#like no characters should be getting axed. but they may need to be shuffled around a bit

[chromaji]

hmmmm melzan's story may need a bit of an overhaul... but mainly in the protagonist & "main goal" sections. The overall story & many details are still the same as I last left it, but this important part that I could never really settle... could likely be settled with a protag/role change.

[collapsingintojupiter]

To The End And Back: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Characters: Philza, Technoblade, and Ranboo

---

“Does this look like it?” Techno held up an ender pearl that wasn’t an ender pearl, and Ranboo studied it carefully before nodding to the piglin. 

“That’s it! That’s just like what I made!”

“So...why were you making these Ranboo?” Philza asked. He took the ender eye from the hybrid, looking over it with a frown. Ranboo just shrugged. 

“I uh, don’t remember,” he said. “Cause...y’know…” Techno and Phil exchanged glances, though neither said anything. Phil sighed. 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said, handing the eye back to Ranboo. “How many of these do we need again?”

“Nine, I think,” Techno said. 

“I wonder what will happen when we fill them in...” Phil looked at the shimmering eye of ender, then shook his head. 

“What if it’s dangerous?” Techno asked, crossing his arms and glaring at the ender eye. “Whatever that thing is is pretty close to my base, and I don’t want it ruining my property value, y’know? I want to keep being rich, Philza.”

“Of course you do,” Phil said with a laugh. “It definitely can’t hurt to go prepared when we go back there.” He glanced at Ranboo, who was vigorously nodding his agreement. 

“I-I like the sound of that,” he said. “Being prepared, I mean.”

“Alright. We can go back tomorrow, then,” Philza decided. “That will give us enough time to fully prepare once we make the rest of these eyes.” Techno nodded, then stood up. 

“Guess I’ll sharpen my axe, then,” he said. Phil nodded. 

“We’ll join you in an hour or so,” he called after him. 

The three worked late into the night once the eyes had been prepared, mending armor and weapons and preparing as many potions as they could think of. At one point Techno disappeared into the snow for over an hour, and returned with a terrifying number of wither skulls in his inventory. Ranboo meanwhile wrote a letter for just in case the worst happened, explaining where the three had gone and what they were doing. He said he wasn’t worried, though. 

Phil knew he was lying. 

“Is that everything?” Ranboo fidgeted nervously, checking his supplies for the dozenth time while Techno adjusted the cape around his shoulders. Phil reached out and put a hand on the hybrid’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging nod. 

“It’ll be okay mate,” he said. “But if you want to sit this one out, you can.”

“No, I want to come with you,” Ranboo answered, though his voice trembled ever-so slightly. “I...I want to help you guys.”

“Alright.” Philza pulled his cloak around his shoulders, bracing against the cold wind that whistled through the doorway as Techno pulled the door open and they set off into the snow once more. The day was both sunny and bitterly cold, and the trio remained quiet as they retraced their steps back to the stronghold. Technoblade seemed lost to his thoughts; Ranboo, to his anxieties, and Phil...he listened to the sound of their footsteps, eyes scanning the white world around them for anything that could threaten the group. Thankfully they were lucky, and the trip remained uneventful clear to the cave’s entrance. 

Ranboo’s torch path had gone out, but they were able to follow its remains back to the strange room without too much trouble. It was still humming. 

“What do you think it is?” Ranboo asked Philza as they stopped in the room’s entrance. He frowned at the question, then shook his head. 

“The only similarity I’ve been able to think of is that the configuration is similar to the portals we use to access the Nether. I suppose it’s possible that it may open a different kind, to another dimension.”

“Do you know what kind of dimension?” Philza shook his head. 

“We’ve never seen or heard of anything like this before. It might not even be a portal, that was just my guess.”

“Well, either way we’re about to find out.” Technoblade retrieved the bag of ender eyes from around his waist, handing several to Ranboo and another handful to Phil. He hesitated, then went to one of the empty sections and set the ender eye in the indentation. It fit perfectly, and his eyes widened as the humming sound grew slightly louder.

“That’s not concerning at all,” Techno said, though he still reached out and fitted another eye in. Ranboo followed, clearly anxious but still wanting to help them. Phil set the last eye in its place, and all three let out a shout as the humming suddenly erupted in a loud note. The sound was excruciatingly loud at first, reverberating across the room several times before fading to nothing. When Phil finally looked up again he saw that the space in the center of the structure had disappeared, replaced by a yawning black void. He blinked. 

So, it was a portal. 

“Uh, Ranboo?” At the worried tone in Techno’s voice Phil tore his gaze away from the portal, looking back at the hybrid with raised eyebrows. Ranboo stood perfectly still in front of the structure - exactly where he’d been when Phil placed the last ender eye - his gaze locked on its dark center. Phil’s chest tightened as he realized that the boy’s eyes were glowing - not red or green like they did when he sleepwalked, but purple like the color that the portal had once glowed.

“Ranboo?” He repeated. Ranboo didn’t answer. He stepped towards the portal and Technoblade lunged forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. 

“Ranboo, stop! What’s going on?” 

Ranboo turned towards Techno, and he snarled. He tore his arm free, grabbing his axe and swinging it at the piglin with all his might. Philza jumped forward with his sword, just managing to deflect the blow and give Techno enough time to duck out of the way. Ranboo-that-wasn’t-Ranboo stumbled back as Phil joined his friend’s side, and they both held their weapons up. 

“Ranboo?” The hybrid looked at them, axe still in hand, then turned and leapt into the portal. 

“Ranboo no!” Philza lunged after him, but Techno grabbed his arm and yanked him back before he could follow the boy through. They stumbled back into the wall and Philza froze, gaze locked on the portal, straining to catch any sign of the boy who’d been standing there less than a few seconds ago - but Ranboo had disappeared without a trace. The only evidence to him having ever been there was the portal itself, dark and menacing and horribly silent. 

“Phil, you okay?” Technoblade let go of his arm, but Phil couldn’t tear his gaze away from the portal. Silence settled over the two, before Techno broke it again. 

“Should we follow him through?”

“How would we get back?” Philza finally looked over at his old friend; it felt like the room had suddenly gotten cold, and he pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. The piglin looked away, shuffling awkwardly. 

“I have no idea. This isn’t like the nether, I have no idea how to create...this.” Techno gestured to the portal, shaking his head. “We...but Ranboo…”

“We need to figure out what the fuck this is,” Philza said at last. “We have to know what we’re getting into, especially if we want to save Ranboo from...whatever the fuck just happened.”

“Why didn’t it affect us?” Techno wondered aloud, frowning as he stepped back towards the portal. He put a hand on the edge of it, looking down into the black swirling void. “Why only Ranboo?”

“I...I have no idea.” Philza sighed in frustration, wings twitching agitatedly as his mind tried desperately to run through ideas and options. “I don’t know…”

“There is that library we saw, back when we were first here,” Techno said after a moment. “Maybe we can find it again, there might be something there that could explain what happened. They’ve got to have something on what that portal is or where it goes, right?” Philza considered the idea for a moment, before he nodded. 

“That seems to be our best shot right now,” he agreed. “We’ll get everything we can find...hopefully we can still save him.” Technoblade put a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced at his old friend. 

“We’ll do what we can,” he said. Philza nodded. 

“Let’s go find that damn library.”

[expensiveglasses]

Charming Chapter 3

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4635

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place. 

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“Y/N, will you take some of these berries for the dwarfs?” Your mother called from the kitchen and you quickly finished with your hair, walking from your bedroom. Your father and Peter were already working in the corner and you walked towards your mother who held a large basket out for you to take. 

“Is there anything else you wish for me to bring?” 

“Go get some eggs from the coop,” your mother hummed, shuffling around the kitchen, “and take this milk too. I worry about those men, all alone in the forest. They work in the mines all day and have no one to care for them when they return home.” 

“Doc cares for them, and Bashful is a surprisingly good cook. I’ve enjoyed every soup he’s ever made.”

“Yes, well, they don’t have any animals and they can’t grow any crops that far in the forest. I don’t understand why they insist on staying there year after year.”

You watched as she finished bustling around the room, grabbing all the supplies and settling them carefully in the basket beside the bundle of berries. “I perfectly understand it, mother. Not only do they enjoy the solitude, but no one stares or misjudges them there. They have the freedom to be themselves.”

“That is a life worth envying,” your mother admitted, coming to stand in front of you, “but it is not our life. You know that, do you not?”

You sighed, nodding. “I do.”

. .

The walk to the dwarf’s house was typically long. They lived deep in the forest, where only small pockets of light broke through to their den. You had just made it to the outskirts of the forest when you heard someone calling your name. 

You turned to find the prince, waving and moving towards you, smile bright on his face. “Good morning!” He said once he’d come to stand before you. “I’m so glad to have caught you. My father is ill this morning so I have some free time.”

“Is your father well?” You asked, turning to him with surprise, “does he need anything?”

“Oh, he is well.” Jungkook smiled handsomely. “Only a cold, but we meet with diplomats this evening and he wishes to be well rested for that, so he is sleeping longer.”

You nodded, adjusting the basket on your arm and the prince turned to survey your figure. “Where are you going this morning?”

“I am dropping this basket of food off at a friend’s home. Perhaps you would like to come?” You inquired. “They are part of your kingdom, but not many know of their existence. They like to keep to themselves.”

Jungkook smiled, clapping his hands together. “I would love to come!” You began to walk into the forest, Jungkook following beside you. 

“Why have they chosen to live in such a strange place, though? It is so dark in here.” Jungkook surveyed his surroundings, watching as the light ebbed from in front of you, the forest darkening the further you moved forward. There were enough patches of light along the way that you never felt as though you were in danger of injury or getting lost, but you supposed it was quite strange for someone new. 

“Well, you will better understand once you’ve met them, but I would like to prepare you so you’re not so surprised when you do. They are dwarfs, you see, and they enjoy their privacy. When they are out in the open, people can be unkind so they prefer to keep to themselves.”

“Dwarfs!” Jungkook cried in delight and you looked over at him, startled. “My father told me about them. He said they disappeared a long time ago and he wasn’t even sure they were still alive.”

“They are alive.” You confirmed. “They grew tired of the comments and the stares. The forest provides the type of solitude they were seeking. Besides, it is closer to the mines where they work, so it was a reasonable decision for them.”

“How did you come to know of them?” Jungkook inquired, lifting a branch from out of your way and you thanked him, moving forward. 

“I’ve always known them.” You remarked, stepping over a fallen tree branch. “My mother knew them when she was a young girl, they were close friends with her family. When they moved into the forest, my mother and her family would still visit them. I grew up knowing them well and visiting them often. They don’t always have access to fresh food, the way we do in the village, so often my mother will send me with a basket to make sure they are well.”

“Will they accept my presence or is it better that I not join you?” Jungkook asked carefully.

You smiled, stepping over a small stream and the prince followed after you, eyes watching the dimly lit pathway carefully. “I am sure they will appreciate the sentiment, but as their future king, you should most certainly meet them. You can take their thoughts and opinions into account in the future when you have decisions to make for the kingdom.”

Jungkook nodded and you reached out for his hand suddenly. He stared down at your fingers, wrapped around his own and you ignored the racing in your heart. “It gets even darker here,” you explained, “it would be easier to guide you like this.”

He nodded, following quietly behind you, steps labored and careful as you parted shrubbery. Conversation ceased for the time being, only the sounds of the forest and the prince’s breathing could be heard. The breeze whistled through the trees, creating soft music in the silence. The density of the forest should have scared you, perhaps, but after years of meandering the trail, it had become familiar to you. 

One of the only moments you truly felt at peace was on this walk to the dwarf’s home. It was a sort of melancholy that was welcome in moments like these; allowing your thoughts to drift pleasantly, focusing on nothing in particular. 

Finally, you stepped from the darkness into the glade, pockets of sunshine warming the ground and the lone cottage in its center. A small white cottage with a roof of straw, timber framing, and a dark blue door greeted you. Smoke was wafting from the chimney against the side and the morning firewood was lying beside the chopping block; ax leaning against the nearby tree. 

“I should tell you,” you said suddenly, turning to look at the prince who was surveying the cottage with equal parts wonder and awe. He turned to look at you, dark eyes steady when they greeted yours. “The dwarves have names, but they share them with no one. They have never said why, only that names have meaning. So, they have chosen nicknames that we may address them with. I will introduce you when we are inside, but I wanted to warn you because their names are…unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” Jungkook echoed and you smiled.

“You will see. Would you like me to keep your true identity hidden?”

The prince shook his head, gazing back over the cottage. “That seems unnecessary in this case.”

He followed after you as you led the way to the cottage, rapping your knuckles lightly against the wooden door before pushing gently inside. Jungkook waited on the threshold while you peeked around the corner, smiling as you were greeted by Doc at the stove and Sleepy lounging across the tattered sofa. 

“Good morning, Doc.” You greeted, standing straight as you entered the door. 

“Y/N, please, come in! I was just preparing porridge. Would you like some?” 

He held a bowl up for your inspection and you walked to his side, staring down into the offering. “I would love to have a bowl with you. Before I do, though, I brought a friend that I would really like you to meet.”

Doc’s eyebrows rose into the shag of his grey hair and you could see Sleepy rise to his elbows from the corner of your eye. “A friend?” Doc inquired. “You have brought another person with you?”

You nodded, moving back to the door, “I have and I believe you will understand why once you meet him.”

Jungkook hesitated as you waved him forward before taking a tentative step into the room, eyes searching out the occupants. He bowed carefully, watching as Doc placed the bowl down on the countertop and you gazed between the two of them with a smile. 

“This is his highness, Prince Jungkook. He saw me by coincidence this morning as I was making my way here and I invited him to come. He will be the next ruler of our kingdom and I wanted him to know you were still here; to have your voices heard.”

“You have my utmost discretion.” The prince said gently, “I understand your reasons for choosing to live here in the forest and I respect and will honor your privacy. I am looking to meet and become acquainted with all my subjects so that I can be a good king. The kingdom shouldn’t be peaceful for only the monarchy, but I cannot bring true peace without knowing the thoughts of my people.”

You watched the two dwarfs think, years of oppression guiding their hesitation.

 “What’s to think of?” Happy said suddenly, loud and jovial, from the staircase. He came to walk towards the prince, hands extended in greeting.

“The fact that our freedom here is now threatened.” Grumpy grumbled from behind him, still stood on the landing of the stairs. “What were you thinking, girl?”

“I was thinking that you deserve to have a representative.” You replied, back straight as you looked at him. He was often in a foul mood, but he had a gentle heart under the steely exterior and he’d always had a soft spot for you.

“Come now,” Happy grinned, tutting at the skepticism of the others. “We have said for years now that we wish we could have our thoughts heard and our issues dealt with. Now that we can, you suddenly hesitate?” 

“At what cost?” Grumpy scowled and Happy laughed, coming to link his arm through yours. 

“You think too much, my friend. Come you two, sit down and eat with us. Grumpy, please go call the others for breakfast.”

Happy led the two of you to the table and you sat, eyeing Grumpy gingerly as he huffed, stomping up the stairs. “Don’t mind him, your highness.” Happy grinned, moving towards the stove where he ladled porridge into a bowl and returned to the table to serve the prince. “He has a loud bark, but it is all a facade.”

Doc took the bowl from the countertop, delivering it to you at the table and you smiled, thanking him. “I know this is a lot very suddenly.” You said calmly as the other dwarfs came from downstairs, eyes drawn to the prince beside you. “I would not have made this decision if I felt it would truly endanger you, however. You know I think very highly of you and I think highly of the prince as well. He is kind and he will try his best to be your advocate and friend.”

The dwarfs stood, beards long and scraggly, Dopey’s tucked haphazardly into the belt at his waist and you smiled as his lips quirked lopsidedly upwards. “I like your hat.” He whispered, pointing at Jungkook’s head. 

Jungkook smiled, the apples of his cheeks dusted rose. “Thank you. I like yours too.” 

You leaned into the prince’s side whispering quick introductions as the dwarfs filled vacant spaces by the stairs. 

The fire crackled and popped softly from the living room and Bashful moved to open the kitchen windows, allowing the breeze from the forest to waft into the room. Birds chirped from outside the window, a branch from the apple tree hanging low enough to see. 

The mood of the room seemed to ease with the calm of the spring morning. Wooden chairs scraped across oak flooring as the dwarfs made to sit down. Sleepy filled a jug with water before returning to the table. 

“When did you start spending time with the prince?” Doc asked after everyone had sat down at the table together. He surveyed you with a careful interest as you dipped your spoon into your porridge, stirring to cool it down. 

“We’ve been meeting for around a fortnight now. He asked for my help in getting to know the village since he’s been away for so long. Any kingdom would benefit from an active and generous king, don’t you think?”

“May I ask how you have made a living?” The prince asked carefully, “Y/N has informed me that you are miners.”

“That is correct.” Doc replied, some of the porridge dripping from his spoon and into his beard. He paid it no mind as he continued to eat. “We mine in the mountains and then barter and sell in the mountain villages. It provides us with a living enough to afford what we need.”

“Why do you not barter and sell in this village?” Jungkook asked curiously. Grumpy frowned, grumbling under his breath and Happy chuckled, patting his arm.

“You see, we left this village many years ago because of prejudice. Before the two of you were even born, the people in the village were not kind and they didn’t accept differences. We felt it was easier to just leave.”

“I’ve tried to tell them that I believe the people are different now,” you said, gaze switching to the prince, “but they have such a lovely spot and home here that there is really no reason to leave.”

“You only wish to save yourself a trip.” Grumpy mumbled around his spoon and you scoffed, sending him a playful glare. 

“I would never. I enjoy the exercise and scenery.”

“What was your thought when you came here today?” Doc asked, eyes trained on the prince. 

Jungkook was poised, wiping his mouth with a cloth from the table before setting it beside his bowl. “It was pure coincidence that I found Y/N walking here today. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to spare any time in my day due to lessons and training, but when I found some time I rushed towards her home and saw her ready to enter the forest. I asked to accompany her and was pleased to hear you were still in the kingdom. My father had told me about you years ago, said that you hadn’t been seen since he was a boy.”

The prince paused; brows furrowed in thought. “My father is a good man and he tries to do what he thinks is best for his kingdom, but he does not know the people and was taught by his own father to mind the politics. I believe that is important to an extent, but I also believe that the thoughts of my people can build the kingdom you wish and deserve to live in. I can’t know your thoughts unless I meet you face to face and hear them, so I am trying my best to do what I say and say what I mean.”

The dwarfs seemed impressed with his answer, though Grumpy still kept a frown tightly fastened to his lips. It had been a long time since they’d met with people in this village who were willing to hear their thoughts.

“I don’t expect you to forgo your privacy,” Jungkook continued, “I am very willing to always come to where you are. I can understand, to an extent, being treated differently because of situations out of one’s control. I don’t wish to strain things for you further but I do hope you will permit me to learn from you and about you.”

“You don’t need an answer now.” You confirmed, “I need to return home shortly anyway, my mother wants my help in the garden this morning. I think you will be happy you gave the prince a chance, though. I know I’m happy I did.”

Jungkook smiled over at you, dark eyes gently tracing the contours of your face. “I’m happy you did too.” He agreed. 

After you’d helped the prince find his way back out of the forest and said your goodbyes, you wandered slowly back to your home. Your head was fuzzy with warmth to match the humidity of the late morning. You still couldn’t quite believe the same pompous little boy you’d known all those years ago had grown into such a kind and considerate man. 

A carriage in front of your home caught your attention and you moved forward quickly, arriving shortly after it had pulled away. You stepped into the kitchen where your mother stood at the table admiring a terracotta decanter painted in blue and gold and perched on top of a large oak barrel. 

“What is that?” You inquired and your mother looked up at you suddenly, lips curving up. 

“It’s grape wine!”

You nearly dropped the empty basket, moving forward quickly to set it on the table. “Grape wine?” You asked, running your fingers across the grains of oak. “How did we acquire grape wine?”

Wine was for the wealthy, far too expensive for your family to have ever reasonably gotten. Ale was common at your dinner tables but never wine. You’d never even tasted it.

“It is a gift from the prince!” Your mother squealed excitedly. “One of the servants just brought it now.”

“A gift from the prince?” You asked, surprise and affection ballooning in your chest. “What for?”

“I don’t know,” your mother shook her head, grabbing two small cups and returning to the table. “But we should surely show our gratitude by drinking some. Don’t you agree?”

Her smile was infectious and you laughed, taking the proffered cup from her hand. “We should be ungrateful if we didn’t.” You agreed.

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The crickets chirped softly, their song carrying with the breeze through the brush. The grass underneath your back prickled into the skin of your arms and hands. You rubbed blades of grass between your fingers, eyes heavy as you watched the lightning bugs dance across your vision. 

The stars seemed brighter this evening, a soft glow that lit up the field around you. The village had quieted by this hour, nearly all its occupants retiring to their beds for the night.

Your mind was unusually lively tonight. It danced from thought to thought, most of which were centered around the prince. His ball was this evening, all the gentry from near and far in attendance. Distantly, you wondered if Snow was there too. An odd emotion bloomed in your chest, something you neither understood nor could place. 

Like the blood was flowing too quickly to your heart and it made you feel uneasy. You could imagine the ballroom, filled with the glow of candles and the aroma of sweet pies and savory roast. You’d never experienced it for yourself, but you’d heard from your father how exquisite the smell could be. Like warm cream and butter and a sprinkle of sugar. 

Your mother would sometimes make sweet candies for you when you were a child and you liked to imagine a princess in a castle would eat a never-ending supply of such treats. 

You could almost hear the strings of the lute, if you listened hard enough perhaps you would. It was better not to covet what the prince had, but a dance would surely be nice. “We wondered where you were.”

The evening was dark, but the moon illuminated the figures of your friends as they moved towards you. Else and Peter both took a seat on either side of you, laying back and the wind rustled your dress gently. 

“You have found me.” You smiled. Peter slid his hand behind his head, light blonde waves tumbling out of place. “I feel as though I’ve not seen you outside in so long.”

Peter turned to smile at you, blue eyes black in the night. “Did you miss me?” He teased and you scoffed, pushing him away as he laughed. “The ball is tonight so I finally have the opportunity to be free. At least for tonight.”

“Can you imagine?” Else sighed, breathless at the thought, “a ball. Dancing and fine dresses, so much food you couldn’t even possibly eat it all. I think I would look well in a ball gown.”

“You would look well in a gown.” You agreed. “I don’t think there is anything you wouldn’t look well in.”

She nodded thoughtfully and Peter gazed over at you. “I think you would look equally lovely in a gown, Y/N. Perhaps someday I can make you something?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at him. “With what fabric?” You teased and he smiled, shrugging. 

“I shall find some.”

“What of me?” Else complained, sitting up to look over at him. “Will you not make me a gown too?”

“Have Alaric do it.” Peter grinned and Else huffed. 

“He makes cheese, Peter. He knows nothing of finer things.” She flopped back down on the grass, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Perhaps someday we shall have our own ball. We can make beautiful dresses from old dresses we have and flower crowns. It could be wonderful.” You surmised. 

“It sounds less grand with old fabric.” Else pouted and you agreed, though silently. 

“Well, perhaps when you marry a duke, we can talk of finer things.” You grinned, “You’re the only one among us who is fair enough to secure such a marriage. I’m afraid the duty falls on your shoulders.”

“The price of beauty.” Else sighed drearily. “Do you think the prince’s betrothed is at the ball tonight?”

You remained silent, the strange sensation in your chest returning. “I would assume so,” Peter supplied, “at such a formal occasion, it seems only proper that she would be there.”

“Perhaps they are dancing now.” Else sighed, “a very pretty thought.”

“Do you work with my father again tomorrow, Peter?” You inquired and he turned his gaze towards you. 

He was handsome enough and had a fine figure with broad shoulders. You hoped that if you had sons, they would inherit his shoulders. Your own fathers were slender and compact. 

He made you laugh and he was kind; truly you were lucky. So many women in the village could not say the same. Perhaps you could fall in love with him in time. 

“Not tomorrow. We have time to rest before our next task. I shall be working with my father and brother at the farm.”

“Else, will you be with your father at the bakery again tomorrow?” You asked, turning to look at your friend. 

She nodded; eyes still trained on the stars. “Of course, my help is invaluable to him. Will you be working in the home?”

“Yes, my mother is angry with me for being out so much.”

“Where have you been recently?” Peter asked suddenly and you realized your mistake. 

“She’s been with that friend from another village.” Else replied nonchalantly, sweeping a wisp of dark hair from her cheek. “He’s very handsome.”

“Handsome?” Peter asked, sitting up. “Who is he?”

You sighed, sitting up yourself. “No one to worry yourself about, he is just a friend. He asked me to show him the village and I did so. He was only passing through for a short time.”

“So, he has gone?” Peter asked, eyes trained on the side of your face as you kept your vision forward.

“Yes,” you lied, standing suddenly and dusting off your dress. “Neither of you need worry about him. I must return home; I assume I will see you on the morrow?”

You didn’t wait for the reply, heading quickly back up the dirt lane towards your home, now shrouded in the darkness of the evening.

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The days passed like that of a bittern walking in the marsh, sluggish and quiet. You’d not seen the prince since the afternoon in the forest. Your mother had filled another basket this morning with fresh food and eggs and you moved slowly through the brush and into the forest as you pondered his absence. 

It shouldn’t have felt so strange to be missing his presence; the fact that you’d grown accustomed to it at all is what should have been the more peculiar. Yet, you found it odd without him by your side; like he’d carved a permanent spot for himself in your life. 

You thought that the morning after the ball you would see him once more, but it had been nearly a fortnight since then and you’d not heard even a rumor of him. Perhaps it was best; it was dangerous to become accustomed to the company of a prince, especially if the funny feeling in your chest remained. 

The dwarfs would not be home at this hour, busy deep in the mountain’s mines, so the smoke rising from the chimney was surprising. You paused a moment, surveying the small cabin from the tree line before moving forward towards the house and pushing against the door, feeling the give as it swayed inward. 

In the center of the kitchen, looking very out of place, stood a young woman in a beautiful gold and blue gown, tall partlet shielding her neck and raven hair held fast in a golden snood. She was striking in appearance, with fair skin, dark eyes, lips red as a rose, and a soft, pointed nose. 

She hummed sweetly as she cut strawberries and you cleared your throat, garnering her attention all at once. “Oh!” She gasped softly, looking up at you. She was even prettier now that you could see her entire face. Delicate and feminine, you wondered who she was and why she was here. 

“Good morning.” You greeted, watching as a smile lit up her features, eyes sparkling brightly. “I’m afraid we’ve not yet met. Do you know the dwarfs?”

“Oh my, it’s such a pleasure to see another woman.” She smiled, hands clapping together, “Yes, the dwarfs and I have become recent friends. They need a woman’s touch, don’t you agree? Poor dears. Do you know them well?”

You nodded, moving slowly towards where she stood in the kitchen. “Yes, all my life. I come to deliver fresh produce as often as I can. Did you arrive recently?” You placed the basket with goods on the kitchen table and the young woman busied herself with kneading the dough on the counter top. 

