#red bucket follies
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More photos from the Red Bucket Follies presentation from rbarri2002 and leslimayer.
#jonathan groff#daniel radcliffe#merrily we roll along#bcefa#red bucket follies#Leana Rae Concepcion
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Red Bucket Follies throwback with James Romney (Albus) and Brady Dalton Richards (Scorpius), Broadway Year 3!
Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS
#harry potter and the cursed child#hpcc#hpatcc#james romney#brady dalton richards#albus severus potter#scorpius hyperion malfoy#scorpius malfoy#albus potter#scorbus#cursed child#hp next gen#ccsquad#harry potter next gen#harry potter next generation#broadway cares
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ok here i am writing out my thoughts on double life pearl. pulling out my literary analysis brain for an unscripted minecraft series thats how it is
more below cut
so my interpretation of life series pearl (in both last and double life) is fundamentally tied to her relationship with scott so i'll also be speaking abt him alot in this little ramble
scott won last life. last life, fundamentally, was built on blocks of betrayal. while 3rd life had its healthy does of backstabbing, its got nothing on what the boogeyman mechanic introduced. all alliances suddenly got far shakier. no one could really trust anyone, but scott did not play by the rules. during his first time as boogey, he directly told his teammates (never stated to be against the rules but as far as i can tell hes the only person to have done this ever) and goes to kill someone who is specifically against him & his allies (rip impulse). during his second chance at life-series sanctioned amicide, he breaks the rules even further. he downright refuses to kill one of his allies- at this point in the series, anyone not red is his ally, so killing any of them would result in an ally lost. scott remained loyal in a game of backstabbing, and it earned him the victory.
if last life was a game of backstabbing, then double life was a game of loyalty. the soulmate mechanic not only reinforced ties of loyalty- literally paring up players into neat pairs- but it relied on that. if you shared a health bar, you'd have to be loyal to one another, or else you'd die. it's practically set up for scott to succeed, just like he succeeded during last life. if he plays all the same cards, he'll win. the game is designed with him in mind. he's even paired up with his most trusted ally from last life, pearl. he can't lose.
except, he absolutely can, because through the folly of circumstance, he and pearl end the first session wanting nothing to do with each other.
once again scott has broken the rules of the series. he's scorned his soulmate (who, in another life, was such a trusted ally he'd doom himself to red to spare her), and broken the chain. even in a game designed for him, he breaks the rules.
and this is where pearl gets involved
pearl, throughout both last life and double life, is paired with scott- once on their own terms (her terms, really- as she was blessed with extra lives, it was her decision to share her lives with scott that really solidified their alliance), and once by the hands of god. the universe wanted a perfect repeat performance of last life, a celebratory encore of the victory of someone who broke the rules and won despite it, and they did not get it. they did not get their perfect designed ending
instead, they got pearl.
pearl, like scott, does not play by the rules in last life. it's impossible for her to play by the rules, when her soulmate has scorned her so, but she takes it to new levels. She harms her soulmate, directly (ice bucket challenge, anyone?), and in the process also harms herself. she lives alone- scott, at least, has a chosen partner, and martyn spends considerable time trying to get cleo back, but pearl does no such thing. she builds herself an isolated tower and surrounds herself with her army of wolves
pearl's story in double life is, essentially, a story of lonliness (this is reflected in her motifs- lone wolf, wolves & the moon, etc). throughout the series, none of her alliances last long- hardly any make it longer than one episode. she truly is alone, her only constant fried throughout the series being tilly. tilly was there before she knew her soulmate was scott, and she was there after she was scorned. pearl relies on her dogs for protection- as minecraft dogs are very good at providing- but also, for what others refuse her: companionship.
like scott is a loyal victory in a game of traitors, pearl is a lonesome victor in a game of lovers. in the end, she stands alone- scorned and soulmate-less, the winner only because her opponent decided to loose. she, like scott, won a game designed against her. against the wishes of the univese, she stands alone
ANYWAYS tldr pearl and scott both broke the rules of their series and won bc of it, sorry no grian mention even tho i have thoughts about his 3l victory and treasure him dearly he just straight up isnt relevant to this one. might write more of these long ish analysis posts cause i had alot of fun with this one
#scott smajor#pearlescentmoon#smajor1995#double life#double life scott#double life pearl#life series#trafficblr#double life analysis#long post#innsjotxt#im sure all this has kinda been said before but i wanted to write out my specific thoughts#also 'the universe' more or less equals 'the watchers' in this
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Helen's Uni Diary: Year One
September - Initiation Antics
Alright, diary, here's the tea! Met Nikki during orientation, and we clicked, like, instantly. Our gossip sessions soon fixated on this chap from the opposite dorm. Looked lost, like a lamb waiting to be led. Lightbulb moment? Let's take him under our wing, stir things up a bit! With some sneaky hypnosis and a sprinkle of mischief, our little project began. No more Mr. Guy-From-Across-The-Hall. Welcome, Jasmine.
October - Pretty in Pink
Plan for October? A total wardrobe redo! Hit the high streets with a vision - Jasmine, but like, super femme! Rows and rows of delish dresses called out. Lured her into trying this pastel pink skater dress – think white polka dots, a silky ribbon, and a flirtatious hem. Paired with white ankle socks and cute Mary Janes. She looked like she stepped straight out of a chic mag!
November - Hair-Do Hullabaloo
Alright, that hair? Desperately needed some fab. Nikki's brilliant idea? A total hair makeover! We watched in glee as our fave stylist transformed that mop into an adorable, curly bob. Topped it with a sparkly hairband. Yass, Jasmine, giving us hair goals!
December - Giggles and Goss
Now, December was all about feeling young and merry. Christmas had Jasmine attached to our sides. Carol singing in that transformed voice and her obsession with that unicorn plushie from Secret Santa? Pure childlike joy.
January - Make-up Makeover
For January? We planned a subtler touch. Not just femme but younger, more innocent. Nikki and I played fairy godmothers, introducing Jasmine to a world of blush, mascara, and soft shiny lip gloss. A face that shouted teen spirit!
February - Valentine’s Vexation
A girly-girl Valentine was the vibe. Teased Jasmine with secret admirer notes. Oh, and the outfit? A youthful red dress, short but not too short, and with delicate lacework. She looked like a teen crushing hard for the first time.
March - Dress to Impress
Here's where the age games began. Imagined Jasmine, not just as a teen but younger. Got her a lavender dress for the uni’s spring event - floral lace, puffy sleeves, and enough tulle to make her twirl. She looked every inch the excited pre-teen.
April - Easter Elation
Easter was about innocence. Vision? Jasmine as a kiddo on an egg hunt. Watching her in that pastel yellow kiddie frock, hunting eggs? Pure gold! Her finding the smallest ones? May have rigged it a tad.
May - Ballet Bamboozle
May's plan? Delight in Jasmine’s childlike wonder. Enrolled her in a beginner's ballet class. Her in a tight leotard, fluffy tutu, struggling with basic moves? Adorable doesn't even cover it!
June - Sunny Daze and Plays
June’s mission? A beach baby day out. Pictured Jasmine building sandcastles, and she did! In a frilly swimsuit, her giggles, and that mermaid-themed bucket and spade? Childhood revisited.
