#and stick to the point without going off on several tangents

[neptune-scythe]

Anybody notice how the lighting in most of the Ketterdam scenes in season two is teal and a bronzy gold?

Of course these are complimentary colours so it makes sense to pair them together, and teal is a commonly used colour in night hours or to show a dark and slightly spooky tone, and given that the only light source is candles or lanterns that would have to be a nice warm tone

BUT

go with me here

Inej wears teal, more blue toned shades than what is used in the lighting, but still teal

And Kaz has gold or bronze accents in his waistcoat and cane

Hence Ketterdam is lit in their colours

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[autumnalwalker]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sam-glade.

My words to find were walk, run, fly, & swim.

Passing the (pressure free) tag to @silvertalonwritblr, @holdmyteaplease, @floweryprosegarden, @stesierra, @writeblr-of-my-own, @wrenofthewords, @albatris, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants it.

Your words to find shall be venture, focus, whimsy, & vision.

Walk: The Archivist's Journal, Day 13

Twice a month - usually around the full and new moons but it can vary several days in either direction - the mists appear during the day.  And then as night falls the nighttime shades rise.  They won’t enter into homes or anywhere else free of mist, but if they find a human, living or dead, they’ll claim them and take them back to the Catacomb Depths where the dead dwell.  It’s been decades since the last time someone living was claimed.  Everyone’s taught from the time they’re old enough to walk not to venture out on a mist day.  The only times anyone ever stays out past morning on one of those days are funerals for the recently deceased, leaving the body for the shades to lay to rest at the end of the ceremony.

Run: Empty Names - 7 - Compilation

Lacuna looks from the USB stick in her hand to the laptop and back to the general direction of Bridgewood’s face.  “Thanks,” she stammers, trying not to let her relief show too obviously.

“Free advice: Just leave the heroics to those three,” he says and points a thumb over his shoulder.  “Focus on what you’re good at instead of trying to chase some fantasy that’s just going to make you into a liability for the rest of us to clean up after.  After all, someone needs to run the website and file the paperwork.”

“Website?”

“Oh, and while you’re here alone, don’t go wandering off or touching anything.  Especially not the statues.  This place is bigger on the inside and some of the security systems are a bit finicky about distinguishing between intruders and guests.  If you need the bathroom or something, just ask one of the cleaning golems and they’ll show you the way.  Follow them exactly and don’t stray.  I don’t want to have to explain whatever state we find your body in later.”  With that last bit of advice he turns around on one heel and jauntily walks toward the door, waving goodbye without looking back and passing Eris on the way.  “Have fun not drowning.”

Fly: The Archivist's Journal, Day 301

Whomever you are, I’m sure that by now you’ve noticed that I have a tendency to go on at length about any number of topics, large and small.  Whether waxing poetic on the beauty of mundane things or soliloquizing about anxiety and loneliness.  I’m not trying to be deep or profound when I do this.  I am neither poet nor philosopher, nor do I aspire to be.  I hold no great truths of the world in my mind that I’m trying to spread.  I have no one that I seek to impress.

So, when I go on like that, it comes down to two things, really.  The first is that, from the beginning, this journal has been a tool for helping me understand both this world and myself.  As such, much of this is me working through things as I write; a sort of stream of consciousness as I examine things and work through them, stumbles, tangents and all.  

The second thing is that I quite simply enjoy it.  I’ve said before that the way I speak is not the way I write.  Tellings notwithstanding (and those are half recitation and in many ways more like playing a game and being someone else for a time than holding a conversation), when it comes to the spoken word I am prone to laconicism.  Short phrases and long pauses.  Stutters, stops, and repetitions.  The words I find never quite the ones I’m searching for.  Peace made with fading into the background because I’ve learned it’s easier than forcing myself to speak up.  But the words come easier with the writing.  It’s a freedom from the normal frustrations of communication and with that freedom it is hard not to indulge in the whimsy of letting pent up words fly free.

I’m getting better, with the speaking I mean.  Slowly, but I am.  Having a job that requires me to interact with others helps.  The telling helps.  The teaching helps.  Having friends helps.

Knowing myself helps.

Maybe that helps everyone.

Swim: Empty Names - 15 - Matters of Technique

The first thing Ashan hears upon regaining a comfortable, if drowsy, consciousness is birdsong and the wall-muffled ticking of grandfather clock.

It occurs to him that he is alive, awake, and in a different place.  This revelation causes him to sit bolt upright and begin conjuring a shield.  The former makes his vision swim and the latter elicits a sharp pain in the back of his neck.  He gasps and falls back into the pillow of the bed of one of the guest bedrooms of the bed and breakfast above the office.  He tries again, more slowly this time and without doing anything to aggravate the burnout.  Scanning the room, he locates his wand on the bedside table next to an untouched water glass and his robes hanging in an open wardrobe.  The sight of them both intact and accounted for calms him.

More belatedly, he realizes that his arms are free of any sign of the myriad cuts inflicted by the tripped ward.  Lifting the bedsheets finds his legs similarly unblemished.  At the lack of scar or even bandages, he begins to wonder if he only dreamt the spear and everything else that happened after tripping the ward.

[bronzewool]

Shadow & Bones Review- The Rambling Edition

I'm gonna quickly throw random thoughts at the wall that I didn't include in my initial review, either because it would have gone on several side tangents or were just too minor to bring up.

First of all, the book does a poor job of describing how sickly Alina is supposed to be. The most we get are scenes of her being described as scrawny or the weakest in her unit. This is superficial writing because scrawny does not mean ill and is only brought up when comparing herself to the other girls Mal does find attractive. Also, she's the cartographer, so she doesn't need to be the strongest.

It's not until she gets a makeover from Genya, the royal Tailor, that we actually get an idea of how ragged she is and how years of unknowingly suppresing her magic has physically harmed her body. Because up until that point, the author refuses to use any negative descriptors.

The author wants Alina to be portrayed as sickly, but only in the stereotypical YA way, that she's plain in comparison to a cast of supermodels. I've read so many good adult and kids' books that give their characters diverse physical descriptors, beautiful and ugly, or even painted an entire character's backstory so vividly without actually describing their facial features.

The biggest reason I can't stand YA anymore is its strange obsession with beauty standards, but not in a way certain people have certain types, but in the generic "conventionally beautiful" vs the "ugly but not actually ugly" way, which means nothing to me. You don't need to sell how attractive a character is, you just need to sell the idea this character is attractive in the eyes of this character, even if you personally don't find them attractive.

Genya becomes Alina's best friend at the school, but their relationship is very one-sided and revolves solely around giving Alina various makeovers (Also in the typical YA way of "We have to give the main girl a glow up, but she's not allowed to enjoy it otherwise she's vain and we cant have that."). Beauty means everything to the Grisha, but it gets old real quick when you remember there are kids dying in a literal war zone while Alina is worried over what she's gonna wear to the ball.

Alina makes two other friends who stick by her side after the school turns on her, but Alina is so dismissive of them for being valley girls, it's actually funny how hypocritical she is.

The book also flip-flops between wanting to portray Alina as a loser and popular. A mean girl hates Alina from day one for gaining the attention of The Darkling, and picks a fight with her in their hand-to-hand combat class. It starts off as a typical duel with the more experienced mean girl winning, but Alina gains the upperhand through hardwork and determination. Mean girl then fights dirty by using magic and the teacher spots this and puts a stop to it. The twist is fine because normally, the teachers are oblivious and the bullying goes unnoticed, so that's refreshing, but it makes you wonder what the point of the chapter was. She was only introduced that same chapter and is gone for the rest of the book. Even the other stuck-up mean girls didn't like her, so who cares? Alina getting good at martial arts doesn't even come back later on in the book because she wins the final battle using sun magic.

There are wonderful moments in this book, particularly the chapter when Alina finally figures out why she can't use her magic and has a heartbreaking revelation when she remembers suppressing her powers for the first time as a child to stay with Mal at the orphanage, and how tired she feels clinging to a boy that will never look at her the same way she looks at him. The warmth she feels finally letting Mal go and living for herself is such a breath of fresh air you can practically feel the burden she's been carrying all these years lift from her shoulders as she finally summons that small ball of light.

The book has good moments like that, but it takes a great premise and ruins it by stuffing our main character into a box and shipping her off to high school.

Also, the fact Alina is a cartographer is never mentioned again after the first act. She has some artistic skills for drawing maps but it's not important to the plot or her character.

I have no complaints about the The Darkling, except his name is, The Darkling, and he's an immortal teenager. Anything problematic about him I love. Also, Mal is a dick. Just saying.

[astral-dragons]

he he he it's allll comin' together >:)

So I started this last session by asking Sylviel's player to roll a perception check for me, no further explanation. Tell me they got a 22 so I PM them and tell them they find something else inside the invitation envelope from Strahd: a very familiar lock of hair...

A short tangent to summarize Sylviel's backstory, they used to be part of a rogue guild with this gal named Sabrina who they had a lil bit of a thing with. Some stuff happened though, and Sabrina, not wanting to see Sylviel get themself killed (funny looking back), leaves them. The two haven't seen each other since.

Sylviel decides not to tell the party about the hair, having not even told them about their past with the rogue guild. Everybody heads back to the winery and Davian agrees to finally explain what's going on. He takes them down to a secret bunker inside the winery's cellar and welcomes them to the Keepers of the Feather's headquarters.

The headquarters is covered in maps, and writings on the order's history and dealings. Davian gives them a brief overview of the order's history, their founding under his great great aunt, Jennica Martikov (one of Tatyana's reincarnations, but the party doesn't know that yet 👀) followed by her sudden disappearance one night.

With night encroaching, he leaves the party to get some rest. Having their first bit of downtime since the Abbey, Ireena decides to take a look at a few of the journals lying around, Victor wants to study "Susan" a bit closer to see if he can determine the source of its magic, and Ismark is pacing, being paranoid as has become the norm with him. Fenro tells him to calm down, and he decides to leave the bunker for a bit, to "go for a walk."

Meanwhile, Sylviel mentions that they're beginning to feel a bit hungry. Victor helpfully chimes in that vampires can usually go about a week without blood before the consequences become severe. Second time he's proven to be suspiciously knowledgeable about vampires, but nobody questions it for the moment.

With Ismark having been gone for a bit at this point, Sylviel offers to go find him. They find him a little ways off the main path to the winery, giving him a bit of a spook as they approach. After some back and forth, Sylviel calls Ismark out for being jealous of Izek. They have a long talk about how he needs to give Ireena space to do things and trust she'll be alright. After a while, the two head back, but not before Ismark lingers for just a moment longer in the woods...

Back at the bunker, Fenro is helping Victor by attempting to attune to "Susan." Fenro's successful, and immediately picks up on several emotions being emitted by the sword; sadness, betrayal, uncertainty, then picking up on Fenro's presence, a cautious curiosity. Fenro, not needing another sword, hands it off to Ireena. She expresses that she feels an odd familiarity to the blade.

Around this point Ismark and Sylviel return, and Fenro decides to test a theory. First he has Ismark take Susan, who seems to feel no familiarity to it, then to Izek who feels the same. Fenro tells the others that he thinks that Susan may be connected to why Ireena and Izek are missing parts of their memories, or to Ireena.

It's only now that the others notice that Sylviel's been acting anxious since they returned from Yester Hill, and Fenro eventually pushes them into saying what they found. Sylviel pulls out the lock of hair to show to the party, but to everyone else it appears only to be a bundle of dead grass. Sylviel wants to take Strahd up on his invitation as soon as possible, to confirm of Sabrina is okay or not.

Above Sylviel's head appears the same iridescent paint they saw in the Abbey, "Not yet," it tells them. Sylviel is frustrated by this, and for the first time the being leaving these notes for the party appears; the ghostly figure of a young boy, sticking his tongue out at Sylviel. The party asks for his name, and he writes, "Call me 'E'" he continues, "Lake, aboleth, help." Fenro remembers the strange creature he encountered in Lake Zarovich, and E confirms his suspicions by drawing a picture of the aboleth. Looks like the party has to go back to Vallaki once more. E parts with two final words, "Save Ez," and then he's gone.

