castle climbing

highlights from my 12-person d&d session

Or, “How I Saved the World from Complete and Total Destruction… Oh, and These Eleven Idiots Were Here Too, I Guess” by Ilya the Bard

  • The halfling monk interpreted “no armor” to mean “no clothing at all” and also, “covered in oil.” The rest of the party didn’t want to get near him, which was unfortunate because we all had to squeeze together to sneak past some zombie giants, and the naked monk almost ruined it by scraping his bare butt against one of them
  • The tiefling sorcerer/warlock (or sorlock), a follower of the Great Old One, a cult leader, and ostensibly the most evil member of the party, spent most of the campaign buffing or otherwise aiding other party members. The paladin, who had vowed to kill him once the session was over, changed his mind by the end because “you’re all right.”
  • The paladin climbed a castle wall, launched himself at a Beholder, stabbed it in the eye with a spear and then hung there as the rest of the party piled other attacks on top of him, yelling, “I CAN TAKE IT!”
  • The Beholder cast Dominate Person on a few party members, but that didn’t do anything because we killed it before it got to their turn… in just over a single round of combat. Twelve-person party, man.
  • The drow rogue (named Drizzl Do’Furty) spent half of the campaign disguised as a Canadian suburban dad named Chad who stumbled upon the dungeon while looking for the Home Depot and just… stayed there.
  • Later, the rogue got swallowed by a Mimic and lost his disguise in the ensuing chaos. The paladin became convinced that the drow was someone else entirely and Chad had been devoured by the Mimic.
  • The rouge encouraged this by using his Helm of Telepathy to pretend to be Chad’s ghost.
  • The human fighter (one of several) didn’t use his weapons and instead just threw vials of acid at the bosses.
  • The naked monk, upon discovering that he was immune to poison, proceeded to cover himself with neurotoxin and drow poison to deal extra poison damage whenever he punched something. The rest of the party’s reactions to touching him went from “ew” to “oh hell no” and he was forced to travel at the back of the party, at least ten feet away from the nearest other party member.
  • My character, a half-elf bard, rolled a nat 20 on Deception and convinced a group of ilithid that we were Eldritch Girl Scouts selling cookies. They let us pass without fighting us, with an order to “leave the cookies here for when you die further into the dungeon”
  • A few rooms later, my bard rolled a crit fail on her Arcana check for a magic statue and became absolutely convinced that you had to eat the statue to proceed through the dungeon. She almost persuaded other party members to actually do it.
  • When the drow was swallowed by the Mimic, the sorlock used Eldritch Blast at least six times in a row to punt it, at intervals of 10 feet, out of a side room into the main room while the rest of us waited. We immediately dealt over 100 damage to it, which… killed it very very dead.
  • Upon facing the final boss, a gigantic red dragon, the dragonborn sorcerer attempted to seduce it by singing a traditional dragon courting ballad, Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” accompanied by the rest of the party.
  • He failed.
  • The sorlock polymorphed his horse (which he had been riding this entire time) into a T-Rex. The resulting wild magic surge made him unable to speak for the next minute, and instead pink bubbles came out of his mouth.
  • He counterspelled the dragon’s subsequent Polymorph spell on him by flipping it off with both hands. Luckily, Counterspell only needs a somatic component.
  • I inspired the dragonborn sorcerer, who was named Jeremiah, by singing “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog.” He immediately spent it on persuading the dragon to kiss him.
  • He succeeded.
  • And then was KO’d by the dragon.
  • The dragon collapsed the bottom of the dungeon and sent us all plummeting into an infinite free-fall. Our party dealt with this in several ways, including:
    • Casting Feather Fall or Fly on themselves/other party members
    • Casting Feather Fall and then Fly on the T-Rex, and having other party members grab onto it
    • Dimension Door onto the back of the dragon (me, and the paladin)
    • Using a grappling hook to grapple onto the dragon’s tail (acid-throwing fighter)
    • Having another party member throw them onto the dragon, while both party members are falling (halfling monk)
  • The monk decided to run as far up the dragon’s nostril as he could in order to better deal poison damage.
  • The dragon was finally killed by 5 points of poison damage from the naked, oily, covered in poison halfling monk shoved halfway up its nose.
  • The world was saved. A glorious end.

