got here.”

Virgil tries to wrestle his arms out of the net of vines but they only constrict tighter. He wheezes a cough as the vice-like grip forces some air from his lungs. “Yeah, I know, but--”

“Nobody leaves the Garden of Delight, darling.”

“I just really--”

“They stay here forever.”

“I really gotta--”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman growls, with something that definitely isn’t human edged sharply within the words. 

Virgil jerks away. “You’re not a goddess.”

“No,” she agrees, grinning wickedly. “And it’s been ages since I’ve had a meal as large and scrumptious as you.”

Virgil thrashes, but he’s held fast by the vines that are only getting tighter. “Let me go!” This is how he’s going to die, isn’t it? He’s such an idiot. “Don’t!” he shouts, though he knows it’s fruitless. There’s nobody around to hear him. Not for miles. How could he have been so stupid--

“That’s enough, fiend!” A new voice, a rich baritone, shouts from the cavern entrance. Virgil tries to crane his neck to look behind him but he only gets a flash of red, white, and gold before the monster in front of him hisses with a flash of pointed teeth.

Through his haze of muddied thoughts, it’s hard for Virgil to follow exactly what happens next. But there’s a glint of silver out of the corner of his eye and the creature before him shrieks in pain and anger. The constricting grip around him slackens suddenly and Virgil shrugs out of the plant cocoon that had been ensnaring him. 

He whirls around and sees a boy in a dirtied white prince suit jacket and a red sash across his chest. His dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and his dark eyes are intense with urgency. 

“Who are you?” Virgil asks.

“Go back the way you came,” he says instead of answering the question. “You’ll find a rope that you can climb to the surface. I’m going to take care of this overgrown fly-trap.” 

“Wait--”

The monster shrieks, her enraged scream echoing in the room. “I’m going to destroy you, you filthy, egotistical human!”

“Funny,” the boy shoots back, “because I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The monster lunges, and Virgil instinctively throws up an arm in front of his face to protect himself. The other boy snarls and slashes with the sword in his hands with expert precision. Virgil can’t help but be impressed. He’s certain that he never has looked that comfortable with a sword in his hands in his entire life. 

The scream from the monster cuts out abruptly as the other boy lodges the blade inside of her. She falls, disintegrating into a pile of dirt and vines. The boy wipes the back of his hand across his brow and arcs an eyebrow at Virgil. 

He motions to the cavern entrance. “After you.”

….

Virgil sighs as he pulls himself up over the ledge and back onto the forest floor. He never thought he’d be happy to see the Forest again, but he can’t deny the odd rush of relief. Anything was better than sharp fangs flashing in front of his face. 

“That… was intense,” he says as he hears the boy behind him pull himself up and start untying the rope from around the nearby tree he’d used as an anchor. “What was that thing?”

The boy pauses thoughtfully. Sunlight filters in through the leaves of the canopy above them and they make the boy’s dark eyes sparkle a bit. “I don’t know what they’re called, but the Forest is full of them.”

“Huh. Well, it’s a good thing you came along, I guess.” Virgil rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thank you for rescuing me, and for being so beautiful.” Virgil freezes.

So does the other boy, his gaze flashing over and his brow furrowing. “What?”

“Brave!” Virgil blurts and has to stop himself from cringing at his own lack of a filter. He wasn’t usually this clumsy. “Thank you for being so brave. Not beautiful. Wow.” He laughs awkwardly. “I don’t know why I said that. I think some of the toxins must still be messing with my head, y’know? Making me say crazy things. It’s not like I think you’re beautiful.”

The boy’s frown deepens and Virgil holds up his hands. “Not that I think you’re ugly! I mean, obviously you’re not ugly. Like, if you put a sword to my head and said are you attractive or ugly, obviously I’d have to go with attractive because objectively that’s just a fact--” Oh my God, Virgil, stop talking--“but it’s not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you or anything. Am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“You are,” the boy replies absently, his gaze narrowing at something off in the distance. Virgil is oddly relieved to get the sense that he stopped listening a while ago. 

“Right. So uh, I’m trying to say thank you.” Virgil takes a deep breath, trying to slow his still-racing thoughts and pounding heart. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been following you.” It’s only then that Virgil realizes the boy hadn’t been untying the rope from the tree--he’d been securing it more firmly. 

“What? You’ve been following me?” He watches as the other boy loops the rope over the tree branch, then makes a lasso with the loose end in his hands. “Um, what’s the lasso for?”

“I have some questions,” he answers, his gaze narrowing. “And since I don’t know you nor do I trust you, I thought you might be more inclined to answer them if you’re dangling from a tree.” 

