#I might try to get the manuscript for That Man's story done before the end of today too

[solradguy]

Got the JP manuscript compiled for Raven's GG2O short story. I'm gonna be away from my computer/Japanese materials for the next ~3 days though but at least the most monotonous part of this story is over now haha

[damagedintellect]

Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

💌 Would this be considered a social suicide? : Chapter 1  💌  

Summary: You knew it was dangerous to take walks at night but hearing the water rushing under the bridge was calming to your nerves. You didn’t imagine you’d ever fall into the river and somehow wake up in your favorite anime. The isekai that I’m sure will come back to haunt me. It’s kept me up all night but I might as well get the brainrot out.

Notes: Reader is Isekai’d into BSD, Slow to start, Chuuya is endgame but there’s a fair bit of reader & Dazai moments too 

💌 Word count: 2,348 💌  Available Chapters [You are here] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

You stood over the bridge looking out at the sunset. You would have to return home before it got too dark but the tranquil sound of the rushing water underneath you always calms your nerves after an episode. Things have been pretty rough lately but you’d live. As a writer you were your worst critic. You were almost done with your first big manuscript and you just needed to get past the final hurdle before you could start seeking out publishing companies. At the beginning your novel came easy but as the ending chapters were approaching you started to dread finishing it. The unknown future was a scary thought. Multiple what if’s flooding your mind. The fear that you would have wasted the better of a year and a half writing a story for no actual gain was one of them. It shouldn’t be considered wasted time because writing it helped you in many ways but the ever looming thought that you could have accomplished much more in the same amount of time is a burden that will never leave you alone. If only things could be as easy as the media you consumed. Your recent obsession with a certain anime series wasn’t helping either but it’s captivated your heart and it’s all you think about nowadays. Which is what spurred on the little tiff with your writing. All you’ve done recently is play the Bungo Stray Dogs mobile game trying to pull the rate up Chuuya unit to the point where you were actually no lifing it. While you agree that you might be going overboard just a little, you might actually have formed an addiction to playing marbles. You honestly preferred when you were analyzing and fantasizing about the contrast of the strong bonded characters. Not to mention how much you can see yourself in everyone. The amount of character study is comforting to you and one day you wish to write something that makes others feel the way you do when you read BSD. From your perspective this was just research but to the rest of the world haha whoops just your autism is showing. It’s a limiting belief you weren’t sure how to get rid of either. The need to constantly do and be productive with your time otherwise you fail at society when ultimately success is subjective.

Before you could turn around you were harshly grabbed by the arm. You were pushed against the railing as your assailant threatened you to stay quiet. A knife was brandished against your neck but almost foolishly the wrong side was being pressed against you. The man reeked of alcohol so maybe he wasn’t all there right now. Mustering as much rage and aggression you’ve been bottling up for years you think to yourself that this was now or never. If there was one thing you have been thinking about since childhood it was pulling off a Miss Congeniality. Shouldering him in the gut, stepping on his foot, elbow to the face, and finishing it off with a swift kick to the dick. Panic was starting to kick in. You didn’t think that would work but that doesn’t matter right now you should start running. As you were about to bolt he grabbed your leg and your dumbass clutched onto the railing trying to use your bodyweight to break free and it worked due to the thug letting you go but your momentum was already set in motion. You threw yourself over the railing crashing in the icy water below.

—

“Dazai I swear if this was one of your planed double suicides I’m going to kill you!” a voice rang out. You could still feel the sensations of floating your memory murky. 

“I assure you if it was, me and this lovely lady would already be dead but unfortunately Atsushi here ruined that miracle for me.”

You choked, you recognized those voices “D-Dazai?” When your vision came too you were in Atsushi’s lap as Kunikida was shaking his partner. This couldn’t be real. 

“Ah so sleeping beauty’s awake. Kunikida as a gentleman you should ask her if she’s alright and stop strangling me.” 

Reluctantly the blonde did as he was told and let go, kneeling in front of you “Are you alright my colleague said you were floating in the river?” his eyes were full of concern.

You looked dazed, glancing around to see the familiar riverbank that Atsushi starts at during the very beginning of Bungo Stray Dogs. You looked at your hands. You were still wearing the same clothes you put on this morning, admittedly they were much soggier than you remember but you had no memory of the day or how you ended up in the river. For some reason you knew who these people were and what seemingly happens to them in the future. The most notable thing was you were grossly aware of the fact that this universe belonged to your favorite manga that currently was on its 108th chapter? This had to be a dream. If you played along maybe you’d eventually wake up. You’ve had lucid dreams before, it wasn’t too far fetched but the ache in your heart didn’t want you to wake up. Finally you looked up at Kunikida who was patiently waiting for your answer but before you could give a response your stomach growled. How embarrassing, now you really wanted to die.

Dazai keeled over laughing “I guess introductions can wait till we get something to eat, how about that?” He offered you a hand over his partner's shoulder to help you up. You snapped out of your haze to grab his hand and say “I can’t remember much so I think that’s for the best.” 

What have you gotten yourself into?

At dinner Atsushi spent no time at all stuffing his face as Kunikida and Dazai bantered back and forth. Dialogue you remembered from when you watched the show originally. You forgot how furious Kunikida was over the whole ordeal and you felt bad knowing what Atsushi was going to say next. He really needed a hug.

“I came to Yokohama straight from the orphanage. I’ve had nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep since. I thought I’d starve to death.”

“You came from an orphanage?” Dazai questioned. He was sitting across from you casually and despite being hungry you noticed that he didn’t order anything to eat. You had ordered one out of solidarity. You’ve always wanted to try tea on rice but never bothered trying to find a place that makes it in your area. Atsushi was already on his twelfth bowl or so as he continued the conversation. 

“I was yes but they kicked me out.”

“Sounds like a real philanthropic organization.” Dazai turned his attention from Atsushi to you “How about you? Remember anything now?” He rested his head on the back of his hands.

You nodded “I think my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N). Still trying to work out where I came from and how I got in the river but it’s something to start.” Being vague was probably for the best right now. Although you would have to find some way into the Armed Detective Agency eventually. After that you could be a little more bold with your knowledge. Without an ability though, it would be by the skin of your teeth and your memory of the events to come. Not everyone in the agency had an ability or combative skills but they had plot armor, you sadly do not. Being caught up with the manga was great for knowing everything to come but you'd have to remember things you've read and watched months ago. There was no room for error as it stood currently. Your life literally depended on it. You wondered if you could pull it off. If you didn't you could always try the port mafia. It would be more risky and twice as dangerous but at least you could hopefully get a glimpse of a certain redhead before you died. Who knows, could be fun.

“Dazai we’re not a couple of do good-ers going around helping hard luck cases. We’ve got a job to do.” Kunikida nudged the other with his book leading Atsushi to question “That reminds me. You said that your current job involves the military. What kind of work do you do.”

“We’re private investigators” Dazai gave his signature smirk bringing his hand up to rest under his chin. What an absolute dork you loved this waste of bandages.

“Investigators?”

“But we handle more than lost pets and cheating spouses. Our office has uniquely gifted investigators, we’re the Armed Detective Agency.”

You sat upright with Atsushi. While he was having his little monologue you softly muttered “The Armed Detective Agency.” trailing off you made your eyes as wide as you could like you were seeing a vision before you shook your head staring back as Atsushi. “Tiger?” you stated in a hushed tone. Hopefully you were acting strange enough for Dazai to notice, it was the only way your plan was going to work out. You needed a reason to be kept around but not to upstage Atsushi's importance. Not like that could really happen since he is the tiger but still. You needed your bases covered without being too off the wall. The harsh bottom line was this was your only chance because you have no idea if your choices affect the story yet. On top of that you have no money, no friends and no shelter so they were your only option.

“You guys are looking for a tiger.” You stated it as a fact, regaining their attention after Dazai’s little health hanging prank.

Kunikida stopped strangling Dazai as the two exchanged looks. “We never said what the job was, it's not supposed to be a secret or anything but how’d you come to that conclusion?” He pushed up his glasses for emphasis.  

You tilted your head for effect. “I don’t know it was just a feeling I got when I looked at Atsushi kinda like a weird deja vu.” you played it off quizzically like you were also figuring things out as they progressed. 

Atsushi stared across the table “You’re looking for a tiger?” You could feel him tense.

“Yes, a ferocious man eater who's recently appeared in the city. Well not that we know for sure it's devoured anyone but it’s ransacked warehouses, eaten farm animals and caused general chaos. The authorities have received all kinds of scary reports about it” Dazai sighed, slipping back into his uninterested mood. In Atsushi’s panic he knocked over his chair and a couple of bowls as he tried to crawl away. You watched the scene play out as Kunikida pinned him to the floor and the interrogation started. You sat patiently as Atsushi was then asked if he was free to be bait.

“Forget it no way!”

You laughed at Atsushi’s outburst trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t know Atsushi. If it’s after you I feel like this is the perfect opportunity to get it off your back for good. What if I tagged along? Strength in numbers right?” He stood up and defended himself “That doesn’t make it better! I’m not doing this okay. I know what you’re thinking, you’re planning to use me as bait-”

“There’s a reward you know.”

From there Atsushi’s fate was sealed and you all made your way over to the warehouse. You waited around for hours, everyone keeping to themselves. This was something they didn’t show you in anime but you figured time would pass as normal anyhow. You were laying on one of the crates that was across from Atsushi. You had been staring up at the ceiling after staring at Dazai became boring. He was literally reading his book. You saw his eyes move across the page. You really weren't sure what else you expected. As soon as Atsushi opened his mouth you rolled your eyes.

 Finally, show time.

 It’s not like you’d actually be of any help, you just needed to make sure you didn’t die or get in the way. Hopefully the groundwork you set prior would be enough. If you were in Dazai's shoes and some girl you've never seen before who has amnesia but happens to know the details of your mission, it would be pretty strange. It's not as strong as Atsushi’s but fingers crossed it was enough. When Atsushi started to turn, you stretched and said “Guess that’s my cue to leave, I’ll let Kunikida and the others know.” Dazai only smirked and continued to monologue to Atsushi who would not remember the speech later. You casually strode out of the warehouse seeing the others already surrounding the building, hearing the ruckus inside. You didn’t speak, only waved them in as you made your way back to Dazai seeing that the dust had already settled and Atsushi was already on the ground. After everyone else got to take a jab at him the brunette finally spoke.

“I’ve already made my decision. We’re going to make them one of us.”

You sighed in relief when he gestured to you as well. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume he meant "them" as in plural when that's not always the case. Regardless, your personal mission was accomplished. It was enough to be lumped in with Atsushi but you weren’t out of the woods yet. It was enough to get you through the night. If you didn’t wake up from this dream you’d still have the entrance exam to worry about. Then the matter of how much you give away about possibly having an ability and next being able to live the lie you’ve crafted. As a writer it shouldn’t be that hard to craft yourself a solid backstory but there was still no proof of your existence outside waking up at the riverside. You’d have to be careful but you were up for the challenge. After all, what have you got to lose?

Chapter 1 | Next Chapter =>

[mickeys-malarkey]

I can't hold my Bendy theories in anymore!!

I've only got a few people to infodump to about Bendy IRL, I'm just so excited after watching the BATDR trailer and reading all the new theories that I can barely sleep or get any work done, and now that we have an official release date they can't chicken out if my theories are correct rofl. So, here I go!

Fair Warning: There's no way to avoid it, this is gonna have so many spoilers for all the current Bendy games and books (well, except BINR. But there's also not really a story in that one) that I'm just gonna have to assume that if you're still reading past this point, you've either already played/read the entire series (obviously minus BATDR) or you don't care about spoilers!

Pt. 1/3: Expanding (Mostly) On My TIOL Thoughts

As I said in my thought summaries here and on Twitter, I hate Nathan Arch. Dude literally sets off every single alarm bell I have, I don't understand why nobody else seems freaked the heck out by him… *shudders* I'm convinced that he's the answer to theMeatly's question.

To start off, I'd like to point out that… Nathan says his notes exist to “provide context for the contemporary reader,” which sounds like he's just gonna be stating general historical facts every reader would've known when the book was originally published but might not know when it was republished and are necessary to understanding what Joey's saying. But that's not what the notes are like at all? They actually consist of very personal information that readers at the time of original publication couldn't possibly have known and definitely aren't necessary to understanding what Joey's saying; and the vast majority seem to specifically be either 1: flip-flopping between singing Joey's praises and making remarks he really shouldn't be making if he were actually trying to dispel the negative rumors around the man as he claims, or 2: confirming or denying descriptions of himself?? 🚨

It feels like he's trying to manipulate us into seeing Joey as a genius and saint whose inventions we should accept with open arms whilst simultaneously positioning the guy as a scapegoat to take all blame in case we don't, and into seeing Nathan himself as an intelligent and kind man who definitely respected and admired Joey and, of course, would never, ever mistreat him, preemptively discrediting any rumors about him being an abusive friend that might crop up. Even when Joey makes comments that in no way cast him in a bad light— Joey be like “oh Nathan loved creative people and even though he would never understand us wanted to be us” and Nathan be like “actually no I like myself fine, and also no I dislike creatives in general, they're boring and too self-indulgent. It's specifically Joey that I admired, and therefore I admired his creativity specifically by extension. Isn't it just like Joey not to see the compliment—?” Um, no?? No, Nathan, that sounds absolutely nothing like Joey; he's literally been enraptured by every statement or action that could possibly be construed as complimenting him in this book. Did you just indirectly end your relationships with every other creative you've ever met so that nobody would believe anyone who claims that you looked down upon Joey? 🚨🚨

Let me get into some of the more unique notes from Nathan.

“The first time I read this [Elves and the Shoemaker] story it meant a great deal to me. Joey, as he said in his introduction, was never one to talk about his past. He never spoke about his parents. I certainly never met them. I don't even remember how I learned his father made shoes. So to get a glimpse back at this part of his life, for an old friend, it was very special. I remember telling Joey all this after I read the manuscript back in ‘41. He just smiled.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 23

With the way this note happens right before Joey practically spells out that he trusts nobody and denies everyone even the most innocuous information out of self-preservation in the very next story, it does not feel like Nathan's sharing a heartwarming moment between friends. It feels like he's bragging about his position and accomplishments in their predator-and-prey relationship; like he's proud of himself for slowly breaking Joey down and eventually getting him to divulge info he'd been denying him. If your parents lived nearby and were perfectly lovely people, why do you think that you would neither talk about them with nor introduce them to someone who was supposedly one of your closest friends? I'll get into why I think he finally gave the info up in a bit.

In the Lottie story, if Nathan had only said that he wasn't sure the letter exchange had actually happened, I would've been like “yeah sure, we all know Joey's a liar. 🤷🏻‍♀️” But no, he specifically eases us from confirmation of Eckhart and Donaldson's existences even though he claims to have only briefly met them, to claiming Joey was such a good storyteller he could make you think you personally met someone who never existed even if he'd literally just told you that they were imaginary, to casting doubt on the very existence of a girl he was described as having been known by name to outside of the letter exchange.

“I met Joey the following year at the lab and only briefly had the chance to meet [Private Donaldson and Private Eckhart]. They were every bit the characters Joey describes them to be.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 27

“When I first read this I forgot, despite Joey saying as much, that this was fiction, and spent far too much time racking my brain over who this James [who Joey says he told Lottie he met when he came by the lab to say hi to me] was. Joey is so good with his storytelling that even when he tells you it's not real, you can forget a moment later.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 37 (emphasis added)

“I have gone through every piece of correspondence Joey ever saved as part of my work preserving his memory and documenting his life, and I must confess I was looking forward to reading Lottie's letters in person, having been moved to tears reading this part of the manuscript thirty years ago. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find them. It is possible they were lost to time, and I do deep down hope that to be true. However, even if this story is revealed to be one of Joey's excellent fictions, I think it doesn't really matter. Joey would, of course, call it another example of his illusion. I think the message in the story is meaningful regardless whether it really happened or not. And regardless if Lottie actually herself existed or not, she is a fine embodiment of the brave women who served our country in war.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 41 (emphasis added)

I absolutely do not think this is a reality check, I think Nathan's trying to erase Lottie's existence – even gaslighting anyone who knew her in real life into thinking they'd imagined her – to throw us off the “Joey's Illusion of Living ‘philosophy’ is literally just the coping mechanism of an extremely traumatized man” scent; I wonder if Lottie actually fell victim to suicide shortly after writing to Joey that she was spiraling into a deep, dark depression, and Joey made up everything that happened after that specific letter in order to cope with the loss – pretend that “my dear friend isn't dead despite being sent somewhere there was no actual fighting where I thought she'd be safe; I saved her life and she's living a Happily Ever After overseas, married to a handsome young British soldier” – rather than just the goodbye letter to wrap her story up in a neat bow… Maybe Nathan even helped him pretend she was still alive in order to endear himself to this literal kid who was destroyed with grief?

Speaking of which, does nobody find the circumstances under which Nathan and Joey met… concerning? Nathan says “we knew each other since we were teenagers,” which sounds fine until you realize they met because Joey lied about his age and joined the army while still a minor, where he was bullied and pressured into things like underage drinking by grown-@$$ legal adults, multiple of which were also of higher rank. And not only was Nathan one of those grown-@$$ legal adults of higher rank and definitely bullying him just like the others (“I swear I definitely didn't join the other guys in giving him that Real Man™ complex of his like he says—” yeah, sure, Nathan, I totally believe you /s. 🙄), but clearly his horrifying apparent hobby that I'll explain next was already established at the time, seeing as Joey saw the photo of Ivan Newsome dying in agony with his own eyeballs when Nathan introduced him to Walter Richmond… 😬🚩

I'm convinced that Walter, Arthur, and Isabel were three of Nathan's previous victims, and they mirror the relationships he has with Joey, Allison, and Susie.

Walter looking at Nathan “as if asking permission to speak” before engaging Joey in conversation (Nathan nudges us towards believing they had no prior relationship by stating that he was flattered by Joey's observation that he had a way of introducing anyone so that it felt like they were his guest even if he'd just met them… but technically neither confirms nor denies anything 👀) has creepily similar vibes to how Joey “just smiled” in response to Nathan's gushing over the info on his parents; I feel like Joey gave up the info because he had to jump through hoops in order for Nathan to give him permission to publish his book— to be able to get the thing out the door without tripping any of Nathan's “Joey's disobeying and must be punished” alarms. Also, notice how Walter mysteriously had “a lot of people who knew him, but nobody who wanted to claim the title of ‘Walter's friend…’” and how the only people Joey's apparently still in contact with in BATIM are A: one of Nathan's (confirmed) employees, B: a janitor who didn't even realize Joey would remember him so definitely doesn't have enough of a relationship with Joey for Nathan to consider him a threat, and C: a shady veterinarian (wouldn't be surprised if he works for Nathan, as well). It's a classic abuser's tactic to isolate and villainize their victim so that they have no choice but to rely on the abuser; I'll get into more reasons I think that was happening in a bit.

I find it suspicious how Arthur not only personally delivers Ivan's effects to his sister Isabel, just tells her what happened which you'd expect someone with such fresh and debilitatingly severe PTSD to be very reluctant to do, and sticks around to befriend her, but also attends her art show showcasing Walter's war photos— it feels like someone was forcing Arthur to do all of this behind-the-scenes, and maybe the firecracker scene wasn't just about Isabel punishing the rich people for their morbid fascinations, but also Nathan punishing Arthur for being difficult about the situation behind-the-scenes. Meanwhile, Joey just happens to hire this random voice actress to replace Susie who we know just happens to be working for Nathan by the time BATIM happens, the memo that she had been hired specifically marked “don't deliver to Susie” just happens to make it into Susie's possession (seeing as she paraphrases it to Henry), Allison seems to know full well that Joey can't fire her when he tries to in DCTL, and then, by TLO, something has apparently happened to where Tom's been rehired which neither he nor Joey had any choice in and he doesn't wanna talk to anyone about (I doubt it was just all the deaths in DCTL, especially considering Joey went from his furious “I never want to see you again” attitude to begging Tom to come back. We've only heard him beg once before, which I'll get into later), and Tom and Allison have bizarrely switched opinions on the situation and machine (Allison changing from “your invention is amazing, Tom! Why are you stuck on the bad parts of the situation?” in DCTL to “I don't understand why you accepted this job back” in TLO, and Tom changing from “horrible things happened because of my machine, I wish I'd never been ensnared by this place” in DCTL to “why doesn't Ally understand? You don't just abandon a miracle” in TLO)—? It seems to me like Allison was never truly Joey's employee, she was Nathan's employee the whole time (which puts Joey's refusal to attend her and Tom's wedding in a whole new light), and Joey wasn't the only one punished for his failures and attempts to override the steel tycoon's authority.

To reiterate, since I saw some people being confused about the massive change: even with the memory loss issue, Allison's opinion in BATDR is just a natural progression from when the something happened between DCTL and TLO. 😛😬

Anyways, I get the distinct impression that creating situations like these to turn people into murder puppets without anyone being the wiser he was even involved is a hobby of Nathan's.

“…I am glad that he wrote [the murder mystery story] down this one time. It helps me to remember Joey at his most charming and sharp. Later years he became too fixated on things he might have gotten wrong, there was too much guilt and worry, too much fear. It didn't feel like the same man at the end, that's for sure.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 98

You can't tell me that doesn't sound like he gets off on seeing how absolutely ruthless he can make his victims whilst still having them believe they're in the right and he's bitter as heck that one of his favorite pet projects came to his senses and was haunted by his conscience later in life— he literally just admitted he preferred a Joey who admired a murderer and thought that allowing people to die and getting murdered himself must've been worth it for Walter because now he has the immortality of being in a fascinating story instead of having lived in mediocrity over a Joey who felt guilt.

On that note, I absolutely do not believe Nathan's note on Henry's story was him trying to get the truth out about Henry being a despicable person. This is actually the chapter that first clued me in on Nathan's creepiness when I did my ADHD “skim the whole book except reading all the way through anything that looks especially interesting before properly reading” thing I do.

“Joey has always been a professional person, far more so in many ways than me. That is why this section of the book is so forgiving of the man who abandoned the studio he helped create. Joey can't help but see the good in people. That being said, as a good friend of Joey's, I know that Henry's departure was a great upheaval for him and a great personal betrayal. Joey never truly forgave Henry, and I don't think he should have felt obligated to. The fact that Joey is so gracious in this part of the book is a reflection of his incredible generosity in allowing Henry Stein to be stainless in the eyes of history. I think, had he lived longer, Joey might have in later years called it his greatest illusion.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion Of Living, pg. 155

At first I found his saltiness funny, but then I read Joey's actual descriptions and… he's very clearly trying and failing to put down an amazing person, not build up a horrible one. I wondered why Nathan would be claiming the opposite and I realized— it sounds like he's admitting to being Dead Sea Level salty that Joey got terminally ill specifically because he's certain that, if he hadn't, he would've eventually been able to fully convince Joey that Henry was the villain rather than himself and therefore Joey wouldn't have reached out to the animator towards the end of his life in BATIM. Which leads me to my next observation:

I think Joey's play, “The Angel and The Devil,” was about Henry and Nathan.

I don't care that the Shoulder Angel is played by Abby and the Shoulder Devil is played by Joey, lol; that doesn't matter when you look at the actual content. I want you to read this excerpt:

Angel: [Empathy] is a wonderful talent that also leads [humans] down dark paths. Devil: Thank goodness for dark paths, they lead all great artists to their greatest creations. Angel: Empathy is your provenance then? Devil: We share it— for you it leads men to reach out and help, build hospitals, begin charities… Angel: For you it allows men to achieve their greatness through manipulation and fear. Devil: Is it not wonderful?

Going back to the murder mystery story, Walter and Isabel's thought processes perfectly match what the Shoulder Devil in Joey's play is described as using empathy to inspire humanity to do:

Walter was inspired to let Ivan die so that his photo – his art – would have a more compelling story that tugs at the heartstrings.

Isabel was inspired to kill Walter for the crime of letting Ivan die, masterfully manipulating her confession so that it technically wasn't a confession, instilling fear of herself in everyone present with the fact that if she did do it then she was untouchable legally thanks to her money, and finally, she was fully convinced that she would also be untouchable socially— even be better off, because people would see her as a hero for delivering justice to a monster like Walter.

Going back to BATIM, Joey literally says this to our faces:

“The truth is, you were always so good at pushing, Henry… Pushing me to do the right thing. You should've pushed a little harder.” ~ Joey Drew, Bendy and the Ink Machine, ch. 5

Does that not sound like Henry was good at using empathy to inspire kindness/etc. the way the Shoulder Angel is described as doing (Joey's actually very right that empathy is a morally neutral phenomenon that can be used for good or evil! *Spoken with hyper-empathetic autistic/low-to-no-empathy autistic solidarity*)?

