#and I have a few stories in my head post Fable 2 that I would love to show other people BUT

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 8

I apologize for not posting last week. How about this longer chapter to make up for it?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: First day of HYDRA work, social gatherings

Word Count: 2,270

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7]

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. You only know this because you happened to pass by a window covered in frost on your way to one of the HYDRA labs within the facility. 

Your first few hours on site had you running through various tests and exams to study your mental capacity and knowledge on the interest that HYDRA holds in the biology field. There was nothing shocking or unexpected that your new supervisors asked you, but the implications of what they expect from you sends shivers down your spine. You studied and memorized and read for weeks in preparation for this assignment last year, and you’re so glad that your brain retains this kind of information like a sponge – you’d have been disposed of on the spot if your background hadn’t checked out.

But now you’ve ‘officially’ joined HYDRA. The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you wash it down with the knowledge that what you’re doing is going to help the world by eliminating whatever disgusting and horrible work is being done here.

The plan is to spend as much time as it takes to gain HYDRA’s confidence in your abilities and allow you access to the higher level projects – the world-ending projects. This could take weeks. Or months. Hopefully not years? Being Bucky’s sister for that long would drive you insane.

“You,” a scientist snaps from behind their desk as you pass their open office door. You stop in your tracks and peer into the dingy office, noticing scuff marks and mysterious stains on the floor. The man’s desk has every square inch covered in files and papers. So much so that there is a noticeable curvature on the desktop, the cheap material unable to handle the amount of weight it has been subjected to over the years.

“Yes, sir?” you inquire.

He refuses to look up from his work, instead opting to dangle a set of keys from his fingers in your direction. “Go and grab the files for project 0B276HG21 in storage room C.”

Repeating the string of numbers and letters in your head, you take the keys from his outstretched hand and make your way to the storage room. There are so many rooms within the facility that you would be lost without the information your informant sent the team. But even with it, the facility has undergone changes since the last facility plans were uploaded, so you run into dead ends where there should be access doors.

You can only hope that your experience and knowledge will allow you to work your way up quickly – you don’t know how long you can stand to be a lackey. You roll your eyes at the errands you’ve had to run so far, but you know that the new person never gets given the big jobs on the first day.

And so the rest of the shift passes in the same manner and you arrive back at your and Bucky’s house with little energy and even less information.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” Bucky reassures. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“That’s such a stupid fable,” you grumble. “The hare would have won if it didn’t have such an inflated ego.”

Bucky grins at your disgruntled face before you flop your head backwards to rest. You release a sigh and relax further into the couch where you collapsed after walking in the front door, relieved to smell dinner simmering away on the stove since you arrived home later than expected and hadn’t had the opportunity to grab lunch. 

You tilt your head and watch as Bucky shuffles around the kitchen. He’s long since showered after his time at the repair shop: his hair nearly dry and the strands sticking out in a way that you know he tousled it with his towel and let it finish air drying. The new shorter strands allowed for the minimal work to pay off in dividends because it was damn near impossible to remember how soft his hair used to be and not be able to run your fingers through it now. 

Your fingers itch to reach out, but you grip the cushion instead. No one said that this would be easy. Well, no one has said it’d be anything because Nat’s mission has her radio silent and Wanda is busy spending time with Vis for you to complain about your one-sided love with someone who doesn’t know the feeling. You know that if they knew what was happening right now, they’d be plying you with ideas on how to survive this mission with minimal heartbreak.

“The food is done,” Bucky says as he gathers plates and utensils to set the table. “Are you coming in here or do you want me to bring you a bowl?”

Unfortunately, your best friends aren’t available to provide their wisdom, so here you are: suffering in silence with no outlet. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” you respond. You unclench your fist from the couch’s fabric and stretch out your stiff fingers. Rising from your seat, you make your way into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as Bucky brings the pot over from the stove. You stare intently into the soup as Bucky ladles it into a bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Did something happen today?” he questions with a worried expression.

“You know HYDRA,” you tiredly reply. Looking up into his eyes for the first time this evening, you see the crease between his brows and mentally slap yourself. “I’m fine, Bucky. They don’t have me working on anything specific yet.”

“I know,” he says, “but just be careful with those people, okay?”

You smile up at him and nod your head, your heart squeezing in your chest.

You’re both silent through dinner with the exception of your compliments on Bucky’s cooking. It’s hard to clear the air after bringing up HYDRA and their actions, even in the vaguest way.

***

The week stretches on for an eternity, but eventually Saturday rolls around and you and Bucky prepare to meet the neighborhood.

You arrive at the restaurant right on time. Light pours from the windows and the snow on the ground glistens gold. As soon as you open the car door, you hear laughter and chatter forcing their way through the walls.

“I hate entering a party where everybody is already best friends with each other and then you’re left standing there like a loner,” you decry, already dreading the feeling of ‘otherness’ you will be experiencing in a few short moments.

“You’re not a loner,” Bucky laughs. “You make friends as easily as breathing.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can make ‘friends’ with strangers, but it’s never anything real. I’m a spy, remember? It’s literally life or death to get people to like me.”

“Trust me, doll,” Bucky says as he looks intently at you from across the car. “People can’t help but love you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you hope the light from the restaurant isn’t bright enough to reveal them to Bucky. The feelings squirming around in your stomach feel suspiciously like hope, and you can’t have that. You deflect any seriousness by laughing off Bucky’s comment.

“Tell that to all the people I’ve thrown in prison.”

Bucky calls your name with some disappointment and a slight frown on his face. You shrug your shoulders and motion towards the entrance. “It’s time to head inside. Come on.” 

You walk away from him and lead the way into the building. Upon opening the door, a blast of warm, humid air hits you. The smell of beer and sweat sweeps up your nostrils, and the interior design reminds you more of a local dive bar than a restaurant. But everyone is laughing and having a good time, so you plaster a smile on your face and look around for the Gretens.

You see Christopher speaking to a short, skinny man, deep in conversation and barely acknowledging anyone else. Tessa stands in a corner surrounded by three other women, all of them laughing and having a good time. Bucky walks up behind you as you stand in the doorway and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Divide and conquer?” he asks. You nod your head and make your way over to the group of women.

When you’re within ten feet of her, Tessa notices you. She beams at you and raises her hand to usher you closer. 

“Ladies!” Tessa introduces. “Meet our newest neighbor!”

A round of introductions follows and you can’t help but admire how blatantly obvious these women are about their curiosity.  Tessa seems to have already told them everything she knows about you, but they have to ask their own questions. 

“And where’s that brother of yours?” one of them asks. “Tessa’s told us how handsome he is! I’ve got a daughter I’ve been trying to get out of the house for ages.”

You laugh through the twist of your guts, replying merrily, “Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate the introduction.”

Before the woman can demand a personal introduction, Tessa interrupts when the entrance opens once again and lets in a blast of cold air.

“Petre!” She performs the same waving hand motion that brought you over earlier to the new arrival. “Come here!”

Glancing back, you see a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes making his way over to you. He stops in front of Tessa and wraps her in a quick hug.

“This is my son, Petre. Petre, this is our neighbor.”

Petre greets you warmly. “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since you moved in.”

You giggle when Tessa pats his arm roughly and shake his proffered hand. His skin is warm and dry, the skin on the back of his knuckles chapped from the winter weather. Tessa not-so-subtly draws the other women away from you and Petre and into another conversation, leaving you to speak with each other.

“Your mother seems to think we’d make a good pair,” you comment with a glance over at her.

“Ah, yes,” Petre says while fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She’s been introducing me to every woman of marrying age. I think she’s afraid I’ll end up alone.”

You can’t help but laugh at his deprecating tone of voice. “We’re young – we’ve still got time.”

“Try telling her that,” he responds. “Being 30 and unmarried is one of the worst things you can be in her eyes.”

You chat with Petre between introductions for the next couple of hours. He sticks close by his mother which keeps him close to you, as Tessa demands everyone that walks by to greet you. Countless faces come and go, but there seems to be someone missing.

You turn to Tessa when the party seems to be winding down and a few people have started to leave. “Where’s your daughter?” you question.

“Kerri and Chrissie are right over there,” she nods, indicating the two young women in a cluster a few feet from you.

“Yes, I remember them from a little while ago. Where’s your other daughter? Sasha?”

At this, Tessa’s face drops and Petre looks at her worriedly. He places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and brings her into his side. “She’s not well,” Petre answers for his mother. “She has been sick for a while now.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s alright,” Tessa responds with a sorrowful smile. “She’s at home. Resting.”

“Well I hope she gets better soon,” you reply hopefully. Petre and Tessa nod tersely before steering the conversation off to something else.

It isn’t long after that when you feel Bucky sidle up next to you. He places his hand on your upper arm and pulls you closer into his side. “You ready to go?” he questions.

You hum and say your goodbyes to the people standing around you, promising to come out with Tessa to more gatherings. You and Bucky make your way back out into the cold night, the moon full and bright in the sky.

The car doors close behind you and Bucky starts the engine. You rumble along the road for a few minutes before Bucky says anything.

“Who were you talking to all night?” he asks you.

“Ah.” You sigh. “That was Tessa’s eldest son. The one she mentioned at dinner.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And…?”

“You were with him all night – what was he like? Anything seem off with him?”

You’re not exactly sure what Bucky is getting at, as he’d been talking with a couple of the same people throughout the night as well. “Well no, but it’s not like I could dig any deeper than surface level with so many people coming in and out of the conversation.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. You furrow your brow, but brush it off. “Did you find anything out from Christopher?”

“Not really. I did notice that one of his daughters wasn’t there tonight. Sarah?”

“Sasha,” you correct. “And no, I asked about her, as well. Petre and Tessa seemed really bothered when I brought her up: apparently she’s been pretty sick lately.”

“How sick?” Bucky asks.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t seem like they wanted to talk about it, though.”

“You think she’s been sick enough to require hospital stays?” he proposes, leading the conversation towards what could have possibly happened to the family’s financials that has lead to their worn down clothing and home.

“It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

Part 9

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[dukeofriven]

To Ravel-Out The Weaved-Up Follies: The Decline and Fall of Homestuck^2

[I first started this essay a few months ago during a strange, brief resurgence of Homestuck^2 discussion that vanished almost as quickly as it began. Because my brain is A Wretchedly Uncooperative Thing this essay has stayed in draft form, being picked at, until—naturally—Homestuck^2 surprised us all by relaunching with a completely new team at its head. I’ve decided to push myself to publish this anyway, because I still think the core of my thesis is correct. So, keeping in mind that this leaves the starting gate slightly later than I would have wished (not knowing I was in a race), let us commence.]

___________________________________________________

“A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. -Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965 “Once upon a time there was a Boojum——" the Professor began, but stopped suddenly. "I forget the rest of the Fable," he said. "And there was a lesson to be learned from it. I'm afraid I forget that, too." -Lewis Carroll, Sylvie and Bruno Concluded, 1893

Several posts about Homestuck^2 have started to crop-up… adjacent to my dash. I'm not attaching myself to those posts because it seems rude, but their points are largely an attempt at revisionism of the fate of Homestuck^2. Understand I'm not using the term ‘revisionist’ pejoratively: it is common, even sensible for artists to look back at failed projects and try to pick up the pieces and derive some value from them. I’ve done it myself, many times. Nobody likes to say "I entirely wasted my time, my passion, and my creative energy for [X] days, months, years.” It is important to look at a failure and see what you did right, treasure the parts that were worth treasuring.

But equally I don't want to go too far in rehabilitating what was, undeniably, a failure. There's a lot of critical theory being brought-up, a lot of talk of Homestuck^2 from a standpoint of post-modernism, or post-post-modernism, trying to engage with what Homestuck^2 was as a platform for ideas. A habitus, if you’ll forgive the jargon, what Bourdieu famously called (in a Hussie-like masterwork of language) “the structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures.”

I get it. I get what the Homestuck^2 team was trying to do intellectually: where their minds were at, the hostility they faced, the vitriol they were harmed by. I get it.

But that's not why Homestuck^2 failed. Homestuck^2 did not fail because it dreamed too big, or was too intellectual. It did not fail because its themes were not worth exploring, or because its lens was too meta: for most of its original run, after all, Homestuck is nothing but an interrogation of Homestuck. Its brains were not why Homestuck^2 failed. The problem was its execution. The problem was its heart.

There's a lot to be said about not giving fans what they think they want. The internet drowns in coffee shop AUs where everything interesting about a franchise's characters has been vulgarly ripped from the text, leaving a drama-less, tension-less pablum where everything is stagnant and unchanging, everyone gets along, all the romances are cute and smooth, and you can burrow in the comforting ooze of artistic and narrative death. Give fans exactly what they want and frequently nothing creatively meaningful will result. Fandoms famously resisted both The Empire Strikes Back and The Wrath of Khan when they first released because they pushed characters to change, and yet they grew to be beloved as fans realized that what they thought they wanted and what it turned out they could enjoy were not as alike s they assumed. There's nothing wrong with showing fans that there can be more to a story that just doing the same thing over again, retrenching into the pablum wastelands of growth-free comfort fics.

But when asking whether Homestuck^2 did or did not gave fans what they wanted or needed, we must first raise an important establishing question: which fans? That is to say: who was its intended audience? Who was Homestuck^2 written for?

At its peak, Homestuck Classic had millions of readers and a million page-hits a day. There was a whole contingent of fandom who came only for the trolls (in some baffling cases actually skipping the first four acts of the story to jump right to into Act 5). There was another contingent who loved the video game parody, there were Problem Sleuth junkies, and in the early acts there were the suggestion box obsessives: all of these were readers who were fans of parts of the story but largely stopped reading Homestuck as the story got more concerned with the complex nature of stories and narrative itself. Homestuck^2 is clearly not for them—as indeed Homestuck Classic itself had not 'been' for them for much of its run. Homestuck^2 is also not for new readers: if you haven't read the Homestuck Epilogues through at least twice, if you don't remember all its major plot points and the plot points of Homestuck Classic, it makes no attempt to onboard you and is, probably in-arguably, outright impenetrable to those not already in the know. It’s not impossible—there were SBaHJ fans who onboarded with the first context-free SBaHJ and went ‘yeah, I can vibe with this’ and never knew or cared that it was a reference work for something else— but it doesn’t seem likely that many people ‘jumped on’ the Homestuck train with Homestuck^2. I think Homestuck^2’s writers would agree that Homestuck^2 expected you to know the lay of the land. So: nobody new was likely going to read Homestuck^2, and (given its density of Homestuck call-backs) neither was it for more casual Homestuck fans. Homestuck^2 was not even for the truly otiose Andrew Hussie diehards: Hussie was only tangentially involved in the project, they weren't writing it, and there's seemingly no references at all to Barty's Brew-Ha-Ha or Inappropriate Time for Ham, so that's a full seventeen readers it also likely turned off (sorry, comrades. One day…)

So who, then, was Homestuck^2 for? Its intended readers seemed to be those who read the Epilogues and loved them. This is a complicated issue: for those who weren’t there, the Epilogues were… controversial. I defended them at the time: I liked them, even admired them, partially because I believed with the fervor of a zealot that there was still something else to come. I called this final entry ‘Pumpkin.’ Homestuck, a story that always rejected binaries, surely was not meant to conclude with over-the-top Candy and/or grim, dour Meat. I knew in my heart that Pumpkin was coming, where John rejected both of these dark and crazy futures and found a third way in which his friends grew up and matured without losing themselves and their friendship: not a story without conflict, but surely the prime timeline as existed in general fandom imagination could not accept Dirk’s grotesque, manipulative suicide, breastfeeding Gamzee, brutal civil wars, and Dirk and Jane becoming so cruel and hateful. Surely that was set-up to pay-off a better future later: after all, like its author, Homestuck abhorred a binary.

But Pumpkin never came, and now I look at the Epilogues and I find lot in it (for lack of a better term) ‘edge lord showboating.’ It feels like reading 90s comics all over again, including the bits with cannibalism. A lot of bleak and miserable things happen in the narrative, and I find myself asking ‘do they happen because they should, or just because they could?’ (And how many times can one franchise treat Jade Harley like absolutely garbage?)

But if the Epilogues had a true and golden virtue, it was their framing as intrinsically being fan-fiction: Meat or Candy, this was not the 'true' continuation of the franchise (as much as that means anything), this was speculative futures, not much different from Doc Scratch’s story of the Vriska/Noir battle. A one-shot, in other terms, an elseworlds: not a definitive statement about What Homestuck Was From Now On, but an experiment in tone and structure. How far can you push Homestuck before it doesn’t feel like Homestuck any more? (Turns out not nearly as far as you might think.) A lot of people didn’t notice, however, or perhaps simply didn’t care: the Epilogues ripped the Homestuck fandom apart. Homestuck Classic often did things in bad-taste as part of its odd charm: Gamzee’s codpiece, Jack playing dress-up after slaughtering a nice couple on a date, Caliborn’s cartoonish misogyny. Some bits land, some don’t, but for fans—I think for many, if not most—the Epilogues crossed a line that they were not comfortable with.

In some quarters the Epilogues are reviled, and I honestly can not fault people who found them off-putting. They are: intentionally so, provocatively so, and it should be okay for people to be put off by them without insisting that the haters ‘just didn’t get it.’ Often they did: they ‘got it,’ they just didn’t like it. It ‘squiked them out’ as we used to say, and the writers had to have known it would: discomfort is the nature and partial purpose of provocative art.

(Sidebar: Epilogue writers, you wrote a plot-line in which 16-year old Homestuck Act 6 protagonist Jane Crocker grows-up to become a racist dictator who has a cuckolding sexual relationship with Gamzee Makarra that involves kin-play involving public breastfeeding.

Sorry Andres Serranos acolytes, that’s not going to go down super-well with the majority of people, not because they are uptight suburban prudes but because they liked Jane Crocker and felt this outcome was not grounded well in the character they knew: only the obtuse would act shocked and try and argue it was due to a lack of sophistication. You took a gamble, you took a risk, you faced the outcome. You fucked around with ICP Hitler breastfeeding cuckoldry and you found out.)

So: who was Homestuck^2 for? It was for people who had read Homestuck multiple times, had read the Epilogues multiple times, and wanted a sequel that involved those Epilogues.

That is… a small audience. A very small audience. I counted myself among them, but had no illusions that its reach was ever going to be very large. Homestuck^2 was never going to be the Second Coming of Homestuck as a sui generis cultural phenomenon: seemingly by design, it was deliberately written for an insular audience who liked a controversial and difficult interpretation of a famous story and wanted more of that interpretation. So the Homestuck^2 team wrote for them: they came to the table with big dreams and big ideas. They came to the table with lots of critical theory under their belts: they knew their Barthes and Baudrillard, they could reference queer theory and the legacy of post-structuralism, they were the sort of people who knew how to situate Homestuck in post-post-modernism and what that meant for the nature of its exploration of stories.

They had an audience, and they had a plan. They were going to give the fans what they wanted.

So after much hype and fanfare, after interviews and the Tumblr equivalent of a press-junket—which saw the new team saying how excited they were to tackle Homestuck’s legacy, how many great ideas they had, how much having a diverse team was going to see Homestuck ‘done right’—Homestuck^2 first published on the 25th of October, 2019, releasing 32 pages.

We start in the glittering majesty of space. The camera swoops in among the stars, barrelling towards a rushing spacecraft (every frame of Homestuck^2 looks great, the visual arts team's work is its unquestioned highlight). We aim at a viewport in the spacecraft’s hull and slowly the Muti-Narratively-Dimensional Ubervillian Dirk Strider comes into view. Fresh from his triumph in the Epilogues, continuing his wicked schemes, he looks right at the camera, and—speaking directly to the audience—he voices the first line of dialogue in Homestuck^2:

"Surprise, bitch."

…

There is…

…

… there is no coming from back that.

There is no saving it.

It is the 25th of October, 2019, and Homestuck^2 launches with its own death-rattle. It stumbles out of the gate like a beautiful racing pony catching its delicate hoof on the sharp, treacherous edge of an unwieldy analogy and tumbling into the indifferent soil of hard reality, shattering all four legs and immediately marking itself for teary euthanasia at the hand of the devastated young girl with the violet eyes who raised it from a foal and dreamed of making Nationals.

We have established that Homestuck^2’s potential audience was small. The people who were most likely to like it were already an insular, distinctive group who had bought-in to what much or all the Epilogues had to offer. Homestuck^2’s opening-day crowd did not need to be sold on the word of the Lord—they already believe it: they came to see their first glimpse of the promised land.

And in its very first conversation with that audience, in its very first words, Homestuck^2 makes the most spectacular miscalculation of tone since 2013's DmC: Devil May Cry—or for those of us of who remember the 90s: ‘Dirk Strider’s about to make you his bitch.’

There's nothing wrong with starting a story with a villain, there's nothing wrong with a villain being a contemptible heel to its audience, but Homestuck^2 spends its opening 32 entries—which, at over 7600 words are longer than the prologue to the Homestuck Epilogues—jumping between Dirk’s smarmy conversations with fellow characters and a monologue to the audience, pages infused with an arrogance and condescension that is downright enervating. The text is frequently dense, so dense it feels like chewing your way through a plank of wood. It is actively tiring to read: I bailed on my first attempt at reading Homestuck^2 when it originally dropped because I just did not have the energy to squint at my screen and read that much orange-on-off-white text.

It is, to be clear, contemptuous. Dirk did much the same in the Epilogues, but the locus has changed. In the Epilogues Dirk taunts the reader with the changes he is making to the story: he knows they object to his manipulations, and he preens as good villains do. But in Homestuck^2, Dirk speaks not of his changes but of the very existence of Homestuck^2 itself. He treats his audience as inherently hostile to the entire existence of the work they have just shown-up to read (or even support via a Patreon), a hostility that culminates when he ‘opens’ a suggestion box and receives the suggestion ‘Dirk: Stop Making Homestuck,’—which he at-once rejects and goes on to monologue some more.

Dirk is talking to an audience who isn’t there. He is speaking to everyone who didn’t like the Epilogues and objects to Homestuck’s 'sequel' directly following them: but that audience isn’t reading Homestuck^2. They bailed in advance, and any who did try and keep an open mind likely jumped ship the moment the comic started by calling them a bitch and implying they’re idiots. The only people likely to read past the fifth page are those who already bought-in to Homestuck^2’s plan: and they are greeted with some 32 pages and 7600 words of the comic’s villain re-litigating and justifying that plan over and over and over again to people who nominally already agreed with him.

It is draining. It is annoying. It is boring to read.

There’s so much you could critique about Homestuck^2’s choices: from Rose cheating on Kanaya to impregnate Jade to Jane Crocker going full Trump and keeping kids in cages. Equally there’s arguments to be made that Homestuck^2’s very premature cancellation inhibits any ability to judge the story fairly: like any serialized narrative stopped mid-way, we have no way of knowing what narrative payoffs were supposed to be. Decisions that seemed baffling on page 8 might prove brilliant and bold by page 8000. But we never got to page 8000, because Homestuck^2 made one crucial error:

It started by telling its audience they were fools for not being smart enough to appreciate how brilliant Homestuck^2 was going to be, and then spent a majority of some 7600 words repeating itself like the worst self-pitying incel you’ve ever had the misfortune to be trapped with at a party. If only the ungrateful could realize how smart, handsome, and well-educated I—Homestuck^2—am, the love I deserve will come flowing in. I’ll show them all.

Homestuck^2 never recovered from that first, fatal error. The rest of its choices, good and bad, are almost irrelevant in the face of that opening broadside, that hostility, that tedium. Homestuck Classic earned its walls of text and at least knew how to space them: Hometuck^2 took its audience forbearance as a given and opens with a lecture on its principles and quality like an unusually snide abstract on a sociology paper. Homestuck^2 essentially began by telling its audience to leave unless they were willing to give it carte blanche, to roll over for its brilliance from the first, to accept in advance that its intelligence and virtue were first rate. So the audience did leave and it never came back and eventually the whole thing collapsed via artist infighting that was so rancorous and possibly subsumed by NDAs that to this day no one has ever halfway adequately explained what happened at the end.

But that ending was preordained from the beginning, for the balance was hopelessly incorrect.

So to anyone trying to write a revisionist history of Homestuck^2 in which its downfall was the fault of readers who simply didn’t ‘give it a chance,’ who didn’t appreciate its themes, who couldn’t grasp (or didn’t care to grasp) its intellectual bonafides (not to mention its extraordinary self-assurance that it was going to be queer Homestuck ‘done right,’ which is a whole essay about a priori reasoning in and of itself)... in other words, a history in which Homestuck^2' downfall happened because people just didn’t ‘get it,’ I’d like to sum up my counter-argument succinctly:

People didn’t like Homestuck^2 because you wrote it bad.

[Afterwards:

There is something bitingly funny about the ‘return’ of Homestuck^2 with the announcement that, from what I can gather, seemingly every person involved with the original project was fired (or, as they’d probably insist, refused to come back). Dirk’s preening, overwhelming arrogance, that ‘Dirk: Stop Making Homestuck’ prompt, will forever haunt the original team’s unwieldy vision. “I’d bet you just looove for us not to make Homestuck anymore” the team said, with all the confidence of an entrepreneur dismissing safety regulations before climbing into his homemade submarine, and boy were lessons learned. My problem with the return, however, is that I don’t know who genuinely wants to see the story of Homestuck^2 finished: the remaining cadre of die-hard patrons who still have enough goodwill to want the promise of the story’s finale fulfilled is microscopic. I’d argue there’s more people waiting for the conclusion of Wizardy Herbert, and I’m the only person I know who has ever read it. What I mean is: as a choice to revive a struggling franchise it doesn’t make much sense, and further—if it is not clear—I don’t think this is a story worth finishing. What is to be salvaged? Jane-the-Dictator, Rose’s cheating, Obnoxious BabyVriska, Dirk Strider the monster? The problem with Homestuck^2 is that Pesterquest happened, and those who played it went ‘this—this is the kind of story we were hoping for, not your edge lord showboating.’ And we only got one Pesterquest and Homestuck^2 limped on for another year reviled, ignored, and eventually forgotten. When it died, most people didn’t have any idea, because the drama never crossed their screens: nobody was talking about it any more. As my best friend noted, give us more Paradox Space. Give us more stories with joy and some sense of fun, something not written by people who often felt like they had an ‘End of Evangelion’ style hatred of Homestuck, or at the very least took the old joke that Hussie was ‘trolling’ his audience at face value. (Writing a good story with twists, set-backs, and tragic moments is not trolling, it is just writing a good story.) Homestuck^2 never felt like it understood that: it was rude and iconoclastic for no more compelling reason than it thought that was meaningful. But then I think the legacy of Epilogues has been extremely toxic—part of the positivity towards Pesterquest was that it let the Epilogues go, featuring a triumphant moment where YoungDirk confronts his Epilogues self and goes ‘I don’t have to be a huge wanker, actually, I can stay a character people can stand and even love again.’