This post from a year ago has been going around about me, so I figured I would re-introduce myself!!

My name is Josh, and I am tumblr user @seem!  I am 19, and I currently live in California!  This is my face after climbing Castle Crags.  I might of had the flu…and had no idea we were going on a hike…and then it was 3 miles straight up that mountain  So this is my face of victory on top! (yall…there are approximately 0 mountains in Ohio)

Some things you should know about me:  I grew up in Ohio with 5 siblings.  I was the 5th of 6.  We were all homeschooled because my family was running an organization in Kenya and we were going back and forth.  My sister started an orphanage there that houses 40 kids and runs a school for the deaf that houses 100!  I lived there with her for 4 months when I was 16 and it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life!  I am also a speed reader.  When I’m motivated I can read 7-8 full length books a week.  I’m obsessed with chipotle.  I don’t own any pants.  One time I got stung by a jellyfish and was rushed to the hospital.  When I was 10 I thought I was pregnant.  I’ve seen 30 lions have sex and almost got killed by elephants.  I have this emotional connection with tassels.  I have a dog named Zeke and he is my entire world.  My goal in life is to spend at least a week in every country on earth.

So this is Josh!  And my blog is mostly about nature/travel!!  I’m looking for a bunch more people to follow because I need more nature/humor on my dashboard!!  I’ll check out every blog that follows me/reblogs this post!!  You’ll probably get a message from me about how much I love you too because y’all are amazing.  And if you want more of my tragic backstory feel free to message me! 💕💕💕

In the Shadow of the Cobra

Castle Valley, Utah

Rock climbers make it to the top of the red rock spires of Fisher Towers in the Castle Valley area near Moab, Utah. The silhouetted rock formation to the left is called The Cobra. Unfortunately, the balanced rock no longer sits atop the formation. It is believed a lightning strike was the cause of its demise.


It’s still February so it still counts as Valentine’s Day fic, right?  Right? *nervous laugh*

There’s another drawing, too, but it really belongs at the end of the story, so it’s under the spoiler cut.

Inspired by this post about a Valentine’s Day-ike holiday for Hyrule - almost all the worldbuilding about Ribbon Day is from there, so credit where it’s due, those aren’t my ideas!

Ribbon Day

8,007 words, Vio/Shadow, rated T

Summary: When Shadow is introduced to a Hyrulean holiday celebrating different kinds of relationships, he starts to question whether his feelings for Vio are really as platonic as he has believed them to be for the past two years.  But even if he lets himself admit that it’s romantic love, he can’t escape the feeling that he’s getting it wrong somehow.  That he’s missing some crucial piece.

Who would expect a shadow-demon to be able to love properly, anyway?

Featuring asexual!Shadow, internalized acephobia/self-loathing, and lots of pining.  Which makes it sound like a much sadder story than it actually is.  I swear it ends well!

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To Play The Game: A Jonsa Fanfiction. Chapter 1

Jon Snow had safely arrived back at Winterfell. He mounted off his horse, adjusted his cloak and pat the mare’s back. The snow crunched beneath his boots and he exhaled. Home. He was Home. He knew he was home before he’d even arrived at Winterfell because of the fresh air and the clean breeze that had slapped his face. The South smelt like horseshit. He still didn’t understand why people wanted to live there, let alone sit on that worthless throne made of Iron. He’d rather die from the harsh conditions and peril that awaited him in the North, than suffer a meaningless death fighting over that worthless clunk of metal. As he walked nearer to the gates, he saw three figures come into view. His heart contracted. His legs would have probably gave out if not for the strong hold he had on his horses reins. He was overcome with such an array of emotions. One’s he had not allowed himself to feel in Dragonstone- could not let himself feel. A childlike sort of ecstasy came about him as he beheld those figures. His family. His pack

Bran. Arya. Sansa. Sansa.