The Angel and Devil also say that whichever of them the man they were assigned to doesn't choose will have to leave. This tells me that the ending of Joey's play – where it's implied the man the angel and devil were assigned to chose the angel – was read rather than acted out (with the excuse that they for some reason couldn't pick a random person to play him out of the crowd like they did for the Hatcheck Girl) in order to symbolize how Joey wanted to choose his true friend and make the toxic one leave, but he had that choice taken away from him when Henry was driven away despite his best efforts. In other words, I think both his version of the friend breakup story and Henry's version have elements of truth and deception to them.

Anybody notice that it seems like Wally and Tom seemed to have been being pitted against and told lies about each other as well as having their work sabotaged by an unknown third party?

“So here's my beef with this whole Gent thing. I went to school, yeah that's right— me! Star Student at Brickmore High. I know my potatoes! So where's this ‘Mr. Connor’ fella get off telling me what to do? These college boys. They can tell ya what's wrong but if you try to fix it on ‘em. They're outta here!” ~ Wally Franks, Boris and the Dark Survival

“Not all of us are well connected, son. Not all of us have chances. Especially to get a job as an engineer when I ain't had no proper education and training.” ~ Thomas Connor, Dreams Come to Life, pg. 252

“If there's one loose bolt around here we're gonna have a whole mess of trouble. And wouldn't you know it, that Wally guy is one loose bolt! He keeps the floors clean he says, he didn't sign on for no science project. All I know is someone needs to keep these pipes maintained. And he can't be a slacker.” ~ Thomas Connor, Boris and the Dark Survival

Wally thinks he's being looked down upon for not having gone to college like Tom (who didn't go to college) and his efforts to help out are not just unappreciated but met with unreasonable emotional response. Meanwhile, Tom thinks Wally's being selfish and lazy and leaving all the work to be done by him. Sound familiar?

“…Henry left for his own reasons, and the correspondence between us became less and less. To be honest, it almost felt like a weight off when he left. He had grown more sensitive as the studio became more successful and giving him pep talks had become exhausting for me. All the good qualities he brought, the hard work and diligence, were being undermined by a restless need for something different. Something that wasn't Bendy. I'll never understand that drive. Bendy was and is perfection.” ~ Joey Drew, The Illusion of Living, pg. 176-177

“Only two weeks into this project and already it's gotten interesting. Joey is a man of ideas… And only ideas. When I agreed to start this whole thing with him I thought there would be a little more give and take. Instead I give, and he takes. I haven't seen Linda for days now. Still, someone has to make this happen. When in doubt, just keep drawing Henry. On the plus side, I've got a new character I think people are gonna love.” ~ Henry Stein, Bendy and the Ink Machine, ch. 3

Joey thinks that Henry was being unreasonably emotional and looking down upon Bendy as not good enough (when he obviously loved the character/cartoons), and that his efforts to help were unappreciated. Meanwhile, Henry thinks Joey was being a selfish, lazy leech and leaving all the work to be done by him.

Is it really a stretch at all to wonder if Henry and Joey were similarly being pitted against and told lies about each other as well as having their work sabotaged by an unknown third party? Maybe the exact same third party?

This makes me very suspicious about who was really behind the worrying newspaper in Joey's apartment; something tells me that Joey's Shoulder Devil successfully pushed his Shoulder Angel off that right shoulder. Twice. I can see Nathan thinking “fine, if you won't give up on this stupid animator, I'll use this opportunity to remove him from the picture permanently and poetically…”

Is Joey's being so touched by the memory of Isabel “angelically” helping Arthur during his war flashbacks an “I wish my Shoulder Angel would come save me?” And is his horror at the descriptions of Shell Shock (PTSD) as basically a time loop foreshadowing that he ends up trapped in a real time loop, himself, by Nathan's sadistic design? I think it's likely, especially after reading @dreamfisher-nux's posts speculating on Wilson's identity. If he's the Gent worker who stole Shaun's tool belt in BATDS and “somebody” who stole Tom's invention in Allison's BATIM Chapter 5 letter, and that invention was the seeing tool, so Wilson's the one that's been tampering with Henry's invisible messages, and he potentially murdered Henry and Joey when Henry returned at Joey's request… How much of this and how much more might he have been doing under Nathan's influence? Is he another one of Nathan's Murder Puppets? 👀

I think all the Henry stuff also explains why Joey claims that Sammy, Jack, and Norman were hired after Mr. Animator left despite the evidence in BATIM and DCTL that Sammy and Norman knew him personally. The only two versions of events he's being allowed to hear are “Henry leaving is your fault and your feelings about the situation are unreasonable” and “Henry was an awful person, you should be glad he's gone.” Nathan would never allow him to hear “it's Nathan's fault and your feelings about the situation are valid,” so he's gotta choose between believing two very painful other options; why wouldn't he try to discredit the most painful one?

While we're adding to the list of people who Nathan seems to have made disappear Mafia Boss-style, it sure seems awfully convenient that the two main Crack-Up Comics artists’ names “appear to have been lost to time” after they wrote a comic where Bendy (Joey) was literally sweating over how Boswell (Nathan) was the richest cat in the world and could crush him like a bug if he didn't perform his job to satisfaction…

…Sounds to me like Nathan did something to shut these two people up so that word of the true nature of his and Joey's relationship wouldn't get out.

Also, interesting how the disappearances of not only a reporter-in-training and the sister of two well-known entertainers but also the only son of the richest, most influential and most dangerous man in Atlantic City didn't get Mr. Joey “Bankrupt From Impulsive Spending Who Apparently Doesn't Even Have The Power To Fire His Own Employees (and ‘Employees’) Nor The Respect Of Enough People To Not Be Giggled At And Whispered About During His Own Speech At His Own Party” Drew and all of his employees arrested or worse… In fact, from the new teaser and archive images that came out, we now know the studio survived for almost two years afterwards before filing bankruptcy and closing forever…

…at which point Joey was mysteriously missing for a while. This is pretty much pure speculation, but I wonder if it could be that Joey's need for a wheelchair stems from an injury sustained in this time? Mr. Mafia Boss decided he needed his kneecaps busted or something?? At any rate, it sounds to me like Joey had someone richer, more influential, and more dangerous than Mr. Chambers “on his side…” until he failed too many times, and needed to be punished more severely? 👀

“Again I shook my head. Didn't [Constance] understand that this was not how it worked? She hadn't lived in my world. Any company that could afford such a machine, that could hide it, that had such dark huge secrets, they had to be protected by something huge as well.” ~ Bill Chambers, Bendy: The Lost Ones, pg. 191

Then, ink machine things continued at Gent… until the year Allison and Tom got married.

Sounds to me like Gent might've been condemned in order to punish Allison and Tom either for the very fact that they got married (making them more-difficult-to-control puppets) or because they failed to get Joey to come to their wedding where Nathan could access him in-person again…

This archive entry sounds as if Joey had to go into hiding, perhaps to escape Nathan and/or people like Bill's dad who were waiting for Nathan to rescind his protection? Also, as an animation history nerd, it sounds to me like the Bendy cartoons were picked up by other studios besides Archgate in attempt to reboot them after JDS kicked the bucket (as has happened to countless cartoons whose original studios kicked the bucket in real life, e.g., the Fleischer cartoons, the Hanna-Barbera cartoons, the Veggie Tales cartoons, etc.), and it wouldn't surprise me if these “minor attempts to rekindle the magic” were Joey's feeble attempts at keeping what was left of Bendy out of Nathan's claws. Remember, Nathan didn't say in Crack-Up Comics that he “inherited” the Bendy IP from Joey's estate, he said he bought it, as further confirmed in the final archive entry.

This means Joey did not leave Bendy to Nathan in his will. In fact, it sounds like he either didn't have a will at all or it was destroyed when he died… Anyone notice that Joey's secret BATDS recording, where he asks Nathan for money, is the only time we've heard him sound audibly nervous?

Strange how, in DCTL, Joey calls Bertrum “Bertrum” when introducing him to the most uncomfortable person at his party, who respects him as his boss; it's not until the people who hold financial power over him start whispering and giggling that he introduces him as “Bertie,” as if he wasn't specifically trying to slight Bertrum as the man in question assumed, but instead was trying to assert to all the hungry cats in the room that he was also a cat, rather than a tasty lil mouse for them to devour… Nathan is worse than them? He's able to break Joey's facade of confidence that this crowd of investors could only make him reinforce? What's worse, the investors he tries to persuade like he does everyone else, convince that they should give him money because everything's great… but Nathan, who's supposedly his friend, he begs for money, saying that the one-and-only reason he's asking this is because the situation is dire (implying he has no choice). That's… worrisome.

Funny how, across DCTL, TIOL, and TLO, Joey consistently pulls or feels the urge to pull his cruel pranks on people anytime a new person seems to be hiding things from him or trying to take advantage of him. Buddy after being caught stealing art supplies? Bill after being caught lying about not having knowledge of the ink machine? Sammy when he suspected his deadpan-&-monotone-ness was an act and that he didn't respect him? Almost seems like the pranks are actually the survival mechanism of someone who's had a whole lotta really bad experiences with betrayal, having things hidden from him, getting taken advantage of, etc. rather than just the product of a twisted sense of humor, hm…?

“…inside I was feeling a little angry now. I don't do well when people are disloyal, and this was something I'd expected to be kept between me and Abby. Then I stopped and controlled myself (I have excellent control over my emotions) and realized I had never actually told her there was anything secret about this. I'd have to be more careful in the future. Believe you me, I have been since. A contract is a fine thing to have between colleagues, even finer at times between friends.” ~ Joey Drew, The Illusion of Living, pg. 170-171

“[Sammy] leaned back on both elbows on the stone wall. Beneath him Fifth Avenue roared and certain death would come to anyone who toppled over the edge down onto it. The man definitely had confidence in that wall. I had a sudden urge to give him a shove. Not push him over, but just to see his reaction. This might sound strange, but I needed to see a human moment from him, I needed to see the man he was hiding from me. That's the trouble when you're interested in recreating the illusion of the world. You want to see the truth of it as much as possible.” ~ Joey Drew, The Illusion of Living, pg. 188-189 (emphasis added)

Also, it's weird that, when talking about reuniting with Nathan at the Sparkling Unicorn, Joey claims not to have known Nathan very well in the army but to always have liked his personality… after having claimed to be close enough friends with him that he helped him write fake letters from a fictional character to Lottie, just a few pages earlier. Either Joey's not nearly as good a liar as he's supposed to be… or this discrepancy was created on purpose in an attempt to tell us that Joey only liked Nathan's personality back when they were in the army because he didn't actually know him as well as he thought he did. 👀

This all together…

…really makes one wonder if Joey's little intro to TIOL wasn't him humble-bragging, but genuinely explaining that the reason he took so long to write it was because A: he's been being gaslit to heck and back for decades and genuinely doesn't know what reality is as a result, and B: refusing to write this book was one of the few ways he was able to assert real control over his own life for a very long time…

“Looking back is awkward. Looking back, you can trip yourself up. I've never been a fan of it. Which is why I never had a desire to tell my story. No matter how many book deals were offered, no matter how many dinners were thrown for me. I am a man who makes up my own mind. You can't buy me. No one buys Joey Drew.” ~ Joey Drew, The Illusion of Living, pg. 3

Speaking of the intro, interesting how, as much as Joey tries to claim that his surprise at Simmons remembering his “philosophy” is because Simmons isn't the brightest bulb in the factory, he still gets noticeably hung up on the fact that his words had stuck with someone; it's almost as if the vast majority of people he knew either openly viewed him as a talentless idiot or genuinely were trying to manipulate him as he was so seemingly paranoid about, and he was beyond desperate for any scrap of genuine praise anyone would give him, no…? *Stares at basically every audio log, literally every Nathan note, and every scene where Joey reacted unsubtly ecstatically to compliments and/or irate at any hint someone was looking down on him*

Anyone notice how, throughout his whole memoir, Joey sings the praises of anyone he clearly wants to be like and drags anyone who resembles what he's actually like through the mud? “Omigosh, Sammy is just so talented and powerful and automatically respected and praised by everyone! He's so awesome! 🤩” “Yuck, Detective Sinclair wears a persona to hide how useless and powerless he is and is just so desperate for validation! I hate him! 😤 Btw, this stuff is not what my philosophy is about, I'm actually changing reality here (whatever makes you feel better, Joey /hj).” I guess this leads me into the next section…

Continued in Part Two: Expanding (Mostly) On My DCTL & TLO Thoughts

[kaijuno]

A very dear friend of mine has cancer. I don’t want to make you any more anxious or scared, I just want to send a story so you know you’re not alone.

In short, his answer (I suppose) in keeping some grain of sanity is letting go of every goal you’ve had and every insecurity you’ve had for those goals.

For example, he’s always wanted to try a long zip line but was waiting for the right weather. When he processed the words from hospital staff, he came to my house, used my phone and booked a weekend away so he, myself and a few friends could all go zip lining. Only after he did that, he told me the news. We cried and cried and cried.

Of course it’s easier said than done just to stop worrying about it but his logic is that “I’m going to die some day, I’m not immortal, I’m booking these fucking things before I feel I’m sick. Work can fuck off.” That man is now 5 months off chemo treatment and has that same mindset.

I know it’s not a ‘size fits all’ situation, but I thought talking about Stephen might help. He’s going for some archery lessons next week.

[continued from additional messages]

Actually I want to talk about Stephen more.

When he told me he had cancer, we cried for hours and hours. We confessed things that won’t ever be whispered to another soul and kept promises well into the night.

Now we take turns in booking experiences for him in the friend and family circles. We’ve all got a spare mattress for us and a bed for Stephen incase he feels iffy in the house. He booked the zip line weekend, I booked a table in that county, someone else drove us to the seaside to eat fish and chips in the freezing cold car, another person bought us stand up comedy tickets. He’s booked himself and his partner in for archery lessons next week. I’ve secretly bought him, his partner and his parents tickets to see a west end show and a room for the week at some point in the very near future.

Anyway enough listing. Of course he still gets scared, he’s not immune. We all offer a line incase he needs to talk to us at 3am, the nurses are incredible to him, his workplace is advocating for him to get better sick pay. We all offer a shoulder to cry onto (which has been used many times) without smothering him in false hope and premature grief. He has been off chemo for 5 months but of course he’s scared that it will come back.

Stephen is genuinely incredible and if you ever feel scared about the results of your mammogram, there are lines to call and support groups.

Stephen is a very eccentric and marvellous man. He has tweed waistcoats and a green leather armchair and has a collection of pipes he doesn’t smoke anymore. He’s also very laid back and funny. He cooks incredible curries that will burn the mouth off you. He had a phase of making his own chocolate just to understand how it was made. He has a dog called Frank. Frank is a very old man and he’s got a matching dog cover for him with a hood on it.

He’s the type of man that is a great confidant and is incredibly funny. He plays the banjo and harmonica at the same time just to wind up the neighbours. He’s one of those people that are chilled out, easy to talk to and is just so incredibly silly.

I suspect he has a secret library with original manuscripts from the 12th century or something.

Can you tag everything I’ve said with #stephen ?

[End]

Thank you so much for your messages. His mentality is really the mentality I’m trying to have while I’m in limbo here waiting for results. I’m scared. I might die young. I might lose all my hair and weight and will to fight. I might never get to get married or have kids or own a house.

But that doesn’t matter, it can’t matter anymore because if I spend my time being worried sick, I won’t get to enjoy what time, whether it be months or decades, I have left.

[nicosraf]

sorry if this has been asked before—it probably has—but what was the publishing process for abm?

It hasn’t been asked before! It’s actually kind of strange to me how the majority of my followers now weren’t here for when ABM was being queried and then me discussing how I was gonna publish it. (I’m not sure why it freaks me out; I think I was less of an author then, I was just a guy who wrote a book, and now I’m an “author” and I’m not comfy adjusting).

But basically, Angels Before Man was published through Amazon KDP (and briefly B&N Press but that’s an unresolved long story); it went through a line editor and proofreader that I hired first, and then I paid a cover artist, bought formatting software (Vellum), and posted it. That was it. I did it all pretty quickly too. Not in a sloppy way; indie publishing just goes a million times faster because there’s less people to wait on, and there’s pressure to get things done quickly.

Before self-publishing though, I was querying (sending an email or application with a pitch letter and the first couple chapters of the manuscript) to literary agents with the hopes of getting it traditionally published. During that, I got mostly rejections, but some interested agents and requests for the full book. I joined writing twitter and started posting about ABM and it got quite a bit of attention on there (this will be relevant). I started to get really disillusioned with traditional publishing though; if you want to know why, you can pick up Yellowface by RF Kuang or just spend more than 3 minutes on writing twitter. I realized that ABM, even if it got picked up, would probably get censored, and that I had heavily self-censored myself to try and appeal to agent and editor sensitivities. I was worried it would take several years for ABM to ever get on a bookshelf. There was a lot of talk about debuts not finding their book stocked anywhere, and I realized that ABM might never end up on a bookshelf at all. Authors are being asked to do their own promotion these days; big publishers just say “go viral on Booktok” and throw them to the wolves. I worried about my anonymity.

And maybe this is a stereotypical reason but ABM is very personal, and I knew that it would become an impersonal product the moment I handed it away. I started imagining the marketing they’d do, the things they’d make me say, the cuts they’d make me write. And it’s not that I think I’m a perfect writer who refuses to edit, (I like working with editors), but that I feared they’d turn the book into something else altogether - a husk of itself. So I decided I didn’t want to have a “professional, real, traditional book” and I emailed the agents who had ABM that I would no longer be considering traditional publishing. At this point, I had three options: forget about publishing ABM at all, post ABM on archiveofourown/Wattpad/etc for free, or put in the work and make it an indie book.

I couldn’t forget ABM, because the story wasn’t really over to me (the sequels) but more importantly because people on Twitter and friends wanted it. I considered posting it online for free somewhere, but I had written ABM to be a book. I wanted to see it properly formatted and bound with a pretty cover. I had acquaintances who self-published successfully (Freydis Moon, Kellen Graves), and so I decided to give it a (terrified) shot.

I made a lot of mistakes though. (Distribution for ABM has been a nightmare). I remember in a previous post, I gave the advice that, if you’re interested in self-publishing, you should look into D2D and I stand by that. I’m available for any very specific questions you have! I still love indie publishing and heavily dislike traditional and I love supporting indie authors. Reach out if you need any help with anything!

The publishing process isn’t really over for ABM, of course, given… developments but right now nothing is for sure. (Will ABM get picked up by traditional publishers? Maybe. But maybe not). But this is how things have worked out. Again, let me know if you have any specific questions!! I’m always happy to help.

[morvantmortuary]

Man I want to ask everything but I think I will just go for these: ⛰💁

(I'm delighted you asked me anything! thank you, Nonny <3

this got long, but not as long as the last one, I promise!

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

this is probably pretty obvious for how fucking long it took me, but I'd say spellbound (reprise). I'd thought the Masquerade had been hard up until that point, but jesus, the idea of having to bring it all home and tie it off successfully terrified me. There were lots of things I wanted to make sure I set up for later, but then I wanted to make sure I closed all the things that needed closing in a way that didn't just feel like a cop-out. I think I rewrote the damn thing six times, each time adding a piece that I felt it needed if I wanted it to have any symmetry whatsoever. I have a Hector and Rora segment that I ended up having to cut entirely, as much as I loved it, because I didn't know what half it should go with when I realized I'd have to post it in two without totally wrecking the pace I was trying to keep. I'm planning on posting it separately later, just because I think it's a really interesting look through Hex's perspective, but I feel it's pretty emblematic of how difficult it felt at times to figure out what elements to bring forward and which ones I had to tie off as everyone shifts roles. I don't know how the fuck I thought I was going to have all of this done by Halloween, what the fuck self lmao.

I was also just exhausted from my semester, and kind of having to balance concluding my work for my students with just generally being at a point where everything but writing felt like it hurt because I was so burnt out. I was honestly really nervous when I was writing this at times, because I couldn't tell if I was happy with it before I posted it, or if I was just exhausted here too. And if even writing was starting to feel like it hurt, what was I going to have left?

I think I'm mostly pretty content with it - Maxi and Reader's conversations in that chapter are some of my favorites in the whole Arc - but I think if you gave it to me over again, I'm sure I'd find something I'd want to tweak, or do again slightly to the left. It might even look different when I try to tie it all together in the manuscript version for a pitch contest, we'll just have to see. But for now, I'm pretty okay with it, for it being my first Arc ending and all. :)

💁- Did readers influence change any part of this story?

Hector was supposed to be so awful! He really was supposed to be my main antagonist as the would-be golden boy of They Who Decide, as some of y'all probably guessed when I wrote the Voicemail chapter. Before that, he'd already shifted in my notes from an ER trauma surgeon who maimed and mangled his patients internally on purpose, to a crime scene photographer who was caught meddling with scenes because he couldn't help himself around blood, to finally just being a spirit/Remembrance photographer who also moved around a lot from place to place bc he kept fucking up and attracting attention to himself. I was originally going to have him kidnap the Reader from their house after Maxi told them the truth about the Curse, which was going to lead to a showdown between the two and Rora in a location I wound up cutting from this Arc bc it took too much moving around. But around the same time I was deciding the Reader needed to be the one to have a showdown with Maxi (playing with the Final Girl tradition), I was getting a lot of feedback that people really liked Hector. I mean, I'm sure his fc being Diego Luna helped lmao, but also people just seemed to dig him in a way I hadn't expected! I didn't want to set people up to like him only to have him turn out to be a total fucking monster (although, I dunno, I guess that could have made for an interesting plot twist??), so I started slowly walking him back a bit as I got to know his backstory/figured out his arc for later. Then the longer he kept talking, the more I realized he was just a big space cadet with rage issues and a murder problem, and here we are. :'D Congrats, you guys, you got him an arc!

He and Rora were also supposed to be in a really toxic co-dependent relationship, when I first started planning for them. They're definitely still very close, as we'll see in some flashbacks down the line, but now they're more like mutually exasperated siblings than what I had planned originally. Which is maybe for the best, bc I wasn't even sure how I was going to post some of the things I had planned lmao.

He and Maxi also turned out to be way more dependent on each other than I thought, rather than the original total break-up aftermath I had planned for them. We'll get a look at their relationship too as we go on - they're close in a different way than Hector and Rora or Maxi and Rora, and the way they've been constantly pitted against each other through their childhoods as the two only/oldest sons of twin brothers who both wanted to secure their legacy with They Who Provide has a lot to do with how they see themselves and each other now.

thanks for your interest, nonny, I super appreciate it and I hope this answered your questions! <3)

[songofclarity]

The theory that Nie HuaiSang pushed Mo XuanYu to suicide, especially the theory that he killed Mo XuanYu as some kind of eye-for-an-eye revenge against Jin GuangYao for killing Nie MingJue, doesn't make any sense to me because Jin GuangYao never wanted Mo XuanYu alive to begin with. Jin GuangYao was afraid of Mo XuanYu before they even met. In fact, he was likely more afraid of Mo XuanYu than he had ever been afraid of Nie MingJue!

[Jin GuangYao,] “Do you think that I’m in a steady position, here at the LanlingJin Sect? Do you think that I can rise into power the moment Jin ZiXuan dies? Jin GuangShan would rather bring another illegitimate child back than want me to succeed him! You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I’m afraid of everything, even other people!” (Ch. 49, ERS)

So Nie HuaiSang getting rid of Mo XuanYu would have done Jin GuangYao a favor. I just can't fathom Nie HuaiSang doing Jin GuangYao's dirty work for him at any point in time after Nie MingJue’s death. After all, Jin GuangYao had done a fine job getting started destroying Mo XuanYu’s life without anyone else’s help.

However, before Mo XuanYu [could] achieve success in cultivation and inherit his father’s position, he was driven back.

On top of that, he was driven back shamefully.

Like adding frost to snow, aside from the event itself, when Mo XuanYu returned, he often behaved in a crazy manner, almost as if his life was scared out of him. (Ch. 2, ERS)

Jin GuangYao was already playing with the dangers of incest, but now he’s going to make it work for his benefit. Claiming Mo XuanYu was toying with incest was possibly the one and only thing Jin GuangShan could not have tolerated. Mo XuanYu could have had anyone he wanted! Jin GuangShan knows it best! But his own half-brother? Absolutely not. Mo XuanYu was so psychologically damaged by whatever happened to him that he can’t defend himself. And to the rest of the family, Jin GuangYao is nothing but the victim of Mo XuanYu’s perversion. Jin GuangYao becomes someone they defend from Mo XuanYu.

[Jin Chan, Jin Ling’s cousin], “Mo XuanYu, you still have the face to return?” (Ch. 47, ERS)

It’s a win-win for innocent A-Yao. But Mo XuanYu could always come back if he’s alive. Reputations can be repaired, especially if they were falsely damaged. Mo XuanYu dead? That would be much better, but it’s not a pressing matter once Jin GuangShan is dead and Jin GuangYao is Chief Cultivator.

