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#Danny: Oh my ancients I have nephews and nieces now
puppetmaster13u · 5 months
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Prompt 104
 Danny finds himself reincarnating, giving it a try so to say. A new start of sorts, though he knows that Tucker will also be somewhere in the world and Sam will be keeping an eye whenever she’s not working on her uh, internship with Overgrowth. 
 He somehow, despite being in a world of heroes and villains, ends up reincarnating into some sort of assassin cult. Apparently he is keeping the Fenton luck despite a new life. Along with his white hair from his ghost form. Which is understandable with how there’s an ecto-pool in the room over. 
 He’s pretty sure his father is a fruitloop too, maybe. Well, technically he was a fruitloop for a human, but again. Ecto-pool that he was apparently taking dips in. At least this time he has some baby sisters- even if the toddler one keeps trying to stab him. 
 Honestly, feels like home. 
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renegadepisces · 4 years
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Bright Imagine: Kandomere accidentally meets your family part 3
Fandom: Bright
Pairing: Kandomere x reader
Tags: slow build, fluff, eventual nsfw
Note: also on AO3 as Serendipity & Caffeine 
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Dread wasn’t quite the right word for how you felt about Friday’s dinner. You could never dread seeing your sibling and their family. Your family wasn’t the issue. 
It wasn’t Kandomere’s fault though, you chided yourself. Your sibling and their spouse had invited him. He was more than welcome to attend. 
And the problem wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t want him to attend. You didn’t dislike him. In fact, he’d grown on you since you’d run into him while out with your family. As intimidating as he was - he had to intimidate to do his job - he clearly had a soft spot for children. He’d taken not only to stopping by your desk on his way to his office in the morning and asking how you were, but asking about your family too. 
No, your family wasn’t the issue. Neither was Kandomere. You were stunned on Wednesday when you shared the time and location of the gathering and Kandomere assured you he’d attend. It wasn’t his assurance that shocked you, or his willingness to spend a prime Friday night eating lasagna with a suburban family of 5 (6, counting you), or even the professional uneasiness of going to a family dinner with your superior. 
You felt relief when he said he’d be there. A strange flutter rose in your chest when he insisted he’d pick you up and drive you home too. He offered a practical explanation of course - one car is better than two and all that. It finally dawned on you that you wanted to Kandomere to come. 
And that was the problem confronting you when you slipped through the door of your apartment on Friday afternoon and prepared to tackle the absurdity of your evening plans. It was a familiar dance. You did your hair, freshened up your face, agonized over what to wear, and finally paced through your living room while stealing fervent glances at the digital clock displayed on your ancient coffee pot as you waited for Kandomere to pick you up. 
It felt too much like a date. The careful choices for your appearance, the waiting anxiously by your phone, the hoping that your family would like him - these were date rituals. These were boyfriend rituals. 
But Kandomere was not your boyfriend. Kandomere was a walking, talking, sneering elf gorget-wearing visual definition of the word unattainable. Having a crush on your coworker was stupid. Having a crush on your stupidly handsome elvish coworker? That was delusional. 
You’d consoled yourself over the telenovela-level disaster you’d somehow gotten yourself into by baking. You liked baking in general and often overindulged in the hobby during particularly stressful periods. You found something therapeutic in kneading bread dough and whisking cake batter. 
You’d baked something every night since your sibling invited Kandomere to dinner. Two dozen blueberry-lemon-poppyseed muffins on Tuesday, your favorite coffee cake with cinnamon bun glaze on Wednesday, and a layered chocolate cake with dulce de leche buttercream icing and mocha drizzle on Thursday. 
Okay, you’d meant to make the cake. You always brought desert to family dinners and this one was your sibling’s favorite. You’d deposited the muffins in the breakroom at work early enough that no one knew who’d brought them. Overhearing the steady stream of compliments whenever you made another cup of coffee or refilled your water bottle had been uplifting, even if you didn’t take credit. You’d kept the coffee cake for yourself at home. The dulce de leche cake was neatly and securely packed in a portable cake stand, waiting on Kandomere to pick you up. 
Your heart leapt into your throat when you heard a knock at the door. You’d expected the innocuous buzz of a text message, but the sound of knuckles tapping lightly against the door pierced the tense silence of your apartment like a dart.