He quickened his pace not even paying mind to the way he dragged his horse along with him. Behind him, he knew Davos was smiling. The gates opened and Arya marched toward him. Small, she was still so small. But gone was his little sister. For the girl- the woman- who stood before him now looked fierce. Unyielding. Strong. And strapped to her side was needle; the sword Jon had demanded was crafted specially for her. His heart swelled upon seeing that smallsword. And her eyes sparkled. Just her eyes alone spoke of so much raw emotion. So many unsaid words. They reached out for each other. And Jon did fall to his knees then as he threw his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly as if to make sure she was real. That she was there.

“Jon,” She said. Her voice cracking only slightly.

“Arya,” He said quietly. 

After they had both confirmed one another to be real, they let go of each other. 

He looked down at her. “Look’s like you learned how to use that sword.” Jon said with a small smile. 

She grinned. “I still use the very first lesson you gave to me.”

“Oh?” He asked innocently.

Her grin became wolf-like. “First lesson,” She said. “Stick em with the pointy end.”

His eyes sparkled. “Aye,”

He walked toward Bran with a more resigned smile. He’d been warned about Bran. He wasn’t the same as before. Not the Bran that had such bright eyes. Not the Bran that had dreamed of being a knight. Not the bran that climbed the castle walls with such joy. No, he’d never climb again. The world had been too cruel to Bran- cruel to them all- but far too cruel to Bran. His childhood snatched away. His youth taken too soon. He clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a gentle smile. Bran’s face was devoid of emotion- he couldn’t feel anything anymore, but his hand still reached to cover Jon’s. And it was better than nothing.

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you dead.” Jon whispered.

Bran looked up from his hand on top of his brother’s. “I always knew our paths would cross again. I’ve always been there with you. Always been watching. Even if you didn’t know.”

Too grave. His voice sounded too grave, too wise for someone so young. But Jon nodded his head all the same. 

“I would like to speak to you. When you’re well enough rested. There is much I wish to discuss with you.”

Jon nodded his head and squeezed his brothers shoulder again. “Of course.”

And finally, he looked to her. To Sansa. Sansa whom he had tried and failed to get out of his head for several months. Sansa who’s beautiful auburn hair flowed gently with the wind. Sansa who was still so breathtakingly beautiful that Jon thought he was going to be sick. He wondered if she knew. Knew that it was her name that he whispered amongst the nights stars. And only her name- the thought of her that had given him the strength to carry out such dishonourable acts. Only thoughts of her could drive out the darkness. Only thoughts of her could bring in the light. How the winds whispered her name. How his soul longed for her. And as he looked at her, the red-headed goddess he so wished was not his sister, how her eyes sparkled when she beheld him… Yes, he thought. There was no doubt in his mind. For Sansa, he would gladly wreck himself in two.

“Sansa-” He began and was interrupted for he heard the galloping of more horses. Horses that signalled she had arrived. 

Jon looked at Sansa and kissed her forehead. He drew back slowly.  They stared at each other. There was ice and fire and understanding. He nodded at her and she nodded back. Later. They would speak later. 

For the dragon queen had arrived amongst the wolves. And wolves did not let outsiders in to their pack. 

Jorah helped Daenery’s Targaryen dismount her horse. And she walked toward Jon. A smile on her face- the smile of a lover. Jon gave back what he thought was his best sensual grin. At least that was what he thought, until Sansa subtly (and quite hardly) kicked the back of his leg. The dragon queen stood beside Jon proudly. Impatiently. Expectant. It was only Bran whom inclined his head to acknowledge her status.

“Your grace.” He said plainly.