July - Festival Follies
For July, the festival scene beckoned. But Jasmine wasn't just attending, she was living it as a free-spirited child. In a boho dress and a flower crown, she was the festival's little fairy.
August - Reflections and Resolutions
Come August, Nikki and I took a step back to admire our masterpiece. From lost lad to innocent child, it was quite the journey! But, diary, we've only just begun. There's more on the horizon, cheekier plots, and plans. Stay tuned!
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Broadway Cares 3rd Annual "Gypsy Of The Year" (Now called Red Bucket Follies). Miss Saigon's first year performing and they also won this year!
Photo from Alan Ariano's Facebook (X) and video from Ray Santos's Facebook (X) Gruber in the photo is in the top right while in the video he is in the ensemble.
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Just a short story I finished recently
The universe is a story, and like all stories, the universe has writers. The Folly of Man, the God of Dreams and Beginnings started the universe in His Eternal Foolishness. The Peace of Man, the God of Balance, who tempers his brothers’ ambitions. The Death of Man, the God of the End, who cuts threads cleanly, so that their End may be as beautiful as their Beginnings. But it seems there is to be a new writer, born from the hearts of Man. The Man of Love, the God of sacrifice. An emotion ingrained into mothers, fathers and lovers. An emotion so integral to life, it was an inevitability that this writer would come into existence.
___
My home is empty, which is odd this late. I would have thought she would be back by now. I'm not one for superstition, but perhaps that psychic was right about that affair.
Not much I can do about it now. My home smells musty, almost rank. The kitchen is a complete mess, with wrappers littering the countertops. Pots, pans and dishes are stacked haphazardly in the sink. I should probably fix that sometime. If I didn't know any better, I would believe this place to be lived in by squatters or something
for months, even years. But I do know better. I'm just lazy, and my wife has stopped trying to change me.
I head upstairs to my room. It's marginally cleaner, but almost entirely by necessity. Food trays litter the floor, and a pile of clothes tower in the corner. My computer glows through the dim light my ceiling light provides. My feet crunch through some of the garbage, and lead me to my computer chair. All of my friends are either offline, or busy with other people. That's fine, I wasn't looking to chat much today.
But someone I don't recognize is on my friends list tonight. "Sigil". I check for any mutual friends or communities, but nothing. Perhaps I added a spammer in my exhausted stupor last night? Wouldn't be the first time I've been so careless. Not a name that spammers normally have though, right? Don't they have weird characters and stuff in their name? Whatever. I click to unfriend the person, and that's that.
Or it would be, if they didn't add me back immediately after. I stare at the ping for a moment. Perhaps I simply forgot, and this was a person I actually knew? Also how did
they immediately know I unfriended them, I don't think it notifies them right? Curiosity is forcing my hand at this point, and I have to know who this is. I click once more, and accept the friend request. Immediately I get a DM, from this "Sigil".
"3701 Bergstrom River - 1030. Do not be late, Vincent."
I sit up, feeling the hairs on my back bristle. That address. My old childhood home, where my parents lived before they kicked the bucket. How could they possibly tie that address to me? Let alone this account? I don't believe I've shared my name on this account, and I haven't linked anything here that would even give my name.
Sweat glistens my forehead, and suddenly my room feels very cold. My shoulders tense up to the point where they ache, and I lean back on my chair.
"Who is this? How do you know my name?" I hastily type back. The same phrase is repeated.
"3701 Bergstrom River - 1030. Do not be late, Vincent." stares at me from the screen. I can’t just let this go. It’s simply too bizarre. It’s an hour drive, it’s not a massive trip. Work is off tomorrow, and it’s not like I have much to do either. Not much to lose. I head to bed, with tomorrow's plans at the front of my mind.
I dreamt of a red road. To crave sacrifice is a want of a worm. To desire for one stronger and better to use your mangled existence to better itself and others is laziness. But it is what you want, no? To live as a failure, and die as a hero. You won't though. People live and die the same. Those heroic sacrifices are only heroic because the people were heroic. Realize there is nothing inside you, nothing of value. When you search within to produce something of value, you will find only void. Get up.
I woke up at 9, giving me a bit to get ready before meeting them at the address. Or maybe I'm not meeting them at all, and this is just some dumb prank by a co-worker or an old friend. I put on my clothes, fill my water bottle, put it in my bag, put that on and walk to my door. Am I really doing this? Am I really just going to some place on the whim of some nobody on the internet? I suppose however, I'm also just nobody on the internet.
I close the door behind me, and lock it. I enter the address on my phone, enter my car and follow the directions. The road is unusually quiet, but I suppose that everyone has already arrived at their respective jobs or maybe I’m just getting in my own head.
I arrive at the address listed. The house is…different. Darker bricks, and the roof seems to be even more slanted, this isn’t the place I remember. I thought someone had bought the house, but it looks a bit rundown. Not decrepit or anything, but the lawn’s grass is long, the bricks seem filthy and vines are creeping the sides of the house. Not what I expected. My phone vibrates, a message waiting to be read.
“Under the mat. You are welcome to enter your path, and welcome to leave it.” I step off the mat, and take a peek under it. There’s a key underneath, unmarked with any brand. The space under the mat is a bit dirty, but otherwise, tidy. Just a bit of soil. Guess someone has been doing a little upkeep. Hopefully it’s also clean inside. I shove the key inside, it's a tight fit, but it manages to make it in. The key feels heavy to turn, incredibly so. By the time I finish turning the key, my hand is drenched in sweat. I realize my heart is beating faster and faster, and my mouth is drying up.
I reach for the water I packed, and take a swig. Refreshing. I take a deep breath through my nose, and exhale through my mouth, and feel my body calming down. There is nothing to worry about, I am in control. I will join the road, as is my wish.
I wipe my hand on my pants, and grasp the doorknob and turn it. It turns easier, much easier than the key. I take my first step into the home, and look around and try to read what I have gotten myself into.
The house is completely unrecognizable from my memories. It’s no longer warm and welcoming. The entrance is sparse, with almost no furniture. The floor is a dark walnut, and the walls are somehow an even darker wood. There are a few paintings on the wall, of old men in chairs, with graying beards. They all seem to be looking off into the distance, pondering a thought I couldn’t even remotely guess. The room is cast in this dim orange tinted light, barely allowing me to perceive my surroundings. It feels like a house that’s too luxurious for me to even step in.
The room still somehow feels like home though. I always liked the dark, it’s nice to feel unseen. To be the eyes piercing through the darkness, rather than the one being shadowed.
These thoughts aren’t right. Did I just…think of a road? What am I doing here?
I can feel my doubt rising again, my fear seizing control again. But then I recall the thought I had when I opened the door. I am in control. My body loosens. A strained breath leaves my lungs, and I regain my confidence. I’m here out of curiosity, and to get answers. That’s all. I should look around.
I walk into the kitchen, the same color wood on the cupboards. The countertop is made of a dark hard stone. It’s very tight, almost suffocating, I could take 2 large steps and cross the entire kitchen. Bizarre, the entrance was pretty wide in comparison. I twist a valve on the sink, curious on whether it works or not. Shortly after, water sputters out, and I put my fingertip into the stream.