Cautiously, you crossed the living room and pressed your eye to the peephole. Kandomere, continuing to astound you in all the worst ways, stood in the harsh fluorescent lighting of your apartment corridor. It wasn’t a bad place to live - certainly nicer than a lot of other complexes in LA - but Kandomere still looked equally out-of-place and breathtaking. 
“Sir,” was the best greeting you could come up with as you stepped out into the hallway.
“So formal,” he said, his eyes sweeping across you appraisingly before settling on the cake carrier clutched in your hands. 
“Dessert, I assume?” 
“By my sibling’s personal request. I hope you like chocolate,” you teased. 
“Not your nephews’ choice? I didn’t expect you to miss a chance to spoil them.” he said, gesturing toward the end of the corridor, where the elevator was, in an obvious invitation to get going. 
“I make whatever cake they want for their birthdays and any time I babysit. The younger one comes up with some weird flavor combinations and I’m waiting with baited breath to see what he asks for this year.” 
“A boy after my own heart.” Kandomere chuckled, “I have a horrible sweet tooth.”
You hadn’t meant to tell him more than he asked. The words just slipped out. You liked talking about the boys. More alarmingly, Kandomere seemed to like listening to you talk about them. Why else would he stop by your desk and make small talk about what school they attended and if their hobbies kept you busy on your days off?
The drive to your sibling’s home was mostly quiet. You traded inane details about cases you were working on and swapped MTF office chatter until Kandomere’s GPS brought you to your destination - one of those cookie-cutter suburban starter home communities. It was nicer than your apartment complex, but not nearly as luxurious as what you were sure Kandomere was used to.
Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have bothered knocking, but you wanted to give your sibling and their spouse some warning before you brought a guest into their home. Your hand never made it to the door though. 
It jerked inward, startling you and throwing you off balance as the solid surface you were reaching for fled from your outstretched hand. A hand gripped you by your shoulder and steadied you before gently pulling you back to your feet. Kandomere, with the lightning fast reflexes and grace common among elves, had kept you from falling face first into your youngest nephew.
“Are you supposed to answer the door by yourself?” you chided him gently. 
Completely unfazed by your correction, he looked up at you and Kandomere and asked, “Why are you holding hands?”
Your face burned as you realized you’d brought your hand up to your shoulder when Kandomere kept you from falling a few seconds before. Instinctively, you both pulled your hands away, breaking the contact. 
Your sibling burst into view, holding your niece in their arms and telling their middle child not to be rude and keep you and Kandomere standing outside. 
As you suspected, everything was perfect. The lasagna was already on the table and had cooled to the point that it could be eaten without scorching your tongue. Kandomere had brought flowers as a gift instead of wine, not knowing if your niece was breastfed. She was, and your sibling and their spouse appreciated his thoughtfulness. Your nephews even ate most of their vegetables without needing to be pestered. 
Kandomere had been positively gregarious all evening, so it didn’t surprise you when he complimented you on your cake. You were a good baker after all, and knew a few secrets to making boxed cake mix taste like it was made from scratch. Covering it with heaps of homemade buttercream icing was one of them. 
“This is truly excellent. I never knew you were so accomplished y/n,” he praised. 
“Oh this isn’t even their best cake recipe. Y/n, you should bring your coffee cake into the office some time.” your in-law said.
“I should have known your best work would feature coffee.” Kandomere laughed. 
Before you could respond, the baby monitor crackled to life in your sibling’s hand. Your niece had slept through dinner peacefully, but now wanted attention. Your in law started to get up from the table, but you stopped her. 
“Let me get her. Sit down and eat your cake,” you insisted.
They didn’t argue. You’d done just about everything that babies required with all three of their children. From diapers to vomit, you’d handled it. Besides, Kandomere seemed to be having a good time. You wondered what embarrassing stories your sibling might try to tell him and if their spouse would them. 
Your niece was working herself up into a sobbing tantrum when you tiptoed into her room. She screeched indignantly when you picked her up and fisted your shirt in her chubby hands. You didn’t smell anything that pointed to her needing a change, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 
You noticed her onesie was wet near the neck and touched your finger to her mouth. Now you had a sneaking suspicion as to why she was so irritated. Quietly, you retreated to the kitchen and reached into the freezer. Clutching your prize in one hand and holding your niece on your hip with the other, you returned to her room. Hopefully her teething ring and a few lullabies would get her back to sleep. 