The party heads to bed for the night, waiting until the morning to decide what to do. During the night however, Fenro has an odd dream: he awakes in the bunker to see that everyone else is asleep still, but someone is watching him. It seems the hallucinations of his late father have returned. Riardon taunts Fenro for a while, but eventually lets him return to his rest with a few parting words, "Say hello to Ludmilla for me," he requests.

After some debate, the party agrees it would be best of Victor and Izek stayed behind, in case they run into Lady Wachter again. Ireena wants to go with the party however. Apparently she found something interesting in those journals, and wants to see if she can find more in Vallaki. Ismark goes to stop her, but relents; it seems Sylviel's advice got through to him after all.

So Fenro, Sylviel, Dimitry, and Ireena all leave for Vallaki, arriving in the early evening.

I'm pretty excited for next session! I've always planned that the party was gonna have to return to Vallaki to deal with the aboleth at some point, but after fleshing out Victor's character a bit more, I think it's also time for them to meet Stella >:)

I've made a couple minor changes, some to make Victor a little more morally grey, and some to just make Stella a little less ableist (Cause cos has a HUGE problem with making mentally ill characters that aren't made to be spectacles of horror :')) But I'm excited to see how it's gonna go, and how the party's gonna react to this new info about Victor.

And then the party's gonna get to meet Ludmilla soon! I've decided that she's kinda working against Strahd in secret with the intention of taking over Barovia for herself. And with the help of an undead aboleth, she's gonna try to basically mind control the Barovians into becoming an army for her to use.

Only got one out of context quote for today, but it's a fun one:

"Who's writing these messages exactly?" "God." "The wall."

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙆 | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

edit by 🐓 anon. im still screaming over this.

∘ request: [insert the 14 asking for more Sapnap humor in a pt. 1.5 of Meet the Jacobses]

∘ pairings: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader

∘ warnings: smut (18+), nsfw, language, drinking, mentions of Todd the frat boy, lots of dialogue, biting, asphyxiation

∘ links: 𐐪 ao3 𐑂 𐐪 previous part 𐑂 𐐪 submit an edgy!karl edit 𐑂

∘ a/n: this one goes out to the babes in the gc. ily.

i stole the Brick idea from the Jesse McCartney movie, Keith. I'm sorry. [tw for that link - sad & jesse mccartney not talking about beautiful souls]

also thank you everyone for your support on this series. when my friends and I conjured this up, I never thought I would be at the point where I get to share peoples art/paylists/etc. I'm so thankful for all of you.

okay I'll stop crying. happy reading and have a great week! :)

The sun beat down against your skin, your mind drifting to whether or not you should apply more sunscreen. Karl jumped into the light blue water in front of you, the water splashing out to almost completely soak you. You frowned at him as he came up for air, blowing you a kiss mockingly.

Sapnap’s cousins started tackling Karl, the chorus of laughter echoing around the pool. You stretched your legs out beneath the table, leaning into the shade of the umbrella as you watched them roughhouse.

Sapnap came out from the pool house, opening a beer bottle for you before taking the seat beside you. He sighed, buttoning the top of his shirt as he watched the boys. “Did you have a good time at the party yesterday? I dipped after an hour,” he asked, pushing his sunglasses to rest on top of his head.

You shrugged slightly, taking a sip of your drink. You couldn’t wait to tell your roommate how lavishly you’d been living. The fact that you were lounging by a heated pool, drinking beer from Copenhagen with the sons of millionaires was nearly mind-boggling to you.

You wet your lips, squinting your eyes as you looked at him. “I honestly have no idea. I was kind of just there as a Karl accessory,” you joked, making him chuckle softly.

“Yeah, I get that,” he flipped off one of the cousins as they threatened to throw water at him. “It’s always the Karl show around here,” he added. You raised your eyebrows at him and he backtracked. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. He’s a good guy; everyone’s just obsessed with him.”

You nodded slightly. “Yeah, he’s definitely the star baby,” you joked, making him laugh. “I need to ask you…” You bit your lip voice trailing off as you searched for the night words.

He sent you a closed-mouth smile. “About my mom and Karl?” He asked, biting back a blithe expression. It shocked you how calm he was about the situation.

You chuckled nervously. “I swear I won’t bring it up again, I’m just,” you cut yourself off, unable to describe the question marks pulsing through your thoughts.

He snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “I know right,” he reassured. “When I found out, I almost broke Karl’s nose,” he chided. “Not that I was like… angry it was my mom but out of how weird it was.”

“Yeah it is really fucking weird,” you agreed, laughing slightly.

He gestured as if to thank you for understanding. “I mean, Karl’s a great guy. He was my best friend for a long time but…” He made a face suggesting his discomfort and you snicked. “That’s my mom, man.” You giggled wholeheartedly at this, making him laugh too.

“What are you guys talking about?” Karl asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, dripping wet from his pool time adventures.

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear,” you joked, making Sapnap wink at you. “Tacitus’ Annals,” you answered, making Sapnap nod at you.

He chewed on his lip, with a calm expression as he supported your lie. “I was telling your girlfriend how much I enjoyed his love of Nero,” he continued, you bit back a smile.

Karl ruffled his hair out in a towel. “Come on now,” he grumbled, calling the two of you on your bullshit.

Sapnap squinted as he looked up at him. “Karl supremacy. As always,” he answered with a touch of quiet sarcasm, making Karl roll his eyes playfully as he took to the other seat beside you.

Karl ran his fingers into his hair. “You wanna get matching tattoos together, Sapnap?” He quipped; Sapnap sending him a smug expression.

“Why? What were you thinking?” He asked, knowing he was walking into whatever Karl was setting up.

Karl pulled the leg of his swim trunks off his leg a bit, furrowing his brows. “I wanna get your mom’s name on the top of my thigh,” he teased, biting his lip. You rolled your eyes playfully.

Sapnap let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh my God, that’s so funny. I totally didn’t see that coming.”

Karl took a sip of your beer and you spoke up. “I think you’d look good with a tattoo, Sapnap. All jokes aside, you’ve got a great body,” you mused, sending him a wink. Sapnap bit back a smile looking at Karl, who you could already tell was glaring back at him. “Side note, I was meaning to ask you. There’s a guy that’s in Karl’s frat,” you paused, trying to remember what Karl had said Todd’s real name was when you were pinning his auction number on him.

Sapnap raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Mark?”

You pointed at him. “Yes, the fake Romney.”

Sapnap snorted. “He did that on campus too?” Karl nodded, a look of disappointment spreading across their faces.

“Speaking of Todd Mark, the king of the Brick” Karl kicked his feet beneath your chair before continuing, “I heard there’s a bonfire tonight,” he probed, making Sapnap slowly shake his head in disapproval.

You raised an eyebrow at the two. “What’s the Brick?”

Sapnap seemed to have already made up his mind on the situation. “A fucking cesspool,” Sapnap grumbled, sipping from his bottle as Karl tsked. Sapnap tilted his head. “You really wanna take her to the Brick? People get together and smoke crack over there. The fact that,” he paused to furrow his brows at you slightly, “Todd Mark? is the benefactor should say something,” he stated, lips curling into an uneasy expression.

You peered over your shoulder at Karl as if to ask if he were crazy. Karl swatted off your gesture. “They don’t smoke crack this time of year. All the locals are back visiting for break.”

Sapnap shook his head again in unease. You chewed your lip, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t know… Sapnap, do you wanna have a movie night instead?” You joked, making Karl sigh behind you.

Sapnap mimicked your mock severity. “Yeah, a stay in and cuddle?”

“Of course,” you repeated.

Karl wheezed. “No, we’re going.”

Without missing a beat, Sapnap chimed back. “Maybe you can take my mom instead?” Karl’s expression flattened at his words and you nodded, high fiving Sapnap in mock victory.

Despite Sapnap’s hesitation, you all went to what they referred to as The Brick. In reality, it was a spot on the edge of a lake. They only called it the Brick because of Todd’s dad, a racecar driver who claimed the post back when he was in high school and later bought it. A large bonfire burned in the center of the space, various people around your age and a bit younger were either dancing to the music coming from one of the souped-up sports cars or shotgunning beers. You pushed away the thought of your stingy fire marshall back home who―more than once―had reported you and your family for “overactive cookouts.”

“Overactive,” meaning your dad and Clay were failing at not catching hotdogs on fire when the two would get lost in a chat about a mutual videogame when the families would cross the fence line in the summer.

As soon as you had stepped foot on the gravel, Karl was welcomed back like some kind of celebrity, so you stayed close to Sapnap. He would lean towards your height, pointing people out that Karl had mentioned in the past or those worth noting. You nodded along, soaking in what he had to tell you and laughing at his jokes.

A random guy strolled past the two of you, making Sapnap purse his lips. “Hey, Sapnap. How’s your mom?” One of the countless jokes thrown at him since you’d arrived.

He tilted his head with a mock look of questioning. “Didn’t your parents just get divorced, Jeff?” He deflected. Jeff’s face dropped slightly as he moved on. You always found yourself struggling not to laugh at how well Sapnap was at counteracting the jabs at his mom and Karl. Most of you felt guilty for how long he had dealt with it.

Karl watched you carefully as you sat down beside Sapnap on one of the vast benches; hands shoved in his pockets as the group around him caught up. You were glad to have someone around like Sapnap, despite the fact that you often went to parties. In the past, it was more of a bi-annual thing, but since being with Karl, you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with nameless people in a line doing shots every other Thursday.

You laughed as Sapnap joked about avoiding the drinks at the Brick because of the mites in the water and the STDs in the beer. “So, I never asked how you met Karl?” He queried, sticking his hands into the pocket of his Baja hoodie.

You smiled slightly. “Uh…” Shameless thoughts of you on your knees in a random building when you barely knew his name paced through your head like a quickfire of serotonin. “We had a lecture together and he liked my handwriting.” Sapnap smirked, chuckling slightly at your words.

Karl’s eyes were trained on the two of you, demeanor shifting each time one of you leaned towards the other to hear over the music or the two of you bumping each other’s arms to grab your attention. You knew he wasn’t jealous, but his look of curiosity was almost hilarious to you. Sapnap stuck by your side while Karl introduced you to his friends. He was basically your encyclopedia on the newer people as Karl would go off on a tangent with them.

The fact that Karl was so close to all of them and was so popular made your heart swell with pride. You were used to Karl’s deadpanned glares at most of his frat brothers and his snide comments, but now he was welcomed back like he was some kind of hero returning from the war.

After saying goodbye to Sapnap for the day, you threaded your fingers with Karl’s, enjoying the time where it was just the two of you. He brought the back of your hand to his lips, smoothing a kiss against your skin. “So… Sapnap’s mom…” you began, making him chew the inside of his cheek. “Where… did it happen?”

He looked down at you with a perked eyebrow before raising his sights forward, pulling you off the street where the two of you were walking. You followed him as the pair of you snuck through between the houses and across the backyards until the two of you were at Sapnap’s house again. Through the front windows, you could see him talking to his sibling in the kitchen.

Karl grabbed your hand, leading you along the side of the estate and toward the pool house. You wanted to groan at the thought before he pulled you through the door with him. “Are you serious?” You hissed, looking around at the dark place. Karl fought not to smirk as he peered out through one of the windows, watching the lights in Sapnap’s house turn out.

The moonlight streamed through one of the slender windows, illuminating his face and washing his features clean. Your gaze trailed along his arms; his tattoos peeking out from beneath his hoodie as he reached up to lock the door.

He turned back to face you, walking closer to you. “Did you have fun today?” He asked, plopping down on one of the couches and pulling you into his lap. He moved your arms to rest around his neck, pressing his lips to your skin. “I feel like I didn’t see you at all. Sapnap’s a bogart,” he muttered jokingly, settling his hands on your hips.

You scoffed before leaning toward him, pressing your lips against his. “Make it up to me,” you murmured, raking your fingers into his hair. “I think I selfishly need you to ruin me here; you know. Like a cleansing of you and Ms. Scarlet,” you chided.