Do that, new team. Pesterquest is named-dropped on the new site more than once, and my dream is that its cast arrives and overthrows the corrosive toxicity of the Epilogues, banishes it to the far realm of underbaked elsewhere ‘what-ifs’ along with every DC cannibalism story and that time Peter Parker’s radioactive semen gave MJ cancer.

The Epilogues and Homestuck^2 are, at this point, not worth salvaging—but I’d happily see them formally buried.]

[bioticbooty]

20 Fanfic Questions

Tagged by @swaps55. Thank you!

Tagging @cr-noble-writes, @theoriginalladya, @ad-astra13 and anyone else who feels so inclined!

How many works do you have on AO3?

9

2. What's your total AO3 words count?

233,7802

This doesn't include WIP wordcounts which are so much higher

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mass Effect primarily. A little Dragon Age from time to time (mostly one shots). I have a Fable III WIP and Stargate Atlantis fic that's only on ffnet (and I refuse to go back to ffnet it's become a trash fire).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Crosshairs - Mass Effect 1 slow burn shenko. (This version will be abandoned as I've been doing The Great Rewrite because the characters and my Shepard have evolved over the years, but I like having the old version up for comparison.)

Lightning - Mass Effect 1 fshenko smut with a wild card Shepard who would blow up a small moon if she was asked to fix a microwave

No Strings Attached - Pre-Mass Effect 1 fsehnko fluff and smut, which started as smutty prompt (what if Kaidan and Shepard had a one night stand on shore leave before ME1) and turned into this Whole Big Thing

Brace for Impact - Mass Effect 3 AU where Olivia Shepard is not an Alliance Marine because Mindoir was never raided so she never lost her family. And yet, fshenko because love always finds a way.

Sine Qua Non - Mass Effect/Pacific Rim crossover with fshenko, Kaidan and Shepard have a service history and then end up on the same Jaegar class fighter in the drift together.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Sometimes it takes a while, but I always respond to everyone before I post a new chapter because I want everyone who took the time to write me something that I really appreciate their words!! I also do it because I miss the old days of fandom community where comments flew around left and right, and I want to encourage that in my own little corner as best I can.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Color the Sky - The Blitz, Shepard is on shore leave with her partner when the slavers attack. This is the story that cements the belief that she's better off alone because the people who get close to her die.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't think anyone is happier in a finished fic of mine than Alexis Shepard and Kaidan in No Strings Attached when the finally find each other again after having pined after the other for literal years.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Only once, and it was transphobic garbage. "It's clunky and bad for reading to use these wierd fake pronouns introduced to make people feel better about themselves." I told them no one was holding a gun to their head forcing them to read the story and then locked the comment thread, because comment section battles with people who are already coming at it from a place of not actually wanting to understand is a waste of my time.

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

Sometimes, not that often anymore, and part of that is I can never just write smut without their being fluff and emotions and connection (see above: No Strings Attached turning into a 20k+ fic for a one night stand smut prompt). Part of this is because I am ace as fuck and the desire to have sex with people every second of the day because they're hot or whatever is just so utterly foreign to me. It has to feel right in the story. And if I'm gonna write just a smut story, you can bet there are thousands of words of background lore I wrote to make the smut happen on the page.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Very few. I think the only published one is the Mass Effect/Pacific Rim crossover. So by default, that one!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

None translated.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Once, with some friends over a decade ago (on ffnet). It was fun but also stressful, and I probably won't do it again. It really has to be the right people, and this group I did that project with was a good group and also very kind and generous in giving over the reigns to each other. But I've also grown more stubborn as I've gotten older. It can work, but unlikely I'll ever do it again.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Shepard and Kaidan, to the surprise of no one.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I would like to finish Never Surrender, my Stargate Atlantis WIP that is partially published. Part of that will involve migrating it over to AO3. I'm so enmeshed in Mass Effect and The Great Rewrite that I don't know that I have time for that WIP right now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and combat.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Bridging scenes together. I get way too in my head about it, especially when characters are just sitting in silence for a moment.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I would love to do this and maybe could do it in a rusty, limited capacity with French, but it has been ages since I've spoken it in any useful capacity.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek Voyager. I've long since lost this story, but it was writing a bisexual and (though I didn't have the words for it at the time) asexual Seven of Nine.

Listen, I don't wanna say I was prophetic but have you watched Picard? Case settled.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Choosing is hard!!!! Also I have so much unfinished, unpublished stuff that is my favorite but sticking to things that are published out there on AO3, it would be No Strings Attached. Shepard and Kaidan find unexpected happiness, then pine for a couple years because they were trying to pretend they weren't in love, and then the find each other again on the Normandy. They're nerdy dorks. They get to be the lighter versions of themselves and let go of expectations for a few days with each other and be a little reckless (and deeply, unapologetically romantic).

I also wrote that story in like 6 days while high off my ass on cold and flu medicine with a raging fever of like 102.

[rhlgull1331]

A Few Pro Wrestling Matches from 2022 (in chronological order) ((this post is long , sorry))

{4.75 stars & The Beautiful Excess award}

Just 3 weeks after having a legitimately perfect 1-hour match, they have to follow it up with something that matches their previous brilliance without being too similar. The easy solution was to further the game of one-upmanship present in their first encounter but with half the length. Main difference here is that the challenge Danielson presented to Adam Page went from "can you keep up with me, champ?" to "can you handle me headbutting you for 10 actual minutes?" Yeah, it's probably not a great idea for Bryan Danielson, owner of prowres' most valuable brain since Bobby Heenan, to engage in vicious head-based offense... but I guess he was fine. Who are we to question The American Dolphin?

-------------

{4.5 stars & The Overcoming All Odds award}

Adam Page was AEW's best world champion and I doubt I'll change my mind until we see a champion come out on top in a manner as bonkers as this. You've probably seen a few deathmatches this year? I've only seen a few throughout the year. No single ultraviolent spot made me react the way Adam Page bouncing off the stairs and landing chin first against the ring post made me react. One thing I've slightly overlooked is how Lance Archer, for one more night, got to be a fucking star. It's a shame he didn't carry this momentum for much of the year.

-------------

{4.25 stars & The King's Road Triumph award}

When Y2J lost the AEW title in 2020 it seemed to me that he would be closing the in-ring chapter of his career within 2 or 3 years. I was verrry wrong. He's had the best prowres year of his life as far as I'm concerned. I have a cynical tendency to hold Chris Jericho to the standards that both he and his fans insist he is at. A fair 75% of the time, he misses the mark that I would expect from a candidate for 'Greatest Of All Time'. This is one of the exceptions where he really hit a home run. The aforementioned cynic in me wants to hand it ALL to Eddie Kingston, but that wouldn't be fair. Jericho helped set up the dramatic heights of the bout just as much as Kingston helped in executing them. It was one of the closest 'duo-minded' matches you could see all year. I imagine both guys shared only a quick glance before walking to the ring, both knowing exactly how the match was gonna go.

-------------

{5 stars & The Most Cathartic award}

I simply cannot do this justice in such few words. The feud between Punk and MJF was magical television. Every week was a highlight of ALL wrestlingI watched this year. Punk's promo where he invites Max to be. his. valentine. Followed of course by Friedman's promo where he reveals his 'origin story' of sorts, which is the undisputed best promo he's ever done. The feud was nothing too complex in the grand scheme of things, it's a grizzled veteran vs confident young guy story at its core... But it means a lot more to a gal like me who knows CM Punk's history. Someone who watched Punk as a kid and began to wonder what he was doing before he was in WWE. Learning about Punk's pre-WWE days invited me to find more Ring Of Honor matches online which inevitably led me to everything they had to offer. I found more about the American indies, I found New Japan and Pro Wrestling NOAH, I found my niche. And I can personally trace it all back to the time I learned that CM Punk pinned Austin Aries and then told a fable about an old man and a snake.

.....

The match was pretty good too!

Acute satisfaction came from seeing MJF finally get his comeuppance by way of a flatback bump into thumbtacks. Thanks Wardlow, you sexy man!

-------------

{4.25 stars & The Better Than BOLA award}

(No, i didn't only watch AEW this year) Every couple of years in pro wrestling you find that one. The one who just ticks all the boxes. "Speedball" Mike Bailey is that one for me. They just know how it all works. Couple them with someone who also happens to tick all those boxes and you get this match. These two had had a match for 2022's Battle of Los Angeles tournament, which was fine but I felt it went a bit longer than needed. Well I thought it did, but it turns out this match here is only 4 minutes shorter than their PWG match. The difference is night and day, although some of the moments are carried directly from that initial match. It's just a much better execution for the most part.

-------------

{4.5 stars & The Comedy Bullshit Award}

I love Jackass. I love Sami Zayn. You'd expect this to be an incompatible pairing, considering how explicit all of Jackass' content is, but the easy workaround is to have this match work as a straightforward comedy match rather than anything exceedingly violent. Let's not kid ourselves now, in what world would it be a good idea for Johnny Knoxville to have a legitimate pro wrestling match? He's had more concussions than Mick Foley. The action is as competent as a WWE prop-comedy scene could've been. If it were Johnny Knoxville with anybody else then it wouldn't be on the list. Samuel Zayn is the patron saint of giving a hundred and ten percent.

-------------

{4.25 stars & The Bleedin' Gums award}

There are few ways to genuinely shine on TV when you've come up through the independents, even in AEW's world. Most of the time, crowds are familiar enough with a talent so that they don't have to establish much more about themselves that isn't able to be seen online. Wheeler YUTA took things a step forward by not resting on his laurels and instead finding a new way to stand out. In this case, he gets promptly massacred by Jon Moxley. The amount of blood that flows from YUTA's head could fill a pool. The one moment where he's face-up on the outside, face fully coloured in red, the money shot for Wheeler if there could've been one. Mox don't slouch either, he puts up one of his best performances all year and that's saying a lot. The speed when he starts hitting those Hammer&Anvil Elbows is remarkable.

-------------

{4.25 stars & The Denzel Washington award}

This fight is a cult underground jazz record that was only on vinyl for 20 years and then inexplicably found its way to streaming after some weirdo celebrity found it and loved it. I feel it aimless to analyse this match as a match, since it's portrayed as a gang fight that just so happens to be in front of a crowd. We get a lot of wild moments throughout, my personal favourite being when Danny Garcia hits a Piledriver onto Ortiz or Santana from the apron onto stairs immediately after J.R says "Stop posing to the crowd, nobody's looking!" I could list off all the cool moments but I'm more inclined to praise Eddie Kingston for a bit. How is it possible for someone to feel so genuine when they are trying to light a man on fire while covered head to toe in another man's blood? I'd like to stop for another second to show love to the owner of that blood, "Daddy Magic" Matt Menard. This fuckin guy bled like a Funk Brother and then covered himself in mustard with those cuts still fresh. What a madman.

-------------

{4.75 stars & The Best Sequel award}

yeahyeahyeah I know The Briscoes ain't the most jam-up guys in prowres, but they can still craft a fantastic match when they need to. FTR are unfortunately in this negative space with fans right now, because Dax Harwood (FTR Bald) is being outspoken about things that aren't exactly popular or fun to talk about. I don't know why Cash Wheeler (FTR Not Bald) is getting flack too but that's only because I imagine when Dax isn't around him, he de-spawns from the area like a video game NPC. My point is that these two teams made some magic with this match despite their inherent flaws as teams and as personalities. Perhaps a bit of length could be cut and perhaps a hope spot or two could be removed, but dammit this is the kind of pulpy, high-stakes tag team wrestling I adore. Plus I just love the 2/3 Falls stipulation. That was a big bonus for me. (btw their first and third matches are great too but i like this one more)

-------------

{4.5 stars & The Marvel Movie award}

This match was unstable. (that's a joke) Imagine the unsubtle and overproduced fighting in a Marvel Movie action scene and now imagine that being applied within the confines of a wrestling ring and voila you have this match. WWE have this weird thing where they have main events for the world title feel complacent in their content. Roman is able to have a good/watchable match but only when he's with someone that he's wrestled before. He and Brock "Punches Moons Into Smaller Moons" Lesnar have had some stinkin' rotten no-good bouts before, just look at their match at WrestleMania this year! There was no optimism from me nor my pals, whom I watched SummerSlam with, that this match would be worth a damn. ... But then the tractor came out and the match shot from a solid 3.5 star snooze right to a 4.25 classic. ...... Then Austin Theory (yuck) got his SHIT ROCKED and it went up another quarter. Sometimes it's worth giving the benefit of the doubt. You may just turn the night around in your favour.

-------------

{4.25 stars & Loud As F**K award}

I knew this match was good when Starlight Kid no-sold a Butterfly Suplex from the top and I had no qualms about it. This match is a sleeper hit that comes right in the middle of a round robin tournament where nobody expects it. Fast-paced and hard-hitting, two very common attributes for this promotion's best matches but quite bloody apt in this case. There's one bit where I swear Giulia's elbow pops out of place with how hard she swung it at SLK's jaw. It's no wonder both these wrestlers are my favs in all of STARDOM when they're this captivating in such a "throwaway" match during a Round Robin tournament.

-------------

{4.25 stars & The Welsh Irish Pride award} This match is how to show you appreciation to the long-time star in Sheamus. Let him wrestle someone with no restrictions. Nothing but the hardest of hits and amplest of steps taken to get those hits in. This match is subtle for the longest time, waiting for a right moment for Gunther to get ruthless. If this were to be Big Gunth vs anybody else then it would probably open with one of his trademark CHOPS (in all caps), but they play it coy and they don't have Gunther hit Sheamus with a CHOP until a good few minutes in. And only from there do things escalate. The crowning moment being when Sheamus drops Gunther with the High Cross. A move that is always in Sheamus' moveset in the video games but one i've not seen him use since maybe 2011. If Sheamus' legend status in WWE was in question before this match, then that debate was taken out back and kicked up the backside after the crowd's standing ovation.

-------------

{4.5 stars & The Bloody Tears award}

When it comes to deathmatches, I like to see men willingly bleed in pursuit of money and glory. Jun Kasai is one such man who has legitimately done that for 20 years. Look at his back and you'll see the shell of a tortoise. El Desperado is a New Japan star who I, admittedly, held in little regard beforehand but now i think i want to see this man succeed in every way possible. Jun Kasai is comparable only to a decrepit deity with aspirations for mayhem and reverence for suffering. He takes all the worst ideas for wrestling moves and then makes them more brutal, for a random example imagine a Canadian Destroyer. Right, you've seen one of those before? Picture that move off the top rope now. "Actually let's amp it up a bit and let's add a Double Underhook so then Despy can't protect his head on impact." Oh! Okay then Mr. Kasai. "Let's also add a stack of chairs so the aforementioned impact is a smidge more painful." Whatever you say! "That ain't the end of the match by the way." Fine by me! Don't stab me, sir!! It's a madman's match for sure. It also gets a bit sentimental during the end-match promo, but i must declare that I was a little distracted that point because i had seen the best deathmatch of my damn life. ------------- That's my list! I hope you'll want to watch some wrestling now. - Rhlgull

[tdcloud]

How the hell do you write a book? (blog#11)

And we’ve reached November! It’s wild how fast this year has gone by, but even more than that, it’s wild that I’ve managed to keep up a monthly blog for almost an entire year. The last time I tried to do this it didn’t last longer than four months, so really, it’s an accomplishment! I hope you’ve all been enjoying it. I’ll have to plan something special for next month to ring in the occasion. But today is today, and it’s only November. That begs the question: What have I got for you guys this month? 

That’s the question I stumble over sometimes, to be honest. It’s easy to talk about things I'm currently working on, but eventually, I do run out of projects to tease. Thankfully, I’ve found that Instagram has been a good source of immediate feedback on this sort of thing (you can find me on there under my general online handle of Terminallydepraved.) It’s a lot of fun to show off my daily thoughts and goings-on via the Story feature on there. Sometimes I even post sneak peeks at covers, art, or snippets of my current writing projects. It’s a fun time. Consider checking it out!

Anyway, I threw a few potential options into a poll on Instagram for this month’s blog topic, and the landslide victory came in the form of a whole blog about my writing process. I’ve definitely spoken to people before about how I write and plan stories, but I’ve never given a step-by-step look of idea creation to finishing a final draft before. I figured that's probably the most interesting way to structure this initial blog—after all, I could easily write a standalone blog post on just about any single step. I’ll be getting into the overview of things and we can save those closer, step-specific posts for the future. 

So, no time like the present! Let’s get to it!

For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to treat this the way I would proceed if I were writing a multi-chaptered book and not something short like a novella, oneshot, or fanfic. While the latter three sometimes involve this level of detail and pre-planning, they most often do not and don’t receive the same level of preparation that I’d give to a 300+ page book project. If anyone is curious about how I handle those, we can talk about it in a future post or I can answer it as a Q & A next month! Just ask!

Step 1: Idea Creation

Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you how to hunt for ideas. Inspiration comes to me or it doesn’t, and most of the time it’s incredibly hard to predict what will give me an idea and what won’t. Sometimes, just watching a movie or reading a book will spit ten new ideas into my head. Sometimes, I can go months without thinking of anything new. I’ve mentioned before that I’m currently at a place where I need to start creating new ideas for future works, and there’s a reason I’ve been asking for suggestions XD I’m not currently inspired by much, so nothing new is flowing.

I’ll give an example, though, of how Brontide came to me. I was reading a book on superstitions and folklore while working a boring desk job in college. I read about faerie knots and couldn’t stop thinking about a fae character tying knots in a human lover’s hair. That in turn kept the idea in my head, fermenting away, until I’d come up with a small plot that later became the fanfic version of Brontide. 

This is typically one of the easiest and shortest steps in the process. I literally only need an idea to get going on a project. Sometimes, it’s a small character interaction like that. Other times, it’s a setting (the Drow world, a castle, a city of monsters working day jobs a la Fable). The initial concept that sets the stage for the setting, tone, and general aesthetics comes first, and then I think about the characters.

Step 2: Character Creation

This is what ends up taking up a good portion of my story-inception time. As a rule, I almost always build the story plot itself around the characters as I make them. If I think about Brontide again, I imagine the setting and general tone of the story I want to tell. Then, I think about what sort of leading characters/couple would make this the most fun. As I’ve discussed in previous teasers and character profiles, I have very set archetypes that I tend to favor. Everyone’s got them, and it’s what I default to unless the story I plan on telling is very different from one I’d typically tell. For Brontide, I wanted to tell a traditional fae love story but gay. Therefore, I needed a fae who kidnaps a human, and in stories like that, the fae is almost always royalty. That’s how Ruari came into being. As for the human, those traditional stories tend to have it be a maiden or defenseless wanderer, someone who is plucked from their daily life and thrown into a situation where they have little control. Corbet was sculpted from my desire not to fall into cliche. I wanted a thief, an outcast, someone who would stab a stranger and think about robbing them over being charmed into an obvious trap. 

I try to take traditional tropes and cliches and turn them on their heads. In some stories, that’s more obvious than others, but a lot of this relies on character dynamic outright, so I try to go into every story by creating the lead pair with that in mind. I like hot/cold types, but I also need a bit of edge to both of them. It’s boring if everything goes smoothly from the start, so I might make one of them hard to please, distrusting, or conniving. Good romantic pairs should complement one another, but there should also be friction and tension that keeps things interesting. That can come internally or externally, but regardless, it needs to be there to some degree, even if the story is gentle and romantic.

I always start my character profiles by answering basic questions. Age, gender, name, appearance. After that, I think about the story I want to tell. I consider what this character wants. A good character always has a goal they’re trying to achieve. It can be big or small, abstract or tangible. In Letifer, these goals are pretty easily spotted in some characters. Gabriel wants to become a detective. For Nines, we slowly learn what he wants, what he’s lacking, but before he tells us himself, we can read that he’s unsatisfied with his lot in life from the very moment we occupy his perspective: being a vampire sucks if you’re not top of the food chain. 

Next, I dig deeper to understand, for lack of better word, what’s wrong with them. Why can’t they get what they want? What’s getting in their way? That’s when you dig into the backstory. This is where deeper shades of motivation come out. Why does Gabriel want to become a detective? Why is Nines stuck at the bottom of the food chain? From there we create Gabriel’s disillusionment with the police structure at large, about how useless he feels when confronted with the horrors of the world and his inability to do anything about them. With Nines, we slowly learn about what he was supposed to be, and why he is what he currently is, and how badly that’s affected literally every single facet of his unlife. 

After that, I begin considering the story itself that they’re occupying. Letifer wasn’t a story specifically about how Gabriel became a detective or how Nines became a vampire. Origin stories are great, but this wasn’t that, so the plot itself had to give us an avenue to convey both of those journeys while also being focused on the greater goal of uncovering something bigger. I knew going in that I wanted to tell a crime/mystery story involving a serial killer. I wanted it to be a sort of spoof on buddy cop dramas but between a human and a vampire. That meant I knew I was telling a murder-mystery story. I came up with the culprit, the standard array of background characters a story like that needs (chief inspector for the vamps, human equivalent for Gabriel’s side of things, coworkers for them both that better serve to create disparity between each of their own experiences, and the suspects and witnesses that will be interviewed over the course of the story), and picked the setting (Detroit, a city I visit every year and have a very fond love of, and fall blending into winter, because that remains to this day the only way I’ve ever experienced Detroit in person.) 

Then, I begin the outline.

Step 3: Notes and Outlining

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard aspiring writers tell me they don’t outline. I used to be the same, but writing my first book taught me that’s a terrible idea and a bad habit to get into. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or make your art, but seriously, a book is so long and full of twists, turns, and tiny details that even the most basic of a roadmap will do you worlds of good in actually seeing your first book turn into an actual, finished product.

The best advice I can give someone who wants to write a book is to outline. I’m not going to insist you do it the way I do it, and if you’re morally opposed to outlines for fear of it “impeding your creativity,” at least make bullet points. As I always say, give yourself a roadmap that allows for detours if you need them, but don’t drive off into the world without knowing the destination at all. You’ll never finish anything if you don’t know where you’re going, and if there are problems in your story, the outline is the first, best, and easiest way to see those issues and fix them before you reach the point of no return.

Like, seriously. I’ve had to rewrite two full books from start to finish, and every time I did, it was solely because my outline wasn’t solid enough before I began writing. It may seem intense, how I plan stories, but this is how I finish them. This is literally the reason I’m able to write one book, let alone nine.

Now, this is probably the part I’ve spoken about most when the question of my story process comes up. If asked, those who have discussed this with me before will probably lead the explanation by telling you about my thesis statement method. To this date, I’ve yet to meet anyone who has ever begun a story outline process the same way, but to me, it’s necessary when it comes to distilling my intentions towards a piece as succinctly and plainly as possible. Apotheosis, the prequel to Letifer and the current patreon serialization, is a great example of this in action. 

The purpose of this work is to recount the gradual seduction of Kolton by his sire Elijah Eder, head of the Luminary bloodline amidst political machinations, vampiric subterfuge, and the disintegrating relationship between Kolton and his twin brother Nines as he slowly distances himself from his old life to embrace his new one at his sire’s side. By the end of this book we should see what led to Nines’s self-imposed exile away from Kolton, the true nature of Kolton’s relationship with Elijah, and have a general sense of what life is like as a high-blood vampire. It’s not as easy as one would think, privilege of the blood aside. Even as a human Kolton will encounter power plays he can’t combat, witness the sort of debauchery the so-called elite get up to behind closed doors, and learn the stories surrounding the Fall, a mysterious event only alluded to in whispers. Kolton must adapt if he wishes to prove himself a fitting match for Elijah— and to keep his head above water too, of course. 

As you can see, it’s almost a cross between a declaration of intent as well as a mini-teaser/summary. This one was pretty well polished since I had been working on it when a lot of questions about my process came up in a few writer discords, but the gist is always the same across the board. They all begin with “The purpose of this work is…” and end with me telling myself what the end-goal takeaway of the story should be. I’ve written tons of things that start out in my head as one thing and turn into another by the time I’m finished with the story. It’s really easy to lose track of what a story is supposed to be and take it in a different direction, which is fine, but when you’re writing a series you tend to need to keep on track or else the future books you’ve planned for are diverted as well. 

From this thesis statement, though, I can, at any moment, read over it while working on just about any chapter and make sure I’m aligning the events with the larger scope of the story. Apotheosis is a prequel, but it’s also the best look into the Luminary bloodline that we get in this book series. As Kolton learns and experiences the elite side of vampiric life, so do we, so am I being descriptive and giving time to the culture? Am I keeping Kolton as in control of things as he can given the circumstances? This story is a corporate, vampiric thriller. It’s rooted in mid-90s culture, business settings, and the sort of cutthroat coldness that accompanies such things. It’s honestly not much of a romance—it’s closer to an arranged political marriage, and that needs to carry through in every interaction we see. I’ve had to rewrite a couple chapters already to realign myself with these views, and it’s the thesis statement I turn to when I feel myself getting lost in the weeds.

After the thesis statement, though, comes an actual summary. And I don’t mean a sales page one. I mean a full out, what happens from the first chapter to the last, and it typically takes up about 2-3 paragraphs. I don’t get into the minutiae of every single interaction or what-have-you, but I discuss plainly who does what when, what the conflict, rising action, and climax is, and ultimately how the story ends. This gives me a basic overview of the story’s progression, and from there, I delve into the steps I have to take to bring it all to life.