“Fairly recently, yes.” She smiled, “They’ve allowed me to stay with them for the time being. It’s very kind of them. I try to do my part to show my gratitude.”

You nodded, fingers fiddling with the white cloth covering your basket. “Your dress is very beautiful,” you remarked, watching her pause to look down at her gown. “Do you always wear something so ornate to bake?”

She smiled, shaking her head, “not normally. I have many fine clothes, but this dress is unusually grand. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to change before coming here.”

“That dress is all you have with you?” You asked in surprise and she stopped working to look up at you. Her features, so pretty and delicate, pinched in thought. 

“I’m afraid so. I’m very out of place, aren’t I?” She laughed, bright and melodic. 

“Who are you?” You finally inquired, abrupt but curious. 

She wiped her hands on a towel, tittering nervously and you watched as she smoothed her fingers down the fabric of her gown. It was expensive, you could tell. She had to be someone in the gentry. 

“Goodness, I have forgotten my manners. My name is Margit Katherine Apellonia Von Geet, but please, call me Snow.”

Ah, of course…a princess.

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Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved.

[axe-trio-commanders]

OC Interview: Zori Sunblade

Draw (or use an old drawing, don’t worry!) or take a screen of your character in an interview setting and make them answer the following questions!

INTRODUCTION

Can you introduce yourself?

"That, uh... depends- this isn’t going on public record, right? I mean- not immediately?” [redacted] “Okay, yeah, after my death is... well- no, maybe Seremnis’ death. Or whenever she wants- okay, give it to her after my death and she’ll- yeah. Okay.” Shuffling and creaking of leather. “Zori Sunblade, member of the Sun warband, magister of the priory, pact commander by title, uh... oh- leader of Dragon’s Watch. And uh. Charr. Ranger. Uhm... hi?”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“...Uh... I think...” mumbled “...burn me I hope I remember the meaning of these right, been a while-” regular voice “Uh- she/her... lady friends, so far, and- actually been married for a while.” [She shows of a ring around her left-hand ring finger. Its gem gives off a faint glow.] “Still sort-of figuring out what that means, but I think I’ve got most of it down.”

Where and when were you born?

"...I, uh... hm. Lend me some paper and quill?” [Paper and quill is lent.] “...So it’s... 34, and that was... 25, when I was...” [She nods and taps the pen affirmatively on the paper.] “1306 AE, at, uh... all I remember or have been told is growing up in a fahrar around Rin.”

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

“That depends. I can snipe pretty good with a longbow, but torch and axe are my go-to for close range... sometimes a dagger if I need to be a bit less conspicuous.”

Lastly, are you happy?

“...Well, that uh. That escalated quickly, huh?” laugh “Ah... sometimes. Sometimes... it’s- I guess I don’t clearly remember now if it’s harder than it used to be, but... I’m working on it.”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

“Dragon’s Watch is my family. As is my warband, Aurene... Canach’s in there somewhere, too. It’s... I dunno. Some of them... still look up to me, I guess, after everything- some of them know me to well, some of them... I don’t know. Warband’s... complicated, right now, and I’ll probably always worry about Aurene... the people that know the most want to help, I know they do, it’s just... it’s hard to believe things will get better sometimes.” laugh “Probably not the best thing to hear from the charr you’ve put in charge of saving Tyria for the past nine years, huh?”

Have you ever ran away from home?

“...I... I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now- burn me, I... really don’t think I can go back to the legions now, regardless of if things are changing or not. Don’t really think there’s been another... place I’ve ever called home.”

Would you consider marriage or having children?

“I mean- kinda too late to have second thoughts on marriage, huh? Ah, not that I would. I don’t think I’d want to live without her at this point, being honest...” Tapping of claws “...Cubs, though... I don’t know. Not now, definitely. If I’m going to be taking care of cubs, It’s not going to be at a time where I can’t do it myself. Be there for them. Burn me, I’ve had far too many examples of what happens when you don’t.” Pause “...Have sometimes fantasized about a quiet house somewhere in the woods, though. Whenever the disaster’s over.”

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“...Why would you call them your friends if...? No, if that was even a question. I’ve made it very clear who I hate, and... burn me, I guess... yeah, the only one who isn’t dead is Phlunt. And... Bengar, probably. Not sure if he’s, uh. Stable, right now? Not- I mean I don’t go out and murder whoever annoys me, that’s not- it’s a short list. It’s a very short list. I’m not going to murder someone over, like... burnt toast or something. That sort of thing is reserved for endangering my family.”

Which friend knows everything about you?

“...I- mm... I... some of them know more than others. Definitely, people in my family know more than people outside of it- ...burn me, I... I think, alltogether, if everyone I knew pooled knowledge they’d have everything, but... not any one. It’s... it’s habit, I guess.”

ASKED BY FANS

“Please tell me you’ve filtered these beforehand.”

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

"Okay, good start, uh... I mean, I’ve been through the fahrar, obviously, and I’m also a priory magister- I learned a lot more about the... being literate there, but at this point in my life I’m writing-fluent in New Krytan, old charr pathfinding symbols, ancient orrian... in the process of learning a couple others, too. Can’t hurt.”

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Snort “I’m not allowed to die. I mean- burn me, what else am I supposed to take away from the fact that I died- actually went-to-the-mists died, and got told by the messenger of a human god that I, of all people, could go back? Had to, in fact? ...Burn me, I should probably be happy about that, but. Implication’s aren’t great there.”

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

“...That I’m... that there are people who’d miss me. Not- not miss the commander, but... I expected people would- mourn, write songs or whatever once I actually kicked the bucket, but it’s all a bit... hollow, when most of them don’t even know my name- and to some degree, that’s purposeful. They can- they can mourn the role I filled, the stuff I did, that’s fine, that’s not going to destroy them, not going to hurt for more than a... week, maybe. And everyone else- even the closest people- burn me I’m supposed to be dead. Not only was I, but there’s no- there’s no logical reason I’ve survived all this. Gods and Elder dragons have wanted me dead- entire factions, powerful people- I’m not allowed to die by- by fate, or whatever, but nothing else in Tyria wants me here, so I- you expect people to expect it, at least. To be prepared for it. I want them to be, for their own sake, but...” long sigh “...I... tried to get my warband to leave. Now that they knew... where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, and... it really shouldn’t have been such a shock that they were worried about me. That... that they, and... everyone who knows how bad it’s gotten wants me to get... better. That I even have that option.”

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

quiet “...I don’t think any of us came out of this unscathed.”

What is your current main goal?

“...I think... I think I will just- just focus on getting better, now. I- burn me, it’s going to give me anxiety like nothing else to leave this to anyone, but I’ve- ...guess this is the first I’ll say it outside of closed circles, but I... I think I’m giving up the title of commander. I don’t think- that’s not going to mean I’m not around, I’m... probably not even leaving Dragon’s Watch, but... it’s time to hang the regalia up, at least. Leave the final say to someone else.” Laugh “Definitely not gonna miss the politics. May I never have to see Phlunt’s face again.”

CHOICES

Drink or food?

“...Oh, the hard questions are over now? Er- sort of? ...I mean, you need both to... live, so... Hm. I mean- I’ve had some really good food, Dragon’s Watch has one of the best chefs, but- if you’ve ever had an entire jug of water past the height of the moon, you know exactly my dilemma here.

Cats or dogs?

“This is what we call a ‘false dichotomy’. Both. Duh.”

Early bird or night owl?

“...I, uh. I’m not sure I’ve had a steady sleep schedule, for... five? Years? I guess if you do want to wake me up without either food or news of immediate disaster that needs fixing, I might consider physical harm, so... whichever one that is.”

Optimist or pessimist?

“That depends. On the subject of how good today’s food will be? Optimist. On Phlunt ever caring for anything other than his own pride and wellbeing? Pessimist.”

Sassy or sarcastic?

“...There’s a difference? Everyone I’ve met has both or neither.”

HAVE YOU EVER-

-been caught sneaking out?

“Nope. I was raised Ash, and I was good at it.”

-broke a bone?

“...I... I don’t think I have, actually. Probably got just about every other possible injury, but... not that yet.”

-received flowers?

“...I, uh. Eheh... The, uhm. The first time my, uh- now-wife sent me flowers, I... didn’t know what they were for? And sort of. Ate them.” pause “...They were... definitely not meant to be eaten. They were anonymous- she told me about it later- so I thought someone was trying to poison me until a close friend explained what getting flowers meant.” pause “...Burn me, I have no idea how long she was trying to flirt with me until I managed to catch on.”

-ghosted someone?

“...Have I mentioned the time I burned to death?”

-pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“...Wait, that’s- that’s a thing? I could have been telling terrible, incomprehensible jokes this whole time and I have no way to even know?! I- ...no, I haven’t, I guess. I just sort of... sit there confused...”

“...That’s the last one? Really? Sort of an awkward way to end it. Well, uh... remember the release protocol we agreed upon. Whole buncha people are gonna be upset if you don’t- most of which know how to hide bodies. Not... not sure why I know so many of that type of people, to be honest with you.”

[taeken-my-heart]

Charming Chapter 3

Summary: Prince Seokjin was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4635

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place. 

~~<3~~

“Y/N, will you take some of these berries for the dwarfs?” Your mother called from the kitchen and you quickly finished with your hair, walking from your bedroom. Your father and Peter were already working in the corner and you walked towards your mother who held a large basket out for you to take. 

“Is there anything else you wish for me to bring?” 

“Go get some eggs from the coop,” your mother hummed, shuffling around the kitchen, “and take this milk too. I worry about those men, all alone in the forest. They work in the mines all day and have no one to care for them when they return home.” 

“Doc cares for them, and Bashful is a surprisingly good cook. I’ve enjoyed every soup he’s ever made.”

“Yes, well, they don’t have any animals and they can’t grow any crops that far in the forest. I don’t understand why they insist on staying there year after year.”

You watched as she finished bustling around the room, grabbing all the supplies and settling them carefully in the basket beside the bundle of berries. “I perfectly understand it, mother. Not only do they enjoy the solitude, but no one stares or misjudges them there. They have the freedom to be themselves.”

“That is a life worth envying,” your mother admitted, coming to stand in front of you, “but it is not our life. You know that, do you not?”

You sighed, nodding. “I do.”

~~<3~~

The walk to the dwarf’s house was typically long. They lived deep in the forest, where only small pockets of light broke through to their den. You had just made it to the outskirts of the forest when you heard someone calling your name. 

You turned to find the prince, waving and moving towards you, smile bright on his face. “Good morning!” He said once he’d come to stand before you. “I’m so glad to have caught you. My father is ill this morning so I have some free time.”

“Is your father well?” You asked, turning to him with surprise, “does he need anything?”

“Oh, he is well.” Jin smiled handsomely. “Only a cold, but we meet with diplomats this evening and he wishes to be well rested for that, so he is sleeping longer.”

You nod, adjusting the basket on your arm and the prince turns to survey your figure. “Where are you going this morning?”

“I am dropping this basket of food off at a friend’s home. Perhaps you would like to come?” You inquired. “They are part of your kingdom, but not many know of their existence. They like to keep to themselves.”

Jin smiled, clapping his hands together. “I would love to come!” You began to walk into the forest, Jin following beside you. 

“Why have they chosen to live in such a strange place, though? It is so dark in here.” Jin surveyed his surroundings, watching as the light ebbed from in front of you, the forest darkening the further you moved forward. There were enough patches of light along the way that you never felt as though you were in danger of injury or getting lost, but you supposed it was quite strange for someone new. 

“Well, you will better understand once you’ve met them, but I would like to prepare you so you’re not so surprised when you do. They are dwarfs, you see, and they enjoy their privacy. When they are out in the open, people can be unkind so they prefer to keep to themselves.”

“Dwarfs!” Jin cried in delight and you looked over at him, startled. “My father told me about them. He said they disappeared a long time ago and he wasn’t even sure they were still alive.”

“They are alive.” You confirmed. “They grew tired of the comments and the stares. The forest provides the type of solitude they were seeking. Besides, it is closer to the mines where they work, so it was a reasonable decision for them.”

“How did you come to know of them?” Jin inquired, lifting a branch from out of your way and you thanked him, moving forward. 

“I’ve always known them.” You remarked, stepping over a fallen tree branch. “My mother knew them when she was a young girl, they were close friends with her family. When they moved into the forest, my mother and her family would still visit them. I grew up knowing them well and visiting them often. They don’t always have access to fresh food, the way we do in the village, so often my mother will send me with a basket to make sure they are well.”

“Will they accept my presence or is it better that I not join you?” Jin asked carefully.

You smiled, stepping over a small stream and the prince followed after you, eyes watching the dimly lit pathway carefully. “I am sure they will appreciate the sentiment, but as their future king, you should most certainly meet them. You can take their thoughts and opinions into account in the future when you have decisions to make for the kingdom.”

Jin nodded and you reached out for his hand suddenly. He stared down at your fingers, wrapped around his own and you ignored the racing in your heart. “It gets even darker here,” you explained, “it would be easier to guide you like this.”

He nodded, following quietly behind you, steps labored and careful as you parted shrubbery. Conversation ceased for the time being, only the sounds of the forest and the prince’s breathing could be heard. The breeze whistled through the trees, creating soft music in the silence. The density of the forest should have scared you, perhaps, but after years of meandering the trail, it had become familiar to you. 

One of the only moments you truly felt at peace was on this walk to the dwarf’s home. It was a sort of melancholy that was welcome in moments like these; allowing your thoughts to drift pleasantly, focusing on nothing in particular. 

Finally, you stepped from the darkness into the glade, pockets of sunshine warming the ground and the lone cottage in its center. A small white cottage with a roof of straw, timber framing, and a dark blue door greeted you. Smoke was wafting from the chimney against the side and the morning firewood was lying beside the chopping block; ax leaning against the nearby tree. 

“I should tell you,” you said suddenly, turning to look at the prince who was surveying the cottage with equal parts wonder and awe. He turned to look at you, dark eyes steady when they greeted yours. “The dwarves have names, but they share them with no one. They have never said why, only that names have meaning. So, they have chosen nicknames that we may address them with. I will introduce you when we are inside, but I wanted to warn you because their names are…unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” Jin echoed and you smiled.

“You will see. Would you like me to keep your true identity hidden?”

The prince shook his head, gazing back over the cottage. “That seems unnecessary in this case.”

He followed after you as you led the way to the cottage, rapping your knuckles lightly against the wooden door before pushing gently inside. Jin waited on the threshold while you peeked around the corner, smiling as you were greeted by Doc at the stove and Sleepy lounging across the tattered sofa. 

“Good morning, Doc.” You greeted, standing straight as you entered the door. 

“Y/N, please, come in! I was just preparing porridge. Would you like some?” 

He held a bowl up for your inspection and you walked to his side, staring down into the offering. “I would love to have a bowl with you. Before I do, though, I brought a friend that I would really like you to meet.”

Doc’s eyebrows rose into the shag of his grey hair and you could see Sleepy rise to his elbows from the corner of your eye. “A friend?” Doc inquired. “You have brought another person with you?”

You nodded, moving back to the door, “I have and I believe you will understand why once you meet him.”

Jin hesitated as you waved him forward before taking a tentative step into the room, eyes searching out the occupants. He bowed carefully, watching as Doc placed the bowl down on the countertop and you gazed between the two of them with a smile. 

“This is his highness, Prince Seokjin. He saw me by coincidence this morning as I was making my way here and I invited him to come. He will be the next ruler of our kingdom and I wanted him to know you were still here; to have your voices heard.”

“You have my utmost discretion.” The prince said gently, “I understand your reasons for choosing to live here in the forest and I respect and will honor your privacy. I am looking to meet and become acquainted with all my subjects so that I can be a good king. The kingdom shouldn’t be peaceful for only the monarchy but I cannot bring true peace without knowing the thoughts of my people.”

You watched the two dwarfs think, years of oppression guiding their hesitation. “What’s to think of?” Happy said suddenly, loud and jovial, from the staircase. He came to walk towards the prince, hands extended in greeting.

“The fact that our freedom here is now threatened.” Grumpy grumbled from behind him, still stood on the landing of the stairs. “What were you thinking, girl?”

“I was thinking that you deserve to have a representative.” You replied, back straight as you looked at him. He was often in a foul mood, but he had a gentle heart under the steely exterior and he’d always had a soft spot for you.

“Come now,” Happy grinned, tutting at the skepticism of the others. “We have said for years now that we wish we could have our thoughts heard and our issues dealt with. Now that we can, you suddenly hesitate?” 

“At what cost?” Grumpy scowled and Happy laughed, coming to link his arm through yours. 

“You think too much, my friend. Come you two, sit down and eat with us. Grumpy, please go call the others for breakfast.”

Happy led the two of you to the table and you sat, eyeing Grumpy gingerly as he huffed, stomping up the stairs. “Don’t mind him, your highness.” Happy grinned, moving towards the stove where he ladled porridge into a bowl and returned to the table to serve the prince. “He has a loud bark, but it is all a facade.”

Doc took the bowl from the countertop, delivering it to you at the table and you smiled, thanking him. “I know this is a lot very suddenly.” You said calmly as the other dwarfs came from downstairs, eyes drawn to the prince beside you. “I would not have made this decision if I felt it would truly endanger you, however. You know I think very highly of you and I think highly of the prince as well. He is kind and he will try his best to be your advocate and friend.”

The dwarfs stood, beards long and scraggly, Dopey’s tucked haphazardly into the belt at his waist and you smiled as his lips quirked lopsidedly upwards. “I like your hat.” He whispered, pointing at Jin’s head. 

Jin smiled, the apples of his cheeks dusted rose. “Thank you. I like yours too.” 

You leaned into the prince’s side whispering quick introductions as the dwarfs filled vacant spaces by the stairs. 

The fire crackled and popped softly from the living room and Bashful moved to open the kitchen windows, allowing the breeze from the forest to waft into the room. Birds chirped from outside the window, a branch from the apple tree hanging low enough to see. 

The mood of the room seemed to ease with the calm of the spring morning. Wooden chairs scraped across oak flooring as the dwarfs made to sit down. Sleepy filled a jug with water before returning to the table. 

“When did you start spending time with the prince?” Doc asked after everyone had sat down at the table together. He surveyed you with a careful interest as you dipped your spoon into your porridge, stirring to cool it down. 

“We’ve been meeting for around a fortnight now. He asked for my help in getting to know the village since he’s been away for so long. Any kingdom would benefit from an active and generous king, don’t you think?”

“May I ask how you have made a living?” The prince asked carefully, “Y/N has informed me that you are miners.”

“That is correct.” Doc replied, some of the porridge dripping from his spoon and into his beard. He paid it no mind as he continued to eat. “We mine in the mountains and then barter and sell in the mountain villages. It provides us with a living enough to afford what we need.”

“Why do you not barter and sell in this village?” Jin asked curiously. Grumpy frowned, grumbling under his breath and Happy chuckled, patting his arm. “You see, we left this village many years ago because of prejudice. Before the two of you were even born, the people in the village were not kind and they didn’t accept differences. We felt it was easier to just leave.”

“I’ve tried to tell them that I believe the people are different now,” you said, gaze switching to the prince, “but they have such a lovely spot and home here that there is really no reason to leave.”

“You only wish to save yourself a trip.” Grumpy mumbled around his spoon and you scoffed, sending him a playful glare. 

“I would never. I enjoy the exercise and scenery.”

“What was your thought when you came here today?” Doc asked, eyes trained on the prince. 

Jin was poised, wiping his mouth with a cloth from the table before setting it beside his bowl. “It was pure coincidence that I found Y/N walking here today. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to spare any time in my day due to lessons and training, but when I found some time I rushed towards her home and saw her ready to enter the forest. I asked to accompany her and was pleased to hear you were still in the kingdom. My father had told me about you years ago, said that you hadn’t been seen since he was a boy.”

The prince paused; brows furrowed in thought. “My father is a good man and he tries to do what he thinks is best for his kingdom, but he does not know the people and was taught by his own father to mind the politics. I believe that is important to an extent, but I also believe that the thoughts of my people can build the kingdom you wish and deserve to live in. I can’t know your thoughts unless I meet you face to face and hear them, so I am trying my best to do what I say and say what I mean.”

The dwarfs seemed impressed with his answer, though Grumpy still kept a frown tightly fastened to his lips. It had been a long time since they’d met with people in this village who were willing to hear their thoughts.

“I don’t expect you to forgo your privacy,” Jin continued, “I am very willing to always come to where you are. I can understand, to an extent, being treated differently because of situations out of one’s control. I don’t wish to strain things for you further but I do hope you will permit me to learn from you and about you.”

“You don’t need an answer now.” You confirmed, “I need to return home shortly anyway, my mother wants my help in the garden this morning. I think you will be happy you gave the prince a chance, though. I know I’m happy I did.”

Jin smiled over at you, dark eyes gently tracing the contours of your face. “I’m happy you did too.” He agreed. 

After you’d helped the prince find his way back out of the forest and said your goodbyes, you wandered slowly back to your home. Your head was fuzzy with warmth to match the humidity of the late morning. You still couldn’t quite believe the same pompous little boy you’d known all those years ago had grown into such a kind and considerate man. 

A carriage in front of your home caught your attention and you moved forward quickly, arriving shortly after it had pulled away. You stepped into the kitchen where your mother stood at the table admiring a terracotta decanter painted in blue and gold and perched on top of a large oak barrel. 

“What is that?” You inquired and your mother looked up at you suddenly, lips curving up. 

“It’s grape wine!”

You nearly dropped the empty basket, moving forward quickly to set it on the table. “Grape wine?” You asked, running your fingers across the grains of oak. “How did we acquire grape wine?”

Wine was for the wealthy, far too expensive for your family to have ever reasonably gotten. Ale was common at your dinner tables but never wine. You’d never even tasted it.

“It is a gift from the prince!” Your mother squealed excitedly. “One of the servants just brought it now.”

“A gift from the prince?” You asked, surprise and affection ballooning in your chest. “What for?”

“I don’t know,” your mother shook her head, grabbing two small cups and returning to the table. “But we should surely show our gratitude by drinking some. Don’t you agree?”

Her smile was infectious and you laughed, taking the proffered cup from her hand. “We should be ungrateful if we didn’t.” You agreed. 

~~<3~~

The crickets chirped softly, their song carrying with the breeze through the brush. The grass underneath your back prickled into the skin of your arms and hands. You rubbed blades of grass between your fingers, eyes heavy as you watched the lightning bugs dance across your vision. The stars seemed brighter this evening, a soft glow that lit up the field around you. The village had quieted by this hour, nearly all its occupants retiring to their beds for the night. 

Your mind was unusually lively tonight. It danced from thought to thought, most of which were centered around the prince. His ball was this evening, all the gentry from near and far in attendance. Distantly, you wondered if Snow was there too. An odd emotion bloomed in your chest, something you neither understood nor could place. 

Like the blood was flowing too quickly to your heart and it made you feel uneasy. You could imagine the ballroom, filled with the glow of candles and the aroma of sweet pies and savory roast. You’d never experienced it for yourself, but you’d heard from your father how exquisite the smell could be. Like warm cream and butter and a sprinkle of sugar. Your mother would sometimes make sweet candies for you when you were a child and you liked to imagine a princess in a castle would eat a never-ending supply of such treats. 

You could almost hear the strings of the lute, if you listened hard enough perhaps you would. It was better not to covet what the prince had, but a dance would surely be nice. “We wondered where you were.”

The evening was dark, but the moon illuminated the figures of your friends as they moved towards you. Else and Peter both took a seat on either side of you, laying back and the wind rustled your dress gently. 

“You have found me.” You smiled. Peter slid his hand behind his head, light blonde waves tumbling out of place. “I feel as though I’ve not seen you outside in so long.”

Peter turned to smile at you, blue eyes black in the night. “Did you miss me?” He teased and you scoffed, pushing him away as he laughed. “The ball is tonight so I finally have the opportunity to be free. At least for tonight.”

“Can you imagine?” Else sighed, breathless at the thought, “a ball. Dancing and fine dresses, so much food you couldn’t even possibly eat it all. I think I would look well in a ball gown.”

“You would look well in a gown.” You agreed. “I don’t think there is anything you wouldn’t look well in.”

She nodded thoughtfully and Peter gazed over at you. “I think you would look equally lovely in a gown, Y/N. Perhaps someday I can make you something?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at him. “With what fabric?” You teased and he smiled, shrugging. 

“I shall find some.”

“What of me?” Else complained, sitting up to look over at him. “Will you not make me a gown too?”

“Have Alaric do it.” Peter grinned and Else huffed. 

“He makes cheese, Peter. He knows nothing of finer things.” She flopped back down on the grass, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Perhaps someday we shall have our own ball. We can make beautiful dresses from old dresses we have and flower crowns. It could be wonderful.” You surmised. 

“It sounds less grand with old fabric.” Else pouted and you agreed, though silently. 

“Well, perhaps when you marry a duke, we can talk of finer things.” You grinned, “You’re the only one among us who is fair enough to secure such a marriage. I’m afraid the duty falls on your shoulders.”

“The price of beauty.” Else sighed drearily. “Do you think the prince’s betrothed is at the ball tonight?”

You remained silent, the strange sensation in your chest returning. “I would assume so,” Peter supplied, “at such a formal occasion, it seems only proper that she would be there.”

“Perhaps they are dancing now.” Else sighed, “a very pretty thought.”

“Do you work with my father again tomorrow, Peter?” You inquired and he turned his gaze towards you. 

He was handsome enough and had a fine figure with broad shoulders. You hoped that if you had sons, they would inherit his shoulders. Your own fathers were slender and compact. 

He made you laugh and he was kind, truly you were lucky. So many women in the village could not say the same. Perhaps you could fall in love with him in time. 

“Not tomorrow. We have time to rest before our next task. I shall be working with my father and brother at the farm.”

“Else, will you be with your father at the bakery again tomorrow?” You asked, turning to look at your friend. 

She nodded; eyes still trained on the stars. “Of course, my help is invaluable to him. Will you be working in the home?”

“Yes, my mother is angry with me for being out so much.”

“Where have you been recently?” Peter asked suddenly and you realized your mistake. 

“She’s been with that friend from another village.” Else replied nonchalantly, sweeping a wisp of dark hair from her cheek. “He’s very handsome.”

“Handsome?” Peter asked, sitting up. “Who is he?”

You sighed, sitting up yourself. “No one to worry yourself about, he is just a friend. He asked me to show him the village and I did so. He was only passing through for a short time.”

“So, he has gone?” Peter asked, eyes trained on the side of your face as you kept your vision forward.

“Yes,” you lied, standing suddenly and dusting off your dress. “Neither of you need worry about him. I must return home; I assume I will see you on the morrow?”

You didn’t wait for the reply, heading quickly back up the dirt lane towards your home, now shrouded in the darkness of the evening.

~~<3~~

The days passed like that of a bittern walking in the marsh, sluggish and quiet. You’d not seen the prince since the afternoon in the forest. Your mother had filled another basket this morning with fresh food and eggs and you moved slowly through the brush and into the forest as you pondered his absence. 