But to Nie HuaiSang, Mo XuanYu is far more valuable alive. We only get a few hints of what Nie HuaiSang is thinking, and here’s one of them:

[Sisi,] “But after my savior heard about what happened to me, he decided not to let that pretentious, immoral man continue to fool the world.” (Ch. 85)

Mo XuanYu was just another one of Jin GuangYao’s victims. He was a witness to Jin GuangYao's crimes just like Sisi and Bicao. If Nie HuaiSang went to talk to Mo XuanYu as is commonly believed, the evidence points to him trying to get the dirt on Jin GuangYao. Sisi told Nie HuaiSang about the rape-murder of Jin GuangShan. Bicao revealed Jin GuangYao’s incestual relationship with Qin Su. Mo XuanYu, as well, can reveal Jin GuangYao's ties to practicing demonic cultivation.

This is important because the lack of this information drives part of the story. No one knew Jin GuangYao had a hand in demonic cultivation or the Stygian Tiger Seal until the end at Guanyin Temple. Because no one knew this, there were no other suspects except the Yiling Patriarch wrecking havoc at the Burial Mounds before the second siege, and the cultivation world moved just as Jin GaungYao wanted it to move. Jin GuangYao was able to continue pulling strings from the shadows with Su She.

Xue Yang might have been a slim follow-up after Mo XuanYu to pin Jin GuangYao’s connections down, but even Nie HuaiSang’s role with Yi City is tenuous at best. And then Lan WangJi both killed that evidence and Su She whisked it away via teleportation. Jin GuangYao had many crimes, but the malicious use of demonic cultivation he neatly evaded, just as he evaded having to admit to murdering Nie MingJue.

Again, Mo XuanYu was more more valuable to Nie HuaiSang alive than dead.

Let’s still go ahead with the idea that Nie HuaiSang went to Mo XuanYu to ask questions. What happened to Mo XuanYu at Koi Tower? What did Jin GuangYao do that drove Mo XuanYu insane? What demonic cultivation did Mo XuanYu learn from Jin GuangYao? Where is the entrance to Jin GuangYao's treasure room? How does one get into the treasure room?

Don’t forget that Nie HuaiSang is still looking for the rest of Nie MingJue's body at this point. All he has is an arm. Might Jin GuangYao be keeping Nie MingJue's body close to home? Is that why Nie HuaiSang can’t find him? And he’ll find out not much later that yes, he was partially correct. Nie HuaiSang’s reaction in the treasure room could very well be half and half. Half of him suspected as much, but it doesn't change how shocking or disgusting the reality of it is to the other half. The best lies are based on truth, and Nie HuaiSang showing a weak constitution when faced with horrible news and frightening encounters might not have been completely fake.

(Nie HuaiSang was afraid but he didn’t let fear stop him. It’s the one trait he shares with Jin GuangYao, although their means and ends are quite different.)

Nie MingJue’s head was likely in the treasure room when Mo XuanYu was reading Jin GuangYao’s demonic cultivation collection all those years ago. Mo XuanYu could have told Nie HuaiSang of this, except Mo XuanYu might not have been in his right mind to be telling anyone anything of value.

Worse case scenario here is that Nie HuaiSang, as a willing conversationalist about demonic cultivation, stirred Mo XuanYu up from whatever abused docility he'd succumbed to for years. Mo XuanYu was kept locked up and abused and treated like an animal. Now here is someone willing to talk to him like a real person. Just as Nie HuaiSang saved Sisi from her imprisonment, he could have very well have saved Mo XuanYu from his, but the results were wildly different.

Any hints or reveals that Nie HuaiSang is out for vengeance could stir such wishes in Mo XuanYu in turn, his own trauma provoked, his own need for justice inspired. Mo XuanYu moves forward with his revenge just as Nie HuaiSang is trying to move forward with his.

Perhaps Nie HuaiSang name drops Wei WuXian or perhaps he doesn’t, it doesn’t really matter. Mo XuanYu would already have known who is the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Mo XuanYu already knows what evil spirit he needs to call upon for help. Demonic cultivation was likely the only thing he had left to make him feel empowered, and so Wei WuXian is the one who will take care to right all wrongs when no one else will.

Sadly, Jin GuangYao is not on the list of people Mo XuanYu wants revenge on -- because Jin GuangYao is already experienced at making himself look innocent. Mo XuanYu would have had no idea how wronged he was by his half-brother. So Mo XuanYu only wants the death of his immediate family. His immediate abusers.

But Mo XuanYu is missing something: knowing he needs to convey his wishes to Wei WuXian. Without it, Mo XuanYu’s sacrifice is in vain and the both of them die. Or that would have been their fate if Wei WuXian had not figured it out for himself in time.

We already know Jin GuangYao can put an extra piece into a cultivation technique, such as the Collection of Turmoil into Cleansing. It stands to reason that he is just as able to take a piece out of a cultivation technique.

After all, Mo XuanYu got the technique from him. The gap of this knowledge is thus a ticking time bomb just waiting for Mo XuanYu to give it a try and cut the wrong wire. Jin GuangYao also immediately knows and is quite happy to tell everyone the details of what Mo XuanYu did, despite finding out this is Wei WuXian in front of him barely thirty minutes ago and Mo XuanYu was banished years ago:

Jin GuangYao continued, “I’m sure that none of you know this, but back when XuanYu was still at Koi Tower, he had seen a copy of the YiLing Patriarch’s manuscript at my place. The manuscript recorded a dark technique that ‘sacrificed’ one’s body. With the price being the soul and the body, one could summon a powerful spirit to seek revenge in place of themself. Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t be able to test it even if he hit him with a hundred more strikes. It’s because the person who used the technique sacrificed their body willingly. It doesn’t count as a possession at all!” [Ch. 50, ERS]

“I’m sure that none of you know this,” Jin GuangYao says, because this was all a plot of his own secret design. It benefits him now to reveal the truth of Mo XuanYu’s demise just as it doesn’t benefit him to ever reveal the truth of Nie MingJue.

But Mo XuanYu was as much a victim of Jin GuangYao as Nie MingJue. Jin GuangYao made sure they destroyed themselves on their own time rather than holding the blade himself.

Nie HuaiSang might not have been a holy avenger and mistakes were very likely made, but there is a lack of motive and evidence here that he ever wanted or sought Mo XuanYu’s death. Too much damage had already happened by the time Nie HuaiSang arrived on the scene. I can picture him throwing up his arms in despair and letting Nie MingJue’s arm go free onto this already crazy crime scene. Imagine the struggle the whole Lan Sect had had with the arm and now imagine Nie HuaiSang trying to manage it all on his own. He was not having a good time!

Mo Village was already a crime scene and now here was one more piece of evidence. The Lans knew inquiry whereas Nie HuaiSang did not. Let the Lans take the arm and find the rest of Nie MingJue for him. Let Nie HuaiSang continue to play innocent in front of Jin GuangYao. Let the arm claim more of Lan XiChen’s attention than Jin GuangYao.

But then Wei WuXian survived his resurrection trial and was taken in by Lan WangJi.

The next time Nie HuaiSang sees Mo XuanYu is at the Stone Castles, and by seeing Mo XuanYu, he knows immediately that the sacrifice worked.

But just because he knows and he saw doesn’t mean it was Nie HuaiSang’s doing, especially when Jin GuangYao’s bloody fingerprints were already encircling Mo XuanYu’s neck.

[what-the-witch-stuff]

Allright. Elliott thread that nobody asked for. Part 4

The words you read seem to be some alien gibberish? Try these first:

Part 1   |    Part 2     |   Part 3      

Don’t worry guys. It will be over soon, I promise.

Bevore we start: This happened yesterday.

And I basically turned into that iCarly gif, where she’s on the Computer, sippin’ her drink and goes: interesting.

Because look who we have here. Our future husband acting all self-aware? Right after I assumed in my last post that he never talks about the possibility of his failure...

Elliott, do you know that I talk shit about you on Tumblr?

Please stop breaking the 4th wall...

To safe at least some of my ‘credibility’, he followed this up with something along the lines of:

“No, no...I am not fishing for compliments. Which does not mean I don't appreciate them ;) “.

Sure. Whatever.

In comparison to that:

A few in-game days previously, I had a cut-scene with Leah, where the player can suggest that she should organise an art show. And there, Leah openly communicated her fears of ppl not liking her art. I was surprised about how open she was, given that it was probably her 2nd heart event or something (?). It's interesting, how Leah (who I perceived to be more reserved than Elliott), was so willing to let us know about her insecurities. Meanwhile, Elliot seems to brush these thoughts aside rather quickly and returns to his nonchalant, graceful self.

I always thought that from the two of them, it might be Elliott who is more vocal about his emotions. But now, Elliott doesn't seem to wear his heart on his sleeves as much as I thought he would. Which changed the way I think about him quite a bit. Maybe he is more likely to hide behind platitudes and a self-assuring smile, after all.

And what can we take from this, when we would want to write, let’s say a scene with Leah/Elliott friendship dynamic?

What do you guys think?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyways, before I was so disgracefully exposed, I was roasting Elliott’s life choices. To which I now gladly return to.

You see, the "issue" I see with Elliott is, that he plays into a trope:

The brooding hermitic author, who turned his back onto society in favour of finding inspiration in nature.

While this might sound thrilling and "romantic", we know that Elliott is not the best candidate to conform to this lifestyle. Just compare, how we as the player, manage to form quite strong relationships with everyone in Pelikan Town just by talking to them regularly.

We see Elliott outside the beach-area quite often. But aside from Leah, he does not seem to interact with anyone much. I don't know if there are statements about Elliott made by other characters, to have some inkling on how they feel about him. But its quite remarkable, how all other friendships outside to his connection with Leah, are not explicitly known as canon (?).

After a whole year living in this town, previous to our arrival, I would suggest, that Elliott might still be very much an outsider. He even remarks how, with our arrival, it will be nice, to no longer be "the new guy" in town.

But the problem with that might have been Elliott's reservedness, to begin with. Polite, but yet, maybe, quite impersonal. All pleasantries and platitudes as mentioned above. It all plays into Elliott's refusal to experience the comforts of a normal lifestyle in favour of pursuing his art.

And I love how Elliott just brushes that aside as if its nothing. I'd really love to know: what would have been his plan b, if his debut failed?

Worst case cenario: What would he'd done, if he ended up stranded in Pelikan Town, penniless and unsuccessful?

Where would he go? Is there a place he can return to? A previous home, previous friends?

I don't think so.

But, dedicated, impuslive, sweet, dumb Elliott just thought to himself:

“I can do that. How bad can it be???, it will be fi~ne.It will be marvellous!

Authentic, truly!

It will be superb pictouresque and that is all I need to write my novel....”

Thanks Yoba. You’ll keep doing that please.

And then we also have interactions of the likes of:

“People have scaped a living off the sea for thousands of years....

I just go to the grocery store.”

A different thought I had on Elliott kind of plays into what I already said previously. But I will adress it as its own topic.

The downside of Elliott’s ego.

As much as we explored the rather whacky / chaotic elements of his character and how he does stupid shit for prestige itself, it is interesting to see what happens when the player challenges his self-dramatisation.

I keep re-thinking if and to what degree Elliott can laugh about himself.

He is not one for self-deprecating humour, I think.

I can imagine that to be more Shane’s thing.

We see different scenarios, in which Elliott reacts differently to things not going his way. One of the positives is the whole “A tiny crab made a home inside his coat pocket”- story. I have seen two interpretations of this scene. And both are dependent on the tone, in which you read his dialogue. One group thinks he is just complaining yet again.

On the other hand, you could read it more like:

“My, look what we have here. Can you believe that [y/name]?!“.

I think that Elliott does not appear to be angry or annoyed at all in that scenario, too. He could have vented to the player, how he needs a new coat, now.  But he simply leaves it at that. And you know what?

But, there are other times, where Elliott reacts negatively to the player not doing what he wants you to do. Meaning:  your reaction to him or your behaviour in a specific situation. Let's look at his 2nd (?) heart event at the Stardrop Saloon. He comes up to the bar, finds himself in the mood for company, and orders wine for you and ale for himself. 

New Headcanon:

That little crab still lives there! It will probably live there long after you two get married. And he will feed it scraps from the dinner table even though you ask him not to.

Whatever...Sounds Cute. 

My first reaction to that was: “aw, wHaT a GeNtLemAn!!!”. My second reaction was my inner feminist having a temper tantrum because: “how dare a man, to assume what I want to drink!” 

New Headcanon on Elliott and gender roles, anyone? Or is it given, that with him being a good old fashioned lover boy, his expectation on any relationship dynamic might be more traditional?

As much as I find Elliott charming and all, this could be a great red flag and, again, beautiful material for character-conflict. Maybe Elliott needs to learn to not take everything at face value. Maybe he needs to learn, how to take a joke. Especially those made at his expense.

However, when the question arises, what the two of you should drink on, he will not laugh if you say “your doom”.

This is not something he sees as sarcasm or as a joke. In fact, you lose 50 friendship points! Like holy shit. That in itself is not much, but its a game-penalty. He is actively reacting negatively toward you. This is one of the few times, where your decision actively has an impact on the friendship-metre. Of course, that statement could be delivered in a non-joking matter. Which then justifies his reaction.... sure.

But even the fact that Elliott chooses, to not downplay or gloss-over your comment, leaves me with the following interpretation:

He hoped for a charming, flirtatious interaction. All you had to do, was to play along. But you ruined it.

Just imagine a situation with a little bit of miss-communication and a version of Elliott that is a little too proud for his own good and *chef's kiss* we have drama.

Me to Elliott and Farmer-OC: fight! fight! fight! fight! :D

All of you reading right now:

omg can't you just chill??? We are here for the fluff :(((

Also: depending on how it's written, that could be one of Elliott's major character flaws. The one that is not cute at all!

__________________________

I wanted to take some jabs at Elliott's likes and dislikes. But as it turned out: Yes, you can turn Duck feathers into quills. I had this funny headcanon that Elliott wanted to be extra special by choosing duck feathers as his preferred writing instrument. And I was all like: “use a pen!!”.

But then I found out about the Unobtainable Weapons-List and Elliott’s pen is one of them. Okay, whatever. 

And then I asked google how to make quills. And while duck feathers are not the preferred or most popular option, there is also nothing that would speak against it, as long as the feather’s shaft is durable enough. So that theory has flown out of the window pretty quickly as well.

The only thing that comes to my mind instead is, how Elliott would still need a digital manuscript for publishing. But me screaming: “Where is your Laptop Elliott??? You need a computer! Its the 21 century!!!” is not half that funny anymore.

I guess I’ll end it here.

I hope you enjoyed this completely useless stream of consciousness.

I will now continue playing Stardew Valley and indulge in all my other quarantine-born obsessions.

I wish you a wonderful day and happy farming.

[tbehartoo]

Bursting Bubbles

My piece for @thedjwifizine that can be found here. It's full of great art and stories. Check it out!

...

Nino looked up into the scowling face of his favorite seatmate.

“Here you go, Bubbles,” she said as she thrust a mango bubble tea into his hand. “One special of the day from The Boba Bar.” Her other hand slapped a small card onto his sheet music. “And here’s your other three week’s worth of drinks.”

“Aw, Alya you didn’t have to do this,” he held up the card. “This,” he grinned as he took his first sip of the drink, “you definitely needed to do.”

“Well you won the bet fair and square,” Alya huffed as she plopped down into her seat. “You really could find a way to get a harpsichord to sound rockin' when you DJ’ed Kim’s house party.”

“Scoops, I’m surprised you could doubt me,” Nino held a hand to his heart. “It’s like you’ve forgotten that music is my life.” He grumbled toward the music piece he’d been assigned, “It’s not like I’ve spent nearly three grueling years learning this European centered musical theory or anything.” Looking at her smirk he added, “Or that I’d hardly be the first person to experiment with combining old instruments to new music.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Or old music to new instruments.”

The next week it was Nino placing a gift card on Alya’s notepad.

“Your payment for getting me those sources for my music history essay, m’lady,” he said as he bowed to her.

“Nino, what-” she asked as she looked at the card “-what is this?”

Nino felt his face warm up, but he sent a shy smile in her direction as he sat down. “You were saying, the other day, that it’s been forever since you had a mani-pedi, but that they weren’t in your budget at the moment so I figured I’d get one for you as thanks for saving my bacon. I didn’t have time to track down those translations of medieval manuscripts for that Music Development in the Dark Ages assignment, but you did it without my asking.” He grinned at her, “You really took some pressure off of me and I appreciate it.”

She looked at him, back at the card, and back at Nino.

“I don’t remember saying that,” she murmured.

“You were picking at your nails because the color was coming off and said that you’d need to see if Marinette was free for a girl’s night so you could get her to do your nails again,” he said as he started to root around in his bag.

“That was two- three weeks ago?” she said, thinking out loud. She looked at him, but he was obviously avoiding her gaze. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

His head tucked between his shoulders, a turtle pulling into its shell.

“It was easy to remember,” he said. “You had that sparkly red polish. It really drew in the eye. I remember thinking that you had the perfect hands for playing the piano right before you said it.” He quickly looked away again.

Alya was quiet for a moment before smiling up at him.

“That seems like a really nice compliment coming from a musician like yourself,” she reassured him. She looked back at the card. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this place.”

“It’s, uh, one of the local beautician schools,” he told her. “You were right about mani-pedis being a bit pricy, but my cousin is going there to learn to cut hair, and she said the girls in the nail class are crazy talented and eager to get someone not a relative to paint on, and it only costs about a fourth of what the pros charge.” He shrugged. “This way you can have like half a dozen manicures for the price of one.”

Alya lunged at him and caught him in a tight hug.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” she cried before releasing him. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Miss Cesaire, if you are quite done groping Mister Lahiffe I’d like to start the class,” the voice of Doctor Agreste cut through the lecture hall and every head snapped toward them.

Alya’s face was nearly as warm and red as his own.

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked as she pulled her arms back to her side.

“Now if we may?” the professor’s curt voice took control of the class.

“Groping,” Nino mumbled. “He calls one little hug groping.” He pulled out a composition that Madame Mendeleiev had assigned just that morning. “I’d like to show him groping.”

He was startled out of his grumbling when Alya whispered, “Me, too.”

Only three more weeks and I’m out of this class and I never have to see this man’s stupid face again, Nino thought to himself. At least after today it’s just student presentations before the final.

They had finally reached the Contemporary Era and the man was butchering even the easiest movements! And don’t get him started on the composers. He’d wasted over half the lecture trying to explain that Richard Wagner wasn’t really an antisemite, but that Nazi sympathizers, mainly Adolf himself, just liked his music so much and thought it expressed National Ideals perfectly! The man wasn’t even a composer in Contemporary times!

And that just served to take time away from some real pioneers of the era like Laura Anne Karpman whose music can be found literally anywhere. Or what about Meredith Monk who includes operas amongst her compositions, since Doctor Agreste seemed to be hung up over Wagner’s damn Ring Cycle. Of course he didn’t mention Yihan Chen the brilliant Chinese pianist and composer. And though the man would fawn and dote on child prodigies like Wolfgang Mozart all day, he wouldn’t give the time of day to “Bluejay” Greenberg who could hear several compositions in his head at the same time and then be able to write them with minimal correction.

Just, UGH!

Nino was done with this entitled little man and the racist ideology he’s attempting to spread about. He was certainly spreading something, but it smelled more like fertilizer than anything else to Nino’s mind.

He could tell that Alya was concerned about his agitation, he’d been clenching his pencil so hard he heard it crack, but he refused to look in her direction. She had a great talent for sniffing out these kinds of things and if he looked at her right now, he’d probably see his frustration reflected on her face and do something dumb- like start an uprising in the middle of class. He really couldn't afford to take this class again.

As soon as they were out the doors Alya started ranting about how it was obvious that Doctor Agreste didn’t even bother to check Wikipedia for sources. She made her opinion known that the good doctor didn’t like the era because more people were included in writing and performing it rather than just white, Western-European men who were either wealthy or had wealthy patrons. And stopped mid rant.

Nino looked at her and watched as Alya got an idea. By the look on her face it was a genius idea: an Evil and Genius idea if the cackle was anything to go by.

“Whatever you’re planning, I’m in,” he declared.

“I haven’t even told you my idea yet.”

“I can tell by your expression alone that it’s going to be the best idea ever,” he said with a smirk. “So want to let me in on our plan?”

She explained her idea and Nino’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, that man is going to regret crossing paths with us,” he chuckled. “Can you come over tonight? I’ve got plenty of stuff we’d need for the music portion of the presentation.”

She shook her head. “I need at least one day to fact-check my notes and another to find accurate sources. Are you busy Saturday?”

Nino thought for a moment. “I’m free in the morning, but I have a wedding I’m playing for in the evening.”

“Okay that gives me a little more time for research.” She smiled up at him. “So, Saturday morning we’ll meet up to pull things together?”

Nino nodded in agreement.

“Great,” she said, “That’ll give us Sunday to type up the report and Monday to practice for our presentation on Tuesday.”

“Tell me the truth, Alya,” Nino looked at her, “Is this too much? Are we crazy to put together a spite presentation in one weekend? At the end of the semester?” He brushed a bit of her hair out of her face and tucked it carefully behind her ear. “You already have so much to do for all your other classes. I don’t want this to be something that stresses you out or makes you do something that hurts you.”

Alya reached up and patted his cheek before replying.

“Nino this is going to be so much fun that I doubt I’ll even notice how much work it is,” she grinned at him fully. “I might pull an allnighter here or there, but I promise you that I’m taking care to not do too much. I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think we could do it.”

He held her gaze for a moment then sighed.

“Okay, let’s ruin this man’s whole career.”

She laughed loud and pulled him toward the school’s cafe. Obviously this called for copious amounts of snacks and his precious bubble tea.

Tuesday dawned bright and clear. A perfect day to teach about the subtleties of Contemporary music while simultaneously displaying the ignorance and prejudice of the most hated music teacher on campus. Nino sipped at his Thai tea with coffee pudding as he contemplated Alya’s plan of attack. It was a nice simple plan, but it needed something. Seeing a familiar outline hurrying across campus brought a smile to his face. The final nail in Doctor Agreste’s coffin just made itself known. He hurried across the quad to see if he could catch up with Madame before she reached her office.

An hour later he stood at the podium inserting the thumb drive into the computer for the projector.

“Good morning everyone,” Alya began. “As you all know we’ve had to jump over and through many musical ages and movements. That meant we had to skim through a lot of really interesting information. Nino and I decided to do a little bit of music through the ages for the Contemporary Era for you all. Now, get ready to get funky!”

That was his cue. He started the Powerpoint and Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” began to blast from the room’s speakers while Elmer Fudd stabbed a spear into the ground singing, “Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit!”

“Welcome to Neoromanticism,” he called to those present.

The presentation went off without a hitch. Madame Mendeleiev had managed to slip in before their presentation and had stayed to the end of class. It was with great delight that Nino watched the Dean of the Music Department approach Doctor Agreste and congratulate him on the quality of his students’ final presentations. She even approached Alya and complemented her on the amount of research she’d done to be ready for the day. Then she turned to him.

“An adequate presentation, Nino,” she said with no trace of humor in her words. “Your compilation was a little heavy on the electronic music and light on the serialism, but I suppose that’s only to be expected with where your interests lie,” she paused, “and in light of the time constraints.”

He gulped and nodded his head. He knew she’d pick up on that.

“Please, send me a copy of your presentation at your earliest convenience.”

His eyes snapped up from the floor to meet hers. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight upturn to the corners of her mouth or not, so he chose not to comment on it.

“I think I might incorporate it into my opening lecture next semester,” she remarked so offhandedly that Nino was sure he was hearing things. “It’ll be an excellent introduction to modern music for the freshmen.” She nodded to him before moving off to catch professor Agreste on his way out the door.

Alya was grinning from ear to ear and practically vibrating where she stood. He turned to her and had a fraction of a second to brace for impact as she’d thrown herself in his direction. Her arms were around his waist as she pulled him into a hug. He returned the hug with matching enthusiasm.

“We did so good!” she squealed.

He looked down into her grinning face and returned the smile.

“Hell yeah, we did,” he replied. “This calls for a celebration.” It was only then that he realized he still had his arms around her shoulders. Then again she was still holding on to him. He pulled back but kept hold of her hands. “I know you have another class in an hour, but do you want to go get boba to celebrate?”

She smirked up at him. “Only if you’ll let me treat you to dinner at Sabine’s tonight.” She looked to the side as she added, “And then we could go check out that concert in the park you mentioned yesterday.”

His mouth suddenly went dry. That sounded a lot like an actual date. Like a real date with this girl he knew he’d started crushing on some time this semester. What else could he do?