People on patreon get access to my outlines once a book or novella is complete, so there are better examples of how I do chapter notes available. For this, I don’t want to potentially spoil anything for someone, so I’ll just give you the first chapter of Infaust since nothing super spoiler-y happens in that.

Chapter One: (Rehan) The story opens to Rehan climbing up a hill towards a small village. The day is bright and bleeding into evening, at odds with the nature of his visit. He sees people walking along the way and they give him a wide berth. Same old same old. He arrives in the small village and sees how frightened people are. There are tons of small effigies erected around to mourn the loss of the children. Rehan thinks about why he is in fact here and he finds the elder of the village. Sits down with her and discuss terms of the job. A few witches have tried/come to take the job but left when they heard what was the cause. Chaos God. Rehan flinches but insists. Lays down his terms. The elder brings up the fact he has no familiar. Rehan presses harder on his terms, and the woman has no other option. She is visibly uncomfortable at the terms. Rehan asks for all the info they have on the God and where he is, and he tells her he can’t do it today, but he will go tomorrow. She puts him up for the night in a small shack on the edge of the village. It’s better than Rehan usually gets. He can’t wait til he gets better once this is all over. 

As you can see, if I’m writing a story that swaps POVs, I always start each chapter note by specifying what character I’ll be writing from. After that, I write step-by-step what happens over the course of the chapter. Sometimes, this is a very detailed thing, and other times—usually if I feel I’ve got a good mental visualization of how a story is going to proceed—I keep it rather vague to allow for more organic unraveling. I typically try to include what elements need to be present to progress the plot, that way I don’t leave anything out, and I try to include the character’s emotional state. If you’ve read the first chapter of Infaust, you’ll notice that I left out multiple interactions he has with townspeople before he even reaches the village elder. I don’t bother explaining how a chaos god stole the children. I don’t go into Rehan’s internal monologue about how he processes the death of his familiar every time he’s in a position like this, and I don’t include any world building details beyond basic visuals of where he’s currently at. I know all of these, or I let them happen to me as I write. 

I do this throughout the whole story, sometimes being vague, sometimes giving more detail based on how much happens in the scene, how important everything is, or if it’s something that doesn’t need much elaboration (sex scenes, backstory exposition moments, fight scenes—things that generally work better with me improvising or writing in the moment without thinking too hard about specifics). If there are moments when I don’t know how something happens, I make a note of it and I don’t begin writing everything until I’ve answered that question. I then give my notes to my editor and a few trusted friends to look over. I ask them questions, and they ask me questions in turn. If I don’t have an answer (How does this ritual work? How are they going to accomplish xyz when they’ve only got abc?) I keep on the outline until I’ve figured it out.

Like I said above, the outline is where the hard work should actually happen when it comes to figuring out what your story is and how you’re going to tell it. It’s my favorite part of the whole process, and it’s also how I can predict just how long a book will be and how long it’ll take me to write. I know how long it takes me to convey xyz in a scene, and I know how many chapters I can write in a certain amount of days. This isn’t something a lot of people can do. As far as I’ve seen, I’m apparently Stephen King, not G. R. R. Martin—and if you aren’t familiar with that comparison, please, look up their interview. It’s great. But anyway, the root of all of this is that a good outline will save you worlds of hurt down the line. Never rush this step and always do your future self a favor by making it the best it can possibly be before you ever put pen to paper.

Step 4: Writing

This step is pretty self-explanatory. I begin writing the story, typically starting with the first chapter and working my way chronologically through it til I reach the end. Within a chapter, though, I’ll jump around, writing the ending first, tacking out dialogue bits I’ve already got in my head, and just working my way through things until it all connects and I can check the chapter off the list as done. If it’s a story I have pretty well visualized inside my head, I may even skip chapters entirely and work wherever I’m feeling it most, but typically, I try to avoid this on book projects. It can be hard to maintain a steady character arc personality-wise when jumping around.

Also, I write a chapter within a couple days typically if not a single day, and then I move onto the next. I don’t go back to revise it unless I’m publishing a story piecemeal to patreon. Finished is always better than perfect, and if I start revising in the middle of things I’ll never get to the end. Also, I almost always feel crippling self-doubt creep in within the first five to six chapters. That’s normal. You aren’t deep enough into a story to see things come together in the ways your brain imagined. My rule of thumb is I’m not allowed to say I hate a story until I’m 3/4s done with it. By that point, I’m almost always so far into things that the pieces are coming together, and I’m vibing with it, and if not, I’m too far in to jump ship now. I commit to finishing it and throwing it to my editor, knowing we’ll hammer it into shape together. 

If you struggle with this sort of thing, seriously, stop rereading shit and just keep going. Revision is your best friend and exists for a reason.

Step 5: Editing/Revising

This is probably my second favorite part of the writing process, and one of the reasons why that is is because when I’m revising, I know the work itself is done. The hard part is over. The beast is dead, and now all that’s left is refining its body into something worth reading. 

I suppose I should specify that there is a difference between editing and revising. Editing is when you make major changes, rewrite things, rework them. Revising is going over things with a fine tooth comb to find the small errors, i.e. punctuation, sentence clarity, grammar, etc. I enjoy both stages. It’s actually a lot of fun getting to go through work that’s already completed and refining it into something better, and it’s always less daunting to rewrite a few paragraphs than to write an entire chapter from scratch. Even if I do have to rewrite a full chapter, I almost always know exactly what it has to be when I’m in the editing stage. After all, I know why the old chapter failed. It’s just—easier. There’s a lot less pressure to get things right, and it tends to involve the help of an editor, which relieves the burden even more. 

Now, my editor is the fucking bee’s knees. Their name is NIL and they’ve been involved in every single project I’ve put out except for Brontide and Letifer—the first because they were moving when I first wrote that book and I didn’t want to bother them to read it, and if you’ve read my Brontide deep dive, you’ll know that’s a mistake I’ve regretted to this day. The latter, though, was more personal, and they were still involved in a lot of the DVerse development outside of that book. They’re a polyglot, a writer themself, a cat-dad, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had. They love vampires and magic, explore spiritualism and the intangible in ways that will make your toes curl, and they’re never afraid to tell me that I’ve fucked shit up again. 

Believe me, as an author, you need to hear that more often than you’d think. Every plot hole I’ve filled in was thanks to spitballing ideas with NIL. Every character voice I’ve refined into something unique has happened because they took me aside and told me I was being derivative. They tell me when I need to rewrite a full book. They tell me when something I’ve spent months on isn’t salvageable. They also console me through the emotional aftermath of that, and they help me do better on the next go. I’m a mess sometimes when I don’t know where to take a story. I’ve yet to have a meltdown where they failed to take me by the hand and guide me back onto the proper path.

I know a lot of young, aspiring writers struggle with their books. I wish telling them to get an editor was an easier prospect than I make it sound. You need one, though, if you want your story to be a well-told one. You need someone who will tell you where things are weak, and more than that, more than a beta reader can give, you need someone who can tell you how to fix it. That’s what an editor does. They aren’t there just to fix your commas or run-ons. They’re there to distill the essence of what the story is supposed to be and help you refine it until that’s what the reader holds in their hands.

Good editors don’t grow on trees. You’ll likely have to pay to find one, or go the mainstream publishing route to have a house assign one or two to you. I prefer to have someone I know personally, who knows me personally, but regardless, you need one. You need one bad.

My typical editing process takes months. If I can write a book in one month, it’ll take three to edit and revise it. I usually read over the story myself several times, mark up chapters where I think ideas or executions are weak, and I address them myself before I hand the document off to NIL—if I haven’t just given them access from day one to help keep me on track as I write the damn thing. If I don’t know how to fix something, I mark it. I hand it to NIL. They read it first just to read it, and then they read it again to mark it up as well. It’s normal for me to wake up with 300 suggested edits on three chapters from them. Most, unfortunately, are commas XD But some are comments about plot holes, inconsistent lore details, confusing sentences they can’t decipher, and places where things I tried simply do not work.

My favorite are the reactions, though. The emojis and links to songs certain sentences remind them of, the insults towards shithead characters, and the shock at twists, the pitying condolences at how badly I’ve treated a witch-boy this time... I find this part of the process fun for so many reasons, and even if NIL hates me by the end of a story for dragging their heart through the dirt again, I can’t stop loving it.

To be honest, I can’t imagine working with anyone else on my projects. NIL knows me and my writing style inside and out, and they never try to change my style to suit their own aesthetics the way other editors I’ve had in the past do. They care about every project I put out and will spend hours on voice calls with me hammering out the issues in my story structures until we’ve figured out how to fix them. I learned early on to involve them in every step of my writing process. It just leads to the best result, and there is a reason why I always thank them in my author’s notes. I wouldn’t have put out these books to this level of quality without their help, their insight, and their support guiding me every step of the way. 

I know my blog posts are full of shameless plugs, but I truly and sincerely suggest that you check out NIL and consider them for your own projects. They are dedicated and passionate, and you could not be in better hands. You can find them on their blog at https://naughtingwell.wordpress.com/

Tell them Migi sent you—they’ll bad-mouth me to the grave, and I’m okay with that.

Step 6: Publication

This is probably my least favorite part of the entire process of writing a book, namely because I have to do so much stuff that isn’t in my wheelhouse as a self-publisher. When you go the route I go, you have to be a marketing expert, a graphic designer, a copywriter, and a publicist all at once. Sure, I always have a talented artist to handle my cover for me, but I still have to format the text and title font myself. I have to do the interior myself, format it, edit it, make sure the spacing is proper and that nothing is outside the print boundaries. Marketing is its own brand of hell, one you either have to spend a ton of money, time, or both on to get anywhere with it, and it’s probably my least successful part of this whole process. I have all my social media profiles and in-person events and what not, but it’s hard, and seriously, unless you’re able to throw a lot of money each month to get ad space on different sites, you’re probably not going to see large returns without already having an established fanbase or social network to help fill in the gaps for you. I’m always very upfront when it comes to the pros and cons of each type of publishing. We can talk more about that at a later date if there’s interest, but for now, here’s how I go through publication hell.

1. I get an ISBN on Amazon and set up my sales page.

2. I format my interior via InDesign or OpenOffice and create pdfs for the physical releases. This is usually done before I send out for the cover since I have to have a total page count to give the artist an accurate spine template to work from, but I’ll sometimes do my major edits and then send the template and take care of spot edits while they art is drawn—I just can’t lengthen or shorten the book by a single page at this point.

3. Once I’ve got the cover, I submit it and the interior to get my proof copy to see if everything’s printed properly. It usually takes 2-3 times to get everything perfect, and I have to pay for each proof copy every time, sometimes even duplicates to have one shipped to my artist because accurate colors don’t show up well via camera pics.

4. Once the physical release is squared away and submitted, I send my interior file to an ebook maker because the best minds I have access to have yet to figure out how to make one that doesn’t muck the formatting up. I’m convinced it’s impossible, and I’d rather spend money than stress myself out more than I already get with late-stage pub hell.

5. Once all of the book materials are finished and submitted, I open up my own hosted pre-orders for physical copies since Amazon is a cuck and won’t let you have that anymore. Kindle pre-orders are up from the moment you set it up (less chance for loss of return on Amazon’s side of things if it’s canceled when it’s a digital release and not a printed one).

6. Throughout this process I’ve been marketing everywhere I possibly can. I make graphics, I show off excerpts, I lean on all my popular friends to boost my posts and promote it to their own audiences. I pay for ad space and I offer pre-order deals. I invest in merch to help sweeten the deal, and if I’m at cons, I talk about the new release nonstop in hopes these people might check it out when it drops.

7. The book launches, I order my pre-order stock, and I rest in between signing/mailing those out and handling any issues that arise after the fact (these don’t tend to happen anymore, but when I first started out we had lots of issues). 

That may not sound that bad given it’s a nice 7-step process when it’s laid out like this, but throughout publication hell, I’m putting in hours upon hours to get things perfect and promote things well enough to make a launch a launch and not a flop. I rely on a lot of my friends, which include graphic designers, editors, artists, typesetters, and other aesthetically inclined individuals to make sure things are as good as they can possibly be when I’m handling the bulk of things myself. I don’t sleep much, I’ve visibly lost weight on occasion during a publication (I ran into my friend’s husband in the grocery store parking lot when Redamancy dropped. He complimented me on the unexpected weight loss (he didn’t think I was much for dieting) but was concerned about how badly my under-eye bags had gotten—he thought I had broken my nose at a distance, since they looked like two black eyes), and I only seem to breathe easily once it’s over. 

It’s hard, is what I’m getting at, and it’s pretty obvious, I think, why it’s my least favorite part of this whole thing.

Anyway, that’s the gist of my process. It’s taken years to refine it to these easily demarcated steps, and it’s what I’ve found works best for my workflow and allows me to put out a steady stream of works. Now, let’s swing over to some questions so I can be more specific! Questions come from Instagram this time.

Any writing pet peeves?

I really hate unnatural dialogue and triteness. There’s also this quirky, Joss Whedon-esque style some people go for and it’s… really grating to me. Not every line has to be a quip, and while you think you’re being zippy and quirky like that, you’re just being bland. We get nothing from a character who responds like that, and like, I can be guilty of it too. Sometimes my instinct is to default to the quirky, quippy rebuttal, but I almost always revise it on my second pass because we don’t learn anything about a character when they act like that. It’s not a personality trait—it’s a punchline.

How do you start writing something? Like, when you already know what but just don’t know how?

Say it with me kids: OUTLINE, OUTLINE, OUTLINE! If you have that done and still find yourself struggling to figure out where to start, pick the most interesting place and begin there. If the story is Twilight, we don’t start with Bella being born, or her in her old school. The story is about her going to Forks, Washington and meeting vampires, so we start with her on her way to Forks, Washington to meet vampires! The same goes for Dracula. Jonathan is already on the train to Transylvania when we begin the story. He’s on his way to the whole impetus of this plot.

Now, if you’re having issues literally just putting pen to paper, that’s normal. That’s something I have issues with too when I begin new projects, and all I do is give myself time. I typically schedule myself to finish chapters within a day or two, but if I’m just starting a new book, I give myself a full weekend just to write the very first paragraph. Most of the time, you just need to break ground. Once you’ve taken that first step, it gets a lot easier. And hell, I’m the king of non-linear writing. Who says you have to start with the first page? Skip to where you want to write first, be it the climax, the sex scene, or the ending. Get comfortable and then go back to the beginning, and seriously, don’t sweat things. You can rewrite a bad beginning. Write utter horseshit if you have to and edit it later. You’ll find your flow once you start and that’s always the most important thing.

How do you know where to take your story and what direction to move the plot in?

Oh, I get this a lot with my own projects. I currently have a few concepts or character dynamics I really want to play with but haven’t because I haven’t figured out how to execute it yet. I think the big thing to think about is what do you concretely have in your head for it, and are you sure you’re pursuing the proper medium for it? Sometimes it’s not a book. Sometimes it’s a movie, or a comic, or a visual novel. Some ideas are too big to be possible in the format you’re trying to fit it in, and again, outlining will give you the best understanding of what sort of story it is you’re trying to tell. Also, a lot of issues when it comes to getting over those initial roadblocks at the start of a project is making sure you know where you’re going with it. Do you know what your conflict is? Do you know where the rising action is? It may sound very high school English class, but those story structures exist for a reason. I had tons of issues writing Infaust until I went back in and properly outlined what my actual conflicts were. 

If you’re going to try my method of doing chapter notes, my trick is to write up basic headers like Chapter 1, 2, 3, etc. until I hit like, I don’t know, Chapter 15. Then I fill in as much as I can where I think things should happen. So, if I know the beginning few chapters, I fill those in. Then, say I know the climax. I skip to Chapter 12 and fill that in. It’s easy with the climax in place to fill in to the ending, and then I just connect the dots, filling in where I know I want certain things to go until I have a complete outline. From there, you refine, refine, refine. If you don’t know what your basic story points are, you aren’t ready to tell this story. Concentrate on figuring out what those are and it all should fall into place.

How do you manage the whole “show, don’t tell” thing?

Lord, I could probably do another ten blog posts just on instructional writing. I mean… maybe. I don’t know if I’m the best teacher to begin with, and a lot of what I do is based on instinct and vibes. The best advice I can give you on something like this is to remove your author brain while you write from a character’s pov and try to embody them as they go through the scene. They aren’t going to simply state things. They're going to relate to the world around them based on how it makes them feel, and you’re always going to be building character moments and associations as they interact with things. Instead of saying “The war was bad and unpopular,” relate to it the way the character would. Why is it bad and unpopular? How have they been affected by it? They’re more likely to tell you via an anecdote how the war killed their brother and father and reduced their remaining family to begging to get by than to just list off the political goings-on of the day. I guess just be asking yourself why a lot as you write, and read things aloud to see if what you’re writing sounds natural. 

Of course, I can’t just tell you to always be doing that. Sometimes, you really can just say something. You don’t need to show everything, and mild, well-applied exposition is necessary for any good story to work. There’s never going to be one proper rule for a lot of writing questions like this. You need to practice your craft, read a lot of other peoples’ stuff, and experiment until you get the feel for it yourself. 

I actually received about three times as many questions this month as I was able to answer in this blog post. Apparently there’s quite a demand for this topic? I’ll try to do some planning to better prepare for stuff like this, and I may even ask my editor if they’re willing to answer some questions as well if you guys would be interested in something like that. We are, of course, not teachers or experts on a lot of this. We can’t run a class or seminar, but I suppose we can do our best. 

But for right now, that’s it for this month! It was a long one this time, but I don’t mind much, and I hope you guys don’t either. 

We’re going to be gearing up for the holiday season soon, and I hope to have some new merch to unveil right in time for all your Christmas shopping needs. Keep an eye out for that, and good luck in your writing adventures! 

As always, until next time!

T.D. Cloud

[doli-nemae]

Feminine urge to make a pixel adventure game with my Sparrow in RPG Maker

I`m wondering if this is just another impulsive idea that will go away soon oR IS IT NOT

[arjuna-vallabha]

In the years leading upto the Battle of Plassey , Bengal was going through some extremely tough times . Accounts by contemporary writers describes vividly the problems faced by the common man .  This was a period when the East India company was gaining more political power . The true ruling class , the Nawab of Bengal and his aides immersed themselves in luxury and debauchery . On the other hand infamous zamindaars such as Devi Singha made life miserable for the common folk . And then there was famines , epidemics , droughts and inability to pay taxes . But still the people fought on with a smile on their lips . But even that seemed to disappear with the onset of Maratha raids into Bengal in mid 18th century . The “bargee” attacks , as they became popularly known , was so devastating and horrifying that they have been permanently etched in Bengali memory in form of lullaby songs . Even today bengali mothers lull their babies to sleep singing “ Sleep fast my child , for the bargees are coming ! The bulbul birds have eaten all crops , how are we going to pay taxes ? “But who were these ‘bargees’ ?The word bargee is thought to derive from Persian ‘Baargee’ which denoted a cavalry soldier . The other type of  cavalry men used to be called Shiledaars . The government used to provide horses and weaponry to the baargees . The shiledaars on the other hand had to source these themselves . In those times , the sultans of Ahmednagar developed the art of sudden stealth attacks , which came to be known as ‘baargeer-giri’ . This mode of guerrilla warfare was effective and gained massive popularity all throughout the Deccan , including Maharashtra . In the year 1740 Alivardi Khan defeated and killed his master and the then Nawab of Bengal , Sarafaraz Khan and himself sat on the throne of Bengal . But the brother in law of Sarfaraz , Naib Nazeem of Orissa Rustam Jung turned against Alivardi to avenge the wrong done to his brother . Alivardi defeated Rustam Jung and dethroned him from his Orissa office . In retaliation , Rustam Jung went to Nagpur  and sought the help of Raghuji Bhonsle , the then ruler of the region . Raghuji Bhonsle’s Diwan , Bhaskar Kolhatkar AKA Bhaskar Pandit launched an attack on Bengal with all his might . The raids continued for a period spanning 9 years and according to contemporary Dutch estimates , four lakh people died in the bloodbath . It devastated the economy of Bengal and created a period of anarchy and terror . The bargees gradually approached uptill the capital at Murshidabad and sacked the city and plundered the houses of the rich . The Britishers of East India Company on the other hand became anxious about a possible attack on the emerging prosperous city of Calcutta , their main hub . To deter any attack , they began digging a giant moat around the entire town . Luckily the bargees did not attack Calcutta and the work on the moat was discarded midway . The moat was eventually filled up in 1890s and made into upper and lower circular roads ( Acharya Jagadish Chandra Bose road & Acharya Prafulla Chandra road presently ) A certain poet named Gangaram composed a poetry describing the affairs of the bargee raids in his book called “Maharashtra Puran” . Parts of it describe the horrors faced by civilians in those times – “ They round up everyone and loot their gold and silver . They cut off the hands of some . To others they cut off the nose and the ears . For the rest they simply chop off their heads . The pretty ladies they take away and tie them up . Then they take turns to rape until they start crying to be spared . The set the homes of the rich on fire and destroy all the temples of Vishnu . They tie up their captives , fold up their hands and kick on their chest with their heavy boots . Those who have money give it to them and escape death . Those who don’t have money have no other option other than to surrender to death . The Brahmins flee with their sacred books under their arms ! The goldsmiths flee with their measuring insruments . The shopkeepers flee with their wares . The metal workers flee with their copper and brass . The blaksmiths flee along with earthen pot makers . The fishermen flee with their nets . Rich men’s wives unaccustomed to walking flee with loads over their heads ! The khetris and the rajputs also flee in fear dropping their swords . The gosais and the mohants of temples flee on palanquins . The Mughals , sayeds and sheikhs also flee in terror hearing of the bargees . The pregnant women are forced to deliver their child along roadways . “None managed to escape the wrath of the bargees. Numerous temples of Bengal were looted and plundered . Fables narrate how the iconic neem wood deity of Dhameshwar Gouranga ( Chaitanya mahaprabhu ) , worshipped by Bishnupriya ( Consort of Mahaprabhu himself ) also had to be buried for quite a few years to save him from the bargee raids! Such lawlessness continued for almost 9 years . In the end , the nawab of Bengal entered into a pact of truce with the bargees conceding Orissa to them on the condition that they would never return to Bengal . During such tumultuous times , the bargees reached upto the capital of the Malla dynasty kings – Bishnupur . Mallas have been a dominant power in that part of the state for more than a 1000 years ! When the bargees approached , the people panicked and started praying to the presiding deity of the town , Madanmohan . It is said that during this time people saw Madanmohan manifest and rush into battlefield ! He lifted up a giant iron cannon and started firing into the bargee hordes that were trying to enter the city . The cannon would later get the name ‘Dala-mardana’ or “destroyer of hordes” and can still be seen in Bishnupur . Madanmohan successfully defeated the bargees and protected his devotees . This tale has been narrated for centuries in Bishnupur and has become one of the popular religious folklores of Bengal .  But this Madanmohan is not originally a deity of Bishnupur . He is said to have been brought to Bishnupur from elsewhere by Malla king Bir Hambir .One source opines that Madanmohan originally resided at the ShriPaat Chaatraa of Srirampore . This was the residence of Kashishwar Pandita , one of the associates of Chaitanya . Bir Hambir brought Madanmohan to his kingdom and after installing a new deity of Radharani beside him , honoured him with the status of ‘Nagar devata’ of Bishnupur . The entire story raises some fundamental questions and doubts – The first question is , if the marathas are considered the champions of Hinduism and viewed largely as upholders of indian valour , why did they plunder and loot the Bengali temples  ?! The second question that may arise is , did Madanmohan indeed manifest and do this impossible act ? In order to answer this , one must understand that history is never unidimensional and one pointed as we tend to think . History has many complex layers . As the saying goes – “ history is written by victors “ . If we twist it slightly it would be safe to say that history is written by the privileged . Or perhaps , History is most often written with an agenda ! Therefore history , by its very nature , can never be complete nor foolproof . We tend to overlook the fact that in history two opposing ideas can also be true simultaneously . Therefore , every Brahmin need not be a tyrant evil oppressor nor every low caste an oppressed . Every deity taken away from a temple may not amount to a sacrilege and dishonour of hinduism . Taj mahal is not a name changed hindu shaivite temple . Gyan Vapi is not a mosque built on virgin soil . A thousand such historical over simplifications or agenda driven narratives have done more damage to true history than good . It is very necessary to have an open mind while discussing such a tricky subject as ‘bargee attack’ . I will lay down some points which will provide the readers with food for thought . But it is upto them to interpret why the bargees did what they did .1 – Bhaskar pandit organised a full fledged Bengali styled Durgotsav in Dainhaat of Bardhaman district . New pratima was built , new chandi mandap temple constructed and  thousands of sacrificial animals were brought in and grand preparations were begun . But in the night of MahaNavami , Alivardi Khan sent a message of truce and took Bhaskar Pandit into confidence and had him killed . The puja remained  unfinished . Even today ruins of the chandi mandap can be seen at Dainhaat . Understandably , Bhaskar pandit was not anti bengali or anti hindu per se and he embraced Bengali customs and culture . In this context it is worth remembering that the cult deity of Marathas , Tulja Bhawani ( from whom legend says Chatrapati Shivaji received his sword ) is also an image of Mahishamardini . Presumably , the marathas quickly saw the sameness in the rituals and ideas and were glad to adapt . 2- Just like the Mughal army had hindus in their ranks or the british indian army was largely constituted of the Indian soldiers , in the same way the bargees also had men of all castes and religions in their ranks . They even had large battalions of muslim men . It would be unfair to expect that the Islamic bargees would be respectful towards bengali idolators and their practices . 3- human ethics and moral values have underwent massive changes in recent times .  In ancient times , we did not have human rights commission , supreme court or the like . Survival of the fittest was the mantra for the times . In an event of attack it was normal for the army to indulge in plunder and loot . The rulers unofficially allowed their men to have a free hand in ‘exploits of war’ after a hard earned victory . This was a sort of incentive for the men ! Remember in those days warfare had more to do with brute strength and direct combat than with intelligence as it has become nowadays after advent of computer controlled war machinery ! During such post war plunders , rape , looting , rampage and selling humans into slavery became the norm .This was true for the entire world throught history !4 – The temples in Bengal which harbour tales of bargee attacks are mostly vaishnavaite shrines , namely Radha Krishna or Gouranga ( Chaitanya ) temples . Both these divinities would have been unknown to the Marathas whose own brand of Vaishnavism were centered around Vithhal , Rukmini and Satyabhama  . It is possible that unknown gods attracted more wrath .5- But interestingly the marathas were also one of the chief patrons of the Puri Jagannath temple . The hati vesha or Gaja vesha of Jagannath was directly due to Maratha influence over Jagannatha cult .  The  form of Jagannatha too would have been largely unknown to the marathas . That being said , they would have definitely been aqquianted with the tirtha mahatmya of Puri and the name of Jagannath from the puranas and scriptures . 6- In all probabilities Bhaskar Pandit did receive some support from the local hindu populace . The records of his durgotsav mentions throngs of villagers coming to participate in his puja . Presumably , there was both an element of fear and awe working amongst the masses . 7- It is hard to answer whether Madanmohan manifested in form or not , from a point of view of history . Such things are matters of faith and are best left untouched by history ( or even historians ) . However if we introspect purely from a historical perspective some hypothetical probabilities may be suggested . In hindu society when a man narrowly escapes a danger , he often attributes his miraculous escape to the mercy and compassion of his cherished deity . Its common for such a bhakta to say – “ I got saved due to intervention or madanmohan “ . It is very much possible that the Malla dynasty kings who ruled over a jungle infested tricky terrain and whose subjects largely comprised of martial races and tribes , overrun the bargees by their military strength and the pious king attributed the win to the mercy of Madanmohan . In due course of time this popular way of saying aqquired more realistic and literal connotations and became etched in collective memory as madanmohan manifesting in person ! Just a “what if” …. but worth a thought nonetheless !8 – It is also possible that the bargees themselves chose not to attack the malla kings , who in any case had been famous as champions of Hinduism for the last 1000 years . I have laid out the points to contemplate on . It is upto you to draw the final conclusion . History is never straightforward . All we can do is record and mention the loose ends . If the ends meet , well and fine . If they do not , it is best to be honest and admit that history is unclear thereafter  , rather than to try make them meet by force and end up projecting a personal political or sociological agenda unto history . But even after so much , the people of Bishnupur could not keep their beloved Madanmohan in their town . Malla Raja Chaitanya Singha got into a financial debacle and had to take a loan of a thefty sum of money from rich zamindar businessman Gokul Mitra of Calcutta . By this time , the sun had already began to set on the glories of Malla dynasty and Calcutta had begun to emerge as the next economic and political capital of India . In exchange of the money , Chaitanya Singha mortgaged his nagar devata Madanmohan to Gokul Mitra . When Malla king was unable to return the money back in due time ,  Madanmohan was left back at disposal of Gokul who went to build him a grand new temple . Even today visitors to Kumartuli in Calcutta can see the grand temple of madanmohan built in typical greaco roman neoclassical colonial style . At Bishnupur a replica deity was installed which also got stolen a few decades back . A second replica of Madanmohan is presently housed in the original temple back at bishnupur . So did Madanmohan really manifest ? Well, the eyes of a rationalist seek out different things from the eyes of an artist . To an artist , his divine manifestation is of much more importance because it has ‘rasa’ . It has the power to soothe the mind and senses from the drudgery of daily monotonous existence . To the artist , the supernatural is more appealing than the natural . But then again it is the ‘natural’ that gives birth to the ‘supernatural’ .  In this painting I have strived to bridge the gap between the two with the string of bhakti . Jay Madanmohan .