The water is impossibly cold, my skin going numb from the freezing temperature. I could go for something cold right now, but not this cold. I’ll fill my bottle and let it warm up a bit. I open my bottle and tilt the opening into the stream, filling it to the brim. I can feel the chill through the steel. I place the bottle back into my backpack.
I look through the cupboards, trying to find anything notable, but they’re all bare, completely empty. However, the last cupboard I inspect has a small notebook in it, but with only one entry.
_
Perhaps, I am the next one, or simply another stone on the path. Either as a traveler or a stone, I know my sacrifice will help me achieve greatness. The red road awaits.
_
The red road. Sounds oddly familiar. I pocket the notebook, I’ll further inspect it later.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a door. It’s made of this strikingly red wood, piercing the darkness to stare at me. The knob is gold, its gleam attracting my eyes even further.
I have to open this door, there is no way I can go and just leave it closed. I grasp the knob, turn, and push. It opens way to a staircase, leading to a pitch black bottom. Luckily though, I know the lights work. I flick the switch by the railing and the lights flicker on.
The floor is just cement, typical of most suburban basements. I walk myself down the stairs, and my feet connect to the basement floor. I hear some shuffling across the basement. And…is that whimpering? It sounds like a little girl. I need to find her, I can’t just leave a helpless girl in this empty house.
I quickly step over to where I heard the girl, and find her hiding in a small cupboard, she barely fits and her foot is leaving the door open. My hand reaches to open the cupboard, but I stop myself. I don’t want to scare her.
“Hey kid, how long have you been here? You doing ok?” I say after crouching down.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry.” she quietly states.
“That’s ok kiddo. Look, you can trust me ok? I’m gonna try and get you out, back to your mommy and daddy. How’s that sound?” I’m trying to coax her out, rather than take her out myself, she’s already trembling, no need to force anything.
“You promise?” She asks.
“Of course.” I respond. She steps out of the cupboard. The girl is very short, barely making it up to my waist. Her hair is a bit tangled, but otherwise she seems clean. Her clothes are wrinkled, but no rips or tears. Can’t have been here for too long. She holds her hand out to reach mine, and I grasp hers.
“Let’s find a way out, bucko.” I say, trying to bring some levity to the room. I walk her up the stairs, and turn the door knob.
But it catches. It doesn’t turn. I jostle the doorknob and the realization sinks, it’s locked. I let go of the girl's hand and try to ram the door. I know kicking it would probably be better, but there just isn’t enough room on the stairs for me to do that without losing my balance.
It’s pointless. The door isn’t budging. Though I’m sure there’s a window that leads out of here. Would be a tight fit for me, but the girl would make it through fine. Worst case though: I call the cops. I walk back down the stairs, trying to find a window.
But there isn’t one. Which is bizarre, I thought I could recall a stream of light coming from somewhere. But nope, no natural light. Just the orange light from a small bulb on the ceiling. I could feel the girl start to quiver in my hand, and I tighten my hand in response.
“We’ll be fine. I’ll get you out at the least.” I’m not sure I believe my own words, but I have to try right? I look around the room, and spot a few doors. I open them, but they’re just normal rooms: Laundry room, Bathroom, another set of stairs. Another set of stairs? That can’t be right. I’ve never seen another home in the area like this.
The stairs are made of that same red wood the basement door was made out of. The color stares at me, begging me to go down the path. I can’t say no, and it’s not like there’s too many other options. Before I go though, I should call the police to pick up this girl. I can explore all I want, but it doesn’t look like there is an easy way out for her.
I reach for my phone, but nothing is in my pocket. I reach for my other pocket, but all there is is the house key. Something’s wrong. Did I misplace it or something? Perhaps the girl is a pickpocket or something, and this was all some weird trick? I look at the girl, but all I see is fear and anxiety. No, that can’t be it.
But with that, there is only one way forward. Down. It’s most likely a secret tunnel or something, maybe made for…tornadoes? Or maybe it’s a safety bunker by one of those conspiracy apocalypse weirdos. Either way it should have another exit. That’s most likely wishful thinking, but I don’t have much of a choice. I should try to find a flashlight or something though, I don't want to trip or something. Even with my eyes acclimated to the dark, I can never be careful.
I scan the other rooms, and as I look around I see how…normal this basement is. It’s nothing like the home I remember, but it seems like a normal standard bathroom and laundry room. No photos of family or anything like that though. It feels like an open house, with how clean and bare it all is. I find a flashlight in the laundry room cupboard, with nothing else to accompany it. It’s a standard metal flashlight, with no brand or marking on it. I try to open the back, but soon realize there are no seams on the flashlight, outside of the slight seam around the switch. Bizarre.
I find the staircase again, turn on the flashlight, and gaze down the path that lays before me. The floor is a beautiful tile. Seems to be made of marble, polished to perfection. If I squinted I’m sure I could see my reflection from up here.
I should be feeling fear. Or be weirded out. Or both. But I find myself calm, collected, cold even. I know what needs to be done. I grasp the girl's hand, and walk down the stairs. The darkness is thick, but I know there isn’t anyone else down here. Just need to find an exit. I move the flashlight to get a better view of the room I find myself in. The walls are a bone white color, and don’t seem to be made of drywall.
As I walk deeper down the corridor, I realize there is a faint light coming from the opposite end of the hall. Perhaps a way out? I grasp the hand of the girl and quicken my pace. The light gets brighter as I approach, but I can see an image forming in it. The sun, grass, a field of some sort. Bizarre, but it’s something.
But as I get closer, I can feel the floor sinking. It’s almost like quicksand, trying to swallow me whole. The girl is also sinking. I have to think fast. She seems pretty light, I can probably toss her to the exit. I’ll have to figure a way out for myself afterwards. I grab the girl's waist and toss her to the exit. She’s beckoning for me to follow her.
“Just go! I’ll find another way. Don’t worry!” I feel myself sinking deeper, before seeing her respond.
I fall for what seems like forever. I know that I need to lay my life down and join what is my path. That is what the notebook said, what my dreams say, and what my existence itself is demanding from me. But, I don’t want to die. Not yet anyways. I need to find my way forward, and out.
But, like all things, my fall ends. My legs miraculously are perfectly fine. The place I land in however, defies everything I know about the world. The sky is a warped red, the floor a tiled, translucent crimson. Under the tiles I can see hundreds and hundreds of corpses. The tiled floor stretches out for miles and miles. The horizon seemingly an infinite distance away. The sky and ground meet in a bright scarlet line. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor. The atmosphere here is so heavy. The air demands I dig into the ground and join the others, and find my place here.
But, I see another option. Another way out. A way not just to leave, but to redeem my life. In the center of this new and bloody world, I see at the top of this pile of corpses, a place for a throne. A place for leadership, a way to set the road to a direction.
The air agrees with me. The bodies lend me their strength, and forge me a throne of bone, sinew and blood. It defies all known meaning, but I know that I must sit on it, and carve my Love into the world.
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Jonathan, Christian Borle, Adrienne Warren and Daniel J Watts at the Red Bucket Follies event which raised $5,631,888, the second-highest fall fundraising total in Broadway Cares history. Posted on the Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS Facebook page on 13 December 2019.
#jonathan groff#christian borle#little shop of horrors#adrienne warren#daniel j watts#red bucket follies#2019
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A few shots from the 2019 Red Bucket Follies - 12/10/19.