He bit his lip, eyes pulsing with lust as he fought not to grin. You pressed your lips against his, turning to lay back on the couch and yank him on top of you. He chuckled into your kiss, as your hands moved to curl into his hair. His lust was a taste you could get drunk off if given the chance as his hands traveled the length of your body, moaning as you ground your hips against his, gripping into his clothes.

He leaned off of you momentarily to pull his shirt over his head as you slipped out of yours, you wrapped a leg around him, pushing him onto the couch instead and pinning him between your thighs as you straddled him, running your hands up his tattooed chest and connecting your lips again.

One of his large hands covered your breast as you began to grind your hips against his. His teeth grazed against your skin as he caressed your body while you moved against him, trying to create as much friction as you could against his jeans. He ran his fingers along the hem of your underwear, his lips curling into a smirk as he moved slightly to get a better look. "These are nice. Did you plan this?" He leered, snapping the elastic against your hip playfully. You rolled your eyes, pulling his chin towards you and pressing your lips against his. Every movement of his body seemed to lick at the fire deep within you.

You smirked breathlessly as his lips settled against your collarbones. “These are my church clothes. I had no other motive,” you jousted. His hand reached up to rest against your collarbone, his fingers lightly curling around your neck.

“Of course, how could I not realize,” he jabbed, pressing his lips and tongue against your neck. You moaned, tugging at his zipper before wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping him into harder arousal. He groaned against your neck, bucking into your hand lightly. His head tilted back against the couch beneath you, cheeks flushed at the attention. His teeth nipped at your skin as you ground yourself against his thigh, basking in his noises of pleasure.

His cock pulsed in your hand, making him grab your wrist and pull you beneath him. He gripped one of your legs, resting it in the crook of his elbow as he pushed himself into you, connecting your lips to swallow your moans. The feeling of him inside of you sent a wave of pleasure through your body. His voice was low in your ear, murmuring your name as if it were a curse. You moaned as he took one of your hands, lacing your fingers together beside your head as he kissed you again, tongue slipping into your mouth.

His thrusts became more rhythmless, his hold on you driving him deeper as the pool house filled with the noises of your whimpering moans. Karl’s breath was warm on your neck as he took advantage of your submissive state. He moved his hand from around your leg, wrapping his fingers around your neck again. Your body shivered, waiting for the pressure of his hand as his hips rocked against yours.

He chuckled darkly, teeth grazing against your shoulder before his lips hovered beside your ear. “Beg for it,” he commented, voice strained as he thrusted into you.

You swallowed, fingers digging into his back. “Choke me,” you groaned, “please.” His hand tightened around your neck, breath hitching in your throat as his thrusts became rougher. He bit back a smug grin at the way you reacted to his antics, relishing in your body beginning for more.

He relaxed his hand, pressing his lips to yours as you struggled to inhale. Heat ran through your body as your leg curled around his waist, nails raking down his back.

You leaned away from his lips, voice coming out unevenly as you moaned his name. His movements became sloppier as you groaned in bliss, tugging the flesh of his bottom lip between your teeth. You tipped your head back slightly as you reached your climax, riding out your pleasure and sending him over the edge as he pulled you closer to him, his hands digging into your hips as he encouraged you to continue grinding against him. You exhaled deeply, pressing your lips against his neck and his cheek before kissing him breathlessly as your movements slowed.

You pulled on your shirt, Karl’s hands moving to rest on your hips as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Should we leave a note for Ms. Scarlet?” You joked, making him chuckle as his arms wrapped further around your waist, cheek pressing against your shoulder.

“Who?” He teased.

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

@mrwinemaker @madsbbg @idiotinnit @westyywifee @kiritokunuwu @theholycakehole @itgetsatadhazy @himbobimboeater @karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @twist3dtinkerbell @more-like-reyna @teenage0jealousy @deepestofwaters @honk-izzie-was-taken @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @instabull @glowstick-cafe @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @anoaeunoia @little-gremlin-in-the-walls

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

[jinpanman]

Vampire’s Wine

pairing: vampire boyfriend!jungkook x fem human!reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: 18+, fluff, slightly nsfw, established relationship

warnings: this whole thing is a disgusting bloody mess and not in the way you think. menstruation talk - from the use of hygiene materials to the smell of period blood, jk loves period blood - oop., casual conversation about sex and genitals

summary: You decide to brave the mystery that is menstrual cups. Jungkook is intrigued to say the least.

a/n: i needed a break from all my long af fics. u can blame my brain. u can also blame Jess @shelive-shelove​​ for telling me to write this. and for helping me pick a member to write about - but then again, she always picks jk. also @joonie-mono​ kept judging me so now that it exists she has to read it. :-)

The simple matte black box sits on the bathroom counter and it’s incredibly intimidating despite it just sitting there. You pick it up and open the case to reveal an equally black menstrual cup sitting on top of a black pouch. A slip of paper falls out when you open it and you pick it up.

Greetings Y/N! We’re so glad you’ve decided to become the owner of a BLAKD cup. We understand some people don’t want color stained cups so we went ahead and…

You toss the card to the side and pick up the cup and turn it around in both awe and trepidation. There’s a knock on the open door but you don’t bother to look up.

“What’s that you go there?”

“JK honey, tell me. How am I supposed to stick this up my nether region?”

Jungkook snorts and plucks the cup from your hand.

“Well, my dick is bigger than this and you do such a good job taking it all in so I know my baby can handle this small thing.” He pats your cheek lovingly

You squeak and swat his arm away in disbelief. “Jungkook! I swear! You—that’s different! I’m not horny when I’m trying to stick this-this monster inside of me.”

He laughs and quickly covers the little distance between you, pulling you flush against him.

“First of all, that’s an insult to my dick because this,” he waves the cup in front of you and you roll your eyes at him “is no monster. Secondly, maybe we should get you horny first so it won’t be an issue.” He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his bottom lip in anticipation.

You scoff and push him away, taking the cup back from him.

“I need to figure out how to stick this up my very unaroused vagina, so please go and do your vampy things and leave me alone for a few minutes.”

He merely shrugs but of course your boyfriend who must know everything about everything asks, “But babe, what’s wrong with what you usually use?”

Ah, now that’s a good question. You’ve used pads and tampons for so long and frankly you are so utterly fed up with the mess that is Aunt Flo. 

“Jungkook, you won’t even understand even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You raise a brow but proceed anyway. “Well they stink, for one.”

“False. I love the way you sme—okay, sorry. Go on.”

“Pads are so annoying especially when you’re sweaty and they stick to your butt and somehow you always end up bleeding everywhere except on the pad! And then tampons! Just the general scare that it’ll be stuck there for too long or it’ll poison you or that you’re actually not bleeding as much as you thought you were and you’re dry af and it gets so uncomfortable to take out!” you voice dies out, nearly out of breath because you failed to pause after each sentence. Jungkook watches you with amusement painted throughout his face and relaxed posture resting against the counter.

Your chest is heaving but you continue after taking a few short breaths, “Period panties are okay but I’d like some extra insurance y’know? Also everything is so fucking expensive! Tell me why we’re being paid to tend to something we absolutely cannot control? I fucking bet you if men had periods, they’d free bleed every month and expect everyone to be okay with it. But because we’re women we have to hide it because it makes—”

Jungkook breaks you off mid-tangent kisses you and grins. “Had to stop you before you start ranting for a whole 10 minutes and then forget why you were talking in the first place.”

You return the kiss and give him an appreciative smile. Most people aren’t into the “kiss someone to get them to shut up” but in your case, you appreciated the kisses because one, Jungkook gives the best kisses and two, you really would go off forever if he didn’t shut you up.

“Thanks, baby. Now please leave,” you say before shoving him out the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

After what felt like (and probably was) two hours you are finally out of the bathroom, feeling so utterly defeated and exhausted. You had gotten it in, but at what cost? Both your hands still reek of blood despite scrubbing thoroughly for several minutes with soap. Your thighs are aching from squatting for so long as well. You plop down on the couch beside your boyfriend who’s occupied playing some rando shooting game on the PlayStation. He inhales deeply and shoots you a quick glance. You give him a questioning look but he doesn’t say anything.

After his match, he leans in close to your stomach and takes another big whiff. You’ve long passed being surprised at how much Jungkook likes smelling you. You’d think he was a werewolf or something. Not that you’d tell him that because you were not in the mood to be dicked down just to “prove a point.”

“Hm? You don’t smell like you normally do?”

“Huh, I’m honestly shocked considering how much I bled all over my hands and thighs.”

“Careful, Y/N. You might make me horny,” he muses as he enters another match.

“You’re gross.”

“So, what does the blood just… sit there?”

“Mm, yeah. The cup keeps it all inside and when I take it out the blood will be there.”

“Tell me when you’re gonna take it out, okay?”

Without breaking eye contact with the television screen, he tilts his head to plop a quick kiss on your forehead. You pull a blanket over you and watch on as your endearing thousand year old boyfriend destroys the hundredth controller because he’s still very much a baby vampy and sometimes he forgets his own strength.

“Ohhh my goood this is so fucking weird,” you mutter in disgust.

Here you are, at the end of a full day of doing absolutely nothing, squatting in the tub once again. This time, instead of sticking a foreign object up your vagina, you’re trying to pull it out. You finally have a grip on the stem and your thighs are screaming at you but you fight through the burn because no way in hell are you gonna risk dropping your cup in the toilet bowl. The several guides you found on the internet said it helped to use your muscles to push it out.

“Okay, here goes nothing.”

You push and you eventually feel the suction giving way. A few drops of liquid spill out over your hand and you grimace at how warm it is. You finally pull it out from inside you and you lift it up to inspect the contents of the cup. God it was startling how warm the cup is. It was both disgusting and fascinating to see how much blood you can bleed within half a day. And the best thing—it doesn’t smell! You’re done being weirdly fascinated with your blood now. You’ve definitely been with Jungkook for too long. You hold the cup away from you and tilt it to pour down the—

“NNOOOO!!!! STOP Y/N!!!!”

Your boyfriend stumbles into the bathroom and you watch him with absolute befuddlement as he inches closer to you with crazed eyes.

“Baby,” he reaches out to you, “what were you just going to do?”

“Um, pour out my period blood?”

“Baby!!” he practically whines and kneels beside the tub.

“...Yes? Jungkook?” You’re at a complete loss for why he came bursting here in such a hurry.

“I thought I asked you to tell me when you were gonna take it out.”

“I’m sorry hun. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I’m just taking it out?”

“Babe.”

“Mhm?”

“I’m a vampire.”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Jungkook, I don’t even know what you’re talking about so if you could just tell me, that’d be great.”

He groans into his hands and peeks at you through his fingers.

“I wanna drink it.”

Oh, for god’s sake. You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You weren’t ignorant to his obsession with blood, especially during that time of the month. He was a vampire, after all. This was a whole new experience though with nearly an ounce of your blood right in your hand. Before you can second guess yourself, you hand the cup to your very pouty boyfriend who takes it with a now huge smile gracing his face. 

He brings the cup directly under his nose and takes a quick whiff. You wrinkle your nose in distaste. And then he lets out a deep, guttural moan. He flicks his tongue in the pool of blood then promptly empties the blood into his mouth. A normal person would not shiver at the sight of their boyfriend drinking their blood, but you’ve long resigned the fact that you were not normal. Your eyes fixate on the trail of blood that missed his mouth and now fall down the side of his mouth to his chin. You swallow in sync with Jungkook who hands you back the empty cup.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Please never stop using this cup. It is the greatest creation of the modern times… Next to the internet. Also don’t ever drain your blood anymore. Give it to me. Save the ocean.”

“You absolute dork,” you laugh and continue your downward gaze of his body. That’s when you see it.

“Oh my god. Jungkook. Did you… baby are you horny?”

[muninnhuginn]

I saw your post comparing the finales of odd taxi and wonder egg and i agree the odd taxi finale was TIGHT - i was wondering though if you knew about the production issues on wep and that's why they had that recap episode. the actual actual finale just came out today!

Hey ^^.

Yeah, I'm aware of the production issues on WEP and I've seen the proper finale. Just gonna go through my understanding of them below so sorry if I repeat stuff you're already aware of!