It shouldn’t have felt so strange to be missing his presence; the fact that you’d grown accustomed to it at all is what should have been the more peculiar. Yet, you found it odd without him by your side; like he’d carved a permanent spot for himself in your life. 

You thought that the morning after the ball you would see him once more, but it had been nearly a fortnight since then and you’d not heard even a rumor of him. Perhaps it was best; it was dangerous to become accustomed to the company of a prince, especially if the funny feeling in your chest remained. 

The dwarfs would not be home at this hour, busy deep in the mountain’s mines, so the smoke rising from the chimney was surprising. You paused a moment, surveying the small cabin from the tree line before moving forward towards the house and pushing against the door, feeling the give as it swayed inward. 

In the center of the kitchen, looking very out of place, stood a young woman in a beautiful gold and blue gown, tall partlet shielding her neck and raven hair held fast in a golden snood. She was striking in appearance, with fair skin, dark eyes, lips red as a rose, and a soft, pointed nose. 

She hummed sweetly as she cut strawberries and you cleared your throat, garnering her attention all at once. “Oh!” She gasped softly, looking up at you. 

She was even prettier now that you could see her entire face. Delicate and feminine, you wondered who she was and why she was here. “Good morning.” You greeted, watching as a smile lit up her features, eyes sparkling brightly. “I’m afraid we’ve not yet met. Do you know the dwarfs?”

“Oh my, it’s such a pleasure to see another woman.” She smiled, hands clapping together, “Yes, the dwarfs and I have become recent friends. They need a woman’s touch, don’t you agree? Poor dears. Do you know them well?”

You nodded, moving slowly towards where she stood in the kitchen. “Yes, all my life. I come to deliver fresh produce as often as I can. Did you arrive recently?” You placed the basket with goods on the kitchen table and the young woman busied herself with kneading the dough on the counter top. 

“Fairly recently, yes.” She smiled, “They’ve allowed me to stay with them for the time being. It’s very kind of them. I try to do my part to show my gratitude.”

You nodded, fingers fiddling with the white cloth covering your basket. “Your dress is very beautiful,” you remarked, watching her pause to look down at her gown. “Do you always wear something so ornate to bake?”

She smiled, shaking her head, “not normally. I have many fine clothes, but this dress is unusually grand. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to change before coming here.”

“That dress is all you have with you?” You asked in surprise and she stopped working to look up at you. Her features, so pretty and delicate, pinched in thought. 

“I’m afraid so. I’m very out of place, aren’t I?” She laughed, bright and melodic. 

“Who are you?” You finally inquired, abrupt but curious. 

She wiped her hands on a towel, tittering nervously and you watched as she smoothed her fingers down the fabric of her gown. It was expensive, you could tell. She had to be someone in the gentry. 

“Goodness, I have forgotten my manners. My name is Margit Katherine Apellonia Von Geet, but please, call me Snow.”

Ah, of course…a princess.

~~<3~~

We’ve finally met Snow White! I so look forward to writing more of her character, she’ll be adding a fun new dynamic to the prince and readers story. I really hope you liked this chapter! Please let me know what you think, your feedback gives me so much joy and energy! <3

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Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved.

[caddy-whump-us]

New vampire whump??? WHAT??? GET EXCITED!!!  

So I wanted to consider the different ways that these vampires might train their victims (within the whole “Black Swan” phenomenon in vampire culture). Viktor, as we’ve seen, seems to like to beat them into submission. His “brother” Adrastos has a different kind of tactic. 

Nikolai first appeared back here, when Viktor went to visit his brother with Etienne in tow. This is much earlier in their time, uh, together. And there will probably be more of these two to come. 

Caution: threatened and simulated noncon; nothing actually happens but three characters make very obvious and overt threats to another.

---

“Nikolai,” Adrastos said and Nikolai looked up from the book he had been reading (he had been “at his studies,” or so Adrastos like to say). “Go and fetch me my diary. I believe I left it downstairs. The dining room, I think.”

A strange place for it to be left, a strange place for Adrastos to be at all, but Nikolai rose and bowed and left the study to fetch the diary.

Down the hall (dark) from the study (and its fire and candles), to the back stairs, down three flights, and then into the back hallway from the kitchens to the dining room.

Nikolai stepped into the hallway, first built for servants ferrying feasts from the kitchen to the dining room now used only by a skulking few and never to bear food--and found three of the postulates leering at him from the shadows. (And where were the other four? Not to be seen.) He stopped; they stared.

Nikolai dropped his head. He trembled. “Lord Adrastos,” he said quietly, “has sent me to fetch something for him.”

“You don’t look like a dog to me.”

“Let me pass,” Nikolai said but with less force than he might have wished. “He’s sent me on an errand.”

The postulates looked at one another. One of them spoke: “I think you’ll have to pay a toll to pass.”

Nikolai’s shoulders slumped. Again. The mocking, the pushing and shoving, the ridiculous demands--and slap to the face or a kick, something to leave a bruise, if he didn’t submit. The postulates, once sure of their place, now threatened by him--as though he were a threat. He wanted only to escape and leave them content in their old hierarchy. If they understood that, they would help him at best and ignore him at worst. But, it seemed, at least to him, as though they were getting worse. 

“I haven’t any money. You know that.”

“Of course we know that. So you’ll have to pay your passage some other way.”

One of the three slipped behind him and caught him around the waist, pinning his arms. Nikolai did nothing, only stood slumped there among them as the other two came nearer--and one caught a handful of Nikolai’s hair and raised his head. He brought their faces together and whispered against Nikolai’s skin, “Don’t cry. It won’t be so bad this time.”

The other postulate set his hands one Nikolai’s shoulder and breathed into his ear, “This time it won’t be so bad. But next time--”

The one at his face whispered again, “--next time we may have more demands, other demands--” and the one at his back took the tip of Nikolai’s ear into his mouth and bit gently as the one at his face went on: “You understand?”

Nikolai lowered his eyes. He writhed. His face was hot.

“Let’s practice.” The one at his face stroked Nikolai’s jaw and throat and smiled. “Let’s practice for the next time.”

And though Nikolai tried to lock his knees against it, the postulate at his back pulled him down and forced him to kneel. One of Nikolai’s slippers sprang loose from his foot and fell into the dark of the hallway; the old rug in the hallway was worn thin and little better than the floor beneath it.

The postulate still had his handful of Nikolai’s hair and he dragged Nikolai’s face forward, against his hips. Nikolai made some sound of protest as his face was buried in the postulate’s robes.

“Be quiet. It’s not so bad.” He rolled his hips against Nikolai’s face. “It’s just like this. See?”

Nikolai tried to fight against them, to turn his face away, and the postulate let go of his hair.

“Look at that,” he said. “You already know what to do. Here,” he said, turning to the postulate beside him, “You try.”

He stepped back, leaving Nikolai panting for air, but the other postulate was there in half a step, throwing his robe over Nikolai’s head and pushing Nikolai’s head against the buttons of the trousers he wore beneath. The first postulate giggled. And, behind him, Nikolai could feel the postulate behind him beginning to roll his hips and push against him, gripping harder.

The postulate above him laughed and squirmed. “He’ll be brilliant. I’m so tired of all of you.”

“We’re all tired of you,” his companion said.

The one at Nikolai’s back was thrusting harder against him and his hands moved higher on Nikolai’s chest for a better hold. Nikolai saw his chance, even buried under the postulate’s robe, and bit at the arms that held him.

The postulate fell back instantly, with Nikolai still in his grip and still biting at him--he only let go when Nikolai drew blood. Nikolai kicked himself free and tumbled into a crouch in the hallway (one slipper still missing), panting and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

The postulate stood up, holding his bleeding arm. The other two reached out, one, two, and caught Nikolai under his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“The first thing we need to do,” one hissed into his face, snapping at each word with his teeth, “is teach this little beast not to bite.”

And he raised one hand and slapped Nikolai across the face--an open hand, at least, though it stung. And again. The second postulate joined in, striking from the other direction. Nikolai stumbled. The postulate with the bleeding arm joined them, striking Nikolai with the back of his hand; Nikolai tasted blood in his mouth. 

They went on with their game, taking slow turns. When Nikolai stumbled, they’d stand him up again. When Nikolai tried to shield his face with his hands, they pulled them down. And when Nikolai tried to cry out, they slapped him across the mouth to silence him.

But there were footsteps approaching--slow, measured, unhurried. The carpet, however worn, deadened them but the heartbeat sound of them still came on. And then, a voice like red velvet: “Nikolai.”

The three postulates backed away from him instantly. Nikolai shuffled to straighten his shirt and his hair. Adrastos crossed to him in three strides and caught him by the throat. And Nikolai stiffened and fought the urge to grab at his master’s hand at his throat.

“I sent you to fetch my diary from the dining room and here I find you fighting with the postulates--again.” 

The postulates were all looking at each other or around the hallway at nothing.

Adrastos let go of Nikolai’s throat and shoved his shoulder to turn him around. Nikolai’s breath came in shudders. Adrastos took him by the back of the neck and marched him down the hall and into the dark.

Down at the far end of the hall, Adrastos pushed open a door almost invisible in the dark: a small butler’s room, the bed and washstand cramped in one corner and with a massive wardrobe dominating the other wall stuffed, inexplicably, with long fur coats, yards of velvet robes, and brocaded dressing gowns.

Adrastos pushed Nikolai into the room and stopped, whipping him around by the shoulder to face him again. 

“They are furious with you,” he said to the top of Nikolai’s bowed head. And Nikolai nodded. 

“I will see to disciplining them first. But the rest of them will seek after you. Their brothers have already told them. So you must go into hiding for a time until I’ve finished with them, lest they find you in the meantime.”

He crossed to the wardrobe and opened the doors wider. “Here,” he said.

Nikolai, obedient for lack of any recourse, went and crept into the wardrobe. Adrastos moved to close the doors and Nikolai whimpered.

“Hush now. You must be quiet or they’ll hear you. Do you understand?”

Nikolai shook his head for a moment to clear it and calm himself. He took a breath. “Yes, I do.”

Adrastos knelt there before him and dabbed at the blood on Nikolai’s lip with his handkerchief. “Then stay here and be silent. I will deal with them, but they’ll want to vent their anger on you after.”

Nikolai nodded, drawing back further into the recesses of the wardrobe, letting the furs and velvets hide him.

“Perfect,” Adrastos said and passed him the handkerchief. “Now keep quiet, dearheart.” And he shut up the doors, leaving Nikolai in the dark, save for a sliver of silver light from the keyhole.

Time passed, though Nikolai could hardly tell how much. He slept, he woke (cramped), he waited. The light from the keyhole went out and he was in the dark, surrounded by long velvet robes and winter coats--the darkness as soft and thick as any velvet. He took to stroking the sleeve of a coat, for comfort, for want of anything else to do. His head ached.

He had been dozing again when something struck the doors of the wardrobe; Nikolai caught his cry behind his hands. It pounded at the doors again, twice, three times. Nikolai crouched lower into the back corner and kept his hands over his mouth.

An axe? It should have broken the door by now. Something as brutish as a club? They did seem outright savage here in this wilderness. There was silence and Nikolai kept it, breathing slow and low and reminding himself that the postulates are not like their master: they could not hear his heartbeat, no matter how loud it might seem in the walls of the wardrobe (coffin-thing). They were yet mortal, like him. Their likenesses to Adrastos were affectations, performances. They were not and could not be the same. 

But if they battered down the doors--and the pounding began again; could that just be their fists?--it would, without doubt, mean his death. Eventually his death, only after--Nikolai closed his eyes, laid still, and waited.

The pounding at the door came in waves but with no pattern. Every time he thought that perhaps it was over, that Adrastos would come to chase away whatever postulate and whatever weapon they carried, the thunderous pounding came again.

After a time, he no longer started at the sound. Instead, it grated on his nerves and rang in his ears. His head ached more. But still he waited.

If anything, he was surprised by the silence when the knocking and pounding finally stopped. The silence itself was almost like a sound, but he scarcely noticed it when it began. Only when it first lingered, then became more sustained, did he truly hear it. And he sighed, just as quietly, with relief into the sleeve of the fur coat.

In time, then, another sound: the satisfying rattle and click of the wardrobe doors opening. Still, Nikolai kept himself in the corner--until Adrastos parted the coats and peered down at him. A faint smile spread across his face. 

“There you are,” he said.

He drew Nikolai back out of the wardrobe and Nikolai found himself blinking even in the candlelight in the room (had there been candles before? he could not recall). He stretched, painful but almost catlike and straightened his clothes again.

“You understand,” Adrastos said, “of course, that you must also be punished. You angered my postulates. And while they’ve punished for what they did, you must also be punished for what you did.”

And though Nikolai frowned, he still said, “Yes, I understand.” Hadn’t the torment at the postulate’s hands and then in the dark of the wardrobe been punishment enough? But what else was there to say?

“Bread and water for a few nights, I think,” Adrastos said. “And you will be required to stay at my side--at my side at all times, lest you wander into fights with the postulates again.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to argue but Adrastos raised one hand, gently, as though conducting an orchestra or a dance, and Nikolai kept silent: threats need no sharp edges.

“Come now, dearheart. They did no real damage--save for your cut lip, which as like as not you bit yourself.” Nikolai touched the cut on his mouth: dry, no more blood. 

Adrastos reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a velvet dressing gown and draped it around Nikolai’s shoulders; the hem pooled on the ground and trailed behind him, like a prince’s cape. Adrastos smiled. And, after a moment, Nikolai smiled in return, but then felt tears beginning to rise in his eyes. 

Adrastos caught Nikolai up in his arms and held him--against a chest where no living heart beat. He threaded cold fingers through Nikolai’s hair. Nikolai’s tears were hot and brought no relief; he had left the handkerchief in the wardrobe and it lay on the floor like a dead bird.

One quick swoop and Adrastos had Nikolai in his arms like a child and was carrying him back to the study and the chair before the fire, where the night had begun.

He pulled off Nikolai’s lone slipper and left it in the servant’s room before the wardrobe and he murmured to Nikolai as he walked and slipped back into his study again: “Yes, sit here at the fire. It’s been such a long night. Dawn will be here soon. And with that we will all go to bed. Would you like me to read to you a while? I think you would like that. Such a very long night. Come, lean here against my chair and let me read to you until you fall asleep.”

He set Nikolai down and Nikolai did lean against the chair, still wrapped in the velvet robe. Adrastos sat down and took up a book. His dog came out of the shadows and laid down beside him too.

And Nikolai was warmer in the light of the fire, with Adrastos’ gentle voice droning softly the lines of the poem he read, he on one side of the chair and Barghest the old black wolfhound on the other, both dreamy and dozing.

They had done no real damage. Perhaps he had bitten his own lip when they struck him. It had been his own fault to go into the midst of them when he knew they hated him. It had, of course, been his own fault. They had all wronged the master of the house in their own ways. Barghest was the only loyal one.

Barghest, with his eyes first on the fire, then on his master’s face, then back to the fire, then back to his master’s face.

I failed, Nikolai thought, sliding down to lie on the rug before the fire--no, to lie at his master’s feet like the dog he was, like the dog he ought to be.

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 15

A Truth Universal Acknowledged - AO3

Words: 5,901

Your eyes fluttered as you awoke, the unfamiliar surroundings blinked into focus. A side table holding a satchel, some photos, and a flower in a glass jar were blurry in your sights. Arthur’s journal, haphazardly thrown, took up most of your vision and you remembered where you were and what happened the night before. 

“You awake there finally?” 

Arthur snaked a hand around your waist as you snuggled back into his warmth. Both of you were still fully clothed but you could tell Arthur had more on his mind than how far things went from the night before. To be honest, it didn’t go much past kissing as things were still fresh between you, but quickly you felt yourself falling for this cowboy with a secret heart of gold. 

“Morning, Arthur. Sorry if I took up all the bed.” 

He leaned over and kissed your temple, “Ain’t nothing to apologize for. I probably kicked you in my sleep or something.” 

You laughed and rolled over to your back, looking up at the handsome man above you. “I hate to admit how long it’s been since I shared a bed with another person...but that was nice. Kept me warm and don’t think I’ve slept that well in a long time.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t be too opposed to it happening again sometime. Preferably sooner rather than later.” 

Laughing you pushed yourself up, ready to sneak back to your tent and get ready for the day. “Oh, not too opposed that’s good to know.” You stretched the muscles in your back, a happy warmth still lingering after you left the sheets. Standing exposed you fully to the chill of the morning and you wrapped your arms around yourself, wishing you could spend all morning in bed with Arthur, but knew you both had responsibilities and things to do. 

“Meet for breakfast in ten minutes?” Arthur agreed, and you quietly walked towards the flaps of his tent. It was still early, surely no one would be walking around.

You pulled the tent open to meet a very surprised looking Javier. His face broke into a smile as his eyes darted back and forth from you to the partially exposed bed with Arthur in it. It was clear what he was thinking and he opened his mouth to comment but you rushed forward and placed your hand over his lips. 

“You didn’t see anything.” He held his hands up in fake innocence, but the laughter he was trying to contain slipped out between your fingers, his whole body shaking. 

“Ah, to be young and in love. I won’t reveal your secrets, but you should hurry most everyone is waking up now.” 

As if to prove him right, you heard Dutch and Molly stirring in the tent next to Arthur’s. You quickly darted back to your own tent as Javier chuckled and continued on with whatever he was doing. With the ties finally knotted, you threw yourself onto your bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Javier wasn’t a braggart, he wouldn’t talk. But you and Arthur had wanted to keep things under wraps and enjoy the secret bubble you were living in a little bit longer. 

The camp quickly came to life and the sounds filled the air around you. You dressed in a long skirt, a long sleeved shirt, jacket, and high socks and boots to fight off the chill of the early mornings by the water. It was still your favorite place to be, but damn if it wasn’t chilly before the sun burned the fog away. 

Hosea waved a greeting as you passed him at a table and you smiled back. Javier was shuffling cards for the two of them to play and cast you a wink, but you chuckled and rolled your eyes as you continued on to meet Pearson for some food. 

Who knew rolling around a bed and kissing like young teenagers would use so much energy? 

John and Abigail were bickering about something as you approached the main campfire so you steered yourself over to where Charles was sitting and placed your bowl of cooked oats and berries on the table. Pearson had done some bartering in town to get a special order and first thought about baking the gang some pies, but settled on making a week of breakfasts that varied from the usual eggs or biscuits. 

Charles grunted as a greeting when you joined him. He didn’t drink that often so you assumed he wasn’t hung over but he was especially quite this morning. 

“How’s it going, Charles?” 

Bloodshot eyes met yours. “I was stuck on guard duty all last night. Never got relieved.” 

“Who was supposed to head out? That’s not right you had to stay so long.”

Rubbing his face Charles replied, “Arthur. He’s never been late before, better have a damn good excuse for leaving me out there last night.” Guilt flooded your face and you couldn't look up to meet your friend’s eyes. Of course, you knew the reason why Arthur was distracted and forgot about his turn on guard duty. 

You could feel Charles’ eyes heavy upon you as you stirred your breakfast. “That’s too bad, maybe he, uh...was busy,” you mumbled quietly. He didn’t reply to you, but greeted someone who sat down next to you with a thump. 

“Arthur.” 

The man in question scooped up oats and took a bite, smiling at Charles and knocking your knee under the table. Arthur was radiating with happiness in a way you haven’t seen in awhile, completely oblivious to the situation brewing before him. Charles looked between the two of you, and something clicked. He chuckled but didn’t berate Arthur in the way you thought he would, instead continuing to eat his breakfast and rub the exhaustion harboring behind his eyes. 

Eventually Charles excused himself and went to sleep, leaving you and Arthur alone again. It felt like no one else was around. The morning was heating up and you chatted easily to pass the time. It wasn’t long before Ms. Grimshaw found you and dragged you off to do chores, but you felt invigorated and happy to scrub shirts and dishes for the first time in, well, forever. Arthur chopped firewood not too far away, and you could admire the way he moved from this distance. The muscles in his arms and back showed through his shirt as he swung the axe over and over. 

You and Arthur orbited around each other, sneaking off for private moments but jumping apart as soon as someone drew near. It was exhilarating to carry this secret around and your heart felt like it was going to burst.It was easy; you fell into a nice routine that continued on like that for another few weeks. 

The dance Hosea planned on attending was quickly approaching and he had been running over and solidifying his plans with you, Karen, and Charles. Mostly how you and Karen were ‘related’ and what your backstory was. It was easy to slip into character and you enjoyed being in on a plan. 

“One, two, three, one two spin,” Hosea instructed as you practiced moving around the grass with Kieran. He had been wandering by and was just tall enough that you could dance with him, even if his face was flushed the entire time. Karen danced about with Sean who took the opportunity to whisper dirty words in her ears and watch her blush and giggle. 

Kieran was sweet but seeing the other couple made you wish Arthur could be spinning you around instead. Of course, everyone in Rhodes would recognize him because he was deputized so tagging along would ruin the whole story Hosea had concocted. 

“Spin once more, good, and stop!” 

Holding Kieran’s hand up in the air, you faced Sean and Karen who were mirroring you. That was the first time you had nailed the whole dance and Karen grabbed your hands and twirled you around in victory. Hosea chuckled to himself as he shuffled Dutch’s records to find the best one to practice with next. 

“I’ll go attend the horses if ya’ll don’t need me.” Hosea waved Kieran off in a friendly matter, and he bowed his head at the rest of you. Sean lit a cigarette and relaxed for a moment. 

“What do you think we’ll get the most of, YN? Watches? Earrings? Pearls? I always fancied myself lookin’ real good in a set of pearls,” Karen asked you. 

Before you could answer Sean chimed in. “Ah, you’d do better in emeralds or sapphires, love. Something with a bit of color to bring out that sparkle in your eye.” 

Karen turned to him, one hand on her hip, the other feigning innocence batting a pretend fan to cool herself off. “Why, Mr. McGuire, I’d almost think you’re flirting with me! What do we do with men who flirt but don’t back it up, YN?” 

You snorted and crossed your arms over your chest. “Make him show us what he’s playing with, see if it’s any fun.” Karen laughed and bumped her shoulder into yours, eyes never leaving Sean’s face. 

“I knew I liked you, YN. See, Sean? You just gotta show me what you’re playing with.”

 Sean sauntered over to where you two stood and placed one foot on a box, elevating himself ever so slightly. “Miss Jones and here I thought you liked me! Once we were young and shared puppy love, Miss Moore. But now she berates me! Everyday, I wait for her to call me an arse or set my soul on fire, all depending on her mood. Fire, Miss Moore! She’s a tough one, our Karen Jones, and I’ll chase her until the day I die. But if you won’t have me, maybe Miss Moore will take pity upon old Sean and give this dog some love.”

Laughing again you replied, “Oh Sean, as much as I would love to leave Arthur for you, I just don’t see that happening anytime soon.” 

Two sets of eyes fell upon you as you realized what you had just confessed. Sean and Karen both had their mouths hanging open, your own trying to form words but no sound coming out. Karen finally squealed but you shushed her as embarrassment flushed your chest and face. 

“Oh god, oh my god I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Please, whatever you do, don’t tell anyone!” 

The two shared a sly look, then Karen spoke. “Why, YN, whatever are you talking about. Just a casual conversation between three friends.” 

You knew it would get out eventually, but being the source of the rumor you were trying to hide didn’t look too good. You and Arthur would have to talk that night. 

Hosea finally found an album and got it started. “Alright, break it up! Back to your starting positions. This one is new and may take some practice. It’s got some spins in it so remember to focus on only one spot. Yes, Karen, I’m looking at you.” 

That night as Arthur rode in from town you tried to be one of the first he spoke with. Zeus was getting extra attention as he and Kieran discussed what kind of care was working out best for him, which was fine and all, but it didn’t stop how fast your leg was bouncing as you watched them intently. 

“Jesus, YN, you’re gonna bounce this table into next week! Watch my beer or it’ll spill.”

“Sorry, Bill. Just nervous.” He muttered something that you didn’t hear, for Arthur had started walking your way and you jumped up to meet him. 

"Arthur! Can we talk?" His face broke into a smile at the sight of you but fell slightly from your own expression. You could feel the tension pulling your eyebrows together and was sure you looked frightful. 

Arthur took your elbow and steered you to his tent after making sure no one watched you leave. “What’s going on, darlin’? Everything okay?” 

Your heart leapt in your chest at the pet name, hoping he would understand what had happened earlier. Deciding it would be best to get it out of the way you dove in headfirst. 

“So...I know we discussed keeping this thing between us secret, and I would never want to break your trust. But, I think one or two people may have found out one way or another. Not on purpose but, I’m rambling now, ain’t I? What I’m trying to say is, it’s my fault and, ugh…” you put buried your face in your hands and avoided Arthur’s eyes until you could think of a better excuse. 

Instead of anger, you heard a laugh and felt warm hands wrap around your wrists gently. “What’re you talking about, YN?” 

“I accidentally told someone! About us!” You wailed, thinking you had failed in the one task that mattered to you. Throwing your arms up you stood, facing Arthur head on. 

Again, Arthur laughed and rubbed his own face with his hands. “I, uh, have a confession to make myself then.” He scratched the back of his neck as he usually did when nerves overtook him and laughed again. “I went out hunting with Hosea, and told him. Made him swear not to breathe a word, but still.” 

You stared, nerves starting to melt away as you realized how silly you had behaved. What had seemed like the biggest deal in the world suddenly was just a small hindrance that could be explained easily, and it seemed you weren’t the only one with something to tell. It made you smile at how similar you were to the man in front of you; overthinking and critical, taking someone’s word as a blood promise, and a secret romantic who was bursting to tell everyone about what you two shared. 

“You tell anyone but Hosea?” 

“No,” Arthur didn’t hesitate to answer. “Well, yes. Maybe Mary Beth, too. Who did you tell?” 

“Javier saw me coming out of your tent one morning. Then, Charles later when he saw us at breakfast. Oh, Sean and Karen today which is why I wanted to talk in the first place.” Thinking, there wasn’t anyone else who came to mind.

You snapped your fingers and spoke at the same time as Arthur. 

“The Marstons!” 

John and Abigail had found out twice then, but it seemed they learned first from your drunken exposure. Wondering when Arthur blabbed, you asked what had happened. 

“Well, I was getting on to John again about how he treats little Jack, and he started asking about my future and what I wanted to do about all of this,” he waved his hand gesturing at the camp. “I got annoyed and may have mentioned that I would rather be somewhere else with someone else and he asked if it was you. I never was any good at keeping secrets from John, he’s known me far too long. So that one only half counts because he guessed before I could say anything.” Arthur moved and took your hands in his once again before continuing. “YN, I mean it. You...I ain’t felt this way in a long time. Don’t mean to overwhelm you cause it’s only been a few weeks, but I don’t want to lose you. This gang is my family, and they will always have my back. But you? You have my heart.” 

You stood on your toes to kiss Arthur, your heart swelling at his words. The way he crafted speeches was an art, a masterpiece made just for you. You only hoped you could convey half of the emotion he did and somehow show him you cared that deeply, too. 