“Oh,” Virgil says before it sinks in. “Wait, what--Hey!” Before he can stop it, the boy lasso’s Virgil’s waist and pulls, and Virgil sees the world spin violently before he’s staring dizzily at the boy upside down. “Let me down!”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest. “Now then. Who are you and what are you doing in this Forest?”

Virgil’s fingers twitch for his sword, but he figures he’d be about as likely to poke his own eye out than cut himself down. And even then, what would happen? He’d seen the boy face off with the forest monster and he’d sliced her like it was nothing with barely a flick of his wrist. Virgil couldn’t very well fight this boy. And besides, he doesn’t really want to. 

“Me? Just--I’m nobody. I’m just walking through.”

The boy scoffs and shakes his head. He waves a hand at him. “Your clothes are filthy but clearly Western from the design and fabric choices. And your sword carries the insignia of the royal family.” His gaze darkens then, and he takes a step closer. Virgil watches the way his grip on the sword flexes in preparation. “Do you work for them?”

“No!” he says immediately. “No, I--I don’t. No royal family for me.” 

“You’re alone then? You aren’t traveling with any member of the royal family?”

“No, definitely not.”

The boy studies him for a moment before he seems satisfied with the answer. “My apologies. You can never be too careful. Especially in this Forest.”

Virgil finds himself nodding despite the wave of confusion the comment brings. He just wants to get out of this in one piece. “No, of course.” 

The boy slides his sword into the scabbard at his hip. “My name is Roman. Prince of the East. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Uh, not really?”

“The younger brother of King Thomas? Heir to the Polished Throne. Defender of the Perished Realm.”

Virgil sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry.”

“Vanquisher of the Dragon Witch. Protector of the Sacred Flame. Champion of the Hero’s Forge.”

This is ridiculous, Virgil thinks. He arcs an eyebrow. “What was that last one?”

Something sparks in Roman’s eyes, and he places his hands on his hips as if posing for a portrait. “Champion of the Hero’s Forge?”

Virgil does take a second to wrack his memory, wondering if maybe he had read something about any of the ridiculous titles Roman had just rattled off, but nothing rings a bell. “Champion of the--no, sorry.”

Roman seems to deflate, his hands falling from his hips. “Really?”

He knows he shouldn’t--the boy is dangling him from a tree for crying out loud--but Virgil does feel a little bad for him. His ridiculous batch of titles notwithstanding. “We just don’t hear much about you guys in the West. Honestly, we weren’t even sure there was anyone left in the East. We’d sort of assumed the Forest had finished you all off.”

Which, now that Virgil thought about it, he honestly wasn’t sure if that was simply a misguided belief or another intentional deception to further obscure the truth about this Forest and the Curse from Virgil. Then again, Virgil thinks, Patton may have made a lot of mistakes, but he didn’t think willful deception like that was really Patton’s preferred method. He tended to just avoid things.

The most Virgil had heard about the East Kingdom had been in history books, scribbled in the margins of notebooks. From what Virgil’s been able to gather, the two kingdoms had gone to war ages ago. Virgil couldn’t figure out why, exactly, or even a direct timeline. He assumed it must have been thousands of years ago; so long that the true reason for the feud had been lost to history.

“Hm,” Roman says, his brows pinching together.

“But,” Virgil adds, “it’s nice to meet you, I guess. I’ve never met anyone from the East before. Honestly, I don’t even really know why we were at war with you. So like, maybe you could cut me down now?”

Roman’s careful, scrutinizing gaze sweeps over Virgil. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “You still haven’t told me who you are or what you’re doing in this Forest.”

Virgil’s thoughts trip over each other. He can’t very well give his real name--not when the boy had looked almost murderous when he asked about the royal family. He wracks his head for some kind of alternative. “My name is, um, Anxiety.” 

Roman blinks at him. “Anxiety?”

Virgil could kick himself. Of course that was a stupid answer. “Uh, yeah. That’s--that’s what everyone calls me, anyway. Not that I know a lot of people. I, um, live here. In the Forest. Alone.”

“You live in the Forbidden Forest?” Roman arcs a skeptical eyebrow. 

Virgil silently curses to himself. He’s really not that well-practiced in lying. He didn’t like it, generally. In his experience, it tended to just make things worse. But he could almost hear Janus’s voice in his head, telling him that lying to preserve his safety was preferred to getting hurt. 

“Yeah. I’m uh, on the run. From the royal family in the West.” That was… at least somewhat true?

“Why?”

The memories from yesterday morning flash through his mind. “I’m a thief.” Also kind of true.

“A thief.”

“Yes,” Virgil confirms. “How else do you think I got this sword with the royal insignia on it?” Virgil hopes silently and fervently that Roman’s unexplained contempt for the royal family would work in his favor here.