(EDIT: This post got a lot longer than I intended so I put it under a readmore but it basically goes into my opinion on the production stuff as well as how the finale contradicts the groundwork previously laid out)

From what I gather, they've had scheduling issues throughout which led to them having to bring in a lot of foreign animators (I think ANN actually did an interview with some of the translators involved in relaying information between production and the animators - I'll see if I can find that after this). There were also instances where I believe people involved in the production literally ended up in hospital due to overwork.

In terms of the finale episode itself, I think this reddit post gives the gist of the timeline:

(Please keep in mind that though this is an example from just the finale, it happened for several episodes that they only finished with hours to spare - this actually led to the episode being released late on the Eng sub side a couple of times)

I think with WEP, it is going to become difficult to untangle where the issues arise from the production problems and where it's down to the actual writing and directing.

The show definitely started strong and in terms of tackling the really dicey topics it did superbly (I remember my only real issue on that end prior to the finale was the Accas commenting on "male vs female suicides" and iirc that was clarified on Twitter as *not* being the views of the writers - and the Accas acting that way tied in massively with their backstory in the Frill episode and how they clearly don't understand.) The art and animation throughout? Honestly, if I didn't know already about the production issues from outside sources like Twitter I'm not sure I would've been able to tell? Because for the most part it was ridiculously solid (though of course there were still signs - namely the midpoint recap episode and the way they stopped interweaving flower language near the very end and the sheer number of stills they used in ep 13).

Where the finale fell down in my eyes was the very thing that brought me into the series in the first place, aka how it handled the difficult topics. The narrative of the series is fairly strong early on, about how various societal factors contribute towards suicides, especially in young girls. This starts to falter somewhat down the latter end, though my personal opinion is that the Frill stuff doesn't discount the societal factors, but rather the pacing was off with her introduction and so there was no way the Frill and AI angle would have time to be fully explored and resolved within the remaining episodes. Anyway, society and how it impacts on minors with fairly nuanced takes in terms of how adults can take advantage of power dynamics over minors. There’s also the more straightforward character part about how the main four start as outsiders but end up actually becoming proper friends, hanging out outside of the egg quests.

With this in mind, there are some places where the final episode actively went against the previously laid groundwork:

In the Frill ep, we see Himari claiming to Ura-Acca that she’ll be “marriable” when she grows up, with the implication that this is pretty horrifying just hammered in by how she then mimics Frill with the “pop” noise. And then separately from this, we see that Sawaki has painted art of Ai as a grown-up and says “someday you’ll be a wonderful, adult woman like your mother”. Her mother who, I have to point out here, he is dating. There are various other red flags throughout the episodes but I’m just highlighting this one because it’s a parallel within the series itself. In the finale what we get is Sawaki saying that truth behind Koito’s suicide (which he was heavily implicated in) was “Koito tried to put advances on me, yelled rape accusations, then fell off a building”. And that scene ends with alt!Koito saying “Mr Sawaki is kind”. The entire series had been setting up red flags in terms of Sawaki’s relationship with Koito pre-series as well as his behaviour towards Ai and then the resolution is just “Koito was lying about rape threats and Sawaki is innocent”. Like, you can’t even argue this is somehow commentary on how there can be witch hunts when people make false accusations because nothing happened to Sawaki. It’s just plain and simple going against both Sawaki’s suspicious behaviour *and* undermining a lot of the previous points made about sexual harassment by having it be that Koito was lying. (Sidenote: If you *did* want to have something about people lying about sexual harassment without it undermining the rest of the series, you would have put it midway and had counter examples throughout, not put it at the very end so it becomes the final say, so to speak.)

Ura-Acca, Acca, and Frill. I personally think some of this is down to pacing issues which were present earlier than the finale compounded by the overall production issues, but regardless, this entire plotline with Frill and her minions was set up a few episodes prior to the finale. In the finale itself, the only time we even see Frill is in Neiru’s dream where her only role is to reveal that Neiru is an AI (and bring up the potential parallels that could be contained in that only to immediately go “but we don’t have time to unpack that”). The Accas just exist to say to Ai about the eggs, with no mention of the Warriors of Eros or Fear of Death stuff, despite how all four girls managed to achieve their goals. There is just no resolution or even acknowledgement as to this storyline.

This one is more subjective and tied in to how Neiru was handled. A big point which is shown during the series but explicitly laid out in ep 12 is how Ai has friends now and has grown throughout the series. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that people drift and that they no longer have the egg quests tying them together. But at the same time, why make the point near the end when Ai is talking to her alt!self that she has friends and has grown now if you’re then just going to undo that at the final hurdle. (I could go into the Neiru stuff specifically but I think this post has gotten long enough and I’d tangent even further from talking about consistency throughout the series into the general writing of the last episode)

In retrospect, I do think you can tell from episode 12 that it was going to be almost impossible for WEP to stick the landing from the pieces that we had there, but I think it could have been salvageable if they'd just kept their own themes and narrative consistent with the rest of the show.

[emersonfreepress]

okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches ​​ asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

[densi-mber]

Frozen, Part 2

A/N: Here’s the second part of Frozen. In the first part, Kensi and Deeks were trapped in the cold after hunting down some suspects. Deeks was also injured.

***

“Oh my god, babe, how could you not feel this?” Kensi asked, kneeling in front of Deeks with his shirt peeled up to chest. Fortunately the cut wasn’t terribly deep, but it was bad enough. Bad enough to have soaked through his shirt already.

“I feel it now,” Deeks said, yelping as she pressed down on the wound. “Actually, that really hurts. Stop poking it!”

“I’m trying to see how bad it is.”

“Well, your warm little hands are heating it up and now it’s burning.”

Her hands were anything but warm and his blood was actually starting to freeze on his skin and clothes.

“Ok, I’m going to put a bandage on this, see if you can get through to Eric,” she told him. She slipped off the small backpack which had a bare minimum of supplies, including a first-aid kit. She tossed an extra pair of gloves to Deeks while he called Eric and then ripped open a bandage.

“No signal,” he said a minute later, shaking his head.

“Damn it!” They couldn’t stay out here for much longer without any protection, especially with Deeks being wounded. She glanced at him, noticing that the tips of his ears were bright red and if she wasn’t mistaken, his lips were just the slightest bit blue. “Deeks, what happened to your hat?” she snapped, realizing that his hair was damp and loose around his face.

“I had to take it off cause I couldn’t hear anything and I lost it somewhere along the way,” he answered with a shrug. Kensi muttered under her breath, realizing how accusatory she sounded.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” She grabbed his hand by way of apology, glancing around them.

“We need to start moving, Kens.”

“You really think we’re going to make it five miles in this cold?” she asked rhetorically. “And it’s only going to get worse in a couple hours.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll make it that far, but I remember Nell saying something about there being a bunch of old cabins around here,” he said with the barest of grins.

***

Have I ever-ah-mentioned how much I hate Iowa?” Deeks asked casually, pausing in between words to pull in shallow breaths. “We would never be in danger of freezing to death in Los Angeles.”

Despite his efforts to stay positive, the cold was definitely starting to get to him. His toes and fingers were stiff, although he supposed it was a good sign that they were still burning and not numb.

Plus, though he hadn’t dared mentioned it Kensi, exhaustion was starting to set in. His legs felt heavy and his abdomen somehow ached and felt numb at the same time. It was a disconcerting sensation.

“With our luck we’d get locked in an industrial freezer or something,” Kensi said with forced lightness, pausing in between words to breath. Her arms were firm around him, making sure he didn’t stumble over hidden tree roots and rocks.

“I think I saw that on a show once.”

“Cabin.”

“No, it was called Castle. You know, the one with Nathan Fillion where he’s a writer and-“

“No, there’s a cabin,” Kensi repeated, cutting off his tangent, and pointing to an area maybe a couple hundred feet away. Sure enough, there was a small cabin buried in a dense copse of trees.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. As they moved closer, it looked completely uninhabited and probably for some time, based on the piles of snow, debris around the doorway, and cobwebs in the windows.

Kensi cleared the snow away from one of the windows and peered in.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside. C’mon.” She shouldered the door open, which stuck a little, but eventually gave way with a loud creak.

“Very homey,” Deeks commented, shivering as they walked into the small space which was barely warmer than outside. It was pretty barren with jut a single cot and bare mattress that had definitely seen better days, a splintered cupboard with a couple pots on top, and most importantly, a fireplace.

“Sit down, I’m going to look for some blankets and firewood,” Kensi directed him.

“I can help,” he offered, feeling pretty stupid just standing there. It was partially his fault they were in this situation. If he’d been a little more careful, he wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. “The faster we heat this place up, the less chance we have of becoming popsicles.”

Kensi shook her head, already searching through the cupboard. She pulled out a box of instant potatoes and a can of beans and set them to the side.

“And the more you move around, the more you’ll aggravate your wound.” She turned back to look at him with another can of beans and Campbell’s chicken soup in her hands. The faded labels on both made Deeks think they’d been sitting there untouched for several years. “Are you saying you don’t have faith in my fire building skills?”

Her breath puffed out in a great white cloud as she attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. He could tell the cold was getting to her too, but predictably, she was ignoring it.

“I would never,” he said, dropping his backpack beside the cot. “Kensi Marie Blye’s survival skills are world renowned and-agh!” He’d sat down and his cut gave a painful, tearing sensation. Kensi spun around immediately at his scream, but he waved her off, ignoring the fresh gush of blood he felt seeping into his shirt. “I’m fine. I just sat down too fast. Did you find any blankets?”

She gave him a suspicious look, turning back to the cupboard, and pulling out some more random items before she made a triumphant sound.

“Three,” she said, throwing him a grayish bundle. “They look a little thin, but I guess it’s better than nothing. Ok, I’ll get some fire wood and then we’re bandaging your cut again. Don’t touch it until I get back.”

Deeks rolled his eyes at her instructions, which seemed a little ridiculous given the severity of said cut, but didn’t protest. He knew Kensi was worried and felt better knowing where he was.

After a few minutes, he stood up again and started pacing, trying to force some feeling into his legs. He tucked his hands under his armpits, singing “Staying Alive” to himself until his voice grew hoarse. Every few seconds, a blast of wind tore through the cabin and blew in bits of snow through minute cracks in the walls and ceiling.

Just as he was getting ready to go after Kensi, the door slammed open again, and she stumbled in with a giant armload of logs and branches.

“I found some wood,” she said unnecessarily as he rushed to help her. “There’s a shack about half a mile from here filled with chopped wood. I left another pile outside.” Her entire face was red and wind-chapped and Deeks wanted to demand she immediately get in bed and cover up.

Since that didn’t seem likely to happen, he brought in the rest of the wood while she was distracted with building a fire. By the time he finished, his hands were completely numb, his clothes completely wet and sticking to his skin.

As Kensi finished lighting the fire, he noticed her hands shaking uncontrollably, making her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She’d spent even more time outside, completely unprotected. She fumbled with the lighter a couple times before she managed to set the kindling on top of the logs aflame.

He grabbed one of her hands between his and rubbed them, wincing at the bright red color, and nearly white tips of her fingers.

“Baby, we need to get you warmed up,” he said, starting to get truly worried about hypothermia. Even with the fire, it would tale at least a couple hours before the cabin was warm.

“I’m fine Deeks,” she insisted, tugging her fingers from his. Ignoring his concern, Kensi grabbed her bag again, pulling out more first aid supplies. “Take your coat and shirt off.”

Deeks reluctantly pulled off both, knowing Kensi would probably freak out when she saw how much he’d bled. His shirt stuck a little, tacky with drying and frozen blood. He had to admit that the cut looked nasty with varied levels of dried blood smeared all around. As the cold air hit it full force again, it started burning more intensely.

Surprisingly, Kensi didn’t say anything when she leaned over him. She dabbed away the fresh blood with a couple cotton swabs and then tore open a packet of liquid bandage.

“Can you hold the edges together?” she asked. That sounded awful as far as Deeks was concerned, but he followed her directions, putting pressure on either side of the cut while Kensi squeezed the glue-like substance on in small incriminates.