Moulin Rouge was the top fundraiser among the broadway musicals. Overall, over $5 million was raised for BCEFA by broadway, off-broadway, and touring companies!
📸: 1st Pic - Tam Mutu/Instagram, 2nd & 3rd - Sam Cahn/Instagram
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This past Friday, October 25th, Moulin Rouge began fundraising for @bcefa’s Red Bucket Follies Campaign! After each performance for the next 6 weeks they will be accepting donations towards BCEFA. Nothing is too small to give so please consider donating if you are at the show. And as fun incentives, Moulin Rouge has cast-signed Posters ($300 donation) and Playbills ($80 donation) available as well as BCEFA’s yearly Carols for a Cure CD ($20).
Every dollar placed in the iconic #redbuckets will help provide lifesaving medication, healthy meals, emergency financial assistance and more to the most vulnerable among us. A $10 donation covers an HIV test at a health clinic. A $50 donation provides 10 full grocery bags from a food pantry or 20 home delivered meals to the disabled and most vulnerable among us.
#moulin rouge broadway#bcefa#broadway cares#aaron tveit#karen olivo#danny burstein#robyn hurder#ricky rojas#tam mutu#sahr ngaujah#moulin rouge#moulin rouge musical#moulin rouge the musical#red bucket follies
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youtube
The Radio City Chanukah Spectacular
"Ladies and gentlemen, goys and girls..."
#bcefa#red bucket follies#fiddler on the roof in yiddish#hanukkah#chanukah#i love this#happy hanukkah
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A short clip from a BCEFA video at the Red Bucket Follies. The clip appears to be when Merrily won the award for being the top fundraiser this season, and Daniel Radcliffe and Leana Rae Concepcion ran on to the stage to hug Jonathan.
#jonathan groff#daniel radcliffe#Leana Rae Concepcion#merrily we roll along#bcefa#red bucket follies
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saying your names
Prompt: hallucination
Relationships: Geralt & Visenna
Rating: T
Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers
Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)
@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo
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i. The Brave Knight
There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.
She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.
The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”
It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.
ii. The Babe
When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.
A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.
And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”
But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.
And so Visenna grows cold.
When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.
iii. Greta
Greta will not wear her clothes.
At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.
The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.
When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.
Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.
(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)
Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.
Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.
Then:
Not a girl.
Not a girl.
Not a girl.
Not a girl.
iv. The Child
The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.
"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.
Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.
She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.
"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."
"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"
The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"
"All creatures need a name."
The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."
Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."
v. The Butcher
She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.
If he’s even still alive.
She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.
She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”
All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.
School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.
Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?
It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.
Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.
She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.
But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.
vi. The White Wolf
The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.
It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”
She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.
Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”
Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”
“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”
“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”
“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”
“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”
A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.
“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”
The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”
She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.
vii. Geralt
A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.
A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.
The stench of decay.
“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”
“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”
Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.
Infection.
Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.
Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.
Resin in the air.
Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.
Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.
Visenna awakes with a start.
The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.
She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.
She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.
She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.
His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.
She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.
A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.
No.
She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.
She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.
The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.
She can hear it in his voice. He knows.
His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.
She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.
She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.
She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.
“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”
She knows enough. She meets his gaze.
Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.
Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.
“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.
“Stop it, Geralt.”
And something breaks.
“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”
And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.
“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.
A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.
There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.
“Why?”
She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.
When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.
“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.
“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”
A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.
Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.
“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”
“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”
“Visenna…”
“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”
He does.
viii. Sir Geralt
She does not see him again.
She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.
She hears tales, as she has for years.
Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.
Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.
Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.
(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)
Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.
So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.
Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.
For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.
#the witcher fic#the witcher#geralt of rivia#visenna#trans geralt#my fic#still don't really know how i feel about this but here it is#witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo
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SO I am a really big Adventure Time fan and I made a decision for all the people in my life who wanted to watch the show but didn’t want to watch unnecessary episodes: to create a watch guide.
Surprisingly whenever I talked about it, a lot of people were interested.
So, below the cut, my Adventure Time watch guide:
*Not a lot of episodes could, in my opinion, be cut. My reasons for not cutting an episode could be because it has a character that comes back later in the series, a certain character needed more screen time, or as simple a reason as I personally feel like it shouldn’t be cut. However, some episodes that I think just enhance the series or are particularly memorable, but aren’t necessary, are labelled as “not necessary but fun/cute”
Adventure time watch guide:
The necessary episodes
Season 1:
1.) slumber party panic, episode 1
2.) trouble in lumpy space
3.) prisoners of love
4.) tree trunks
5.) enchiridion
6.) the jiggler
7.) Ricardio
8.) business time (not necessary)
9.) my two favorite people
10.) boom boom mountain
11.) wizard school (not necessary but fun)
12.) Evicted
13.) city of thieves
14.) the witch’s garden
15.) what is life
16.) fear of the ocean
17.) when wedding bells thaw, ice wedding (not necessary)
18.) dungeon
19.) duke of nuts
20.) magic man, freak city
21.) Donny
22.) henchman aka marceline pt 2
23.) bmo cuteness, rainy day dream (not necessary)
24.)what have you done (not necessary)
25.) BILLY THE HERO
26.) gut grinder
Season 2:
1.) it came from the nightosphere
2.)horse eyes
3.)nice king (not necessary)
4.) blood under the skin
5.)storytelling (not necessary)
6.)snail love (not necessary)
7.) power animal
8.)crystals have power
9.)royal tart toter (not necessary but fun)
10.) beautiful hair
11.) chamber of frozen blades
12.) her parents
13.) the pods
14.) a silent king
15.) the real you
16.) guardians of sunshine (not necessary) (different animation style episode)
17.) death in bloom
18.) Susan strong
19.) mystery train (not necessary)
20.) go with me
21.) belly of the beast, party bears
22.) ancient psychic tandem war elephant
23.) video makers (not necessary)
24.) mortal folly, the lich king
25.) mortal recoil
26.) heat signature (not necessary)
Season 3:
1.) conquest of cuteness
2.) ghost gladiators (not necessary but fun)
3.) memory of a memory
4.) hitman
5.) baby pb, lemongrab
6.) the monster aka lumpy space princess (not necessary)
7.) still (not necessary)
8.) wizard battle
9.) fionna and cake pt 1 (not necessary but fun)
10.) what was missing
11.) Apple thief, the pig
12.) murder mystery dinner party
13.) zombies, again (not necessary)
14.) beautopia, return of Susan strong
15.) no one can hear you, THE DEER EPISODE
16.) jake vs memow
17.) snow golem and fire puppy
18.) cosmic owl croak dream
19.) holly jolly secrets
20.) holly jolly secrets pt 2
21.)marceline’s closet (not necessary)
22.) paper Pete (not necessary)
23.) another way, clown nurses (not necessary)
24.) ghost princess’ story
25.) dad’s dungeon
26.) incendium, intro of flame princess
Season 4:
1.) hot to the touch, more flame princess
2.) five short graybles
3.) stuck in spiders web (not necessary)
4.) dream of love
5.) return to the nightosphere
6.) return to the nightosphere pt 2
7.) in your footsteps
8.) hug wolf (not necessary)
9.) princess monster wife (not necessary)
10.) goliad
11.) beyond this earthly realm, (not necessary)
12.) gotcha
13.) card wars
14.) princess cookies
15.) son of Mars
16.) burning low
17.) bmo noire
18.) king worm
19.) lady and peebles
20.) you made me
21.) who would win (not necessary)
22.) ignition point
23.) the hard easy, mega frog, (not necessary)
24.)reign of gunthers
25.) I REMEMBER YOU
26.) The Lich
Season 5:
1.) Finn the human
2.) jake the dog
3.) five more short graybles
4.) up a tree (not necessary but fun)
5.) All the little people (not necessary)
6.) jake the dad
7.) davey (not necessary)
8.) mystery dungeon (not necessary)
9.) all your fault
10.) little dude (not necessary)
11.) bad little boy (Fionna and cake pt 2) (not necessary but fun)
12.) vault of bones
13.) the great bird man
14.) Simon and Marcy
15.) a glitch is a glitch (not necessary but fun) (different animation style episode)
16.) Puhoy <3
17.) BMO Lost
18.) princess potluck
19.) James Baxter
20.) shhh! (Not necessary)
21.) the suitor
22.) party’s over (not necessary)
23.) one last job (jake jr’s episode?)