Roman scoffs. “Great,” he mutters, mostly to himself though loud enough for Virgil to hear, “Just what I need. A vagabond with no sense of honor. Fine. The Forest can deal with you.” He turns his back and starts walking away.

“Wait!” Virgil calls out. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.”

Roman turns back to him, crossing back the short distance. “What I can’t do is have a confessed criminal traipsing around the Forest.” He waves a hand to gesture around them. 

So apparently his contempt did not outweigh his morals. Virgil has the vague thought that Patton would approve of that, if nothing else. “You misunderstood,” Virgil stammers hurriedly. “When I said thief, I meant like a… a…” What was that story Patton used to read to him when they were kids? “Robin Hood kind of deal. You know, steal from the rich, feed the poor. That’s why the royal family hates me. I’m like a, um, hero.”

Roman’s brows shoot up in surprise. “A hero?”

“In a looser sense of the word--”

“How long have you been hiding in this forest?”

“Wh--oh. Years. Like… forever.” Virgil is starting to get a headache from the blood still rushing to his head. 

Roman looks unimpressed. “Yet you nearly got killed by a talking plant moments ago because you stumbled blindly into her lair.”

“Yes,” Virgil says, unable to disagree with that point when they both had been there and Roman had been following him, apparently. “But that’s the first time that’s ever happened.” True. “Which, if you think about it, is sort of a point in my favor, right?”

“Hm.” Roman purses his lips before yanking the sword out of his scabbard. Virgil flinches as it flashes in the sunlight, but there’s the sound of snapping rope and Virgil lands clumsily on the forest floor. The sudden headrush makes spots dance across his vision and Virgil blinks to clear them away.

“Warn a dude, next time?” Virgil grumbles.

“I’ll make you a deal, Robin Brood,” Roman announces, ignoring the comment. 

“You can call me Anxiety.”

“My first night in the Forest,” Roman presses on, “my horse got spooked and ran off with my map. Since then, I’ve been--”

“Completely lost?”

“In need of direction.” He points his sword towards Virgil with ease, like it’s an extension of his arm. “If you can take me where I need to go, I promise to spare your life and let you go at the end of our journey.”

That… seems fair to Virgil. He’d take this prince guy on a little side quest, and then he’d be able to rush to the Hollow shortly thereafter. A little detour should be fine, right? “Uh, sure. Yeah. I guess. Where do you need to go?”

“The Hollow of the Kings,” Roman answers as Virgil pushes himself to his feet. 

Virgil freezes, his brow furrowing. “Uh, sure. Yeah. But why do you need to go there?”

“That is none of your business. Do we have a deal or should I get my rope?”

Virgil holds his hands up in surrender. “No, sure. Yeah. I’ll take you to the Hollow.”

Roman crosses over to a heavy-looking bag and picks it up. “Now that you work for me, you’ll carry my things.” He shoves the bag into Virgil’s arms. Virgil staggers under the sudden weight, cursing under his breath.

“Yeah, no problem, buddy,” he quips sarcastically, adjusting his hold on the bag to more easily manage the weight. 

“Don’t call me buddy.”

“You got it, boss.” Virgil tries to hide a smirk. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something a little fun about teasing the other prince. 

“Your Royal Highness is fine,” Roman replies without a shred of irony.

Virgil snorts. “All right, Princey.”

Roman scowls. “Also, please only speak when spoken to. You talk a lot, and it’s beginning to give me a headache.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. His ears are still ringing from the headrush. “I’m giving you a headache?”

“Yes. Also--”

“Oh my God, how many rules do you have?”

Roman whirls around and Virgil finds the tip of his sword poised just below his chin. Roman’s expression darkens. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me about anything, I will feed you to the nearest plant. Got it?”

Virgil swallows. “Got it.”

“Great!” he says brightly, sheathing his sword once more. “Then onward we travel. Lead me to the Hollow, Robin Mood.”

“Same joke.”

“It was a variation.”

...

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t, @give-me-a-minute-to-think, @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear

[artificialqueens]

Bitch Fight, Ch.4 (Multi-Ship) - Lita

Welcome to the world of Femme Fatale Wrestling. The future is female, and we're here to prove it.

A/N: Thank you guys again for all the love - I'm stupid excited to post this one, the wider supporting cast is arguably one of my favourite things about writing this story, and I'm finally getting to introduce more of them. I've not got a ton more to say, so hope you all enjoy! <3<3

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT

Adore trails behind Bianca into the locker room, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’d been excited about this ever since Bianca had brought it up to her - her first real show, her first true steps into the business; the start of something new, the beginning of the rest of her life or what-the-fuck-ever. But contrary to her expectations, it feels kind of...boring?