“Ok, I think I’m fine with just bleeding out,” he groaned a few minutes later, the wound burning as the glue seeped in.

“That is not even remotely funny,” Kensi commented tightly. “Besides, I’m almost done.” Her hands were still trembling and a little clumsy. He didn’t comment on her technique though; if a slightly lumpy scar was the worst result of this catastrophe, he’d be a happy man. Kensi insisted on applying a cloth bandage just in case and then she was finally done.

“Ok, now we gotta get you warmed up,” he said as he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Kensi’s shoulder and then started tugging off his boots and socks.

“What do you suggest?” Kensi asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“There’s only one option.” He paused with a boot in his head and gave Kensi a serious look. “Naked cuddling.”

[kaylewiswrites]

It’s Not Working: Character Troubleshooting

Welcome to It’s Not Working, a troubleshooting series that I’m uniquely qualified to run because I write things that don’t work all the time. This week, we study characters-why they don’t work, how to know, and what to do about it. 

Question time

Think of a character that’s been giving you some difficulty, and answer these questions:

Are you unsure of their motivations, both scene by scene and in the whole plot?

Do they start and end with the same motivations, perspectives, personality, and outlook?

Does it feel like their lines could’ve been spoken by any other character?

Do you have trouble describing their personality, even to yourself? 

If you answered yes to these questions, you may have an underdeveloped character. 

Do they tend to act differently scene to scene?

Do you not know what to do with them in scenes?

Do they not have a part to play in the plot?

If you answered yes to these, you may have an unmotivated character. 

Did you answer no to all of the above questions, but beta readers and critique partners are disagreeing? 

Readers can’t understand their personality, motivations, or effect on the plot?

Then you may have an misrepresented character.

Why don’t they work?

Underdeveloped character: We’ve all heard of them before. They come off as bland. There’s no significant development or change to them throughout the story. Characters are your readers’ foothold into the story. If they feel like empty bottles, its going to be a lot harder for people to become invested in the plot. 

Unmotivated characters lack one thing: yes, it is motivation. It’s the ultimate reason for your characters to do anything. Why do they feel like they have to save the city? Why do they get upset at that one joke? Without proper and consistent motivation, your readers are gonna get whiplash trying to figure out all the why’s of the character’s actions. And if they’re too busy worrying about that, then they’re gonna lose interest in the plot and the book as a whole. 

Misrepresented characters are fully formed, at least to the author. They know everything about them, from their MBTI to the color of their second favorite rain boots. The writer has charts of how their motivations shift throughout the story, diagrams of their highs and lows, but for some reason, when readers get their hands on it, they give feed back like ‘flat’, ‘boring’, ‘generic’. Something needs to bridge that gap between the writers knowledge and what’s on the page. 

The Fixes

Underdeveloped characters:

Find character questionnaires, follow character prompt blogs, take personality tests as your character. Really explore who they are as a person. 

Make a chart of where they start and where they end. What happens in the plot that can significantly change them and the way they think? 

Write scenes from their first person voice. Yes, even if you write in third. Write it like diary entry, write it obnoxiously first person, so first person even first person writers would cringe. Every spelling mistake you’d think they’d make, all the tangents, everything. Get a feel for the way they sound and think.

What makes them unique? What makes them so interesting that you would rather write them than a whole different character? Let this shine through. 

Consider cutting them or combining them with another character if they really aren’t doing anything for your plot. I know, it hurts. You can always save pieces of them to use in another project, but sometimes it’s for the greater good.

Unmotivated characters: 

Answer the questions: Why are they my main character, and why are they taking part in this plot? If you can’t answer those, then you either have the wrong main character, or the wrong plot. 

Fill in this triangle and refer to them whenever you’re unsure of how they should react to something: 

Write an elaborate backstory for the character. Why do they come off as stoic all the time, except when they shriek around antique dolls? There’s a story there. You don’t necessarily have to write it in the text, but the more you know about your character, the more credible these choices will feel to the reader.

Have inconsistencies addressed in the story. If they say that they don’t care about anyone on the team, and then run into a burning building to save them, it should be noted. Not necessarily flat out said, but noted.

Tone down big reactions. The wailing, screeching, jumping for joy. Some characters might do some of these things. Some might do some of them sometimes. But one character will very rarely bounce around the peak of every emotion all the time. If you do write that character, it needs to happen very intentionally. 

Misrepresented character

Take a good look at the character’s introduction. Are you telling instead of showing? Is the reader distracted by larger plot things during their first scene? Do they have chances to prove their personality traits to the reader through actions or dialogue? 

Can you hear them? Do they have a specific voice? Mannerisms? Quirks you can show the reader? 

Are you leaving too much in subtext? I love assuming my readers will be scouring my books for clues and subtleties one day. But for major character traits, it’s better to be upfront about it. No one can assume your characters backstory out of thin air. Sometimes you have to be upfront about their motivations

Have you given an accurate, and somehow not boring, character description? If this is where you’re stuck, I understand, I’ve been there. But think of it as a chance not to list off eye color and hair length, but as a chance for each element to tell the reader something about the character. A ‘severe’ haircut gives us a different tone than ‘soft curls’. 'Enough dirt in their nail beds to give an archaeologist chills’ give us one impression, ‘a smile that knows how high her cheekbones are’ gives us another. Play with it. Have fun. 

Are you using them in each scene they’re in? Not only as an effect on the plot, but also using the scene to showcase who they are. It should be a symbiotic relationship, scenes and characters. 

Some last few pieces of advice:

Don’t kill off a character or make them leave for the rest of the book because you don’t know what to do with them. If they stop having a purpose after a certain point, consider combining that purpose with a character that sticks around. 

Don’t kill off a character just because you think you have to

There’s no such thing as ‘needing’ a love interest. If you have a character that is exclusively there as a love interest, they’re probably gonna come off as flat (unless it’s a straight up romance novel, in which case, have a blast). 

Don’t feel like you need certain tropes. ‘Funny best friend’. ‘School bully’. ‘Evil dictator’. Don’t put them in unless they actually have something to do with the plot of your book. 

We could take about characters for weeks. Months. Years. But hopefully this not so brief overview gave you some ways to rethink any problem characters you might have. 

[witchymarvelspacecase]

Firebug and Freezer Burn

My entry for @tilltheendwilliwrite​ ‘s 7.7k follower (covid sucks) writing challenge. 

Clearly my time management (and mental health management) is lacking, but I figured I would post this anyway. 

Sorry. 

The pic on the right was my prompt, I added the one on the left.

PLEASE FORGIVE THIS SHITASS TITLE

WC: 3276

Warnings: Fire, cursing, panic, being ill, fluff who the fuck knows

The small suburban neighborhood evening was shattered by the fire engine sirens screaming toward the pillar of fire that had once been a family home. Neighbors who had called 911 huddled outside, speaking to responders as they arrived. The three person family living in the burning house hadn't been seen since the fire started, but as far as anyone knew, they had been at home earlier. The parents had picked up the little girl after school, and returned home like usual. On a normal night, they would have all been in bed by now, if not for the noisy terrier up the street, the fire may have spread farther. Tears burned in throats, and sobs were barely contained as smoke and ash stung sleepy eyes. Lucky. The neighbors were lucky, and they all felt it, the feeling increasing in strength as the minutes ticked by with no sign of the family.

There was practically nothing left of the house now. The supporting structural pieces were still standing, but drywall had been all but disintegrated, leaving an empty shell, filled with smoldering ash. Nothing could have survived a blaze that hot.

An impossible shout came from a firefighter in the house. Firefighters converged on their brother and all blinked in surprise at what they saw. A small body, unconscious but unharmed, wrapped in an equally small blanket. The little girl, she was untouched by fire, though it was clear it had burned through the room around her. Her bed was ash beneath her, and nothing of her room remained standing. She seemed asleep, snoring softly as her dreams went undisturbed by the chaos around her.

The only thing odder still was her skin. It was tinged gray. That could have just been the smoke, if not for the cracks. Like lava creating fissures in soft volcanic stone, lines glowed red-orange all across her skin, visible even underneath her nightgown. The stunned firemen didn’t seem to know how to react, but one of the EMTs on sight already had their phone up to their ear, 

“Phil, you need to get here. There’s someone you’re gonna want to see.”

...Years Later

Having been raised by Phil Coulson, your life was fairly heavily impacted by SHIELD (and the tales of Captain America), it wasn’t a surprise that you became an agent. Though Phil actually wasn’t too happy about his little girl being put into dangerous situations, you gained his approval after pointing out that you would probably involve yourself in dangerous situations whether or not you had the training or backup that SHIELD provided. Working with the Avengers probably shouldn’t have surprised you either, but all you knew you had was your immunity to fire. Turned out that ability, in combination with your martial arts and weapons training from SHIELD, was actually incredibly useful to the Avengers. One mission became several more, and before you knew it, you were living with them.

Phil was a pretty constant visitor, he wasn’t “checking on you”, he was “touching base with the team”, or fanboy-ing over Cap. Mmmmhmm, sure thing. You knew better, but you generally didn’t call him on it, though it got you a lot of shit from Tony Stark. Honestly, Tony would have found something to tease you about either way. Being called “kid” was probably pretty tame, especially considering Tony’s other name for you: “Glow-Stick”. Clint called you “kid” all the time anyway.

The two members of the team who could have called everyone “kid” were usually the most respectful. Steve never called you anything other than your name, Bucky had called you a few different names, but none of them pejorative. Natasha tended to refer to everyone but Clint by their last name, and Sam, well Sam just called you an idiot, but that was for a different reason.

“Well you are an idiot. Seriously, you oughtta man-up and tell him already.” You and Sam were in the lounge area, having reached a commercial break during the game you were watching. He was leaning back against the arm of the sofa opposite you, rolling his eyes.

“First of all, ‘man-up’? Really? You wanna have that discussion again?” you gave him a significant look, eyebrow raised in indignation. He scoffed and waved you off, you continued, “second of all, mind your own business.”

“He’s gonna die in his sleep before you say anything at this point,” Sam’s voice was mocking.

“Stay in your own lane Wilson,” you growled.

“I’m just saying-”

“Nothing. You’re just saying nothing. The game’s back on.”

“C’mon , you gotta -”

“No, Sam.”

“What’s he up to now?” Natasha asked as she walked into the room, dropping into a seat with a bowl of popcorn.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not saying shit to you.” You knew better than to even give a kernel of information to a master spy.

“Pft, I probably know whatever it is already,” she shrugged. She wasn’t wrong, but as long as she didn’t realize Sam was pushing you to admit it, Natasha wouldn’t interfere. 

You turned to watch the game, missing the glint in Sam’s eye as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

You weren’t going to say shit. The only reason Sam knew about your adolescent crush was that he had hung out with Phil for too damn long one night, and Phil had been a little too open with your story. Years of hearing about Captain America’s exploits had been a basis of your childhood, but Steve wasn’t the character who fascinated you. That was James Buchanan Barnes. Unlike your father figure, your interest lay in the Commando’s sniper, not its leader. Originally, you had wanted to specialize in long-range shooting, but now, having more intimate knowledge of just how involved sniping was, you were even more impressed with Bucky. There were way too many calculations involved in what he did, and he did it so well. 

He had been the yardstick you’d used to measure every romantic partner you’d had, and most of them fell short. That was before you knew he was alive. What was funny was that the Bucky you knew now beat the yardstick you’d made of his past self. 

He was sweet, and mindful of everyone around him, and when he wasn’t too deep in his own head, he was really funny. From the first night you had accidentally stumbled upon him on the roof after a nightmare, you’d been fast friends. Though he was the member of the team you worked with the least, he was the one you spent the most downtime with. Hence, why you put up with all his nicknames. Doll, Sugar, Sweetheart, Darlin’.

When a tennis ball bounced off your head, startling you out of the unintentional mental tangent, you realized that not only had more of the team entered the room, they had clearly been talking to you. 

A blush rapidly heated your face. “Sorry. What?”

“Where’s your head at, kid?” Tony asked. He was sprawled across the loveseat, looking more at you than at the TV.

“Nowhere important; zoned out a little. Guess I’m just tired.”