“Sounds great, but you have to let me bring pizza and dessert to our study date on Thursday night.”

Her laugh sent a tingle down his spine. “It’s a date!”

[mintvender]

Hi there! Can I request the boys' reaction to you being jealous? Maybe Y/N saw someone flirt with the boys'? 💓

Ooh yes, enjoy 🌿💚💚

Harem!AU

BTS’s Reaction to You Getting Jealous

Warning: Slight suggestive moments, killing ( please keep in mind that this story is set in a historical setting where killing was considered to be a normal occurrence)

Masterlist

Kim Taehyung

You and Taehyung were on one of your guys’ rare missions set out by the organization. Even if you are the ruler, your original roots are from the organization so you are obligated to carry a mission when needed. This mission is one of those that is set in a very luxurious brothel. The target is a wellknown business man who has a hobby of meeting up with beauties at night. To say the least, every beauty that is here tonight is more than what meets the eyes. Most would say that they are desperate for money, others would think that they are born from lust, itself; however, whatever way an individual choose to believe, it all comes down to their first night together. Once they have done the deed, those people are forever hooked with those venomous snakes.

Your guys’ organization is very hidden even in the underworld, so all members must wear a covering to prevent exposing their identity. Y/N was wearing a full on mask that represent your alias ‘ Pheonix’. Unlike you, Taehyung chosed to be more revealing and risky, wearing only a thin black veil that can easily be ripped off. Of course, with his not very strong physique, it is extremely risky for him to wear such a frail covering but you decided not to say anything as it is in his right to wear anything he wanted to. But what you are going to do is stick by his side while holding a sword for the rest of the night.

Like any other missions, this one went smoothly. You both managed to finish the guy without anyone noticing courtesy to your deathly abilities and Taehyung’s sharp mind. What didn’t go as plan was that one of the snakes managed to ripped Taehyung’s veil off, revealing his pretty face. Further more, the ‘beauty’ thought that it would be alright to flirt and woo him into her bed. Furious at how daring she was, you decided that it was finally time to end her career. Unsheathing your sword, it only took a few movements of your experienced hand for the deed to be done. Taehyung, confused at what had happened could only offer you a stunned expression. Deciding not to answer him, you sped up your pace, leaving him to run after you. Ignoring him on the way, Taehyung could only pout, trying to get you to forgive him. When he finally managed to forced an answer out of you, he found himself snuggling himself in your hold, trying to persuade you to forgive him; promising that he would not be that reckless again.

“ Y/NNNN, talk to me please? I won’t do it again. I will stick to your side the next time we’re on another mission so forgive me. Please?”

Kim Namjoon

Have you ever have an apprentice that never leaves your side the moment they saw you? Well congratulations, this is one of those scenarios. Recently, you have decided to start enlisting many potential talents for the countless open spots in the various offices. Unsurprisingly, the medicinal department was also short of staff so they were in need of receiving more apprentices. As the head of the department, Namjoon has the final say on who is allowed to enter the department. Lucky for him not for you tho, there are many unpolished gem that wants these positions. Being the wise person he is, he managed to earn the respect of many adolescents on the very first day. All of them were curious children who needed a mentor to help guide them in order to become successful. To Namjoon, there was a particular apprentice that stood out to him. She was very interested in medicine and is highly intelligent in the field so he decided to let her be his private apprentice— who stays by his side every second he is in office and maybe even more.

Anyways, with how much that little girl is staying with Namjoon, it would make sense that she would also accompany him for your monthly checkup as well. The moment you saw that girl walk through the door, you were stunned. Stunned for Namjoon breaking the organization’s rules, and stunned that the girl managed to catch Namjoon’s attention that he was willing to even set his life on the line for her. Before Namjoon could explain the reason of that girl being there, you decided that it was within your right to kick the both of them out. Now, this might be the reason listed above and could be more but for Namjoon, he interpreted your commands as a warning. That if he were to expose his identity, he will absolutely receive none of your help and will have to deal with that on his own.

Acknowledging that you were probably right, he decided to reassigned the girl to another physician after your multiple attempts of ignoring him — not wanting to get in between his problems as it’s too risky. The next time you guys’ had a monthly checkup, the girl was nowhere in sight but your silent treatment still remained firm. Knowing that it was his fault, Namjoon could only apologize and would not do it again. He then slowly walked over to the desk near your bed and began making a concoction of herbs to help calm you down. However, unlike his usual calm self, he had clumsily shattered a few bowls while at it. Y/N could only sighed before bending down and cleaning it up before going over to him to check on his wounds. How could you let your intelligent yet clumsy physician if he were to break things everytime he crawl back to you and apologize?

“ I apologized, Y/N. I was not in my right state of mind to consider the possible risks that it would bring to our organizations. I was too excited when I saw her thesis that I completely lost my rationale.”

Jung Hoseok

Because of his wretched father, Hoseok found himself having to return to his old home every couple of weeks. His father had complained to you that Hoseok was neglecting his maternal family the moment that he was wedded to you. Y/N, not wanting to create a bigger mess, managed to convince Hoseok to return to his home every once in awhile which leads us back to the current situation. Before Hoseok got wedded to Y/N, he already had a fiancé which he has bonded throughout most of his childhood. Of course, Hoseok only saw her as a friend who he has a platonic relationship with or simply a sister, but that was far from what the girl had wanted. His ex-fiancé, Miyoung was studying abroad so she was not immediately notified of him entering the harem but the minute she got informed, she was packing her belongings and heading back.

The trip started out as any other with Hoseok getting greeted the moment he enters the front yard by the matriarch along with his father and countless servants. This time however, the moment he saw Miyoung standing courteously behind his father, Hoseok wanted nothing more than to run for the carriage that had already left. You see, when Miyoung confessed her feelings to him—who did not her and got rejected; she did everything in her power to get engaged to him and that was how she became his fiancé. From that day on, Hoseok’s relationship with her only continued to sour before they were not contacting for months on end when she’s studying abroad. The matriarch—who did not agreed on him marrying Y/N, purposely set the both of them together, wanting the pair to interact together. This idea was not only reckless and unecessary as it it basically threading your position as his spouse and have him cheat on the ruler of the nation. Hoseok’s matriarch had also stupidly decided to invite you to come as well, wanting you to witness the couple’s strong bond personally.

Knowing that you could not deny her offer as they are still one of the major families, you had coincidentally entered the room at the time when Miyoung was being extra touchy. The sight, however, did not stunned you but only made you more confused. Questions began to erupt from your mouth asking about the situation while watching Hoseok desperately trying to escape Miyoung’s grip the moment he saw you. Expectedly, the matriarch’s answer is utter garbage, knowing that this is all a setup. Deciding to just stand there and wait for Hoseok to escape from Miyoung, you observed the main contirbutor’s expressions, silently judging their ability to properly. But the moment Hoseok managed to move within your arm’s length, you could feel his little suprised gasp as you pulled him into your hold before leading him out of the place not before warning to not touch what is yours. On your guys’ way home, Hoseok tried to explain what you had witnessed but instead got the silent treatment. Let’s say that it was extremely daring to touch a assassin’s possessions but a nation’s ruler as well is simply too moronically.

“ It was not what you think, your highness. We may not know each other for long but I’m incredibly loyal! That girl was my fiancé before I got wedded to you but I don’t love her! Please believe me!”

Min Yoongi

You getting jealous with Yoongi would happened on a blue moon as he is frequently seen by your side and that most people inside the palace hate his family too much to hit on him but it does still happen. Like any other day, Yoongi is with you in your office helping you with the minor tasks. Seeing how he was getting comfortable with the tasks you had given him, you decided that it was time for him to interact with some other officers in the smaller departments. Yoongi, of course was extremely nervous but wanted to make you proud so he quickly set off to his destination. The task you assigned was quite simple; getting the finished manuscripts that have been assigned yesterday. Everything seemed to go smoothly but what did not was the officers’ attitude towards Yoongi.

As they were considered to be quite young, they must have not know that the boy that is getting is one of your consorts as Yoongi usually prefers to dress in casual clothing; they decided that it was appropriate to flirt with him during office hours. With him having a more petite and delicate figure, it was extremely easy to turn him into their little doll— well or so they had thought. Sensing their hidden intentions towards him, Yoongi quickly asked for the needed documents before hurriedly making his way back. Unfortunately, before he can make his way past the entrance, a pair of hands grabbed his torso, restricting his movement. The officer began to whisper disgusting words in his hears causing Yoongi to instinctly attemp escape. Thanks to his previous training, he managed to escape their grip and ran out of the office, desperately running back to you.

Unexpedtly the officers decided to chase him, still thinking that his master is some low-rank minister that they could easily persuade. Lucky for them, Yoongi directly ran towards your courtyard but before they managed to realized where he was heading towards, they were caught by the guards that had seen the commotion. The moment that Yoongi ran into you arms, you felt your adrenaline spiked as your poor consort slightly trembles and only offered you faint whimpers as answers to your questions. Deciding that this was not meant for him, you assigned another type of tasks after he ha recovered. To say the least, those officers were never seen again the morning after that.

“ T-t-hey touched me while whispered those erotic words in my ears. I’m sorry, you majesty, I couldn’t acomplished the task when they trapped me in their hold. I began to panicked and...”

Jeon Jungkook

Aside from being a bastard’s child, Jungkook could also be described as an outstanding male from many perspectives. So of course, many girls and eunuchs would be constantly be flirty with the young guard. Many, however, is smart enough to avoid doing said activities around you but there are still some that does not have the brain to think rationally. The longer he is under your teaching, the more polite he becomes. Unfortunately, his seemingly innocent greetings was misunderstood by these brainless fellows which resulted in quite a few episodes of misunderstanding. To Jungkook, he is using the people around him as a tool to help him enhance his logical thinking to not burden you as much but it seemed like his efforts had caused quite the tensions within the harem. Many maids would began to form groups and bet on who would end up with him. The competitions began to become so popular tha it even reaches your ears!

As you became more aware of the gossips within the harem, many are targeted towards your personal bodyguard. As the days goes by, the seemingly pile of gossips about Jungkook became to get bigger until you decided that it would be best to stop his lessons altogether deeming that it was no use to him. As first, Jungkook was quite confused on how sudden you decided to cancel his lessons and ultimately blamed it on himself. Thinking that he had burdened you, Jungkook once again turned into his past self. Hiding his emotions as it does not matter how much he tries to improve on himself if his master does not think that he is worthy.

However, before he gets fully entitled to that state, you managed to come in at the right time and bring him out again. This is however, quite the process as he now want you to be proud of him. His self-esteem would not be as high as before as he had already registered in his mind that he had dissapointed you. Even though the process would take awhile, the end result would be worth it. Jungkook would be his best self yet and is continually striving to make you proud of him.

“ I know that you are dissapoin— you’re not? No, you must be lying! If you aren’t dissapointed then why did you have to stop the lessons. Was I too troublesome? I’m not? Are you sure? You must be accountable to your words and resume our lessons, then!”

Kim Seokjin

As a merchant, Seokjin is known to be skillful in negotiating terms with different customers. Most of the times, it would benefit his business but at the same time, his relationship with you would be on a thin string. As you guys continue to bond, different feelings would naturally develop and jealousy would definately not be excluded.

With the Y/N dynasty being a new dynasty, it would make sense that you have to put in much more effort to gain alliances with the surrounding countries neighbouring you. And of course, one of the princess that was sent as an ambassador had to know the talented merchant in some sort of way. You then found out that the two became friends over their love for jewelry and talking about whatever through the night and into the early mornings. Seeing how closed they were, you decided that it would be incredibly polite for you to ignore them and focus your attention on the rest of your guests and your consorts.

Usually, whenever Seokjin would offer you a flirty comment, you woul jokingly replied back with another one of sort as well but that was not what happened tonight. Your replies towards his jokes were quite distant and cold with you having your attention on someone as but him. Seokjin, who was not used to this treatment soon found out your reasons after the banquet and ultimately decided to tease you which only ended in him whining about how childish you’re being.

“ You’re jealous! Over her? HAH! You must have fallen in love with my handsome face... Why are you not saying anything? You’re ignoring such a handsome face, how could you!”

Park Jimin

Unlike Jungkook who does not care about people who perceive him, Jimin takes the extra mile to make sure that everyone see how beautiful he is. His fame within the harem immediately skyrocketed the moment he took up the title as one of the consort. It was to be expected with how frequent he flirted with the maids whenever he pass by them. Of course, he only think that it was fun to tease them as his main goal is still you after all.

Every year, the entire country would celebrate one of its most important holidays— Seollal, where it is one of the only days where festivals are around every direction you look at, and family would reunite with each other to welcome the new year. Within the palace, however, it is celebrated a little different; a full fledge banquet is arranged on the night before the new year and with Jimin leading the performance. With his skillful moves that had took years to master, everyone can agreed that it was a pleasure to look at. What did not please you was how revealing your consort’s attire was. With every move, the fabric was seemingly getting looser that you would have stop the performance already if you were not the of the highest authority in the room. What made it worse was how much eye contact he managed to make with you during his performance, and to say that you were not angry was simply outright lying.

The moment his performance had ended, you decided that Jimin had been working too hard lately and is in desperate need of relaxing. Thinking that he finally push you off the edge, Jimin happily accept your offer and left. What he had not unexpected was you taking him out on a walk when the banquet had ended. You even had the guts to act like nothing had happened hours before this resulting in him yelling at you before grumpily storming back to his courtyard, sulking in his room. Y/N could only laugh seeing his reaction before running towards his room to comfort the boy, deciding that they have teased him enough.

“ Why are you here? No, don’t you dare enter! GET OUT! Hmph, how dare you pretend like nothing happened and teased about it? Didn’t I say that you are not allowed in here? Hmph, fine, come in.”

Copyright © 2021 MintVender

All rights reserved.

[prettywordsyouleft]

To Be Continued - Part 10

Summary: As an author, you had created Brian Kang for your current trilogy series to represent the ultimate man that everyone would love, along with Charli Evers - your female protagonist. What you hadn’t expected was for him to find a way out of the story and begin shaping up your world instead

Pairing: Brian Kang x female writer (ft. Park Sungjin)

Genre: writer au / romance / fantasy

Warnings: fictional characters coming to life / a bit of angst here and there / Sungjin as a cop (or does that only affect me?) >_>

Word count: 2487

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

The broken laptop was taken by Sungjin that night, and he returned it to you a fortnight later with a new screen on it. Despite being grateful, you were still hopeless. “Brian’s gone for good, isn’t he?”

“Maybe it’s time for you to move on from him, Y/N. I hate seeing you this stuck. Don’t you want to write other stories and start living again?”

Staring up at the man, you nodded numbly. “I hoped I’d be living with him. I guess dreaming up the perfect guy isn’t a healthy thing to do.”

“It did happen, and your grief is validated,” he told you, giving your upper arm a gentle squeeze. “Everyone faces a loss of someone in their life at one point or another. And we have to learn how to continue on after they’re gone.”

“You’re right,” you murmured, smiling gently at Sungjin. “Thank you for being a good friend to me.”

“Officially friend-zoned,” Sungjin teased, dramatically grappling at his heart. You giggled, and this made him stop and smile. “And officially hearing a good sound come from you. I hope you can feel comfortable to laugh more often, Y/N.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Now that you have your device back, how about you go and write something? I’m sure it’s been a long two weeks.”

You grinned at his statement, nodding along. “My desktop is so ancient. I was close to spending a lot of money on a new one.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. Off you go and write, Miss Writer.”

Your smile fell as soon as you shut the door, the friendly term Sungjin just called you only bringing up the moments where Brian had called you that time and time again. Counting to ten, you avoided crying for the first time over your loss and smiled.

“All I have to do is keep counting and writing,” you instructed, marching down to your office and plugged in the laptop. It fired up immediately, and the new screen was pristine. Thankfully, all of your work was backed up to an external so you didn’t have to worry about losing your work. It surprised you, however, that the computer remembered where it last was in your session, the end of the Eternity document appearing in front of you.

Reading over the paragraph you had sent Brian, you wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort. “You did well, Y/N. You waited for love, and you loved him like no other. This story’s over now, though. Let’s move on.”

Slowly, you deleted your message, making sure the document said The End and closed out of it, moving it to another storage space on your external hard-drive before opening a new document.

It was time to step out of the limbo you had endured for too long.

“Lily, did you get my first submission?” you asked as you continued to tap furiously at your keyboard, not bothering to check the expression of your editor on the small window in the corner of your screen.

“I did, and it’s fabulous.”

“Just fabulous?” you asked, scrunching your up face in annoyance. “I don’t think fabulous is enough.”

“Ooh, someone is feeling good about her work lately,” Lily crooned, and you grinned. “It’s good to see you working this happily again, Y/N.

“Well, the Encounter series is done now, and I need to have a follow-up story.”

“Does your favourite constable know about this?” she wondered dreamily, and you stopped typing to shoot Lily a look. “What? I distinctively remember you swooning over your protector. There’s no hope for you two to have a romance behind the scenes too?”

“Lily, I might be a writer who enjoys a good love story, but that’s all it remains as for me, a story. Sungjin is my friend, and I’ll surprise him with the final manuscript when this is done.”

“Yes boss!” she cheered and then gasped. “Oh, by the way! I heard that pre-order sales for Eternity have surpassed Captivated! When it launches in two week’s time, I’m certain you’re going to rank well!”

“And then that world will finally be at a close,” you murmured to yourself, Lily straining to hear what your lips had expressed. When you noticed her confusion, you smiled brightly. “Thanks for all your hard work over the past three years on this project, Lil.”

“You wrote them, Y/N. That world, especially Eternity, is a masterpiece.”

“Well, I hope the next story will be even better. More than fabulous, even.”

“You never let a single thing slide. I’ll sing your praises further when you send me the chapter you’re working on right now!”

“Onto it!” you said with a wave of goodbye, and the video call ended.

Slumping in your chair, your eyes shifted towards the wall calendar where the date had been circled for Eternity’s release.

You had taken Sungjin’s advice and picked yourself up out of the dumps. Of course, it hadn’t been easy, and still to this day you had moments where you yearned for Brian. However, you had remained strong since your initial resolve and left Eternity where it belonged – in your completed archive. You hadn’t sent messages, you didn’t open the document, and aside from when obligated to, you didn’t speak of that world to anyone. It still hurt too much, and you were looking forward to a time where this was all just a fond memory in your writing career.

Right now, with the impending sales and then signing tour that was booked, however, you were doing your best to distract yourself from anything that might make you cave.

Writing your police officer au was definitely helping with that, and you launched into typing again about Sungjin and Ella, you two protagonists.

You knew you probably should change his name, but the story made the most sense to you when you imagined your friend. Although you did wonder how you could separate the two when it came to the more romantic parts in the novel, you were having a lot of fun, remembering those juvenile feelings you once had for Sungjin before Brian stepped out of the laptop and changed your life entirely.

Sigh. You had thought of Brian again.

“When will I stop doing that?” you wondered in a sing-song voice, trying to keep upbeat. It was then that a new document popped up on the screen, and you groaned loudly. “And when will you stop glitching?”

It wasn’t the first time the new document tab would appear, now and then when you were in the midst of typing. You assumed you kept hitting the keyboard shortcut for opening it somehow and mentally wrote yourself a note to check if it could be disabled when you were done with this chapter.

Paying it no mind, you continued writing your story, not thinking once about all the mysterious happenings that preluded Brian’s appearance in the first place.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m meeting you today!” a young voice announced, and you smiled brightly at the teen before you. “I’m a big fan of Brian and Charli!”

“Aren’t we all?” you mentioned happily back, reaching for the copy of Eternity she had placed down to sign. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Jennie! With an i-e.”

“Well, Jennie, with an i-e, I’m so glad you came today. I hope to see you at my next book signing in a couple of year’s time.”

“You can count on it, Y/N!”

The day continued much in the same, and whilst you were overwhelmed by the support of your fans, when you entered your hotel for the evening, you were more than emotionally exhausted.

“Stupid Charli. She’s living the dream,” you muttered and then caught yourself, sighing heavily with your unexpected negativity.

It was foolish to be jealous, and yet after listening to everyone say how perfect Brian and Charli were for each other all day long, you understood your reaction. Even if you were moving on, you wanted to be the one who was perfect for Brian Kang.

“Let’s count to ten, shall we?” you told yourself, breathing deeply and following through with your mantra. After ordering room service for dinner, you settled into the plush bed with your laptop, ready to stream a crime show you had been watching for research.

When the screen appeared though, it was opened on Microsoft Word with a new document waiting for you. You groaned and looked into the settings to make sure you had in fact disabled the keyboard shortcut. It was as you had left it and you let out a small huff at the program before hovering your cursor over the exit button.

Something in you made you pause, however, and you peered at the empty document with some interest. “Why are you following me around?”

Thinking of how Brian would always open a new document to converse with you, a glimmer of hope surged through, and you hit the keys with a rapid pace.

Are you there, Brian Kang?

Nothing came, and your words didn’t dissolve either. Rolling your eyes at your rash reaction, you closed the document and opened Netflix.

You were well into the throes of the show when your room service knocked on the door, casting you out of bed and over to the door. Once you returned with the tray of food you had been given, you noticed the document was back on the screen again.

“What is going on?” you wondered, staring at it for some time. Placing a hand on the screen, you closed your eyes and willed Brian to come out. It had been so long since you had done this, and yet your fervour was stronger than ever. You prayed so hard that when you opened your eyes and saw nothing there, your tears were immediately at the surface, cascading down your cheeks.

“I’m so over pining for you. Either come back or leave me alone!” you wailed, pushing the laptop aside and curling up into a ball.

You didn’t see it then, but the cursor started to move as if someone was holding down the space button, creating ten pages before it stopped.

The tour ended, and you were all too grateful to wake up back home with Binks curled up beside you. Kissing your furbaby until he made it apparent that your affection was unwanted, you climbed out of bed to brew yourself some coffee.

Today, you felt free. The saga of Eternity was over and whilst you knew you would still have to do a couple more interviews here and there in the future where you would be asked about the series, and your Discord would still be hit up regularly about reviews over the final story in the trilogy, today you were at least free from the contractual sides of the story. You wouldn’t have to actively talk about Charli Evers and Brian Kang ever again.

You also hoped that one day, once your pain resolved enough, that you could reread the series and remember why you had loved it all along, instead of the jealousy and burden you felt towards it right now.

With coffee and toast held in either hand, you bounced off to your office and sat down at your desk, blinking when you found your laptop on your desk already.

Had you pulled it out of its bag last night when you got home?

Shrugging, you hit the power button and were surprised when it immediately loaded up your home screen. “I did turn you off, you finicky device.”

Lots of little things had happened since getting the screen fixed, and you had left it down to that incident messing with it. You didn’t have it in you to believe otherwise.

Opening your emails, you went through the important correspondence, threw out the spam, and moved the replied ones to their relevant folders. Once your inbox was empty, you moved onto your other admin tasks for the day, ensuring you were all caught up before you stepped back into your police officer au.

When ready, you clicked on the file, and instead of it appearing, it was a blank document. “Oh no, you don’t! There were words in this file!”

Looking at the title of the word document, you were relieved to see it untitled and not that of your current story. Clicking again on the file from your writing folder, another blank document appeared instead.

“Open it! I have to write about Sungjin and Ella!” you exclaimed, hitting the file repeatedly. Tens of blank documents appeared with your efforts until you were panting with the annoyance. Sitting back, you shook your head. “That’s it! I’m buying a new laptop! I’m done with you!”

Before you could close the screen down, however, you noticed that one document appeared and had words in it. But it wasn’t your current one. Instead, Encounter appeared on the screen, scrolling at a rapid rate to the bottom. Then it changed tabs, moving through Captivated just as fast. Finally, Eternity finished it off, the words The End simply staring back at you.

“…Brian?”

Leaning forward towards the screen, you waited to see what would happen next. Annoyed that your hopes were raised yet again, you started to close the empty tabs, leaving the three stories up. A final tab appeared, and you burst into tears as words started to appear on the screen.

It’s time to start writing our story now.

Standing up shakily, you pointed at the screen. “Hurry up then, I’ve waited far too long to write this story with you.”

The screen went blank as your heart began to thud erratically in your chest, your eyes widened whilst waiting for what would happen next. Reaching for the power button, you watched as the screen lit up.

And then you felt arms embrace you immediately. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“I don’t care right now,” you managed to say despite your emotions running down your face. Pulling back just enough so you could see Brian’s handsome face, you shook your head in disbelief. “As long as you’re here.”

“For good,” he assured, leaning in for a passionate kiss. “That world is closed and done with. Whilst ours is only beginning.”

You knew with time, you would want to know why it took so long for Brian to return and to scold him for hurting you so much. You also knew Brian would placate you in every way, and you would hear all about his equal longing and struggle without you at his side.