There are maybe five or six other girls milling around in metallic spandex, mostly sitting on the benches staring at their phones; a couple stood in front of the mirror putting on makeup or fixing their hair. The room smells like hairspray and Icy Hot, and it’s overly-bright and depressingly empty. They’d come around the back entrance to the building, Bianca leading Adore through endless white, fluorescent-lit corridors that she really hoped she wasn’t going to have to navigate herself on her way to the ring, because she definitely hadn’t been paying enough attention to know where she was going a second time.

Bianca drops her bag down on the bench, starting to fish her gear out of it - Adore stands next to her, not sure what to do with herself. The woman sitting across from them looks up from her phone, walking over to them. She pulls Bianca into a hug.

“Thank god you’re here - Miss Fame got food poisoning, so she’s off the card. She was supposed to be working the main event with Courtney - who, by the way, isn’t even here yet, - Bill’s been tearing me a new asshole all night, and trying to get Jinkx to give a crap is like trying to get blood out of a stone- hold the phone, who is that?” She’s talking at an insane speed, even Bianca seems to be struggling to understand her, before she stops dead; staring Adore down.

“This is Adore. I found her in the parking lot a few weeks ago and I’ve been training her. I figured that we could give her a chance to work some shit in front of a real crowd tonight. She’s still green, but she can bump like a motherfucker and she’ll do basically anything you tell her to.” Adore gives an awkward smile, waving. “And before you ask, yes I okayed it with Bill.”

She breathes a heavy sigh, relaxing her shoulders. She’s a little shorter than Bianca, and curvier; short, dark hair, dressed in a black and lilac singlet. Bianca turns to Adore.

“Adore, this is Dela. I’d say she doesn’t always seem this crazy - she does, but you learn to live with it.” Bianca says. “I have shit to do that doesn’t involve babysitting people all night. You-” she turns to Adore. “-go talk to people, make some friends that aren’t me. And Dela, chill the fuck out.” She takes her stuff, walking off in the vague general direction of what Adore assumes is the bathroom to go and get changed.

“Y’know, you need to stop talking about people like they’re not standing right in front of you,” Dela shouts after her, before turning to Adore. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetie. Sorry about all that.”

“It’s cool,” Adore shrugs, easing up a little. “I like your hair. It’s cute.”

Dela blushes. “Thank you.” She sits down, patting the bench beside her. Adore takes a seat next to her. “Yeah, I promise it’s not usually this bad, tonight has been more of a wreck than usual. My wife owns the promotion - she used to wrestle too, but she had to retire last year, and let’s just say she hasn’t taken to it well. Every day is kinda substitute teacher day right now.”

“It’s okay - I don’t mind. I’m just excited to be here.” Adore has to stifle an excited laugh - it’s true. It didn’t matter how hard training had been - Bianca had worked her like a fucking drill sargeant for the first few days, until she realised that the one thing that Adore could do quite well was throwing herself at the floor. Those years on the deathmatch circuit had definitely paid off. She’d started learning some actual wrestling; mostly just locking up and basic holds and maneuvers - her back was still black and blue from learning to run the ropes - but she was making good progress, and they’d discovered mostly by accident that she was capable of a semi-passable moonsault. It felt good - seeing the pride in Bianca’s face whenever she did something right. All the sucky nights of sleep, and bodily aches, and early mornings, and exhaustion felt fucking worth it.

She had been like a kid on Christmas Eve the night before. Lying staring at the ceiling of Bianca’s guest room, as she had been for the last month or so - at Bea’s insistence; since Adore would be sticking around for the foreseeable future, it made more sense than having her sleep in her driveway. Bianca was, at her core, really sweet, even if she seemed to hate people knowing it - struggling to even contemplate going to sleep because she couldn’t shut her brain up. But that morning, the excitement had melted away into nerves, which had steadily mounted as the day dragged on.

“Bianca said she’d been training you, right?”

“Yeah - I’ve been like, sort of wrestling for a few years. But it was all backyard deathmatch shit, I didn’t really know how to do anything besides hit people with chairs and make them bleed,” she shrugs, laughing a little.

Dela grimaces. “I feel like I don’t need to ask what happened to your arm then?”

“Oh yeah,” Adore laughs. The scars from her last match are still red and raw-looking, freshly healed and still kind of gross. Which probably hadn’t been helped by her insistence on picking at them, much to Bianca’s general disgust, but she thought they looked cool. “A guy threw me through a sheet of glass, it was fucking dope. That’s how I met Bianca. I’ve been watching her since I was a kid - I ran into her in the parking lot here, and asked her to come to one of my matches. She did, and then she freaked the fuck out and drove me to the ER, but we’re friends now, so it’s cool.”