“Suuuuure you are,” Sam drawled, exchanging looks with Natasha. Your brow furrowed, but you said nothing. 

The topic changed back to the game, as Bucky came into the room. Steve was already seated in the armchair next to Natasha, but instead of crossing to his best friend, Bucky settled on the arm of the sofa, right beside you. Sam cleared his throat, and you shot him a threatening look. 

“Jesus Sam, what did you do to get her looking at you like that?” Steve asked. He sounded almost worried. You would have laughed at his concerned look, but you had to keep an eye on Sam. You let the silence stretch out, not answering Steve and not looking away from Sam, until you were reasonably sure he would keep his mouth shut.

“It’s nothing Steve. Sam just needs to mind his own business.”

“He is nosy as hell,” Bucky grumbled behind you, his arm going to the back of the couch and essentially around your shoulders.

“Aw, you’re just mad cause he’s bugging you about your secrets.”

“Natasha, I don’t care how hard it’ll be, I will kill you.” There was no inflection in your voice, nothing to give away how angry and scared you were. Maybe you should have given a little emotion for the team to read. Maybe then they would have let it go.

As it was, they collectively ganged up on you, grilling you, and refusing to be redirected until you snapped. 

“Just fucking drop it!” you shouted, throwing the tennis ball that was still in your hands at the last team member to pry, Tony.

Everyone was staring. And it took you a moment to process exactly why.

The tennis ball had been on fire.

It hadn’t been on fire before you threw it, and yet it was flaming when it almost hit Tony in the head.

Silence, and slow blinks all around. 

“Holy shit.” Sam was staring open mouthed.

“FRIDAY, when was the last time we checked the fire protocols?” Tony asked, his face still showing surprise, but his voice calm.

“I- I-... That-” you couldn’t seem to form a sentence. Your body seemed frozen to the spot.

“Well that’s interesting,” Natasha mused.

“Is this- is this new?” Clint asked from his seat on the floor in front of Natasha’s chair.

You didn’t know what to say. Was this new? You’d never done it before. You would have known if you had… right?

The only fire you’d ever been in was… oh god.

And just like that, your body was no longer frozen. You shot up out of your seat and sprinted down the hall. You ran into your room and passed through to the attached bathroom without checking if the door was closed, too intent on reaching your destination. Your knees hit the floor in front of the toilet just in time. 

Tears poured from your eyes as you retched. Panic had your chest and gut constricting, making you struggle to breathe. The room would have spun if your head weren’t resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet. As it was, your ears were ringing so much that you couldn't hear your own panting breaths, let alone someone entering the room behind you. You wouldn’t have known Bucky was there if he hadn’t slid his cool metal hand to the back of your neck.

“Shh, doll. It’s okay. It’s just me,” he soothed when you jumped.

You hiccuped in response, taking several minutes to calm to the point that he was able to usher you out of the bathroom. 

Sitting you on the edge of your bed, Bucky stepped back into your bathroom, flushing the toilet and wetting a soft washcloth before coming back to you. He held out the cloth, but when you failed to take it, he began to gently wipe at your face. 

“You know none of the team is upset or freaked out, so what made you run outta there?” Bucky asked quietly.

“What if I did it?” you asked in response, your voice so low Bucky almost missed it.

“Did what, doll?”

“The fire, my parents-” you cut off, unable to say anything more, as fresh tears filled your eyes.

Phil Coulson had been a fantastic foster dad, no doubt about it, but your child’s brain took a long time to adjust to his parenting style. You had missed your parents. Phil had done his best not to erase your parents from your memories. He didn’t know much about them, but your old neighbors had been happy to share stories with you, and you’d created an idealistic version of them in your head. You couldn’t understand why you had survived and they hadn’t, and the nightmares that had followed you into adulthood were still traumatic. What if you had been the cause of the mysterious fire that had killed them. 

“Doll. Hey. Hey Sugar, look at me okay?” Bucky’s hands were on either side of your face. When you met his eyes you got the feeling he had been trying to get your attention for a while. His thumbs softly rubbed your cheekbones as he spoke. “It wasn’t you, doll. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How- how can you possibly know,” you asked in a whisper, trying to pull your face out of his grip, but his fingers tightened slightly. 

“You’ve never done that before. And you’ve only been in one mystery fire.”

“Yeah but-” you started, but Bucky talked right over you.

“If you had been able to start fires as a kid, you would have had it happen around you frequently. When you were angry, when you were scared; it would have happened all the time when you were little, but it didn’t.” He brushed a tear from the corner of your eye and his voice softened. “It wasn’t you honey. I’m sure of it.”

That was a sentiment that he repeated with a few minor variations for several minutes until you calmed down. Once you did, you realized that the position you were in was a little close for comfort. At some point, Bucky had moved from kneeling in front of you, to sitting on the bed beside you, to holding you in his lap. He had his arms around you and your head tucked under his chin. 

However, when you squirmed slightly, embarrassed by your behavior and more than ready to put some space between you and the super soldier you had a giant crush on, Bucky did not let you go.

“Buck,” you said, your voice was a little gravely from crying, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He replied, not sounding convinced.

“Yeah, you can let me go now.” You were fairly certain he could feel the heat in your face through his shirt.

“I can, but I don’t want to.”

“I- what?” you stuttered.

“I happen to like holding you, never got to do it before, but I’ve decided I like it and I’m not ready to let you go yet.” Bucky said it in such a matter of fact tone, it sounded reasonable.

The fuck? Did you hear that right? Uh….

Before you could formulate any kind of response, Bucky’s phone started to ring. He managed to get it from his pocket and answer it without releasing you.

“Hello Agent Coulson, thank you for calling me back. Yes, she’s right here, hold on,” he held the phone out to you.

Still in a sort of shock, you took the phone without question. “Papa?” You used the name you called him when you were little. He was never “Dad” or “Daddy” you could remember calling your father that. No, Phil Coulson was “Papa”.

“Hey sweetie. I heard you had a little scare.” You almost burst into fresh tears, but Phil continued. “You never really asked me about the fire, so I never made it a point to tell you about it. It wasn’t you sweetheart.” As Bucky continued to hold you, occasionally rubbing your back, or rocking you slightly, Phil told you about your father’s business, and the intense and hostile relationship he had with his rival. A rival who had decided that killing your father and your family was the best way to enable a hostile takeover of your father’s much more successful business.

An entire amusement park’s worth of emotions rolled through you as you listened to the tale. Anger so intense you could feel smoke all but coming out your ears.

“Doll,” Bucky softly drew your attention, his fingers ever so lightly grazing your arm. When you looked down, you almost jerked out of his hold.

“Holy fuck!” The lava fissures were glowing across your skin. You knew you let off heat when you were like that. You’d burned plenty of bad guys, guards, and assholes as soon as they made skin contact. “Bucky, let me up.” He did, but he didn’t leave the room as you finished your call with Phil.

Phil felt guilty for not telling you all this earlier, but you shook your head, forgetting he couldn’t see you. “It’s not your fault, Papa. I didn’t know this was even a possibility for me to do, I never questioned the fire before. There’s no reason for you to tell me, I didn't ask.” After reassuring him a few more times, and promising to visit him soon and showing him what you’d done, assuming you could repeat the stunt, you said your goodbyes. “Love you, Papa.”

“Love you too sweetheart. See you soon.”

You handed Bucky his phone back, not getting too close to him. But he took his phone and then quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you close to him again.

“Bucky, you're gonna get burnt!” “No I won’t. You haven’t burned me before, and I’ve been near you like this before. It’s okay.”

“You’ve what?! Why would you do that?!”

“Why would you let me get anywhere near you?”

“Huh?” Well that was a topic change.

“I’m just as dangerous as you. More so actually, I’ve hurt and killed way more people than you probably ever will. You never hesitated to get near me.” Bucky held up his metal arm, drawing attention to it.

“That’s different Bucky, I don’t have control of this. You have control, you would never choose to hurt me.”

“It’s not different to me. I’m not afraid of you. You wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, and I trust you to keep me safe.” You shook your head, incredulous. “You’ve never burned your clothes. You have burned the shit out of people before, but you’ve never burned your clothes.” When you didn’t respond, Bucky said, “you’re in control, Sugar, and I trust you.”

Too many revelations in one day. That was your explanation. A second after Bucky stopped speaking, you registered what he was saying, and dropped your forehead to his, all the fight leaving your body, as your eyes closed. He settled you more comfortably on his lap but kept your foreheads together.

You sighed. “It’s been a hell of a day,” you said with a laugh.

“You’ve had a few shocks alright,” Bucky agreed. After a short pause, he spoke again. “Think you can handle one more?”

You hummed, “probably,” and soft lips pressed against yours. 

A quick intake of breath and your eyes shot open, but you didn’t pull away. “Bucky?”

It was his turn to hum. A small smile slowly spreading across lips that had just pulled back from yours.

“What- why?”

“Been wanting to do that for a while. And if you don’t want to tell me to fuck off, I’m gonna want to do it again. You gonna tell me to fuck off?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head and the smile on his lips stretched. When he pulled back from your second kiss, you could feel a matching smile on your own lips.

Hours later, the two of you emerged from your room, a plan in place to test your new ability. Another plan for how to explore your relationship with both of you being Avengers and having very little privacy. And most importantly, a plan in place to fuck with your nosy, annoying teammates. 

“Hey there, Matches,” Tony called as he spotted you from down the hall.

“Seems I’ve got a new name,” you grumbled. 

“At least you’re not ‘Manchurian Candidate’,” Bucky grouched, pressing a kiss to your temple. A kiss Tony did not miss.

“OH MY GOD! Firebug and Freezer Burn are kissy-face!” Tony Stark, a 12 year old. You rolled your eyes and prepared yourself for handling your teammates.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Aaaanyways, I wanna put on my comic-art-nerd hat and talk about panel-to-panel action in that Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow preview because yes, I have been staring at it for days, and yes, I will continue to do so until it is released next month! XD

LET’S GO:

I apologize in advance for the funky formatting, there’s an art to tumblr text posts and I...have not mastered it. XD

It’ll go image, then analysis.

Also, just to be clear: I’m not doing this so much to be like, ‘WOW THIS IS GROUNDBREAKING, STUNNING, NEVER-BEEN-DONE!’ In fact, many comics do the things I’m gonna highlight/geek out over! Rather, it’s more about, like. Appreciating the construction of the pages, panels, etc.

Okay, so! Page 1, the SPLASH PAGE

Okay, so, admittedly, I don’t have a ton to say about this opening image, largely because it is one single illustration as opposed to a series of panels. But even then! It quickly establishes that we’re not on earth--the foliage, rock formations, and GIANT WOOLY FRIEND(?) give that away. Also! Said rock formations and wooly friend’s horns frame our new character RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PAGE, letting you know that even though she is tiny, she is important. And, I will just say, I love the dust effects on the ground. The repeated semi-circle shapes evoke the feeling of rhythmic, galloping hoof beats, even without actual movement or sound. Lovely.

And now, PAGE 2!

So, I’ve highlighted panel 3, but before I get there! Panels 1 & 2 do such a nice job of giving us an idea as to the actual, physical size of these two characters, as well as the power dynamic at play. This random dude takes up the WHOLE DANG PANEL with his bulging muscles and is framed in an up-shot; in panel 2, Ruthye is not only shown from above--we’re literally looking down at her--she is also relegated to the bottom half of the panel. Additionally, it’s a great way to show the action of her turning to pull the sword from her belt, obscuring it from both our view and his, to bring out the ‘big reveal’ in the next panel.

Speaking of! Panel 3! Our establishing shot! We’re introduced to the full interior of this tavern. We see where everything is placed--walls, furniture, and perhaps most importantly, the various patrons!

Establishing shots are so important to have in visual media because they help us, the reader/viewer, to orient all of the various components within a sequence or scene.  

It’s also helpful for the artists because then they can better maintain things like screen direction and continuity.

If we don’t have a shot like this, then subsequent action can become confusing to the point of distraction.

YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED how often this is neglected or forgotten in comics! Scenes will change abruptly and it’s like, ‘wait, wait, where are we?’ 