Text an art by Halley Goswami

[the-writer-muse]

Rating First Lines of my WIPs Part 2

Intro

Hey, it’s Calliope, and she’s back with yet another low-effort post! I’m making a part 2 to my first post because I recently found some very old writings of mine from when I was just beginning to write, and I want to give them the attention they deserve! There were also a few lines that I really wanted to include in the last post but couldn't fit, so I'm adding them in here. Plus, this has now apparently become a trend, so I'm legally obligated to make a part 2 /j

One sunny day, there was a horse fair in Sunnydale.

4/10

As an opener, this line is drier than a desert

The title of this story is Unicorn Academy: Through the Magic Portal. It was a ripoff mashup of Harry Potter and Black Beauty, and was borne during my unfortunate horse girl phase. Basically, it was about two girls who buy horses that are secretly unicorns, and are magically transported to a unicorn school

Remember how I’ve always said that my first story was a Seekers fanfiction? Well, as it turns out, I was wrong, because this is the first story in my first writing notebook. I even drew a cover for it because when I was a kid, I fancied myself a writer and an artist. (Since then, I’ve discovered that I’m definitely one and not the other.)

Once, giraffes had short necks and were in the horse family.

5/10

...what

I’m intrigued, but in a I-want-to-read-this-just-to-see-how-laughable-it-is kind of way

The title of this story is called How the Giraffe Got Its LONG Neck. But the story itself still makes no sense, even with context

Yeah, I know, I wrote a lot about animals when I was young okay-

Once, there was an old fisherman whose wife died and before she died, she gave birth to two sons, Damon and Jason.

7/10

I’m definitely intrigued, but the sentence should be cut down a little more

This one is named The Magical Boat: A Fable. As a concept, it’s not too bad. In practice...you get quotes like this one: “While the fisherman was at the market, he saw a boat. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to buy it, so he bought it.” (Yes, this is a real quote.)

This line is giving major Chronicles of Narnia vibes and I like it

“Kelly was dreaming. A robed woman knelt down by an altar.”

8/10

I actually quite like this line! This story was a sequel to another story called Secret Realm, where (shocker) the characters found a secret realm. Unfortunately, I lost the Google Doc where I wrote the original story, so I have no idea where this one was supposed to pick up.

I like this image a lot, it gives me fancy fantasy prologue vibes

Subtract the “dream beginning” and I would like it more

“The only joy I ever got out of my early life was visiting the church next to the shabby orphanage I lived in.”

7.5/10

I wrote this story around 6th-7th grade and I remember being really proud of it. I even posted it online. It’s probably lying in some forgotten corner of the Internet at this point-

Religion doesn’t play any role in this story, the only reason a church is mentioned is because it was the home of a piano that the main character loved. Music was the main character’s only joy in life, etc. etc.

Giving Jane Eyre vibes, I kind of like it!

“Because my mother raised me to be the next queen, I know when and what fork to use at dinner. Because she didn’t raise a fool, I know what artery to stick it in so you’ll bleed to death.”

8/10

I’m like 80% sure I got this from a writing prompt on the Internet, but I can’t find it anywhere? So for the purposes of this post, I’m going to assume I wrote it

This sounds like belongs to a YA fantasy with a not-like-other-girls assassin-queen MC who’s leading a revolt to claim her crown, yet can’t decide which guy to pick in a love triangle

It's super dramatic and I kind of love it anyway, so I’m going to give it extra points!

“The entire town had turned out to watch the emperor’s killer die.“

8.5/10

*bangs head against wall* why didn’t I continue this wip it sounds SO COOL

This line's not a 9 because I don’t think it’s *quite* there?

I definitely want to return to this one someday! I shelved it to make room for other projects but I hope to get back to it!

[littlemisssquiggles]

i now a lot off ppl n the fndm dont like rg caz they think there a big difference btween a 15 year old an a 17 year old but i think that ppl overlook that oscar smart 4 his age and i wouldn't be shocked if like ruby he got to skip a few grades but i get the feeling other would still see rg as a problem even if oscar was the same age as ruby or even if it was 2 year age gap and it was just a year or a few months

*insert the world’s longest exasperated groan right here* With all due respect anon-chan but…I really don’t want to get into the whole 2 year age difference with Rosegarden topic again since, pardon my language here, but I am honestly fucking tired of seeing it as a legit popular complaint against the ship.

Mind you, this has nothing to do with you, fam. I’m not lashing out at you personally.

It’s just that regarding the topic at hand, I’m just REALLY, REALLY fed up of seeing this dead horse being beaten repeatedly by all the antis who make it their mission to constantly harp on Rosegarden and its shipping community for it.

Oscar and Ruby are two years apart. If Ruby just turned 17 as of V7 then surely Oscar is on the cusp of turning 15 at some point, probably closer to V9 or so. If we’re looking in terms of grades---well I’m from Trinidad and Tobago and our education system actually reflects more of the British school system where instead of grades with pre-school, elementary school, junior high school, high school and then college/university, what we have is pre-school, primary school, secondary school and then university will be our tertiary form of education, more or less.

At their current ages from the show, if Ruby and Oscar were in my country, they will both be in secondary school. At age 14 going on 15, Oscar will be in Form 3 (and entering the stage where he is supposed to be choosing subjects for CXC exams) whereas Ruby will be in Form 5 (getting ready to take the CXC exams).

Either way, Oscar will be in Form 3 and Ruby will be Form 5. Ruby will be two forms higher than Oscar. That still doesn’t erase the fact that they are still only two years apart. Just 2 and ONLY TWO.

Do you want to know why I absolutely despise the two year age gap argument against Rosegarden anon-chan? 

Because it’s all completely hypocritical. It is hypocritical that certain-certain folks take such strong issue with the 2-year age gap when it comes to the Rosegarden pair but are perfectly fine with it when it comes to the more FNDM-favoured pairs such as Whiterose, Lancaster and Nuts and Dolts. Particularly Whiterose since that is the ship that people seem to THINK Rosegarden is fighting a shipping war against when in actuality, as a Rosegardener, I could care fucking less about entertaining any foolish nonsensical shipping war with anyone. 

Again, pardon my use of profanity here. That’s just to express how much I am done with this shit and hearing about it when it comes to my favourite RWBY ship.

While Ruby may be two years older than Oscar, she is also two years younger than Weiss, Jaune and Penny. It’s the same age difference no matter how you spin it. Yet it’s a case where the age gap is only problematic for one ship while being fine for another and that’s the contradiction that irks me.  

And y’know what else? You’re actually right about your last statement. The problem that certain-certain folks have with RG ISN’T even about the age difference. It isn’t the real issue and don’t think for one millisecond that it is. Because regardless of whether or not, Oscar was only one year younger than Ruby or one year older than Ruby or even the same age as Ruby---it wouldn’t really matter to certain-certain folks since the issue isn’t really about the age of the characters.

The REAL issue is that certain-certain folks just don’t want Ruby to end up with OSCAR. These people ship Ruby with someone else particularly a certain-certain snow angel, who according to them, has known Ruby longer than Oscar and therefore is entitled to end up with Ruby over him.

Yes, I shit you not, that is an actual claim that I’ve heard against Rosegarden in favour of another certain-certain ship…despite the show never really portraying that particular relationship to be romantic of any kind.

Bottom-line, certain-certain folks feel threatened by the RG ship since the showrunners seem to kinda, sorta, maybe, most likely want to develop the relationship between Ruby and Oscar beyond a friendship or at least they wish to hone in on pushing Ruby’s connection to this our little freckled farm boy to be a lot deeper than the relationship she has with other character and to those certain-certain folks, that’s a problem for them because in their heads, they want the showrunners to only focus on Ruby hooking up with their favoured partner for her…regardless of the series never really portraying that relationship they like to be romantic of any kind.

And THAT is the TRUE conundering conundrum we are in as Rosegardeners. Dealing with these certain-certain folks and their shit.

I’m sorry anon-chan but for future reference (and that goes for anyone else who might be reading this response post) do you mind not bringing up the so-called age gap issue with Rosegarden to me please ^^);

I’m fine with other topics just not this one since I’ve had enough. In the past, I’ve answered similar questions and inbox messages on this same topic and I’ve honestly reached a point where I no longer wish to discuss it at all on my blog.

It’s nothing against you or anyone else who may still wish to talk about this subject. This squiggle meister and squiggly Rosegardening Pinehead just doesn’t want to anymore since…how many times as a Rosegardener do I have to repeat the same information and set the record straight for the same none-troversey as Red Letter Media would put it.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the Rosegarden pair and wanting to  see them be endgame as an adorkable young couple. Certainly not because of their age difference. 

Because if Ruby and Oscar can’t be an “alleged” couple because they are two years apart then neither can Ruby get together with Weiss, Jaune or Penny since the gap is the same.

I don’t even want to hear anyone dare mention the Ozpin issue since that’s been debunked too in the show in the Lost Fable episode from V6. So really there are no real arguments that anyone can make against RG that hasn’t already been debunked by a) the fans who pay more attention to the development of the pair in the story than the antis, b) the showrunners and/or c) the actual story in the series. 

So the people who keep making a hullabaloo about it---making the same ole noise over the same ole things honestly need to stop. They are embarrassing themselves at this point and it sickens me to see their half-hearted arguments and claims against RG pop up on the tags on social media when I’m trying to enjoy my ship.

Or rather, I’d just need to stop listening to anything the antis say which I have. Or at least I’m trying to. This round for V8, I don’t know about other Rosegardeners, but I want to avoid the discourse like Neo in the Matrix.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[siren-dragon]

1,001 Lucian Nights -- Somnus x F!reader fanfiction (Ch.5)

Oh my gosh, it’s a chapter update! I know it’s been over a year since I posted, but I kinda lost a bit of interest in the FFXV (the alternate ending makes me confused and isn’t my favorite). Anyway, I decided to finish this story thanks to @LuminaReal on AO3 convincing me to continue. So here is chapter 5! Also, if anyone would like me to do art for this just let me know.

WARNING: there is a mature curse in this chapter

Tagging: @maty-yami

AO3 - story link

Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The first thing you were able to register was the warmth that caressed your skin as you were slowly pulled from unconsciousness and rejoined the land of the living. Squinting at the brief assault the sunlight brought upon your senses, you sat upright from your simple bed and glanced outside the small window that resided to your right as you mentally reviewed the previous night’s events. You recalled Gilgamesh escorting you back to the Oracle’s chambers where your mistress lay resting upon the chaise; having attempted to wait for your return. Once you and the King’s Shield had awoken Lady Selene and managed to calm her unease, both of you decided to retire for a long-awaited rest. The exhaustion you felt not only from the evening’s harrowing experience but the previous night as well was so great, you barely registered Gilgamesh taking his leave as sleep overcame you mere moments after your head fell upon the plush pillow.

Yet now you sat awake with a far more refreshed mind-set after the small reprieve. The idea that Somnus was more or less robbed of such a simple yet principal pleasure made you marvel at how the black-haired king had managed so far. Truth be told, he has not. You thought ruefully, gently rubbing your wrist which was now bound by a fresh cloth; masking the dark purple hand-print bruise and subsequent sprain you gained from Somnus’… displeasure. While you did extend a bit of sympathy toward the young Lucis Caelum’s ailment, you could not help the brief vexation and fear that rippled within your mind at his actions. Of course, there was no denying the sliver of gratitude you felt, after all; it could have been your neck bearing the bruise instead….

“I should not hold my breathe on that account, if I cannot continue my stories, I may find myself receiving such a mark.” You spoke aloud softly, moving quickly to dress for the day.

As you exited your small bedchamber and entered the Oracle’s personal sitting rooms, you were surprised to find not the Speaker for the Gods herself, but rather the young servant girl Ceres instead. The adolescent girl jumped in surprise at your sudden appearance, bowing respectfully to you, “L-Lady (f/n), you should be resting! Her Ladyship the Oracle said to-“

“It is quite alright Ceres, and there is no need for titles; I am merely a handmaiden, not a noble of the court.” You corrected kindly, glancing around the sitting room in search of the Oracle, “Lady Selene is not here, is she?”

“No, my La- I mean, (f/n). She left to perform blessings and asked that you not be bothered so you may rest; she said you had a rather harrowing night.”

“I see… Ceres, would you mind doing me a small favor? I need you to deliver a note to someone within the bazaar; a Master Sidolfus.”

“The storyteller?” Ceres exclaimed in giddy delight, her enthusiastic reaction making you chuckle. It seemed the master storyteller’s fame continued to grow with each passing day.

“The very same. Please ensure that he receives this letter,” you replied, quickly scrawling out a short message upon a spare piece of parchment.

“You can count on me (f/n)!”

=============================================================

There were few pastimes that Somnus ever took part in, but falconry was the one he held most dear. It was the sole avocations he and his mother had shared before her death- the late Lady Rhea Lucis Caelum having been a great admirer of animals, birds especially. He remembered once as a child trying to lift the falcon his mother had held so effortlessly upon her slender arm, only to shake and tremble under the fowl’s heavy weight while it crowed angrily at him for being an unsteady perch. Now he barely took notice of the bird’s presence upon his hand, having grown accustom to the falcons residing upon his hand or shoulder.

“I thought you would be here.” A voice spoke, accompanied by the sounds of moving fabric and the clink of metal upon stone.

“May I ask what brings you here, your Ladyship? I doubt it is to observe the crafting of a falcon hood.” Somnus asked, showcasing the small, half-finished leather hood he was currently sewing.

A rather sheepish expression briefly flittered across the blonde’s face. “Forgive me, your Majesty, I did not think myself to be so transparent. But you are correct, my motive for being here is more than mere socialization between friends.”

“I take it this is in regard to your handmaiden, (f/n).” Somnus shot back before turning to face the blonde Oracle.

Clad in full regalia with trident in hand, the blonde priestess looked as if she were a divine being herself; descending upon the mortal realm to invoke her will, though she possessed a polite smile rather than the cold indifference often seen upon the Messengers of the Astrals. Somnus knew many of the nobles believed Selene to be a little naïve and gullible due to the kindness she displayed to any who sought blessings from the Oracle but that could not be further from the truth. Beneath her sweet disposition was an intelligent and fearless leader ready to fulfill her calling despite being a second choice. And Somnus knew more than anyone that the Oracle was an individual not to be trifled with.

“Indeed,” Selene answered, resting the bottom of her trident upon the marble floor. “Your Majesty…. regardless of what you choose to believe, you are my friend and I do care greatly about your safety, as does Gilgamesh. That would be why I was supportive of (f/n)’s assistance regarding your insomnia and night-terrors. However, that young woman is not only my handmaiden, but my dear friend as well. Which is why I am curious as to how she received a bruise upon her wrist in the shape of a man’s hand last night.”

The Lucian sovereign flinched briefly at the sharpening of Selene’s tone as if struck, “It was… a lapse of judgement Selene.”

“A lapse of judgement? You attacked a woman, Somnus. I know that you’ve been having a difficult time of late and I sympathize, but this is an action I cannot condone.”

“Then you should have your hand-maiden watch her tongue when speaking of matters she does not understand- “

“Somnus Lucis Caelum!” Selene snapped, crystal-blue eyes colder than the Ghorovas Rift, “I will not have you debase a woman who has been trying to help you out of nothing but the kindness in her heart, only to suffer physical harm! Now you will control your temper and act like the king you are, or I swear to Shiva you will be the first to face my skills with this trident!”

A tense silence fell between the two that seemed to stretch on for an eternity before Somnus nodded in understanding. “…. Forgive me, Selene. I- I have over-stepped my bounds.”

“I am not the one who needs to hear those words, Somnus.”

Without another word, Selene exited the aviary, leaving the thoroughly disciplined king to his thoughts. Selene’s anger slowly flooded her mind as she proceeded to return to the East Wing while a sliver of guilt began to take its place. Perhaps she was a bit too harsh on Somnus, not to mention immature for having lost her own temper so easily when trying to teach her friend to reign in his own. Regardless, Selene only hoped that (f/n) was willing to continue with her meetings and that Somnus’ mental health did not deteriorate too far…

“Ah, Lady Selene! You look positively radiant this day, your ladyship. I wondered, perhaps, if I could discuss a rather growing concern with you?”

The young Oracle bit her lip and said a silent prayer for strength to the Astrals before turning to face the individual who had addressed her, polite smile on her lips. “Thank you, Lord Aldercapt, you are too kind. How can I assist you this day? Is something wrong?”

=============================================================

You were glad to see that Ceres was successful in her task as Sidolfus arrived not long after you yourself at the small but private eatery not too far from the Citadel. And much like your previous encounter, the elderly man was more than happy to have accepted the invitation for a meeting; likely knowing you were eager for advice. “Greetings Lady (f/n), it is wonderful to see you once more.”

“Likewise, Master Sidolfus, I am glad you were able to come.”

The older storyteller chuckled, “well, your messenger was quite insistent that I accept your invitation. A rather spit-fire of a girl you have there.”

“Oh dear, I do hope Ceres wasn’t too… erm, passionate about my request.” You frowned, the slight embarrassment you felt tinting your face pink with blush.

“Not at all! If anything, that girl gave me some inspiration for another story of mine. And speaking of stories, I assume you asked me here for assistance with your own fables. Tell me Lady (f/n), how have your tales been received by your nobleman patron?”

“Far better than I had hoped, but he is not as enraptured as I would have wished. I managed to finish my current story and spoke of beginning another the previous night, but I am not quite sure how to hold his focus…until I recalled your own tale.”

“Ah, you are speaking of my encounter with Death,” Sidolfus replied knowingly, gently blowing the steam from his cup of tea before taking a tentative sip.

You nodded, “yes, you mentioned you had meet him once before.”

“I did not meet him, I passed him on the streets of Altissia- but only for a moment. I had told a close friend what had happened, and he said… that he too had seen Death too and that Death had given him a horrible look. He was so frightened that he was leaving for Caem that very night.” Sidolfus answered, his eyes bearing an intense focus as he recounted his tale to you, as if he were speaking of an event that had occurred merely hours ago.

“…And?” you questioned, eager to learn more of the storyteller’s fable.

It was then that Sidolfus allowed a small smirk to twist at his lips, knowing full well that his tall-tale had already claimed your attention. “Another time perhaps. You must learn how to keep your audience in suspense Lady (f/n). But you must ensure that he does not know what is to happen next.”

“Truth be told, even I am not aware of what will happen next,” you admitted honestly, not quite sure if you were referring to your story or the continuation of your meetings with the king.

You spent the remainder of the time speaking a bit more with Sidolfus before taking your leave, knowing full well that Lady Selene would likely send out a squadron of glaives to locate you. Quickly you hurried back toward the East Wing to continue with your chores but was surprised when the doors opened to reveal not only Lady Selene, but a nobleman accompanying her as well. “Please, will you not consider my proposal, Lady Oracle. We only wish to secure the continuation of this kingdom.”

“Lord Aldercapt,” Lady Selene answered with polite grace despite the irritation that reflected within her ice-blue eyes. “I understand your concerns and I am ever grateful for you placing the needs of the people above all else. But from what I have seen, I do not believe his Majesty to be incapable of performing what duties he has been charged with by divine providence.”

“The council is fully aware of His Majesty’s prowess and skill, my Lady- he has done admirably despite the heavy burden placed upon him. But one cannot help the concern felt as to whether or not the king can continue his duty as sovereign with his current health. Should his Majesty’s constitution continue to decline…. we will be forced to act; regardless of divine providence.”

“Those are treasonous words you speak,” you quietly interrupted, unable to mask your outrage at the old man’s cruel murmurs and causing both Selene and the old man to face you.

The old nobleman swiftly turned his gaze to you; his dark blue, nearly black eyes reminded you eerily of a deep abyss glaring coldly at you in cold fury at your sudden appearance. He took in your simplistic attire and stared down at you with a withered sneer as if you were nothing more than a mere insect beneath his boot. “And who are you to interrupt private conversations? I believe servants are taught to hold their tongue, are they not.”

You flushed briefly in shock and anger at the man’s cruel words but was halted from retaliating with an aggressive response when Selene came to your aid. “Lord Aldercapt, I would kindly ask you to please refrain from insulting members of my staff.”

“Your… staff?” The ivory-haired man looked at you with an expression of surprise until it morphed into an oily smile that barely hid the displeasure in the nobleman’s eyes. The falsified expression sent a cold chill of unease down your spine as if the Glacian herself had frozen your very bones. You did your best to keep your expression neutral; though the nobleman’s twisted smile made the task nearly impossible. “Forgive me, your Ladyship; I was not aware this…girl served our dear and beloved Oracle. Tell me, who might you be?”

“Permit me to introduce my handmaiden and dear friend: (f/n).”

“At your service, sir.” You replied stiffly, your bow of greeting barely low enough to be considered polite.

Whether or not Lord Aldercapt took notice of your lack of courtesy, he did not care to comment and instead turned his gaze back to Selene. “Please consider my words, your Ladyship, for the good of all.” He bowed graciously to the Oracle and tossed you another venomous but subtle glare before disappearing back down the empty corridor and out of the East Wing of the Citadel. Once Lord Aldercapt had proceeded out of sight and earshot Selene released a heavy sigh of relief while you continued glaring down the corridor at where the aristocrat once stood.

“That man makes me uncomfortable.” You spoke, at last relaxing once more with the return of privacy.

Selene frowned, “I did not think Lord Aldercapt would speak so directly regarding Somnus' ailments. This is rather unsettling….”

“Would he and the other lords really try to contend with the Will of the Gods regarding his Majesty’s throne?”

“Not all of the council heed Aldercapt's honeyed words, but I would be lying if I said he had no sway over the other nobles. I do not believe they would be foolish enough to contend against Somnus and myself directly… but the hearts of men are often blinded by material vices.” The Oracle sighed before turning a questioning gaze onto you, “but it seems that issue is not the only concern I have.”

“Oh? What might the others be?”

“For starters, would you care to explain why you arrived back with a bruise upon your wrist so severe it caused a sprain.” Selene questioned with narrowed eyes.

You swiftly turned your gaze downward and bit your lip in thought, knowing there was truly no use lying to your friend. “It was merely an accident, my Lady, nothing more.”