But Arya stood defiantly her chin raised high and Sansa seemed to be sizing her up. Daenery’s eyes flared with rage but she did not speak. Sansa finally bowed- to Jon. 

“Welcome home, your grace.” She said sweetly. 

Jon inclined his head. “Thank you, Sansa.” 

Sansa then turned to the dragon queen and bowed. “Your grace,” She said courteously. Ever a Queen.  

Daenery’s understood then. She wasn’t exactly disregarding her status. She was simply acknowledging Jon’s claim before her own. She didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Welcome to Winterfell, your grace.” Sansa began. “I hope you’ll find the room prepared for you to your standards. Everything is ready for your immediate use.”

“Thank you,” Dany said. “And where will my dragons stay? I assume you have prepared a place for them also?” She questioned.

But before Sansa could reply, Jon stepped in and said firmly. “Sansa is the lady of Winterfell. It is not her place to make such arrangements. The grounds master will see too it they are put in a suitable place.”

Dany looked up at Jon and furrowed a brow (though her heart still leaped when she saw him and filled her with joy), she was surprised. And puzzled. Slowly, she nodded. He smiled at her and she returned it back happily. But looking at Sansa, she wondered why it had been failed to have mentioned The Lady Of Winterfell was so beautiful. And why she had received misinformation on the nature of Jon and Sansa’s relationship. Because from the fierce way he defended her and the dutiful and loving way she had first acknowledged him, Dany knew it wasn’t an estranged one as she had been led to believe.

“If that is all,” Said Sansa. “I have a lot of paperwork to oversee before we dine.” She turned to Jon. “Your Grace?” She asked. Asking to be dismissed.

He nodded. Giving her such a tender and loving look. One Daenery’s had never seen directed at her. 

“Aye,” Jon said to his lady-sister. “I’ll see you before we dine.” 

Sansa left then. Gathering up her skirts in her hands so it wouldn’t trudge through the snow. With one last grin at Jon (ignoring Dany completely), Arya followed whilst wheeling Bran away. Sansa waited for them to catch up. Brienne bowed before Jon and then trailed after the two girls. 

Bran called out “We’ll talk when you’ve rested Jon.” 

Daenery’s turned to Jon and took his hands in hers. “So that wen’t well.”

A small smile. “It wen’t well considering.”

“They hate me!”

“Not hate you exactly-”

She gave him a look of complete and utter disbelief.

He huffed a laugh. “They may completely and wholeheartedly dislike you, but they don’t hate you. They’ll come to realise the help you offer the North is invaluable. They’ll come to see you for what you are. Salvation.”

She cocked her head. “And what of what I am to you?” 

He kissed her cheek lightly and stepped away from her. 

“The dragons will be arriving soon. After they have come, rest. Refresh yourself. I’ll see you at the feast.”

She smiled and gave a little nod all whilst reluctantly letting his hand go. Jon gave Davos a look. An order. He bowed to him. And bowed slightly to Dany before setting off. 

She watched Jon trudge through the snow toward the castle as Missande, Jorah and Tyrion came to her side. They’d just got to Winterfell. Her and Jon had come together. So why did she feel she had already lost him?


Jon stood before Sansa’s chamber and knocked twice. Brienne opened the door. She bowed. 

“Who is it, Brienne?” Sansa queried.

“It’s his grace, my lady.”

Immediately she replied “Let him in. And leave us.”

Brienne bowed. “My Lord. My Lady.”

The heavy doors of the chambers shut and Sansa shot up and dropped whatever she had been sowing. They stared at each other for a long while and then- Jon didn’t know who had reached for who first. All he knew was that Sansa was in his arms and no matter how hard he tried, he could not press her close enough to his body. She nuzzled her head into his neck and he sighed. Smoothing down her hair and letting her scent fill him up. 

“I missed you.”

He continued to stroke her hair. “And I missed you.” he said roughly.

Sansa thought it’d never be enough- what she had with Jon. But it was all she would ever get. So she would take it. Any moment with him was better than nothing at all. 