Dela looks a little uneasy, before perking up. “Well, I think you’re gonna like it here. The other girls are all really nice. Plus you’re in good hands with Bianca - I’ve known her for years, she’s a great worker.”

“She is really cool,” Adore smiles. “So are you,” she adds. Dela smiles.

“You’re sweet,” Dela says. “I need to go talk to Bill - you’ll have heard me talking about him, he’s our referee and - I hope - temporary booker, so I can try and work out where you’re gonna fit on the card. What’s your ring name again?”

“Uh, Adore Delano.”

“And where do you wanna be billed from?”

“Uh, I’m from Azusa.” Dela has the notes app open on her phone, and she jots this down, nodding.

“So, I think the best people to try and put you with will be either me or Bianca - you’ve obviously worked with her before, and second to her I’m the most experienced person here. Not that anyone else is bad, necessarily, but I feel like being in there with a veteran to keep you on the right track is a good idea. Does that sound okay with you?”

“Sure,” Adore says, nodding.

“So, you’ll probably be opposite either Dela Monsoon - that’s me - or Santerìa, which I think you know is Bianca, on the card.”

“Party,” Adore says. Dela gives a bemused laugh.

“Cool - I promise nobody bites, go talk to some of the other ladies,” Dela says, standing up. Adore smiles as she leaves the room.

This is fun. Stressful, but fun. Adore isn’t really sure what to do with herself, looking around in the room of new faces and feeling an unfamiliar ball of nerves sitting in the pit of her stomach. As much as she doesn’t miss what went on in the ring quite as much, she misses the atmosphere before the shows she used to work. It was more chilled-out than this - and there were more people like her. More people who seemed less straight-laced and focused. She didn’t have much in the way of a pre-show ritual, but throwing back a couple of beers in someone’s car before taping up her fists and heading to the ring had always been pretty par-for-course. Turning up to the venue and then sitting around doing nothing for hours felt insane to her.

She feels out-of-place and a little unsure of herself; everyone else seemed so polished. She looks over to the girl standing across from her in gold attire. She has one foot up on the bench as she laces up her boots; dark skin and white-blonde hair down to her hips.

“Hi,” Adore calls over to her; the other woman gives her a quick, tight-lipped smile, saying nothing as she turns back to tying her shoes. Adore breathes in, crossing her legs and readjusting herself a little uncomfortably.

“What the fuck are you doing? Go get changed,” Bianca, back from the bathroom, elbows her in the shoulder. She’s in her ring gear now - a crop top and tights, dark red with gold accents. Her hair is tied into a loose bun at the back of her neck, and she’s turned to rake around in her bag for her makeup.

“Bitch, I am changed,” Adore protests. She’s in the same denim shorts and bra combo that she’s always worn to the ring.

“Really?” Bianca looks her up and down. “I know for a goddamn fact that those shorts are still covered in your blood, because you have not done a single load of laundry in the last month.”

“It gives them character.” Adore shrugs.

“I’m more concerned that you don’t seem to ever change your underwear,” Bianca mutters, rolling her eyes. “What about your hair? Makeup? Anything?”

“Done and done,” Adore says, blasse. Bianca looks exasperated. She’s wearing her hair down, yesterday’s eyeliner having become today’s smoky eye, and little more effort put in besides throwing on some lipstick and fresh mascara. Adore has never bothered to put in any more work than this before a show, and she’s not sure why Bianca seems to expect that she should change that now. Bianca seems different to usual - tense and a little edgy.

Bianca rolls her eyes. “The show doesn’t start for another hour and a half, do you literally have nothing else to do besides staring at the wall with your thumb up your ass?”

“I wanna go smoke,” Bianca huffs a sigh; Adore looks up at her with plaintive puppy eyes.

“Fine - there’s a fire exit down the hall. Go out there, and don’t take forever.”

******

Adore steps outside, pulling her pack of cigarettes and lighter out of her bra. God, this place is big, and the hallways are confusing. There are two others out there already - a brunette, a few feet away from them with her finger in one ear, arguing into her cellphone in what sounds like Japanese, and a blonde standing with a joint between her fingers.

They’re both wearing matching bra and shorts combos, in chartreuse green, with kickpads and elbow-length fingerless gloves that both read ‘PRETTY DOPE’; carrying matching title belts. The brunette has hers around her waist, the blonde’s is slung backwards over her shoulder as she holds it by the end of the strap. Adore breathes in, approaching the blonde as she lights her smoke.

“Hey.”

“Who the fuck are you?” She curls her lip. She has hair to her shoulders with short, blunt bangs and sporadic streaks of green through it. She blows smoke out through her nose, straight into Adore’s face.

“Uh- I’m Adore, I’m-”

“Honey, no-one asked,” the blonde says bluntly.