24.) another more five short graybles
25.) candy streets
26.) wizards only, fools
27.) jake suit
28.) be more
29.) sky witch
30.) frost and fire
31.) too old
32.) earth and water
33.) time sandwich (not necessary but fun)
34.) THE VAULT
35.) love games
36.) dungeon train
37.) box prince
38.) red starved
39.) we fixed a truck (not necessary)
40.) play date
41.) the pit
42.) James
43.) root beer guy
44.) Apple wedding
45.) blade of grass
46.) rattleballs
47.) the red throne
48.) Betty
49.) bad timing (not necessary)
50.) lemon hope part 1
51.) lemonhope part 2
52.) Billy’s bucket list
Season 6:
1.) wake up
2.) escape from the citadel
3.) James 2
4.) the tower
5.) sad face (not necessary)
6.) breezy
7.) food chain (not necessary but fun) (different animation style episode)
8.) furniture and meat
9.) the prince who wanted everything (fionna and cake pt 3) (not necessary but fun)
10.) something big
11.) little brother (not necessary)
12.) ocarina (Kim Kil Whan’s episode)
13.) crabapples (not necessary but fun)
14.) princess day
15.) nemesis
16.) Joshua and Margaret
17.) ghost fly (not necessary)
18.) everything’s jake (not necessary)
19.) is that you
20.) jake the brick (not necessary but fun)
21.) dentist
22.) the cooler
23.) the pajama war
24.) evergreen
25.) astral plane
26.) gold stars
27.) the visitor
28.) the mountain
29.) dark purple
30.) diary (tv’s episode)
31.) walnuts and rain (not necessary but fun)
32.) friends forever (not necessary)
33.) jermaine
34.) chips and ice cream (not necessary)
35.) graybles 1000+
36.) hoots
37.) water park prank (not necessary) (different animation style episode)
38.) you forgot your floaties
39.) be sweet
40.) orgalorg
41.) on the lam
42.) hot digging dam
43.) the comet
Season 7:
1.) Bonnie and Neddy
2.) varmints
3.) cherry cream soda
4.) mama said
5.) football
6.) STAKES, part 1
7.) STAKES, part 2
8.) STAKES, part 3
9.) STAKES, part 4
10.) STAKES, part 5
11.) STAKES, part 6
12.) STAKES, part 7
13.) STAKES, part 8
14.) The more you moe
15.) summer showers (viola’s episode)
16.) angel face
17.) president porpoise is missing (not necessary)
18.) blank eyed girl (not necessary but fun)
19.) bad jubies (not necessary) (different animation style episode)
20.) kings ransom
21.) scamps (not necessary)
22.) crossover
23.) the hall of egress
24.) flute spell
25.)the thin yellow line (not necessary but fun)
Season 8:
1.) broke his crown
2.) don’t look (not necessary but fun)
3.) beyond the grotto (not necessary but fun) (different animation style episode)
4.) lady rainicorn of the crystal dimension
5.) I am a sword
6.) bun bun
7.) normal man
8.) elemental
9.) five short tables (fionna and cake pt 4) (not necessary but fun)
10.) the music hole
11.) daddy-daughter card wars (Charlie’s episode)
12.) pre boot
13.) reboot
14.) two swords
15.) do no harm
16.) wheels (bronwyn’s episode)
17.) high strangeness
18.) horse and ball
19.) jelly beans have power
20.) Islands pt 1
21.) Islands pt 2
22.) Islands pt 3
23.) Islands pt 4
24.) Islands pt 5
25.) Islands pt 6
26.) Islands pt 7
27.) Islands pt 8
Season 9:
1.) orb
2.) elements pt 1
3.) elements pt 2
4.) elements pt 3
5.) elements pt 4
6.) elements pt 5
7.) elements pt 6
8.) elements pt 7
9.) elements pt 8
10.) abstract
11.) ketchup (different animation style episode)
12.) fionna and cake and fionna (not necessary but fun) (fionna and cake pt 5)
13.) whispers
14.) three buckets
Season 10:
1.) the Wild hunt
2.) always bmo closing
3.) son of rap bear
4.) bonnibel bubblegum
5.) seventeen
6.) ring of fire
7.) Marcy and hunson
8.) the first investigation
9.) blenanas (for some reason this episode is separate on Hulu?) (not necessary)
10.) jake the starchild (out of order on Hulu, this one comes before temple of Mars)
11.) temple of Mars (out of order on Hulu, watch this one after jake the starchild)
12.) gumbaldia
13.) Come along with me
Adventure Time: Distant Lands-
1.) BMO
2.) Obsidian
3.) Together Again (not yet released)
4.) Wizard City (not yet released)
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[UPDATED: Complete Guide] Are you interested in watching Adventure Time, but intimidated by the thought of watching 283 episodes? Have you watched the series before, but want to watch again without any filler episodes (unless it’s Bubbline, of course?) This is for you!
After seeing several requests, I have compiled the complete list of all the Adventure Time episodes that contain major plot, important backstory, major characterization, and/or Bubbline moments. I have also included optional episodes that I think will increase your understanding/enjoyment of the show (I put the reason next to it; if it says something about being an arc, backstory, characterization, etc., be warned that not watching may make the major plot points of the show a bit more confusing for you).
I condensed the show down to 153 of the 10-minute episodes (91 episodes if you don’t watch any of the optional episodes). Optional episodes are in italics. Episodes with Bubbline moments, characterization of Marcy/Princess Bubblegum (PB), or major backstory/plot related to Marcy/PB are in bold. Anything with a an asterisk (*) can be watched at any time (order doesn’t matter, though you may still want to watch it in the same season).