“And I suppose the man whose hand it bares the shape of meant no offense.” Selene added sharply, her words causing you to flinch ever so slightly. “(F/n)… perhaps it would be best if you stopped meeting with Somnus.”

“I will not try to fool you Lady Selene and say His Majesty is merely a misunderstood and tragic man. He is cold, rude, stubborn, possesses' a foul temper, and carries a well of secrets greater than any sinner; but he is a good man. One that needs more help than he realizes.”

Selene frowned, “as Oracle and the mistress you have chosen to serve, you have my deepest gratitude for choosing to continue with this task (f/n). But as your friend… I am concerned that you or Somnus may get hurt from this endeavor. However, you asked for my trust in this matter and so I shall continue to give it. I will not interfere….for now.”

You smiled brightly and bowed respectfully toward Selene, “I am at a loss for words my Lady but, thank you.”

The blonde answered your show of gratefulness with a matching smile before continuing down the corridor of the West Wing with you fast on her heels. “Now then, I must speak with Gilgamesh in regards to Lord Aldercapt and the rest of the Council, I sense there may be more than mere nightmares working against the King. I shall leave His Majesty’s health to you; I trust you’ve a tale in mind for your next meeting?”

It was then that a look of amusement flittered across your face, though the determination in your (e/c) eyes burned brightly. “Yes… I believe I do.”

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As day turned to night, and the brilliance of the sun was replaced by the illumination of flame from every candle and brazier, you found yourself being escorted once more by Lord Gilgamesh toward the King’s chambers. Similarly, to the previous evenings, the tall warrior beside you remained silent; but for once you were glad for the quiet as it allowed you to collect your thoughts as you sub-consciously rubbed the bandage about your wrist and hand. “My lady, we have arrived,” Gilgamesh gently placing a hand upon your shoulder; causing you to jump as you returned to the present.

“Y-Yes, thank you Lord Gilgamesh.”

“Lady (f/n), while I admire your courage in continuing with this task; there is no shame in feeling fear.”

That caused you to pause as you turned to face the aged warrior, “… you do not think me foolish for fearing my own sovereign? Or cowardly wondering if this may end with my neck upon the headsman’s block.”

“No, my lady. Fear is an important aspect to possess as well as overcome. In battle, one may discover what their enemy fears most by the means he uses to frighten you. Such knowledge is crucial if one wishes survive against their combatant.”

“You believe I should treat the king as my enemy?” you asked, curious and surprised at his words.

“Is your life not in danger from this endeavor?” Gilgamesh replied, a brief teasing smile tugging at his lips at your disbelief. “You have seen Somnus through all manner of emotions over the course of the past few nights that only a handful of individuals have and that knowledge can aid you. What I am saying Lady (f/n)… is that it may not be you who is the one that is truly afraid.”

You pondered the swordsman’s words as he moved to knock heavily upon the door and opening it when the king’s familiar voice muttered a muffled, “enter.” Nodding your head in thanks to Gilgamesh, you entered the expansive quarters while the door closed behind you like the bars of a prison cell. Across the room the king stood waiting for you as you approached. “Good evening, your Majesty,” you greeted as you bowed politely.

“Yes… good evening Lady (f/n).”

Those words certainly caught you off guard, the kind greeting causing you to immediately look toward the ebony-haired man. For once the harsh lines around Somnus’ face seemed to have softened with the lack of the usual sour expression that seemed to have permanent residence upon his face, making him look far younger. His arms were crossed as his dark-blue eyes seemed to avoid your own as his left foot seemed to shuffle back and forth in the slightest of movements as if he wanted to race away; giving the king the appearance of a young boy who had been caught stealing sweets and forced to confront the shop-keep. After what felt like an eternity he let his eyes shift briefly toward you, glancing at the bandage wrapped about your wrist and hand; causing a micro-expression of regret to flitter across his face so quickly, you would have believed you imaged it were it not for Somnus’ next words.

“I do hope you are well enough to continue your tales, Lady (f/n).”

You stared at him with a look of pure confusion, one that he noticed and caused him to immediately growl in anger and turn sharply away. Did he… Did he just inquire about my health? Is this about my injury?

“Y-Yes sire, I am well; thank you for your inquires.” You responded awkwardly, unused to the strange pleasantries the two of you were exchanging.

“Good. I do hope the… the fool who has caused such an offense has asked your forgiveness. Though none would fault you if you choose to withhold such a privilege due to this man’s actions toward you; as they were nothing short of cruelty.”

If this wasn’t a serious apology from the King of Lucis himself, you may have laughed at the look of nervousness and embarrassment on Somnus’ face. His face had contorted due to his expression of anger, but it was less cold and severe than you had previously witnessed; which caused it to appear pouty and brooding. You tried to fight down the giggles that threatened to spill from your mouth by biting your lip and smiling brightly at the proud king who seemed to have been chastised by another to give this rather humiliating and unusual apology. You briefly wondered if this was what Gilgamesh meant by the king experiencing fear; perhaps beneath it all he was just as frightened as you were. Well, you supposed it was time to overcome your fear and give the poor man a chance… but only a chance.

“I believe he has earned my forgiveness… for the time being. But one can not be too careful, another incident may leave him with a proper scolding.”

His eyes quickly shot up to meet your own, surprised at your acceptance of his apology and playful teasing of his behavior. There was no need for outright proclamations or tearful confessions of ‘I’m sorry’, he was too stubborn for that and you wished not to have a bold statement spoken in false tones if he did say those words. But you both understood what one was trying to convey and knew that such words have returned you both to even playing fields. He smirked as midnight blue eyes sparked with mischief as the golden-orange glow of the braziers danced across his pale face. “Oh? And I suppose you will inflict this scolding yourself? And just what might such an action entail… Lady (f/n).”

You prayed to every Astral there was Somnus did not see the rose shade of blush that suddenly crept up your face at his less-than innocent innuendo. Though judging by the growth of the smirk on his lips, you were not so fortunate. “Perhaps that will be a story for another time, your Majesty.”

“I look forward to it.” He spoke as he settled upon the plush pillows and soft rug within the sitting area, the small table already laden with refreshments and the dim glow of candlelight. “Now… I trust you will continue your unfinished tale.”

“Yes sire, I shall continue.” You answered, settling across from him against the lush furnishings.

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‘As the crowd was leaving the courtroom, the most famous magician in Galahd, Glauca, passed by on his way to Tenebrae. He was a rather intimidating yet charismatic man with piercing blue eyes and a gravelly voice that could command anyone into performing his bidding. When he came into a room, the Sabertusks jumped on chairs…. But he is not the hero of this story.

‘And who is that?’ Somnus asked.

‘Um… Erebus- no.’ You muttered, trying to think of a name as images of your character flashed through your mind. Young, old, tall, short, male, female, blonde, redhead, and brunette all swirled about within your head until the image began to emerge and become clear.

‘Nyx… Nyx Ulric.’

  “NO!” a brunette man with dark-blue eyes and unshaven face cried out in despair as the chocobo’s raced down the track, with a particularly vibrant orange one claiming victory and with it, his money. Cheers or shouts of outrage that echoed all across the pavilion of the races from what seemed to be every gambler within the vicinity. It was clear to see by the worn and dirty tunic he wore that his social status was not one of wealth, though not uncommon in the sprawling coastal city of Pagla; Tenebrae’s famed trading hub. The young man groaned as he jumped off the pile of crates, he had claimed to watch the outcome of his bet, only for another man- this one a bit more rotund than Nyx, to heave a heavy sigh as well.

“Ugh, that race was fixed Libertus!” Nyx exclaimed in outrage, while a few of those in the crowd they tried to move through agreed whole-heartedly.

Libertus laughed, “that’s no question; anyone could have seen that Nyx. It just goes to show that honesty doesn’t pay.”

“They could have been a bit more subtle about it. Tch, who picks orange anyway?” Nyx sighed before tossing a grin to his friend. “Guess it looks like we’ll have to get back to work, huh?”

“Looks that way, let’s go.”

Swiftly moving through the crowd, Nyx glanced about the sea of faces until he finally found the perfect target. A middle-aged man dressed in fine, silk with expensive accessories draped upon his hands and neck; strutting like a proud peacock amid the poverty of Pagla. Ensuring there were no royal guards patrolling the streets as one really didn’t want to be a guest within the dungeons, Nyx took action. He quickly bumped into the man, who stumbled and glared at him while haughtily turning away, not even noticing as Nyx quickly slipped his purse away from his belt with skill and ease. “Sorry, excuse me…” he muttered half-heartedly before claiming his prize and racing away.

“What? My purse- I’ve been robbed!”

“Hey, are you alright sir? Someone robbed you?” Libertus asked, immediately drawing the noble’s attention away from Nyx.

“Th-That rogue who bumped into me, he stole my money!”

“Umm, I think I saw where he went- this way, quickly!”

Unknown to both parties, a pair of cold blue eyes- like twin pieces of ice, watched the scene before him with intrigue. As the thief quickly raced away with his prize, the man couldn’t help but smirk, believing himself quite fortunate to have found just the person he needed….

When Nyx and Libertus met once more, after having found a safe place away from guards or their mark, they began to split their earnings. Both were far more pleased to find that the man carried a decent amount of money that would tide them over for a time. As the last gil was finally split, a loud shout of angry voices and squabbling of chocobos began to fill the air as people stampeded away from a small battalion of guards escorting what looked to be an elegant carriage; a rare sight in the less-refined region of the city and likely the result of poor directions.

“Who’s in a coach that needs that large of an escort?” Libertus scoffed, unimpressed by the obvious display of wealth.

Nyx shrugged but curiosity got the better of him as he grinned to his friend, “no idea; but let’s find out.”

“And deal with all those guards? Hell no.”

“Come on, we’ll take the rooftops to leave. Besides, you love messing with guards.”

Libertus groaned, knowing there was no use arguing with Nyx once his mind was made up. “Fine, let’s do this before they leave. And if we end up spending a week in the dungeon, I’m blaming you.”

Together the two men hurried closer to the carriage, careful to avoid the eyes of the guards until they were crouching behind an abandoned wagon filled with Cartanica Melons. Keeping an eye on the carriage and waiting till it was closer, Nyx and Libertus heaved the wagon upward, causing the fruit within to sprawl across the dirt street and startle the chocobos while halting the carriage. The guard escort soon realized their charge was now stranded while the two thieves quickly moved to leave the scene. Yet as Nyx was moving to climb onto the rooftop, the small window of the carriage slowly opened and he felt himself freeze as his eyes met the those of the passenger.

Inside the carriage was a young woman, her skin pale and fair while her lips were a pale pink and a bit wide; but it only complimented her heart-shaped face. Though she appeared to be wearing a small headdress; Nyx could see dark blue flowers and shinning pearls twisted into her blonde hair- which only showcased that whoever she was she was certainly wealthy. But what caused Nyx to pause as the rest of the world faded away from his mind was her eyes- a shade of bright blue that caused the color of the sky to appear dull and lifeless by comparison; eyes that were currently locked upon his own showing only curiosity and kindness dancing in their depths.

“Who is that?” He asked softly, lost as if in a trance.

Libertus frowned, looking briefly at the person who had stolen Nyx’s attention, “oh, it’s Princess Lunafreya; she’s Queen Sylva’s daughter. I heard she’s quite kind-hearted, but apparently it’s nothing compared to her beauty- guess the rumors were true there.”

Nyx could barely hear Libertus talking as he continued to hold the princess’ gaze, who offered him a small smile that caused Nyx to only grin. She’s beautiful….

“Nyx… Nyx… Nyx! We’ve got to go!” Libertus called, pulling his love-struck friend up toward the roof as the guards began to give chase.

After being harshly returned to the reality of their situation, Nyx reluctantly turned away from the divine beauty of the young woman and quickly followed Libertus away from the guards as they raced across the rooftops. Within the carriage, Lunafreya watched the scene in awe and with a small laugh as the guards attempted to give chase. “My Lady, are you alright?” her attendant asked.

“Yes, I am fine. I was just… saying hello to a friend.” She smiled, wondering if she’d ever meet the young man again as the carriage continued onward.

Nyx quickly vaulted over a stone railing onto an abandoned rooftop, having split from Libertus to avoid tails before meeting again, only to see he was not alone. Standing across from him with his arms crossed and a smug, knowing look upon his face was a man a fair bit older than himself clad in well-worn traveling clothes. “What the- where the hell did you come from?” He asked guardedly, surprised that the man had seemed to appear from out of nowhere; an action that placed Nyx on high-alert.

“From the other side of the world: Galahd.” The man replied dryly, moving his hand in an half-hearted movement to mockingly convey wonder into his words. “and stay calm Nyx Ulric, do I look like one of the royal guards?”

“I am calm, and how do you know my name.”

“I was a friend of your late father, my name is Glauca.”

Nyx raised a skeptic eyebrow at the proclamation, “I didn’t know he had any…”

“Very few: just me.” Glauca laughed, “your father, he was so crooked he could hide in the shadow of a corked screw.”

The two remained silent, as if sizing each other up before Nyx grinned widely; “you did know him. So, why are you here looking for me and not him?”

“I wish to discuss business with you that requires your unique skillset in the art of thievery.”

“I assume this business you’re offering of the shady variety?”

Glauca nodded, “shady, shifty, and shadowy business. But… very profitable.”

Though he wished it took him longer to ask to show his trepidation with the offer; the word ‘profitable’ had immediately caught Nyx’s attention as he spoke. “What do I have to do then?”

“Meet me tomorrow outside the city gates at dawn. And here, consider it a token of my faith in you, do not keep me waiting.” Glauca then retrieved a small, but heavy purse from within his robe and tossed it to Nyx; who caught it deftly and opened to revel in the plentiful amount of gil within. He then looked up to thank Glauca, only to find the man gone.

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Despite his unsavory career choice as a thief, Nyx was never one to be obscenely greedy. He grew up with practically nothing, only to gradually lose everything as his parents and sister died one by one; which is why he strived to share his ill-gotten loot with those in similar circumstances. That often caused many to call him the rogue with ‘a heart of gold’ but Nyx preferred to see it as just simple kindness; after all, he could take care of himself and get by fine- not everyone had that luxury.

Making his way toward the humble and decaying building that was his home, he waved hello to Crowe. Unlike Libertus and Nyx, Crowe was not necessary a thief but a fence for their ill-gotten goods and friend who roomed with them. The brown-haired and brown-eyed girl held such a simple appearance that it often caused no one to glance her way, if Libertus’ overprotective nature didn’t stop them first. Indeed, Crowe’s true skill laid in being unseen and the connections she carried; a true gift for a thief. “Looks like the Hero Thief has returned. So, how’d work go today Nyx? Libertus just got back.”

“See for yourself; and make sure to spend it all and give the food to the others, okay.”

Crowe gasped when she saw the amount of money inside, “By Ramuh’s balls Nyx, where the hell did you get this?! There’s got to be at least 1000 gil in here.”

“1200, actually. It’s a down-payment for a job I’m doing tomorrow.”

“1200 gil to start?” Libertus spluttered, biting one of the coins to ensure its authenticity and causing Nyx to roll his eyes. “That’s the first thing I did, you idiots.”

Libertus snorted, “hey, it doesn’t hurt to get a second opinion. So, who is the man that hired you for the job; 1200 gil is a ridiculous amount to pay? Hell, he could have had 3 men killed for that kind of money.”

“His name’s Glauca and he said he knew my dad. As for the job, I don’t know what it is yet but I doubt it’s anything like murder. And if it is, I’ll just back out.”

“And did you believe him about knowing your old man?” Crowe asked.

“No, but I did believe his money.”

“If he’s willing to pay the same amount or even more, I’d do whatever he says- the man is clearly loaded with coin.”

Crowe frowned, “just be careful alright? This job seems shady at best and I don’t think this Glauca man is the most trust-worthy of employers.”

“Trust me, everything will be fine- and profitable.”

Those words only caused Libertus and Crowe to laugh, “famous last words.”

 ‘And so, the following morning, Nyx and Glauca left the City of Pagla behind. He didn’t trust Glauca in the slightest, but when there was money involved… Nyx was prepared to take a few risks.’ You explained to your captive audience while Somnus only smirked as you continued.

 Leaving the still sleeping city of Pagla, the two men traveled upon Glauca’s chocobo south-east and further inland toward the mountains before allowing the bird to rest. As they continued on foot, Glauca finally began to explain the actual task of what the job entailed. “I don’t want to boast, but I’ve not met another who can match me in combat; magic to magic.”

Nyx had to withhold a snort of derision at the magician’s arrogant tone, “so why ask for my help if you’re so powerful.”

“All power has its limits, Nyx Ulric, which is why you are here. What I want is for you to retrieve a certain object that I cannot collect myself for reasons… too complicated to explain. It is due to the rules of magic; they are often tiresome, but must be obeyed without question.”

“So why did you choose me?”

Glauca laughed as he turned to face Nyx, “you did not believe I was a friend of your father?”

“Not for a moment, and stop avoiding the question.” Nyx shot back with a smirk.

“I choose you because you have larceny in your soul. Now, the task I wish you to undertake is this: I want you to go into a tomb, retrieve an old amulet, and bring it back to me.”

“A tomb? What tomb?”

“Right here,” Glauca spoke, waving his hand at the site before them.

Nyx watched in as they came to a halt beside the base of river where a magnificent waterfall cascaded down the mountain side. Crystal, clear water danced across the rocky shoreline while on the other side of the river a herd of wild chocobos were drinking or resting in the shade of the sparse trees that dotted the area. The small batch of wilderness looked far too picturesque to hold something as morbid as a tomb. However, when Glauca waved his hands the shoreline soon began to split as earth and stone rumbled and groaned to reveal a dark enclosure beneath their feet. “How much are you paying me to do this?” Nyx asked, suddenly very weary of whatever was down in that dark abyss.

“2000 gil,” Glauca replied a bit smugly.

“Please, don’t insult me! And don’t ask me to trust you, thieves trust no one… 5000 gil or no deal.” Nyx countered.

Glauca frowned at the rogue’s attempt to haggle, but shrugged and relented nonetheless. “Done, here’s half.”

Nyx stared a gapped at amount of money Glauca easily parted with as he hurried after him. “Wait! You gave me this too easily, no one would ever do something like that- you’re not telling me everything!”

“I gave you the money, now do your job rogue. And here, take this with you.” Glauca added, taking Nyx’s hand and slamming looked to be a small, wooden charm bearing the shape a fox, which was painted in a pale blue that beheld a soft glow in the sunlight. The simplistic design nearly made Nyx believe a child had made crafted the charm were it not for the small horn on the fox’s forehead that appeared to be an actual ruby. “Consider this a small precaution, simply rub the charm if any trouble or complications should arise.”

“Trouble? What sort of trouble, 5000 gil is not enough if there is going to be problems!”

“A deal is a deal, so off you go. And do not try to betray me or I swear by Garuda’s feathers, you will never see your wedding day.” Glauca snapped, gesturing to the chocobo they had ridden here on.

Nyx frowned and looked at the bag of money and fox charm in his hand before tying the charm about his wrist and pocketing the money as he moved to the edge of the cavern entrance. He took a deep breath and soon jumped, landing skillfully upon the start of a stone staircase descending further down into the tomb. Looking back up to see Glauca nodding for him to continue with less than encouraging words of, “go on now,” Nyx slowly began to climb further and further into the cavern.

 ‘Nyx didn’t know the extent of trouble he was getting himself into, if he had he wouldn’t have taken the 5000…’ You spoke before you gave a soft laugh, “On the other hand, he probably would have.’

 The deeper Nyx climbed into the cavern, the colder the air became. It was not long after his descent that he was able to see his breath appear as heavy, white clouds before his face while his flesh soon began to shudder from the frigid cold. As he moved to take another step, his foot soon slipped which caused a foul curse to slip through his lips as he slid down the last three rungs of the ancient stairwell until he fell into a heap upon the cavern floor. “Damn it, what the hell was that- wait… is that ice?” Nyx spoke aloud, staring in bewilderment at the sight that lay before him.

The cavern certainly was large, expanding at least fifteen feet above his head before continuing on into naught but darkness. Before the young thief laid an elaborate and elegant stone antechamber, leading up a small carved staircase surrounded by empty braziers and statues of monstrous beasts’ Nyx had never seen before all frozen in mid strike as if they were to descend upon him at any moment. Against the far wall that lay before him was an expansive corridor that continued further into the cavern; yet the strangest aspect of all was the fact that the entire tomb seemed to be encased in ice. The clear, blue crystal seemed to wrap around every surface like twisted claws trying to consume everything it touched in the cold bite of winter.

“What in the hell is this place?” He muttered, shivering slightly as he slowly approached the entrance as he observed the ice that was currently wrapped about a particularly life-like statue of what bore similar resemblance to a Skarnbulette. “The sooner I find that amulet, the sooner I can leave. Looks like I’ll have to head further inside.”

Rifling through the brazier, which was comprised of nearly fossilized wood, Nyx quickly took a stone and drew one of his daggers and moved the rock across the blade’s edge. When the sparks finally caught and smoke began to emerge, he quickly cultivated the embers until at long last a flame emerged providing much welcomed warmth and light. Taking hold of the torch, Nyx continued onward through the antechamber and down into the open corridor; the unease he felt causing his grip upon his dagger to tighten until his knuckles turned white. More statues stood as silent guardians in their prisons of ice as he walked further before the corridor expanded into a large, circular room with a timeworn sarcophagus resting on a raised dais in the center of the room; surround by four empty braziers. However, Nyx was more than surprised to see that the ice seemed to only begin where the dais ended; leaving the sarcophagus completely untouched.

“5000 was definitely not enough,” he sighed heavily as he quickly moved toward the coffin, moving around a looked to be a frozen coeurl. “There it is, thank Bahamut.”

Atop the lid of the sarcophagus looked to be a damaged and worn carving of a feminine figure, though clasped within the statue’s outstretched hands laid a small ebony amulet with a dull, golden interior and small, dull glass snowflake set within the center hanging from a thin leather strap. Nyx frowned upon the obviously mediocre piece of jewelry and immediately moved to claim his objective for his bout of tomb-robbing.

“This is it? You’d at least think there’d be a real diamond with a tomb this size. Alright, time to get the hell out of here and get the rest of the money-“

CRACK!

Nyx halted in his examination of the simplistic amulet, blood draining from his face as he slowly turned to the source of the sound that still echoed gently throughout the still chamber. The coeurl statue he had walked past previously had remained still as before… but the ice encompassing the figure held a large and vicious crack within the crystalline surface. With torch in hand and his dagger within the other, the skilled rogue expertly approached the disturbed statue as tense as a bow string. Raising the torch higher to observe the statue, Nyx could see firelight illuminating the smaller cracks appearing within the icy surface surrounding the beasts head until they suddenly stopped.

“What is going on? Alright Nyx, you’re just being paranoid- it’s best time to leave.” He chuckled softly to himself, though he refused to loosen his grip upon his weapon.

And then the statue’s eye opened, reveling a slit pupil amid a green iris.

“Fuck!” Nyx shouted, quickly jumping back as the sound of ice cracking filled the entire chamber. A loud roar could be heard from the now animated coeurl statue as the ice binding it in place began to shatter and crumble.

Scrambling to his feet in panic Nyx quickly raced out of the chamber and down the corridor as glacial stalactites dropped from the darkness above. All around him the statues within the chamber began to shudder and quake, more than desiring to chase the thief in their midst. Heavy footsteps soon approached as Nyx quickly glanced back to see the stone coeurl giving chase after its escaping prey. Swiftly Nyx evaded a swipe of rock claws from his adversary, the beast managing to tear part of his tunic but leave him unscathed. He blocked another strike with his dagger and slammed the torch into the beast’s face before racing away- the fire doing little to damage the monster.

“Come on, quickly!” Nyx berated himself as he managed to step back upon the staircase toward the entrance, only to feel the stone sliding beneath his feet as it began to pull back into cavern’s wall. “What- oh come on!”

Doubling his speed and climbing the steps as quickly as he could, Nyx rushed up toward the exit and with it- safety. His fingers hurriedly grabbed onto the last step that remained intact, causing him to haul himself up on the platform as he panted heavily from exertion. He was safe… for the moment.

“Nyx! Do you have it? Do you have the amulet?” Glauca called from above, elation coloring his tone.

The brunette thief sighed heavily before reaching into his pocket and showcasing the amulet from its leather tie held tightly within his fist. Glauca grinned in triumph as he reached down with his hand extended, “hand it up to me; it will make it easier for you to get out.”

“It’s no trouble, I can get out myself.” Nyx snapped, jamming the jewelry back into his pocket.

Glauca smiled, “pass it up to me, there’s a good lad.”

“Ha! I’m not a good lad.” Nyx called back angrily, “Do you truly believe I’m stupid enough fall for that old trick? You running off with your prize without paying me what I’m owed!”

“Give it to me now, or you’ll feel my wrath!” Glauca snarled.

“I’m angry already! After the monsters you sent me to deal with, you think I’d give you anything? If you want this necklace, you’ll get it AFTER you’ve held up your end of the deal.”

“You really think I’d ride off?

Nyx glared at the older man, “yes! You have shifty eyes!”

If Glauca was not angry before, he certainly was now- his face turning a vivid shade of plum as he growled angrily at his hired help. “You cheap, street FILTH!”

“I am not cheap!” Nyx protested irritably.

“I was going to raise you up and reward you; now you shall suffer for your transgressions! You wish for the amulet? Then keep it!” Waving his hands across the stone, the entrance soon began to diminish as the opening started to close, sealing Nyx within the cavern.

It only took a few moments afterward for Glauca to realize the foolishness of his actions as he groaned and slammed a fist against river’s rocky shore, startling his chocobo companion. “Damn it! Glauca, why must you always lose your temper? Why?!” He sighed heavily, his rage having left and leaving the sorcerer deflated. “At least that thief will suffer for his betrayal. Come Garuda, it’s time to go.”