“But you literally just-”

“Bitch, I don’t care. You’re killing my vibe here.” Adore shrinks into herself a little, taking a drag of her cigarette. The blonde pushes Adore out of the way to lean over to shout to the other girl: “Hey Gia! You want a hit?”

The brunette gives an exasperated groan, yelling into her phone again before abruptly ending the call, stuffing the phone into her bra and walking over to them. She takes the joint out of the blonde’s hand, placing it between her lips.

“Urgh, I wish my mom would hop off my fucking dick - who is that?” She points at Adore, who is now leaning against the wall, trying to make herself seem as small as possible. Her voice has gone up about three octaves compared to how she was speaking on the phone.

“Some bitch called Adore. Are you okay?” She looks at Gia.

“Yeah, just more stupid shit about wanting me to come back home. I mean, I know it’s been six years or whatever, but like, you know I can’t.” The blonde looks a little concerned, her face tentative. “What? Are you on her side now or something?”

“No! Just like…I dunno, she’s your mom. Maybe she just misses you and shit.”

“You need to hop off my dick too.” Gia curls her lip. She flicks ash at the ground, passing the joint back to the blonde, who takes another long draw.

Adore scuffs the toes of her shoes along the ground. The sun is still up; the air hot, sticky, and gross. She doesn’t do humidity. She can feel herself sweating, and is struck with a sudden, weird paranoia over body odour - did she pack deodorant? Someone in the locker room will have, she can ask them. Can she ask them? She isn’t sure - she doesn’t want to annoy Bianca, and everyone else keeps looking at her or, in the case of the two standing across from her, whispering into each other’s ears with their backs to her, talking to her like they think she’s insane. God, Adore can’t remember the last time she felt this self-conscious.

“Yo, Adore!” the blonde calls over to her. Adore jumps, dropping her cigarette on the ground. Gia laughs, loud and obnoxious, before her friend elbows her; Gia grabbing at her arm, scowling. The blonde holds her joint out to her. “Want some?”

Adore stutters a little. “Uh- no thanks, I’m good.”

“Loser,” Gia says. “We’re trying to be nice.”

“Sorry, I-”

The door that Adore is leaning against opens, hitting her in the back, and she trips over; only just stopping herself from falling on the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice cries out - grabbing Adore’s arm to steady her.

Thank fuck - it was Dela on the other side. Gia and her friend start shuffling around, pushing each other as if trying to hide from the older woman, in plain sight. Dela lets out a heavy sigh.

“Ladies, I’m not stupid. I can smell it from down the hall.”

Gia holds up her empty hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice is drawling and cunty as she takes a step towards Dela, like she’s trying to intimidate her.

“Laganja?” The blonde avoids eye contact with Dela. “You have a match later, I shouldn’t have to keep telling you this shit - we expect literally everyone else to be sober in the ring, you guys aren’t an exception.” Dela says. Laganja gives a heavy roll of her eyes, dropping the joint on the floor. It’s only been around a quarter smoked. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that.”

“You suck,” Laganja says as they both trail back towards the door, Gia muttering ‘fucking narc’ just loud enough to be audible as she deliberately rams her shoulder into Dela.

Dela bites her lip - clearly trying to compose herself as Adore lights another cigarette; the one she’d dropped had only been half-finished, and she’s still a little tetchy, feeling a bizarre need to occupy her hands.

“You want one?” She holds the cigarette pack out to Dela, who takes one; Adore lights it for her.

“Thanks,” Dela takes a drag, before breathing out a heavy sigh, relaxing a little. “Are you okay?”

Adore nods. “Pretty much - they were kinda dicks.”

Dela raises her eyebrows knowingly. “Pretty Dope are harmless,” she says, her tone flat and somewhat insincere. “Yeah, they’re dicks, but if you want my opinion, it’s on purpose because they think it makes them look cool. Do you know the meaning of the phrase ‘being a mark for oneself’?”

Adore shrugs. “Kinda?”

“They believe their own hype too much,” Dela explains. “Like, we all have our persona or gimmick or whatever, but they live theirs rather than working it. It’s a lot. That said, they’re both great performers. They’re our tag team champs - I think they probably will be for a while, we don’t have a ton of other tag teams.”

“Right,” Adore nods.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?”

“Uh...the black girl in the gold bikini? Well, I tried to, anyway. She didn’t speak to me back.” Dela smiles a little.

“Oh, that’s Trinity. She’s a sweetheart - she’s just insanely shy. It’s not you, I promise. She’s incredible in the ring, though - big wrestling family. You’re way too young to remember GLOW, right? Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling?”

Adore shakes her head.