His arms wrapped around your waist as he greedily deepened the kiss with his tongue, pushing past the barrier of your lips. Your hand gripped the front of his shirt, feeling the muscle underneath and contributing to the fire building in your belly. Arthur groaned into your mouth as you pulled the top buttons of his shirt open to expose his chest, your own heaving as you drew in breath. He moved toward the bed but you stopped him with a laugh, realizing how quickly you two got carried away. 

“Woah, cowboy. I think it’s dinnertime, we should go out.”

Pulling you close again, his words sent shivers down your body, “I’m hungry for something, YN.” 

A few minutes later you joined the gang for dinner, sitting with Arthur and Sean at an otherwise empty table. You and Sean conversed about the dancing lessons earlier that day. 

“Should have seen it, Morgan! Dancing around like a regular old fiend. YN needed a better partner though, poor Kieran nearly had a heart attack any time she touched him.” 

Arthur chuckled through his bites of dinner. “I’m sure, Sean. How did you and Karen fare?”

“Ah, you know. Miss Jones is pricklier than a cactus and has the same amount of love. Nothing like, ah, you and,” Sean rhythmically raised his eyebrows as you chucked your last bite of bread at him. He ducked and laughed, leaning in close. “Is it still a secret, you two?” 

Sighing and ready to answer, Arthur spoke before you had a chance to say anything. “No. Just wanted to enjoy it before you lot went gabbing.” 

Standing on his seat Sean called out to Karen, who happened to be on the complete opposite site from of camp and across every other person you knew. “Oy! Karen! Did you hear about Arthur and YN finally getting together then?” 

Your face had never been redder. 

The news seemed to strike everyone differently; the girls beamed at you and laughed at Sean, Dutch gave Hosea a very surprised look and nearly dropped his bowl of soup. Javier and John looked bored, and the rest simply sent their happiness through a few words or a smile. Truth be told nearly everyone in camp knew before Sean exposed your secret. 

“Sean, remind me to beat you later when the women ain’t looking.” Sean ducked as Arthur playfully lunged at him and left to go find a drink. You sighed and relaxed your head on Arthur’s shoulder, content that you could finally do simple things like this around the others. He squeezed your knee under the table and you two relaxed. 

“Alright folks! We are heading out. Dutch, we need anything from town while we’re gone?”

Dutch stood the small group of you, Hosea, Karen, and Charles as you prepared to go to Rhodes as the day of the country ball had finally arrived. “No! Enjoy tonight, drink, dance, and rob to your heart's content!” Karen let out a whoop and you all climbed into the wagon, finally ready to roll out. 

All day you had been slightly nervous to leave. It was all anyone had talked about and you didn’t want to let them down. Mary Beth had pinned your hair up with beads and it sat precariously on top of your head. The old blue cloth the two of you had found way back in Valentine was cut into a stunning dress, perfectly your color. White lace trim was sewn around the cuffs on the sleeves, with a black and gold colored belt and black boots. You felt beautiful for the first time since arriving at camp. More often than not you were slightly dirty and wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in a while, but tonight you were sparkly and clean and ready to perform. 

Karen was dashing in a full red dress with white trim. Her boots were higher than your own and she had polished them so she could see her own reflection in the shiny surface. A pink flush was on her cheeks, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the excitement of being included or the little bit of makeup Molly had unwillingly parted with. 

Charles gave you both a hand up into the carriage and stood proud in a black suit. It fitted him well, but he seemed uncomfortable to be out of his normal clothes with the weight of his guns on his hips. He smiled back at you as you stepped in and took a seat. Hosea joined you shortly, and waved out the window as the crack of the whip signalled your departure. 

For a moment you thought you saw Arthur standing in camp, but you remembered Dutch had sent him and John off to finish some tasks for the Braithwates. Or was it the Greys? You couldn't keep the two rival families straight as they both had issues far beyond what you considered normal. Not that you had much ground to stand on. 

Rolling along the dirt road made your nerves increase with each bounce or dip. Hosea leafed through some papers he had brought along and Karen hummed a tune, tapping her hand on her knee. 

“Ladies. One more time, run through your new identities with me.” 

Karen groaned but went first. “I am Gemma Glen, traveling with my father and sister on our way to Saint Denis. Our family is in the oil business, but being a woman I am not interested in such things and focus on men and beauty...things.” You laughed at her monotone delivery but Hosea gave her a glare. Shuffling his papers once more he turned to you. 

“Alright, YN. And you?”

You cleared your throat. “My name is Caroline, and I, like my sister, am not interested in the dealings at your oil mill. I like to read and write and forgo the wild parts of society. Our mother died years ago in a sad and tragic way.” 

“Saying you think my work is boring is the easiest way to avoid questions. I’ll handle that, your job is to keep folks busy while your hands are in their pockets. I have bags hiding here, and Charles can be the go between so just find a good place to hide things and he will pick them up and bring everything back. In about a week I’ll pawn it off and give you your share.” You both nodded and a light out the window caught your attention. 

“Look...Netherfield Park is let at last.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s from a book, Karen. Jane Austen.”

“Oh right, forgot you actually like to read.” 

Hosea smiled at the reference and took in the sight. Rhodes must not have many dances for they held nothing back. The barn was a ways off the main street, the path way illuminated by  hanging lanterns all the way up. Carriages lined the road waiting to drop off their passengers, and from the looks of it there must have been almost 200 people. Large bows adorned the front of the wooden building and string music floated out across the driveway, rising and falling with the melody of conversation mixed in. Maybe you were in a Jane Austen novel, for Rhodes felt like a far away place, an illusion of a time gone by. 

As Charles pulled the carriage up two attendants approached and helped you down. They were dressed a bit more casual, and you saw the other drivers standing and talking off to the side wearing less formal attire than Charles had on. Hosea stood and offered one arm to Karen and the other to yourself as he escorted you in. Over your shoulder you waved goodbye to your friend who nodded back.

Rhodes was behind in its progressiveness and was still steeped in racism and other nasty things. You sometimes overheard Charles or Javier or Lenny discuss what things were whispered as they walked past and your stomach would drop. You understood why Charles didn’t want to come into the hall, but it felt entirely wrong. 

“Welcome to Governors Ball, sir and madams. May I take your coats? Refreshments are over to the left across from the band, and before you proceed please take a mask matching the color of your attire.” 

A table full of handmade masks of every shade laid before you. Some were designed to cover the whole face and required to be tied twice, while others ranged to flimsy black cloth with holes simply cut out. The sea of people before you all adorned the accessory and no one could be recognized. 

Karen shook off her coat and grabbed a red mask that tied back behind her head, handing you a blue and white painted one with golden strings. It was simple but the details of leaves painted on the edges made you wonder how long this took to make. Hosea chuckled under his breath. “This...could not go any better. Truly. It’s like they’re asking us to rob them, how can we miss out on an opportunity like this?” Picking up a deep emerald green mask and tying it behind his head, he motioned for you to head out onto the floor. “Let the games begin, ladies.” 

You walked out into the crowd and admired the decorations covering the interior of the old barn. Like outside, large bows were attached to the walls and lanterns hung in formations around the ceiling. 

A voice from your left startled you. “And how are you on this fine evening, miss?” A tall, dark haired man extended his hand and you smiled and accepted as you moved to the dance floor. A large space had been cleared for people to move around, and you saw Karen and Hosea take place not too far away. 

The stranger cleared his throat. “What is your name?” 

“Caroline. Pleased to meet you.” 

From under the mask you saw his eyebrows pull together for a moment before he responded. “Do you not recognize me, dear girl?” 

“Josiah!” Truth be told you never spent much time with the man, but his accent was somewhat familiar. “How would I know you wearing that mask?” 

He laughed and stepped forward as the dance began. “True. You and I never really spoke, did we? Last I saw you was at Horseshoe Overlook, but I got swept up working with Arthur again and he speaks of you often. Only good things, of that I can assure you.”

You blushed and twirled around him, matching time with the women in line with you. It was one of the pieces you had practiced with Hosea and you were thankful for his relentless lessons, even if they seemed silly at the time. 

“Is he here tonight, Caroline?” Trelawney emphasised. 

“No. He was deputized and would be too easily recognized if he came. Why are you in town?” 

As Trelawney made a square around you he replied, “Invited by a woman I met in Saint Denis, no less. She and I have an on again, off again relationship but she needed an escort coming all the way out here and I had heard rumblings that a certain gang had taken up a local residence so I decided to try my luck. Seemed to play out in my favor.” 

You held your right hand up and out as he came to a stop next to you, signalling the end of the number. Politely clapping you took his hand and moved over to where Hosea and Karen were standing, watching a man in a suit get progressively more drunk. 

“Look who I found!” 

Hosea greeted Trelawney warmly, and Karen nodded at him with a smile. He gave the same story about how he ended up here and questioned why you all had decided to ‘slum with the local dogs’ in town.

“You see these folk? Jeweled up and ready to be robbed? Soon they’ll be drunker than Reverend Swanson on a Sunday and that’s when we move in and make a pretty penny,” Karen leaned in and whispered. Nodding you glanced around the room to see who should be your first target. 

A woman wearing a bracelet made of pearls dunked her cup into the punch bowl for a third time and swayed near your position. You took a slight step back. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, let me help you.” She had tripped over your foot and into Trelawney, who caught her drink before it spilled on him, too. Your hand moved over her wrist to lift the jewelry and carefully pocket it before anyone noticed. The woman straightened herself up, thanked you, and moved on. 

“See? Easy as pie.” You looked up innocently at Trelawney and he chuckled. 

“I see why Arthur likes you so. Charming, funny, and light fingered? Truly the perfect woman.” 

Karen put up a bit of a protest at being left out, but it was all in good fun. The night continued on as you two made your way around the room, strategically planning what to take and where to hide it for Charles. He had picked a spot by the window with a flower basket and would scowl at anyone who got close, scaring them off. 

The lanterns burned through the night, the candles slowing melting into wax puddles or reedy formations. Your feet ached as you moved through dance after dance. Most with Josiah, but you took up a few with Hosea who danced with more ease that you thought he could. The rest were reserved for unsuspecting strangers who left the floor a little lighter than they arrived, leaving you with quiet the haul towards the end of night. 

Dances in Blackwater were nothing like this. There were no decorations in the main assembly hall downtown and the light always seemed harsher, nothing like the soft glow surrounding everything the candle light touched here. The people in Rhodes were rougher, sure, but even they had cleaned up and acted their best, if a little drunk, for the one night. 

An announcement was made that only a few dances remained. You stood from your chair and moved to the floor as a hand caught your elbow. 

“Miss? May I have this dance?” 

Standing behind you was a tall, well dressed man in a black suit and a blue mask. It brought out the color of his eyes as he looked up and down the way your dress hugged your body. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” you hissed, moving closer to his chest.

“I know,” Arthur chuckled and placed a hand on your lower back, pushing you out to the floor, “but I couldn't miss a chance to dance with my girl. Dutch said you’d already left by the time I got back. Rode like hell to find this place.” 

“Well, if you get caught I am leaving you in the dust, Mr. Kilgore.”

Arthur laughed and stood at the ready, apparently knowing of what this dance was. Everything had fallen perfectly into place that evening; the stars seemed to sparkle above and light the night, your handsome man surprised you, and you got to dance which was secretly one of your favorite things to do. Nothing could steal the memories of that evening away from you. 

That dance was a slow one and you were grateful. Arthur had a look in his eye that you wanted to admire and you knew if he moved too quickly you couldn’t memorize it. It was a yearning that you hadn’t felt affect you that strongly in years, since the last time you were with Henry. As he spun you around him, Arthur’s hand was warm against the small of your back and he whispered in your ear, “I didn’t know that color looked so good on you. Should buy it more often.” 

You laughed lightly. “Why, thank you. Although Karen is the one who really shines tonight, you should have seen Hosea go after some man who was getting too handsy. Like a switch flipped, he was downright horrifying.”

Arthur swept you around again, “Darlin’, can’t you just take the compliment? You look wonderful.” A blush crept up your cheeks at his words but you smiled and thanked him. The next part of the dance took you to someone else’s partner so you couldn’t respond. 

Even though he was two people away you couldn't take your eyes off of him. The woman he was currently partnered with reacted about the same, and even though jealousy began to course through your veins you didn’t blame her. 

The music ended and you began to move back to Arthur, but the short blonde hadn’t left yet. She was drunk and trying her best to convince him he needed to go home with her, much to his horror. 

“Sir, I swear it’s broken and I need help! What is a small little thing like me going to do without a big man to fix my bed?” 

Arthur looked like a trapped animal that its prey was playing with. His eyes were wide beneath his mask as he searched the crowd for your rescue. You gave it a few more moments then walked over to save him out of pity. 

“Excuse me, miss, but I must steal him away. We’re leaving soon.”

She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Well I don’t see a ring on your finger! What claim you got anyways?” 

Arthur grabbed your hand and politely tipped his head. “She got plenty. Have a good night, madam.” 

Stifling laughter you started to move to Hosea and Karen and Joiah but Arthur pulled your hand. “For the sake of being a deputy it’s best I’m not seen with them. I’ve had my fill of dancing, so why don’t you meet me outside and I’ll take you home?” 

“I’m hungry, does the saloon still have a kitchen open this late?” 

Arthur laughed and kissed your forehead. “I’ll head that way and see what I can find. Don’t take too long, many fools in here have been eyeing you in that dress all night.” You watched him walk out the door and sighed. 

While Trewlawny had plans at the hotel in town with his mysterious woman who was nowhere to be found, Karen and Hosea were ready to leave. “Oh good! Caroline, we’re heading out, the bags are full and I’d like to leave before someone notices missing items.” 

“Actually I’m going to meet Arthur at the saloon. Thanks for the evening, father. See you back at camp.” Hosea tipped his hat and you walked out of the barn doors, removing your mask and setting it back with the others. 

“That’s her. The girl who danced with the deputy.” 

Somewhere behind you a low voice whispered to another but the crowd was too large to tell who said it. You glanced around briefly but shrugged, hoping it was nothing more than idle gossip. No one had confronted you about pick pocketing or Arthur so you tried to shake off the strange feeling lingering around your shoulders as you neared the saloon. 

“YN! Over here.” 

Arthur’s warm greeting made you forget any off putting emotions that lingered and you smiled back, feeling your whole body glow in the warmth of everything that was purely him. He had ordered you a drink and a meal, pulling back the chair for you and resting his hand on your knee while you talked and laughed and drank the night away. Again the two of you were in your own little bubble, unaware of everyone and everything nearby, simply enjoying the stolen moment in a town that had other plans brewing.

[carolynpetit]

Reason to Play, a Journal--Entry One: Fortnite, MGSV, and Finding Ourselves in the Act of Play

Hi. 

This is the first entry in what I hope will be an ongoing journal of play. I wanted to start by explaining my thinking behind this project.

Right now, I’m looking for a reason to play. I’m always wary of games that seem to offer nothing beyond a mildly pleasant occupation of my time, and right now, I find such games downright inadequate. Unworthy. These are horrifying times, and yet, like so many of us, I find myself exhausted by it all. Unable to maintain the levels of rage and resistance that the actions of the current administration demand. I see it all becoming normalized and I feel powerless to stop it. And as the days and weeks and months go by, I feel as if this numbness accrues. I become increasingly detached, not just from the horrors of the moment but from myself. I start to wonder where the person I believed myself to be has gone. 

I believe that art is most vital in times like this. I love this quote from Kafka: 

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?...We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

If a game isn’t going to be the axe for the frozen sea inside me, if it isn’t going to cut through the numbness, shake me up, break my heart, fuck me up, do something to rehumanize me, it is not worthy of this moment. 

But I might find what I’m looking for anywhere. I’m not talking just about games that explicitly comment on fascism or racial injustice or economic inequality. Yes, I think it’s essential that we have art, including games, that confronts these things directly, but it’s also true that a game can have the noblest aims and leave me cold, while a throwaway moment in a big-budget mainstream game of the sort that certain gamers like to call “apolitical” can crack my heart wide open. 

Like most of my writing about games, this journal will be a place where I fully embrace the subjectivity of my own experience with the games that I play.

Okay. Here we go.

Testin’ My Mind, Shakin’ My Body in Fortnite

Yeah, okay, Fortnite’s a Battle Royale. That’s just a fact. If you’re playing solo, which I almost always am--I’m uncomfortable teaming up with random players, though on occasion I’ll play duos with a friend, which makes for a completely different, really exciting dynamic--you drop onto the island with close to a hundred other players, and the way you win is by being the last player standing. Now, I encourage conversations about the violence inherent to the format, as well as about all the other aspects of Fortnite that people rightly raise concerns about--the way in which it’s monetized, Epic’s pattern of repeatedly profiting off of dances associated with artists and communities of color without compensating the artists or communities that created them. All of it. But if we’re gonna go to the mat with Fortnite on these aspects (and we should), let’s also at least have a full, multifaceted conversation about why we play Fortnite, how it feels, and the moments that can emerge from a fully invested experience of the game.

Did you know that earlier this year, a massive beast that had been frozen in ice under Polar Peak broke free, that huge footprints showed it had made its way to the sea, where it’s occasionally been spotted, roaming the waters around the island? Did you know that right now, a towering robot is being built in the remnants of the volcano? It seems inevitable that soon, a massive Pacific Rim-style fight between them will take place, almost certainly resulting in a new wave of major changes to the island. Indeed, the island is always a place in flux, changing in big and small ways. It’s alive in ways that I’ve always wanted my game worlds to be alive. Landing near Loot Lake a few weeks ago, I was excited to see that the massive power cable that runs through the area was shredded and sparking, as if perhaps the monster had taken a bite. 

But the life of the environment wouldn’t mean much if it weren’t for my encounters with the lives of other players. The other day, I was trying to complete a challenge that required me to get a certain score on a balloon board at one of the numerous little beach party setups that currently dot the map. Jumping from the bus, I swooped down to a spot in the desert, opened a chest, grabbed the weapon, and made my way over to the nearby board. Another player got there just before me, and I stood still, hoping to indicate that I didn’t want to stop them from completing the challenge. They froze for a moment, but then proceeded, and when they hit the necessary score, a little celebratory explosion of confetti occurred, and I got credit for the challenge, too. 

Basking in the glow of our shared little moment, I wanted to walk away then, wishing them nothing but the best in the match ahead. But then they took a shot at me. In that instant, a sinking feeling ran through my whole body, a physical expression of “Aw, why’d you have to go and do that?” and in an instant, I obliterated them. It wasn’t a victory. It was more like putting someone down. I didn’t feel good about it, but it sure was a real feeling. Something surprising and immediate that emerged from my encounter with another living person. And that’s what I’m here for. 

Yes, Fortnite is a Battle Royale, but so much of the experience of Fortnite is about unexpected occurrences like this, and about the things we do in the stolen moments between the shootouts and build battles. The other day, I got so caught up in playing a silly memory game I stumbled upon that I wound up getting caught in the storm. Not long before that, I danced with John Wick to raise a disco ball in an abandoned lair so we could snag a fortbyte, one of this season’s collectibles. These are the things I really remember, not my win-loss ratio or all the times I’m eliminated by players much better than I am before I quickly hit play and hop on the battle bus all over again.

I’m eager to return to the island because the island itself feels vibrant and alive, emanating a kind of Spielbergian Americana and optimism, but also because of the vigorous bodies and exuberant identities I get to inhabit while I’m there. The mix-and-match nature of Fortnite’s customization means that one round I might be a sprightly female wizard with a sleek laptop on her back, and the next a nerdy, purple-haired gamer girl with a satchel full of potions and spellbooks. “Fun” may be overemphasized in some of our conversations around games, but it certainly has its place, and playing as these colorful characters, well, it’s just fun.

Every character in Fortnite plays exactly the same, but they don’t all feel the same to me. I just unlocked a black variant of the character Sentinel, a robot or power suit that looks like it might have appeared on Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, and I think it looks kinda cool, but I sure don’t want to be it. On the other hand, playing as Elmira (pictured above) feels good. And oh, do I love the way that some emotes make me feel. Tweeting recently about an emote called the Laid Back Shuffle, I wrote:

I’m almost always pretty uncomfortable in my body, for a number of reasons related to my appearance and my transness and things. The easygoing physical exuberance of this emote, the way that the avatar performing it, whatever avatar that might be at any given moment, appears to feel so loose and free in their own body, makes it really appealing to me, like a virtual experience/expression of a sensation that I’ve never known IRL. I think emotes have some kind of power beyond whatever power we often think of them having, perhaps particularly for those of us who never really feel comfortable in our own skin. 

And all the kids playing Fortnite that we’re so worried about, let’s remember that their experience of this game isn’t as simple as just trying to slaughter everyone else on the island. Setting aside whatever value there may be in the particular type of complex thinking and skill-building that it requires to try to simultaneously outbuild and outgun your opponent, there’s also the fact that they, too, are experiencing the life of Fortnite’s island, having encounters with other players that play out in unexpected ways, and experimenting with self-expression. Yes, their opportunities for that exploration and expression are gated by money, and that’s a real issue, but that doesn’t change the fact that a young person finding that they feel particularly cool when playing as a woman in red with a bionic arm is valid, and maybe even valuable. 

II. MGSV and What I Know Is True

I set The Phantom Pain aside for a few years after hitting a mission that I found maddeningly difficult, but something called me back to it. Now I’ve powered through the mission that gave me so much trouble, and I’m making progress again. I enjoy the geographical roughness of its environments, and the way you really have to deal with that roughness, often lying flat and crawling along the ground. The truth is that I spend far too much time alone in my apartment, and though it’s no substitute at all for the real, natural world, when I take my time being rooted in one spot to scout out locations and tag enemies before making any dangerous moves, I feel the shape of the space around me in a way that I rarely do in games. 

The other day I fought a grueling boss battle and then, finally, when it was over, hopped onto the helicopter to return to base, exhausted by the ordeal. Just as we were about to lift off, Quiet hopped on, hanging off of the side of the chopper as the rotors above her head spun faster until we lurched up and away from the ground. She held my gaze the whole time. I think a lot of games look at the player too much. They want you to feel like the center of the universe, the only person who really matters. But that wasn’t the feeling I got from this moment. I’d just fought for my life, and the way she looked at me, without malice or sympathy for what I’d just been through or anything, made me feel like I was being sized up. Looked at in a real way. Seen.

Do you know that feeling--Does this happen to everyone or just me?--that feeling where, for a moment, your awareness kind of spreads beyond yourself and you’re suddenly very aware that what you’re experiencing is something real that is happening in physical, three-dimensional space at this exact moment in time? It’s a feeling I get sometimes when I’m in a moment that I wish I could make last, or that I really want to remember. Sharing a last drink with a friend before they move away, that sort of thing. This feeling of momentarily being very much rooted in myself but also outside of myself and acknowledging, This is real. This is something that happened. That moment where Quiet was looking at me in the wake of the momentous battle I’d just fought felt something like that. 

It didn’t happen in real, physical space, but virtual space is a valid space, too, a space where real things happen. Sometimes when I’m playing Fortnite I’ll see the hillside where a friend and I once sped away from attackers on a Quadcrasher, bullets whizzing past our heads, and I’ll think, We were there. That happened. These moments become part of my relationship with the ever-changing island, just as my memories of San Francisco become part of my relationship with the city.

On another recent mission, I was sneaking my way through an enemy outpost when, from a nearby building, I heard the familiar sounds of Spandau Ballet’s “True.” To be honest, I never liked “True” much. The Phantom Pain takes place in 1984, and as a kid in the suburbs of Chicago in that year who sometimes saw the video on MTV, the song felt too airy and ethereal to move me. But recontextualized in The Phantom Pain, I heard it differently. That precise ethereal quality made it such an effective contrast to the grim military seriousness and the tactile terrain that my heart began to ache. 

The presence of 80s pop songs in the isolated military outposts of the game is politically fascinating to me. It says something about how American and British cultural exports are absorbed by the entire world, but it’s largely a one-way street. A Pakistani friend of mine in high school had grown up with Sting, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis, but I’d never heard Pakistani music in my life. I don’t understand why so many players are so intent on not considering all the political dimensions of a game like this. They only make the experience infinitely more fascinating, even if and when they reveal the game’s failures.

The songs also allow for the creation of some great moments. I snuck into the building where the song was playing just so I could snag the tape, and the next time I was in the helicopter, I played it, and as the opening notes of “True” played, I panned the camera slowly around Big Boss, creating a very short music video that I honestly found exciting.

I tweeted the clip, jokingly commenting that I’d “won Metal Gear Solid V by creating this beautiful moment,” but it had really felt this way to me. Creating this moment had been as fun and rewarding to me as anything else the game offered. Playing MGSV isn’t just sneaking and shooting, or at least for me it isn’t. This, too, is play.  So obviously, I get frustrated with the “Git Gud” players, those who feel that games are at their best when they’re perfectly calibrated tests of raw skill, that the only thing that matters is having an awesome KDR, or earning the highest possible rating on missions, or whatever. 

But the truth is that it’s not just hardcore gamers who set limits on our notions of play by talking about games like this. A lot of us do it, even a lot of us who consider ourselves emphatically opposed to the “Git Gud’ brigade. We do it when we look at a game like Fortnite and see it only as one simple thing, a struggle to be the last remaining survivor, without at least acknowledging all the other things a player might go to the game for. We do it when we deny the possibility for moments of strange beauty to emerge from even a grim, ugly, grossly misogynistic game like MGSV. We do it whenever we, ourselves, adopt a limited, conventional understanding of what it means to really play a game, rather than fully engaging with all the different ways that we can find ourselves and each other in the spaces that games create.

-----

I’m currently looking for work. If you enjoy my writing and are in a position to do so, please consider supporting me on ko-fi.

[a-pervy-nerdy]

The Comic: Chapter 3

Concept: The young Jester of your father's court has always been a constant sound in the background. But suddenly he is leaving the shadows and is tossing himself into your spotlight. What is this strange feeling??

A/N: Highkey, love writing this series. Love this idea which has been made into a novel before and I read it. It was...not good. So I decided to put my own spin on it and even thought litterally only 3 people care about this, I'm having fun. So *blows raspberry*. This is honestly apart of my mental self care because its something I enjoy and makes me happy and I encourage other writing blogs to do the same. If you have any requests, don't be afraid to ask and I love to hear feedback from you guys, it means a lot!✌❤

Warnings: NSFW, gore, violence, and smut???

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The image of that girl kept you up for the rest of the night. The ball has come to a quick end once the devil's daughter was taken away. The acceptance of your strange gift from Lord Lincoln put a bitter taste in everyone's mouth. Including your own.

What were you thinking? Accepting something so, outrageous and possibly dangerous. Could you make him take it back? No, no you couldn't. And what did this mean for you arrangement? Did this mean you were obligated to marry Lincoln of the Grounder Empire? But there was peace between your people for now, it would make much more sense to marry Prince Bellamy and secure a relationship with the Arch Kingdom. But if you rejected Lincoln, would that mean the start of another war? And if you refused Bellamy would that ignite a war between your two kingdoms.

You tossed and turned all night, your head filled with a million different things. A million worries, troubles, thoughts, feelings, it drove you mad. And yet above it all the image of that poor girl stuck the most. It gave you nightmares in what little sleep you got. Eventually, your aching bones allowed you to get up from your bed and shuffle across your chamber room floor.