By your second refrain of Frere Jacques, her sobs were quieting as she sucked almost hungrily at the cold teething ring. You sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star until you saw her eyelids drift closed. If she could make it through a round of Danny Boy, you could be sure she was asleep and put her back in her crib.
“And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me. . .” you crooned the final line, looking down at her for any sign of stirring. 
She was sound asleep. 
In the hallway, Kandomere’s ears twitched as he caught the sound of your lullabies. You didn’t have a great singing voice, but it was soothingly steady and soft. Clearly, it was good enough for the kids because even the oldest of your nephews was nodding off in his seat. 
It seemed that your lullaby affected the whole house, because you hadn’t been out of your niece’s nursery long before the process of saying goodbyes began. First the boys, who needed to go get ready for bed. Then your in-law, who always left you and your sibling alone together at the end of these nights. Your sibling always walked you to your car and waited until you disappeared from sight before turning out the lights and joining their spouse in bed. 
This all made it incredibly strange to experience your sibling walking you and Kandomere to the door. It only got weirder when you remembered that Kandomere had driven you both there and would therefore be driving you home. The whole affair seemed so intimate. You’d dated men who didn’t meet your family even after months, and yet he had met them less than a week ago and was already eating lasagna and getting goodbye hugs from your nephews. 
“I didn’t think you’d be so good with kids.” you blurted out, motivated equally by curiosity and desperation to break the mounting silence filling the car. 
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” you assured him, “I just mean that most people who do that well with kids have experience. Either they grew up in a large family or they have kids of their own. I didn’t think either was true of you, so I didn’t expect you to be so good with my family. I meant it as a compliment Kandomere.”
He remained silent far longer than you liked before answering. 
“Elves usually don’t have large families. Most of us are only children and plenty of us don’t have children at all. Growing up, I always wanted a large family.”
“Well, you can still make that happen.” you said, and you regretted it as soon as the words came out your mouth. It sounded like you were flirting. You definitely hadn’t meant for that to sound like flirtation.
“With our hours? I’m not holding my breath.” he scoffed. 
“Oh come on. You’re an intelligent, attractive elf in LA. There are plenty of people who would date you. You just don’t meet them because you practically live at your desk.” you retorted. 
“Alright then y/n, why are still you single if you’re the expert?” His tone was playful, and his lips parted just enough for you to catch the glint of his sharpened canines through his smile. 
“Well, this may surprise you but the number of sane, available men attracted to human female cops with a background in martial arts and behavioural profiling is a statistical aberration.” 
You both erupted into peels of laughter. The mood in the car shifted suddenly, dispelling the tension as the suffocating silence fled in the wake of your laughter. You found that carrying on a conversation in such an intimate and personal setting as Kandomere’s car came much more easily when he was smiling at you. 
“And my family doesn’t like anyone I date. Not a single one.” you said, “Though they seem to like you.”
“Your nephew did tell me you were single.”
Your eyes widened in shock and you choked back a startled noise. You were tempted to ask which one, but were silent for the rest of the ride to your apartment. Your face burned in embarrassment. 
Despite that, now that you faced the possibility of ending the night, you hesitated. As much as you hadn’t looked forward to tonight, it had been pleasant.
It had been a while since you’d asked a man up to your apartment. And that wasn’t really what you were going for. You wanted Kandomere to come up with you but not like that. 
Fuck it, you decided as he puled up to the curb.
“Would you be up for a second dessert course Kandomere?” you asked. 
You heard his breath hitch. The dim light of your complex’s parking garage and the inscrutable curtain of his lustrous hair made it impossible to gauge his reaction. 
“I happened to make that coffee cake my in-law mentioned on Wednesday night. You said earlier that you have a sweet tooth.”
Silence welled up around you like a rising tide. You were about to give up and get out of the car when he seemed to make a decision. Kandomere turned his crystalline eyes toward yours, and shifted the car into park. 
“I’d love that.”