ADDITIONALLY, the establishing shot not only gives us basic spatial information, it ~sets the mood~ XD Setting! Atmosphere! Genre! It’s all here.

I mentioned this in my prior post, that the art gives off some intense fantasy vibes, what with the organic shapes, rough textures, and color palette.

Folks who’ve read advanced copies have described the book as a fantasy/western; that extends even to the series title design! The designer revealed that the western look of the text is deliberate.

So A+ to the art team for NAILING IT!

Okay, on to page 3!

Not a ton of notes on this one, but that’s only because the prior page has done such a solid job of laying out the space, as well as the relationship between these two characters WITH JUST WITH THE ART. (Okay, okay, the words help too. XD) Once more, we see this big brute tower over Ruthye, panel- to-panel; he’s always ‘large and in charge’ regardless of the angle. Even in that final panel! Ruthye is the largest element because she’s closer to us, but the guy is still positioned ‘above’ her, literally talking down to Ruthye from over his shoulder. 

(And HMMMM. That unassuming stranger in the back there, underneath the lanterns that seem to act as an arrow pointing right at her...could she be...important?)

(Her tiny size would seem to imply that she isn’t...AND YET...)

PAGE 4!

MMMM them FRAMES within FRAMES!

Okay, but before I get into that, I do wanna briefly mention panel size and shape.

All of these pages (save for 1 and 7, which are full-page illustrations) pretty much stick to a very traditional panel structure. Each panel is completely enclosed, and there is zero variety in terms of shape. It’s all rectangles.

BUT. The size and orientation change--take, for instance, that ‘skinny’ horizontal panel up top, the way it perfectly suits the ‘shape’ of the elements/action being shown. It’s a close on Kara’s wrist/hand, reaching out for the sword in the guy’s belt. 

I mention this because often, writers don’t dictate stuff like panel layout in a script. They will give the artist the number of panels, and what needs to be included in each one, but the actual, overall organization of the page? Totally up to the artist.

So! Really knowing what you want to highlight and convey is key, because you can use the panels’ size/shape/relation to other panels to ENHANCE those images, like that sword grabbing up top!

AND! Another thing I love about that panel in particular is the way that Kara’s hand and the sword make a tiny frame for Ruthye! Who is, again, VERY TINY! 

I keep mentioning the size thing because it’s a nice bit of economical visual storytelling; the child character is going to be smaller than the adult characters anyway, but by calling attention to it repeatedly, we as the viewer are constantly reminded that this kid is small! She needs help! She needs to be protected! Which is like, the whole premise of the inciting incident. XD Good stuff!

(Also more dot eyes in comics that aren’t humor comics, please.) 

There’s another frame down in panel 3 as well! Evely uses this device several times throughout this sequence; it’s such a great use of the multiple swords in the scene, AND shows that she can really pack all of the characters in there without cutting any of them off/obscuring them behind various objects.

And like, NO TANGENTS, which takes some serious skillz.

ESPECIALLY when you consider all that beautiful linework. LOOK AT THEM INKS.

...In particular, look at them inks in panel 5! The shading on the booth is done in such a manner that the ‘grain’ of the ink defines the perspective. We’re looking down at Kara, from above. This is a helpful little bit of orientation, as there’s not a ton of room around Kara to have any other perspective lines to help sell the angle. 

ALSO, NOTE THE POSITION OF MR. BRUTE IN PANEL 4, AND THEN KARA’S EYELINE IN PANEL 5. It will be important in...

PAGE 5!

Allow me to explain:

In panel four on page 4, we see the guy reach for his sword, his body language revealing that he’s intent on moving towards Kara.

In panel 5 on the same page, we get that lovely down shot of Kara looking right up at us, the viewer. But also, the implication is that she’s ACTUALLY looking at Tough Guy, because in the next page, we see that he’s positioned himself right above her to swing that sword down!

(My apologies for the poor attempts at drawn annotations.) 

There’s no action lines cluttering up the beautiful art; Not-Conan’s hair, rather, acts as the action line/guiding ‘arc’ so that we can better follow the movement.

Kara, likewise, doesn’t have any action lines on her, but her posture and hair act as visual cues to tell us that she slides over in the booth, out of the way of the sword.

In particular, the way her right shoulder/arm draws closer to her body, and the way her left hand comes up to offset the way she’s now positioned, really sells the ‘slide’. 

More beautiful indicators of movement in panel 2; the hair, the action line on the sword, the torn fabric of Kara’s shirt.

Panel 3 brings more FRAMES WITHIN FRAMES! And, actually, as I’m looking at it? I think it could be argued that we actually have a FRAME within a FRAME within a FRAME!

First frame: Panel border, natch.

Second frame: Goofus’ sword, arm, and face frame Kara.

Third frame: Kara’s arm and sword work with Goofus’ head again to frame tiny Krypto.

LAYERS.

And now, a note about colors!

I said before that I love the palette at play. The earthy tones give the entire setting an organic feel--this is not a high-tech locale! We’re dealing with natural materials here.

BUT THEN THOSE BLUES!

Not only do we get that nice split complementary thing happening with the yellow, but it also signals the blue of Kara’s costume, a little hint of which is revealed in the final page.

And, like. It’s night time. XD

(I just gotta say, love the cold blue outside the window next to Kara’s table, contrasted with the warm yellow of the interior. Even though this is a bar, there’s still that element of like. Coziness.)

Also! Even though the overall palette is heavy on the yellows, Kara’s hair is more saturated and leans towards a warmer yellow, while the rest of the yellows in the scene are cooler. Thus! We have CONTRAST! Our eyes are drawn right to her.

And I know--I KNOW--that SG comics twitter already hates King because Kara’s DRINKING and personally I want more of the story/context before I pass any judgement but I must admit, the shapes? In panel 5? With Kara drinking in the foreground? 

I kinda love it.

Also mmmm-MMMM, more of them SOFT BLUES.

Okay. PAGE 6!

Now THIS PAGE is what inspired this whole endeavor.

Because, okay. If I’ve not made it clear by now: I read a lot of comics.

And I generally enjoy all of the comics I read!

But, what I’ve found lately, is that if I don’t enjoy a comic, it’s because I, as a reader, find myself confused by the art.

Confused as in, the art is hard to follow.

That can be because the color design/ink work doesn’t have enough contrast, or the composition is muddled, but most frequently?

It’s poor panel-to-panel action.

When there’s no flow/connection between what’s happening in one panel vs. another, suddenly it’s on you, as the reader, to do a lot more of the work as you go through the scene. And sometimes! We don’t even have enough visual information to DO that work!

So when I read this, I was like, ‘ah, thank you, an easy flow of action for my brain to appreciate.’ XD

AND SO. Panel 1! Same stuff we’ve been seeing! The ink work, hair, clothing details, etc. all work to show us which direction each character is moving. Kara’s arm and jacket all point to her slamming that mug in the dude’s face; dude’s sword serves as a GIANT ARROW illustrating the path of his stab.

Not much to say on panels 2 and 3 other than: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS! And also, HAIR!!!

PANEL FOOOOUR!!!!

Love. This. Panel.

Again, I really love that there are no action lines slapped on top of this gorgeous art, all of the movement is conveyed in the inks, body language, clothes, and so on.

Like. There’s a conscious decision, here, to not have Kara’s hair obscuring the dude’s torso, and that’s good! Because his belt/uhh...kilt? Skirt? Is showing us the speed and direction of his jab; if Kara’s hair were in the way, it would break up the flow.

BUT THEN HOW TO SHOW THAT KARA’S DIPPING FORWARD???

Note the ties on her cuff, and the inks on her jacket!

There’s nothing special happening with Krypto, BTW. I just circled him because he’s a Good Boy who deserves to be noticed.

Panel 5, more of the same, the inks telling us how these characters are moving through space. ALSO, the length of the lines conveys speed without needing to add something distracting/obscure the art with a ‘blur’ effect.

Final panel! I. LOVE. THIS.

Particularly the movement in Kara’s hair, just. Beautiful shape language.

But in addition! You’ve got that LOVELY line of action in Kara’s spine as she flips him over, the sword likewise curved in the direction of the throw.

And of course, the dude is crumpling in the appropriate direction, bent in the middle as he collides with the table to--quite literally--complete the circle.

Also, just. The characterization here, is PHENOMENAL.

People (read: irate fans on twitter) have expressed concern (read: complained) about Kara having a sword. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that Kara’s basically a murderer now, because she’s using a weapon.

Never mind the fact that in an episode of JLU, Supergirl used both a sword AND a gun to defend herself while in Skartaris because she had no powers. 

Except we see here that Kara DOESN’T USE THE SWORD to take the guy out, she uses his own force against him. She only uses the swords in the FINAL PAGE in a type of ‘yield’ fashion.

(This particular ‘fight’ sequence reminded me of Brainy’s fighting style in the show so of course that added to my overall enjoyment.)

Like, Kara’s got no powers here, she very well could have used the sword to defend herself, and would...kinda be justified.

But she didn’t! 

Like. Even drunk and therefore out of it, Kara 1.) Steps in to help that kid and 2.) doesn’t use superpowered lethal force on the guy. (I mean, she can’t use her super powers anyway, what with the red sun, but you get the idea.)

And like, the flourish there, of the arms, the way the jacket swirls around her, like a gymnast sticking the landing, GAAAAAHHHH I just love it. It’s great.

Okay, FINAL PAGE, #7:

I mean. What more can I say? EVELY AND LOPES, MAN.

Just some top notch art.

(Also get it guys, it’s a LITERAL shirt rip! XD)

(And look! There’s that tiny bit of blue!)

But anyways, if you’ve made it this far, I applaud you, and thank you for indulging my desire to just. Geek out over one of my favorite comic artists drawing one of my favorite comic characters.

And just to like, reiterate, I’m not suggesting that this comic is THE BEST EVER or that it’s going to redefine the medium, or anything. XD Everything I’ve mentioned here is...pretty basic storytelling mechanics. Watch any movie, and you’ll see all this same stuff at work.

RATHER, this whole post is more about...admiring two artists who clearly know what they’re doing.

And they’re doing it so well! :D

TL;DR: I’m so excited that the Supergirl book has Evely and Lopes, guys. So. Excited. 

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Any tips on how to write Revali? I have a hard time writing his dialogue and making it sound like him without seeming too ooc. Any pointers would really help! -k

I certainly struggle with dialogue myself, but I will try to tell you what I know!

TL;DR: Revali is a character that I would describe as blunt, but not straightforward. He speaks in a way where he gets to the point, stating his opinion, but is said in a manner that has several uses. His dialogue is multi-purposeful, serving to both tell his opinion while at the same time undermining someone else, highlighting his talents, or otherwise. Use “complex” words and make use of subtext, subtly, and even sarcasm when writing for him, but don’t do it too the point where he sounds like a reincarnated Marie Antoinette, as his dialogue should only be “complex” enough for him to boast of his intelligence, he’s not a fancy noble.

For example, if we analyze this line:

“With proper utilization of my superior skills, I see no reason why we couldn’t easily dispense with Ganon. Now then, my ability to explore the firmament is certainly of note...but let’s not—pardon me for being so blunt—let’s not forget the fact that I am the most skilled archer of all the Rito.” (Revali, Revali’s Flap Cutscene)

We can see that this piece of dialogue is filled with character, which you can tell because message of the dialogue isn’t the only focus. In fact, if you were to break this down, and I rewrite this for the inherent message alone...

“We can defeat Ganon with my great skills. While my ability to fly is important, also we shouldn’t forget—sorry for being blunt—we shouldn’t forget that I am the best Rito archer.”

Both of those pieces of dialogue tell the same message, but it is the way that the first one is crafted with diction, connotation, and subtext that make it more “Revali,” but really, you can use the things I’m about to say for any character.

Diction is the choice of wording. Obviously there are millions of words that can all tell similar things, but it’s your choice as the author to understand the power of certain words. Are you going to say use or utilization? Are you going to use sky or firmament? Scrap or dispense? Sorry or pardon me? Essentially, what I’m saying is that the diction for writing for Revali should reflect his desire to appear superior to others, and his efforts to try and prove that to others (and himself) can usually be reflected through his more complex word choices. He would revel at the notion that he might have to talk down to a certain confused knight if he asked what the word “firmament” meant.