I hope this helps someone out since I spent hours putting it together! Without further ado…
Season 1
1 x 2 “Trouble in Lumpy Space” | Introduces LSP
1 x 3 “Prisoners of Love” | Introduces the Ice King
1 x 5 “The Enchiridion”
1 x 9 “My Two Favorite People” | Introduces Jake & Lady Rainacorn (LR) arc
1 x 10 “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain”
1 x 12 “Evicted”
1 x 15 “What is Life?” | Introduces NEPTR + Ice King characterization
1 x 16 “Ocean of Fear” | Finn characterization
1 x 17 “When Wedding Bells Thaw” | Ice King characterization
1 x 20 “Freak City” | Introduces Magic Man
1 x 22 “Henchman”
1 x 24 “What Have You Done?” | Ice King characterization (*)
1 x 25 “His Hero”
Season 2
2 x 1 “It Came from the Nightosphere”
2 x 2 “The Eyes” | Ice King characterization
2 x 3 “Loyalty to the King” | Ice King characterization
2 x 6 “Slow Love” | Just a funny/cute episode (*)
2 x 7 “Power Animal” | Establishes more of Adventure Time universe
2 x 10 “To Cut a Woman’s Hair”
2 x 11 “Chamber of Frozen Blades” | Ice King characterization (*)
2 x 12 “Her Parents” | Jake and Lady Rainacorn (LR) arc
2 x 15 “The Real You”
2 x 17 “Death in Bloom” | Establishes more of the AT universe
2 x 18 “Susan Strong” | Introduces Susan Strong arc
2 x 20 “Go with Me” | Subtle Bubbline
2 x 24 “Mortal Folly”
2 x 25 “Mortal Recoil”
2 x 26 “Heat Signature”
Season 3
3 x 3 “Memory of a Memory”
3 x 5 “Too Young”
3 x 6 “The Monster” | LSP characterization/general cuteness (*)
3 x 7 “Still” | Ice King characterization
3 x 9 “Fiona and Cake” | Gender bending episode (*)
3 x 10 “What was Missing”
3 x 14 “Beautopia” | Susan Strong arc continues
3 x 17 “Thank You” | Not vital to plot, but adorable (*)
3 x 18 “Apple Thief” | Not vital to plot, but a favorite (*)
3 x 19 “Holly Jolly Secrets Pt. 1”
3 X 20 “Holly Jolly Secrets Pt. 2″
3 x 21 “Marceline’s Closet”
3 x 25 “Dad’s Dungeon” | Finn and Jake background
3 x 26 “Incendium” | Flame Princess Arc
Season 4
4 x 1 “Hot to the Touch” | Flame Princess arc
4 x 2 “Five Short Graybles” | Established more of AT universe (*)
4 x 5 “Return to the Nightsophere”
4 x 6 “Daddy’s Little Monster”
4 x 8 “Hug Wolf” | Generally cute (*)
4 x 9 “Princess Monster Wife” | Ice King characterization + great episode
4 x 10 Goliad
4 x 11 “Beyond this Earthly Realm” | Ice King characterization
4 x 13 “Princess Cookie” | Generally cute
4 x 15 “Sons of Mars” | Established more of AT universe
4 x 16 “Burning Low” | Flame princess arc + PB characterization
4 x 18 “King Worm” | Serious foreshadowing
4 x 19 “Lady and Peebles”
4 x 20 “You Made Me”
4 x 22 “Ignition Point” | Flame Princess Arc
4 x 24 “Reign of Gunters”
4 x 24 “I Remember You"
4 x 26 “The Lich”
Season 5
5 x 1 “Finn the Human”
5 x 2 “Jake the Dog”
5 x 6 “Jake the Dad” | Jake/LR arc
5 x 5 “All the Little People” | Cool and very slight Bubbline cameo
5 x 9 “All Your Fault”
5 x 11 “Bad Little Boy” | Gender bending + Marcy/Ice King development
5 x 12 “Vault of Bones” | Flame Princess arc
5 x 14 “Simon and Marcy”
5 x 16 “Puhoy” | Flame Princess arc
5 x 17 “BMO Lost” | SO ADORABLE. If you don’t watch you’re missing out (*)
5 x 18 “Princess Potluck” | Ice King characterization (*)
5 x 20 “Shh!” | Established more AT universe and is cute/neat (*)
5 x 21 “The Suitor”
5 x 22 “The Party’s Over, Isla de Senorita” | Ice King character development
5 x 23 “One Last Job” | Jake character development
5 x 26 “Wizards Only, Fools”
5 x 28 “Be More” | BMO backstory (*)
5 x 29 “Sky Witch”
5 x 30 “Frost and Fire” | Flame Princess arc
5 x 31 “Too Old”
5 x 32 “Earth and Water”
5 x 33 “Time Sandwich”
5 x 34 “The Vault"
5 x 38 “Red Starved”
5 x 40 “Play Date” | Finn character development
5 x 41 “The Pit” | Finn character development
5 x 45 “Blade of Grass”
5 x 46 “Rattleballs” | Finn character development
5 x 47 “The Red Throne” | Flame Princess arc
5 x 48 “Betty”
5 x 50 “Lemonhope Pt. 1″
5 x 51 “Lemonhope Pt. 2″
5 x 52 “Billy’s Bucket List”
Season 6
6 x 1 “Wake Up”
6 x 2 “Escape from the Citadel”
6 x 4 “The Tower” | Finn character development
6 x 6 “Breezy”
6 x 9 “The Prince Who Wanted Everything | Gender bending (*)
6 x 10 “Something Big”
6 x 12 “Ocarina” | Jake character development
6 x 14 “Princess Day”
6 x 16 “Joshua and Margaret Investigate”
6 x 19 “Is That You?” | Flame Princess arc
6 x 22 “The Cooler” | Flame Princess arc
6 x 23 “The Pajama War”
6 x 24 “Evergreen”
6 x 25 “Astral Plane” | Martin arc
6 x 26 “Gold Stars” | Lich arc
6 x 27 “The Visitor” | Martin arc
6 x 28 “The Mountain” | Flame Princess arc + Lemongrab characterization
6 x 29 “Dark Purple” | Susan Strong arc
6 x 32 “Friends Forever” | Ice King characterization
6 x 35 “Graybles 1000+” | Foreshadowing
6 x 38 “You Forgot Your Floaties”
6 x 39 “Be Sweet” | Lich arc + LSP character development
6 x 40 “Orgalorg”
6 x 42 “Hot Diggity Doom”
6 x 43 “The Comet”
Season 7
7 x 1 “Bonnie & Neddy”
7 x 2 “Varmits”
7 x 4 “Mama Said” | Finn/Jake character development
7 x 5 “Football” | Adorable BMO (*)
7 x 6 “Marceline the Vampire Queen”
7 x 7 “Everything Stays”
7 x 8 “Vamps About”
7 x 9 “The Empress Eyes”
7 x 10 “May I Come In?”