There was a knock on the door and they quickly sprung apart. Sansa straightened her gown. 

“Who is it?” She called.

“Davos, my lady.”

“Enter.” She said.

He came in to the room and made sure to check there was no one listening before he shut the door. 

Sansa looked to Jon. “She believes you? She believes that you truly intend to surrender the North to her?”

Jon nodded and Davos said “Aye. There were no witnesses.”

“She suspects nothing?”

Jon said “Not a thing.”

Sansa nodded. “Good. And how do you plan to hold her to her promise that she’ll help the North when the army of the dead is to arrive?”

Jon’s expression turned grave. “She is in love with me… and believes me to be in love with her.”

Sansa’s heart stopped. Her eyes turned cold. “And are you?”

Jon furrowed a brow.

“In love with her I mean!” She said gruffly.

Jon blinked. Did Sansa seem… angry? But he looked back at her and thought he must have been mistaken.

“No.” He said seriously. “I’m not in love with her.”

Relief seeped through Sansa. Not that she’d ever let him know. If he knew the reasons behind her anger… he’d be disgusted by her. Absolutely revolted.

She stepped closer to him. “You truly believe her participation will have an impact on the outcome of this war?”

Jon couldn’t breathe. Not with Sansa this close to him. He wanted to grab her face and kiss her lips- her soft sweet red lips and he wanted to-


He coughed. “She has a good heart. Despite her being consumed by her quest for the Iron Throne… she will help. And with her dragons, they will have a massive impact- thousands of lives could be saved. 

She nodded. But Jon’s eyes were sad. Davos saw it and pitted Jon. Pitied Sansa. But he did not speak a word when she grabbed Jon’s two hands and led him to sit with her. 

“I know you don’t like doing such dishonourable things Jon- you’re much like father in that regard.”

He sighed heavily. But continued to listen to her valuable words.

“But to play the game, you have to resort to tricks. You have to use deceit. You have to play dirtily. It’s the only way that we’ll survive. We can’t make any mistakes. We- Arya and Bran and the North, we can’t afford to lose you and our home. I can’t afford to lose you.” She exhaled a breath. She didn’t let go of his hands. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

To play the game, he had to play dirty. And so their dance of deceit began.

Note: Hi guys, this is the first chapter of my Jonsa fanfiction and I’m super excited to write it! I love Jonsa and this is my interpretation of their story. I Hope you enjoy it! To find the second chapter, please just find the tag “to play the game: a jonsa fanfiction. I’ll be opening an A03 account so when chapter 3 is released, it’ll no be longer posted on tumblr (in this dormant ill link you all to the ao3). I upload new chapters every Sunday! All characters belong to George R.R Martin.

The Joy of Socks

yeah, idk either, really. Happy birthday, Harry! [AO3]

Presents for Potter: Saviour Seeks Socks

What do you get the man who single-handedly saved us all from You-Know-Who? A luxury holiday? A bottle of Ogdeon’s Finest? Soap-on-a-rope? Harry Potter’s birthday is coming up, and the Prophet managed to secure an exclusive interview with the man himself. We asked what he really, really wants to receive on the big day.

“A wise man once said to me, you can never have enough socks,” said Potter. “Once you reach a certain level of fame, no one gives you socks any more. At the time, I was too young to truly appreciate the remark, but now I get it. Socks are a great gift—and I never get any!”

So there you have it. Harry Potter needs socks! You can send him some, c/o the Prophet, and we will make sure he gets them. But who was the learned individual who gave Potter such advice? Some have suggested that [cont. page 3]

“How many is this now?” Ginny asked, unwrapping yet another package.

“Today? Including those that were sent to work? Or in total? Because I think we must be close to five hundred pairs, by this point,” Harry replied, holding up another pair. “Ooh, look, these ones have snitches on them, that’s cool.”