It was torturing you. You had to see her again, had to look at her up close. She couldn't have been real. And yet you remember the sight of her made your heart pround and your stomach turn. You had to see her again.

So you wrapped yourself in a robe, and with nothing but a candle light, you crept down from the tower and deep down into the dungen. Two gaurds which sat at the dungen doors seemed to pay you no attention. Upon clooser inspection, you found them asleep. How convenient, you thought.

You entered through a large gate with ease and found the faceless figure of the girl as she sat on the dirt floor. Beyond the bars she was put behind,were more walls of cages and bars that kept most prisoners. Enemies of your father and petty theives, murderers, etc. You'd never been down here before. The intensesity of the horrid place was enough to make you run back to saftey. And yet once you found her, you hid and couldnt stop watching her.

She leaned her head against the wall, her head unable to reach the wall due to the hunch of her back. The poor thing gave a sad sigh before she liftes her hands and brushed aside the hair from her face. Two sparkling green eyes and rosey cheeks shattered every expectation. Her face was beautiful by any standard, but her gentle eyes were filled with sadness. As she relaxed, she reached down to her feet. She took her anckle in one hand, and held the hoove with the other. And with a gentle pull, the hoove and a part of her "ankle" popped off. The prosthetic revealed the truth. She simply had no feet. You relaxed for just a moment. She was no demon.

"Are you lost, princess?" A voice growled behind you. You let out a sharp gasp as you turned to find Jasper standing right behind you, too close for comfort. His eyes dark and glaring into yours. He was angry.

"Jester!" You gasped.

"You shouldn't have come here, you were a fool to venture so far from your room."

"I just- I couldn't-" unable to finish a sentence, your heart racing in your chest and head, you stepped away to escape. Jasper reached out and grasped yoir wrist to pull you back. His fist turned around your flesh and it stung wildly, forcing a grunt of pain from your lips. He pulled you back to him forcefully. You'd never seen him so vicious or angry before. It scared you.

"Now you've seen her up close, you've seen the truth. You've seen what becomes of people like her! You've seen what monarchs like YOU do to people like US." He shouted.

"Jester, please." You begged and pulled away from him. He reached out and pulled your other wrist in his other hand to keep you even closer.

"You will call me by my name! As you will know her's! Look at her!" He hooked his around around your waist and turned your back to him. He forced you to look at the poor girl as she stared up in confusion and fear. "Her name is Elizabeth! She was left alone after your damn council convicted her mother of being a witch where she was burned by the stake. She has been struggling to survive till that damn Empire found her in a traveling circus." He hissed in your ear through gritted teeth.

"Let me go." You growled. "You could be executed for this."

"We are all damned to an empty fate so long as your kind is alive." He breathed in your ear.

"Let go of me...Jasper..." You stated firmly with a shaking voice. He took a few deep, heavy breaths before his grip lightened. You looked to Elizabeth, who stared up at you with a pleeing gaze. Once Jasper let you go, you booked it out of there.

You ran, and ran, and ran all the way back to your room. Your chest heaving, your mouth dry from panting, your heart aching in fear and pain. Your quickly reached your chamber room door, and slammed it shut behind you. You didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Why did he touch you that way? He knew the risk, he knew you could report to your father and have Jasper killed. You should. But you wouldn't. You couldn't. No matter how wrong it was, no matter how much it hurt to have him yell at you like that. It didn’t mean it was right for him to do so, but he had a point. And the way he pressed you against his chest, the way he...held you. It made you shake. You were unsure of exactly what this feeling was, but it made your head spin and it drove you wild.

You had fantasies of Jasper before. You called him a pest and tried to counter act as best you could. But your feelings for him persisted and refused to leave. Even after his rage towards you. Especially after. You were seeing a different side of him, a new one, a real one.

The next morning, Abby found you sat quiet and ready to be dressed. It unerved her to say the least that you were so prepared and so soft spoken that morning. It was completely and totally out of character.

"Good morning, princess." She addressed you, awkwardly and unsure.

"Good morning, Abby." You looked up at her with an emotionless gaze. It made her uneasy.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked as she brushed your hair and helped you dress. You shifted for a moment in thought.

"Just, tired." You admitted.

"I see. Just don't let your gaurd down." She told you as looked back over your dress to ensure you were presentable. You could have used that advice a little sooner.

The guests of the ball had stayed. They would stay for three days, and by the end, you were expected to pick a suitor. This was a rule set by your father. This was the first day of three. This day was filled with entertainment, shows by Jasper, Monty, Murphy. Competitions between nobel men of sword fighting, arrows, axes, ridiculous displays of strength. All of which Bellamy and Lincoln participated in, in hopes of catching your attention and for their own egos. But your attention was not on them, they were on Jasper. Who had decided it was a good idea to flirt and tease Princess Octavia. She appeared to have no interest in him, and even scolded him at one point. It made you smile a little.

You were to spend time with your suitors, chaperoned of course. And so you took walks with them about the royal garden with poor Monty picking at his lute behind. It all felt very awkward. Your conversations were boring and mundane to say the least. Though, Bellamy had been a slight bit more entertaining than Lincoln. Your decision though would still be based on political action. This was your one and only political contribution, and you were lucky your father was allowing you to choose.

After it all, you finally managed to sneak away and be alone in a small chamber that was often used as a study. You leaned against a desk and took a sigh of relief. Until the door behind you opened and closed. You assumed it to be Harper, or Clarke.

"Please, give me one moment of peace, for the love of god." You spoke as you turned, and froze. "Jester."

"We're alone, princess, you can call me Jasper."

"Jasper, you shouldn't be here."

"I could say the same to you."

"If we are found alone-"

"We won't." He reassured. His eyes didn't look at you. He held his head down, as if sad or in shame. "I came to, apologize." He stated shyly.

"There is no need, Jasper I-" you went to move to escape the room, but he stood in front of the door.

"Please. Let me explain myself."

"You don't have to, I understand." You reasoned.

"No, you don't. I am so deeply sorry for what I said, for what I did to you last night. I practically bruised your wrists!" He gently reached out and let his fingers brushed against your wrists. You threw your hands away. "Please princess, I never meant to hurt you. I was so angry. That poor girl." He trailed off.

"I forgive you, Jasper. I understand your anger and your hatred. Now please, move aside."

"That isn't all I have to say. Before you go to your father, before I am killed, I have more to say to you." He looked at you with pleading eyes. "Princess, I fear that I may never get the chance to tell you this again. I thought I had more time, but I now realize you will soon be gone for good. It breaks my heart to know that I may never see you again." He slowly reached his hand out again, and took yours. Gently and tenderly. You started to shake. He lifted your hand to his lips and left a soft kiss. "I have loved you since I first layed eyes on you."

"Jasper."

"You have haunted me ever since, and knowing I would never be able to have you has broken my heart. But the notion that you will no longer have a place in my life shatters my very soul. I live to make you smile and to hear your laugh. I wanted you to know this before it is too late." He looked up from your hand, back to you. His deep brown eyes, filled with tears now. You fell frozen, you didn't know what to do. "I know your hatred for me, and I know-"

"I don't hate you." You spoke up. He let your hand down from his face, and you held it back. "I've never hated you." You admitted. You never truly did, he found him annoying at times but...your mutual love for him was always there. His eyes filled with hope. His chest heaved as he looked into your eyes, waiting for you pulk away. When you didn't, he moved quickly and suddenly. For the first time, you felt lips against your own as he kissed you. It was so soft, so sweet. It sent a chill down your spine. He wrapped his arms around you as you placed your hads on his chest. You kissed him back and be held you close in a moment of pure passion and desperation for one another.

"Princess, I-"

"My name is not Princess, Jasper." You whispered.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, Jasper." You told him. He let out a soft chuckle of happiness and smiled. Tears would have fallen for it not for another kiss. A passionate and heated kiss that made your blood boil. You wanted him closer. You felt more and more desperate for him as he leaned down and kissed your neck and whatever exposed flesh be could. You let out whimpers and moans in response. You let out an especially loud one when Jasper's hands started to wonder your clothed body.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned. You nodded, your cheeks hot and red. "Oh sweet princess, you've never been touched before, have you?" You shook your head. "Forgive me, I'll be gentle." He whispered before kissing you again. You felt so dizzy and yet so grounded at the same time. Before you knew it, you were pressed up against a desk. Jasper's hands hiking up the skirt of your dress and pulling down the shorts underneath. You wanted this so badly. You wanted him. Needed him. And he needed you.

"Jasper" you moaned as he kissed your neck. He gave a smile and huff as he held you close to him.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you like this." He whispered into your neck. His hand went down to caress your thighs. And then suddenly you felt his touch. You let out a sharp gasp in surprise as he started to play with you. No one else had ever touched you before, no one but yourself. He made you moan into his lips as he kissed you passionately. You took your hand in his, and guided you down to his cock. He moaned and twitched under your touch as you stroked him. You drove him wild.

Jasper held you close to him by your waist as he pressed himself against you, positioning himself st your entrance. You could feel your heart racing in your chest and the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You let out a harsh gasp as he pressed forward and slid into you. He held you so close and so tight, it was comforting in that moment. You felt pain at first, sharp and stunning. Until it became dull. He started to move and something switched inside your head. You became a mess. You were vulnerable and weak, you were his and his alone. A moment so intimate and pure in that moment. You'd never felt anything like it.

He grunted and moaned as he bucked his hips into yours, he cling to you as he made love to you. Making sure you felt pleasure instead of just pain. Before you knew it, he had reached his high and began twitching and moaning your name helplessly. You held onto him as you felt him cum inside you. You may not have reached a climax as he did but, you felt a calming and pleasent sensation that ran throughout your body. It made you smile as you kissed him. He panted for a moment before kissing your all over and holding you close still.

"Oh Y/N," he panted, "you are an angel." He rested he head on your chest and held you there for a moment. "It is every man's dream to have you like this." He cooed. "I can die a happy man knowing you have loved me."

"Please don't talk about death anymore." You asked him as you ran your hands through his hair lovingly.

"You better go back to the festivities before anyone notices you are gone."

"We both should."

"Not together."

"No. Not together" You nodded. You fixed yourselves, though you didn't expect yourself to be so weak after. Your head spun and your legs were wobbly. Before you left the room, Jasper grabbed you by your arm and planted yet another passionate kiss on your lips. Oh what a rush that gave you.

"Good luck out there, princess."

"You too, Jester."

[builder051]

hey my love.I was fall in love to your characters, your stories and your blog.If you have the time, I would like one story with sick and really nauseous Todd. You know, this couple Todd and Mel is so sweet! One day, I would drawing for them i promise. Please?Good job!Have a good day!

Hey, anon!  Thanks so much.  I’m happy to deliver, and a drawing would be so awesome!

I’ve fucked up the timeline again.  Since the last Mel and Todd story was set on Christmas Eve and the next event in their current arc is going to be their anniversary on January 8th, you’ll have to consider this one as happening sometime before the holidays.

Have I told you that migraine fics are my favorite thing ever?  XD

_____

Todd’s never been happier with his office’s arrangement of bathrooms.  The fact that they’re single-user and non-gendered is great.  But today it’s the easily accessible light switch that takes the cake.  Sitting on the floor without the oppressive hum and painful glare of fluorescent lights is heavenly.  Or as close to heaven as Todd can get when his head is about to split open.

He leans forward press his face into his knees.  It’s quieter in here than out in the shared office space where chatting coworkers and clacking keyboards are making a racket.  Still not quiet enough, though.  The faucet drips gently against the sink basin, and it may as well be a nail slowly pounding into Todd’s skull.

And whoever used this bathroom last must’ve sprayed perfume.  The faint scent of orange blossom hangs in the air.  It’s not unpleasant, but the mere fact of its presence turns his stomach.

Todd’s used to headaches.  He stares at a computer screen eight hours a day as he taps out software code.  But whatever’s going on now is different from the regular eyestrain and mild pain in the back of his neck.  It’s not something he can shake off.

The idea of shaking anything is practically vomit-inducing.  The coffee and ibuprofen Todd had swallowed an hour ago sit heavily on his stomach.  He wonders for a second if all of this is the result of low blood sugar.  Maybe he needs to eat.  But that can’t be it.  He had breakfast this morning.  And it feels like his eggs and toast are still there, ready to spill all over the floor at the slightest provocation.

“Yo, man.”  Someone knocks on the bathroom door.

Todd groans and wraps his arms around his head.

“You still up for taco Tuesday?”  It’s Mark.  Reminding him of their unofficial reservation at the café across the street.

Shit.  Nausea flares at the mention, and Todd swallows hard.  “No, thanks,” he mutters.

Mark apparently doesn’t hear, and he pounds on the door again.  “You ok in there?”

He has to do something to stop the racket.  Todd uses the wall to haul himself to his feet.  The pressure in his head swells with the change in altitude, and he firmly clamps his lips together as he blindly reaches for the doorknob.

After sitting in the dark, the office seems unbearably bright.  Todd squints and does his best to breathe normally.

“Whoa.  Dude.”  Mark takes a step back.  “You’re sick.”

“Nuh,” Todd grunts.  He pushes a few strands of hair off his forehead, then drags his wrist across to wipe the gathering clammy sweat.  “I’m ok.  ‘S just my head…”

“No, you’re not.  You look like a vampire,” Mark says.  “You need to go home.”

“Hm.”  Todd tightens his grip on the door frame.  If standing is this hard, he doesn’t want to think about driving.  He’s pretty sure Mel has the car anyway.  It’s a little worrisome that he can’t remember.

Mark’s still talking.  “Seriously, I’ll talk to Amadeo for you if you just wanna scram.”

“I gotta call Mel…” Todd murmurs.  He looks down at the toes of his shoes, willing his vision to stop blurring.

“Or I could drive you.”

“Thanks, but…”  Todd’s not sure how much longer he can hold down the nausea.  If he’s going to puke in somebody’s car it may as well be his own car.  He reaches shakily for his back pocket.  The glare from his phone’s screen is offensive.  “I got it,” he says, trying to shake Mark so he can struggle in peace.

“You sure you’re not gonna pass out or something?”

Todd’s not sure, but he nods dizzily anyway.  He finds Mel’s contact and presses his phone to his ear.

“Oh my god, is this a spontaneous lunch date?”  Todd’s not prepared for the degree of excitement in Mel’s voice.

“Sorry, babe,” he says.  “I just…”

“No, no, sorry,” Mel apologizes, changing tacts as she senses Todd’s tension.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, I… Well.  Can you come by and pick me up?  I really don’t feel good.”  Todd clenches his free hand into a fist and rests it between his eyes.

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course.”  He can hear her shuffling around, probably already shutting down her work station.  “What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts.  So bad.  I just…everything’s…kind of sick.”

“Ok.  Hang on.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The call ends before Todd whispers, “Ok.”

True to her word, Mel arrives quickly.  She helps Todd out to the car and settles him in the front passenger seat.  She pulls a crumpled grocery bag out of her purse and shakes it open.  “I don’t know if it makes it better or worse,” she says, handing it over.  “But I figure we should play it safe.”

“Thanks,” Todd croaks.  Heat flashes over his skin.  Just the thought of the plastic bag in his lap ramps up his nausea a few notches.  Mel shuts the door with a bang that makes Todd’s teeth hurt.  He rests his temple against the window as she rounds to the driver’s side.

The lunch rush has the traffic stop-and-go, and every change in speed sends Todd’s stomach further into his throat.  It’s so bright he can barely keep his eyes open, but closing them only adds to the feeling of being lost in space.

Todd’s drowning in bitter saliva.  He wonders if he’ll be better off spitting it out, but the urge to gag rises in his chest, and there’s no choice but to swallow heavily.

“It’s ok,” Mel says, not taking her eyes off the road.  “If you need to get sick, it’s ok.”

“Hm.”  It’s still something Todd wants to avoid at all costs.  Being trapped in a small space that’s too warm and moving too much is bad enough.  Adding taste and smell to the sensory overload…he shudders at the thought.

But he can’t stop the horrible discomfort from mounting.  His jaw feels like it’s sitting in his lap.  Prickling trembles ignite in his fingertips and run up Todd’s arms and through his core until every muscle is vibrating.  Even sitting against the car’s solid seat seems unstable.

“Almost there.”  Mel turns onto their street and guns it up the hill.  Todd swallows thickly again.  It feels like he’s on the ricketiest of wooden roller coasters even though the car’s motion is smooth.  Sourness leaches up the back of his tongue, and this time Todd can’t bite back the retch.

Lightning splits the top of his head as he jolts forward.  Todd’s vision greys out, and he’s not sure if he’s hunched over the bag or not.

“Alright, alright.”  Mel sounds miles away.  The car bumps over the lip of the driveway and suddenly stops moving.  The lack of motion feels foreign, and it’s just as dizzying as driving had been.

A door opens with the sound of a breaking seal, then another.  Cool air hits Todd’s face, and Mel’s hands come down on his shoulder.  “Here, you’re ok,” she says.

Todd heaves hard.  Liquid hits plastic in his lap.  He grips the edges of the bag with white knuckles.  The images before his eyes shift to blurry neon, and disorientation makes him vomit again.

He inhales a fleck of something and breaks off coughing.  An axe smashes his head each time his throat contracts.  “Ok, breathe,” Mel whispers.

Todd fights for control.  It doesn’t help much, so he lets himself go lax instead.  His head rests against the seat, giving him some sense of time and place.

“That was rough.”  Mel finds a few pieces of hair that’ve escaped Todd’s ponytail and tucks them behind his ear.

“Ugh.  Yeah,” he breathes.  A dry heave bursts from him.

“You’re gonna be ok.”  Mel lays her fingers across the back of Todd’s neck.  “Do you wanna go inside?  Get some water?”

“Not really.”

“Ok…” Mel draws the word out.  “You just want to sit in the car?”

With the doors open, the breeze feels nice on his sweaty face.  “Yeah.  F’r a minute.”

“Well.”  Mel drops to her knees and trails her comforting touch down to Todd’s elbow.  “Ok.  For a minute.”

[nyrandrea]

Rest

Hello again! So I've decided to turn 'Friend' into a three part short story. The 2D Bendy AU belongs to @shinyzango so please check out her blog and wonderful artwork! 

Enjoy!

Peace and quiet was all he needed right now.

Five minutes to just block out everything, the stress, the strain this whole ordeal was putting him through and of course, the danger that lurked around every corner. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out, although it would be short, he was going to enjoy it.

The older man looked down at the small piece of paper next to him, and the cartoon that resided in it. The little demon, Bendy, was also taking a moment to rest, laying down on the thin black line that Henry had quickly drawn out for him with his hands behind his head, one leg over the other and his eyes closed, he also seemed to be making a strange whistling sound.

Henry chuckled as he realised that the demon was actually snoring, he must have been fast asleep. The man was almost jealous, it had been a while since he had gotten any proper sleep.

Not wanting to wake Bendy up just yet, he simply leaned back and tried to put some of his thoughts together. Wincing slightly, he put a hand to the back of his head and felt a small bump, quickly retracting it back when he touched the tender wound.

What...what had happened again?

His thoughts were still pretty fuzzy, but he could barely put the pieces together. He and Bendy had a bit of a falling out (mostly due to himself by being a bit of an asshole), and then he was attacked, he fell to the ground and all he saw was black. He couldn't remember much after that but he knew that he wouldn't have stood a chance if Bendy hadn't stepped in and fended whatever had attacked them off.

'What the Hell is going on with this place anyway?' Henry thought as he glanced around the room. The wooden walls were rotting and had ink splattered all over them. The once vibrant and lively animation studio was now a Hellhole with monsters and who knows what else. In a way, it really saddened him, he loved working here. He was fond of the show, the characters, his fellow employees and his boss, Joey Drew.

Which made him wonder: Where was Joey? And for that matter, the rest of the staff?

He had bumped into Sammy Lawrence, who was the director of the Music Department once upon a time, and although his meeting with Sammy had turned pretty ugly, at least it answered his question if anybody else was still here besides Joey (if he even was still here, he really didn’t know at this point). But that was it. He had seen nobody else. 

Unless...those ink monsters were...?

He couldn't bear the thought of it...but Sammy was completely covered in ink, in fact, he even seemed to ooze it. It was hard to imagine how all this was even possible, but it all seemed to focus around one thing: that damned ink machine. 

Joey had mentioned something about the blueprints to him, back when he was still working in the studio thirty years ago, rambling on about how it would save the animation studio when it was starting to go under due to budget problems, but the mere idea of it sounded ridiculous and, quite frankly, impossible.

'Boy, was I wrong.’ He bitterly thought to himself.

Of course, he had the bright idea of coming back to the place after getting nothing but a vague letter and decided to switch the contraption on, instead of getting the Hell out of there. It was his fault that the other, more aggressive version of Bendy was out there, roaming the halls right now. But...

He glanced back down at Bendy, who was starting to stir.

“Hey bud...” Henry started. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be askin’ you that, you’re the one that took quite the beatin’ from those guys.” The cartoon said as he got up, stretched his arms and yawned, all without even opening his still grinning mouth. 

'I really should ask how he even manages to do that, one of these days...' The grizzled man jokingly thought.

“Getting there... I'll just take a few more minutes and then we'll be on the move again.” This earned a rather concerned look from Bendy.

“Ya sure, Henry? I could get out and carry ya, I mean, since your still recovering and all...”

Henry quickly shook his head. “No, you were out of the paper for too long, we still don't really know what your limit is.” Bendy scoffed at this.

“Hey! I'm...eh...” The demon paused for a moment. “...I’m limitless! I can handle it!” He boasted while putting his hands on his hips in a proud manner.

Henry smiled slightly. “As much as I appreciate the offer, Bendy. We just can't risk it. Besides, I still have my pride...”

The cartoon smirked back. “Well looks like we’re not so different then, huh?”

Henry raised an eyebrow at this, while Bendy shrugged.

“You may act all tough but even you've got yer..."

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare...”

Bendy's grin grew impossibly huge.

“...Limit”

“...”

Henry just gave the small demon an unamused look while he sniggered.

“Aw come on Henry! I still gotta make jokes, don't I? It was the way I was...created...heh...” His huge smile diminished quickly as he looked down. “Yeah... guess it wasn't that great, huh? Gotten kinda rusty over the years.”

The older man tried to recover Bendy's lighter mood. “No, no! It was clever, I really walked right into that one.” He said in a joking manner, chuckling slightly.

Bendy's grin picked up, but only slightly.

“But since we're on the subject...I have a few questions. If you don't mind.” Henry said tentatively.

He didn't want to make Bendy uncomfortable, but his need for answers was getting too much for him. He had to know what this was all about; the ink machine, where Joey was and how the Hell he even managed to make the cartoon characters into living, breathing...creatures? Could he even call them that? There was also the fact that he had seen two versions of Bendy, were there more?

As much as he liked the Bendy that was helping him, he couldn't deal with having more versions of that monster that was probably still after his ass.

Bendy nodded. “Shoot.”

“What...” Henry sighed, he didn't really know how to go about this in a sensitive way, he would just need to be blunt.

“What happened? To this place? To you? I mean...how are you...alive?”

Bendy blinked for a moment as he seemed to ponder the question.

“The Ink Machine happened. That's what brought me...er...us...to life.” 

“Us?” Henry questioned. Bendy shuffled slightly.

“Well, yeah. Me and the... other 'me', I guess. Not to mention those other guys we saw earlier.”

That's right, the ink monsters, whatever they were or...whoever.

“Do you know what they are? Are they...employees?”

Bendy scratched his head. “Now that I don't know. They just sorta popped up when the machine kicked in, kinda like that musician guy.”

“Alright...” He wasn't completely satisfied with the answers he was getting, but in a way he was sort of grateful that Bendy seemed to be nearly as confused as he was. But there was one thing the cartoon was bound to know.

“Joey did this, right? He built the machine and brought you to life?”

Bendy's expression grew dark.

“I don't wanna talk about him.” 

Henry grew slightly nervous, he wasn't used to seeing the usually cheerful demon so...serious, but he had to press on.

“Well, do you know where he is? If we can find him then maybe we can sort this whole mess out.” The man tried to coax him, but to no avail.

“I don't know where he is and I don't want to know.” Bendy gave him a sympathetic smile. “Look, I know your tryin' to help but we sure as heck don't need him, trust me.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Henry replied. He needed to drop it there, he knew his questions were starting to upset Bendy, his urge for answers would just need to wait. They needed to get going anyway.

“I think we've taken a big enough break, we should get moving.” He said as he picked up the piece of paper and slowly got up, his body ached in protest but he pushed past the pain, they couldn't afford to waste any more time.

Besides, he really needed to find that axe.

He couldn't remember where it had gotten to during the scuffle with the ink creatures, but he was completely defenceless without it and he couldn't keep relying on Bendy for help. It couldn't have gone far, right?

“Hey, you didn't happen to see where my axe went during that last fight, did you?” He asked, glancing down at the paper, Bendy shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry Henry but I was pretty uh... preoccupied. But let's try...this way?” The little demon pointed over to a random hallway with flickering lights, sounding unsure.

Well, at least it was a start.

As they searched around, the pipes above them groaned slightly, as if something was wearing them down. This caught Henry's attention as he suddenly looked up.

“...Did you hear that?” 

Bendy tilted his head. “Hear what?” 

He squinted his eyes slightly, listening for any other sounds. “...Nothing. It's alright.” Maybe his army days were starting to catch up with him again...

They continued to search but nothing came up, Henry even resorted to getting on his hands and knees to feel around for it in the darker areas of the corridor, the dim lights were barely helping and he was starting to get nervous. That weapon was his only line of defence and without it, he wasn't going to last long.

“We’ve been searchin' for this thing for a while, Henry. There's probably more deeper in the workshop, we oughta get movin'.” Bendy urged. 

“But what if something decides to attack us again? I can't risk not being able to find another one, if there's any more at all for that matter.” He replied, still feeling around the wooden floor. It was weird that he even found an axe in the first place. That kind of weapon wasn't necessary for the studio...well, until now, of course. 

God, why did it have to be so damn dark?

“But stayin' here's only gonna put us in more danger. Besides, if worst comes to worst, I'll protect ya. I won't let those things get ya again.” Bendy said as he gave Henry a determined look. 

“But we already talked about this...y'know...the whole limit thing...”

He stopped as he felt something wet drip down his head and onto his face, reaching up to touch it, he suddenly got a chill down his spine as he looked at his fingertips, which were now smeared with black.

“Oh cripes...” 

He looked down at Bendy, who was now looking up at something with an extremely nervous expression on his face.

The groaning noise he had heard from the pipes before was now deafening.

Henry looked up to see the pipes above practically overflowing with ink now. Screws were popping loose as the black gloopy substance drooped, sprayed and fell onto the floor at an alarming speed. Henry quickly took a few steps back as the ink formed a large puddle.

'Shit...' Henry thought as he wiped off any excess ink that had managed to drip onto him, his eyes searched around frantically for anything that he could use as a weapon, there was a small table to the right of him, he doubted it would do much damage but Hell, at least it was something.