But for now, this was all you needed. Dream men were hard to find existing in real life. You had found yours again, and this time you wouldn’t write him in one way or another. You’d let your life together pen the journey you had at each other’s side.

Your story was about to be continued.

_________________

Epilogue

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[narniaandplowmen]

counting my way back to you.

Fandom: The Witcher 

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Also on AO3

3113 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply

Complete

It is not easy to make a Fae lose count.

It does not take much for a Witcher to worry.

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

It is not easy to make a Fae lose count. People say that, once you enter the immortal world, there is no way of knowing what time it is when you step back out. Jaskier had always found that foolish blabber, of course. It was a simple calculation: just keep count of the number of seconds you are in the Fae world, divide or multiply that by the number of stars in the sky when you enter - depending on the number of grass blades in the fairy circle you entered through - subtract the number of heartbeats it takes between entering the Fae world and touching a snowbell and voilà, that's how many milliseconds have passed in the world mortals know. A simple calculation, really. But it did not take long for Jaskier to realise that foolish mortals are easily distracted, it takes much more for a Fae to stop counting. It takes much more, but it is possible.

*

It does not take much for a Witcher to worry. Or, well, it does not take much for Geralt to worry when Jaskier’s concerned. To know your closest friend, soulmate, better half, husband, whatever you wanted to call it, is perfectly able to handle himself is something completely different than actually feeling it. If only the rational part of his brain listened to his emotions. Geralt sighed as he looked around him one last time. They had agreed to meet here, one damn week ago. And Jaskier was never late for these meetups.

Never. Until now.

*

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

‘Julek, you are to be crowned king this winter solstice.’

Breathe in, breathe out.

And Jaskier lost count.

‘You want me to do what?’ his reaction came, just a few seconds (minutes? hours? in the world of the Fae, who knows?) too late. Or was it right on time? The Fae world is weird when you lose count, however brief. But here’s the thing when you lose count: once lost, it can never be found again. Never truly. A decent estimation can be made, of course, especially for such a talented Fae as Jaskier, but finding it? No, even those who break the laws of nature in every regard have to keep to the mathematical rules of the universe.

*

A week later (two weeks too late, Jaskier never even arrived a second later than he wanted to. Sure, he arrived late, ‘fashionably late’ as he called it, but he arrived the exact lateness as he intended to. Even whilst Jaskier slept Geralt could sometimes hear the man in his arm count, count, endlessly count.) Geralt could firmly conclude that Jaskier was neither kidnapped, nor murdered, nor seen by mortal eyes ever since their goodbye at the end of autumn, when Geralt left the flowering field with Jaskier’s scent on his lips, his taste on his tongue and spots of white on his shirt he wouldn’t discover until three days later.

*

Knowing the number of days (hours, minutes, seconds) till winter solstice did not, Jaskier knew, meant knowing the number of days until he would have to be present at the tree where he and Geralt would meet, would rejoin their bodies and minds and souls and step as one, think as one, breathe as one creature travelling the endless continent. For yes, winter solstice for the Fae equalled winter solstice for the mortals, but assuming that the Fae keep to a linear timeline is a foolish endeavour. This solstice meant nothing, when it came from the mouth of a Fae who has not breathed human air for aeons (decades? centuries?). This solstice might be this solstice for them, but for Geralt? it could be a hundred solstices ago, or a million into the future. No, Jaskier had lost count, and there was nothing he could do to gain it back.

*

Five minutes into his visit to Yennefer, she confirmed his biggest fear. Jaskier was indeed not kidnapped, or drugged, or murdered, or bored of the life the witcher could offer him. Jaskier was gone. Simply gone. Unable to be found with any magic or spells or dreams or portals, lost to any who could not follow where he had gone. Jaskier, no matter how impossible it was to believe, had lost count. That was the only possible - even if it did not seem possible - way for him not to have returned. Either that, or- Geralt could not bear to think the words as Yennefer disappeared in a flurry of purple cloth and violet scent and muttered curses, looking for a way to bring the bard home. Home to Geralt, home to her, home to their little cottage where they would hide away when the world became too much for the three of them to bear, where they would have just each other, skin touching skin, lips touching lips, breath breathing breath, just them, just them.

*

‘Mother, why?’

‘It is time for the Fae court to have a king again, after the- unfortunate weaknesses of your father.’

‘The Fae court has not had a king for aeons. Why now?’

‘Because you are losing your way, Julek. Look at you, you have lost count.’

‘I have-’ but the words would not cross his lips. No matter how hard Jaskier tried, the sound dug itself into his chest, into his stomach, down down down away from his vocal cords, away from the air where the words would be sounded and heard and listened to.

‘Not? Julek, you have even lost the art of lying. It is time to stop playing with those foolish mortals and take up the role for which you were born. It is time for you to rule beside me, to welcome your responsibility and care for your people.’

‘Sit there and be an ornament, you mean, whilst you still hold all the strings?’

‘Julek’

‘I have not lost enough of myself to be unable to recognise your tricks, mother. Even if you crown me king, I will not stay by your side for long. I will return to those I love, and that is an oath.’

*

His brothers would have more monsters to fight this season, Geralt had resigned himself to the teasing he’d endure the next winter when he had to relinquish his 10-year record of ‘most monsters slain’. Not that any of them would blame him, if they knew.

Two months now, two months had come and gone and still no sign of Jaskier. They had fallen into an uncomfortable routine, Yennefer and him. Without Jaskier there to hold them together, to silence growing fights and touch their skin and hearts and souls at just the right ways to make them forget about all annoyances, to ply them and mould them and nudge them in just the right ways, the two of them had fought more often than they meant to, than they wanted to. But rather than leaving, rather than running away and slaying a monster and sleeping in the cold and dark and dirt and feeling sorry for himself, rather than running away and parading at court, manipulating royals and mages and feeling sorry for herself, Geralt and Yennefer remained. Every morning and every evening, Yennefer’s magic scoured the continent and all the known and unknown places beyond for any sign of Jaskier. And every day, she would portal to a new place, find new manuscripts, new books, new writings, new myths and legends and stories and they would read them all, trying to find a way to get the one who had stolen their hearts back to where he belonged: in their arms and in their beds (for Jaskier had never left their minds and hearts and souls).

*

As if things couldn’t get any worse, according to Jaskier’s calculations, he will have to leave a couple of seconds before midnight during the winter solstice. In other words, a couple of seconds before his coronation, in the middle of (for as far as there is a middle in) the Fae world. And, although Jaskier is a powerful man, even he cannot win a fight against all of his kind. They will find him during his flight, and they will make wherever he threads the middle of the world, regardless of how close to the border he will go. And it is not like he is ever given the opportunity to catch his breath, to see the stars and count the flowers and touch a snowbell and make a wish. No, for he is crown-prince Julek Taraxacum and a hundred million other names, and they will not let him go.

*

They talk. Every night they drink and stare at the ceiling in silence and drink and drink and drink and drink until not talking hurts more than talking and then they talk. One night it is just two words, on others two thousand. Yet the topic remains the same.

The one night: ‘I miss him.’

The next: ‘I know.’

The following: ‘It’s so quiet here.’

And, after a night of just silence: ‘No. I miss- I miss more than just his voice, or his touch, or his laughter, or his eyes. I miss his stubbornness. I miss his infernal, eternal unyielding determination to get done what he wants to get done. Regardless of the cost. Regardless if we let him or not. Regardless if I let him or not.’

From there, every night they drink and talk and drink and remember, painfully remember every glint and touch and look and movement and word and silent threats to those standing in the way between Jaskier and whatever he desires.

‘I miss his ruthlessness,’ Yennefer sighs. ‘That glint in his eyes and that innocent smile that threatens any who want to walk in his way. The ease with which his words weave a web and his fingers twirl a dagger until the whole world lies at his feet.’

‘I miss his sharpness.’ Geralt adds the next day. ‘I miss the way he yells and curses at me when I put myself into danger he deems unnecessary, I miss the way he hits at just the right spots to make you feel like you are absolutely nothing and yet everything at all.’

And, as the sun rises and Yennefer gets up to let her magic roam the world once more, always once more and once more again,

‘He is better than either of us could ever be.’

*

He does not succeed. Of course he does not. Not with his mother chasing behind him, not with the court pledging their service, not with the lesser fairies swimming his clothes and weaving his crown and setting the tables and not with the moon - bright, round, full and hiding the stars with her betraying light - rising higher and higher and higher until the Words are said and the Vow is made and the cape and crown and sceptre weigh Jaskier down and he is King, and it is too late (seconds? minutes? years?) too late (decades? centuries? millennia) too late to return, too late to escape and find his way back through the endlessly changing maze of time and space and place and all that the Fae world entwines and changes and corrupts and has been ever since even the gods can remember. It is too late, and Jaskier does not know if he can ever return home.

Jaskier still counts.

*

It has been a year without Jaskier and their nights cease to be long speeches, and fall into just words. Alternating, every night the other starts, and they - in between drinks, in between trying to find some consolation in being an immortal mortal and missing, missing, missing the one thing you believed to be a constant in your life, the person who holds your heart and mind and soul and who you wishes could hold you, trace your skin with delicate callused hands, touch you in ways you never dreamed possible whilst whispering your greatest secrets and knowing, knowing that there is no safer place than there, completely surrendered to the hands and voice and soul that holds them - just repeat the same list over and over and over and over until the betraying sun raises above the skies and their futile search continues.

‘Voice.’ Geralt drinks.

‘Touch.’ Yennefer drinks.

‘Laughter.’

‘Eyes.’

‘Stubbornness.’

‘Ruthlessness.’ They open a new bottle, stolen from some corrupt mayor.

‘Sharpness.’

‘Strength.’

‘Love.’

‘Compassion.’

‘Talent.’

‘Humour.’

Jaskier.

*

His second, third and fourth attempts fail too. Jaskier curses the patience and stubbornness of Fae as he counts to his fifth, unable to manage to smile because of the irony of his own patience and stubbornness being the things leading him to try again (he will try again and again and again and again his whole immortal life long, for he carries hearts and souls of value and he has to return to give them back). Yet as a king he is guarded too closely, kept too busy, held to too high a standard, and never, never, never alone (he had never minded being surrounded by others all the time, as long as those others held his heart and soul and these others certainly do not).

But as he reigns and makes decisions and cuts ribbons and blesses babies and is held as a prop by his mother who enjoys having the empty throne next to her filled and speaking as a Queen with a King on her side, he feels a tug. A small thread forming in his ribs, tying around his heart and weaving through his veins, first unnoticed but rapidly rapidly rapidly all-consuming, all-knowing, overwhelming and strange and yet so distantly familiar, tasting of lilacs and violets and onion and adventure and destiny and fate. He can feel it in his fingertips, spinning through his ears and knitting his joints together until his body feels like the restless sea and he can faintly taste the Beauclair White and Toussaint Red on the tip of his tongue and deep, deep in his empty throat devoid of words and song and him.

With every heartbeat, the tug gets stronger.

*

The best ideas happen when one is drunk. The most foolish, idiotic and dangerous ideas happen then too, but the only way to know whether your plan is genius or will end the world is by trying it out.

It is because of that reason that Yennefer and Geralt infiltrate the highest security library, steal an ancient manuscript and spend a full week without sleep translating their nightly list into the oldest language known to mortal men.

It is far from the oldest language ever spoken, but it is close enough.

Geralt feels a thread of something entwining his fingertips, rooting in his stomach and growing to his heart and encircling his skull. It meanders through his brain, wrapping itself like a noose around the parts of him he doubts and criticises and hates and loathes and tying it close, close, close, till no negative thought can survive and he has to admit that his hair his mouth his face his scars his eyes his everything is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Yennefer feels a thread of something extending from her hair, diving into her skin and spinning in the emptiness between her hips reminding her of the sacrifices she made, filling the void like a clew of golden, loving, sharp and stubborn yarn, pulling and pulling and pulling something, someone, the only person who succeeded in making her feel whole and beautiful and perfect and flawless and yet so endlessly, endlessly human.

They hold their hands, grab the thread so strong it is almost visible in the open air of their hidden garden and pull.

*

And then, just as he is once again paraded around for dignitaries and officials and others in positions that, by all accounts, should not exist in the frankly dictatorial Fae court, like he is some rare flower or pretty dress or beautiful painting or another essentially worthless, worthless object, the growing tug that drags him forward, that makes him walk quicker in certain directions or holds him back in others, that has interwoven around every cell in his body making him wonder why nobody has seen the almost visible golden string tying him to somewhere yet, why nobody has noticed he has lost his appetite (why eat flowers and grass and honeydew imported from the sweetest countries when the taste of your lovers weigh on your tongue and fill your stomach in a manner no food could ever equal) the tug suddenly grows stronger. The thread extending from him, through him, in him, grows from a thin cotton thread to a long string of woollen yarn to a thick rope to a cable filling his lungs and throat and tugs, and tugs and tugs.

And the world becomes blurred and the wind picks up and the chattering around him rises and then fades and fades and fades and the busy streets of the Fae city make place for an empty garden next to a lovely cottage and two pairs of arms wrapping tightly, tightly around his waist and chest.

*

And, like a breath Nature didn’t notice she was holding in, there Jaskier is. With regal dress and tired eyes and dulled cheeks, but Jaskier nonetheless. Their Jaskier, their life and love and joy and reason for holding on, holding on to life and the world when there is nothing to hold on to. He is there, truly there, really truly there.

*

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

A tug from another world. A hug from his loved ones. A frantic pushing and pulling and ripping of clothes, trying to get closer and closer and closer (true lovers can never be close enough, their souls are so entwined their bodies will always be trying to become one) to make up for lost time, to assure themselves that it is real, to touch, to see, to smell, to taste, to know that it is real, not yet another happy dream but real and present and here. A violent kiss. A perfectly placed touch. A hundred thousand touches in a row, all at the same time for forever yet for no time at all.

What does it take to make a Fae stop counting? Oh, although it is difficult, there still are many things that can.

But what does it take to make a Fae stop counting, without them worrying about it?

That is a secret only those who have loved and lost and found again can truly know.

[panharmonium]

the edge of seventeen [fic]

summary: Daegal forgets his own birthday.  Merlin has a conniption.  Daegal has a crisis.

context for newcomers: This is the next installment in an ongoing AU that @once-and-future-gay​ and I have been playing around with, wherein both Will and Daegal survived into Season 5.  The background for that AU can be found here, and the associated fics (plus one art post) are at the following links: be good / persistence / tournaments / daegal post-carpentry (art).

a/n: @once-and-future-gay​​, this was actually written for your birthday XD  I started it that Tuesday intending for it to be a very short snippet that I could post the same day, but I quickly realized that it was turning into a bigger piece, and now, a week and a half later, it’s a 10k story.  I apologize for how belated it is, but I hope you'll accept it as a birthday gift anyhow - I figured that if it were up to me, I’d rather have ‘more fic’ than ‘on-time fic,’ so - happy (belated) birthday to you, and here’s some more of this AU for you, featuring Daegal and a wide supporting cast! ✨

“Are you trying to slice that thing or just beat it to death?”

Will stared incredulously down the table at Daegal, who continued to hack at the seedpod held between his fingers even though his aggravated chopping did little more than squash the unyielding capsule down into the wood of the table.  “It’s my knife,” Daegal muttered, stabbing at his botanical nemesis.  “It’s dull.” 

“So sharpen it.”  

“I did,” Daegal replied.  “It’s old.  It doesn’t hold an edge.”

Will beckoned for the knife.  Daegal scooted it down the table to him like an innkeeper sliding drinks down the length of the bar, even in defiance of Merlin’s exasperated, “Don’t - !”  But Will caught the knife easily, handle-first, and gave it a disapproving once-over.

“Use mine,” he said, and slid one of his own blades down the table.

“Don’t - !” Merlin bit out again, then sighed and returned to the text he was copying after Daegal intercepted the blade without injury.

“Careful,” Will warned Daegal.  “It’s - ”

Pop.  Daegal startled out of his seat at the first enthusiastic slice of the knife, as the capsule burst and sent hundreds of tiny black seeds scattering in every direction, the dried granules rolling off the edge of the table and pouring onto the floor with a rain-like hiss.

Merlin sighed and rubbed his forehead.  Will picked up his own half-finished carving again and gestured at Merlin’s face.  “You’ve got a bit of ink on you, you know.”

Merlin shot him a flat look.  “Have I?”

“Yeah.  Just over your nose there.”

“Maybe it’s because you keep doing things that make me want to pull my hair out.”

Will gave Daegal a knowing grin across the table.  Daegal, doing his best to contain the spilled seeds, couldn’t help feeling pleased, even if the smile he offered to Will in return was slightly sheepish.  

“Do I?” Will asked Merlin, utterly unconcerned.  “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop giving him knives!” Merlin burst out, gesturing broadly at Daegal’s end of the table.

“He’s fine!” Will said.  “He’s a big lad.”

“And he’s making a big mess.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Daegal assured Merlin, scooping the runaway seeds into uncooperative piles.  “I didn’t think it would cut so well, is all.”

“You need better tools,” Will declared.  “Merlin, the man works for you.  Why haven’t you got him outfitted properly?”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by a rap at the door.  “It’s open,” he called, frowning.  It was a bit late for visitors.

The door swung open, revealing Gwaine, who took only a single step into the physician’s chambers before pausing at the loud crunching sound under his boot.  “Hallo,” he said curiously, lifting up his foot.  “What’s all this, then?”  

“Seeds,” Daegal supplied helpfully, at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “Never mind.  Don’t come in; you’ll track it all over.”

Gwaine obliged, bowing at the waist in deference to Merlin’s directive.  “Don’t mind me,” he said.  “I only came by to see if you lot fancied an excursion.”

“What sort?”

“The lads and I are off to see the sunrise.  Thought you might like to join us.”

It was only after a moment’s confusion that Daegal realized Gwaine was talking about the tavern, in some sort of post-curfew, plausible deniability-laden way.  Daegal wiped seeds from his palms and looked hopefully between Will and Merlin, not daring to believe that they would say yes.  It wasn’t often Gwaine heard the word “no” from someone he’d propositioned, Daegal was willing to bet, but Daegal knew trying to drag Will and Merlin out of their nest two whole bells after curfew, especially when the weather had frosted all the windows, was an extremely optimistic maneuver, even for Gwaine.

Will, predictably, snorted, not even bothering to pretend he was interested.  Merlin did a better job of feigning regret, holding up the heavy text he was copying as if it explained everything.  “Can’t,” he said simply.  “Sorry.  Too much work.  Too late.  Too tired.  Too cold.”

“Any other excuses?” Gwaine asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up.  

“Pick whichever one you like best,” Merlin said, returning to scratch away at his manuscript.  “I’m comfy in here.”

Gwaine gestured amicably at Daegal.  “How about you, lad?”

Daegal’s eyes widened.  Merlin always made tavern nights with Gwaine sound legendary, and the fact that Will groaned every time they came up in conversation made them even more intriguing, but Will, in a surprisingly swift intervention, interrupted before Daegal could even open his mouth.  

“Not a chance,” he said, when Daegal tentatively started to rise from his chair.  “Sit down.”

Gwaine did not seem offended, but simply leaned against the doorframe and grinned in that careless way of his.  “Can’t the lad have a bit of fun?”

“Not with that lot.  Not at this hour.”

“I’ll look after him.”

“You?  By the time you’re done drinking you won’t know him from Bruta.”

Gwaine shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He pointed at Daegal.  “Invitation stands, lad.  Another time, maybe.”  

Daegal nodded wistfully, and Gwaine bade them farewell, departing.  Will, shaking his head, returned to his whittling, muttering, “Not ruddy likely.”  He brushed wood shavings off his knees, adding to the mess on the floor.  “Lunatic.”

“He’s a good lunatic,” Merlin said, absorbed in his copying.

“If you say so.”

“I could still go, maybe,” Daegal said.  “I could look after myself.”

Will raised his eyebrows.  “At the Rising Sun?  After curfew?  You’d wake up with your head in a snowbank.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would,” Will said, not budging. “Don’t go courting trouble.  You’re too young for that crowd.”

Daegal scrunched up his nose.  He knew that in a contest of stubbornness, Will would win by a mile, but still - “I’m not too young.  I’m seventeen.”

Merlin’s head snapped up from his book, his copying abruptly forgotten.  “You’re sixteen.”

“No,” Daegal said, bewildered by Merlin’s sudden bizarre intensity.  “Seventeen.”

“Since when?”

“I had my birthday last month.”

“You what?”

Daegal, confused, looked between Merlin and Will, the latter of whom sighed.  “Oh, lor.”

“What?” Daegal asked.  “Have I - is that bad?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Daegal’s question.

“I don’t know,” Daegal replied, taken aback.  He hadn’t even thought of it at the time.  What was there to think about?  It was just another day.  Sometimes he didn’t even remember his birthday had happened until it was already over.  Once he hadn’t remembered until the last week in January, when he’d taken a courier job and been forced to lie about his age.

Merlin looked incensed.  Will, by contrast, looked like he was trying not to laugh.  “Right, then,” he said, getting up and tucking his carving into his pocket.  “I’m off.  You two have fun.”

Daegal had an absurd urge to beg Will to sit back down, because Merlin was starting to get a frankly loony look on his face and Daegal did not understand what was the matter.  But Will just patted Daegal on the top of the head on his way out - tap tap - and let the door swing closed behind him.  

Merlin, his hands on his hips, assessed Daegal with narrowed eyes.  

“I’m sorry?” Daegal ventured, unsure what he was apologizing for.

Merlin pressed his lips together.  “You and him,” he said, pointing to the door where Will had just exited, “you’re two of a kind, you know that?”

Daegal did not know.  He had no idea what Merlin was talking about, in fact, and he was afraid to ask.  He did not exactly want to apologize again, though, because that felt sort of like apologizing for being like Will (although why Merlin seemed to think this was the case was a mystery).

“Right,” Merlin said after a moment.  “Not to worry.  I’ll take care of it.”

Daegal hesitated.  “Take care of what?”

Merlin sighed and shook his head, but did not answer.  Daegal decided that perhaps it would be best if he did not needle Merlin with further questions right now.  His mentor was acting very strange, and Daegal could not possibly imagine what had gotten him so worked up. 

He would just have to ask Will about it later.

As it turned out, Daegal did not have a chance to ask Will about it later.

The next day, Will did not come by.  The day after that, Merlin sent Daegal out to collect more dried seedpods to replace the ones Daegal had mangled, which took all afternoon and was exhausting enough for Daegal to go straight to his little chamber in the servants’ wing and flop into bed after supper.

The morning after that, he woke to find a smiling Elyan hovering barely two inches above his face.  

Daegal stifled a gasp and only just barely stopped himself from whacking Elyan across the nose.  He scrambled upright in the bed, his back pressed against the wall.  “El - Sir Elyan!  What - ”

“Good morning,” Elyan said, as if he could not possibly have been happier to have gotten almost-smacked in the face.  “Merlin sent me down.  Said it’s your birthday.”

Daegal goggled at him.  “My what?”

“Your birthday,” Elyan repeated.  “Isn’t it?”

Daegal shook his head, certain that he was still asleep.  “No.”

“Merlin said you might say that.”  Elyan whipped the covers off Daegal’s legs.  “Up you get.  It’s time for breakfast.”

Daegal shivered violently, his sleep clothes providing little protection against the cold.  “I don’t normally - I’m supposed to go and help Gaius - ”

“Not today.  You’ve been given the day off.”

Daegal stared.  “What for?”

Elyan chuckled.  “Still asleep in there, I see,” he remarked, tossing Daegal a shirt.  “It’s your birthday.  Haven’t I just said that?”

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said, feeling as if he were speaking a different language.   “My birthday’s in November.”

“Not this year, it isn’t.”  Elyan grinned.  “Get dressed.  We’ve got all sorts of things do today.”

When Elyan had said ‘all sorts of things,’ Daegal had not expected one of those things to be a full breakfast served in the King and Queen’s personal chambers, catered by the King and Queen’s personal serving staff, and attended by the King and Queen themselves.

“I didn’t know,” Daegal whispered frantically to Merlin, as Elyan ushered him inside the room.  “Why wouldn’t you tell me?  I would have worn something else!”

“You don’t have anything else,” Merlin shot back under his breath.  “Relax.  Arthur put his undershirt on back to front this morning; he’s hardly Sir Stylish.”

Daegal gave Merlin a panicked, pleading stare, but Merlin just plunked Daegal down in a seat and left to pour the drinks.

“We’ve been meaning to do this for ages,” the Queen told him, sitting down next to Elyan.  “Merlin keeps you very busy, doesn’t he?”