“This’ll learn you not to speak to the press ever again,” she said, shaking her head. “‘Dear Mr. Potter, I hope you like these socks, I knitted them myself, also thank you for saving us from Voldemort, love Doris Englow, 94’.”

“It never says that,” said Harry. She held up the note. “Oh, how sweet. Honestly though, the Prophet needs to stop claiming I did everything ‘single-handedly’, they’ve never given enough credit to—dear God, those are the most hideous socks I have ever seen.”

“Don’t be rude to Doris! She put a lot of time into them, and personally I think mustard, lime green and beetroot are lovely colour combinations,” Ginny said. “When did you even get interviewed, anyway?”

“Last Tuesday I was coming out of the canteen at work, and some reporter was lurking. They asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and for a moment I felt like channelling my inner Dumbledore. Don’t worry, I’ve learnt my lesson. Never again,” he said firmly.

“I wonder if he knew all he had to do was complain to the national press about not having any socks, and he’d be sorted for life,” mused Ginny. “Look, the Chuddley Cannons have sent you an entire box full of their entire range.”

“Ron’ll be delighted,” Harry said. “I’ll give them to him later, when we all meet up.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “And what about all the rest?”

“There’s got to be some charity somewhere who’ll accept a donation,” he said.

All of these?” Ginny said doubtfully. “What would anyone do with a thousand socks?”

Keep reading

Favorite Things of Hogwarts Houses

Slytherin: spiral staircases, climbing vines on old buildings, winged eyeliner, when the sky darkens before a violent rainstorm, vaulted ceilings, knowing they look amazing in that outfit, modern art museums, black coffee, anything pine scented, black velvet

Hufflepuff: candles that smell like dessert, blowing dandelions, snuggly sweatshirts, watching sunsets through autumn leaves, fairy gardens, holding hot mugs of tea to warm their hands, when sunlight streams through the curtains, ducklings in the spring, seaside holidays

Ravenclaw: little cafes, lavender scented candles, cobblestone streets, rainy days, reading by the fire when it’s cold out, big cities, glassblowing, writing in a journal for the first time, arched windows, ferris wheels, late nights, black cats, fancy tea, gothic architecture

Gryffindor: getting caught in a thunderstorm, blasting music, stepping on crunchy leaves in the fall, running as fast as they can through the woods, winding rivers, the scent of spring in the air, sand castles, creaky wooden floors, climbing trees, road trips, carousels

Affable Stoner Jonathan Harker

Some time ago I commented that Keanu Reeves’ Jonathan Harker seemed perpetually stoned, and someone commented that, given the medicine of the time, that was entirely possible.  So here is this story.


After the accident, Jonathan feared he would never have use of his left leg again.  He had panicked too soon, it turned out- the feeling and the use came back, but at the price of great pain whenever he put pressure on the limb.  Mina wept to see him suffer, and because he did not want to see her weep at least as much as for his own seek, he sought out treatment from the best doctors he could find.  Laudanum was out of the question (one simply didn’t drink at work) as was morphine (Jonathan had a terrible fear of anything puncturing his skin), but at last an American doctor offered him a solution.

“They used this stuff in the War Between the States”, Dr. Morris told him.  “Before my time, of course, but if it’ll do for wounded soldiers, it’ll do for you.  And they make it in chocolate bonbon form, so you won’t even have an aftertaste.”

The doctor was right- the bonbons worked wondrously for Jonathan, at least as far as the pain was concerned.  When it came to allaying Mina’s anxieties, at least she no longer wept, though she did still seem worried.

“Are you alright, my love?” she asked him.  “You seem preoccupied.”

“What?” he asked, not entirely sure what that last word she’d said was.

“I said, you seem preoccupied.  Are you thinking of something?”

“No,” Jonathan said with partial honesty.  (He had been thinking of something, but could no longer remember what it had been.)  “I apologize.  It may be the medicine.”

And so she extracted from him a promise not to partake of the bonbons at work, where he would have to interact with Mr. Hawkins.  It was a promise he entirely intended to keep.