Now sealed within the cavern with no means of escape, Nyx’s alarm at his current situation had increased ten-fold. Below him he could hear the roars of the tomb’s now animated statues, each one desiring to tear his flesh to shreds as they clawed at the bottom of the platform. Yet luck seemed not to favor the thief as a loud boom echoed throughout the chamber, causing the staircase to shake and begin to sink and lower slowly to the demanding beasts below. Nyx attempted to think of some method out of the danger he had thrown himself into when he unconsciously began to rub the small fox charm wrapped around his wrist.

 ‘This was a crisis, a true catastrophe for Nyx Ulric,’ you related calmly, eyes glowing with barely concealed mirth as Somnus seemed to be on the edge of his seat as you continued your story.

‘So, what happened? How could a thief escape such machinations?’ He demanded; his curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes despite his expression of disinterest.

You gave the Lucian King a knowing smile, ‘it is during such a crisis where all seems lost that powers beyond our own are required. In such despair… there is nothing more effective than magic, your Majesty.’

‘Magic…’ Somnus echoed quietly as his brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Yes, magic.’

 The small charm soon began to admit a bright light that illuminated the cave, blinding Nyx as he moved to shield his eyes before it vanished, allowing him see once more. Sitting before him on the stone platform was a small fox- though it resembled none that Nyx had ever seen in the wilderness or in the streets of Pagla. For one, this beast’s fur was a vibrant pale-blue shade that seemed to literally glow in the darkness of the cavern. Its fur was quite lush and silky in appearance, making the already large ears upon its head far greater in size while a small horn that seemed to be luminescent, crimson ruby protruded like a horn from the beast’s forehead. Nyx stared at the animal that yawned widely as he kneeled down to observe the creature in greater detail, though keeping his blade aloft incase it attacked. “W-Where did you come from?”

“You were the one to summon me, I thought you would already know that,” the fox replied in a high-pitched voice as its tail swished back and forth in a similar fashion to a temperamental cat. “Or perhaps you’re not that bright of a summoner.”

Nyx could only stare with shock at the fox that had replied to his question, mouth opening and closing in a manner rather similar to that of a fish. “I… You- You just talked.”

“Well, I am educated, so of course I talk.” The fox chortled, as if his verbal response was the most natural occurrence in the world. “Don’t tell me you summoned me from my sleep without intending to actually do anything. If so then I’ll be leaving now-“

“W-Wait! Don’t leave, please. I don’t even know who, or what the hell you are.”

“There is no need for your cursing. And as to who I am; I am the summon of that charm you have coiled about your wrist. Carbuncle, at your service; purveyor of my summoner’s desires. Now what do you wish for?” Its head tilted upward as the fox proudly puffed its small, furry chest out.

Before Nyx could even reply with another question as to what a Carbuncle even was, a loud roar and the crack of stone as the pillar they were standing upon began to slowly descend. Beneath them upon the frozen ground, the previously crystalized beast statues were clawing at the stone pillar eager to devour their trapped prey. Nyx released a torrent of curses while Carbuncle squeaked in alarm, it’s tail doubling in size as its fur stood on end.

“Sweet Bahamut, we’re going to die!” the fox squealed in distress as the bestial roars below grew louder at their gradual approach. Quickly, the fox Carbuncle scurried up Nyx’s leg and nestled atop his shoulders as the thief tried to balance his new passenger.

“Get off of me! And what do you mean purveyor, what are you- a genie or something?”

“Please, don’t insult me. I am far more powerful than some meager djinn.” Carbuncle grumbled, still attempting to hide from the monsters within the cavern as he moved from Nyx’s shoulders to his head. “Now, what is it you want. Hurry up human; I cannot do anything until you ask for it now what do you want!”

“What do you think I want?! I want to get the hell out of here!” Nyx exclaimed. And while he doubted the fox’s words about its supposed ‘wish-granting’, he was willing to try anything if he could escape alive and intact.

The fox bit his ear in warning, causing Nyx to yelp in surprise before jumping back onto the stone platform. “I, I, I, I, I! And what of me?! You cannot just summon me here and abandon me, you humans are ridiculous. ‘Get me out of here.’ ‘Take me home.’ ‘Please put me out, I’m on fire!’,” Carbuncle snapped back with its mocking words and turned away in a huff. “Just because you are my summoner doesn’t mean you can be rude and treat me as some slave. Have some curtesy.”

Nyx took one deep breath in an attempt to prevent himself from doing something rash to the fox before replying. “Fine, I’m sorry. Now will you PLEASE get us the hell out of here!”

By now, the platform had already reached the cavern floor and a pair of stone coeurls that had nearly claimed Nyx early snarled and raised their claws to swipe at their now vulnerable prey. Nyx immediately raised his dagger aloft in a vain attempt to block the attack while Carbuncle merely shook its fur out before the ruby on its forehead began to glow and bathe the pair in a bright glow. Within the next second the icy tomb was replaced by the beautiful waterfall that resided outside the tomb- with Nyx and Carbuncle both standing safely above the sealed entrance. The rogue stared about in a daze, adrenaline still racing in his veins while the blue-furred creature beside him yawned and tipped its head to him.

“And there you have it- safe at last and out of that dreadful tomb. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will take my leave. Farewell, Nyx Ulric.” And in another flash of bright light, the fox was gone within its wooden charm. Nyx stared down at the charm in his hand and breathed a sigh of relief before pocketing both it and the stolen amulet back into his tunic.

“Now how am I to get back to Pagla?”

 ==========================================================

“I don’t get it though,” Libertus spoke, looking at the amulet resting on the table between the three friends. “Why would Glauca ask you to get that piece of junk? It’s a little insulting for the best rogue in Tenebrae.”

After Nyx managed to beg for a ride back to the city by a passing shepherd, Libertus and Crowe were pleased to see he was safe until the rogue told his tale. After a lecture from Crowe about the dangers of taking random jobs from shifty strangers and Libertus ranting about pummeling Glauca if he ever saw him again, they all wondered why he would pay so much for something so plain. There were no jewels, embellishments, or anything of value decorating the simple trinket; if fact if Libertus and Crowe didn’t trust Nyx they’d have believed he nicked it from some 2-gil market stand.

Crowe frowned, “well it has to have some value or he wouldn’t go through the trouble. Plus, all that magic in the tomb that was protecting it makes me a little nervous. Spells like that aren’t exactly easy to perform and usually are only in place to guard against something dangerous.”

“He was rather angry when I didn’t give it to him,” Nyx replied, picking up the amulet to observe any details that would give the trio a clue to its purpose. “I think something written here but I can’t read it, hang on a moment….”

Wiping the smidge of dirt away the amulet began to give off a faint glow and an immediate chill filled the air that reminded Nyx horribly of the frozen tomb. Immediately he tossed the amulet away to the corner of their small hovel as fog and ice began appear around the discarded piece of jewelry. Libertus and Crowed quickly scrambled behind Nyx who had drew his dagger in defense as the temperature dropped and frost encompassed parts of their home. Through the growing fog a figure began to take shape, though it was much taller than the Carbuncle that Nyx had summoned in the cavern- in fact it looked to be taking on a far more humanoid shape. And as immediately as it had appeared, the fog and ice vanished to reveal what was perhaps one of the most beautiful women Nyx had ever seen. Her long ebony hair was darker than the night sky and clashed sharply yet beautifully with her pale skin and vivid crimson lips. Clad in black, gold, and ivory fabric woven into a robe-like dress Nyx had once seen from travelers of distant country in the marketplace, she had rather regal appearance. Her feet were bare of any shoes, but an elaborate anklet with bells gave soft chimes that sent an uneasy chill down Nyx’s back. The woman’s eyes remained closed but she turned to face them as if she and sent a piercing gaze toward the three with her sightless eyes.

‘Were you the one to bring me here, summoner.’ The woman spoke, her soft tone oddly gentle but hiding a rather sinister undertone. It reminded Nyx of a winter’s snowfall- lovely yet wrought with danger.

“Nyx… s-say something.” Libertus muttered, shoving his friend forward a little.

The younger rogue spluttered, “what? Why me?”

“You’re the one that stole that stupid amulet, so talk to her!” Crowe hissed, though staring fearfully at the other woman.

Giving a polite bow, as his experiences with Carbuncle taught Nyx to at least be respectful to any magic-wielding entity, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Good evening… ma’am.”

‘Fear not Nyx Ulric, I shall not harm you and your companions while you hold the title as my summoner. You may be at ease.’ The woman replied, settling onto a chair that seemed to conjure itself out of thin air.

Nyx blinked in surprise at the woman’s reassuring words. “I see… um, may I ask who you are?”

The woman raised a curious eyebrow at his question, ‘you summoned me yet know not who I am? They call me the Glacian, the Frostbearer, and Empress of Ice. But you… you may call me Gentiana, summoner. Now, what is it thou desire’s?’

“Desire? Are you going to grant his wishes or something?” Libertus asked, both he and Crowe a bit more relaxed now that the woman would cause them no harm.

‘Yes, I am.’

“Are you like that other summon Nyx mentioned? The Carbuncle?” Crowed added.

At the mention of the fox’s name, Gentiana’s smile dipped ever so slightly. ‘I see thou art acquainted with that… fox. While his powers are strong, they are nothing compared to my own.’ As she spoke, frost seemed to spread from where her foot tapped against the floor of the thieves’ home- as if the mention of the smaller summon irritated her.

“….Are you two related?”

‘No!... perhaps, I am not sure the tests were inconclusive,’ Gentiana sighed heavily.

“You mentioned you wanted to know my desires. What can you do?

It was here that Gentiana opened her eyes and let them fall upon Nyx. They were a dark shade of olive green but looked far colder than even the iced waters of the Ghorovas Rift. A small smile fell upon her lips as she settled her hands delicately in her lap and meet the trio with a knowing gaze and answered with one simple word.

‘Anything.’

===========================================================

“And that, was where it all began,” you spoke, giving a small yet sleepy smile. “Nyx Ulric, a rogue, son of a rogue, from a family of rogues found he could have anything his heart desired. All he had to do… was ask.”

Somnus remained silent as he let your words wash over him before shifting his gaze to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. “So? So! So, what did he ask for?” He asked, eagerly wishing to know more.

You had to resist the urge to chuckle at his oddly childish behavior and it caused a brief feeling of sorrow in your heart knowing you would have to cease your story lest you fell asleep mid-sentence. “We can safe that for tomorrow night, your Majesty.”

Delight quickly vanished as brief flash of anger took its place though disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Somnus immediately rose from his place among the various cushions and paced about the large bed chamber, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “But I wish to know now, not tomorrow night! You make your stories sound so wonderous with your wit, and charm, and beauty-“

“What does my beauty have to do with storytelling?” You asked, surprised by the sovereign’s choice of words.

It appeared not even Somnus himself realized he had said that, for he quickly halted his movements and turned to face you. “It is because if I lose interest for even a mere moment I must face those accursed nightmares yet when I turn to see your face, Lady (f/n)… and I find myself at ease from them.” His intense gaze causing a slight dust of blush to appear upon your cheeks. “Please, continue your tale.”

“Lord Somnus… I shall continue it tomorrow night.”

“I order you!” He snapped, frustrated with your refusal.

You frowned, “it would not be the same story if I was ordered to tell it.”

It seemed even the king noticed your growing anger, knowing he had pushed you too far. Somnus stared miserably at you and realized that despite his earlier apology, he had repeated his mistake that earned your ire; and that caused him more pain than the blasted nightmares ever did. “(f/n)… please continue your story. Please.”

You sighed, gently taking hold of his hand much to his shock, and guiding him toward his bed. Silently he complied with your wishes and eased into the soft blankets as sleep soon began to cloud his mind. “I am sorry (f/n), I truly am.”

“I know, sire.” You replied kindly, your earlier anger at his outburst gone.

“No, I meant… for everything.”

You remained silent for a brief moment as Somnus’ body relaxed and his breathing evened out- signifying his escape from the waking world. “I know what you meant, your Majesty.” You whispered softly, pushing back blue-black bangs from his eyes before rising from the edge of the bed. “Just wait till tomorrow night. Sweet dreams, Lord Somnus.” Blowing out the remaining candles you exited the room and found yourself being escorted once again by Gilgamesh toward Lady Selene’s chambers to rest.

[suqarshaxx]

three am fics let’s gooooo

red text = shaxx talking

blue text = guardian(s) talking

— movements

six o’ clock. he’s late. again.

Hendrix

yeah i’ll see you there! *read 4:37 pm*

Today 6:15 pm

where are you?😠 *delivered*

just let me know when you get here i guess *delivered*

he always does this! he always says ‘sure we’ll go out drinking!’ and never follows through! i have to stop inviting him. well now you have no clue what to do. you could still go to the bar, but really...? by yourself? who wants to do that!? so you decided to call up a friend this time. “hey, i was thinking about heading over to the bar for a bit do you wanna come with me? what do you mean you’re hanging out with your boyfriend? screw him! come drink with me!” you tried your best to sound sad and even pouted, hoping your friend hear over the phone..they definitely heard right through it though. “fiiine lame asses go hang out. i’ll talk to you later. be safe” sadly, the conversation was short and your friend just simply laughed and gave you a no. i guess it’s time to head to the bar alone. you grabbed your wallet and keys and were off.

shittttttt...

shaxx and a bunch of other guardians were crowding the bar. the place was extremely loud from all the guardians singing celebratory songs. must’ve meant a new group of guardians were ranking up in the competitive crucible. but that wasn’t gonna stop you from having a good night, it just meant your drinks would be longer. you made your way over to the bar while you ordered the Angels Aura. a mix of pink lemonade, blue raspberry syrup, vodka and club soda with this cool little sparkly powder they mix in. it’s not a popular drink for some reason but it’s delicious. while you were waiting for the drink, you figured you’d sneak up behind shaxx to congratulate him and the guardians. skill definitely plays a part in crucible but newer guardians don’t realize how much shaxx contributes to it too. so normally a lot of older crucible players like to congratulate shaxx as well because we’ve realized later on how much he helped.

you lightly tapped him on the shoulder to which he turned around. “Guardian!” his voice was incredibly happy and he seemed very energetic. you chuckled, “i just wanted to come over and congratulate you and another successful go around of guardians. i can’t wait to see how well they preform out there.” you gave a heartfelt smile. “thank you y/n, that truly means a lot to me. but it would mean more if you came and had a drink with us!” oh yeah, he had definitely had a few drinks before you got here. “shaxx i couldn’t, it’s not my celebration. plus i have my drink being made i gotta get to that.” “ohhh but it’s only one drink y/n! come on?” you just smiled and shook your head. “i simply can’t, thank you for the offer shaxx.” you ran your hand along his shoulder and arm and proceeded to walk away...that is until you heard a loud “HEY!” you didn’t think much of it until the voice spoke again and instead said “THE ONE WALKING AWAY” so you decided to turn around and walk towards the man shouting. “can i help you guardian?” “yeah you can. no one denies shaxx in my presence.” oh my god...he’s joking right? “i’m sorry? and you are?” “i am Fabled II Amir Wyante and this my group’s celebration party. if you’re not here for us then you can get out.” this guy HAS to be wasted. you just looked over at shaxx with a ‘is this guy really fucking serious?’ look on your face. you shook your head and laughed. “get lost rookie.” you walked away once again to go check up on your drink. the guy called for you again and you simply ignored it.

you got to the bar to where your drink was handed to you. as you thanked the bartender the same guy shouting his ‘title’ came up to you. “didn’t i tell you to get lost?” “i wanna challenge you to a arm wrestling competition. like the good old days of crucible.” he said with the stupidest smirk on his face. this guardian is trying to tell you about the “old days” like you weren’t apart of it. you sighed, “fine. under one condition. if you win, i’ll celebrate your amazing title. but if i win, you pay for my tab tonight.” you say as you sipped your drink. “it’s a deal.” poor guy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. “ok put your arm up” “wait..right here?” “yes right here now put your arm up on the counter” you both got into position. “on three we go.” “yeah ok let’s go i want my drink.” “3....2....1....GO!” you instantly dropped his hand and just looked at the bartender and said “my tabs on him for tonight.” and proceeded to walk away. you walked back over to shaxx where you continued to sip on your drink.

“shaxx! what the hell are they?!” the guardian came back all bratty and pissy. “what rank even are you?” “legend rookie. now piss off.” he just gave you a disgusted look and walked off. “you could’ve been easier on him. it is his celebratory night.” “yet here i thought arrogance wasn’t tolerated in the crucible?” you smiled over to shaxx. “it’s not but only your group ever listened.” you two watched as all the guardians shouted and danced. you lightly placed your head to the side of shaxx’s chest. “your group will be the only crucible group to go down as the one true crucible masters.” now you couldn’t help but blush. “thank you shaxx, and congratulations, to another unique crucible group.” you clinked your drinks together and drank.

that’s the great thing about shaxx and how he runs the crucible. every group of guardians is never the same, meaning they shall all go down in history.

——————

hi hi a/n: i felt like doing a cute little crucible story but i just quickly want to say if you’re new to crucible or in the fabled rank this isn’t a callout post to u at all 🥺🥺🥺 it was a simple rank i chose that i feel most standard players reside at (if u aren’t there dw ur all good don’t stress) i don’t think all new crucible guardians are arrogant asses or that the older/more experienced guardians are better! it’s more of a little message that every group will be completely different so no one can truly be better because it’d be unfair to compare guardians one by one with different play styles. i hope u enjoy this reading and tysm for the support on my last one 🥺🥺🥺

[shielddrake]

Psychonauts: Setup and Payoff Done Well (If Not Perfectly)

So about a year ago I posted a long lecture about how Final Fantasy XV and Kingdom Hearts 3 had major problems in the story department when it came to setup and payoff. I basically said that Final Fantasy XV had lots of scenes with payoff that were not set up very well and Kingdom Hearts 3 had some excellent moments that set up story elements but never followed through on them. And while I think some of those issues have been addressed with some of the DLC released for both games (I reserve my right to be a little salty Episodes Aranea, Luna, and Noctis were canceled) I still stand by my statement that these games have big problems with this.

 During the past year, I have received a couple of comments regarding my position on this, ranging from “Can you give a good example of setup and payoff?” to “Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you come up with a better example?” And I thought, well, what kind of game would be a good example of excellent use of setup and payoff? What game or series would I say does the job so much better than any writer has or does, video game or otherwise?

 And then, the middle of a repeat playthrough I always do before a game’s sequel comes out, it came to me:

 Now Psychonauts has been out since 2005, so a spoiler warning might seem a little silly here, but I think a lot of gamers have been playing it for the first time since the sequel was announced, so just in case: Major spoilers for the original Psychonauts game under the cut.

 Whenever someone tries to argue whether or not video games can be considered art, one of the first games that comes to my mind is Psychonauts, and not just because of its amazing aesthetics. It has some of the best storytelling, script writing, level design, music, voice acting, and art direction I have ever seen. This game is possibly one of the best video games I have every played, despite the flaws that it does have (I’m looking at you, Meat Circus), and it is easily on my list of top ten favorite video games.  Is it really any surprise that Psychonauts 2 reached its crowd-funding goal of over $3,000,000 in about a month? And yes, I admit that I am one of those backers, just to put out there any bias I know I have.

 But this isn’t meant to be a review of Psychonauts.

 I replayed Psychonauts a few months ago with the idea of the first game being fresh in my mind when the sequel comes out, which is supposed to be sometime this year of 2020. I was absolutely inundated with examples of effective setup and payoff as I played, so it seemed like the obvious choice to go over how this story-telling technique can be used not only well, but also to the point where it’s almost like there are far too many examples.

 Honestly, I could go on and on and on about setup and payoff in Psychonauts’ story, but for our purposes here most of the focus is going to be on just three big things that are really important to the main storyline: Linda the Lungfish, bunnies and meat, and Raz’s dad.

 One thing about setup and payoff is that the setup has to actually happen in a way that the audience, in this case the player, can’t miss it.  There are several moments in the game that Linda is mentioned, the first time being in the opening cutscene, where Bobby teases Dogen about the monster at the bottom of the lake.  You can’t miss the setup when it is thrown in your face that way.

  But that’s not the only time we get references to some sort of lake monster. Before going into Basic Braining, the first official level of the game, if Raz talks to Mikhail, the adorable Russian psychic mentions a “giant, hairless bear” in the woods, asking if Raz has seen it and wanting to wrestle with it. Now, it’s not said for certain if Mikhail is talking about Linda or if he’s just referring to the telekinetic bears you meet later on, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if it’s supposed to be the former.

  The first time the player heads for the lake, Elton will run up to Raz and mention the “brain-eating fish” that supposedly lives there. Well, now we’ve got both a mention of the lake monster and the fact that it goes after brains.  Hmm, sound familiar in retrospect?

  Optionally, Raz can also talk to Elton about the fish being spooked by something in the lake.

  Although only the first lake interaction with Elton is mandatory (whether it’s when you go to see Milla or before then), both of these moments act as reminders of the setup of the lake monster established in the opening cutscene.  

 And then there’s the scene in the woods between Raz and Lili on the way to Sasha Nein’s Secret Lab. Raz says that something was watching him, a shadowy being that smelled like pond scum.

  I absolutely love Lili’s face in this scene, by the way.

 We kind of get distracted by their interactions and Lili basically trolling Raz, but that’s part of what makes good writing. The scene is foreshadowing something without making it overly overt…not that the game is subtle every time, but the point still stands. This game does a great mix of the obvious and the subtle.

 The game also has optional dialogue with Coach Oleander and Raz reporting on a UPE (Unidentified Paranormal Entity), which he suspects is aquatic in nature. And Oleander seems oddly insistent that the lake monster does not exist, that it’s just a camp fable.

 Finally we get to the Brain Tumbler Experiment. Needless to say, it’s in this level that a lot of the elements come together. We come across a demon in the form of a big, shadowy figure that spits out a diving helmet. Again, does that sound familiar at all?

  There is a minor mention of the lake monster in the mental vault below the spooky thorn tower (more on that near the end of this post), but other than that there’s a break in the game where the lake monster isn’t mentioned for a while. We don’t get another explicit scene about it until Raz and Lili meet Linda properly at the edge of Lake Oblongata…where Lili gets kidnapped, we go through the boss sequence under the lake, and enter Linda’s brain of Lungfishopolis.  And the final payoff occurs with the Hideous Hulking Lungfish transporting us to Thorney Towers and giving Raz her real name, Linda.

  Now would any of that be nearly as rewarding if we had never heard of the Hideous Hulking Lungfish of Lake Oblongata prior to her official appearance? Every single player would just have visible question marks hanging over their heads if Linda just showed up out of nowhere. Deus Ex Lungfish, anyone? But that’s not what the developers did.  They spent plenty of time building up to Linda, making her reveal not only make sense but also weaving her into the story so that her reveal is more than satisfying.

 There is just one thing I’ve always been curious about, a sort of chicken-and-egg scenario. Did the legend of the lake monster start because genetically-altered Linda showed up and starting attacking campers?  Or did the legend already exist and Oleander used it as an excuse to write off any “sightings” of the monster? Any ideas?

 Moving on from Linda, we come to the imagery of meat and bunnies.

 Without knowing the full ending of the game, most players would think that it’s a bit strange I would stick meat and bunnies together in the same category. Sadly, the connection between these things is a bit on the morose side, and they are actually first introduced at the same time as well.

 When I first played Psychonauts, the first time I actively thought about bunnies and meat being related somehow was during the Brain Tumbler Experiment, but that’s actually not the first time the game introduces these. Anyone else notice that Basic Braining has figments of meat cleavers, butcher knives, a pig, a duck, and a fox? I could logic that a meat cleaver and butcher knife fit with the whole army theme, but a pig, duck and fox?

  Kind of odd animals would be included in all this, especially animals that are either butchered or hunted. At least that’s what I thought at first.

 It is in Oleander’s mind that we first see the “meaty plant” that Lili saves from being squashed by Raz. It’s also here that we see bunnies hopping around the snowfield with the Gatling gun. This early in the game, is this important or just set dressing?  I’m ashamed to admit, but I thought it was just weird set dressing when I first played, but it makes more sense as the story goes on.

  Turns out it’s important all right, since the next time we see both meat and bunnies is in the Brain Tumbler Experiment. “Mr. Bun” seems like a rather random animal to have in Raz’s brain, but then again bunnies showed up in Basic Braining as well.  Is there a connection somehow? Sasha tells Raz that an animal may represent a primal fear or memory.

 He’s right on the latter, although a player going through the game for the first time might not know why (and I admit, on my first playthrough, I didn’t). And there’s more meat and meaty plants here. Raz doesn’t directly mention these (at least he didn’t during my most recent playthrough, to my recollection) but they are pretty obvious, to say the least.

 So that’s two things connecting the Brain Tumbler Experiment and Basic Braining.  Is this a normal occurrence? Maybe these things just show up in brains? Lili does mention she had been dreaming of meat plants, after all, both in Basic Braining and in the cutscene before Raz enters Milla’s mind. Maybe it’s a primal need for meat? Don’t tell the vegans I said that. The Vegan Police would be very unhappy with the final level of this game.

 After the Brain Tumbler Experiment is finished, we know that the brain interference was coming from Oleander, but it’s not explained why there are meat and bunny references up until that point.  There’s actually no mention of either at all in the subsequent levels until the last.  Lungfishopolis, The Milkman Conspiracy, Gloria’s Theater, Waterloo World, and Black Velvetopia are devoid of all meat or bunnies, which possibly leads the player to forget about the whole thing for a while (and when I say “the player,” I really mean me).

 In fact, we don’t see any sign of either until the final level of the game, Meat Circus. And, oh boy, Meat Circus.

  Yeah, it should come as no surprise that I hate this level. I hated it so much that on my first playthrough of this game in 2005, I rage quit and didn’t look at Psychonauts for several days. I eventually went back to it and beat it, but let’s say I was more than a little relieved that they lowered the difficulty for it in subsequent releases.

 But I digress.