Daegal’s mouth was too dry to formulate any sort of reply.  Only a few short months ago this very same woman had been standing at Morgana’s elbow, plotting Arthur’s assassination, and at the time, Daegal had not even realized there was anything wrong with her.  There was, after all, nothing hard to believe about a servant-turned-queen who’d gotten a taste for power and decided to keep climbing the ladder, and while Merlin had always been very adamant that Daegal would never have believed this of Gwen if he had ever met her previously, it was hard for Daegal to look at her and not remember how she had willingly embraced the woman who later tried to murder Merlin and threatened to do the same to Daegal, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

Merlin, busy setting out the ewery on a sidetable, heard Gwen’s comment and spared Daegal the necessity of replying.  “Arthur keeps me very busy,” he said, directing a pointed look at the king.  “If you’d like me to arrange your subjects’ social schedules on top of my other duties, Sire, perhaps you ought to hire someone else to look after your washing.”

Arthur waved a hand.  “Guinevere likes that funny thing you do with my socks.”

“Guinevere,” corrected the Queen , “thinks her husband is perfectly capable of rolling his own socks, thank you.”  She smiled encouragingly at Daegal.  “But enough about the laundry.  We’d been meaning to have you round for a meal, to say thank you, and Merlin mentioned that it was your birthday, so we thought now would be the perfect time.”

Daegal barely even heard the bit about his birthday, instead fixated on what had come just before it.  Thank him?  What for?  He had nearly gotten the king killed.  

“Merlin tells us you’ve been helping Gaius?” Arthur prompted.  

Daegal nodded. 

“He’s a fine physician.  If you’re pursuing a path in the healing arts, you couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Guinevere asked, warm interest written across her face.

Daegal’s eyes darted helplessly to Merlin, who nodded encouragingly.  Daegal cleared his throat.  “Er - I think so.  Maybe.  Merlin says I’m picking it up quickly.”

“Well, you’ve already saved one life,” Arthur said with a grin, gesturing at himself, “so if that’s any indication of your capabilities, I expect you’ll do well.”  He offered Daegal a platter of pastries.  “Tell us about your studies.”

The meal continued on in much the same fashion, with Gwen and Arthur asking Daegal questions and Elyan occasionally putting in a comment or two of his own.  Daegal did his best to answer honestly, even as he was plied with heaps of food, most of which was comprised of dishes he had never had the chance to try before and all of which flavors he was certain he would never be able to remember later, given how worked up he was.  Arthur was gracious and charming throughout, very unlike the man who often featured in Merlin’s grumbling suppertime complaints.  Elyan talked to Merlin as much as he did to either of the royal guests, which was probably a breach of some kind of protocol, though nobody seemed to mind.  And the Queen - the Queen looked exactly the same as she had when Daegal had first met her, minus the cloak and surreptitious glances, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought nothing had changed.  

Except - 

There came one moment, towards the end of the meal, when Merlin put a goblet down in front of Gwen with a playful and very exaggerated “Your Majesty,” and Gwen jabbed his knee with a fork under the table where Arthur couldn’t see, all the while both of them keeping their eyes locked on each other as if daring the other one to laugh first, and it was then that Daegal knew with absolute certainty that this was not the same woman he had met that night in the woods.  

“I hope you’ll accept this token of the Crown’s appreciation,” Arthur said to Daegal later, when they had finally finished their meal and risen from their chairs.  “You’ve done this kingdom a tremendous service, and I’m indebted to you.”  He passed Daegal a very official-looking bit of folded parchment stamped with the royal seal, which Daegal knew it would not be appropriate to open now.  He took it and bowed the way Merlin had shown him.

“And there’s something from me, too,” said Guinevere.  “Only it would have been a bit difficult to get it up the steps - Elyan will take you to see it instead.  I think you’ll find it useful, given that you’re apprenticing to our physicians.”

Daegal could not possibly imagine what on earth could have been so unwieldy that she could not get it up the stairs, but he bowed to her as well.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” she said, in a more solemn voice.  “For helping, when I couldn’t help myself.”

Daegal straightened, hesitant.  Her eyes - it seemed ludicrous to Daegal, now, that he had not recognized the enchanted version of her for what it was.  That hollow shell had had no soul.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he blurted out.  “I wish I could’ve done more.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Arthur said, wrapping a steady arm around his wife’s shoulders.  “For both of us.  We owe you a great deal.”

Daegal bowed to both of them again, and Elyan escorted him to the door.  “Oh, and Daegal?” Gwen added.  

Daegal stumbled over his own feet trying to turn around.  “Your Majesty?”

She smiled at him.  “Happy birthday.”

“What did Arthur give you, then?” Elyan asked, once they were out in the street.

Daegal fingered the mystery envelope.  He did not know, and honestly, his head was spinning too much for him to even think about puzzling out a jumble of words right now, especially when he was only just learning his letters to begin with.

“Can I have a look?” Elyan asked, and Daegal willingly handed him the parchment.  Elyan slipped a finger under the seal and unfolded the document, parsing it with a speed Daegal had pretty much despaired of ever achieving for himself.

“Mm,” Elyan said.  “Thought so.  Typical kingly stuff.”

“What is it?” 

“Land grant,” Elyan said, handing back the parchment, and then, as if this were nothing to worry about, he turned and ambled into the stables.

Daegal stared after him.  “What?”   

“Land grant,” Elyan repeated.  “You know, like a knight’s fee.  For services rendered to the Crown.”  He wandered deeper down the central aisle of the stable, stalled horses on either side of him lifting their heads.  “Come on.  It’s through here.”

Stunned, Daegal followed him, his fingers clutching at the incomprehensible slip of parchment.  “I can’t own land,” he protested.  “I don’t own a second pair of shoes.”

“You do now.  Or you can afford to, at least.”  Elyan glanced back at Daegal.  “Don’t worry, it’s a small plot.  Just a little square out in the Sprawl.”

Outside the city walls, then.  “I don’t - what am I supposed to do with it?”

“You could live there.”

“But - ”  Daegal stared at Elyan’s back uncomprehendingly.  “I live in the Citadel.”

“Rent it?”

Daegal’s head was going to explode.  “Will says landlords are leeches,” he said faintly.

Elyan laughed.  “Herb garden?” he suggested.  “Merlin’s always sending you off to gods know where, searching for things you could grow yourself.”

Daegal hardly knew what to say to that, but Elyan stopped walking before Daegal could think of anything coherent.  “Here we are,” Elyan announced, clapping a hand down on top of a stall door to his left.  

A wave of misgiving flooded Daegal, temporarily wiping away the lingering shock of the land grant.  “Are we riding somewhere?”  

He had not considered this, and he did not want to admit that the only way he was going to be able to ride anywhere at all was on the back of someone else’s saddle.  He had never had access to a horse himself, and had only had the opportunity to ride twice in the past - the first occasion had been extremely brief, and the second had ended in him being thrown, so he was not quite sure that it counted.

“Not today,” Elyan said.  “Unless you count the training ring.”

“Sorry?”

“Merlin says you don’t know how to ride.”

“Yeah,” Daegal said.  He could feel himself turning red.  “I mean - no, I don’t know how.  Not well.  I don’t need to.  I don’t have a horse.”

“Didn’t have a horse,” Elyan said, as if making a correction.

“What?”

Elyan gestured at the stall they were standing next to.  “Couldn’t get her up the stairs.”

Daegal’s mouth popped open.  The creature Elyan was pointing to was a dark bay with an irregular, splotchy white blaze down her muzzle, her smooth coat appearing nearly black in the dim light of the stables.  She was stout and smoothly muscled, watching them with a calm, composed energy, and even as Daegal stared, she stretched her neck over the stall door and sniffed at Elyan’s hands, perhaps searching for any remnants of his recent breakfast.

“My sister,” Elyan said proudly, scratching the horse’s cheek, “is aces at presents.”

“She’s not for me,” Daegal croaked disbelievingly.

“Of course she is,” Elyan assured him.  “She’s the same stock as Merlin’s.  Steady temperament, friendly, not likely to spook.  Not like Arthur’s beasts.”

A horse, Daegal thought numbly.  A horse. 

“I can’t take this,” he mumbled.  “It’s too much.”

“Of course it’s not too much.  You saved the king’s life.”

I almost killed him! Daegal wanted to shout, but Elyan would not understand.  

“And you’ll need transportation, anyhow,” Elyan continued.  “You can’t be jogging along behind Merlin on foot.  Apprentices in the royal household have mounts, or they can’t do their work.”

Daegal bit the inside of his cheek.  “I don’t even know how to ride her.”

The horse cocked her ears in Daegal’s direction and swung her blocky head around to inspect him, her dark brown eyes sedate and trusting.  “What do you think we’re here to practice?” Elyan asked cheerfully, retrieving a halter and lead rope from a hook on the wall.  “Go on, say hello to her.”

Daegal’s hand came up of its own accord, hovering in the air below his new mount’s nose.  She lipped at his fingers curiously.  “Hello,” Daegal breathed.

He didn’t deserve her.  He knew he didn’t.  

But he was falling in love with her anyway.

It was a very windswept and breathless Daegal who climbed off his horse later that day and ran to greet Merlin at the fence.  

Evening was coming on, and the temperature had sunk as quickly as the sun, but Daegal did not even notice the stiffness in his fingers or the tightness in his cheeks.  He was too carried away with the elation of riding, and the dizzying knowledge that he now had the means to go anywhere he wanted, anytime, without begging for rides in the back of strangers’ wagons.  Months ago he would have killed for this kind of ability to roam.  

It was strange, now that he finally had the freedom to run away whenever he pleased, that he no longer felt he had anything to run away from.

“Having fun?” Merlin asked, elbows resting on the fence.

Daegal did not think fun was the right word.  There was just no good way to explain that he felt like a menagerie bear whose shackles had slipped, or a noblewoman’s bird escaping out a cracked window.  “It’s brilliant,” he said, settling for a completely inadequate adjective.  “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And he’s good at it!” Elyan put in, walking Daegal’s horse over to the gate.  “We’ve only been out here one day and he’s got her cantering already - I think this beast is talking to him.”

If Daegal’s cheeks had not been whipped rosy by the wind already, they were certainly turning pink now.  “No,” he said to Merlin, “not - talking to me.  Obviously not.  Just - I sort of feel like I understand her, is all.”

Merlin did not seem to think this was strange at all, and produced a chunk of some sort of winter root vegetable from his coat, offering it to the horse.  She snapped it up eagerly.  “Animals talk,” Merlin said, shrugging.  “It’s people as don’t know how to listen that get kicked in the nethers.”  

He untied the gate for Elyan, who led the horse through it and started up the path back to the stables proper.  “How was your day?” Merlin asked Daegal, as the three of them walked, Elyan leading the horse on one side, and Merlin and Daegal on the other.

Daegal had to think before answering.  It had been, by a wide margin, the strangest day he had ever experienced in Camelot, starting with Elyan’s surprise appearance that morning and punctuated by a number of other unexpected visitors.  Leon had arrived in the stables not long after Elyan and Daegal, bringing with him a collection of exquisitely embroidered tack (“Part of Her Majesty’s gift,” he’d explained), and then he’d spent the next hour walking Daegal through the various bits and pieces, guiding him through the process of putting them on his mount and taking them off again.  Percival had dropped by with his own mount and accompanied Daegal on a slow ride outside the ring, along the edge of the woods - Elyan had ridden in the saddle behind Daegal, just to be safe, but he had not had to take the reins from Daegal once, and they had gone on a nice plodding walk around the frostbitten perimeter of what would be fairgrounds, come summer.  Even Mordred had made a brief appearance, in his oddly intense way - apparently out for a ride of his own, watching Elyan and Daegal lungeing Daegal’s mount for a few minutes, before nodding to the both of them and continuing on his way, his own horse cresting the hill so smoothly that it appeared as if it were not touching the ground.

“It was strange,” Daegal decided.

Merlin walked along beside him, his boots crunching on the frostbitten grass.  “Why?”

“I don’t know.  All these people - ”  Daegal paused, brushing a hand against his horse’s flank.  “I don’t see why they’re taking an interest.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin replied.  “People are supposed to make a fuss.”

Daegal was not sure about that.  It had not ever been his experience in the past, at least.  “It’s not really my birthday, though.”

“Only because I didn’t know about it.”

They continued walking, Daegal worrying at his lip.  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said abruptly, after a minute.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?”

Daegal shook his head quickly.  “I am.”  Too much, he thought.  His exhilaration at being taught how to ride had driven it from his mind for a while, but now - 

Elyan waved to someone up ahead, interrupting Daegal’s thoughts.  There in the stableyard was Gwaine, lounging against the edge of the open doors, dressed not in his crimson surcoat but in plain clothes, and tossing a small pouch from hand to hand.  

“You’re early,” Merlin called to him.  “We’ve still got to groom and water this creature.”

“I thought I was supposed to be in charge of the watering,” Gwaine replied, which seemed like a very odd thing to say.  “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“I’m talking about the horse.”

Gwaine pushed himself off the wall, joining the little group as they entered the yard.  “Our guest of honor,” he said, indicating Daegal.  “This fellow’s been doing our job for us, Elyan.  Saving the king is knight’s work, isn’t it?”

Elyan led the horse past Gwaine with a smirk.  “How would you know?  You’ve never done a bit of it.”

Gwaine shook his head, glancing at Daegal in a comradely way.  “Why does everybody think I only took this job for the food?” 

Daegal, who had only rarely interacted with Gwaine before, did not know what to answer, but Merlin saved him the trouble.  “Because we know you,” he said, and then smiled when Gwaine gave him a crooked grin.

That was utter nonsense.  Even Daegal knew that Gwaine had nearly died during Morgana’s occupation, specifically while fighting to keep a number of his fellow prisoners from starving - but Merlin and Gwaine were a bit like Merlin and Will in that way, at least to Daegal’s limited experience, wherein Gwaine did not always want people to see him for what he truly was, and Merlin always chose to see him anyway, if only from behind a mutually agreed-upon smokescreen of affectionate teasing.

“Well, let’s hurry it up,” Gwaine said, tossing his little bag in the air.  “I’d like to get on with my bit.”

His bit?  

Gwaine paused in front of the empty stall while Elyan gathered what they would need for a post-ride grooming.  “I hear it’s your birthday,” Gwaine said to Daegal, and then before Daegal could explain that it wasn’t, exactly, Gwaine handed Daegal the little leather bag.  “There’s for you, then.”

Daegal, surprised, loosened the cinched string at the top of the pouch and tipped the contents into his other hand.  Out tumbled four dice, the smoothly-carved cubes clacking against one another as they fell into Daegal’s palm.  

Daegal looked up at Gwaine, confused.

“I thought you could use them,” Gwaine said.  

“For what?”

Gwaine grinned and exchanged a knowing look with Merlin.  “My bit.”

Daegal stared at at the dice in his hand, then snapped his gaze up to Merlin, suddenly seized by a burst of excitement.  “Are we - ”

Merlin held up a finger.  “On three conditions,” he declared, obviously trying not to smile.  

Daegal closed his fingers tightly around the dice, trying not to appear too eager.

“One: you’re going to untack and groom your mount.  The stablehands will do that for you, when you ride out with our party, but she’s your responsibility.  You have to know how to take care of her.”

Daegal had no objections to that.  He already loved this horse better than anything he’d ever owned.

“Two: weak drinks only.”

We’ll see, Gwaine mouthed behind Merlin.

“Three - ”  Merlin held up a third finger.  “You leave when I leave.  Will’s right about the after-curfew crowd.  That’s a sort of trouble you don’t need.”  He looked expectantly at Daegal.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”  Daegal nodded fervently.  “Is it - who’s coming?”  

“Everybody!” Elyan supplied happily, uncinching the horse’s girth.  “You saved our king.  We owe you a night out.”   

Merlin, who had perhaps understood Daegal’s question better, said, “Everybody who likes drinks and dicing and general uproar.” 

This statement prompted appreciative, anticipatory grins from Gwaine and Elyan, and Daegal refrained from asking any follow-up questions, having understood the answer perfectly well.  He had been working with Merlin long enough to know that if there were one thing Will avoided more assiduously than King Arthur, it was large groups of loud people losing their heads over absolutely nothing.

“Let’s get started, then,” Gwaine said.  “D’you think you can untack this beast and learn the rules to Hazard at the same time?”

Daegal stuffed the dice into his pocket and grasped the bridle’s noseband buckle.  “I can try.”

Gwaine grinned wolfishly.  “That’s just what I like to hear.”

They ended up staying a bit later than they’d intended. 

By the time Merlin finally had the sense to bring the evening to a close, Daegal had turned the single half-penny he had started with into several silver pieces (“Alchemy!” Gwaine had proclaimed triumphantly, knocking his cup into Daegal’s so that some of the drink had sloshed over), and Daegal had become very popular with some of the tavern regulars, who were beyond tickled to see a seventeen year-old boy flatten strangers’ smug expectations of victory.  Daegal had not won every time, of course, but he had gotten extremely lucky at several critical moments and had at the very end miraculously thrown his chance number twice, after the odds had already been declared heavily against him (and thus after the other players had upped their contribution to Daegal’s stake with the expectation that he would lose).

Merlin had pulled Daegal from the game after that, sitting him back down at the knights’ table, which was piled high with food and drink.  “First lesson,” he’d said, offering Daegal a very watered-down ale, “and one you won’t learn from Gwaine - quit while you’re ahead.” 

They had stayed for a long time after that, socializing and eating their fill, until Merlin had finally seemed to take notice of the time (or perhaps of the slightly seedy-looking characters who had started to wander in through the back entrance).  Merlin, at that point, had prompted Daegal to gather his winnings, say his goodbyes, and make his exit, pursued by a chorus of enthusiastic farewells from the knights, none of whom showed any sign of abandoning their seats anytime soon.

Stepping out into the night air was like diving into a frozen moat.  Daegal drew his cloak tighter around his torso as he and Merlin wound their way through the town.  The Rising Sun’s interior had been as stiflingly hot as its namesake, overflowing with a press of bodies and thrumming with a constant cacophony of conversation, and even from the outside its closed shutters leaked driblets of light and noise, as if the building were bursting at the seams.  The town, by contrast, was stone-silent and frigid, everybody shut up in their homes waiting for the weak light of morning. 

“You did well,” Merlin said, as they approached the citadel.  “You’re sure you’ve never played Hazard before?”

Daegal shook his head.  His mother would never have let him, before, and after - 

He pushed that thought away, watching his breath mist in front of his face.  He’d never had enough money to gamble with after that, that was all.

“You weren’t helping me, were you?” Daegal asked Merlin.

“No, you got lucky.”  Merlin chuckled.  “The look on that fellow’s face...”

Daegal smiled faintly, remembering.  Daegal had taken rather a lot of money from a beefy, belligerent fellow who had been bothering everybody all night, which had resulted in a vastly improved tavern experience for all when the man had stormed out in a rage, and which had also earned a round of free drinks for Daegal’s table.  “He wasn’t too pleased, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.  Not quite the sort of evening he was expecting to have, I don’t think.”

They walked on, approaching the retracted drawbridge, and detoured to the parallel pedestrian crossing instead, passing through the smaller door to the bridge’s left and entering the courtyard, Merlin offering a hello to the familiar guards as they went.

“How does it feel to be older?” Merlin asked, as they crossed the darkened square.

Daegal shrugged.  “I don’t know.  The same, I suppose.”

But that wasn’t exactly true, Daegal thought, as they entered the base of the North Tower.  Last year, things had been very different.  A few months ago, he could never have dreamed of the sort of day he’d been having today.  And now - 

He hesitated at the bottom of the stair leading to the physician’s chambers.  Merlin, oblivious to the fact that Daegal was not right behind him, kept climbing.  

“Why are you doing all this?” Daegal asked.  His voice sounded strange in his own ears, or maybe that was just a function of the echo in the hollow space, his words bouncing off the stone shell on either side of him.

Merlin turned around, surprised to see Daegal still standing at the bottom of the stairs.  “All what?”

Daegal made an uncertain gesture.  “This.  All these things today...I don’t understand.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin said, as if that made any sense at all.

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said.  “Even if it were, I don’t see - I mean, it doesn’t matter.”  He shrugged uncomfortably.  “Who cares?”

Merlin stared levelly at Daegal.  “I do,” he said.

A long silence ensued.  Daegal could not possibly have formulated a reply to this even if he’d known what to say, but Merlin did not ask him to respond, instead descending a few steps and putting a hand on Daegal’s elbow, nudging him up the staircase.  “Come on,” he said quietly.  “It’s late.”

Daegal followed him without a word, stunned and silent, seven stories straight up.

“Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, old man?” Merlin said, immediately upon opening the doors to the physician’s chambers.  

Daegal, trailing behind, thought this was a very unusual way for Merlin to address Gaius, but as he peered around Merlin’s shoulder, he realized it was not Gaius to whom Merlin was speaking, but Will, who was sitting by the little hearthfire at the left of the room with his feet propped up on a stool.  

“No,” Will replied, though he did look like he was ready to doze off.  “It might be a bit past Arthur’s, though.”

Merlin swore and stopped dead in the doorway.  “He sent somebody up?”

“Several somebodies.”

“What did you tell them?

Will waved an unconcerned hand.  “I don’t remember.”   

“Will - ”

“Isn’t he waiting for you to turn down his sheets or something?”

“Did you tell them I was at the tavern?”

Will smirked.  

Merlin, cursing under his breath, took Daegal by the upper arms and maneuvered him into the room.  “Drink some water.  Kip on the patient cot - you’re up early collecting pots with Gaius tomorrow; you might as well sleep here.”  He tore off his outerwear and dumped it on a table.  “You,” he said to Will, “on the other hand, can go home, you ass.”

Will tipped his chair back, cupping a hand to his ear.  “What’s that?  ‘Have my bed, William’?  All right, if you say so.”

Merlin flashed Will a rude gesture before tearing out of the room.  Daegal caught the door before it could slam and closed it carefully, so as not to disturb Gaius, who was sleeping behind the screens that had been drawn around his corner.

Will rose from his seat with a yawn, stretching.  “So you had your evening out at last.”

Daegal did not answer him, his mind still trapped back there in the stairwell with Merlin.  I do, he heard again, as he struggled to untie his cloak.  I do.  

“Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Daegal managed to undo the knot, his fingers clumsy with cold.  He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and folded it slowly, first in half, then in fours, and then laid it aside before doing the same with Merlin’s rumpled jacket, single-mindedly focused on his task.

“I hope you at least took something off Gwaine.  Fellow’s too cocky for his own good.”

Daegal, out of things to fold, stared at his hands.  Will came closer, scrutinizing Daegal in the low light.  “How much did you have to drink?” 

Daegal stuck his hands into his pockets, avoiding Will’s gaze.  Not much, was the true answer, but he couldn’t find the words.  

He fingered the coins in his pocket, the silver pieces cold and clinking against one another.  

“Oi,” Will said, frowning.  He tipped Daegal’s chin up to see his eyes.  “You all right in there?��

Morgana had given Daegal a sack of coins just like this, once.

Daegal yanked his hands out of his pockets as if he had been burned, jerking back from Will’s fingers.  

“This is wrong,” he blurted out.

Will blinked at him.  “Sorry?”

“I can’t do this.  It’s - I can’t.  It’s not right.”

“What isn’t?”

“Everything!  The birthday, the money, the tavern, the riding - ”  Daegal's voice was rising, but he could not rein himself in.  He had been trying to tell this to someone all day.  “The horse, the land, breakfast - ”

Will stared at him, confounded.  “Breakfast?”

Daegal struggled mightily not to holler in frustration.  Will, of all people, ought to have understood, but it appeared he was committed to being just as obtuse as everyone else.  “Yes!  I don’t deserve it; it isn’t right - ”

Will’s eyebrows shot up.  He did not give Daegal another chance to wake Gaius, but planted a hand on Daegal’s shoulder and spun him around, muttering, “Go,” in a low voice, pushing Daegal away from Gaius’s sleeping area in the direction of Merlin’s chambers.  Daegal allowed himself to be marched up the little staircase, Will following, until they were both in Merlin’s room, the small chamber chilly and cloaked with shadows, lit only by a single hanging candle.  

Closing the door, Will turned back to Daegal.  “Start over,” he commanded.

Daegal whipped out Arthur’s envelope.  “The King - he gave me a land grant.”

Will snatched the piece of parchment out of Daegal’s hand, scanning it briefly.  “So?” he said, discarding the envelope onto Merlin’s desk.  “He can afford it.”

“But it’s - ”

“Nothing he’ll miss.”

“But - ”

“But what?”

“The Queen - ”

“What about her?”

“She gave me a horse.”

Will shrugged.  “And?”

“It’s too much!  I can’t - ”

“Are you planning to thank her for it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to take care of it?”

“Of course!”

“Then what’s the trouble?  She wanted you to have it.”

“She gave it to me for the wrong reasons!” Daegal exclaimed frustratedly.  “She kept saying I helped her, but I didn’t do anything.  I didn’t even know she needed help.  I thought she wanted the throne for herself - ”

“You stopped her killing her husband,” Will said, interrupting.  “You saved his life.”