Mr. Hawkins was telling him about a new job…somewhere.  He would have to travel, was what he was getting from this.  And then Mr. Hawkins had stopped talking, and Jonathan had the horrible realization that he was expected to respond.

“I would be honored to accept this position,” he said.  It felt like there was a gap of a full minute between each word, and Jonathan prayed that his sense of time was being distorted.  It was imperative that his employer not sense any weakness in him, or know that he had partaken of strong medicine before drawing up legal contracts.

“Excellent, my boy!  I knew I could count on you!  So, what do you know about the land of thieves and ghosts?”

“Yes,” Jonathan responded.  It seemed like the right answer.


Dr. Morris gave Jonathan a good supply of the hashish bonbons before he left for (what turned out to be) Transylvania, and as the pain had been going down anyway- it was almost entirely gone by now- he swore to himself that he would not use them unless absolutely necessary.  But aside from pain relief, they had been providing an alleviation of his anxieties, and the long, jolty ride on a carriage driven by a suspicious character through a wolf-filled mountainside called for something to calm his nerves.

It was a testament to Jonathan’s strength of character that when he got off the carriage and finally met his host, he did not immediately demand to know what was wrong with the man’s hair.  He was thinking it.  In fact, he could not listen to a single word the man was saying to him because in his mind, every sentence had turned to “Look at my terrible hair.”

He was going to have to abstain while in this castle, it appeared.  The hair probably wasn’t that bad, when seen with a clear mind.  Under the influence of hashish, alas, it became a terrible monster, reaching out to grab at him with shadowy strands, attempting to pull him into the greater part and turn his body into yet more volume for the great and unknowable coif.

“Are you tired, my English friend?” asked Count something (Jonathan had temporarily forgotten the name.)

His client could not know he was being so unprofessional.  It would be a terrible disgrace.  It was a miracle that Jonathan still had enough control over his head to nod.


The she-monsters came upon him in the night, just when Jonathan had begun to think his mind was clearing.  Hashish bonbons had never yet caused him to see things that were not there, and he did not think such a thing was possible.  It turned out both of these assumptions were wrong.

Just what happened next was not entirely clear, but it appeared that Count something had given him to these creatures to feast upon, and a great panic swept Jonathan as it never had before.  There was fear and then there was this, the knowledge that everyone in the world, from these monsters to the people back in London, hated him and desired his death.

This panic was so great that he did not even notice the teeth puncturing his flesh.  He did, however, notice when the women ceased their feeding, sluggish, and began to sprawl on the ground.

Jonathan vaguely recalled the word “tolerance”, but was not sure how it applied to this situation.  It was something he contemplated as he climbed out the window and down the castle walls.  Castle-climbing seemed like a very good idea at the moment.

Title: Lovers in the Dark
Author: jhoom
Artist: DeanOh
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Warnings/Tags: mythology!au, omega!dean, alpha!cas, angel!cas, mpreg, wing!kink, rimming, bedsharing, virgin!cas, virgin!dean
Posting Date: 10/26/2017

Summary:  Prince Dean is the most beautiful omega anyone’s laid eyes on. Flowers bloom for the chance to see him, animals climb into his room simply to be in his presence, and not a person in the kingdom can say enough for his beauty. He is universally praised for his lovely green eyes, his freckles, his plush lips and the subtly strong lines of his cheekbones. His family hopes to use that to find a good match and secure an alliance for their kingdom.

The gods have other plans.

Naomi, goddess of beauty, hears more and more tales of the young omega’s beauty and she hates him for it. The fact that mortals and nature alike would hold anyone’s beauty above her own is intolerable. So she sends her son Castiel, god of love, to infect Dean with an undying love for a monstrous person as punishment for his hubris.

Fate has plans of its own…

[A retelling of the Classical myth “Cupid and Psyche.” Castiel is cast as Cupid, Dean as Psyche, and Naomi as Venus.]