 We reach Meat Circus, the combined consciousness of Raz and Little Oly, and the payoff of all the meat and bunny stuff we’ve seen thus far. We have Frankenstein-esque meat bunnies, platforms made of steaks, rail grinding on bones, trapeze and trampolines of bones and skin, and of course the dark versions of both Raz’s and Oleander’s fathers, who not only are evil but also become a giant two-headed monster.  When Sasha said that problems seem larger in your head than in real life, I should have known it would be taken more literally in this game.

  I mean, is it really any shock that Oleander is carrying some trauma after seeing his bunny friend be decapitated by his own father? It’s never said how old Little Oly is, but considering his behavior he is clearly younger than Raz, so this happened when he was in the single digits of age. That’s really not something a little kid should see. That’s just asking for PTSD.

 Anyway, back to setup and payoff, which is pretty obvious at this point. We have plenty of mentions of both bunnies and meat throughout the game, leading to the final boss that is both creepy and downright terrifying. Not only does this boss conclude Oleander’s trauma with his father being a butcher and killing his favorite bunny, but it also allows Raz to defeat his inaccurate mental image of his own father.  Both of them are able to move forward from that point on. Defeating this monstrosity acts as the ultimate payoff and conclusion for both Raz and Oleander.

  Speaking of Raz’s dad…

 Raz’s relationship with his father at the start of the game is strained, to say the least. When Raz goes to learn Levitation from Milla, the very mention of his father showing up to take him home from the camp makes him nervous. Not the best sign here, and his other comments regarding his dad don’t make it much better.

 Once Raz reaches cadet ranks ten and twenty, we get cutscenes of Raz talking with Cruller in tutorials for Pyrokinesis and Telekinesis. During Pyrokinesis, Raz first mentions that his father, Augustus, hates psychics and trained Raz in acrobatics to the point where Raz worried his dad was trying to kill him. During Telekinesis, Raz reveals his suspicions that his father is psychic as well. The memory vault we see of Raz running away from home only reinforces Raz’s perspective.

  We’re led to believe that Raz’s statements are the truth, which is a logical conclusion since he’s the game’s protagonist, but the end of the game shows otherwise. At first I thought this meant Raz was simply an unreliable narrator, but that turns out to not be the whole story. While Raz is an unreliable narrator in that there are a lot of things he just doesn’t know, it’s not malicious in any way. Raz simply doesn’t know that he father really does care about him. That’s the magic of using the third-person limited point of view.

 Up to this point, we’re led to believe that Augustus is a neglectful father at best, but it turns out that Augustus does love his son. He’s just apparently really bad at showing it. The very fact that he is the only one able to break into Raz’s “hard to penetrate skull” shows that there is a deeper relationship between them.  And Augustus is clearly distraught that his own son sees him as a monster in his mind. Poor Augustus.

  I think that a lot of the interactions between father and son in this game was cut out due to both budget and time constraints, because I feel like there is more to be said with these two than what we get in the final product. (I’m thinking we’re going to get more of that in the sequel, but that is up in the air at this time.) This doesn’t bother me too much though, since we do get effective enough setup and payoff that it doesn’t seem like it comes out of nowhere.  They do finally talk to each other and express their concerns, mending their relationship…in the middle of a battle with a two-headed father monster.

  Clearly these two have communication issues. The morale of this story is that it’s important to talk to one each other.

 And this is certainly paid off in the end cutscene of the game.  When Sasha says they want Raz to come along to rescue Truman Zanotto, Raz doesn’t just run off with them again.  He turns around and gives his father puppy-dog eyes, clearly asking for permission to go this time. And Augustus not only gives it, he gives Raz his blessing and encourages him to “show them all.” Contrast this to the backstory of the game, where Augustus flat out forbids Raz from having anything to do with the Psychonauts and Raz running away in secret.

  And if that’s not satisfying use of setup and payoff, I don’t know what is.

 That’s not to say that all of the setup and payoff in Psychonauts is perfect. To be fair, there are times when the setup can be missed, and therefore the payoff that comes later can be confusing. The most obvious example of this is the nightmare that attacks you in The Milkman Conspiracy. When I first played the game all those years ago, my first thought was, “What in the world? What is this thing and where did it come from?”

  Of course, on subsequent playthroughs, I did find the demon room in Milla’s mind, showing the same nightmares she had caged away. This is the difference between a sane mind and an insane one.  Milla has all her demons under control (although notice that they have not gone away) while Boyd’s run amok because he has no way of mentally dealing with them, since his brain is a little bit busy with this, well, milkman conspiracy.  The nightmares that attack in Boyd’s brain make more sense after I saw the ones in Milla’s brain. In this case, the payoff wasn’t bad since the nightmare miniboss wasn’t a bad fight, but context in the form of the setup made the payoff better.

  Other times the setup can be missed?  The other big one is the resolution of all the campers’ storylines. Unless the player spends time going around camp throughout the game and seeing the interactions the other campers have with each other, the little scene you have with each one once they are re-brained won’t make a lot of sense. The love triangle between J.T., Elka and Nils? J.T. and Chops having conflict about J.T. abandoning his best friend for his new girlfriend? Crystal and Clem attempting suicide to become more powerful? Chloe thinking she’s an alien? Maloof basically becoming a mob leader with Mikhail as his right-hand man? Elton and Milka’s blossoming love? …Just to name a few? Yeah, the context of all that is missed if the player doesn’t bother to talk to the other campers throughout the game, but I attribute that more to the player than the game.  The developers accounted for this in the story, so it’s more the player didn’t look for the setup rather than Double Fine just not bothering to include it.

  That’s just some examples of setup and payoff that I feel are probably the most important to the main storyline of Psychonauts.  They are far from the only examples. Really far from it. Oh boy, could I go on about the scenarios of setup and payoff that happen in this game.

 Dogen talking to the squirrels, who tell him that the short man is going to kill everyone, only for them to really be talking about Oleander?

 Elton saying that Oleander’s recruiting office in Basic Braining resembles a dentist office, only to find out that one of the main antagonists, Dr. Loboto, is in fact a dentist?

  Oleander having a mental vault trapped behind some mental cobwebs? Well, he has something to hide, despite him saying he doesn’t when you first play through Basic Braining. Of course, getting angry at Raz for snooping around a room with a curtain doesn’t give off the idea that Oleander has something to hide. Nope. Not suspicious at all.

 Agent Crueller having all the different personalities around the camp, hinting as his unstable mental state?

 The Hand of Galochio appearing in the lake as a reference to Raz’s family having a curse to die in water, and said curse just so happens to show up not only as a gameplay element but as a story element during Meat Circus?

 Raz being able to read Lili’s thoughts when she doesn’t mean for him to, then for him to do it two more times near the end of the game?

 How Lili’s cold stops her from sneezing out her own brain?

 Sasha’s hatred of tacky lamps having to do with his past working in a tacky lamp factory? Or the shoeboxes indicating his father was a cobbler? Or the bed as the location of where his mother was horribly ill and died?

 Raz needing to climb the “creepy thorn tower” in the Brain Tumbler Experiment, only to later need to climb Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed?

 The mention of the town of Shaky Claim on the giant tree stump at the camp entrance referring to the sunken town that is (somewhat) explored during the boss sequence under the lake?

 Raz talking about being back in high school in Black Velvetopia despite being ten years old? Not to mention the stories the dogs tell about Lana/Lampita and Dean/Dingo?

 Lastly, do I really need to mention the incredibly weird and seemingly out of place mental vault below the creepy thorn tower? A brain chicken hatches out of an egg, meets a fish in water, goes to a circus, gets placed in a teacup, and blasts people to death? Kind of a summation of Raz coming out of the egg in the Brain Tumbler Experiment, meeting Linda at Lake Oblongata, entering the Meat Circus, and getting placed in a brain tank and defeating two people? Was the mental vault a foreshadowing of the main plot of Psychonauts? I don’t know.  What do you think?

  *Takes a deep breath.* See what I mean when I say I could really go on and on about setup and payoff in Psychonauts? There are so many examples that it’s kind of ridiculous. It could be said that there’s too much of this kind of storytelling in the game, but I fail to see how that is a problem.  There is such a thing as too much of a good thing, but when it comes to setup and payoff, Psychonauts is not it.

    Credits 

Screenshots courtesy of the following:

Comic Foil, https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCN-Y6XDe0oWyhgjcGunJqGw

 Global Gaming, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pjsxNSwSSA

 StoryGamer, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXZ1vDFp_dw&t=139s

 ThatNotSoAznKid, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ford0MGvWIc

[redrockbluerock]

8 Favorite works of the year

tagged by @a-big-apple, whose post is here!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

A lot of my old hyperfixations popped back up this year, and I think i drew something for each of them at least once! These are in no particular order, really.

- Not So Lonely Anymore - something about Lonely Pearl’s story in the Phantom Fable stuck with me, and after discussing/crying over her in a discord chat I ended up writing this out. while crying. a lot.

- Mothhawk AU - is this cheating? whatever. I made a sort of swap au between Nephrite and Pearl just to play around with. I might try making comics for it eventually but for now i have some art up and im working on fics for it!

-Aro Ace Pride Ninjini - this year had a bit of self discovery for me, figuring out that i was aroace. Ninjini is one of my favorite skylanders to draw, and within this picture you can kinda see the weird head shape i give elves more clearly. theyre weird cat people!

- Handful of Pearls - These aren’t all my pearl ocs, just the ones that ended up in the Hundreds of Pearls zine. Watching that come to life was an incredibly fun process, and while i wasn’t an artist or writer for it, it was still great to be a part of.

-Have we met before? - usually backgrounds make me suffer when drawing them, which is why a lot of my art doesnt have backgrounds. however! this picture would not look right until i made the background, which was a pain to do. I dont regret it now though.

-Credit Redraw - Megaman is a new hyperfixation for me this year, and Splash Woman is currently my favorite robot master to draw. In contrast to the other picture, this background was quite painless, which means i might have figured something out!

-Moodboard 2 - these only took a few minutes to make but will bring me joy for weeks.

- Transition Metal - Sprocket i think is my absolute favorite skylander to draw, considering how much i end up drawing her. i also do kin her and have welding goggles that look just like the ones she has ingame. Also! i like making puns

Uhh tagging @keplered @starchildconnie @the-queen-of-purple @flowerbudz if yalls wanna do this

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 6

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4884

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut

A/N:  Wow! It’s been a while. This chapter has been sitting in my google docs 90% finished for quite some time. And given the spirit of NaNoWriMo I figured it was time to finish it. So thank you all who have been waiting for this so patiently, and who have been so supportive an lovely in my absence. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I’m still writing! I haven’t forgotten. And now, without further ado...

Immerse yourself in the story, Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)

I live for feedback, comments and reblogs! It is the fire that fuels me! The pep in my step! The Adrenaline in my veins! It is the tap of my fingers to a keyboard.

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback!

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Masterlist stays updated with each new chapter.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

The scream that caught in your throat came out as nothing more than a clipped sob and a whisper of air. Frozen in place and time like a marble statue. What was standing before you was impossible. Everyone had heard the stories, the quick hushed warnings not to speak of the White Thing in the Woods too loud lest its attention be drawn. And despite what you knew about the changing moods of the forest, you didn’t buy into it. It was all bullshit just to keep kids from getting lost in the thicket of trees.

Fables.

Urban legends. 

Fairy Tales. 

That’s all they were. 

The White Thing was no more real than the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus. 

It wasn’t that you thought yourself too smart to believe in such things, you’d simply taken for granted just how old those Woods were. The America’s were still young, a few hundred years of Colonised society was enough to make a young girl forget that these lands had been here since the beginning. And something lived deep in the underbelly of the wilderness, where even the most foolish or brave-hearted person dare not venture. 

It was a beast, massive and filling the space of your vision to the edges. The Thing was so much taller than you, even as it crouched on legs too long and layered with lean muscle; incredible antlers sprouted from its skeletal head like moss covered tree limbs. Sunken eyes set in their deep black sockets as if it was the void looking back at you. Pallid and worn flesh stretched too tight over the unnaturally thin and long bones of its body, seen through the long mangy white locks that hung from it’s skull. Sharp teeth the length of your palm sprung from it’s elongated skeletal snout, yellowed and rust colored from age and use; able to cleave muscle and fat from bone like slicing through butter. Thick mists of air hung heavy as it breathed, and a curious rumble from deep within rolled out of its mouth as it looked you over. You, this pitiful little creature, helpless and paralyzed by fear and disbelief. 

If there were any doubts before they were dashed now. You were going to die. 

Two things were going to happen. First, you were going to disappear, the Police would put together a short, and limited search party. They’d search through part of the forest, not venturing very far, superstition running too deep in their DNA. The search for you would be called off within a week, and you would vanish into history as nothing more than the face of yet another Missing Girl. Secondly, knowing full well that you played with fire and were burned, the townsfolk would use your death as a cautionary tale to warn other youth to keep in line. To not be the stupid girl that disappeared in the trees. If only she’d heeded her Daddy when he told her to stay clear of the Woods to the North she might still be alive. You would become a myth.

Seconds turned to decades as The White Thing watched you tremble. Tears spilled down your cheeks freezing to the skin at your jaw in the icy air. It tilted its head, leaning forward on one of it’s four boney arms with taloned hands large enough to crush your skull like a grape if it wanted to. You couldn’t breathe.

It sniffed the air around you, as if it could pick up the scent of your terror. It was close enough that you could smell the stench of death pouring from it’s clammy skin. Heart hammering away in your chest you thought for sure it might explode and kill you before this Thing sunk its teeth into your soft flesh. If you were lucky that’s what would happen.

The White thing extended a hand to you, a misty green stone in it’s palm with a symbol carved in it. An offering. Your horror turned to curiosity and confusion, but you were too frightened to move or do anything about your confliction. Moments ticked by agonizing in their pace, years might have passed already. When it finally moved your whole body jerked away on instinct, but it simply placed the stone on the ground, and backed away. And like that it vanished into the mist and ticket of trees just as it had come, like a dream. Or nightmare. 

The icy chill dissipated making way for the warmth of late summer, and the trees parted again letting streams of golden light pour through the canopy. Birds began to chirp and the weight sitting on your chest fell away. Suddenly you could breathe again. The moment your limbs regained their use you took off through the woods, tearing through the trees as fast as your legs could carry you, not bothering to stop until you’d broken through the treeline and into your house slamming your bedroom door behind you. 

You hid your torn and dirty clothes far into the back of your closet, as if you could will away an evidence of what had just taken place. If you believed it was a dream, a hallucination, some trick of the mind then you could carry on with your life. Just like everyone else. Like nothing had ever happened

What did just happen?

What happened was impossible. Absurd. Lunacy. Delusion. Absolute nonsense. Monsters simply could not be real.

The tightness in your chest gripped your lungs like a vice threatening to cave you in and destroy you from the inside out. There was no way you could go back to normal. What you’d just witnessed upended everything you ever knew. Everything you had been certain of once before. 

What else was out there? What else existed in the shadows? Lurking in the dark waiting for the right moment to pounce. Four hours ago you were certain of many things: There was nothing in the woods. The Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. Poltergiest was just a movie, and above all there was nothing to be afraid of in the woods.

You went to bed that night with your eyes locked on your window, blinds and curtains drawn, waiting. Waiting for the whispers to begin and the knocking. After the adrenaline had finally left your bones chattering, exhaustion kicked in and sleep eventually took you. 

When you woke in the morning you couldn’t help but be relieved, maybe it had just been a bad dream after all. You were in one piece, in the safety of your bedroom, all windows, doors, fingers and toes in place. You were going to do all you could to forget it. Although you would never venture through the woods again.

Kicking your legs over the bed and planting your feet on the floor you stretched your arms out over your head, tensing and cracking at the joints. You let out a satisfied groan and huffed a sigh as you pushed disheveled hair from your face. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you walked down the hall and turned to the living room staring for the kitchen. Absolutely starving, the most heavenly thing you could think of was a packet of pop tarts that had your name in it. 

You snagged a bag and cast a glance at the clock on the stove reading 8:18 am. Usually everyone was up by now. Your little brothers were under no circumstances ones to miss Saturday morning cartoons. Mom was usually piddling around, or  working on a quilt she’d never finish, and Dad no doubt would be outside already and under the hood of that old Mustang. The silence and stillness of the house as you moved through its rooms made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, it was never this quiet on a Saturday morning. What stopped you in your tracks like slamming into a wall was your bookbag. The one you’d dropped in the maze of trees, sitting on the coffee table in the living room, as if it had been there the entire time.

Pulse raced, and blood pumped furiously through your veins as you slowly reached out a hand picking up the bag you thought you’d surely never see again. A little green stone with a marking in the middle dropped from your bag to the coffee table, and your blood turned to ice.

The crushing realization set in along with that black shroud of doom you couldn’t shake. Your legs moved before your brain could process, carrying you down the hall like a doll on a string. You swung the door open to your brothers’  room where carnage painted the walls a sticky dark red. Frozen to the spot, you couldn’t scream, all you could do was let your eyes trail over the mutilated remains of your younger siblings.

Eyes snapped open as you jolted from your sleep. It’d been more than a decade but you’d never really left the woods of that sleepy town. That shadow had followed your every step since, haunting you, lurking in the back of your mind and biding it’s time. It was the Washington State forests that reminded you of the thick wilderness of West Virginia, of home. The same thing happened in Michigan, the Wendigo. Dense woods were more than enough to trigger what you’d done your best to tuck away. Every hunter has an origin story, most aren’t born to it. Most have paid a devastating price for the knowledge of what lives in the dark. You were no different than any of the rest of them, but unlike most of them who found a place in the violence and anonymity, this life gave you no pleasure.

The blood thirsty look in a man's eye is unmistakable, and is a trait shared among a vast majority of hunters. First it’s fueled by vengeance, then it’s something to fill the void until you learn to hate the things you hunt, and killing them brings you a release you couldn’t otherwise find. But for you it was a job, a disgusting one that you’d rather not have been the one to do, but if not you, then who? Some other poor girl who wandered into the wrong place? Truth was you couldn’t have lived with yourself if you left the supernatural for others to deal with who might not be as lucky or well prepared as you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor to see an empty mat and blankets where Sam must have slept overnight. He was an early riser but dawn wasn’t for hours stillt, maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Letting out a sigh you shut your eyes and rolled away from the edge of the bed to the middle on your side as the throb of a headache began to set in and the world tilted around like a weeble wobble. You were still half drunk, and felt like you’d gone four rounds with a brick wall. When you opened your eyes again a shock of breath caught in your throat to find that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought. 

Sam lay stretched out on his back, an arm tucked under his pillow and propping up his head, looking something like a painting in the darkness before Sunrise. A peaceful person he was not, but in that moment it might have fooled you that he could be. So often his brow was furrowed in thought or concentration, his broad shoulders tense with such worry that he rarely looked comfortable. Seeing him asleep was nothing new, but being able to relish in his image without interruption and so close was. He was right there, you could feel the heat radiating from him, seeping through the sheets. You could touch him, you could reach out and touch him. Trace your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, and down the length of his throat like you’d imagined doing hundreds of times. You could press your lips to his cheek and curl his long silky hair around your fingers. You could. He was right there and you were still tipsy, less inclined to listen to the practical side of your brain.

There was no telling how he ended up in bed with you. Last thing you remembered was being too drunk to stand up on your own, and in times like those you were prone to putting your foot in your mouth. It would have taken a flash in his eyes for the secrets you’d been keeping to spill out of your mouth like a burst dam. It would have taken a grin to his lips and a dimple to let loose the fact that you wanted him. He wouldn’t have taken you up on your offer, not with you being so intoxicated but you must have done something right to bring him to your bed.

You could have watched him breathe forever. The world could have caved in around you and everything fell to ruin, but it wouldn’t have mattered, because he was just so close. Worries melted away just by sheer proximity, and the nightmare you had just roused from fell away with the rest of your problems. If there was one silver lining to the life you lead, it was Sam. Sure the hunting evil, saving people and all that gave the occasional warm fuzzies, but that was expected of you. It was your job. It was thankless and messy and scary and frankly you hated every second of it. There were things you’d planned on doing with your life. Places you’d planned on exploring, people you’d planned on meeting. You had your eye on being a Surgeon, Cardiac, the best the field had ever seen. You had colleges in mind, and the determination to make it happen.

How quickly life changes.

If you had been told at fifteen that this would be your life, you’d have laughed. Never in a million years would you have guessed that you’d live the rest of your life as a Professional Ghost Popper, on the road, in shitty motels and surviving on gas station hot dogs. Though it wasn’t all bad. There was Sam. He waltzed into your life like a breath of fresh air. A kindred spirit. A sliver of hope where there was none. He wanted out too, he only mentioned t it a few times, and usually inebriated, but it was enough. He didn’t like the job any more than you did, but you’d both been doing it so long you couldn’t imagine life outside of it. It was that fear of the unknown that kept you both in your safe spaces. If there was any reason to leave the shelter of the dark, it was Sam.

He shifted in his sleep with a small sigh,his head falling to the side and into the stream of silver moonlight, and there as no fighting the need to reach out and touch his face. Fingertips ghosted over the line of his jaw, resting softly at his chin where your eyes fell to his lips, rosy, soft and parted. You thought of the women lucky enough to know what his lips tasted like. Were they sweet like he was? Intoxicating? 

The screen on his phone lit up on the nightstand as the time ticked over to 3:30 and his alarm began to sound. You dropped your hand away, and Sam let out a remorseful groan as he rolled on his side and reached a long arm over you to the nightstand to hit snooze. His head hit the bed and he was out again, arm left to drape over you, heavy and warm. Trying to pull your arm free he stirred again, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you to him as his nose nuzzled into your shoulder. 

The swell in your chest was nearly drowning you, it was exactly where you’d always wanted to be, and the one place you’d never allow. Maybe… maybe just for a minute you could allow it. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla and coffee, and the feel of his lips against your shoulder took over your senses. You’d have given anything to stay just like that forever.

Your fingers slipped through silky tresses, and long eyelashes fluttered open at the touch.The sunflowers in his eyes, even in that dim light, took your breath away.

“Good morning,” you whispered. A smile curled his lips and created that perfect dimple in his cheek. Not quite awake he let himself sink around you breathing in the natural perfume of you, and the warmth of your skin, soft like butter and better than he’d dreamed. Only he wasn’t dreaming. The alarm hadn’t woken him like it was supposed to, but you wrapped in his arms certainly did. He told himself that he’d keep his distance, he wasn’t going to encroach on your space. The last thing a drunk girl wants to wake up to is a guy in her bed. But when he turned his eyes up to meet yours, and a lazy smile graced your lips he eased.

“You’re still drunk aren’t you?” He asked.

“No,” you answered nodding your head ‘yes.’ He replied with an amused snicker and pulled his arm away, stopping at your hip when you didn’t move away. You’ve looked at him with those bedroom eyes like that before. A few times. You were drunk each time. When you were sober you were well composed, only allowing yourself to get but so close. When you had a few you let your guard down, just a little, just enough to get a peek over the wall. He’d seen you drunk and on the prowl, and while that was certainly a sight to behold, you were different when you were alone with him. 

With him you were vulnerable in a way you couldn’t be sober, when the girl who had a rock collection in her youth came out. The girl who read The Silmarillion annually, and taught herself to speak, read and write in Elvish. The girl who hates raisins, and catches spiders to set them loose outside instead of killing them. The girl he wanted to get to know more than he’d wanted to know anyone. You’d be three doubles and four beers in, and that look would flash across your eyes. Cheeks flush with drink, eyes half lidded and looking only at him. Then your lips would curl into a smile, and it was almost impossible to resist. Each new day with you proved harder than the last to find a reason why it was a bad idea to be with you.

“Right, and I’m the Pope.” He snarked, as he pulled himself away from your touch and sitting up, regretting not staying put longer almost immediately. 

And the moment was over, back to business as usual in an instant. The pang in your chest was miserable. Swinging your legs over the bed you stood up stretching your arms over your head and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“So, uhm, guess the floor wasn’t as comfy as you thought?” You said, kicking the pile of blankets.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He said. You didn’t remember. 

Sam heard the thud of your body hitting the floor, finding you in a heap when he yanked the b

athroom door open. Gathering your limp frame in his arms he checked your head for blood, and grateful to find you’d missed the nightstand. Long fingers smoothed hair from your face still flush with drink, and a little paler than usual. Sam had seen you black out drunk before, but he’d never seen you pass out before, the cooking class must have been torture.

The way you settled in his arms as he lifted you was perfect. The last time he’d held you like that you were holding your guts in and bleeding out from a stabbing after a hunt went sideways. The color was draining from your face to pour down your stomach. You were fighting so hard to stay awake, even as your lips turned blue and your eyes lolled to the back of your head. The teeth in your head had begun to chatter so hard he thought they were going to shatter, but you kept talking, the whole time. Raving about how the rampant uncheck misogyny running through the fabric of our culture affects young girls on fundamental levels since birth. The more you talked, the angrier you got, the longer you stayed awake. It was all you could think to do to stay awake. In a less dire situation he’d have paid more attention to your tirade, but all he could do was look on you with amaze. You were the strongest woman he’d ever met in his damn life. You were still ranting when the Medical staff at the hospital took over.

This was how he wanted it to be, soft and warm, safe. The way you settled in his arms was like you were made to be there, like he was made to hold you.You were home. Sam laid you in the bed, and pulled the blankets up around you when you took hold of his hand.

“Stay with me, Sam.” You said in an airy whisper, eyes still closed. Who was he to refuse? He probably should have taken longer to think about it, if he were more noble he might have, but he didn’t argue when you asked him to stay. So he climbed into the bed, careful to give you more than enough space. Countless times had he wished that things were different for his life, this should have been one of them. But truth was if neither of you had become hunters odds were you’d have never met. And even though the life he lead seemed more hellish than anything else, he’d met you. 

Silencing the alarm on his phone he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over you as you stretched, the way your hair fell, bedhead messy and lovely against your neck begging for his hands to touch

“Oh, I found out where Mr. Lonely is buried. I figure we can go salt and burn the body before the Sun is up, come back, take a nap then hit the road.” You suggested.