7 x 11 “Take Her Back”
7 x 12 “Checkmate”
7 x 13 “The Dark Cloud”
7 x 14 “The More You Moe, The Moe You Know (Part I)” | BMO arc
7 x 15 “The More you Moe, The Moe You Know (Part II)” | BMO arc
7 x 18 “President Porpoise is Missing!” | Adorable + Marcy cameo
7 x 21 “King’s Ransom”
7 x 25 “Flute Spell” | Introduces Huntress Wizard
7 x 26 “The Thin Yellow Line”
7 x 27 “Broke His Crown”
7 x 28 “Don’t Look”
7 x 29 “Beyond the Grotto” | Established more AT universe/cool (*)
7 x 30 “Lady Rainacorn of the Crystal Dimension” | LR backstory (*)
7 x 31 “I am a Sword”
7 x 32 “Bun Bun” | Finn + Flame Princess arc and characterization
7 x 33 “Normal Man”
7 x 34 “Elemental”
7 x 35 “Five Short Tables” | Gender bending (*)
7 x 36 “The Music Hole”
7 x 38 “Preboot”
7 x 39 “Reboot”
Season 8
8 x 1 “Two Swords”
8 x 2 “Do No Harm”
8 x 3 “Wheels” | Jake characterization/background (*)
8 x 4 “High Strangeness”
8 x 6 “Jelly Beans Have Powers”
8 x 7 “The Invitation”
8 x 8 “Whipple the Happy Dragon”
8 x 9 “Mysterious Island”
8 x 10 “Imaginary Resources”
8 x 11 “Hide and Seek”
8 x 12 “Min and Marty”
8 x 13 “Helpers”
8 x 14 “The Light Cloud”
Season 9
9 x 02 “Skyhooks”
9 x 03 “Bespoken For”
9 x 04 “Winter Light”
9 x 05 “Cloudy”
9 x 06 “Slime Central”
9 x 07 “Happy Warrior”
9 x 08 “Hero Heart”
9 x 09 “Skyhooks II”
9 x 10 “Abstract”
9 x 11 “Ketchup”
9 x 12 “Fiona and Cake and Fiona” | Gender bending (*)
9 x 13 “Whispers”
9 x 14 “Three Buckets”
Season 10
10 x 01 “The Wild Hunt”
10 x 02 “Always BMO Closing” | Cute BMO episode that is sort of important to this season’s plot but you will still understand what’s going on without it
10 x 03 “Son of Rap Bear” | Flame Princess arc fulfilled; fun episode
10 x 04 “Bonnibel Bubblegum”
10 x 05 “Seventeen”
10 x 07 “Marcy and Hunson”
10 x 08 “The First Investigation”
10 x 09 “Blenanas” | Finn characterization; brief appearance of PB
10 x 10 “Jake the Starchild”
10 x 11 “Temple of Mars”
10 x 12 “Gumbaldia”
10 x 13 “Come Along with Me”
Follow Modern Marcy for affordable finds inspired by Adventure Time (along with a lot of fanart, fan theory, and general posts about the show and its characters!) I’ll be opening up an Etsy shop next month with Adventure Time knickknacks and props from the show (and stuff from a few other fandoms!) so be sure to check back :)
#ATimers#Adventure Time#Episode Guide#Bubbline#Mareceline#Princess Bubblegum#Bubbline episodes#Episode list#Modern Marcy episode list#Updated#Complete Series#AT#Sugarless gum#LGBTQ cartoon representation#Bubbline moments
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BTHB: Forced to Beg
GUESS WHAT it’s more fae bb, she just refuses to stop coming up with ideas, so for now I’m using her for most of this BHTB card! I’ve already got quite a few planned out, but if you have a request for a square with another of my characters or just a scenario you’ve always wanted written, go ahead and send it in!
If you want to read more, this is part of my Fae BB series, a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively (idk when I’ll stop plugging them and their series’ because I LOVE IT) I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. . On my blog page I have a summary and masterlist up now.
Follows sometime after Water
Thanks to @whumpywhumper @bleedingandfeverish and @straight-to-the-pain for beta reading and @quirkykayleetam for the idea!
CW: Intimate whumper, religious whump, captivity, toxic religion, creepy whumper, eye gore, SERIOUS eye gore, body horror
“What is this?” Pastor John holds a thick stack of papers in his hand. They’re covered more in handwritten colorful ink than the original black and white printed texts, notes squished into every available space in a rainbow of information. Careful, precise handwriting on crisp paper, that crumples and gives under the punishingly tight grip of the man, veins popping in his hands.
Sitting back on her heels, on her knees, Faith keeps her hands still, gently clenched on top of her thighs. She tries to keep her voice even,“I-I was researching, about the Fae. About myself. It is where I failed in my path, in my work. ‘First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother’s eye.’ “
A deep sigh comes in reply, an echo of disappointment lingering in the air. “Luke 6:42, very good. Yes, I know, we discussed this. I agreed to give you back your research, so you could look at it with new eyes, to see the wickedness you were born into. But these—” He squats in front of her, sharply pressed slacks crumpling on top of old leather loafers in her downcast vision. The papers flub-blub-flub in his hands as he shakes them, a curious sound that would make her giggle if not for the severity of the clipped tone. “These, Fae, look an awful lot like notes on magic. Spells. And ways to perform them.”
“T-They are, Pastor. But only for understanding how it works. The nature of my sin.”
It’s a weak excuse, a bad excuse, a stupid excuse. God above, how stupid was she, to think she could lie and get away with this?
Silence weighs down upon her thickly, the world of lies she’s been living in pressing in on all corners. Lies that have weighed on her since before she knew them. But that weight is no longer intangible, now he can see it, she can feel it. The burden of her sin has fallen on her shoulders, and she’s chosen to carry it.
But after all, God isn’t supposed to tempt you beyond your ability. That there would be escape with the temptation. The problem was, what was the temptation, and what was the escape?
Somehow, she’d thought that maybe if she had been born magic, been born to all those things supernaturals believed in, something in that magic could be the thing to save her. Could be the sign she’d been looking for.
Because when the fire in the water, the attempt of iron baptism to burn her sin, had met her soul, it hadn’t just burned away the edges of faith concealing who she really was. It had ignited something within her, some temptation she’d always known, which had followed to this point. Had followed, to her folly, again thinking it was the escape God intended for her.
God had no mercy for Eve, and he would have none for guilty Fae who have chosen the apple over the garden.
A hand tilts her chin until she’s looking at his eyes. His eyes that are slightly red, tears budding at the edges that she hopes are flowers of forgiveness, the forgiveness he preaches to her, the forgiveness that is the only thing she prays for now. From her supernatural friends, for not listening. From her parents, for lying. From her brother, for everything.
“Why would you lie?” His voice breaks, leather tones cracking like a brittle piece left to dry in the sun. With it, a tear falls, bright against the irritated blotchiness of his skin, a wet sound to his breath. “After all we’ve done, Fae, all our— why would you lie rather than ask for forgiveness?” A hand so soft and gentle cups her face, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. Her own tears smear with it across her cheek as she leans into the touch.
“I’m sorry.”
No, that’s a lie too, if she’s honest. She’s not sorry for trying to escape this hellway to heaven. But the fact is she put herself here. Let herself fall back into sin again and again. Forgot how to be truthful, how to be honest and think of anything but herself. Had she ever really? Had she ever meant it?
Was she Eve, tempted into sin, or a devil in disguise here to tempt the faithful?
“I don’t see it. Show me, show me you are sorry” She watches with pleading eyes as he gets up, figure blurred to her tearful regret. He moves away, the gentleness gone. Arms are clasped in front of him, waiting, a stone statue gazing down on her, leaving her to make her own contrition.
“Please, please. I am sorry, I am. I lied. I was- was tempted by it. Again. I should’ve known”
Silence meets her, unmoving, unwavering, unsatisfied.
So she tries again.