As nerve-wracking as having Kandomere in your sibling’s home had been, inviting him into your tiny apartment was even worse. You kept it tidy thankfully, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about your modest lifestyle. 
He didn’t betray the faintest hint of judgement though. He seemed genuinely more interested in the promised coffee cake than scrutinizing your home. You had a stovetop espresso pot, and quickly set it to work on producing two cups of liquid caffeine. You’d worked with Kandomere long enough to know he never said no to coffee regardless of the time of day. 
Somehow, he looked less out of place on your couch than he had in the corridor at the beginning of your evening together. Maybe, you thought, it was the way he looked with his suit jacket removed, or the way he reclined into the plush cushions of your oversized second hand sofa. 
The coffee pot sang, signalling that it was time to cut the cake. It still looked and smelled as good as it had the night you’d made it. You brought the plates of cake and cups of steaming hot espresso to the coffee table and took a seat beside him on the sofa. 
Kandomere glided a dainty forkful to his lips, passing the fork between his perfectly white, pointed teeth. You watched him savor the bite like it was a gourmet morsel from some elftown patisserie. He even closed his eyes, as if to focus more on the taste. 
“I’m not complaining. I truly appreciate your talents y/n,” he said around a mouthful of cake, and your heart plummeted through the floor as you prepared to hear what you assumed would be a critical review of your very best cake. 
“But I have to know: why did you bake so much this week?”
“Excuse me?” You asked, not following his logic. He should only know about two desserts. Unless-.
“The muffins in the breakroom on Wednesday morning. Outside of the breakroom, the smell was strongest at your desk but I never saw you eat a single one. So the smell must have gotten on you a different way, like when you brought them into the breakroom.”
Sometimes you forgot he was a real federal agent with impeccable deductive reasoning skills and enhanced senses.
“Listen,” you blurted as your brain hastily tried to piece together a narrative that would adequately explain the situation without embarrassing you even more. It failed. 
“Oh, I am.” he said, smirking and leaning forward. 
“I had no idea how to handle tonight. It’s fine but it’s weird right? You’re not my direct supervisor but you are a senior agent and I work with you but we’re not close. But you’re invited to my sibling’s house for a family gathering and you have to understand that I have dated men for months who have never met my sibling’s kids. And I bake when I’m stressed, so I just kept baking things. I wasn’t even done after the dulce de leche cake. I’ve got dough in the freezer-”
Suddenly, his hands darted to your shoulders and pulled you toward him. You were cut off by his lips crashing against yours. You closed your eyes, leaning into the kiss. As one of his hands roamed upward from your shoulder to settle at the nape of your neck, the other wound itself in your hair, pulling you even closer.
You shuddered as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. The pressure of his teeth followed shortly behind, gently worrying your flushed and steadily swelling lips. He painted featherlight, teasing strokes against the roof of your mouth with his tongue, earning him a low, breathy moan.
He broke the kiss as quickly as he’d begun it. His hands and lips - along with their giddying warmth and attention - withdrew sharply as he tore himself away from you.
“I’m sorry,” he panted, snatching up his jacket, “This was a mistake.”
He retreated into the corridor, not casting even a split-second glance behind him as your front door slammed shut.
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starlight! starlight!!! you're one of the few people I know who reads toby daye and pls I need to yell with someone about night and silence because IT WAS SO GOOD I'M DYING I HAD TO PUT THE BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY SEVERAL TIMES
@maelace​ asked:
Have you read the new October Daye book yet? Because oh my goodness I must know what you think!
Y’ALL
Y A L L
LET’S HAVE A CHAT
OKAY FOLKS
So, some FAIRLY INCOHERENT thoughts about Night and Silence, which I keep calling Nights and Silences because my brain really likes them plurals I guess:
FUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! FUUUUUUUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!!!!!  SHE DOES NOT APPEAR ONCE AND YET I AM CONSUMED WITH RAGE
Seanan does such amazing work on all kinds of mental illness stuff, which I think I’ve discussed before re: Toby Daye and her ongoing upward mobility, but fuck the entire Tybalt plotline was so crushing.  That’s what it’s like, is the thing, to watch someone you love retreating from you and not be able to do anything about it because you don’t want to hurt them worse, and I cheered out loud when he came back, and asking Ginevra to come stand in as regent was such a bittersweet scene because on the one hand yes Tybalt my love take care of yourself, but on the other hand I just want him to be okay.  (FUCK Amandine, by the way)
I would die for Quentin, just kind of in general, but I’m specifically really delighted with the subplot of “Quentin thinks Toby could do better than this arrogant tomcat,” and I’m so proud of my best bisexual prince son for calling Tybalt and apparently just ripping into a King with all the worst swears Toby has ever taught him.  I can’t goddamn wait for the King of the Westlands to be this charming, kind-hearted knight-ling whose impeccable etiquette and noble bearing is deeply and profoundly at odds with the fact that he has really kind of absorbed Toby’s problem-solving techniques.  