“You don’t want to stay for Wine tasting?” He snarked.

“Preferably not, but if we have to then I’m just going to stay drunk today.” You answered, and he grinned.

“We should probably still do an EMF sweep.”

“Really? Can’t we just torch the corpse and call it a night?” You pouted as you watched him move around the room to gather clothing to change into. He stopped to ponder at the bathroom door before giving a nod. It was late, or incredibly early, you were still trashed and both of you only got a couple hours of shut eye. There was no reason not to just get the bottom line done.

“Fine, we can skip it, but we have to stay tonight to make sure it’s done.” He compromised. Sitting in a chair to tie your boots you paused to consider if skipping part of an investigation was worth sticking around for another single night. You turned your eyes up to Sam who stood so tall and broad, and firm, you had your answer.

Yes. Definitely yes. The case would be closed, you’d get to drink, and actually enjoy a little bit of relaxation- though this would not have been your first choice. And it would just be you and Sam, nothing to worry about other than simply being. 

“I agree to your terms.” You said pulling a flask of whiskey from one of your bags. Hair of the dog, you were going to power through the oncoming hangover. You had an empty day ahead of you that you were going to fill with Sam, your enthusiasm was genuine. “Get dressed and lets go defile a grave!”

Hiking at night wasn’t something you wanted to make a habit of doing. The sky was clear, and the Moon was  particularly bright which was great until you hit the treeline where the path to the Graveyard was. The black chasm of the trees swallowed up the silvery Moonlight till there was nothing left but pitch. Then your fear of dense woods sprung up again like a steadily increasing anxiety riddled game of whack-a-mole. There was nothing to be afraid of, you had flashlights, Sam, and you were strapped. Your brain wasn’t giving you a reprieve however, you kept expecting to turn your head and see the skeletal bloody face of the White Thing to appear in the darkness between the trees, ready to spring out and finish the job it started more than a decade ago. A cold chill slid up your spine sending a dread filled shudder down your body. With each step you had to remind yourself that you weren’t back home in West Virginia, you were on the other side of the country, in Washington, it wasn’t going to find you after more than a decade. You hoped at least. If the White Thing wasn’t in the woods there was something else in there with eyes that stalked your movements, putting you on edge, and making you paranoid. Trepidation rattled you, and you found yourself stepping closer to Sam as you walked, finding relief and comfort with each brush of his arm against yours. 

It was a 20 minute hike, in the pitch black wild wilderness, at 3 o’clock at night, but once you hit the gravesite it was worth it. The site sat on a cliffside at the top of the mountain, just a small clearing in the trees, what could have knocked the wind out of you was the most magnificent view of the peaks and valleys of the mountain range, stretching as far as the eye could see. More stars hung in the sky than you had seen in a very long time, no light pollution, no noise, just the calm quiet. No wonder Wellington wanted his family buried there. You allowed yourself a few moments to soak it all in before setting to work.

Stabbing the spade end of your shovel into the pile of loose dirt, you dropped your butt down to sit, legs dangling into the large hole before you. With a sigh you wiped sweat from your brow as you rifled through the pockets of your jacket for a short, partially smoked joint. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Sam asked from inside the hole, a teasing grin on his face as he looked up at you. Answering him with a shrug you  lit up and took a long drag. While he didn’t care much for smoking in general, it was difficult to tear his eyes away from the smoke wafting and curling in transparent tendrils spouting from your lips.

“It’s never too early or late for this.” You answered offering it to him, he declined with a shake of his head, quickly setting back to the task at hand- digging up a corpse. An old, rotten, decayed, mouldering corpse. If you could rate aspects of your job in order, digging up bodies was at the bottom of the list. Though to be honest, there weren’t many things that you did like about the job. There was the bonus of a flexible schedule, and the option to travel, and there was, of course, the fact that your co-workers were a little more than easy on the eyes. But there were no tax exemptions, or paid expenses, no benefits, fuck not even a reliable salary. It wasn’t a job you did because you wanted to, you detested almost everything about it. But someone had to do it.

No one wants to tell you how much effort is involved in digging up a six foot deep grave armed with nothing but a couple of old rusty shovels and sheer willpower. No one wants to tell you how long it takes either. The Sun was going to be up in the next hour or so, and the cover of darkness was a necessary precaution when it came to gravedigging. When Sam’s shovel struck something hard and hollow you could not have been more thrilled. Your eyes met his, as he moved to get a better angle. 

Sam jammed the spade of his shovel between the lid of the coffin and the side prying it open with creaking wood and a crack of relief as the lid came loose. 

“...The hell?” Sam’s face twisted in confusion as he lifted the top, hazel eyes moved back to you as he shoved the lid to the side of the hole revealing an empty coffin.

“Well that can’t be a good sign.” You announced, just as puzzled as Sam.

“You’re sure he said he was buried here?”

“No Sam, I just made it up so we could pointlessly dig a hole in the middle of the night for fun.” You sarcastic eyes at him.

“Hey, I know how much you love digging holes. So if he’s not here-”

Then just where the fuck is he?”

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[angst-fairygodmother]

The Sweet Kiss of Seafoam (A Geralt x Jaskier Little Mermaid AU) Chapter 2

A/N: Here is the second and final part of my entry to @the-winter-witcher 2k follower writing challenge. Really dipping into the meat of things, and all that entails in the spirit of good old Hans Christian. Part one can be found here. Prompt: “I’ve run out of words my song, just let me die, me die” Word Count: 3188 Now cross-posted to AO3: here

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A year later, Jaskier was being pelted with bread.

He had acquired a lute after leaving Lettenhove and taught himself to play, making money travelling about and performing. But the audience did not always receive his songs well, and there had been more than one occasion where he was booed off the stage or out of the room.

As he dodged the projectile rolls, gathering them up to eat later since he had no coin for food, and made comments back at the audience that he at least thought were just as biting, his eyes lit on a single silent stranger in a corner of the room. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair the color of a wave-cap in the moonlight. He seemed to be staring down at the worn table in contemplation, and Jaskier felt drawn to him. Moving, as if hypnotized, he crossed the tavern to speak with the stranger.

The stranger’s deep growl threw Jaskier, not nearly what he had been expecting, a sound like rolling of boulders or the spitting of the deep underwater fissures and spouts that had been one of the great dangers of his childhood home. He found himself cringing internally at his absolutely cheesy lines, but the stranger seemed unfazed.

And then Jaskier realized with a heart-dropping moment of fear that this gorgeous stranger was one of the fabled witchers, monster hunters of the highest caliber. But, he thought, he was in too deep to back down. So instead, he pressed harder, sure that his eagerness would throw the other man off the scent of Jaskier being anything other than a fascinated, danger-seeking, human man.

This decision turned out to be the beginning of something more, something truly special.

The pair developed an unusual but nonetheless unbreakable bond over the following years. Geralt was taciturn on the best of days, preferring to communicate in hums, grunts, and glares. Jaskier did not let this faze him, chattering and charming his way across the continent at his side. His open warmth proved on more than one occasion to be just as lifesaving as Geralt’s swords, when villagers tried to drive off (or worse, kill) the witcher instead of paying him, when they lacked the coin to pay for necessary food or medicine, when on his darkest days Geralt found himself wondering if his miserable life was worth carrying on with. Geralt would never admit it, but the bard’s presence was well worth the extra hassle he created, getting constantly embroiled in dangers both monstrous and amorous.

~

It happened gradually, rather than all at once. One day, Jaskier noticed how the light struck Geralt’s hair and made it shine like diamonds. That night, when he played the small tavern, his voice cracked on a high note that was usually so easy to hit. Another time, noticed Geralt slipping the pouch of coins he had been paid by the alderman to the weary widow of one of the monster’s victims, and later managed to sound completely flat on the beginning of “Fishmonger’s Daughter.” (Luckily, the audience was too drunk to notice, but still his nerves fluttered.) It got worse as time went along too, even when the pair had gone their separate ways for a time. Jaskier’s mind would wander to what Geralt might be up to and his throat would be sore or his voice scratchy and he would have to end a performance early.

The night he had to cancel a performance completely, Geralt had saved his life from a pack of ghouls. The witcher’s hands had gently explored for injuries, a tenderness in his eyes not often seen. Jaskier had basked in the attention selfishly, letting it warm him more than a sunny rock at noon, rather than assure the other man he was fine and have it end. That night, he had opened his mouth to sing, just his warm-up scales before he went on stage, and no sound came out. Wide-eyed he’d tried again and again with different notes, and eventually he managed to sing…something. But by then he was near panicked, much too frazzled to perform. He made his excuses, citing the trauma of nearly dying, and gone to bed early, crying himself to sleep, the salt of his tears a painful reminder of his ocean home.

The following morning, he resolved to share his feelings, deciding it would be better to just get it all over at once, rather than suffer and wait. Besides, he reasoned with a small spark of hope, there was a chance that all this agony was for naught and if he knew, Geralt would return his affections. Dressing in only high-waisted pants and nearly see-through undershirt, bare feet padding gently against the wooden floors of the inn, he wandered down the hall to the witcher’s room and knocked. As soon as his knuckles made contact, his mind began to race with anxieties. What if Geralt was still asleep and got angry for being woken? Or if his affections weren’t returned after all? This was a mistake, he told himself, and he should just go.

As soon as his mind was made up to leave, the door swung open. Geralt stood there, hair disheveled from sleep and, Jaskier realized as he reigned in his racing heart and took in the full sight, clad only in a bedsheet wrapped hastily around his waist.

Jaskier blushed a deep red and stuttered, “Ah…ah…G…G…Geralt! Good morning!”

“Is something wrong?” Geralt’s growl was deeper than usual, sleep roughening his voice.

“Not wrong, per say…I just…was thinking this morning and...”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. And then Jaskier heard it, a soft, feminine sigh from the other side of the door.

“Who is it Geralt?” the voice asked, a sultry murmur, tempting him back into the room, back to bed.

“No one, Yennefer. It’s just Jaskier,” he said, turning to look behind him.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and his fought the pain welling up like a wound within him.

“Did you need something important bard? Or can it wait?”

Jaskier said nothing, unsure if he even could at this point, and fled back down the hall to his room.

He threw himself onto the bed and sobbed, body shaking which only worsened as silence fell, sudden and complete. He choked, gasping for air as terror replaced the pain, and then, just as quickly, he started to grow cold and the emptiness settled in. He knew this would happen, even as he’d lied to himself in the Sea Witch’s lair that he could avoid it, the deal he’d made his own death-warrant. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

~

A few days later, Geralt and Jaskier, now joined by Yennefer – who perched like a queen upon Roach’s back as Geralt walked beside and Jaskier fell in step behind – set out, following the rumors of a great monster terrorizing the fishing villages by the shore. The practice of fishing frightened Jaskier, having heard stories about merfolk caught in nets and killed or captured as slaves and curiosities, and his heart still ached, more so at the fact that his constant companion seemed not to notice the change over him, and he trembled with exhaustion, bone-deep.

He considered that this would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, to let his feet, limbs he now hated fiercely, touch the waves and retreat back to his childhood home. But he could not. For all that his heart had been shattered by Geralt’s obvious devotion to Yennefer – which shown in the witcher’s eyes and made them, to Jaskier’s dismay, all the warmer and more beautiful – it still also belonged to the human world and he did not want to abandon it now, feeling more like he belonged there than he ever had in the Kingdom of the Merfolk.

That night, in an inn not far from the sea, Jaskier was restless, awoken in the middle of the night by what sounded like someone whispering his name. Curious and confused, he followed the sound out to the shore, where there was a little wooden rowboat. He climbed aboard and set about rowing, until he reached quite a depth and there, waiting, were two of his brothers and a number of his friends.

“What are you all doing here?” he wanted to ask, crying it with his eyes and hoping they understood. “How ever did you find me?”

“Jaskier! Darling Jaskier!” they cried back, reaching out to throw arms around him. He flinched, fearing that the droplets glistening off of them would be enough to return him to his natural form. “We heard what happened. We’ve come to help you fix it!”

He frowned, brows knitting together in confusion.

“So it’s true then. The Witch has claimed your voice,” his eldest brother, Eckhart, said, voice dark with hate.

Jaskier nodded sadly, gesturing to try and explain that it was his own stupid fault.

“We won’t let her keep it.”

Jaskier shook his head to tell them there was nothing they could do.

“We will go to her, make her a new offer,” his friend Ashe exclaimed.

“Yes, something good enough that she won’t refuse it, in exchange for your voice,” Lars added.

“Come into the water, come with us,” his third-eldest brother, Stefan, offered, holding out a hand. “Come home Jaskier. You have had your adventure, but you are hurting now. Let us take care of you.”

He nodded, reaching out to take the offered hand, swallowing the lump in his throat as he was pulled, almost playfully out of the boat. He submerged in the cold waters, their weight familiar, but as he surfaced again, brushing the sopping locks of hair out of his face, nothing happened. His legs remained separate and his voice remained silenced and he sobbed mutely, pressed into his brothers’ arms as they tried to protect him from the harsh reality.

Suddenly the air rumbled with a malicious cackle and the Sea Witch rose up before them, larger than she had been before but just as lovely and terrible.

“Little Fish,” she mocked. “I must admit, you have doomed yourself far more than I could if I had tried. You have spent so long on land that you are as much a human as you ever were a merman, if not more so.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ashe snapped, throwing an arm out protectively as she put herself between Jaskier and the Sea Witch.      

“It means that without powerful magic, he will never again return to his ocean home. He cannot regrow his fins or breathe the water and to try will kill him.” She laughed. “Your heart is so broken though that even on land I don’t think you’ll last long.”

His friends and brothers bristled at the implied threat in the Sea Witch’s tone.

“I won’t be the one to kill him,” she sneered. “I gain nothing from doing so. But grief is such a powerful thing, and there is some magic, very old magic, that does what it wishes. Good night Little Fish, and good luck.”

Just as soon as she appeared, the Sea Witch disappeared and the crowd of merfolk (and one former merfolk) stared at one another, even those who could too stunned to speak. Soon, Jaskier began to shiver in the cold of the water, body no longer adapted to bear it, and they all escorted him back to shore, towing the little rowboat with him aboard at their center.

“We will fix this,” his brothers promised, clasping his hands in theirs. “Come to us in three days.” Reluctantly, they dove beneath the waves once more and Jaskier watched them go, heart aching, before he made his way back toward the dry warmth of the inn.

~

The appointed night, the trio was camping further down the coast, and somewhere around midnight, he slipped past Yennefer, who was on guard duty, and down the tall grass hills to the sea. He walked carefully out along a natural jetty, boots slipping and sliding, struggling to find a footing against the algae and seaweed that coated the wet stone. Eventually, he kicked off the offending shoes, bare toes gripping only a little better.

Waiting for him at the end was a little wooden rowboat which he took further into the water and met his brothers and friends who were waiting for him.

“Jaskier!” they cried out when they saw him. “We were worried that we wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“We have an answer for you,” Eckhart added, his eldest brother not wasting any time.

“Two of them technically,” Ashe corrected, leading the two to glare at each other until Jaskier tapped the side of the boat to get their attention back. The pair jumped, looking oddly guilty and Jaskier raised a knowing eyebrow, ignoring the pang he felt at knowing there was much he had missed in the kingdom of the Merfolk while he had been pining after his best friend.

“Right,” Lars said, pointedly ignoring the two. “We were thinking, your voice is special. But if all of us offer the Witch something, maybe she’ll give it back. I’ll give up my hands, or my ability to sculpt whichever she decides to take, and Stefan will give her his swordsmanship, and Ashe will give her—“ Jaskier shook his head, broadly gesturing his refusal. He was furious that they would even consider giving up so much.

“But Jaskier…”

He chopped his hands in the air in front of him, the sharp x a final refusal, eyes narrowed in a glare. He would rather be mute forever than let them all hurt themselves so for him.

“Fine,” Stefan, the other of his brothers to come visit, added with a sigh. “If you will not let us help you, at least take this.”

He held out a dagger to Jaskier. The small knife had a dark handle, glossy black volcanic rock carved into a pattern of scalloped scales. Its narrow blade was straight and sharp, twinkling in the moonlight. Hands shaking and face creased in confusion, Jaskier reached out and took the offered weapon.

“The Witch said that powerful magic could undo your transformation. This dagger is enchanted,” Eckhart explained. “If you slay your beloved with it, and the person he chose over you, and let their hearts’ blood drip onto your legs, they will reform a tail and free you from this torture.”

Jaskier reeled, aghast. Couldn’t they understand that he loved Geralt and didn’t want to hurt him for anything?

“I know he means the world to you,” his brother quickly continued. “But if it is a choice between you and him, choose to save yourself. Please. Don’t make us lose you forever. Not for someone too blind to see how wonderful you are.”

Reluctantly, Jaskier nodded, tucking the dagger into his doublet securely.

~

The following day, Geralt found the creature he had been hunting and, with Yennefer’s help, dispatched it quickly. Extremely grateful, the mayor had given them all rooms in his house, and the whole village put together a celebratory feast and bonfire on the beach. Several villagers broke out fiddles and flutes and Jaskier yearned to join him. But when he tried, his fingers slipped along the strings and he fumbled what should have been an easy performance.

Humiliated and terrified, he prayed that Geralt had not noticed, only to be punched in the gut by the realization that the witcher was so lost in the violet eyes of his lover that he paid absolutely no attention to the music or beach around him. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, he had fled to his room and fallen into a fitful sleep, not waking again until the whole house was still and quiet.

In the dark of night, barefoot, he crept into the room that Geralt and Yennefer shared, shocked to find the door unlocked. The sorceress who’d won his friend’s heart had also made him soft, in so short a time, taming the paranoia and tension that had seemed such a staple of the witcher’s personality. How could he ever have dreamed to compete with that?

Drawing close, he found himself staring down at the sleeping pair in the full moon’s light. They looked peaceful, Yennefer lying on her back, dark hair splayed around her in a halo, one hand twined with Geralt’s and resting on her stomach. Geralt’s face was gentler than he’d ever seen, he looked young like this, in a way Jaskier had never considered it possible for him to be, as he pressed against her side. Their breathing was soft and steady, almost synced with each other.

Jaskier pulled the narrow dagger out of his jacket, watching the light dance on the silver blade. He held it in his hand for a long time. Slowly, he twirled it lightly into the right grip to plunge downward, pausing. Then he kept turning so that it lay in his palm as if poised to plunge into himself instead. He sighed, soft as a breeze, and stepped back. He wouldn’t do this, couldn’t. Geralt had destroyed him, but it hadn’t been meant, and he loved the man too much to punish him for finding happiness.

He set the dagger down on the bedside and, impulsively, leaned in to brush a soft kiss against Geralt’s lips, a small, chaste thing full of all his love and longing. He moved away, and then back again to also press his mouth lightly to Yennefer’s forehead, an apology and forgiveness for what each had done, or would do, to the other without ever knowing it.

Then, he returned to his room, finding the little leather songbook he was constantly scribbling in. Turning to the last page, he wrote a note to the witcher, telling him everything, and placed it on the pillow of the bed he would not sleep in.

Finally, he stole from the manor house. As soon as he passed into the yard, he began to run, marveling briefly at how light he felt now on feet that had once been so awkward and clumsy, flying down to the rocky shore. There, resting in the sand as if it was waiting for him, was a little wooden rowboat. His eyes crinkled with laughter even as tears spilled from them.

He sat down and started to row until he reached a spot in the sea that was clear and deep.

Trembling, Jaskier turned to look back at the house by the shore, now a distant speck of light. Somewhere in that little point, the man he loved, the man he had given his heart to without ever meaning to, slept, wrapped around a woman far more beautiful than even a mer-prince could ever be.

He stood in his little wooden rowboat and waved to them, blowing a kiss to their happiness.

And as the sun peaked over the horizon behind him, Jaskier dove into the water, body dissolving into foam on the wave-caps which glittered in the first rays of morning, the color of his love’s hair.

[krizaland]

Enter the Zimvoid Chapter 11

First Chapter  Previous

Be warned: We have officially reached spoiler town! If you haven’t read issue #48 yet I recommend you do so before continuing. If you’ve already read issue #48 or just don’t mind spoilers then feel free to read on! 

Also there will be an attempted kidnapping in this chapter.

With all that out of the way, onto the story!

You gazed up in awe at the massive metallic fortress before you.

“Wow! This place is a LOT bigger than I expected!”

“Look! there’s no one posted in the guard station!” Palindrome chirped as he gestured to the empty guard window.

“YES! This single strategic error will make all the difference!” 2k sang as he waved his arms in the air.

“Those doors look locked up tight! How do you think we’re gonna get in?” You asked as you hopped off of Brutus’s shoulders.

“Worry not, Sweet Y/N! I, the ULTIMATE ZIM, shall get us inside!” Your Zim boasted as he shoved past Brutus and Specs.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Your Zim begun to rapidly punch the large metal doors.

“Babe. Babe! Stop! That’s not gonna work!” You groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Y/N’s right. Those doors are made of pure titainuous alloy. You’re more likely to break your knuckles rather than break down those doors.” Specs explained as he put his hands on his hips.

“Guys, it sounds like there’s a lot of large, heavy, partially burned Zims on the other side of this.” Dib said as he pressed his head against the door, “Are we really sure a frontal assault in broad daylight is the best strategic-ACK!”

Dib was cut off by Brutus clamping his massive fingers around his body.

“BRUTUS IS A MASTER OF STRATEGY! BRUTUS HAS EMBRACED INTELLECTUAL SIDE!” Brutus bellowed.

“Brutus! What are you-”

BASH! BASH! BASH! BASH!

You were cut off by Brutus slamming Dib’s big head into the doors.

KRACK!

With one final smash, the doors burst open!

“Victory for the ultimate Zim! I opened those doors all by myself!” Your Zim boasted as he flexed his arms.

Before you could respond, 2k piped up.

“CHARGE! For the glory of Zim!”

“We’re all Zim!” Palindrome replied as he punched a shark-headed Zim in the face.

“For the glory of Y/N then!” 2k sang as he gestured for the other rebel Zims to join the battle.

The rebel Zims let out loud war cries as they rushed into battle.

Guns fired and hands were thrown! Teeth went missing and bones were broken! There were even flamethrowers that set the battle field ablaze!

“Stay behind me, Y/N! Trust me, neither of us want to be caught in the crossfire!” Specs commanded as he tried to shield you.

“But Specs! I can-”

“No you can’t! It’s going to take a lot more than beauty to make it out of here in one piece!” Specs snapped as he deflected a laser with his book.

You pouted and folded your arms.  You were about to push past Specs when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist.

You let out a shriek before a hand clamped over your mouth. With one swift moment, you were pulled into the shadows.

“Y/N?! Y/N?! What just happened?!” Specs yelped as he frantically looked around the room.

You let out a few muffled screams and thrashed about as Number 2 dragged you away from the scene.

“There, we should be safe now….” Number 2 panted as he gently took his hand off of your mouth.

“Get off of me you creep!” You seethed as you pulled your arm out of his grip.

“Please forgive me, Oh beautiful one! I know I was brash but it was for your own safety! I promise it won’t happen again!” Number 2 pleaded as he literally threw himself at your feet.

“Ugh. Get up! Stop making a fool of yourself!” You huffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you, beautiful one!” Number 2 blubbered as he peeled himself off the ground.

“Whatever. Look, can you tell me where I can find Number 1?” You grumbled as you rolled your eyes.

“Such lovely eyes….And such a wonderful scent…You must be one of the fabled Y/Ns I’ve heard so much about….” Number 2’s eyes widened in awe as he gleefully circled you.

“Yeah, I’m a Y/N- Wait fabled?! What does that even mean?! Don’t you have a Y/N in your timeline?!” You replied as you folded your arms.

“No. Sadly, I, Number 2, am one of the very few Zims who haven't been blessed with a Y/N! I’ve only heard of Y/Ns in stories told by the other Zims! I never thought I’d have the honor of meeting one in person! You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be!” Number 2 gushed as his PAK sparked.

“Right….Anyway, I’ve been trying to find Number 1. Do you know where I can find him?” You sighed as you backed away a bit.

“Oh that’s right! Number 1 has been requesting to see you! Come with me right away, beautiful one!” Number 2 grinned as he grabbed you by the hand.

“Hey! Take it easy! You’re gonna rip my arm off!” You yelped as you tried to wriggle out of his grip.

“Oh! My apologies! I just got excited is all.” Number 2 replied as he loosened his grip a bit.

“Anyway…What makes Number 1 so special? Why does he get to be in charge?” You asked as you let Number 2 lead you down the halls.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Haven’t you heard? Number 1 comes from the perfect timeline, beautiful one! The one where we Zims got what we deserved…..Where our true potential was respected!” Number 2 beamed as he led you to a hall lined with three red statutes.

“Number 1 conquered his Earth!” Number 2 gestured to the first statue.

The first statue depicted Number 1 standing, proudly on a conquered Earth and wearing a large crown.

“Number 1 destroyed his enemies!” Number 2 gestured to the second statue.

The second statue depicted Number 1 triumphantly standing on top of a defeated Dib.

“Number 1 ate a very large sandwich!” Number 2 gestured to the final statue.

The final statue depicted Number 1 eating a very large sandwich.

“However, there was but one thing he lacks! Do you know what that is, beautiful one?” Number 2 turned to face you.

“Positive qualities?”

“Nope! He has schmillions of those! He lacks a Y/N!” Number 2 corrected.

“What?! I thought he came from the perfect timeline.”

“Oh he does! It’s just that his Y/N lost their life when he conquered his Earth!.” Number 2 explained nonchalantly.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Number 1 has been eagerly awaiting the day a Y/N would grace him with their presence! Once he has found a Y/N he would truly be the ultimate Zim!” Number 2 beamed as he continued to lead you down the halls.

“So does he want me to date him or something?” You asked as you took in your surroundings.

“Oh no! He doesn’t want you to that!” Number 2 chuckled as he hurried you along.

“Oh? What does he want me to do then?” You felt a pang of discomfort in your gut.

“He wants you to marry him, beautiful one!”

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