“C-corinthians 10:13 says, God will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, so I was tempted, tempted to see what magic could do but God, my love for him, would never let me be tempted to do magic. The knowledge, that was- was my escape from temptation. To know, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do. Please Pastor I recognize it was wrong, I know, I knew and I did. Please by the Lord’s mercy forgive me”
It’s absolutely a lie, now. Because she’d tried to use those tiny tendrils she felt in her body, a whisper of a voice of a song she didn’t know, couldn’t know. But as those eyes bore into her, her body starts shaking, using all the movement he should be. But he’s just standing there, silent, as more words pour out of her mouth, as she mistakes proverbs and words in her stumbles to try and explain, to try and reconcile her actions.
The silence leaves her with nothing to do but try not to drown in her repeated mistakes, drops in a bucket turned tub turned ocean of her own making. Why was she so incapable of doing the right thing? Of doing what he said and leaving? Why did she insist on making herself take two steps back for every step forward, putting her foot in her mouth even now.
Her penitential deluge is interrupted by a sigh, stopped dead in its tracks. After what feels like an eternity of stoned silence, the Pastor turns swiftly, leaving her with nothing but the thud of his steps before there’s a return to silence.
Her brain tries to comprehend what it means, tries to dissect every minuscule facial movement imagined or not seen in the shadows of the dark. Did he forgive her? Did he believe her? What had she even said? The memories of her own words slip through her fingers like water, as ‘should’ve’s’ and better words come to mind.
Her panicked race of thoughts is interrupted by the creak of stairs coming back down. Distinctive by now as they evoke the hope of mercy and the fear of discovery, the duality of her new existence, her limited choices.
This time, she prays it’s hope she feels.
When she opens her eyes to see John holding a box filled with things, it is instead a rabbit-hearted dread.
“Pastor?”
His breath hitches through his nose, voice almost cracking. “I prayed, I did, that we could prevent this. But I see, now, that we may have to take a push forward to prevent a backslide.” He sets the box down, but she doesn’t dare look, doesn’t dare look away from the kindness in his eyes, the gentleness of his hands that is all she can cling to down here.
And gently, those hands lay her down, one rubbing circles into the back of her head while the other presses on her sternum in an unspoken command that makes her fold like paper. It feels like a dream almost, something unreal, something that’s happening to someone far away as hands are pulled above her head, fastened together and to a wooden beam tightly, so tight it’s tingling in her fingertips like tiny fireworks as blood struggles to meet them.
The box scrapes against the ground, and she feels a heavy weight settle on her pelvis, her eyes refusing to look away as John pulls on a pair of purple gloves.
“Matthew 18:9,” is what he says as a latex finger goes to flick a tear that’s leaked out of her eye harshly, the material dulling the warmth of his skin, an alien touch that suddenly makes him feel less human, but more real.
Matthew 18:9. Matthew 18:9. What is Matthew 18:9?
The hand goes to squeeze her shoulder muscle, sending a lance of pain up her numbing arms, eyes shooting open wider.
“Fae. What is Matthew 18:9?” The voice becomes rigid. Severe. Bitter. Like the time where she was struggling to breathe as iron-laced water flooded her lungs. When she failed to be purified by it, burning in a pooled hell.
As the pressure increases, feeling like it’ll crush her muscle, her brain finally scrambles to find the words, fallen from her mouth practically unbidden
“And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the hell of fire.”
The shock of realization makes her twist, thrash under the weight that sinks down on her torso, preventing movement alongside the ropes that cut into her skin with friction, barely allowing any flow of blood and turning her arms into numb weights.
“No, please, please no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Pastor, please forgive” she scrambles for a plea, a phrase, something she hasn’t used yet. “J-James 2:13! Mercy triumphs over judgement.” But the hands ignore her, shuffling through supplies, wiping something cold and stinging all around her right eye.
“Pleasedon’tdothis, 1 John 1:9 ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness’. PleasepleasepleasePLEASE!” Her voice is high and airy in her throat as she struggles to pull in air between the real weight of John on her chest, and the weight of her own panic allowing only the shallowest sips to reach her lungs.
The hands stop and sigh, directing her gaze to his face. Her breath stops at meeting the cold gravestone slate of his eyes, frozen by his touch.
“Proverbs 19:8 ‘Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.’ I have shown you mercy. I cannot abide your crying anymore without punishment Fae.”
The tears start to flow as the stinging returns to her eyes, pleas now just helpless sobs as he sets objects beyond her eyesight. There’s the distinct smell now of antiseptic, overpowering. She watches him take a swig of clear liquid from a bottle next to her before he pours it over his hands, rubbing them together.
“I wish there was another way. Your eyes, they see such awful words, they read such terrible things and give you ideas. I forgive you, but He will not Fae. I’m sorry.”
His tone is resolute even as it fades into a gruff apology, body adjusting to squash the last of her apologies, breath escaping her flesh even as she wishes she could follow it.
The hand readjusts to pry open the lids of her right eye, thick fingers too strong for the weak muscle. The liquid burns but she can’t close them against it, eyes watering until he’s a blur in her forced vision. The wetness of her tears coats the latex, and a second hand comes to touch her eye itself. Fae’s back attempts to arch under the strain, body screaming with a not supposed to be there don’t touch thatnotsupposedtoTOUCH!
It’s a sharp pressure that builds quickly overwhelming her senses. Sobs turn to screams, wailing on every exhale, short between breaths. It could be minutes. It could be seconds. But the pain feels like an eternity as every piece of her screams against the intrusion to the softest, most vulnerable, most exposed of her organs. The world goes white, pain turned into high pitched noise in her ears as her heart struggles to keep up, a rhythm of thumpthutmpthutmpthump that speeds impossibly fast in her chest.
And then there’s a pop. Sickening, slimy, a noise that reminds her in a delirious amount of pain like the sound of a sucker out of someone’s mouth. Quiet, slightly slurpy as it’s crushed and pulled, leaking not just tears but now blood and fluid. It’s disquieting to hear it.
It’s most disquieting to see it freed, for a moment. The world drifting in a nauseating set of two distances, warping to her brain as he doesn’t stop. No. He pulls.
As the cord snaps, she remembers hearing about the dangers of taut ropes. Of how, when they snap, they whiplash back, causing severe injury. The physics teacher had demonstrated on a rubber band, and she remembers the small snap on her hand that day as she tried it with a lab partner. The feeling like her skin had torn open.
She has no idea if the nerves react like a rubber band, but her brain tells her that they have. That her entire right side has been whiplashed, shattered bone, ripped skin, blood pouring in heated rivulets until all she can taste is copper and pain. Her face is gone, skull crushed by agony as it booms within in an explosion like a firework set off far too close. A haphazard celebration.
And it’s his smile of celebration holding a piece of her that she sees as the other half of her world goes dark.
Tags:@bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpywhumper @greatandquestionablecontent (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)
#BTHB#bad things happen bingo#badthingshappenbingo#prompt: forced to beg#forced to beg#faebb#Studying About That Good Ole Way#religious whump#religious abuse#religious abuse tw#religious abuse cw#religious whump tw#religion tw#fae#magical whump#fae whumpee#magical whumpee#urban fantasy#urban fantasy whump#fae whump#Fae/faith#Pastor John#body horror#eye whump#eye whump tw#body horror tw#my writing#rosywrites#rosys writing
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