“I didn’t save him.  I almost killed him.  I’m the reason he needed help in the first place.  But all of them are acting like - ”  Daegal thought back to earlier that night, to Elyan, who had shown Daegal how to calculate Hazard odds in his head; to Leon, who had spoken to Daegal like one of the adults; to Percival, who had taught Daegal the less savory lyrics to the tavern’s favorite drinking songs; and to Gwaine, who had murmured advice in Daegal’s ear while Daegal cast his dice.  “They kept saying I’d done their job for them.  They - ”  

A horrible, hollow feeling bloomed in Daegal’s chest, strangling his voice.  He pulled the coins out of his pocket and dumped them onto Merlin’s desk, not wanting to carry that cold weight for another moment.  “They don’t know me.  They don’t know what I’m like.”

Will watched him closely, his eyes narrowing.  “What are you like?”  

Daegal shook his head and sank down onto Merlin’s bed, staring at the floor.  He didn’t want to say it.  He shouldn’t need to say it.  Will already knew the whole story; Daegal shouldn’t have needed to retread all the ugly details.  

Will folded his arms, leaning back against the top of Merlin’s desk.  The single candle did very little to illuminate his set expression, but the moonlight in the window behind him threaded his silhouette with silver.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about my birthday,” Daegal murmured, his voice thick.  “I should have just kept it quiet.  That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Will frowned.  “Who said that?”

“Merlin.  When I didn’t mention my birthday - he said you were - well, he said we were two of a kind.”

Will shook his head.  “I don’t hide my birthday.”

“I think you must,” Daegal said stubbornly, returning to his intense inspection of the floorboards.  “Because I don’t even know when it is.”

“Neither do I.”

Daegal looked up, surprised.  “What?”

“I don’t know when my birthday is.”

“Why - ”

Will lifted a finger repressively, and Daegal realized he was not going to be getting that part of the story tonight, or maybe ever.  “It doesn’t matter,” Will said.  “I don’t care.  I don’t fancy it much, anyhow.  It’s nothing to me.  Merlin, though - ”  He gestured at the room around them, at the mussed bedclothes and the stacked manuscripts and the sketched diagrams pasted to the walls.  “He doesn’t like it when I say things like that.  It bothers him.  He’s got ideas about how these things are supposed to be done, and he thinks it’s wrong, not telling me happy birthday, even if I’d rather he just left it alone.”

Daegal had no trouble believing it, if Merlin’s reaction to Daegal’s skipped birthday were anything to go by.  “But then - ”  Daegal frowned.  “He mustn’t know when your birthday is, either.”

“My birthday,” Will said, in a long-suffering way, “is whenever Merlin decides he wants it to be.  He comes crawling into my cott at some godsforsaken hour of the morning on whatever personally convenient day he’s picked that year, and then he yanks me out of bed and feeds me too much food and drags me all over creation doing the sort of things he thinks I’ll like doing.  I’ve been telling him to drop it for more years than you’ve been alive, but he never listens.  It doesn’t matter how much I whinge about it.  He never forgets.  He can’t help himself.  He thinks it’s important, telling people he’s happy they were born, even if they don’t think being born was such a fantastic thing themselves.”  

Will gestured at Daegal.  “If you’re going to be one of his people now, you’re going to have to get used to that.  You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got to understand it.  That’s who he is.  That’s how he treats people.  He won’t give you a pass on birthday fuss just because you don’t think you’re worth fussing over.  He’s not built that way.”

Daegal heard Merlin’s words again, echoing against the frozen stones of the stairwell.  Who cares? Daegal had asked.  

I do.

He twisted his fingers together.  Out in the physician’s chamber proper, Gaius was snoring.  

“It’s not just Merlin, though,” Daegal said finally, in a soft voice.  “Everybody - all of them are doing too much.”

“Too much how?”

“They keep thanking me.  But the gifts are - I didn’t earn them.  I don’t deserve them.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me; I know.”  Daegal stared at Will, helpless to explain why Will’s inability to accept this simple truth made him feel so utterly lost at sea.  “I don’t understand this.  You’re the one who kept saying I did something wrong.”

“You did do something wrong,” Will replied, as if this entire line of discussion were so obvious that it did not need to be examined.  “But you did something right, too.”

“I - ”

Will held up a hand.  “Who was it nearly got themselves killed saving Pendragon’s gleaming hide?  Who was it betrayed Morgana?”

“Me, but - ”

“Who was it came back to save Merlin’s life?”

“From something I did to him in the first place.”

“From something Morgana did to him,” Will corrected.

“I helped,” Daegal retorted.  “You’re always saying - you said I need to take responsibility.”

“You do,” Will said.  “For all your choices.  Not just the shyte ones.”  He gestured at the door, back towards the rest of the castle.  “You saved two lives.  You nearly got yourself killed doing it.  That’s what they’re all thanking you for.  It’s not about what you did for yourself; it’s what you did for everyone else, when you didn’t have to.  You didn’t have to come back for Merlin.  You didn’t have to follow him to Camelot.  You could have just taken Morgana’s money and run.”

“I tried,” Daegal confessed, his mouth very dry.  “I tried.  I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Will said, as if he already knew the answer.

“I just - couldn’t.”  Daegal remembered it with a nightmarish clarity, hesitating in the thickness of the undergrowth as the encroaching night muddled his vision, knowing that Merlin was suffocating at the bottom of a muddy ravine where no one would ever find his body.  “I felt like something was going to swallow me.  I would’ve rather died than felt like that all the time.”

“That’s because you know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Will said, as if he had been waiting for Daegal to say this all along.  “And you chose right.”

“I chose wrong first.”

Will shook his head.  “Lots of people choose wrong first.  Doesn’t mean that what you choose next doesn’t matter.”

Daegal played with the hem of his sleeve, wrapping a fraying thread around his finger.  Will pushed himself up from the desk and dragged Merlin’s chair over to a spot across from Daegal, then sat down.  “Listen here,” he said.  “I can’t say I’d be too pleased to get a load of gifts that I didn’t think I ought to have, either.  But you can’t give them back, and you can’t convince people that you don’t deserve them, either.”  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “You’ve got to just smile, and say thank you, and do your best to be worthy of everyone’s gifts.”

Daegal absorbed this, nodding slowly.  “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Will said.  “And so does everyone else.”  Will met Daegal’s gaze unflinchingly, his outline illuminated at the edges by the moon at his back.  “Don’t you ever tell me that lot doesn’t know what you’re like.  They know it better than you do.”

Daegal swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.  

“Now then,” Will said, linking his hands behind the back of his chair and stretching out his arms.  “This is rubbish timing, but you’ve got to start practicing sometime, so let’s just get it over with.”  He withdrew a thin, utensil-sized package from his pocket, extending it to Daegal.  “Don’t have a crisis, now.”

“Oh - no - ” Daegal moaned.

“Oi,” Will warned.  “What’ve we just talked about?”

Daegal took the parcel.

“Smile and say thank you,” Will prompted, when Daegal did not say anything right away.

Daegal managed a wobbly smile, and an even wobblier thank you, which Will, to Daegal’s very great relief, chose not to comment upon.

Daegal untied the parcel.  The cloth casing fell away, revealing a short and sturdy pocketknife encased in a plain leather sheath.  Daegal picked it up and turned it over in his hands, knowing immediately that Will had carved the handle himself.  It fit into Daegal’s hand as if it had been moulded from a plaster cast, and it was the only part of the knife sporting any decoration, inscribed as it was with an angular script that Daegal could not read in this light.  Daegal removed the sheath and found that the blade had been sharpened to a dangerous edge, the point glinting in the moonlight.

“Elyan did that bit,” Will said.  “It ought to hold an edge better than what you have now.”

“No more mashing seed pods,” Daegal murmured.

“Exactly.”

Daegal ran a finger over the symbols carved into the handle.  He hadn’t learned all his letters yet, but he thought he ought to have been able to recognize a few of them, at least.  “What’s this writing?”

“Oh, that,” Will said, as if he had almost forgotten.  “It’s spelled.”

“Spelled?”

“Magicked.  Against slips.  To spare your fingers.”  Will waggled his own fingers in the air, and Daegal had to laugh a little.

“Merlin?”

Will’s face took on a thoughtful look.  “No, actually.”  He pointed at the unfamiliar runes, his tone becoming more serious.  “Mordred says that if you’re going to exploit his people for personal gain, then you’re going to learn something about the culture.”

Daegal froze.  A chill ran through him.  He had never even considered - 

He gripped the inscribed handle with sweaty fingers, mortified.  “He’s angry with me.”

“No,” Will said.  “I don’t think so, at least.  It’s hard to tell with that fellow.”

At Daegal’s dismayed look, Will added, “He offered to spell the thing himself, at least, so I can’t imagine he’s too upset with you.  But he has every right to be, you realize that?”

Daegal nodded quickly.     

“You’re going to go and see him,” Will said, his voice calm, but his tone brooking no argument.  “And you’re going to apologize, and you’re going to listen to whatever it is he wants to tell you.  You understand?”

“Yes,” Daegal said quickly.  “I’ll do it.”  He glanced at the door.

“Not now,” Will clarified.  “Tomorrow.  He might not be angry just yet, but he will be if you yank him out of bed a few hours before he’s supposed to be on patrol.”

Daegal’s shoulders sagged.  Will was right, but Daegal could not stand the thought of waiting.  Yet another guilt-monster was chewing a hole in his stomach, and he was starting to think those gnawing teeth would never let him sleep.  He recalled, suddenly, with a fresh wave of horror, the outrage on Merlin’s face when Daegal’s falsified triskele had smeared away, how tightly Merlin’s fingers had dug into Daegal’s wrist.  

Here was one more stupid thing Daegal had done.  One more person he’d injured.  One more wrongheaded decision.  

His eyes drifted longingly towards the door again.  

“No,” Will said, shaking his head.  “You made that bed, now you lie in it for one night.”  

Daegal sighed, and Will’s tone softened.  “You’ll make it right in the morning,” he said.

Daegal traced one of the Druidic runes with a finger.  He supposed that was the best he could do.

Will stood up and beckoned for Daegal to join him.  “Listen,” he said, pushing Merlin’s chair back under the desk.  “It’s late.  I don’t want you up all night brooding over this, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, but he had a feeling he was in for yet another night of lying awake under a blanket of guilt he had woven for himself.

“And - not that this needs to be said, but let’s not tell anyone you’ve got a magic pocketknife, all right?  Pendragon will think I’ve been messing about with enchantments behind his back, and he’ll have me booted out of this kingdom faster than you can say insufferable bastard.”

“But you don’t have - ”

“Yes, I do,” Will reminded Daegal, giving him a significant look.  “And that’s exactly what you’re going to tell people, if anybody starts asking questions.”  He opened Merlin’s door, ushering Daegal through it.  “But let’s not give folk a reason to ask, all right?  Otherwise the next person trying to kill the king might be me, because if Pendragon wants me out of this place he’s going to have to execute me and exile my corpse, no matter if I did sign a stupid promise ‘renouncing the practice of magic in all its forms,’ or whatever other rubbish that idiot asked me to agree to.”

Daegal followed Will across the main chamber, watching while Will pulled on his outerwear.  “I’m guessing he never gave you a land grant, then?”

Will burst into laughter, leaning heavily on the door handle.  He only remembered to clap a hand over his mouth when a slumbering Gaius snorted and rolled over.  “Oh, lor,” he wheezed, trying to recover himself.  “Don’t do that to me.”  

Daegal smiled sheepishly.  Will straightened up, his eyes creased with pure, undisciplined mirth.  “You won’t let all those fancy presents go to your head, now, will you?”

“I won’t,” Daegal promised.   “But - about Arthur’s gift, though.  I don’t actually know what to do with a plot of land.”

“Neither does Arthur,” Will said, rolling his eyes.  “But I do, and so does Merlin.  We’ll work it out together, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, as Will unlatched the door.  “Erm.  Will - ”

“Yeah.”

Smile and say thank you.  “Thank you,” Daegal said, trying on a smile for size, hoping it did not falter too much at the corners.  “For the knife, and - everything else.”

Will regarded him in that way of his that was very off-putting when you did not want to be read like a book but somehow oddly useful when you were trying to communicate something unspoken.  “You’re welcome,” Will said finally, surprising Daegal by reaching out and mussing his hair.  “See?  You’ve got the hang of things already.”

Will turned to go, but when he reached the top of the staircase he paused, glancing back.  “And, listen - ” he said, his voice low enough not to wake Gaius, but somehow warm enough to push back the December chill.  “Whether you like it or not - happy birthday, lad.”

Daegal sat tucked away in one of the window nooks, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket and the glass casement leaching heat away from his side.  Merlin was long since abed, and Gaius’s muffled snores filled the main chamber, a soft drone of sound behind the screens.  Outside, the moon hung chubby and ovoid in the sky, like a pale seed on a black field of soil, like the bulbs Daegal would plant in his new garden, which was out there somewhere, nestled in the farming fields of the Sprawl.

He rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar runes carved into the handle of his birthday blade.  His sixteen year-old self would have thrown that knife away, just to be safe.  There would have been no reason for him to believe that someone he’d injured would ever magick a gift for him just to be helpful, and sixteen year-old Daegal would have assumed that the spell “to spare his fingers” was in fact a curse to make sure they all fell off.  

But seventeen year-old Daegal was determined not to think like that anymore.  He was not going to think the worst of everyone who tried to help him, and he was not going to throw away gifts, whether he thought he deserved them or not.  He was going to smile, and say thank you, and do his best to be worthy of what he’d been given.

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, looking down at the flickering lights on the city walls and the dark countryside beyond.  The Sprawl’s rolling jumble of cottages and fields melted into a shadowy sea of forest, and far away, the looming bulk of the White Mountains towered over the skyline, the peaks’ black silhouettes only distinguishable at this hour by an absence of stars.  

It was a very big world, Daegal thought, following the craggy outline of the range with his eyes.  And he had made plenty of bad decisions blundering around within its borders, that was certain.  But there was something beautiful about it still, even in the dead of winter.  

And it was not nearly as bleak as it had appeared to be, this time last year.  

Seventeen was going to be different, Daegal told himself.  Like Merlin always said.  It won’t always be like this.  Things will be better.  Daegal could make them better.  He had chosen wrong first, but he could choose right next.  He could choose right from now on.  He had made a mistake, but he could make it right in the morning.  

And tonight - tonight, it was still his birthday.

It isn’t, his sixteen year-old self snapped.  

“It is,” Daegal said.  “It’s my birthday.”

Who cares, the voice scoffed.

Daegal wrapped his fingers around his unearned mark of forgiveness, the grooves of the rune-etched handle imprinting themselves into his skin.  “I do,”  he said firmly, putting every ounce of conviction he had behind the words.  “I do.”

His younger self shut its mouth.

Daegal smiled slightly.  “Happy birthday to me,” he murmured, and was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.  

Curled up against the window, he tucked his knife against his side and fixed his eyes on the horizon, settling in to wait for the sun.

[callboxkat]

Those Long, Lonely Nights (part 4/6)

Author’s note: This is a retelling of the story These Deep Dark Woods, but from Roman’s perspective. I recommend reading that story first, but this can also stand alone.

Summary: Roman, a knight, insists on accompanying his best friend Logan, a potion maker, when he decides to head into the notoriously dangerous woods bordering their home to find some rare herbs and minerals for his apothecary. They find much more than they bargained for when they encounter Remus, a bloodthirsty giant. Logince. Angst with a happy ending.

Fic Warnings:  food mention, blood, injuries, death mention, killing mention, gun mention, mild body horror (it’s Remus), disturbing imagery (it’s Remus), character death, temporary/believed character death, kidnapping, guilt, attempted self sacrifice, talk of giants, vampires and other monsters. Very unsympathetic villain Remus.

Word Count: 3910

Part 1 : Part 5 

Writing Masterpost!

...

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the giant called in a sing-song voice. “I know you’re theeerrrre, little bugs!”

Roman and Logan were pressed against an outcropping of rock, panting, trying to be as quiet as they could while they caught their breath. Logan, in his darker attire, was peeking through the small gap between the cliff and some undergrowth, towards where the monster was. Roman watched as he shuddered. He went to put a hand on Logan’s shoulder, as if to comfort him, then thought better of it, and took it away.

The giant was well and truly angry now. It was clear that he had been toying with them before—despite having very, very nearly killed Logan once already—and he had at least then wanted them to last a while, while he had his fun. But that was before. Now, he was still definitely trying to have some sick, twisted version of fun, but he did not plan to keep either of them alive for long.

Remus had a club with him now. An enormous weapon that someone of his size should not have reasonably been able to wield—even standing at four times the height of a normal man, with hands large enough to wrap around entire human limbs and with shoulders the width of a decent-sized supply cart, the pink and black boulder wrapped over and over again to that thick, gnarled log serving as a handle was enormous. Had the giant had human proportions, he shouldn’t have been able to lift it, let alone swing it like a bat.

One good hit, and they were both done for.

The giant was getting closer. Logan silently tugged at Roman’s sleeve, and the pair snuck further away as quickly as they dared, doing their best to stay silent. Roman’s ears were still ringing a little, so he could only hope his training was paying off, and that he was being quiet enough. Logan didn’t say anything, but watching how he listed heavily to one side as they went, Roman didn’t really trust him to be a good judge either.

They pressed themselves against the next outcrop. Old Haven was sometimes called Stony Cliffs in older manuscripts, and it was easy to see why—the forests here were filled with these outcroppings, especially to the south and west. They were useful both for Logan’s work, seeking (relatively) easily accessed minerals for his apothecary, and, it seemed, for hiding from homicidal giants.

Roman’s head was spinning, but he was much more worried about Logan. They’d tied a makeshift bandage around his head wound,  although the bleeding had mostly stopped, but he was not in good shape. It was still shocking to Roman that he had survived this long at all. Thinking back, it seemed almost impossible. Perhaps he had gotten lucky, being bundled into the giant’s bag after Roman, that his head had been pressed into Roman’s side. Tied up and probably concussed as he was, Roman had been in no shape at the time to try to stop the bleeding, even if he had known that Logan wasn’t already dead at the time. That small, random chance might have been what kept Logan alive.

Roman decided that he really did not want to think about that, actually.

But he could not stop thinking about how pale Logan looked, nor the way he seemed to be just barely keeping himself from collapsing.

The giant was getting closer.

“Come on,” Roman reluctantly whispered, hating that he couldn’t give Logan more time to actually rest. They had to keep moving. He listened for a moment just to be sure he knew where the giant was—although Remus’s movements were hardly subtle—and began to creep out in the opposite direction, pausing to be sure Logan followed.

The dull thuds and crashing of Remus’s movements paused. Roman and Logan both froze.

“Come on, don’t be that way,” the giant called, his voice echoing through the trees. “Where are you trying to run off to?” He cackled, and Roman heard a rustle, the whoosh of air, and a few loud cracks, like Remus had gestured around the dark forest with his club and broken several branches in the process. “Don’t you know what could happen? You could fall and break your legs! You’ll be completely helpless! And then you’d get eaten by birds! Ooh, do you think they’d peck out your eyes first? Or would you get to watch the whole thing?”

Roman and Logan waited, terrified, until it was safe to move again.

Boom!

The sound echoed through the forest. A tree only a dozen yards away fell to the ground. A single bird let out an alarm call as it finally realized that this was the last place it wanted to be, and fled.

“At least we know where he is,” Logan whispered.

That was true. Remus did not seem to be prioritizing stealth in the slightest. Probably, this was because he was certain that Roman and Logan wouldn’t escape either way, but it was reassuring all the same. Roman would take what he could get.

They made it to the next outcrop of rock. At the base of it, in the mud, was the unmistakable impression of an enormous footprint. It couldn’t have been very old. Roman thought he could see more of them, deeper in the trees, visible even in the dimness. Probably, the giant had come this way not long before he’d captured Roman and Logan.

How long had the giant been watching them? Waiting for them to let their guard down, so he could strike?

Roman thought of how he’d slowly grown bored, pacing the perimeter of their camp, and eventually gone to simply sit sleepily on a boulder. Stupid.

They should have turned back when they had the chance. They never should have gone so deep into the woods at all. They could have been home right now, eating peach tarts by the fire in Roman’s cozy cabin, ostensibly because it was closer to the South Tower and thus less of a trek for Logan that night, but really just to spend time together, listening to the lively music drifting from the pub down the street.

It was too late, now, though. Now, Roman could only hope that he could get them both out alive.

…

As they stumbled as fast as they could through the trees, breathing harshly, hardly caring if they were even going in the right direction, the sky gradually began to lighten. The dawn made it easier to see where they were going, so they were able to move just a little faster, but it also made it all the more obvious just how far they had to go. And the giant was not a welcome sight in the light of day.

“FEE, FIE, FOE, FUM!” the giant called, slamming his feet down on the ground with each step, hard enough to make the ground shudder. “Come on out and let’s have some fun!”

The words, delivered with such a promise of violence, sent a fresh curl of fear into Roman’s chest. It seemed even when he thought he couldn’t be more afraid, he was wrong.

Logan’s hand tightened around Roman, gripping his coat, an effort to keep them from getting separated. Roman was glad for the proof that Logan was there with him. He was afraid to keep looking over his shoulder. Partly because he needed to see where he was going, and partly because he was afraid of knowing just how close Remus might be.

Occasionally, the giant would pause in his pursuit, and just listen. Roman knew that the giant was tracking them, or attempting to do so; he knew that they should be trying harder to be quiet. He also knew that they had no time to slow down. He wasn’t sure either of them was in good enough shape any more to do anything to muffle their footsteps, if they tried.

“Come on, come on,” Roman panted, looking around in desperation as they continued on. Not a moment later, the knight’s foot caught on something, and he and Logan were both sent sprawling.

Roman hit the ground hard, landing on uneven ground strewn with stones and tree roots. His head spun, and a long second passed before the world began to settle around him. He lifted up a hand and touched a newly sore spot on his head, practically on top of where Remus had already flicked him.

He heard a shout in the distance.

Logan was leaning over him, one hand reached out, gasping. “Let’s go,” he said.

Roman blinked, watching the way Logan’s hair drifted slightly in the faint breeze. Now that the sun was coming up and he could see better, Logan’s hair looked kind of amusing. Half of it was sticking up in all directions, while the other half was pasted to his skull. Why would he wear it like that?

And then, suddenly, Roman remembered exactly where he was, and exactly what he was looking at. He shook his head, clearing some of the fuzziness. “Yeah—yeah, let’s go.” He reached up and took Logan’s hand. Logan did his best to haul Roman back to his feet.

A sharp pain told him that something was very, very wrong with his ankle.

No time to worry about that.

They continued onwards on clumsy, exhausted, painful limbs, desperately trying to reach safety. Roman thought he could just barely make out the flags at the top of the South Tower’s turrets. Maybe even part of the castle. He hoped it wasn’t his imagination. Logan seemed to think that was also the correct direction, although it was possible that he was just following Roman, trusting the knight to know the way.

No—Roman had to believe that they were going the right way. They couldn’t turn around if they wanted to. If he let doubt in, he would not make it. Logan wouldn’t make it.

Roman chanced a look back at his friend, who still had one hand fastened on Roman’s formerly snow white jacket like a lifeline, and was alarmed to see blood soaking through the makeshift bandage, dripping down his face and leaving a trail of ruby droplets in their wake. They stumbled to a brief halt. At the alarm on Roman’s face, Logan himself seemed to notice the reopened injury, and he stowed his dagger before reaching up to press the palm of his now free hand to the wound. They took off again, with no time to stop. Remus was still crashing through the woods behind them, all too close, and all too happy to keep up the chase.

They just had to break the tree line. They just had to get close enough to the wall for help to arrive. They only had to make it that far. The knights, with their numbers and weapons, would make quick work of the giant. Roman and Logan just had to get to them. The knights would help, would bring them home.

Roman sent up a silent prayer to the gods. Please, help us.

As the sun rose higher and the sky lightened further, Roman grew surer and surer that he really was seeing signs of Old Haven. The trees were thinning—it was imperceptible, at first, but compared to how densely packed they had been nearer the giant’s lair, the difference was clear. Yet their pace was slowing. They simply couldn’t keep running. Roman wasn’t sure that their pace could even be called a run, at this point.

Logan’s grip on Roman’s jacket slipped, sending a jolt of alarm through the knight. It tightened again, briefly, but moments later, he felt as the apothecarist stumbled, and fell to the ground.

“Logan!” Roman gasped, turning around.

Logan looked horrible. Pale and flushed through the blood and dirt and ash on his swollen face, his eyes unfocused and only half open.

Roman pulled him up, put an arm around him, and they continued on as best they could, adrenaline numbing their pain. Their speed was hardly faster than a walking pace, but Roman simply could not go any faster. Logan seemed to be growing rapidly weaker, now leaning heavily on the knight.