“Henry...look!” Bendy interrupted his thoughts he pointed up at the pipes, which had now stopped leaking.

“It's stopped...” The older man murmured as he looked up. Glancing back down to the puddle, he noticed that it wasn't moving. No monsters. Nothing. It just...laid there, seeping into the wood.

Henry sighed in relief. It must have just been a leak of some sort.

“Heh...guess we finally got a lucky break, huh?” He grinned slightly at the paper, but this soon turned into a confused look when he didn't get a response.

“Bendy?” 

The small demon was frowning down at the black puddle.

“...Bendy? You alright?” Henry waved his hand in front of the page, snapping the cartoon out of his trance, suddenly having a panicked look on his face.

“Henry, you gotta get movin'. It's him!” 

“Wait. Wha-?”

The puddle starting bubbling, startling them both. The ink was gaining height, and a pair of deformed, droopy horns took shape, as well as an enormously large grin.

Henry's eyes widened in fear. Not now...he couldn't deal with this now.

“Move it Henry! Run!” Bendy exclaimed as he waved his arms around frantically to get Henry's attention.

It worked, as the man shook his head and quickly turned to run down the dark hallway, an ear piercing screech sounding off not that far behind him.

He really did need to find that axe.

XXXX

So I know this chapter was a little slower than the last but you know what they say, "Calm before the storm". c: c: c: 

I'm so sorry in advance. xD

Prepare yourselves.

[ocuk-dnd-5e-blog]

Session 6 - 21/09 - Tricks and Twigs

Participants

Dave – DM

Stu – Hendel – Barbarian

Dan – Darvin – Sorcerer

Andrew – Eriden – Druid

Alex D – Fyvel – Fighter

Dave R – Galath – Ranger

Missing

Alex H – Chance – Bard

John – Dwon Fai – MonkAfter another nights stay in the Winged Wyvern the group decided to set off for Thundertree as they had time to burn waiting on Father Fay. As they were walking out of town Darvin was playing with his wand (DM Note; not a euphemism) idly waving it in the air and muttering to himself.

“Do you have a command word for it yet?” Eriden asked.

“Well considering the fact he was our healer and we’ll probably never see him again… I was thinking Chance.”

The group laughed and were chatting amiably when out of a side street wandered up Galath, looking rather sheepish with Gauvain in tow a few steps behind them, they were both ignoring the curious looks of citizens at the large bear ambling in their midst but they were not able to ignore the accusing stares of his fellows.

“What are you doing here” Hendel demanded.

“Yes, how did you find us in the middle of Neverwinter?” Darvin asked suspiciously.

“I’m a ranger.” Galath replied, shrugging. “I track things.”

“I bet you followed the blood off my axe!” Hendel declared.

“I assumed it was your own blood.”

Ignoring the two glowering at each other Darvin cut in again. “Where have you been?”

“Roaming the coast… looking for dragons.”

“You were scared.” Hendel replied laughing.

“Not at all, I was just looking for dragons, I didn’t actually find any so I decided to spend a week on the beach. If I’m there I may as well do it properly.”

The group looked somewhat flummoxed by the fact he was completely unrepentant at fleeing the scene in the midst of their last fight so in the end just continued on down the road, Gauvain going to see Hendel for a pat.

As they walked they explained the situation to Galath, the focus somewhat inevitably ending up on Mordred.

“Wasn’t that the guy you tried to eat?” Asked Galath.

“No.” Eriden cut in. “This was the dwarf who was ambushed by a bugbear, who ate him, sadly we were too late to rescue him.”

“A bit strange how if you tried to rescue him why he would start attacking Phandalin.”

“Well you know how these crazy types are.” Darvin replied and there was some feet shuffling and awkward looks.

“So what happened to him.”

“He… escaped.”

“Actually he did, then you showed up…” Hendel said casting an accusing eye at Galath.

“Funnily enough we haven’t seen you both together.” Fyvel added.

“They must be in cahoots!” Eriden declared.

“I should kill you.” Hendel growled.

“You’re welcome to try.” Galath drawled with a smile.

“Probably run too fast if I did.” Hendel snorted.

With the group now reacquainted and as harmonious as ever (DM Note; yeah right) they continued on out of Neverwinter, as they were passing through the gates they were hailed and over walked the Elven mage from the Sword Guild the evening before.

“What do you want, elf?” Hendel demanded.

“I am Carleath Moonath.” The elf replied, she was a striking figure over six foot tall and very slim wearing robes of silver and white and a hood which was currently back on her shoulders revealing a fine featured face topped with blonde, almost white hair.

“Ah a girl.” Hendel replied running a hand through his shoddy mohican trying to slick it back sending who knows what debris tumbling into the road.

“I heard you would be about the city and Lovraic asked me to speak with you briefly.”

“Go ahead.” Fyvel replied, all trying to ignore the preening Hendel.

“What do you know about the Sons of Alagondar?”

“I know a little, I used to know a lot as I lived a lot of my life in Neverwinter, last I heard they are royalists who are not partial to Lord Neverember and instead want a return to the royal bloodline.”

“You are right. There was an…accord of sorts reached between Lord Neverember and the Sons for a long while but recently, for reasons unknown, they have been agitating again and whilst it seems to be minor criminality it could be portending something more serious.”

“I am Darvin Sha, the leader of this group.” Darvin introduced himself stepping forward.

“Him? The leader?” Galath asked incredulously.

“We were desperate, he seems pretty organized.” Eriden shrugged.

Darvin continued either pretending to or not actually hearing the exchange. “What can we do to help with the situation?”

“At the moment, nothing, however Lord Neverember has been in touch with Lovraic and made him aware of the situation, the likelihood of work in the near future now seems more… pressing. We appreciate you have commitments to Sildar and Phandalin but when your business there is finished if you can come back to see us at the Sword Guild we may have need of your services.”

“We will be back.” Fyvel assured her. “And on our return we will make sure to present ourselves to Lovraic and see what services can be rendered.”

“Thank you.” With that the elf walked away without a backward glance. Fyvel turned to Darvin “Apologies if I stepped on your toes there. I know this city, I know its workings, I thought it would be more helpful if I spoke with her.”

“Not a problem.” Darvin replied with an easy smile and with that the group set off from Neverwinter.

 The journey passed relatively uneventfully for the group as they followed the Neverwinter River toward distant Thundertree, a hard days travel would get them there in a day and as such they wasted little time. As they walked Fyvel filled the group in on the history with Mount Hotenow having exploded causing the devastation which even now Neverwinter was still recovering from and which has caused the problems with the Sons of Alagondar, the royal family having died in the conflagration caused from eruption, and their clashes with Lord Neverember.

As evening set the group came within sight of Thundertree and began to set their camp, as they did Hendel was looking around curiously.

“What’s wrong?” Fyvel asked.

“I’m looking for the tree.”

“What tree?”

“The tree with lightning coming off it, causing lots of noise.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well it is called Thundertree.” Hendel replied earnestly, everyone groaned.

The night passed as uneventfully as the day had the only strangeness being the almost unnatural silence and stillness of the countryside surrounding Thundertree. As the group rose in the morning they were unnaturally subdued and headed off into Thundertree this state of affair was, inevitably, not going to last long.

As they reached the outskirts of the town there was a sign, somewhat bedraggled, nailed to a wooden post which warned of the danger of Zombies and Plant Monsters being present in the area and that people should stay away.

As Hendel was staring quizzically at the sign he asked. “Why are we here again?”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Screamed Darvin, shocking everyone with his outburst. “I make all these notes.” He continued pulling a dog eared notebook from his pocket which he waved in the air around his head although trying to put out flames. “I share them with you…”

“I actually haven’t seen them.” Galath offered but was cut off.

“I share them with you!” Darvin almost shrieked. “And no one bothers to fucking read them, I mean why do I bother? Why!?” No one was forthcoming at the site of the notebook wielding half elf frothing at the mouth. “We are here to find Reidoth!”

“Who…” Hendel asked awkwardly.

“The druid, Reidoth the fucking druid, the one who Quelline Alderleaf sent us to find.”

“Who…” Someone began and Darvin screamed, by this point he was gnawing on the corners of the notebook.

“You know the one with the Halfling son…” Galath remarked but was quickly cut off by an indignant Hendel.

“I didn’t do anything with a Halfling!”

“So you say…”

“Listen!” Darvin shouted, wielding his notebook like a battleaxe and waving it in the groups collective faces. “Quelline Alderleaf said to come here to see Reidoth, because there’s a dragon.”

“Oh the dragon!” Hendel began the light blossoming behind his dull eyes.

“Shut up Hendel!” Darvin shouted. “She sent us to see the druid, about a dragon, and Dendrar about her dead husband.”

“Was he the dead guy…”

“SHUT UP HENDEL!” Darvin threw the notebook at him, it fluttered into a puddle and Darvin looked although he were about to explode. “I don’t know why I bother with my notebook if no one reads it. I don’t know why I bother.” Darvin now looked although he was about to sob by this stage.

“I’ve read it.” Fyvel offered as Hendel and Galath shot him a look suggesting he was the particularly unappealing class swat at this moment in time. “Well I have.”

“Come on let’s just go.” Darvin sniffed picking up his now damp notebook and giving it a shake and storming off up the road into the town. (DM Note; this is actually a characterized version of Dan’s (Darvin) out of character rant about his notes being ignored which was hilarious)

Darvin stormed off up the road with the group somewhat sheepishly following along behind, Thundertree itself was a ruin, most buildings were tumbled messes of overgrown weeds and young trees the odd structure which was whole and hale few and far between. Above it all sat a large tower which dominated the village as it watched over the collection of houses.

Eriden picked the first building on his right and wandered in for a look, as he disappeared from view there was a shouted course and a moment later Eriden came stumbling from the building swarmed by, what looked like, a few foot high small plants which were biting and clawing at him.

“Help!” He shouted, the group reacted charging forward apart from Hendel, who laughed.

The Twig Blights were dispatched with few problems, the last of them tried to flee into another ruined building close by and in a rare display of decency Hendel followed it in.

“We didn’t mean to attack you, we only wanted to talk.”

The Blight stopped and was swaying back and forth cautiously watching Hendel, after a few moments it let out an ear piercing scream and from the sides of the building came over half a dozen more of the creatures who dived atop Hendel bearing him to the floor in a bundle of dwarven curses and screeching plants.

Once again the creatures were dealt with efficiently apart from in Hendel’s case who stood up and stumbled to lean against the wall. “Little bastards.” He said. “Last time I try to help anyone.”

“Hendel.” Darvin shouted from outside. “Over the road, that looks like an inn, that should help you recover. How about you go in first?”

“No problem.” Hendel stumbled over the road, knocking open the door he was confronted by the sight of four zombies who shambled toward him making grabs for him.

Hendel sighed and threw his handaxe across the room thumping it into the zombie sending it slamming into the wall. (DM Note; this is one of only a few actual hits from Hendel throwing his axe that we have ever seen)

Fyvel went to work launching a couple of bolts into the inn which thumped into the nearest zombie sending it sprawling to the floor and Darvin muttered some magical phrases and suddenly part of the floor around one of the zombies burst into flame as a bonfire.

Eriden dived into combat, receiving a whack from a zombie for his troubles as Gavin lumbered round the outside of the inn smashing the back door down and roaring at the site of the zombies. Darvin had followed him round and was peering past the bear to see what was going on.

“What can you see?” Fyvel shouted.

“Probably just see in the bears back door by the looks of things.” Shouted Eriden in return.

Fyvel stepped into the breach and fired his crossbows flooring the last of the zombies, as he did so Darvin walked through the flaming back door and as he stepped through the flames clicked his fingers and the flames flickered out around his feet. He surveyed the scene of devastation. “Good work lads, Hendel, we’ll keep you on door opening duty.”

  The group set off through the ruined village, constantly alert for the sight of angry twigs, especially Hendel whose axe never left his hand. The rest of the village was as unappealing as the first two buildings they had seen however as they forged southward they came across a building on their right which seemed a lot sturdier than the others in the village with an iron banded door barring entry.

“Want me to cut in down?” Hendel asked readying his axe and starting forward.

“We could just knock.” Fyvel suggested.

Hendel puffed out his cheeks but waited as Darvin knocked on the door. “Hello?” He shouted.

“Hello.” A voice responded, it sounded like an older voice but was still firm.

“Is there anyone in there?”

“Of course there fucking is or we wouldn’t be speaking.” Darvin considered this.

“Can I smash the door down now?” Hendel asked again.

“Who are you?” The voice from inside demanded.

“We are a group of adventurers…”

“Which group?”

“Why does everyone want to know our name?” Eriden whispered.

“Our name is to be determined.”

“Strange name.”

“No it’s… we are a group of adventurers, we were sent here by Quelline Alderleaf who suggested you may be able to help us with some answers to rumors of a dragon in the area?”

Silence.

“Can we come in.”

The door creaked open and the group walked in, Hendel grumbling about not being able to smash the door down, and inside was an elderly human male who introduced himself as Reidoth the druid.

“So you’re looking for a dragon?” He asked.

“I’m going to kill it with my axe.” Hendel declared proudly.

“Sorry about him.” Eriden apologized, slipping into the language of druidic. “He hit his head as a child, we look after him.”

Reidoth nodded understandingly and turned to Hendel, speak very loudly and deliberately. “Yes. There. Is. A. Dragon. Here.”

Hendel glared at him and turned to Galath. “Is he taking the piss?”

Eriden and Reidoth went back to talking druidic and discussed the situation currently troubling Thundertree and Reidoth’s role in it all.

“I’m here just to keep people away. The Enclave isn’t as… pro-active as I would like.”

“I know the feeling.” Eriden agreed.

“I can’t clear away a dragon by myself, or a village full of zombies and spiders and now some stupid bloody arses dressed all in black who seem to spend every day hanging round the old tower where the dragon is holed up waving gold about. I can’t deal with it all myself so for now I will just keep others out of trouble and do what little I can.”

Eriden explained this all back to Darvin who commented. “It would be polite if he spoke common.”

“He’s a little eccentric and he doesn’t trust Hendel.”

“Fair enough.” Darvin responded shooting Hendel a look who was doing test swings with his axe through the air in the small building. “So what do we do?”

“The Dendrar building is on the other side of town.”

“These black cloaked folk sound interesting.” Added Fyvel.

“I want to kill the dragon.” Hendel added.

“We can’t take a dragon.” Fyvel cut in. “It’s a bloody big dragon.”

“We can just clear the town of trouble and sneak off.” Galath suggested.

“Ok.” Darvin cut in across everyone. “We get what we came for and we bugger off, we cannot deal with a dragon.” He continued before Hendel could cut in. “We stealth through the village, get what we came for and get out.”

“Yeah, we can ‘stealth’” Hendel agreed.

“You’re going to ‘fall over’ at the wrong time aren’t you Hendel.” Darvin asked exasperated.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Can we not just put a leash on him?” Eriden asked.

Darvin turned back to Reidoth. “Thank you for the information, we will see what we can find in the village and deal with an threats we come across.”

Reidoth accepted this with a nod as the group set off once again.

  Outside a little up the road was another ruined building and Darvin tried to stealthily sneak inside, he went over on a tree root and tumbled to the middle of the floor with a thump (DM Note; another session, another critical stealth fail) he sat up rubbing his skull but before he could say anything another horde of the little Twig Blights came sprinting out of the darkened corners and attacked him in a swirling melee of cutting branches,

The group piled in and quickly dealt with the offending Twig Blights pulling the cut up Darvin back to his feet. “Smooth.” Hendel muttered smarmily.

As the group went back outside, Darvin’s ego bruised more than his body, further down the road was a web which stretched across the street between the tree and the buildings blocking the way.

“I’ll go around.” Galath said and disappeared around the corner of the building to sneak around.

Taking a less stealthy route Hendel picked up a stone and threw it off the web. Almost immediately on impact two huge spiders came clambering out of the ruined building and skittered toward the group, a third came out through the roof and raced toward the previously stealthy Galath.

The group responded with alacrity with Fyvel firing in bolts, Darvin sent magical missiles lancing toward the creatures as Eriden and Hendel charged into combat.

Fyvel efficiently dispatched one of the creatures on the street as Galath was webbed still and the creature dived upon him, ripping a chunk from him with its poisonous fangs. Galath reeled backward in pain. He pointed his rapier at the creature. “You’re going to die for this.” He declared and dived into combat with Gavin alongside him.

Hendel slammed his axe into the skull of the spider on the northern side of the building whilst after a flickering exchange of blows Galath cut down the spider which had bitten him. “Revenge!” He shouted and as he walked away he turned to Gauvain. “Eat him.” He commanded.

  After skirting the web the group came across the Dendrar shop and quickly found the necklace they had been offered as a reward, if they could claim it, Eriden picked it up and whistled, it looked expensive.

“We could give it Darvin.” Galath said. “With him wearing his dress he will be so pretty.”

“Fuck off!” Darvin snapped. “I’m still wearing pants as  I always have been.”

Checking inside what looked like a smithy the group came across two more zombies which were quickly dispatched but not before Darvin had set off another bonfire inside to set fire to one of the zombies. Darvin gestured to put the flames out, Eriden, feeling mischievous used druid craft to reignite it before setting off after the rest of the group.

Further beyond this was another building which was in the same state at the building that Reidoth had been hiding out in and the group eyed it curiously from a distance.

“So what are we doing?” Darvin asked.

“It could be those black cloaked figures that Reidoth mentioned.” Eriden added.

“Well let’s not send Hendel in, he stinks and will cause no end of trouble.” Fyvel put in.

As the group sniggered Hendel hefted his axe and walked up to the door, two handed he smashed it into the door sending chunks of wood and splinters spinning through the air in an explosion of noise. He stuck his head through the door to see a room full of a half dozen bemused and part scared looking cultists in black, dragon shaped masks and black robes.

“Here’s Hendel!” He boomed as his leering head poked through the axe ripped hole in the door with a crazy grin on his face.

The rest of the group grabbed Hendel by the shoulders and dragged him out of the door holding him back as he struggled.

“Who are you?!” A voice inside demanded the voice seeming unsure whether to confident or concerned.

Thinking on his feet Darvin declared. “We are friends of the dragon.”

“We’re what!?” Hendel exploded and was cut off with a gasp as Fyvel stamped on his foot.

“Are you friends of the dragon?”

“Of course we are.” Darvin assured them in honeyed tones. “Ignore the dwarf, he’s a little simple.”

“Most dwarfs are.” The figure could be heard to add and Hendel’s eyes boggled as he was dragged backward by Fyvel.

“We come to treat with the dragon, we have gifts for him.”

“We have what!” Hendel demanded but Fyvel managed to get a hand over his mouth to muffle him somewhat. “What the fuck is he talking about!?”

“We have diamonds and gold.” The voice from inside shouted. “Perhaps we could combine our gifts and lure the dragon forth to treat with him.”

“Treat with him!” Hendel shouted.

“Quiet with your noise!” Fyvel hissed.

“Treat with him!” Hendel hissed back. “I’ll treat him to my axe to his back!”

Darvin turned around and shouted. “Will you shut up Hendel!”

“What was that?” The figure inside asked.

“Nothing, just shutting up the fool dwarf.”

Hendel subsided somewhat muttering to himself at the ways in which he would kill the dragon, ticking them off on his fingers.

“A sacrifice would be good, that would be sure to attract the dragon.” The figure inside suggested.

“What were you thinking?” Darvin asked.

“Well that dwarf, he would make a fat sacrifice for the dragon.”

“What!” Hendel exploded once again and him and Galath set to arguing with one another whilst Fyvel helped hold him back. “Now I’m a fat sacrifice! Let’s just go in there, kill them all and take their diamonds then kill the dragon.”

“We are friends of all dragons!” Darvin continued raising the volume to drown out the incredulous Hendel. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’m not being sacrificed!” Hendel hissed.

“Hendel you idiot.” Eriden cut in. “We pretend to sacrifice you, they come outside, we trick them, kill them and take their diamonds.”

“Let’s just kill them now.” Hendel said, exasperated, and hefted his axe causing the other to panic and hold him back once again.

“Give me a moment.” Darvin said to the cultists. “I will make this happen.” Darvin made gestures and muttered some magic phrases, under his breath he hissed. “Hendel just pretend to be asleep for the Gods sake!”

“I don’t like this, I’m not being sacrificed to anyone.”

“We are not really going to sacrifice you.” Darvin hissed back sounding exasperated.

“Come on.” Fyvel pleaded.

“Fine.” Hendel acceded, glaring balefully at them all. “But bring my fucking axe.” With that Hendel took a theatrical swoon and hit the floor with a thump.

“What was that?” The voice came from inside.

“We are just binding his hands, he sleeps.” Darvin shouted.

“My hands!?” Hendel demanded. “I didn’t sign up for this, fuck off!”

He began to rise but Fyvel put a hand on his chest. “It will be a fake not, don’t worry.” Fyvel assured him.

“If anything goes wrong, it’s your fault!” Hendel hissed. “You and that stupid bloody half elf.”

Hendel let his hands be bound and Darvin shouted at the cultists to come forth. Seven of them emerged looking somewhat cautious and one, clearly the leader, came over to Hendel and looked at his ‘sleeping’ form which he gave a kick. Hendel managed to not sit up and rip his leg off.

“Come.” The figure declared. “Show me your treasures.” Darvin acquiesced and showed him some of the gem stones they had in a pouch, the cultist nodded happily. “Come along” He declared and the group set off for the tower before the trap could be sprung.

“Shit.” Darvin whispered to Fyvel. “I meant to ambush them outside, not go to the dragons tower!”

“What’s happening?” Hendel hissed.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Why are we moving, I thought we were killing them not sacrificing me!”

Darvin turned to Eriden. “Can you sort them out?”

Eriden responded quickly and muttering some magic phrases and an ice knife shot through the air, exploding in the midst of the cultists ice sprayed everywhere but somehow the cultists all emerged unscathed from the explosion of ice.

“We are betrayed!” The cult leader yelled and his fellows drew their swords. Before they could react Darvin muttered some magical phrases and two of the group of cultists looked confused before turning on their leader and diving on him, bearing him to the floor.

“No you fools!” He shrieked. “Kill them!”

“I’ve got this.” Fyvel declared and calmly drew his crossbows and aimed at two cultists, pulling the trigger there were two hollow clicks. Fyvel looked down to see both crossbows unloaded in his hands. “Oh fuck.” He muttered (DM Note; it is not one of our sessions without a critical failure in attack)

Hendel wriggled out of his bonds and ran forward, hefting his hand axe he launched it across the clearing at one of the cultists. “Sacrifice me will you!?” He screamed but so enraged he was the axe went off course and instead clipped Eriden sending him sprawling.

Galath drew bead and slew one of the cult members as Eriden bashed in the skull of another and Darvin a third. Galath stepped up and put an arrow in the head of the pinned leader and suddenly the remaining cultists fell to their knees begging for mercy.

After their attempted swaying of the dragon was revealed to be nothing to do with the goings on at Phandalin the group, in a strange slant toward mercy, let the two remaining cultists flee the scene.

“I really thought you were going to sacrifice me there.” Hendel said mopping his brow.

“We wouldn’t do that…” Darvin replied unconvincingly.

  The group, still cautious of alerting the dragon, set off stealthily for the town square, in the middle say a wooden statue of a figure holding a spear.

“It’s Dwon!” Hendel shouted laughing and after a point from Darvin walked up to the nearest door and slammed his axe into it with a crunch sending it to the floor revealing a gang of zombies.

”I’ve found…” Hendel began but before he could finish there was a deafening crash and spinning round the group saw a shower of sparks and a billow of smoke hurtling off up into the air.

“I thought I had put that fire out.” Darvin mused.

“I may have re-lit it.” Eriden said not looking anyone in the eye.

A moment later there was a deafening roar, the group turned round and above them, rearing on the lip of the tower was a huge Green Dragon.

“The dragon!” Hendel shouted joyfully.

  (DM Note; a good session with a nice mixture of role play and combat. There were a couple of genuinely hilarious moments with Darvin having his notebook meltdown and Hendel genuinely incredulous that they were speaking to the cultists and not cutting their heads off. Half the group (myself included) were on the verge of tears of laughter with how it all played out. A great session!)

[missmarionmac]

Alternate Ending-ish to Cinema Vérité

This is the original version of the penultimate scene in Cinema Vérité.

The completed fic is here.

The scene begins the same way as the final version, but diverges a bit later.

Grantaire can’t remember ever seeing clouds like this in Los Angeles. The sky is dark, angry, threatening. There’s an edge of danger in the air, and it makes him uneasy.

It’s a Friday. Grantaire has some meetings at studios in the morning, and gets home around three.

The rain starts in earnest right as Grantaire starts eating dinner.

Grantaire had briefly considered going out and raising hell with some friends, but this weather is better for staying in with a beer and trying to find reasons to turn down every role his agent wants him to consider.

He’s sprawled on the couch, channel-surfing, pointedly ignoring the pile of scripts on the coffee table, when the doorbell rings. He takes a sip of beer and turns the volume up. Someone obviously has the wrong address—he’s certainly not expecting anyone.

It rings again, followed by a persistent knock.

Bloody hell.

He launches himself to his feet, groaning, and shuffles to the door. He pulls it open. It had better not be a fucking axe murderer or some shit.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Enjolras shivers. “Hello to you too.”

Grantaire opens the door wider and beckons Enjolras in. “Jesus Meryl Christ, did you walk here? I’m going to have to have a chat with the security folks about allowing in the riff-raff.”

“I’m very persuasive. I may have convinced him that it was a medical emergency.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Like I need an excuse to drop by and visit a costar and friend?”

Grantaire snorts. Enjolras shakes his head vigorously, trying to rid himself of some of the water clinging to his hair. Small drops splatter all over Grantaire’s foyer.

“You’re not exactly the ‘dropping by’ type. And I wouldn’t exactly say that we’re friends.”

“So I wanted to see you. Is that a problem?”

“Why?”

“I miss you.”

“You know, they have these marvelous things called phones. You can call people, you can even send little written messages. With words. And little cartoon representations of things. It’s terrific. You should try it sometime.”

“It’s not the same,” Enjolras whispers, gazing intently at the floor.

“The same as what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I miss you, and I just… I needed to see you.”

Grantaire is fighting the urge to bash his head against the wall.

“I watched all your covers.”

“You what?”

“On YouTube. I took some time off from social media, so I hadn’t seen them. Okay, that’s a lie. I took some time off from your social media, because ever since we wrapped, I had been kind of borderline Instagram-stalking you, and I needed to stop. I tried to get over you. I tried so hard, but you’re everywhere. And today I gave up on trying to get over you, because I don’t think I can.”

Grantaire wants to strangle something. He backs away from Enjolras, running his hands through his hair.

“No. You don’t get to do this. You can’t just turn up out of nowhere and claim to be the one who’s been hurting all along. You went silent on me, and you don’t get to show up here with no warning and expect me to reward you with some prize for realizing that you had your head up your ass. I don’t care about your conveniently dramatic realization. I have at least enough self-respect not to fall at your feet groveling for whatever scraps you deign to toss my way.”