“It was a wrestling show from the 80s, all women - it was kinda before my time too, but my dad had a few tapes of it when I was a kid, and I was obsessed with it. Anyway, Trin’s mom was on that for years, she was a pretty big deal - ‘The Welfare Queen’ Latrice Royale?”

“Holy shit - I think I met her at a convention when I was like, nine. My mom used to take me to stuff like that all the time.” Adore smiles.

“Like I said, I was raised on that show - she was always one of my favourites, I think I nearly died when I found out Trin was her daughter,” Dela laughs.

“Have you been wrestling for a while?”

“Ten years? Maybe fifteen. I started out as a manager - my wife and I had this really cute knock-off Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth thing going for a few years, then we started teaming together. It was awesome - we used to be called The Weather Girls, we walked out to the ring to It’s Raining Men. I miss working with her.” Dela gives a long sigh.

“Bianca talks about her a lot too. She sounds dope.”

Dela gives a weak smile. She looks distant - not saying anything for a while, staring at the ground between draws. Adore isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. Dela shakes herself off a little, putting her cigarette out against the wall and turning to Adore.

“Shit - I totally forgot, I came out here for a reason. Bianca said this is where I’d find you, I need to talk to you. We finalised the card - I promise everything isn’t usually this last-minute, but tonight has been a little crazy. Now, this is gonna sound insane, and it seems like a lot for your first night, but- y’know what, just come back inside.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto XI (The Departure for Angband)

This chapter contains - at the reunion of Beren and Lúthien - my favourite passage in the Leithian, and one of my favourites that Tolkien has ever written, and I think part of my reason for delaying is that I wasn’t sure how to do it justice. But that’s a little farther on.

The chapter opens with a brief account of the Siege of Angband and the Dagor Bragollach. It’s a very strong section of the poem, to the point where it’s hard to know which specific portions to quote; the rhyme and cadence and imagery is all excellent, and is enhanced by a kind of triptych structure from beauty to fire to ruin:

Once wide and smooth a plain was spread,

where King Fingolfin proudly led

his silver armies on the green,

his horses white, his lances keen;

his helmets tall of steel were hewn,

his shields were shining as the moon.

...

Rivers of fire at dead of night

in winter lying cold and white

upon the plain burst forth, and high

the red was mirrored in the sky.

...

Dor-na-Fauglith, Land of Thirst,

they after named it, waste accurst,

the raven-haunted roofless grave

of many fair and many brave.

The description of the dark forest of Taur-nu-Fuin is also wonderfully evocative: sombre pines with pinions vast, / black-plumed and drear, as many a mast / of sable-shrouded shops of death / slow wafted on a ghostly breath.

One of the great recurring themes in Tolkien is the way that all evil, whatever its initial motive and impetus, falls in the end to ruin for ruin’s sake, to the destruction and defilement of all things as a end rather than a means. The image of the Anfauglith is repeated with the desolation before Mordor (gasping pools choked with ash and crawling muds, sickly white and grey, as if the mountains had vomited the filth of their entrails upon the lands about...great cones of earth fire-blasted and poison-stained) and the ruin that Saruman makes of Isengard (trees hewn down and replaced with pillars of metal and stone, joined by heavy chains; meadows paved over; underground furnaces with vents emitting steams, like a graveyard of the unquiet dead), and even Lotho and Saruman’s harm to the Shire (from knocking down Sandyman’s mill to make a bigger one that wasn’t needed, to the mill under Saruman not grinding grain at all but only making smoke and stench and fouling the water).

It’s not as if there is a fundamental benefit to Sauron in making the ruin in front of the Black Gate, or to Saruman in his attempts to destroy the Shire; both start out at one point with the aim of “fixing” the world and putting it in order, and this degenerates into control and rule for its own sake, and then into purposeless malice against not only people but the land itself, with misery and destruction as the only aim. We see small echoes of it elsewhere, as at Losgar.

This theme provides a strong contrast to Beren’s song before his departure across the Anfauglith, which is centred on celebration of nature and creation for its own sake, in and of itself, without any thought of control or ownership. The song fits with Beren’s demonstrated love of nature in earlier chapters, where during his lone guerilla war against Sauron he eats only plants, and is friend and allues with the animals of Dorthonion and with nature-spirits (minor Maiar?) as well: and many spirits, that in stone / in mountains old and wastes alone / do dwell and wander, were his friends. (It also has some echoes in Sam’s song in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.)

The song is given here in longer form than in The Silmarillion:

Farewell now here, ye leaves of trees,

your music in the morning-breeze!

Farewell now blade and bloom and grass

that see the changing seasons pass;

ye waters murmuring over stone,

and meres that silent stand alone!