Aside: there’s nothing I want more than for this series to go on long enough for the Court of the Westlands to be scandalized by their young king jumping up from his throne and hugging a grumpy changeling dressed in a blood-drenched leather coat without regard for his fine silk shirt.  Even more than that, picture the scene.  It’s the coronation of High King Quentin Sollys, attended by royalty and the highest celebrities of Faerie, Sir October Daye grinning fit to split her face with her husband Tybalt and her adopted nephew, the recently ascended King of Dreaming Cats, all looking ready to die from pride.  Quentin’s parents are both crying perfect beautiful tears, as Daoine Sidhe do, and he’s about to be crowned and presented to the people and it’s great and then--  The ceremony is already underway when the door opens again to admit the Luidaeg, as her most terrifyingly Firstborn self, scowling like a storm cloud and gowned like a hurricane, and everyone is fucking terrified for a moment as she sweeps up the aisle toward the dais.  And then she breaks into a smile and holds out her hands to the Crown Prince, and Quentin laughs and rushes into her arms as he cries “I thought you said couldn’t make it!”  And everyone has a moment of religious fear when the sea witch pets his hair fondly and straightens his shirt and then presses a kiss to his forehead and declares to the room at large “You will be a king like none that Faerie has seen in many centuries, because you have a heart as strong and fair and kind as any I have ever seen.”
No one’s sure if it’s a blessing or a prophecy or just a moment of deeply unforeseen maternal affection from the goddamn Luidaeg, but suddenly the sea witch comes to visit the High King on a semi-regular basis and Quentin is delighted and...well, she was right.
Speaking of people I love, I love Danny?  The best rock boy?  He just wants Toby to talk about her feelings, it’s so sweet, I hope they invite him to the wedding so I can read about an eight-foot suit-wearing granite troll sobbing into a handkerchief about how proud he is of Toby.
I ALSO LOVE MAY, God, give me her and Jazz getting married please.  Also I would love to know more about Jazz--maybe a book with the core mystery including Jazz’s flock of Ravenmays?
SOME TAM LIN SHIT GOIN’ DOWN IN THIS BOOK, I GOT A LOT TO SAY
We all know I’m a fucking weak bitch for Tam Lin retellings.  Tam Lin being a lying piece of shit isn’t especially novel, but I LOVE the idea of Janet being the villain of the piece, however unintentionally?  I’m honestly enthralled.  Bitch...give me a novel...make the Luidaeg the main character and let me weep bitter tears for my beloved sea witch....
You know how I just had a whole bit about “Fuck Amandine” up there?  I stand by it.  Furthermore, FUCK JANET.  Every time she gets nasty with Toby I puff up like an angry cat.  
Incidentally, both Janet and Amandine had a (terrible) daughter they doted on, and when their daughter slipped away, they went out and got a replacement that they tried to force to be completely and entirely mortal, without regard for what their replacement wanted or what would be best for them--and ultimately, the person who took the most damage as a result of their selfishness was Toby both times.  Janet is, I guess, slightly better because she seems to at least care about Gillian, but she’s still...weirdly possessive?  She focuses a lot on how Gillian is hers, and hottest of hot takes, love and possession are not the same thing.
Sign me up for front row seats to all of Toby’s family losing their shit over how Janet treats her.  Sign me up for seats in the goddamn orchestra pit when, having started to realize that, actually, Toby did not bail on her, and that Toby is actually a great person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship on Gillian’s terms, and that Janet actively arranged events to drive Toby out of Gillian’s life and then convinced Gillian that Toby didn’t love her, Gillian fucking Comes For Janet’s Whole Life.