He pauses for breath, fully expecting Enjolras to respond with his usual fervor, but the reply doesn’t come. The chance to clear the air is right in front of him, and he is damn well going to take it.

“I know you believe in stories and symbolism and the big dramatic gesture and all that shit, but we’re not in character right now. This isn’t a set; this is my house. No one is going to yell ‘cut,’ the lighting sucks, and we don’t get our character arcs neatly wrapped up in three acts. This isn’t one of your stories, Enjolras. You don’t get to edit it, you don’t get another take.”

“Do I get a sequel?”

“Sequels are always subpar attempts to recreate the first thing. Usually they just sully the memory and experience of what made the original good in the first place.”

“And yet you’ve made more sequels than I’ve made movies.”

“Exactly. I have a lot of experience with how shitty they are.”

“I have so many refutations, but I really don’t want to change the subject.”

“Fine. We’ll save that argument for another day, assuming you don’t disappear again. But seriously, what rhetorical knots did you have to tie yourself into to think that you had this grand, unrequited thing going on? That is one hell of a martyr complex. How fucking clueless do you have to be to miss the fact that I caught feelings early, and I caught feelings hard.”

“I was a clueless idiot. I freely admit that.”

“Why did you walk away? I was pining so hard, and I’m not that good of an actor.”

Enjolras smiles sadly. “First of all, you are a much better actor than you want everyone to think you are. Second, why didn’t you say something?”

“Right. Word-vomit my feelings to someone who dropped me like a hot potato every time Courfeyrac said ‘cut,’ someone who made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me, someone who was so obsessed with this movie changing the world that it had to be perfect, so there was no room for, you know, the humanity of the people doing the work.”

“I know. That was my way of trying to keep myself from falling into the abyss.”

“The abyss? Really?” Grantaire scoffs.

“You know how much this movie matters to me. But the lines started to blur. That has never happened to me before, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought the way to give my best performance was to stay away from you, as if that would prevent me—me, not Tom—from falling in love with you. You, not Eddie. I thought it would work. It didn’t. And not only did it not work, but I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

It takes a while for the words to sink in.

Enjolras’ fingers brush against the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt, and it’s simultaneously overwhelming and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeats. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t.”

“No fucking shit. I have no idea what to do with you. You just disappeared, like this—like I—didn’t matter at all. Like it wasn’t worth explaining. Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you write? It wasn’t over for me.”

Enjolras takes another step toward Grantaire. Their foreheads and noses are almost touching—Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ breath hitting his skin in warm waves that he wants to lean into, absorb.

“It wasn’t over,” Enjolras says in a voice that can only be described as a growl. “It still isn’t over.”

Some part of Grantaire’s brain registers how completely ridiculous it is that Enjolras just quoted The Notebook at him, and he should be insulted, but he doesn’t care, because Enjolras surges forward, and the only thing that matters is that Enjolras is kissing him.

For once in his life, his brain cooperates, and instead of immediately reminding him of all the ways this could go disastrously wrong (and there are a lot), it just sort of shuts down and lets instinct take over.

Every movement, every noise, is familiar and entirely new. They’ve done this—well, an imitation of this—before, but this time there’s no Courfeyrac to yell “cut,” no Feuilly with his lightmeter, no fussing over lines, no Cosette attacking them with a comb and a can of hairspray.

This time it’s not Tom and Eddie. It’s Enjolras and Grantaire.

[sunflowerspectre]

Long Distance | Continued

 This is a 5k commission piece for an anon with their DND characters.

Title: Long Distance Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (DND) Summary:  Desire and Neronvain, now in a more official relationship, now struggle with a new obstacle - long distance. Character(s): Neronvain, Algatharas, Original Tiefling Character (Desire) Rating: Mature To Mildly Explicit Requested Word Count for Long Distance: 10k Final Word Count: 11,862

Word Count of Long Distance | Continued: 6,550

Previous Works: Stranded | Overtime | Growth

Read it on Archive of Our Own | Read the First Part Of Long Distance

Commission Me | Tip A Writer | Twitter

Long Distance | Continued | 6,550

Neronvain’s visit does little to calm her, as he gave her a lot to think about before he left. Think about it, he had said. Think about what? She grunts as she swings her weapon at one of the dummies. Her hit knocks it over into the ground. Her heart pounds wildly against her chest. She doesn’t understand what there is to think about. They’ve already talked about their futures before; both of them are working hard on achieving their goals and are already accomplishing most of them.

She read his letters, just as he asked, but they brought little clarity. She reread the poetic lines and romantic turns of phrase every night. She read between the lines. Instead of answers, she was always left with a fluttering heart and a new, more passionate longing to see him again. Even now, she stays more on top of every letter he sends, just so she can fawn over new paragraphs. Her responses are never as elegant and comparing their handwriting makes hers look like chicken scratch. She hopes it’s enough. That it gets across what she feels.

A blow knocks the wind out of her and she hits the ground with a solid thud. For the first time in her adult life, Onthar towers over her as he swings his ax over his shoulder with a gruff huff.

“You’re distracted again.” He states simply, narrowing his eyes at her accusingly. The gaze makes her flush, bright pink spreading across his cheeks. His expression sours, “Thinkin’ about that damn elf….”

He mutters the latter part more to himself, scowling as she scatters to pick herself back up. He doesn’t bother to help her; she makes it clear that she doesn’t need it. The flush on her face stays as she shuffles on her feet, unsure if she should say anything, but Onthar beats her to it.

“If that fucking elf is the only thing you’re going to be thinking about, you may as well go see him.” His tone is sour with a forced acceptance as he rolls his eyes.

At first, Desire thinks that he has to be kidding. Onthar never offers her time off and his disagreement on her choice of suitor is not well hidden. She blinks owlishly at the offer, waiting for him to laugh or tell her to get back to work. Instead, Onthar just huffs and shoves her, as if ushering away.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go on and get.”

Desire’s face breaks out into a wolfish, sappy grin as she fully processes the fact that Onthar is, in fact, not joking. She can go and see Neronvain. After months away, the mere thought of it makes her heart skip a beat. Onthar is taken aback when the body he’s pushing is suddenly moving on its own and has its arms wrapped tightly around him, picking up a few inches off the ground.

“Thanks, Onthar.”

She’s gone before he can get onto her for picking him up in front of the other knights. He can see them all staring at him in disbelief and shock, but when his voice roars at them to get back to work, they all quickly make a habit of forgetting what they saw.

_______________________________________

Desire is so excited about leaving, that she scrambles to get her things together. Most of her supplies are haphazardly thrown into a sack, others dangerously threateningly to spill out of its pockets. She is quick to make her way through town, a sappy, love-struck grin still stuck on her face as she strolls between the town’s vendors. She wonders who is going to be more excited - her or Neronvain. If he will take her in his arms or sweep her up in a kiss?

A gleam of light catches her eyes. She pauses and takes a step back to go toward one of the vendors, where light is beaming off of their displayed jewels. Her expression turns thoughtful, her eyes wistfully focused on one of the jewels, staring at her reflection in its surface. Think about it… A soft smile turns on her lips, our future… An image passes in her mind of marriage, but it is fleeting. The image is as gone as fast as it came as she shakes her head, glancing up at the hopeful vendor that watches her leave in contempt.

She forces herself to walk away. She has to. It is the only way she can swallow down the hopeful images that those jewels brought to her and bring herself back to reality. Marriage would be nice - better than nice, actually, but she doubts that it would for them. Not because of a lack of love, but because of a lack in everything else. Because she lacks everything else. Marriage to an advisor - and former elf price - is meant to be for the higher ladies of society. A gorgeous elf with flowing hair and soft skin who smells like wild berries.

Her eyes harden as she lifts her chin up, her steps becoming more confident. She forces herself to think of those elegant letters, full of love and care. She thinks of the way that Neronvain holds her and the taste of his lips. She has no idea if marriage is a possibility for them, but she knows that there is a them to begin with. They are a couple , a damn good one.

In her excitement and newly secured confidence, she is out of town before she writes to warn her other half of her arrival.

____________________________________

Alagathas is bored. He’s known his whole life that the routine of a prince is not always lavish parties, but that doesn’t make accepting the more mundane tasks any easier. He has been staring at the financial papers for so long that the numbers are starting to blur together. He spins in his chair aimlessly as he reads over the papers, moving around while he reads at least helps keep that itch to just run out of the door at ease.

He yawns, stretching out only to stop suddenly as one of the transactions catches his eyes. Now wait just a second here… Suddenly, the numbers on the financial papers have become much more interesting as he gleams over the purchase of a property in Elturel that has his brother’s name attached to it. There are few things that Neronvain could be doing by buying a property in the same city his girlfriend lives in. A mischievous grin spreads, his finger tapping absently at the side of his face. Well, well, brother, I was wondering when you would finally make things official.

He could use this to his brotherly advantage, as he likes to call it. Anything that he can tease Neronvain with is great ammunition of any brother to have. He could have so much fun seeing just how much he can torture his brother with this.

___________________________________

Alagarthas is the first one to notice Desire’s arrival, at the expense of Neronvain. The brother lights up, grin stretching across his face with outstretched arms that quickly envelop Desire before she can protest. A light flush dusts her cheeks as Alagarthas does his best to squeeze the life out of her, gushing about how much he’s missed her company.

Neronvain is still quick on his feet. The moment that word reaches him of his beloved’s arrival, he scrambles to find her, not quite believing that she is here until he can see her - hold her. With both his mind and heart racing, he gracefully rushes through the castle. It takes almost too long to find her, as he spots her in the hallways, barely arriving with her pack still on her is back and a slightly tired, stressed expression on her face. Beside her, Alagarthas is talking animatedly, waving his arms around with a large grin on his face.

“It’s just not fair that only Neronvain got to see you last time,” Alagarthas teases lightly, pouting as he is forced to let go of her, “He’s not the only one whose missed you, you know? Though I do suppose he won’t be missing you for long considering the land he -”

Neronvain’s eyes widen as a sense of dread fills him. The realization that his brother is fully aware of his purchase hits him hard as he rushes into the conversation, his expression calm, but happy as he glances toward Desire with love. When he glances toward his brother, the smile is more forced as he speaks with grinding teeth.

“-considering that you’re here now,” Neronvain quickly corrects his brother, his voice strained before he looks toward Desire and continues, “I have missed you, very dearly.”

Desire flushes at the sincerity in his eyes as he takes her hand without hesitation, placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. The confusion over what Alagarthas was saying is long gone the moment that she sees Neronvain as the befuddlement transfers toward the other brother. Alagarthas looks at Neronvain with quirked brows as Neronvain hugs Desire, he makes a motion for his brother to shut up behind her back. Putting the dots together as he realizes that Desire doesn’t know about the purchase his brother made, Alagarthas signals that he understands while a devious smile stretches across his face.

________________________________________

Despite Desire’s confusion over Alagarthas’ vapt interest in Elturel, she does her best to entertain his questions over a rare private dinner with the brothers. Alagarthas watches her with sparkles in his eyes and a charming grin as she quickly dissolves into the conversation, her enthusiasm carrying into her words as she her favorite shops and festivities there. She has to admit that it is not exactly what she had in mind when visiting, hoping to leave her training behind for a little while to focus on someone else.

A part of her feels rather disappointed that she has yet to have a private moment with Neronvain. The more they talk about Eturel, the more she thinks of the letters that Neronvain wrote to her and the jewelry vendor that she passed on her way out of town. Her eyes keep desperately, frantically, glancing toward him as she talks over dinner. His hand grips her knee under the table. When he squeezes particularly hard, she brushes it off as just him missing her for long, something that she can relate to.

“I think that Desire would rather not talk about work,” Neronvain speaks, a tick forming under his eye, “She is on vacation, after all.”

Alagarthas seems unbothered, waving the comment off, “Nonsense! I want to know as much as possible about what it’s like living in Elturel, don’t you?”

Alagarthas meets Neronvain’s gaze, challenging him. An unspoken conversation passes between them that Desire does not understand as her hands go to her plate, nervously picking at her food at the change of energy in the room. Neronvain’s grip on her knee is almost painful, his nails digging through the fabric of her trousers.

“ Of course I do. ” Neronvain’s is forced to answer, a low gravelly tone to his voice as his eyes become hooded.

Alagarthas just grins wildly, waving his hands about as he claps, as if the matter is settled, “ Fantastic! Then there is no problem, is there? Desire, why don’t you tell me more about the land over there in Elturel? Is it - affordable?”

Desire doesn’t notice Neronvain’s leg shoots under the table. Alagarthas’ face becomes strained as his brother’s foot makes sudden, hard contact with his shin.

___________________________

Neronvain knows that his brother is going to give him trouble over sharing his personal quarters with Desire instead of getting her a room of her own. But he also knows that this is the only way to get any sort of private time with the love of his life; his brother, as much as he loves him, has constantly blocked any attempts that they have made to have private discussions anywhere else in the castle. But if there is one rule that Alagarthas will respect it is to never enter Neronvain’s quarters, especially with company as lovely as Desire.

The quiet in his room is such a harsh contrast to the hustle and bustle of the castle and the loud voice of his brother that seems to always echo along the stone. He takes a deep breath of relief when no one comes bursting in moments after he shuts the door. Accepting that they are finally alone, Neronvain immediately turns to Desire.

She shifts on her feet nervously, not quite meeting his eyes with a flush already setting across her face. Neronvain takes a step toward her, his expression softening as the stress from these past months start to fade away. When his hand touches her face, she leans into it with a sigh, putting her own hand over his as her eyes drift close to savor the moment, accepting that she is really here with him.

“You look more beautiful than I remember,” Neronvain lightly teases her, closing the gap between them as his forehead brushes against hers. She bites at her bottom lip nervously. When her eyes flutter open, he swears that he can see her heart in the reflection; he knows her heart as well as he knows her. She has never been the best at hiding when something else occupies her mind.

He has never really pressed her for any answers, bothered her with constant questions, but after months of being apart and his last request to her still ringing in his ears, he can’t help but ask.

“What’s bothering you, love?”

His voice is thick with emotion and he can see the flinch in her face as she leans more into his palm. Something is stirring in that beautiful mind of hers and the longer she stays silent, the more he fears the worst and the more he is scared that she realized she made a mistake with him. He doesn’t ask a second time, giving her as much time as she needs to speak, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He can feel hers doing the same as she finally looks at him again, an unusually shy expression on her beat red face as she bites at her lower lip.

“Neronvain - do - do you want to marry me?”

The shock the question gives him passes quickly and turns into a relieved amusement, his eyes twinkling. He almost makes a joke about not expecting a proposal from her like this, but he swallows the temptation as he sees the sincere embarrassment on her face as she starts to try to hide herself into his chest. Rarely, has he ever seen her this flustered. It sparks something deep in his soul - Amusement? Happiness? Love? Relief? - that can’t be named. All he knows is that he rather likes it. She can feel the vibration of his chuckle and glances up, almost offended as her cheeks start to puff up. He eases her quickly, his hand gently carding through her hair.

“It’s not like you to be so red,” Neronvain’s voice is soft and soothing to her ears as she relaxes against him. His hand goes from her hair to the nape of her neck, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb as the other goes to the small of her back. “Am I allowed to ask what brought this to your curious mind?”

Desire’s voice is too muffled by his chest to be understood. When asked to repeat herself, she does so with an embarrassed huff, pulling herself away from his just enough to speak properly. Her eyes glance around, not brave enough to meet his own as she answers.

“I thought really hard about our future,” Desire’s voice is still soft, barely audible, “And I thought about what you meant and that our future is just that - it’s ours. It’s not about our accomplishments or work, but us.”

He is thrilled at the way the flush spreads down her neck and through her shoulders. Her hands grip at his shirt, nervously clutching the fabric like a lifeline.  “Marriage seems like the next step, right? And it feels like the right next step.”

Her cheeks puff up as she buries herself back into his chest, mumbling about how he still hasn’t answered her question. Neronvain’s constant chuckling continues to vibrate through her chest like a comforting lullaby as his fingertips start to trail down the blush against the skin of her neck. His hand on her back just brings her as close as she can possibly be, just as afraid of letting her go.

“Yes, Desire, I do want to marry you.” Neronvain reassures her, making her shiver against him as his nail gently scrapes against her collarbone, fascinated by the way her skin turns white against the pressure before returning back to the dark shade of red that has enveloped her. “The real question, my love, is if you are willing to marry me?”

Her laugh is booming - a mix of relief and pure joy. Her shoulders shake as she glances up at him with gleaming eyes and a not well contained sniffle. Her answer is swift, with no hesitation. “ Yes, yes I want to marry you.”

The relief shared between them is immediate, a weight lifting off their chests as they feel they can finally breathe more freely. The biggest fears for them, as much as they have clung onto them and the insecurity that has dug its way into their minds, seem to disperse. Fears don’t matter anymore, not with confirmation that they are going somewhere in the future; they will be together, no matter the cost. A silence instills between them, neither willing to break it as they stand in the room holding each other, finding comfort in the way the other breathes. This moment becomes a dream - and neither want to be the first to wake up.

After what feels like an eternity, Desire finally looks up at him. Her nose brushes against his as she grins. Her arms wrap around him tightly to keep him from escaping. “Does that mean that you’re proposing to me, little prince?”

Neronvain lets out one of the most sincere and relieved laughs that he can ever remember. He doesn’t try to break free from her grasp, daring to graze his lips against hers, “Perhaps, I suppose you’ll find out eventually, won’t you?”

Desire pulls from him abruptly and he looks affronted as she gently knocks him in the chest with her hand. Neronvain relishes in the way she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief as she starts to head toward the bed, ushering him along with her. She doesn’t have to ask him twice as he quickly strips down to join her underneath the covers, unabashedly eager to spend more intimate time with her.

__________________________  

Desire is hesitant when approaching Alagarthas, but with Neronvain’s seemingly constant watch on his brother this visit, she is unsure when she will get the chance to visit with Alagarthas privately again. She is not willing to wait to talk to him until she may see him again, not when it comes to this delicate topic. After her conversation with Neronvain, Desire is more sure than ever that she is making the right decision. For her to continue, however, she needs to check off all of her boxes. One such box is the approval of the brother she once, admittedly, was heavily enamored with.

She sucks up the nervous energy that is bubbling under her skin, rolling her shoulders as she taps Alagarthas on the shoulder.

“Do you have a moment to talk,” Desire asks, her voice lacking its usual bravo, “ Privately.”

Alagarthas’ eyes light up, beaming at the chance to speak with her without the watchful eye of Neronvain. The moment that she pulls him aside and there is no sight of his brother, he is already ready to spill all the things that he has barely been keeping a lid on since she came. He is, at the moment, a shaken bottle of ale ready to burst. He is so prepared to just tell her all of his brother’s plans for her, if only because he is unsure if Neronvain will ever actually get the confidence to do it. If it is one thing that he has learned with these two is that sometimes, they need a nudge to get the ball rolling - a nudge he is more than willing to provide. When she goes to speak first, he slaps his hand over his mouth as casually as he can just to keep himself quiet.

“- Oomph,” Desire’s fingers card through her hair as she bites at her bottom lip, “I’m not sure how to ask you, but I know that you’re one of the few people who both Neronvain and I trust so completely. Which also makes you one of the few opinions we both care about…”

Desire hardens, her stance becoming more firm as she looks Alagatheris in the eyes with no hesitation. “I want to marry your brother, Alagarthas, and it would mean a lot to us - to me - if I had your approval first.”

It means just as much to Neronvain,  but Alagarthas’ approval has multiple different meanings with Desire. Not only would his approval be the sign that she is going in the right direction, but it would also be a way for her to close whatever doors may remain between them. She’s not stupid, she knows in her heart that Alagarthas’ never cared for her the way that Neronvain does nor did she ever love Alagarthas the way that she does Neronvain. She just needs that one final nail in that coffin to confirm what she’s always known - that there is no remaining infatuation between them. Alagarthas may not know what his answer is to her, but he certainly doesn’t waste any time in giving it.

“Of course you have my approval!”

The words immediately spill out of Alagarthas’ mouth, all other thoughts forgotten as he wraps his arms tightly around her. He squeezes her tightly as he realizes the importance of what she is asking. It means that both of them are on the same page when it comes to their relationship, for once in their lives. Alagarthas sniffles into Desire’s shoulder as she awkwardly pats his back comfortingly at the small tears that gather in his eyes.

He supposes both of them didn’t need as much of a nudge as he thought; they’re finally growing up.

_______________________________

The moment that Desire leaves is once again one of the hardest things Neronvain has to witness. Each time, it feels like she takes a part of his heart with her. They shamelessly hold each other just before she departs, their noses inches apart as they share a flurry of heartfelt goodbyes and kisses. Neronvain notices the way that Alagarthas makes a show of gagging from behind Desire, but promptly ignores it as he does most of his brother’s antics.

Desire hesitates taking herself away from him. Biting at her bottom lip, she wonders about when they will be able to see each other again. If there will ever be another perfect moment like this and if there ever is such a thing as a perfect moment. Her hand drops to her pocket until she finds the smooth metal of a ring. After their conversation of their future, she is more sure than ever that she made the right decision with the purchase before she left. Granted the jeweler was a good smooth talker until I caved in. At the thought of her home, she thinks of her stern father. She knows that her love for Neronvain isn’t going to be stopped by anything, even him as painful as that is. But she needs to say that at least she tried to get his approval before she does this.  

She drops the ring in her pocket, wrapping both hands around Neronvain as she squeezes him tightly. Neronvain looks at her curiously, noticing the expression on her face and his heart aches for the way that they always have to disappear from each other. His grip tightens on her again briefly and she returns it with vigor before they share one last, longing kiss before she leaves. She makes a point to laugh and wave goodbye to Alagarthas, who is vocal that his goodbye from her is never as good.

Neronvain watches her until she starts to disappear into the horizon line. She glances back a few times at him and he gives her encouraging smiles and waves that she returns before, eventually, she is too far away to see him when she glances over her shoulder. Neronvain makes no hurry to move away from his spot, his eyes still on the horizon with a firm decision already being made in his mind.

“Careful, brother, you look lovesick already,” Alagarthas teases, nudging Neronvain’s shoulder, “She’s barely even into town.”

Neronvain, for once, doesn’t even seem to hear his brother. His eyes still planted where Desire left, his arms crossed with a firm look in his eyes as he speaks, “Alagarthas.”

The stern tone in his voice makes Alagarthas falter, wondering if he hit a rare soft spot by teasing Desire’s farewell. He glances at Neronvain curiously, waiting for him to continue with some scolding.

“Is Mom’s ring still in the treasury?”

Alagarthas squeals. Loud enough that Neronvain rushes to put his palm over his brother’s mouth lest Desire hear it from her distance and get suspicious.

___________________________________

Desire is never sure how to ask Onthar for his blessing. It is a position that she never really thought that she would be in, if she were honest. Marriage was always such a faraway concept for her to really grasp. An unachievable, unrealistic goal. A fairytale told to her and all the other little children to make them believe in happy endings. Her mouth feels dry as she lands a particularly hard hit to her sparring partner. She winces at the loud thud he makes when he falls. She reaches her hand toward him to help him up, but instead gets thrown to the ground herself when he grasps her hand. She finds herself on her back with a weapon at her throat.

“Never let your guard down,” Onthar says firmly before pulling his weapon away from her weak spot. When he swings it around, the handle toward her, she almost takes the peace offering to help her up. She grasps the handle firmly and Onthar prepares himself to help lift her weight up, but instead she snags his weapon from his hands firmly.

He finds himself on the ground again as she knocks his knee out from under him with the shaft of the weapon, but he can’t bring himself to be mad as a swelling of pride blossoms. She towers over him, grinning wildly.

“If I offer to help you up, will you actually take it or are we going to continue to go back and forth endlessly?”

Onthar’s laugh resonates like deep distant thunder as he accepts the hand given to him and is lifted up back to his feet. Desire offers his weapon back to him with a lopsided grin.

“You’ve been better since you returned,” Onthar states simply, with a suspicious gleam entering his eyes as he takes his weapon back, “Should I be concerned?”

She has been focusing better. Focusing solely on training helps her put off the question that has been burning its way into her mind, despite knowing that she would have to ask it eventually. There is a reason this is the first spar that they’ve shared, she has avoided him during training so there was no risk of her blurting it out. The more that he stares at her, waiting impatiently for some kind of answer, the more the question burns its way onto her tongue.

“If I marry Neronvain, will we have your blessing?”

Fuck.

Onthar seems taken back, but not ultimately surprised as he grumbles to himself for a moment. Desire shuffles on her feet, leaning against her weapon, not quite brave enough to look at Onthar directly for an answer that she really needs to hear.

“I suppose I have no choice if you’re the one asking me…”

Desire’s attention snaps toward him suddenly, her eyes wide as she processes what he said. Onthar is startled backwards as Desire lunges for him. He lets out disgruntled curses as his feet get lifted a few inches off the ground by her hug, eying the soldiers that glance their way with disbelief.

_________________________________________

Her training is rapidly coming to an end. Even Desire cannot believe that the day of her knighting ceremony is approaching soon. It seemed so far away when she began that she wasn’t sure if she would ever really get here, now that she is, she doesn’t know how to handle the butterflies in her gut or the excitement in her chest. While most of the others have taken to celebrating at the bar when given the chance only a day before the ceremony, Desire finds herself waiting at the training grounds for his arrival.

She has more than one reason to be excited and nervous. Her knighting ceremony, as large as a deal as it is, does not compare to what she plans on doing afterward. With the blessing of Onthar secured as well as the blessing of Alagarthas, she knows what she has to do. She knows that she has to ask Neronvain to marry her and that after the ceremony will be the perfect moment. For once, there are no doubts in her mind about it. The only question is if she can contain herself until then.

Her mind has been swirling for months now. Her training has been full of her daydreams - from thinking about what she would wear to where their home will be. She thinks about the field just outside of town and how it would have plenty of room for them - and then some. For the first time, she thinks of children. She thinks about how many children they will end up having - two seems like a good number to her, but she is not even sure if Neronvain has thought that far ahead beyond marriage. It doesn’t matter though because as long as she is with him, she knows that she will be happy.

The moment that Desire spots Neronvain, she tackles him, wrapping her arms tightly around him as the wind gets knocked out of his lungs. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips, looking at her in amusement as he tries to regain his breath.

“I suppose I should be grateful that you are not wearing your armor.”

Desire flushes, gently pulling herself off of him, “It gets too awkward trying to set up things for the ceremony in it. I’m sorry we can’t spend more time together right now, everything is getting pretty hectic, pretty fast.”

Neronvain kisses her worries away, reassuring her that he will find a way to pass the time, before she is whisked away for preparations, glancing at him over her shoulder with concern. Neronvain waits until she is far enough way to go wandering about the training grounds, looking for a particular someone that he needs to talk to before tomorrow.

Onthar spots Neronvain instantly, swinging his weapon with enough force that it gets halfway through the dummy as he meets Neronvain’s eyes. The intimidation tactic does little as Neronvain continues on his track toward the other man, his chin high and shoulders back. He knows that this will be the last chance he gets to secure the man’s blessing before he continues his life with Desire, with or without approval.