Please, Logan, just hold on a little longer.

They were so close. So close. They only needed to—

SNAP!

The sound of hysterical laughter came from off to their left, and the giant materialized. “There you are! Oh, there you are! My new friends!”

Roman took a step back, stumbling on his injured ankle as he pulled Logan with him.

The giant had not escaped Logan’s brilliant distraction unscathed. A patch of hair had burned away on his scalp, he was streaked with ash, and his clothes were a charred mess. He smelled even worse than before. Yet, he smiled when he saw them, his lips cracking apart into a soot-stained grin. “I missed you,” the giant whined. “But… I’m afraid I have to kill you now.” He raised his club up over his head. “Don’t worry! It’ll be exciting! It’ll be so fun; you’ll be like meat pancakes!”

Roman’s adrenaline spiked as the giant brought down the club. Square over where Logan stood.

Roman yanked the apothecarist back, screaming as the effort set his ribs and ankle on fire, flinging them both away from the club.

He wasn’t quite fast enough.

There was a sickening crack, and then Logan was letting out a cry of pure agony, tears of pain in his eyes as he clutched at his leg.

Oh, gods. His leg.

But the giant wasn’t finished yet. He was cackling, getting ready to raise the club for the finishing blow.

Only for the tree trunk of the handle to come away in splinters, and for the boulder to roll several feet away.

Finally. Finally, some luck. Roman sent up a hasty thank you and quickly knelt by Logan, patting his coat in a fervor until he found what he was looking for—Logan’s dagger.

He spun around and brandished the weapon towards the giant, steeling himself. “Get back!” he shouted with all the strength he could muster.

Remus, meanwhile,  seemed confused by the state of his club. Apparently, he had not expected it to break. He was trying to nudge the pieces together as Roman spun around. At the knight’s commanding voice, though, the giant looked up. He dropped the broken log. And he laughed.

He reached towards them, and Roman slashed the dagger across the giant’s palm. It was little more effective than a deep papercut, but the giant yelped and backed up, rubbing at his hand with a wounded look.

“That’s not very nice,” he said. “I was just trying to crush you!”

Logan was moaning in agony. Roman chanced a glance back. Logan still clutched at his leg, his face pale and slightly green. No way was he walking out of here on his own.

“Oh, you’re alive!” the giant cried, seeming to notice, for the first time, that it was Logan who lay on the ground at Roman’s side. Perhaps he had thought a third human had come to Roman’s aid—it was unlikely, of course, for more humans to be out that far, but even less so for one to come back from the dead. “I get to kill you twice! That never happens!”

Roman remembered the sound of Logan’s head cracking against a metal chain. The way his body had gone instantly, utterly limp. Those horrible, horrible hours when he had thought Logan was gone.

Roman’s hand tightened into a fist. “And it won’t!” Roman he declared. He didn’t know how, but he would stop Remus. He would fight off the giant, alone, barefoot, his body bruised and exhausted, because he had no other choice.

There was a shuffling from behind Roman, another moan of pain. Roman blinked away tears at the sound. He stayed put, the dagger brandished before him, the dull bronze blade all that held back the monster.

“Hey, Re—Remus?” came a weak, slurred voice.

Roman actually flinched, he was so surprised. What was Logan doing?

“I have something… to show you. You’ll… you’ll like it,” Logan continued, his voice wobbling with pain. “It’s… nasty, and gross. Just like you.”

Far from being insulted by the man’s words, the giant appeared intrigued. His rancid green eyes narrowed suspiciously, but still, he crouched down. He let out a heavy breath, and so close, the smell of decay was overwhelming.

It took everything Roman had not to attempt to gouge at the giant’s face while he had the chance. He hoped Logan knew what he was doing. Half dead or not, Logan was still the smartest guy he knew.

Remus leaned forward even more, so his face was less than a foot from Logan. “Show me,” he crooned.

“Of course.” Logan sounded far calmer than Roman felt. Logan’s arm came up from behind his back, holding… a small bag of powder. Which he hurled straight into the giant’s face. The bag exploded, sending out a cloud of white dust.

Remus howled, clawing at his eyes, rearing back and all but uprooting a nearby evergreen in his haste. He tripped and fell to the earth, screeching as he tried to get the dust out of his eyes.

Roman shoved the dagger in his coat pocket and dashed to Logan’s side, hauling him to his feet by the underarms, being as mindful of Logan’s leg as he could in what little time Logan had bought them.

“No,” Logan moaned, hitting out weakly at Roman. “No—put me down, put me down!”

“It’s me!” Roman said, holding Logan’s arms away from his face. “It’s me, Specs, it’s me!”

“Leave me here—go!”

It dawned on Roman. Logan expected him, wanted him to leave him behind. That was not happening. Even if both of them died because of it. Didn’t Logan know that Roman would never—absolutely never—do something like that? Hadn’t they known each other long enough for that to become obvious? Roman knew that Logan didn’t know how he felt, but he had to know how important he was to him. Didn’t he know that?

Logan kept fighting as Roman dragged them away from the giant, trying to get Roman to drop him. Logan’s leg was completely useless, and Roman bore nearly all of Logan’s weight.

“I can’t even walk,” Logan cried.

“But I can!” Roman growled. “I can walk for both of us! Dammit, Logan, I am not leaving you here to die! I—I need you! I can’t do this without you!”

Logan’s protests paused at that. Roman hauled them both onward, putting all of his focus in making it to that tree line. Finally, Logan seemed to accept that he was coming along whether he wanted to or not, and rather than trying to stop Roman or simply be dragged along, he started trying to help them move along. He couldn’t do much other than hold on to Roman and try to hop along on his one usable leg, but he was trying.

They could do this. They had to do this.

All too soon, Roman heard the sounds of the giant beginning to follow after them once more. He must have cleared his eyes enough to see, or perhaps he was simply following the sound of them crashing through the undergrowth. It didn’t matter—the result was the same.

To Roman’s immense relief, the trees were definitely thinning now. The giant already knew where they were, so Roman saw no harm in it as he began to shout and scream for help, desperately hoping that the guards on the wall would hear, that they would come to help.

Logan was not doing well. He was getting weaker and weaker, hardly managing to hold on. Roman was all but carrying him. They needed to get the bleeding in his leg stopped, but there was just no time.

“Don’t give up, buddy, come on,” Roman said, between shouts for help. “Come on.”

He could see clear grass up ahead. Just there—through the trees. He could see clean gray stones. He could see the sky. Roman cried out for help again, then turned to Logan as they scrambled over loose stones and broken branches. The jagged edge of one of the stones cut deep into Roman’s foot. He paid it no mind.

“There it is!” Roman said to Logan, desperately trying to keep him awake. “Do you see it? There’s the tree line. We’re almost there, buddy. Just a little further!”

“Almost there, buddy,” Logan echoed blandly. Roman could hardly understand him anymore.

Remus was still yelling behind them, bounding through the trees, getting closer and closer. He threw a boulder, and it crashed to the ground just beside the pair. The ground shook, leaves and pine needles raining down from nearby trees. Roman nearly fell, and Logan lurched forward heavily. The potion maker’s eyes briefly rolled up into his head, before the lids fluttered, and he seemed to come back, just a little.

Roman regained his footing and dragged them on. They were so close. “HELP US!” he screamed, shouting so loud it felt like his vocal cords would tear from the strain. “HELP US, PLEASE, WE’RE HERE! THERE’S A GIANT! PLEASE, WE’RE HERE!”

Mercifully, mercifully, he was heard. For the first time, Roman heard other human voices. He heard horses whinnying. He could hear the grinding of gears and the screech of metal as one of the gates on the wall opened. Shots rang out, and he could hear people shouting orders.

They had made it, Roman dared to think. And then Logan became dead weight in his arms.

“No—no!” Roman cried. Not again, no, please, not again.

Knights were breaking through the trees, some on foot, some on horseback, each armed either with a sword or with a rifle. Many swarmed towards the giant, while others made a beeline for Roman and Logan. Roman kept shouting until he was sure, absolutely sure, that they had seen them, and that help was coming. Please, they had to help them—they had to help Logan.

At the sight of the knights finally arriving, the fatigue and pain all seemed to hit Roman at once. He grew suddenly lightheaded. His stomach flipped, and his vision began to swim. Every second he stayed upright was torture, taking a monumental amount of effort, but he would not drop Logan. He wanted to run to the knights, but it was all he could do to stand there. He stood firm until the knights had reached them. People were talking, shouting, but Roman just stood there, swaying, as they neared. Roman could see medics among the knights. Good. Logan was badly hurt.

Finally, finally, Logan was taken from Roman’s grip. He hardly noticed the arms that came to help support his own weight.

The sound of gunshots and the clang of swords on armored skin filled the air. The giant roared. There was a huge crash, and then… nothing. The gunshots went quiet, and forest was still. There was a howl of victory, echoed by cheers that Roman hardly noticed.

The giant was dead.

“Please be careful,” Roman murmured in the newfound quiet, watching as the medics began to tend to his friend, ignoring the medics and knights who were trying to speak to him. He blinked, long and slow.

Then, he collapsed completely.

[ivory-sunflower]

Arty Art Things ✨

Hellooo!

I've decided to post some of the arty things I've done either recently or in the last few years, well the pieces I'm somewhat proud of at least. All my posts tend to be a lot more wordy than they need to be but hey it's what I do here!

Conchúr White

Anyone one who's been on this blog for a bit will have probably have seen me talk about this lovely Irish fella. The pencil drawing is actually a year old as of yesterday, I only know that because screenshots of me flipping out about Conchúr following me on twitter popped up in my memories yesterday. I think I'd sent it to him at about 3 in the morning (I was not in a good head space at that point in time), so probably not what he was expecting to see when he opened his phone in the morning aha

The biro version is much more recent: I got bored while sat at my desk and doing research about university courses, saw a biro, saw my old drawing of Conchúr, had an idea. I revisited my GCSE art techniques and here we are. Again, I put this up on Twitter and now (at the the time I'm writing this) when you google "Conchúr White" it's the third top image of him which is a bit mad really. I think I spent all of about 20 minutes on Conchúr but another 45 minutes on the words behind him. The words are the names of the songs on his EP 'Bikini Crops', he doesn't just really love the idea of Channing Tatum driving him around at night in a daisy print bikini... Well maybe he does but what he does in his spare time is none of my business...

TechDif

So I mentioned that the pencil drawing of Conchúr came from a rough patch in my mental health and this one is no different! In fact this one came from an even worse circumstance so we love to see it. I had a bad, bad time in July and this started as a way of distracting myself from what was going on in my head. Without it, I can't honestly say I'd still be here so even if the final product of this had been a terrible mess I would still love it for keeping me alive. However, it did not turn out to be a terrible mess!

Now that the origin of this is out the way, where do I start with TechDif? Unlike Conchúr, I haven't really talked about them on here (unless you count one brief post about Citation Needed) before so I guess I'll do it here. The Technical Difficulties are a wonderful group of 4 British fellas who have had their fair share of fun online and even before. They did a radio show at university together, which went on to become their Reverse Trivia Podcast, later moving on to a panel show called 'Citation Needed': and a game called 'Two of These People Are Lying'. All of which I would thoroughly reccomend, they're one of my go to things when I'm having a rough time. All 4 of them are excellent! Tom Scott (red top, blue jeans on the picture) has his own YouTube channel which does content aside from TechDif. If you're quite nerdy and like science, linguistics, computers, or any number of other things you may enjoy Tom's channel. He is probably best described as "The Moderator" of the group, much like a tired teacher he tries desperately to keep everyone on track with what they're meant to be doing, but usually it does not end well for him. Then we have Matt Gray (space top, holding an ice cream) who also has a channel away from TechDif stuff, he does techy electronic things and has a series called 'Will it Soft Serve?' where he puts all kinds of strange things through a soft serve machine. Matt brings a very specific energy to TechDif and I can't fully describe what that vibe is but I love it. Matt and Tom also share a YouTube channel where TOTPAL is posted and they had a series called 'The Park Bench'. Moving on to everybody's favourite Gary Brannan: Gary Brannan (SATIRE hoodie, glasses) and can I just say, what a fella he is! He's just excellent! He is the one that will argue and rip into Tom the most (not in a malicious way) and hilarity ensues. There are some episodes where he is absolutely on it, getting all the points and others where he very clearly has no idea and that's where some of his funniest quotes come from. Given how badly I was doing at the time I made this, his response to it on Twitter was so so lovely. I specifically remember one tweet where he said I'd made him happy and although it was probably a flippant comment, it just made feel alright for a bit. Yeah I might be feeling awful right now, but I've made someone else happy so that's a nice feeling. Then last but certainly not least, we have Chris Joel (buffalo check shirt, beard)! I would be lying if I said he isn’t my favourite... His sense of humor is the one I vibe with most, he can get rather dramatic in parts and can chat bollocks like a champion. He has absolutely no online presence away from TechDif and, like Rens from Temples, I fully believe he’s a cryptid and lives off in a tree somewhere. 

The picture took me about 4 days to complete, well 4 nights because I did most of it between the hours of 12 a.m. and 7a.m. - I remember watching the sun come through my window each morning. It’s made up of lots of little pieces, all cut out and stuck on; even the sky and hills are made of separate pieces of paper. Nothing was actually drawn on the piece of paper it’s all stuck on, it’s not how I usually do things but if I messed up one little but I could just redraw it rather than ruining the whole thing. The most tedious parts to make were Chris’ shirt because I had to draw each square individually and then join the as well, and cutting out the ban-hammer in the bottom right was surprisingly hard. Every single detail of the picture is a reference to the podcast/shows, I still have the plan sketch and reference list knocking about somewhere. I listened to a lot of true crime videos while making it to the point that certain parts remind me of different cases: the brandy now reminds me of Peter Tobin, and the big spiral thing reminds me of Tim McLean (very harrowing case) - sorry that fact is a bit morbid but interesting nonetheless. 

I did post this for a little bit back in July, but I received some rather awful messages so I took it down. Generally, Tom Scott/TechDif fans are lovely but there’s been a few that have taken a disliking to me for some reason so I’m hoping they don’t resurface again. I’m in a better head space now though, so even if they do I’m more equipped to deal with it this time.

Hozier

This was a quick sketch I did in April, I was getting bored with lockdown and decided to summon the bog man himself. There’s not really much more backstory than that, no poor mental health story, no fun twitter story - he’s just here. He’s vibing. I will say I’m particularly proud of his nose, I just think it’s one of the best noses I’ve ever drawn. His hand is okay, but I think that the hands on my Conchúr drawings are better. So there is the Hozi-Boi...

The Corpse Bry

I’ve talked about Bry on here before as well, I love him, he’s excellent, top lad. He is a living Tim Burton character, he’s 6′6, very skinny, and his legs are longer than my will to live. I was watching ‘The Corpse Bride’ a few weeks ago and suddenly had an idea and so ‘The Corpse Bry’ came to be. I gave him a little panda friend because the panda has always been his animal - he used to wear a panda beanie all the time and his album had a panda on the cover. Again, there’s not really a fun story behind this one, I guess it’s somewhat fun because it’s the first art I made after finishing my psychology exams in October so it was nice to actually have the time to draw.

James Bagshaw

Ginger talking about Temples for the third post in a row? it’s more likely than you think! I did this one last week, I’d had a bit of a wobbly day and had group therapy on Teams in the evening and I just couldn’t concentrate on what was going on and I ended up doodling Mr James E. Bagshaw, the glitter crying fraggle man himself. It’s a bare-bones drawing that I could definitely work into more but I’m happy with it as it is to be honest. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit and add the individual bits of fringe to his jacket, just thinking about doing that makes me tired. Maybe I’ll get around to drawing the whole band at some point...

Alice in “Wonderland”

This one is from about 5(?) years ago, it’s not my typical style and was a “study” based on another artists work (basically i just had to copy this fellas work). I’ll be honest, this one has a sketchy backstory that I won’t go in to because it’s not exactly a nice one, and because of that I also won’t say who the artist is that it’s based on. Despite this, I’m still really proud of this one and I’m so sad that I never got this piece back after I got taken out the class. I’ve considered trying this style again, I’ve even joked about doing another Conchúr drawing in this style as a nod to my progression through GCSE art, eventually leading to Conchúr drawn in ink on music manuscript and stained with neon paint and dyes - it would be quite the project!

So this has been quite a lengthy post so apologies about that but life goes on. Similar to the vinyl post, I’ll probably add to this as and when I make more art. Even if no one is reading these posts, I’m enjoying making them so that’s the main thing. It’s just nice to document things and the feelings that go with them. 💕

~ Love Ginger xx 

29/11/2020

[jyvurentropyblog]

How To Choose a POV?

One of my writer friends asked me to write something about POV. She didn’t have a specific question, but basically asked if I might cover the different types of POVs and which ones work better in certain circumstances. 

Well, like I told her, this is going to be a VERY biased post. I am incredibly partial to third limited. I choose third limited almost every story I write. 

Let me start by explaining the different POVs. 

First Person: Uses the pronoun I 

“I went to the store.”

Second Person: Uses the pronoun You

“First you need to go to the store, get some eggs and vanilla extract.”

Second person is rare in fiction. It is most often used in non-fiction books that include instructions, or recipes, or other how-to guides. 

Every once in awhile, a writer will be really artsy-fartsy and use second person in fiction. 

Second person in fiction would look like this:

“You go to the store. You see a long line of people. You sigh and shuffle down the aisle.”

One notable example of second person in non-artsy-fartsy fiction would be the choose your own adventure books. 

Third Person: Uses third-person pronouns such as “She/He/They/Ze/etc

“Ze went to the store.”

But within third-person you have two options:

Third Limited or Third Omniscient

With third limited, readers are privy to the thoughts and feelings of only one character per chapter or scene. A story can still have multiple POVs, but within a scene or chapter, the POV remains only with one character. 

In my novel ‘Desire and Destruction’, I alternate POVs every other chapter. So it goes one chapter in Cole’s POV and one chapter in Ingrid’s POV. When we’re in a Cole chapter, we can see what Ingrid does, but not what she thinks or feels. We can not see into her head. And the reverse is true when we’re in an Ingrid chapter. 

With third omniscient, there is a god-like narrator who is looking into the minds of ALL the characters. This narrator is often somewhat detached and may look down on certain characters and praise other characters. Basically, it isn’t that deep-third that we get with third-limited. The narrator often has their own personality and way of viewing the characters. Within any scene, the narrator can relate the thoughts, feelings, or backstory of any character. 

I do not recommend third omniscient. As I covered in my last post, very few people have the skill to know when to use it AND how to pull it off effectively. Most stories are not enhanced by third omniscient. I’m not saying you should never use it, but don’t jump in and give it a whirl just because a lot of the old classics use this style. 

Remember the time period that was hard AF for third-limited also experimented with narrative style to the point that Frankenstein is told via letters by someone who has nothing to do with the story and just happened to meet Dr. Frankenstein out in the wilderness. It’s a summary of a summary. Wuthering Heights is told exclusively in conversations between the housekeeper and a tenant, neither of whom are main characters. Look.....the classics of the Romantic and Victorian era were....on some real other shit. Writing like the classics isn’t always a solid plan. 

So that’s my extreme cautioning against third omniscient. I just don’t think it adds anything to most stories and is far too likely to jar or confuse readers and come across as head-hopping. 

But third-limited on the other hand....

I ADORE third-limited. Let me explain why I like it. 

You get all the perks of first person AND all the perks of third-person. You can be somewhat detached, but you still get a front row seat to the thoughts and feelings of one character at a time. When you really pull off a nice deep-third, you’re fully immersed in the character’s inner world, but there’s still a bit of a buffer. You still aren’t writing AS the character. 

Here is a section of my book ‘Combustion’ in third-limited where I was going for deep-third. 

~The flame birthed itself at the end of the match. It danced, red and orange, against the backdrop of the still night. Rachel opened her mouth as wide as she could, until the corners of her lips were stretched as far as they would go. She made sure that her mouth was a wide, round circle. Just like the man on fire. Probably just like Mary Reeser had done. She was going to spontaneously combust. She would do it now.

And she could stop waiting for it to happen. She was never going to have to be afraid of it happening again. It was all about to be over. Rachel watched the flame slide down lower, burning away at the wood of the match. It was going to reach her hand soon, so she had to do this fast. Spontaneous Human Combustion started inside the body.

Rachel understood why the man on fire had his mouth wide open.

There wasn't any time left.

Rachel took the match and placed it into her open mouth.~

It’s in third-person, but it’s still written in a way where we can feel her fear, her confusion, her dissociation. We can see her reasoning. Of course, her reasoning is flawed. She should not be trying to make herself spontaneously combust JUST so that she can stop being afraid of it happening. 

So how do you know if you should choose third-limited or first? (because third omniscient and second person should rarely be used). Well, I’m biased, and I believe third-limited works well for most stories. 

That being said, I have chosen first person for two of my stories. One is my now shelved manuscript ‘Femcel’ which I will eventually be rewriting and it will be retitled ‘Pick Me.’ The other is my collab story with Emily Hurricane ‘When The Darkness Takes Us.’

For ‘When The Darkness Takes Us’ I had a very specific reason for choosing first person. This character is a self-insert. It’s a fictionalized account of something very difficult I went through semi-recently. 

So I suppose I’d say, when it’s a really emotional story with strong voice, first person may be a better choice. When it’s a very personal story, first person may be a better choice. When you’re writing a character who rants and raves and switches gears mid-thought-stream so quickly that a third-person narrator wouldn’t do it justice-it would only slow the stream-of-consiousness down. 

I also chose first person for my book ‘Femcel’ which is not currently online, because I need to make some changes to it. 

Here is an excerpt from ‘Femcel.’ 

~If every single day was a day off from work with Sailor Moon dvds and an entire pickle pizza all to myself, well, then I think life would be a-okay. Today has been great. I cleaned my room and then I pulled out my trusty Sailor Moon box set. Auntie and Mom-mom are both at work, so nobody to bug me about what I'm eating. I ordered a large pizza and I got the owner on the phone when the new guy didn't understand that they can put pickles on a pizza. It isn't on the menu, but they do it for me all the time.

I told him, "You charge me for a pepperoni pizza and tell the guy cooking it to put on pickles. Ask Jim. He always does it." But the guy still thought I was full of it.

Eventually they sorted it out though. And yeah, I know it's bad to eat an entire large pizza myself. Don't go thinking I'm a total pig. I only eat like this when I watch anime.

Usually I don't eat enough. Mom-mom says I'm too thin and she isn't wrong. If I lay on my stomach too long at night, my ribs start to hurt. I'm the only woman in my family with a stick body. Everybody else has nice curves. I barely have boobs and my butt is flat. I tried doing squats for awhile, but when nothing much happened, I figured it was probably all nonsense. You know? A placebo.

It's only four in the afternoon, but already it's getting dark. I hate winter. Especially once Christmas is over. I feel so upset and anxious every day in that long dead span of winter, January through March, when there's nothing to look forward to and it feels like the world just dead ass stopped. Sludge in every parking lot. Everything is cold and wet. Kek. And it's the middle of January. Top kek. (I mean that sarcastically. Obviously).~

I chose first for Ana’s story, because I imagined her as this very voicey character with this sweet and sarcastic personality. She’s also incredibly immature (which does make sense since she’s in her very early 20s) and I felt that youth and naiveté would across more strongly in first person. 

So....what’s the hard and fast rule for deciding between third-limited and first?

I....uh.... 

 I wish I could tell you lol

Like my last post about balancing dialogue with other storytelling elements, I have to say, I just play it by ear. 

I will say, I think every writer should figure out early on which POV they prefer to write in. Try them all out. Try writing the same scenes in first and third and see which one you like better. 

I did this while I was getting my B.A in Creative Writing and after several rounds of playing with third-limited and first, I discovered I’m incredibly partial to third-limited. 

That doesn’t mean there isn’t any room for first. Like I said, I realized first was the better choice for two of my WIPs. But knowing that third-limited is my default style, I always have a starting point. I start most stories in third-limited and it’s only when third-limited starts to feel....well...limiting that I give first a whirl. 

In the end, it’s about what YOU as the writer are most comfortable with. Some people say it depends on the story you want to tell, and I agree to an extent, but at the same time, if you hate writing in first person and you try to force it, the story may suffer for it. For years, I wrote exclusively in third-limited before I was comfortable enough to test out first person. 

Third-limited and first both accomplish different things. First person has more voice and immediacy, while third-person allows a writer to be more poetic and detached. 

Which POV do you like best? When you experiment with both POVs, which allows your story to come to life more?

There’s no real rule of thumb. 

Like everything with writing, it’s all a matter of intuition; following your gut and looking at every story as a unique experience. 

I know that was wishy-washy, but it’s the best I can do while still being honest!

There just aren’t any true absolutes with writing. 

Good luck fellow writers <3