Again, the Luidaeg is dear to my heart beyond words, so honestly the fact that she saved Toby all the way back in An Artificial Night by breaking Michael’s Ride like Janet broke Maeve’s, right down to singing the ballad of Tam Lin to hold the magic in place...not to sound like a little old white lady, but that shit is breathtaking, yo. Talk to me forever about how Toby is the first family the Luidaeg has loved and been loved by in a long time, about how the Luidaeg used the same ancient magic that destroyed her life to save this woman who wasn’t yet her favorite niece from the man who used to be her beloved brother, about how the Luidaeg’s entire life is about taking the skins of tragedies and making something new.
Anyway, on to non-Tam Lin things.  Gillian...honey...you’ve been so lied to by so many people.  Toby is the only parent who ever gave Gillian a choice in which life she wanted to live, and it’s so sad.  All Gillian focuses on in the blood memories Toby sees is how much her car represents freedom and safety and...oh honey.  Oh baby girl.  If Janet and Cliff aren’t careful, now that Gillian knows that they manipulated the truth about Toby to completely take her away from Gillian, she’s going to straight up buck their rules and leave.  (I...want Gillian to live with the Luidaeg?  The only full Selkie in history to have the blessing of the sea witch, living with both feet in Faerie and getting coffee with her mother on weekends, turning the full count of Small Children Who Adore The Luidaeg from one to two.  Let the Luidaeg be Gillian’s weird aunt.)
LET TOBY HAVE HER DAUGHTER BACK.  On Gillian’s terms, because Toby wouldn’t want it any other way, but God, just let them have a relationship.  Let Gillian meet someone who doesn’t have Jocelyn’s blind hero worship or the Luidaeg’s ingrained sense of honor and who will tell her that her mom, A, did not voluntarily leave her, and, B, is legitimately rad as fuck.  And then let them start with awkward weekly coffee dates that turn into an awkward dinner at Toby’s house that turns into a slightly less awkward trip to the movies or something and so on and so forth until they’re close and Gillian understands how much Toby loves her and Toby understands that sometimes it’s okay to push for a relationship.  Because Toby’s willing to do the work, but she’s not willing to push for the relationship because she believes Gillian doesn’t want her around, but Gillian only thinks that way because she believes Toby abandoned her, and the only way that vicious loop is going to change is if Toby actually pushes the boundaries for long enough to explain.
It’s so adorable how Toby thinks Quentin’s gonna be her last squire.  My boy’s going to be gone for two months before Toby comes back to the house with a baker’s dozen children and a mulish expression.  Within a hundred pages she goes from “I’m never having another squire because I’m so unfit for this” to “I should reopen Home and run it myself” and I just.  I love her so much.  She’s so dumb.  She has such a good heart and she’s so dumb.  I’d die for her.  Every fifteen pages in any Toby Daye book I just end up crooning “You’re so stupid, I love you so much” to the pages while Toby fails to notice, again, what an incredible person she is.  I’ve loved watching her grow so much, I’m getting weepy here.
OH MY GOD, AND THE NOVELLA?
HOLY SHIT, THAT JUST.  DESTROYED MY WHOLE SOUL.  EXACTLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED FROM A STORY ABOUT A NEW SELKIE.  I FEEL LIKE THIS GIVES A LOT OF SUPPORT TO MY HEADCANON THAT SELKIES HAVE TERRIBLE DREAMS ABOUT BEING CLUTCHED IN BLOODY HANDS WHILE A VOICE WEEPS FOR THEIR MOTHER IN THEIR EAR.  I WANT FIRTHA AND GILLIAN TO BE BEST FRIENDS.  I LOVE HOW DIFFERENTLY FIRTHA OBVIOUSLY TREATS GILLIAN, THE FIRST SELKIE IN HISTORY WHO DID NOT CHOOSE THIS.  I LOVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION IS GIVEN TO THE CHOICE THAT SELKIES MAKE, TO TAKE THE SKIN AND ALL IT CARRIES OR DIE.  
I LOVE SELKIES IN THIS UNIVERSE.  I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE LUIDAEG CALL IN THAT FUCKING DEBT.  HOLY SHIT.
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