- - -

The Kingdom of Winchester was small but prosperous. Tucked away in the mountains, it knew no war and no strife beyond what its citizens caused amongst themselves. The people were loyal, the king just, and the land happy.

Their joy was compounded when the queen gave birth to a son. While a royal birth was always a cause for celebration, early on they knew the boy was special. The young omega was beautiful, even from a young age. Year by year he grew more stunning. Rumors traveled far and wide about the prince.

Flowers bloomed just for the chance to see him.

Animals scaled the castle walls to climb into his room, simply to be in his presence.

The clouds parted from the sky when he was out in the gardens so the sun might shine upon him.

No one who looked into his lovely green eyes, saw his skin sun-kissed with freckles, or gazed at his plush lips could help but love him.

On and on the stories went, some more farfetched than the others. Many thought the tales were surely exaggerated—how could so much beauty be possessed by one boy?—but then some new poet, bard, or artist would appear to praise his endless beauty.

Dean himself was unaware of the effect he had on those around him. His parents were meticulous in their choice of guards and servants, choosing those who would care for him but not fall prey to the bewitching spell of his beauty. They wished a normal life for their son; they didn’t want his beauty to attract the wrong sort of attention. Whether that be the ire of the gods or a covetous alpha king, they tried to protect him.

It was a delicate balance. As a young prince, he needed to be known to his people and know them in turn. He needed to meet with visiting dignitaries. It was impossible to keep him away from everyone. His parents were as diligent as they could be, but recognized that their son needed to live. Hiding behind closed doors was no way for any boy to grow up.

They did their best, and it seemed to work.

As far as Dean was concerned, he was an ordinary prince. The favors bestowed upon him by visitors seemed due to his rank and not his appearance. And if they paid more compliments to him than to his brother Sam, Dean assumed it was in deference to his age. Perhaps he was marginally attractive, if such a thing was important at all, but surely he possessed no more particular mark of beauty. 

Someone would have told him, wouldn’t they?

Alas, his ignorance did nothing to shield him.

You know what I will never be over?

That canonically (and I would say this includes the hotpot scene) is that when Victor and Yuuri get drunk they get jealous but that jealousy translates as “IM GONNA EARN HIS ATTENTION BY BEING THE AWESOMEST…WHILE NAKED!”

Like Banquet Yuuri wanted Victor’s attention so he got in dance battles and stripped and pole danced.

Victor got naked at the hotpot place

Now with this drama info:

Yuuri suggested a drunk strip drinking game (and did a naked Eros routine!?!? I’ve seen that suggested in summaries)

Victor climbed a castle naked and did stretches while yelling that he loved Yuuri

You can try to argue that isn’t canon but it is entirely in character

All of this is idiotic and adorable and they are both such incredibly extra idiots.

Also why I think sober Yuuri stripped and joined Victor. Because he’s lived with him long enough and they are both so extra that they make each other worse. It’s too normal for them now


Okay, I don’t normally do this, but seriously, I found a song that seems to be written just for Betty Cooper haha….Seriously. Take a listen and check out the lyrics. It’s like Jughead to Betty xD. Or maybe I’m just being delirious.  If some fanvid maker could do one for this song, i’d prob flail in happiness. xD

Elizabeth, she’s the girl next door
But she’s a little bit
Yeah, to me, she’s a little bit more
When I’m with her, then I feel like a king
Yes, I feel like a king
To be in her grace, I would do anything
I would do anything

I am here at your Beck & call
And in a little bit, I’ll have you climbing the castle walls
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Can’t keep me away, keep me away
I’ll be you knight any time of the day
Any time of the day

Happy Birthday to my sister @poffercake, who turns 23 this year. Wish I could be there in Canada to celebrate with you, but until then here’s Lord Kass climbing the walls of Darigan Citadel to steal back his crown. Why climb with wings?

Because it looks badass.

Will be submitting this for Eyrie day later this year … assuming it gets in.