The song also evokes a lot of the themes that came up in my discussion of CS Lewis’ The Four Loves, particularly the part on eros. Beren has virtually no expectation of coming back alive; he expect to die at best, or be captured and tortured at worst. But making the attempt is, to him, better than willfully choosing a life separated from Lúthien, and better than risking her coming to harm because of him. (The latter, as she will soon point out, is no longer something he has any choice about!) Both of them prefer the very high probability of torment or death over being parted from each other.

Additionally, Beten’s song is one of the purest expressions within Tolkien’s works of the element of admiration in love: delight in the beloved in their own right, above and beyond anything that has happened or will happen or any connection to you personally:

Though all to ruin fell the world / and were dissolved and backward hurled / unmade into the old abyss / yet were its making good, for this / the dawn, the dusk, the earth, the sea / that Lúthien for a time should be!

This feels, also, like it is getting at something deep within the mood of Tolkien’s works, where so much is destroyed or fades or is lost: the existence of beauty and goodness continues to be good, to be meaningful, even when the good and beautiful things have themselves passed away. They were, and that is better than if they had never been.

And here we come to my favourite part of the entire Leithian:

“Ah, Beren, Beren!” came a sound,

“almost too late have I thee found!

O proud and fearless hand and heart,

not yet farewell, not yet we part!

Not thus do those of elven race

forsake the love that they embrace.

A love is mine, as great a power

as thine to shake the gate and tower

of death with challenge weak and frail

that yet endures, and will not fail

nor yield, unvanquished were it hurled

beneath the foundations of the world.

Beloved fool! escape to seek

from such pursuit; in might so weak

to trust not, thinking it well to save

from love thy loved, who welcomes grave

and torment sooner than in guard

of kind intent to languish, barred,

wingless and helpless him to aid

for whose support her love was made!”

Thus back to him came Lúthien:

they met beyond the ways of Men;

upon the brink of terror stood

between the desert and the wood.

This returns to the previously-stated theme around eros: for Lúthien, being captured and tirmented in Angband is a better fate than willingly parting from him, or allowing him to leave her behind for her protection. And this, I think, is why Beren and Lúthien succeed in gaining the Silmaril: be ause their goal is not the Silmaril, their goal is each other.

But there’s more to it than that. I love the passage for Lúthien’s assertion that it is not Beren’s chouce whether she can risk danger and death for his sake. He does not have either the power or the right to protect her from her love of him. (I do think it’s something of a wonder that he still decides to go ahead with the Quest after this rather the the alternative of “let’s elope and be nature-hobos together”, but a lifetime of looking over your shoulders for the forces of Angband and the Fëanorians [yes, I think C&C would’ve gone after them out of spite even without the Quest, given their behaviour in the previous chapter] and Doriathrim sent to kidnap Lúthien back home is daunting in its own way; at least this way, if they succeed it will be over.)

This also goes for friendship (philia): in The Lord of the Rings hobbits express the same sentiment in more commonplace terms, in Merry’s, “You cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo,” and Sam’s “I’m coming too, or neither of us isn’t going. I’ll knock holes in all the boats first.” Or, even more so, in another line of Sam’s during the Breaking of the Fellowship:

“All alone and without me to help you? I couldn’t have a borne it, it’d have been the death of me.”

“It would be the death of you to come with me, Sam,” said Frodo, “and I could not have borne that.”

“Not as certain as being left behind,” said Sam.

Returning to the Leithian: Beren is still reluctant to have Lúthien accompany him into danger. And has a line here whose sentiment always seems to show up in my thoughts about Maedhros and Fingon (“Thrice now mine oath I curse,” he said, “that under shadow thee hath led!”)

Huan, returning with disguises for Beren and Lúthien, uses his second of three lifetime chances of speech to back up Lúthien’s point, and to advise them to disguise themselves as Draugluin and Thuringwethil. This includes one of the more amusing lines in the Leithian, with Huan’s Lo! good was Felagund’s device, but may be bettered. Hi, Finrod, you’re being patronized by a dog. :D He thinks you get, maybe, a B+ on the tactics planning. (Beren gets an F, quite bluntly: Hopeless the quest, but not yet mad, unless thou, Beren, run thus clad in mortal raiment, mortal hue, witless and redeless, death to woo.)

Lúthien uses magic to disguise them effectively, and to prevent the terrible disguises from affecting their minds; it’s difficult, skillful, and lengthy work: With elvish magic Lúthien wrought / lest raiment foul with evil fraught / to a dreadful madness drive their hearts / and there she wrought with elvish arts / a strong defence, a binding power / singing until the mdnight hour.

It is a few days’ journey across the Anfauglith to the gates of Angband and, again, reminiscent of Frodo and Sam’s journey through Mordor; briefer, but also worse in some respects, as they have neither food nor water.