“Onthar.”

Neronvain’s voice forces Onthar to accept the fact that they’re going to have a conversation and that Neronvain isn’t going to leave him alone so easily. He grunts as he rips his weapon out of the dummy and swings it down, planting it into the ground before he turns toward the elf, his displeasement clear on his face. Neronvain doesn’t get another word out before Onthar cuts him off harshly, raising a hand to silence whatever word is going to come from Neronvain.

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Onthar states simply, “It’s getting to be about that time, I suppose.”

Onthar brushes his hands off casually, grim and sweat beading down his face, trying his best to ignore the elf. Neronvain, however, does not let the subject drop so easily, following Onthar when he starts to wander away.

“Have you made a decision?”

“Aye.” Onthar stops in his tracks, facing Neronvain once more, his face stern and angry, “Unfortunately, I fucking have. Because my daughter has made it painfully clear that I can’t fucking get rid of you.”

Onthar’s mumbles curses under his breath as he continues, “Despite the fact that I can barely stand you as is, she just can’t get enough of you and as much as I fucking hate it, you make her happy. She’s been the happiest I’ve ever seen her since she’s known you and I know you’ll continue to make her happy otherwise you and I are going to have a very different conversation.”

Onthar’s thinly veiled threat doesn’t go unnoticed. Neronvain seems unbothered, nearly offended at the idea of him ever making Desire anything but happy. Believing the conversation to be done, and not quite wanting to really say much more on it, Onthar continues to walk off. Desire is not the only one who has a lot of work to do for the ceremony; he has things to do, places to be. All of which would be better than staying here with the elf.

Though Onthar is radiating with frustration and anger at not having things exactly as he would have liked, Neronvain cuts him off, standing in front of the other man to keep him from wandering off further before he gets a firm decision.

“Is that a yes?”

Onthar scowls, “ Yes. It’s a fucking yes, now get out of my way before I change my mind.”

________________________________

The ceremony goes off without a hitch; Desire’s heart feels like it is going to jump out of her chest by the time everything is official. Even as the festivities and parties start to drag on into the night, she has yet to be able to wipe the grin off of her face. She doesn’t think she wants to. The energy in the air is full of joy and celebration and it is contagious. It’s even better considering the company that is with her.

Desire steals glances at Neronvain whenever his attention is elsewhere, but she catches him doing the same as they stroll away from the festivities. Their interlocked hands and the way their shoulders brush against each other barely gain any attention from the newly titled knights as everyone else's attention is toward drinking and games.

“It’s hard to think that we’ve come this far, isn’t it?”

Neronvain’s hand squeezes hers as they start to drift on a more beaten path toward the fields. Desire squeezes his hand back, her free hand still in her pocket as she fiddles with the ring. She finds trouble finding her voice as she thinks about what is about to come, just how much they’re about to change their lives - their relationship, their everything.

“Not as hard as you think.” Desire admits, her voice soft as she licks her lips, trying to satisfy the dry cottonmouth that is forming along her tongue.

Their walk starts to come to an end. Desire doesn’t argue with Neronvain as he stops them, wanting to enjoy the peace and quiet that this night has brought them. When his hand pulls from hers, looking off into the field as if he can see something that she cannot, she pulls the ring out from her pocket to palm it, fiddling with the jewelry as she waits for the moment. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say yet, but it appears that Neronvain does.  

“It was never that hard for you,” Neronvain agrees as he continues, still not glancing toward her, “You’ve always seen the best in people, even when they didn’t think there was anything good left in them. Myself included.”

He finally looks to her and she almost drops the ring as she scrambles to hide it. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything as he gestures for her to come toward him. He puts his hands on her shoulders and faces her toward the empty field, “Just look at it. Our future.”

“An empty field,” Desire lightly jokes, her knuckles turning white around the ring.

His hands leave her shoulders as he gestures toward the field, “Just focus on it, love.”

It takes a moment, but she listens to him with amusement, still clutching the ring like a lifeline. She watches the field intensely, squinting her eyes to try to see what Neronvain sees. Though a part of her wonders if this is just another mystic message that will take her months to figure out. She doesn’t see the way that Neronvain waves his hand, but she does see the blur around the field start to focus, a veil dropping. She blinks owlishly as a house starts to form in the field - the perfect size for them, she offhandedly notes - before she turns on her heels, questions in her throat.

“Neronvain, just what is -”

She stops as Neronvain stands there, looking as devilishly handsome as he always has, but a ring decorated with jewels in between his fingers, offering it outward to her expectedly.

“I meant what I said before.” Neronvain states. “That I wanted to marry you. Admittedly, I have been wanting to marry you even before we talked about the possibility. Possibly for even longer than I wanted to truly admit, I’m afraid, but I am admitting it now. Because you, Desire, are the most kind and openhearted person I have ever met. A better person than I could ever deserve, but one that I don’t think I can live without.”

His eyes meet hers and he can see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. His voice is sincere, no longer asking a simple question about where they are headed filled, but a question that tells them where they are headed. He can’t even hear the fireworks going off in town, too focused on his own world that is forming around her.

It’s always been her. He’s been a fool to not see it sooner.

“Will you marry me?”

This time when she tackles him, they both hit the ground. The faint pain that builds in his back from hitting against the ground is nothing compared to the absolute euphoria that starts to flood his veins as she laughs out a breathless yes. She is still laughing as she lays on his chest, grinning wildly with pink tinted cheeks. Neronvain’s eyes are wide when she turns her fist toward him, opening it to reveal a humble ring.

“You dumbass.” Her voice is affectionate, her nose brushing against his, “You proposed before I could.”

[symbianosgames]

Crafting is big. Like, really big.

It might seem counter-intuitive, but players have made it clear that they find navigating menus and smashing random bits of junk together to make more powerful items to be really satisfying.  Poke around on Steam, and you'll see that a stunning number of the chart-toppers of the last couple of years have had some kind of crafting system that goes beyond just defining the central route by which players gain power. An in-depth crafting system can even be one of the major draws in major triple-A games such as The Witcher 3 or Fallout 4. 

To that end, we have put together a diverse list of exemplary crafting systems. Each of these games bring something distinctive to the crafting table, and each might inspire and inform crafting systems in your future projects.

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn: Crafting as character investment

(via Mobygames)

The Gamecube and Wii titles in the Fire Emblem franchise introduced The Forge, a basic crafting feature which reshaped the strategy series’ weapon durability system. Before this point, Fire Emblem games had given most in-game weapons a set level of durability. Weapons and spells could be bought from shops or acquired in battle, but had a fixed lifespan and would need to be shuffled out of your inventory regularly while scaling up the power curve and seeking different effects.

The form of crafting introduced in later installments of the franchise is a simple system where gold is transformed into items, but its presence refocuses how players accustomed to the series’ durability rules can interact with their inventory. In the crafting process, players can adjust weapon stats such as Might, Hit, Crit and Weight. They can change the color of the item, and even give it its own name.

Letting players craft the item of their choice has two effects:

First, it allows them to create special items that can break the established weapon triangle that generally dictates how fights play out. With crafted items, players can expand their heroes' role on the battlefield, giving them more choices on where to place their units and what types of engagements to throw them into. In turn, mission encounters can contain new arrangements of enemies, which in turn can incentivize the crafting of new weapons. An example of this is how Pegasus Riders--characters relying on speedy lances who are vulnerable to axe-using classes--can be upgraded by creating weapons that counter the advantages that axes have over lances. 

Second, players effectively have the ability to add weapons to the in-game lore, which is valuable to a series that uses named weapons as a story-driven signifier of power. This adds a touch of personalization that contributes to a net effect both aesthetic and mechanical in nature--the player has another way to become invested in their playable characters. This is a central design pillar of the Fire Emblem series that's also upheld by its permadeath and support systems.

Resident Evil 4, Alone in the Dark, and The Last of Us: Crafting to beat back the darkness

(via Mobygames)

This form of crafting has been around for a long time in survival horror games. Resident Evil 4’s crafting system is the simplest: herbs found around the environment can be consumed immediately to restore a minimum amount of health, or mixed with other herbs to restore extra health or to give the player additional max health. The frequency of its availability, and how the player is able to use it relative to anticipated dangers is very effective at increasing or relieving  tension.

The 2008 Alone in the Dark expands this form of crafting to include other items, including flashlights, duct tape, bullets, bottles, and other junk that can be combined to take on enemies who only perish when exposed to fire. Though overly complicated, this awkward system of cobbling together of nuts and bolts in real time does stay true to the notion of urban decay and scavenging that Alone in the Dark roots around in elsewhere.

Ultimately, The Last of Us improves upon this system by scaling down the different types of crafting and giving them clear meanings associated with other items. Bottles and rags clearly translate to molotov cocktails, while blades and explosives clearly translate to a shrapnel-throwing bomb. It ultimately becomes a study of how the distribution of certain resources can impact the emotional tension of different mission encounters. 

World of Warcraft: Crafting to define social roles

(via Mobygames)

Crafting in World of Warcraft is a recipe-oriented system distributed across multiple professions. It means that no single character can produce all of the crafted content in the game. In light of this, it’s impossible to talk about crafting without referring to its economic impact.

Professions ranging from skinning to blacksmithing impact the distribution of player gold and player resources throughout the game economy. Isolating some types of crafting to certain professions compels some players to choose those professions, as they are more useful than others in different social and economic contexts. Skinners may make a reliable source of income off of the auction house by selling harvested leather, while enchanters may find themselves holding specific social roles in guilds as those responsible for harvesting loot from slain raid bosses.

But while World of Warcraft’s economies might be an MBA candidate’s dream subject, it also demands the special attention from quest and mission designers seeking to reward players for pursuing crafting over other game systems. This variation of experiences doesn’t just happen in social roles, but also in PvE roles as well, with questlines and encounters only accessible to those devoted to certain paths.

However, quality of execution on crafting has varied over the game's 10-year history. Blacksmithing has traditionally struggled to keep up with dungeon drop tables as a means of producing player weapons/armor, while enchantments and gemcrafted items are considered must-haves for high-end raiding. Yet blacksmiths may still feel rewarded when certain questlines require a prerequisite set of smithing experience in order to proceed, and all professions benefit from specialization quests that send them to unexplored corners of Azeroth. These scenarios shift across World of Warcraft's history depending on expansions, patches, and raid boss requirements and may yield different experiences at different points.

The Witcher: Crafting as aesthetics and ritual

(image via the Witcher Wiki)

The Witcher games are where crafting systems get weird. But in a good way! Good, at least, for helping to define the identity of the Witcher characters, giving them a unique place in the game world and drawing on the unique features in the books that inspired the game.

The Witcher’s crafting deliberately includes a lot of mysteries and restrictions organized by resource-gathering and recipe-based systems, with outputs that have weird and sometimes unpredictable results. The alchemy system in particular is performed by campfires, demanding gathered resources and in-game time spent by the campfire (which, as of the Witcher 3, can affect everything from monster locations to Geralt’s beard). Outputs include potions, oils, and bombs. They can have a wide range of effects, some of which are also influenced by the time of day.

Though the recipe and ingredient distribution deserves study, The Witcher games are notable for using crafting to reinforce the rules that govern its fantasy universe through the fireside rituals and poisonous penalties. Potion crafting in games like Dragon Age Inquisition don’t go to the same lengths to define the central fantasy, acting primarily as a variable on the game’s power curve without reinforcing narrative ideas that lay within the fantasy genre.

Eve Online: Capitalism ho!

(via EveManufacturing)

While World of Warcraft's crafting system could be an MBA candidate’s dream, the game with the greatest socioeconomic system is Eve Online--it even has an economist on staff. Eve Online’s capital ships act as a major driving force for the game's capitalist economy, right down to the manipulation of labor and creation of player social structures in order to create a flow of resources in order to build them.

The crafting of in-game items is so expensive that no single player can hope to acquire all of the necessary ingredients. This cascade of player decisions that effectively organize social power, physical power, and resource power across different geographic sectors of the game. 

Eve's crafting system doesn't just define a real-dollar economy. It's a system that incentivizes macro-level social interactions at the end of a long social learning curve. Want to introduce a goal that challenges your players’ sense of justice or economic values? Drop a massively expensive item into your economy, then watch and see how these items are constructed and how they’re used. How players will respond to the presence of such expensive items in your game will depend on how you choose to insert them. If it's a PvP item, collaboration will no doubt intersect with competition as players race to win a global arms race. But in a PvE environment, player guilds may organize along less tiered resource distribution, if the completion of the item leads to the benefit of more as opposed to the disadvantage of less. 

Pokemon: Disguise your crafting system 

(via Mobygames)

Multiple designers singled this franchise out when quizzed about their favorite crafting systems. And make no mistake, crafting is the central feature of Pokemon.

The game's carefully crafted fiction tries to obscure the fact that the Pokemon themselves are essentially weapons. They may be adorable creatures with distinctive personalities that are skillfully conveyed by a mix of text, sound effects, and animations., but they function just like weapons do in many other crafting systems.

Depending on the game, there are 150-720 of these "objects," which can acquire experience points to level up in the vein of an RPG character. The player can customize which of these objects they have in their 6-slot inventory, as well as what attributes they are given. Players can also replicate many of these adorable Pokemon/weapons by combining pairs of them, or acquiring them through random encounters. 

Pokemon's success with several generations of kids shows that your player doesn't necessarily need to know that they're crafting. To truly get a sense of how cleverly the Nintendo's franchise downplays the deep subtleties of its crafting system, look at how clumsily this tends to be handled in most "Pokemon meets X" games on offer in mobile app stores. In most of the knock-offs, you'll find that leveling, combining, and enhancing creature mechanics are often the exact same mechanics used to power up swords, axes, and magic spells in the same game. 

Minecraft: The tip of a very large iceberg

(via Mobygames)

Minecraft’s place on this list may seem obvious. With over 20 million downloads on PC alone, it has redefined crafting, and introduced the appeal of it to vast new audience. It has also served as the template for a raft of popular open-world Steam sandbox games, most of which have pillaged Minecraft's unique procedurally generated resource systems and books of crafting recipes acting as central experience curves. Still, many of the original's subtler functions have been cast aside by the imitators despite their importance to the game's success.

First, it's worth examining Minecraft's use of shape-based UI to communicate how players can craft things. Many crafting systems attempt to use aesthetic clues like anvil icons or clanking sound effects to gussy up their drag-and-drop slot interfaces, but Minecraft used a radically simplified aesthetic. Drop iron into the shape of a sword, and you have a sword. Place glass in the middle of wood, and you have a door or a window.

Though it may seem simple on the surface, this design decision highlights the need to rethink the way your player interacts with your crafting system, as there may be a bespoke interface that reinforces your games' strengths and unique personality. This UI choice upholds the core tenet of what Minecraft's crafting systems are all about--seeing something where nothing currently exists, and cobbling together squares to make that something a reality.

For a game so popular with children, this may have been one of the innovations that helped hook in new players. Rethinking your game's UI alone may drastically reshape how you even approach the other lessons studied in the systems mentioned in this piece. Many crafting systems attempt to use aesthetic clues like anvil icons or clanking sound effects to disguise drag-and-drop slot interfaces, but Minecraft used a radically simplified a interface

Second, there's the step that Minecraft originally took in having no in-game crafting recipes that could be checked like a guidebook. It gradually dawned on players that large crafting trees lurk beneath the surface of the game, which wound up encouraging player communication outside of the game to share knowledge through a variety of social interactions (including bragging, mentoring, and large-scale cooperation and collaboration). Though many Minecraft-likes have created large crafting trees with little guidance on how they work, these other games frequently fail to convey the sense of mystery that the original created with these hidden features of their crafting systems. This was in part due to Minecraft's early success as a pre-Alpha release game, so new features were being added and the player base remained manageable to keep some of these mysteries locked away, but it was also because the game relied on its procedurally generated size to be able to physically keep players at a distance from the very materials they might not know they want to stumble on.

With the next generation of consoles, it's worth considering that crafting trees may need to be very deep and very wide to keep players guessing and experimenting with the in-game resources--maybe even as deep and wide as the systems required to actually craft and forge objects in real life.

Not just a power curve

In examining these systems, it's important to note that crafting is not just a power curve--it's a design pillar whose central verb (creating) drastically alters how your player might approach the other pillars your game presents. That means that it has great potential to boost or undermine a player's interest in those other design pillars. How can crafting get your player more invested in the characters that are holding the crafted items in their inventory? How can it help them to define a sense of individuality in a crowded online space? How can it help them cobble together a solution to a terrifying challenge? These are just some of the questions you can start to ask as you begin to look at crafting not just as a supplementary system, but as a central reason that someone should pick up your game.

[Special thanks to Liz England, Lauren Carrecia, Rob Manuel, Carly Smith, Patrick Lindsey, and Javy Gwaltney for their input on this article.]

[iftekharsanom]

The Lord of the Rings: The 10 Worst Movie Book Shifts

The art of adaptation is a cruel business. For a beloved property like J.R.R. The trilogy of The Lord of the Rings Tolkien is not limited to being victims when they move from page to screen. Peter Jackson calmly led the attack to bring Tolkien's rich Middle-earth world to life by adding some of his own artistic flowers. The King's Return Ring Society, Jackson has taken the highest of high fantasy concepts and translates them into three thrilling adventures. He just won three Academy Awards in 2004 for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Adapted Screenplay.That is, the films are not flawless. Fans of the books know how much Jackson left from Tolkien writing, especially his adaptation of the two towers. The characters are distorted, omitted from the underestimated key elements and important events, often to the less effective substitute. Here are the 10 worst book changes to Lord of the Rings movies. 1. To a joke Gimli

Unlike trilogy to his portrayal in Peter Jackson, Gimli is a tough warrior and a dwarf only. Although he is a fool in films essentially Tolkien put him as "an obscure character, usually only occasionally, to laugh, and although in some rare cases, entertainment, but never a joke." He certainly is not the idiot who thinks he can break the ring with a single blow from his ax. If in the laughter of the community conversion to Gimli, it undermines the dwarven moments of gravity. Take the darkest moments of the Battle of Helm's deep links, which is the Battle of Normandy beach from Middle Earth substantially. Although Aragorn and Theoden prepare their men and their bark orders, Gimli is on the edge how to make cracked strength and laughing. There is room for humor, even in the most difficult situations, but not at the expense of Gimli's character, approaching caricature throughout the filming. 2. Pass the Shire Wash

Long before J.R.R. Tolkien wrote at the end of The Return of the King, he planned to bring the epic circle of fantasy. Amidst the destruction of mighty Middle-earth, the region was not spared. Tolkien noted that "an image of the last decrepitude of the old flour mill, with its pool, which seemed so important to me." The picturesque image was Tolkien's own Shire, and he also had the hounds were destroyed. When the Hobbits return home (in the books), they discover that their homes have changed their own lives so much. Saruman and his servant Wormtongue moved to Frodo's facility in Bolson, and the evil forces of Mordor moved to Shire. The last battle of the War of the Ring found in Bilbo Baggins's backyard, and sees that the hobbits bravely fighting and Saruman is the death he has always deserved. Although Hobbits are peaceful short of Shire's tongue Snake's neck and his master will distribute dead by a shower of arrows. These sequences have added the already epic runtime of the film, but have the omnipresence of the evil Sauron demonstrated inspired. Without them making the movies that region than practically unchanged despite the apocalypse around them, which not only reduces the risks, but raises the question of whether Bag-end was out of danger, should not Frodo simply stay at home? Tolkien hanging entire story on this penultimate chapter because it represented during the war, even the most sympathetic people or the field are safe. 3. No Closure For Saruman

Saruman is a central character in The Lord of the Rings, so why was the ending so unsatisfactory? Sauron may be the most difficult of all bad guy, but is caught in an eye presence for the whole trilogy. This leaves Saruman as the main enemy to take shape in the flesh, and once all the chaos caused in Middle-earth, you would think that Peter Jackson would have enjoyed the opportunity to take his death in the final movie. In the theatrical edition of The Return of the King, all we say (by Tree Beard) is that the twisted wizard was locked in his tower, disappearing, until death comes to him. When the Ents had under her command, certain that she would be unhappy some form of punishment, instead of imposing a prison sentence. The species decimated the population, after all. Unfortunately, Jackson decided not to close for the White Magician to give to save for more cut of his death, in Isengard. As the director himself admitted, "I reluctantly decide to save this sequence for the DVD The selection based on was made that most people assume that Saruman was defeated by the events of deep and Helm's Ent. End appropriate, it is strange, "take over", the fate of Saruman in the film. Trimming to Shire: This inconsistency can be explained by the lack of other key element books. 4. Escape ARAGORN a hero in HAMBRIENDO CAR

If there was no model to compare with Aragorn movies, you can think of it as the ultimate hero. He is discreet, (relatively) early, and if you are struggling to convince bravely in the battle. This is all very well, but Aragorn as you can imagine from J.R.R. Tolkien is much more pronounced. More self-abominable in the movies, the Aragorn books unkempt, and almost reluctant leader is poised for leadership. More than any other man in history, Aragorn is the bearer of heroism. He does not withdraw his fate, nor does he question his role in the fate of Middle-earth. No, he embraces his role as Isildur's warm heritage. In movies, it always seems to have a foot out the door. A shining example of heroism confused his decision Aragorn the heads unarmed emissary Sauron in the Black Gate. Although the creature is uglier than the sin and mocks Aragorn, Legolas and should never the heir of Isildur get his moral code broke and a messenger of peace killed Gandalf on the fate of Frodo, the "Mouth of Sauron." Tolkien would be such an act reserved only for the most famous characters in Middle-earth. 5. HUMANIZING GANDALF against the Witch King

Speaking of King Warlock, if you have a scene to add in the fight with Gandalf, you can not let him win. Or if you are going to put the Wizards knees, do so after a glorious battle, love the kind of writers of fan fiction to create. For some reason, the extended version of Peter Jackson has the Return of the King a scene in Minas Tirith where the Witch King walk to stop Gandalf with Pippin flies. Though one of his greatest enemies in the present, Gandalf did not move, and instead sits on his horse to the shudder expecting Nazgul. Kill. Witch King sends a magical force field from Gandalf to destroy and then thrown from his horse in a really humiliating way. It is a pointless moment that not only adds value to the film again but has zero relationship with Tolkien's books and reduces Gandalf's omnipotent power without even a chance to respond, to give. 6. Neutralization THE IMPORTANCE OF Merry and Pippin

In general, Comic Relief is managed throughout the trilogy The Lord of the Rings and Peter Jackson and co-writer Philippa Boyens. Bring out Bilbo's 111th birthday to the end, Merry and Pippin laughing with their intrusive and audible. Unfortunately, the two hobbits are the Middle-earth puppet theater depicted far beyond the Tolkien borders. His wit and courage, unfortunately, lost in the shuffle. If for Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam were not they would never come with success in the region in the first place. Although they are out of their league long history, Merry and Pippin are quick to accept and learn as they go. In the movies, but Merry and Pippin are presented as accidental warriors who come to the community in a fantasy. In the books they need Frodo to come on the trip and, although hot Elrond to protest against his presence, Gandalf who insists on being accepted is. Finally, it is argued in value that it has been neglected by the death of Éowyn important against the Witch King, the Merry contribution. Without his dagger and his mystical wave of daring, Nazgul did not weaken to such an extent that a single strike would end. Although the Cheerful films show the dagger on the side of the spectrum to bring down, he received no credit in the episode. 7. Notes ENTS Daft

Despite the many missed opportunities, Peter Jackson's adaptation of The Hobbit achieved its calmer scenes, especially in moments of music. When the dwarves of the "misty mountains," a haunting and hypnotic Braman theme, all majesty in Tolkien's mind seems to thrive. It is particularly strange that Peter Jackson several minutes running precious time to see Thorin Shield of Oak hum an output melody when you consider that the rest of the movie is consumed by the CGI high frame rate. It is not until Bart tree hobbits on a walk in the afternoon when he finally got the decimation of his colleagues testify Ents. Like Eowyn, he uttered a cry from Darth Vader-lite of the sadistic magician knows that his days are numbered. This is a slap in the face that created Tolkien's character for the first time. In the books, the arrival of Merry and Pippin comes just before Entebate where Barbary and Co. quickly decide to bring ruin to Saruman. There is no need to think about it because they are intelligent, experienced and proud of their people. The movies show the Ents have little or no agency, but rather serve as the filling time, while the rest of the plot unfolds kills. 8. Reduced almost all songs and POEMS

Despite the many missed opportunities, Peter Jackson's adaptation of The Hobbit achieved its calmer scenes, especially in moments of music. When the dwarves of the "misty mountains," a haunting and hypnotic Braman theme, all majesty in Tolkien's mind seems to thrive. It is particularly strange that Peter Jackson several minutes running precious time to see Thorin Shield of Oak hum an output melody when you consider that the rest of the movie is consumed by the CGI high frame rate. This moment is just one of the many songs and poems written throughout the text of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Pippin Music in The Return of the King is one of the most prominent in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Jackson used it with great effect. If only the original songs of Tolkien object of frequent use. Without suggesting that the trilogy a full-length music film would have benefited from the song Frodo in the Bouncing Pony or Aragorn's poem about Gondor. This is of great imagination, which Tolkien wrote after all for the same reason of such a long list of songs in the first place. 9. MAKING HEROES IN PRACTICAL ELAS

For many fans of the film, the battle of the Abyss of Helm, the highest mark was two towers in the water. It was a confrontation in the rain of Uruk-hai furiously against an army of men and elves. It is a scene that is opposite to the best fights of Game of Thrones, but it is a pity that Peter Jackson strongly to interpolate the raw material and wrote basically the whole nature of the war. The most notorious of all, he relied on warrior Elven to fight against the Dark Army. To be clear, there were no elves for the Abyss of Helm in the books when the film a team of five hundred archers shows from Lothlórien to sent the scene of the fight. Army Theoden consisted largely of "soldiers [I have seen many winters or very few." Of course, this does not mean it describes the presence of immortal popular Elf. In the battle of Horburg, Theoden did not shoot the luxury of a battalion of experienced archers dozens of bloodthirsty Saruman warriors. This is a recurring theme in The Lord of the Rings, the world of men shows that they strive to survive in a universe where everyone, even the elves flee to safety. This subtly benefits Theoden and Aragorn's deep Helms allows elves to save the day. 10. CASTING Hugo Weaving AS ELROND

When we meet Elrond in the Fellowship of the Ring, which is about 6,500 years old. JRR Tolkien describes him as "noble and just as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as an assistant, as venerable, as king of the dwarves, and just as in summer." Briefly, Elrond is the total package . His debut on the big screen can be described as something of a sage, but pushes Elrond in a much more humane way than his elvish nature area can withstand properly. To be sure, he is as mortal as she is eternal, he can not quite god-like in appearance and be in nature. Hugo Weaving, despite his entire talent and screen presence, may not have been the ideal role for an actor. His dullness and his ridiculous "Mr. Anderson" make him more militant than he probably thought Tolkien. Although dressed in the best clothes and insignia, the fabric looks more like a front-warriors than an old-fashioned board. It actually looks right at home in flashback scenes during the Battle of Dagorlad.

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