Connotation is the feeling or associating ideas that come with a word. This typically goes hand-and-hand with diction, but they are two separate things. Connotation typically deals with the deeper meaning of a word, further than its textbook definition. Think of the word unique vs the word peculiar. Both essentially mean the same thing, but you usually associate peculiar with negative or strange things, while unique is associated with positive or special things. This is the positive and negative connotation that you can use to give character. Think of stingy vs saving, vintage vs old. It’s not just limited to positive and negative either. When writing for Revali I try to use words that have a connotation that expresses wit. Use superior vs better. Intelligent vs smart. Asinine vs stupid. Of course vs sure or yes. Your choice of words (diction) should not only depends on the sentence structure, rhythm, or alliteration, but also on the connotation.

Finally, subtext is the underlying message of dialogue that is not outright said by a character. Easiest example, sarcasm. You say one thing but mean another. “Ah yes, let’s explore the not-at-all creepy and disturbing catacombs that are sealed deep beneath the castle for mysterious and unknown reasons. I’m sure it will be fine, and the smell of corpses only adds to the growing desire I’m getting to die today. Hurrah!” Revali is the type to use sarcasm, do I even need to explain that? However! Sometimes, that’s the extent that people will go into for subtext, when you should really be using it for nearly every scene you will ever write. Subtext is the bread and butter of interesting scenes, of conflict and tension.

Looking back at the example, Revali says “pardon me for being so blunt.” This line is fantastic not just because of the use of diction, but also because it plays into the dynamic between Revali and Link. Revali think’s Link is unworthy of being the hero, he doesn’t respect him and it’s a blow to his ego that someone seemingly so much worse than him is of higher rank. Revali has no respect for Link. That’s the basic dynamic, and that’s what plays into the subtext. If you read “pardon me for being so blunt” just off the fly, or from some other character, you wouldn’t get the full picture. You might think it’s a fancy butler, the lack of tone might set you off into thinking someone is actually apologetic for something.

But that’s not the case here, the writer for this weaponized the reader’s knowledge of Revali and Link’s dynamic to establish his character. Revali’s not sorry for shit! Have you seen this asshole? I love him. This line was completely unnecessary, but it’s addition to the dialogue not only clued in readers/players to the dynamic between the two, but further enhances character.

Use subtext, let the rule and scenarios you create play into interesting dialogue. Do not, for the love of me, do not just let you character’s outright say what they are doing, which is unfortunately something that Breath of the Wild does a bit too often. Sarcasm, obviously, is one of the more popular forms, but don’t just stick with that. Use the dynamics between characters to create banter, use tension to mask insecurity. Don’t let your character just say “I’m mad at you. I wish you would do this” but please weave that “message” between interesting subtext and I promise your dialogue will be 400% better. Are they going to say “I’m mad.” or are you going to make them talk about something slightly out of their character traits to indicate that something is wrong. Are you going to let a character explain “I wish you would...” or, are you going to let them go off on a witty tangent, where they complain about the things that another character does. Subtext is so much more efficient too! Look at this bit of final screenplay for American Beauty.

Jane: Mom, do we always have to listen to this elevator music?

Now, in the original screenplay, was

Jane: I want us to change the music that we listen to at dinner all the time

The second one sucks, and the reason is subtext. The only information we are being given in the original screenplay is that Jane wants to change the music that they listen to at dinner with their family. In the final screenplay, the dialogue tells us

Jane hates this kind of music

Jane wants to change the music they listen to

The mother has the power in this dynamic

The music is a typical thing this family goes through

Not only that, but the way in which this was said was far more interesting. Elevator music is an insult to her mothers choice of music. In the movie, even the tone in which is actress said this line implies that she was not asking politely, but in a tone that expresses her distaste for the situation.

I could go so far into subtext and dialogue but really you should just watch these videos which will explain it infinitly better than I could:

How To Write Great Dialogue [The Closer Look]

American Beauty (Part 1) — The Art of Character [Lessons From The Screenplay]

On Writing: The First Chapter [hello future me]

Inglorious Bastards — The Element of Suspense [Lessons From the Screenplay and this movie is one of my favs and the first scene is just a masterclass of subtext *chef’s kiss* I love it and also they punch Nazi’s and who doesn’t love a good Nazi punching watch the movie before watching anything else please it’s great unless you’re like thirteen in which case why are you on tumblr]

Final note before I end off yet another fucking essay, wow I write more about writing than actually writing my fics I have a problem, but anyhow, do not think of your characters as individuals. Don’t think, “Oh they can’t say this because that might be out of character,” because while that might be true to an extent, it is ultimately you that determines the circumstances. You are the one crafting the character, don’t rely on the canon always. This character didn’t exist beforehand, there’s no textbook for you to double-check as see “Yep! Right as rain they’re allowed to say that!” No, it’s your job as the writer to justify the words that come out of their mouth by establishing their character, and creating fitting scenarios that fit towards your theme or overarching story. This goes not just for dialogue, but for writing any dynamics, romances, or world building. You could make me believe that Bolson got together with Bularia if you as the writer did a good enough job crafting compelling dialogue, and more importantly character.

Also, don’t write “realistic” dialogue, write believable dialogue

Rant done, pardon me for being so blunt. :P

[wolflord02]

SCP Sedition Theory pt.2

After re-watching 053′s sedition, I gathered what might be more evidence to back my “Watch is a child of the scarlet king” theory. So, in 053′s sedition, there’s several references to 682 (as one would expect) the most interesting of which (in terms of evidence for my theory), being the scene where the two of them discuss the 682 plushie Watch made for 053, and how he’s fitting into 053′s little town. 053 implies that she’s curious as to why 682 isn’t angered by her, and Watch says that a hidden sensitive side to 682 wasn’t impossible, directly saying “A hidden sensitive side to 682? I wouldn’t say it was impossible. If I did, then I feel my grip on reality would let go.” remember what 682 first said to Watch? “Surprised to see you again so soon.” 682 implies that he and Watch have met in the past, but not in an interview setting. 682 also said “Not a social visit, I take?” in a way that makes me think that they’ve spoken before at least once (also, he sounded kinda disappointed, didn’t he?). This is a stretch and it borders on fanfiction, but what if 682 breached containment for an extended period, and met Watch that way? Based off of what 682 implies, he and Watch may have had a “social visit” in the past, and would explain why 682 almost seems disappointed when he realized that Watch wasn’t there for conversation. And this would also possibly be when the foundation started focusing on him, as they would be curious as to why a seemingly normal person would somehow have a conversation with 682 and live to tell the tale. And why would 682 let Watch live if he wasn’t special in some way? As for Watch’s “parents”, they could have easily adopted him, an abandoned child, and had Evelyn as a biological child later on. And as for the scarlet king, someone messaged me saying that none of the scarlet king’s daughters fit as Watch’s mother, as most of them are accounted for in other SCP’s (example: 682 is the son of the fourth daughter, as she was a girl who could turn into a horrible monster, and her children were always born like her. “their injuries were healed and their hides impenetrable”). But from what I’ve heard (forgive me if I’m wrong) the scarlet king’s daughters didn’t have just one child each, and have had possibly dozens of children in the past, only the “last batch” (the ones born in the foundation) were the ones that resulted in their deaths. Personally, I think that Watch, if he is a scarlet child, is either a child of the fourth, or the seventh daughter. The fourth because he hasn’t had any long-lasting serious injuries (that we’ve seen) and the seventh because she was/is said to give birth to two-legged heroes. And personally, Watch seems like a hero to me. And he certainly has two legs. I think.

Again, it’s a stretch, and I may have gone on a tangent at some point but it’s still fun to theorize about this series.

Also, how cool would it be if we got a conversation-based episode with 682 and Watch? I wonder how they’d interact without the foundation sticking their noses into their conversation? Would 682 be a lot more open than he was in the first episode, or would he be more casual?

[nitewrighter]

Heya, Mun!! :Dc

I absolutely adored the Thing fic with the fankids!!! And I was wondering if there would be a continuation/part 2/sequel to that fic? Or was the gang's leaving through the elevator them leaving to safety? I was just imagining them just unwittingly sinking deeper into the bowels of that lab for more terrifying encounters! I hope you're doing well!!! :DDD

(Referring back to this fic)

The elevator was supposed to be them going up to safety, but I think followup would be interesting...

----

Winston, Jack, Mei, and Mercy were all seated at the conference table, opposite of Marti, Aedan, Jaime, and Samir. A part of Aedan was relieved that the people looking at their debrief was mostly scientists, but it still made his stomach turn as Jack frowned at his tablet.

“...a blob,” said Jack Morrison, glancing up from the tablet that held the team’s debrief, “...you went into the Talon lab, and you were attacked by a blob.”

“A mass of nanites and human tissue, yes,” said Samir.

“A blob,” said Jaime.

“It’s unclear if it was attacking or attempting to communicate,” said Marti, not fully making eye contact with him. Jack’s wrinkled brow furrowed wincingly at her own words, lending further reality to the events described to him. Jaime had bullshitted him before, and Aedan and Samir both had a habit of launching off into multiple tangents that suggested muddled observation, but Marti had eyes on a mission that he could count on as his own--probably better than his own, with his age.

“Was--was this like back at Urdr, or--?” said Jack.

“You have to understand, this wasn’t a nanite amalgam,” said Aedan, “It had human DNA. In all likelihood, it had your DNA.”

“And Reyes’s,” Samir added in as Jack paled.

“So, what, this was a failed attempt before they made the woman that attacked you back in Japan?” said Jack.

“Andrea,” said Aedan.

Jack gave him an odd look, mulling over the name.  

“Her name is Andrea,” said Aedan.

“From the Greek ‘Andros,’ ‘of man,’” Winston chimed in, “Quite a clever name considering her--” Jack shot a look at Winston and Winston cleared his throat.

“Yes--We’re pretty sure the lab was the site, or a site, where they were attempting to clone you and Reyes,” said Marti.

“And you said you sealed the lab behind you?” said Winston, looking at Marti.

“We could open it again, with decryption,” said Marti.

“Don’t really want to do that anytime soon though...” said Jaime.

“And you said it apparently ‘fed’ on biotics and... biomass?” said Mercy, looking at her own tablet.

“Our working theory is that it must have consumed several scientists, forcing Talon to abandon the site,” said Samir.

“If it made it out, it could spell ecological disaster for the surrounding area,” murmured Mei.

“Well, that might be dependent on how... resilient it is,” said Aedan, “I mean, just outside that lab is unforgiving snowy peaks and glacial ocean. If it has human DNA, it might be subject to similar limitations.”

“So it can be killed,” said Jack.

Aedan paled.

“If it’s sealed in the lab, it could just... starve to death on its own, right?” said Jaime.

“With the artificial aging on clones and biotics basically shutting down decomposition on the clones that were still in their amnio-tanks, it’s not actually clear how long its been down there,” said Aedan. His gaze had become fixed on the wood of the table, “But based on how it reacted to our presence...”

“I think it was hungry,” said Jaime.

Aedan could feel Mercy’s eyes on him, studious, discerning, and he wanted to shrink into his chair and disappear.

“If the lab is sealed, I think we can assume it doesn’t currently present a threat to the surrounding area,” said Winston.

“So, we just stick a pin in the secret lab in Cordillera Darwin that has a cannibalistic human-nanite blob lurking around in it?” said Jack.

“Well, we could call in Interpol,” said Winston.

Aedan tensed in his seat at the mental image of a wall of armed agents of some unknown country fixing their sights on the blob.

“We still don’t know the extent of how much Talon may have infiltrated the UN or different governments,” said Jack.

Mercy shuddered, “Just as well, if the existence of such an organism becomes mainstream knowledge, it could kick off a biological arms race. Even governments who abhor Talon’s biological experiments may see the need to create their own... projects... to try and counter it.”

“Keeping secrets never went particularly well for us, either,” said Jack.

“Mei and I could test the waters with other scientists in our correspondence,” said Mercy, “Get a gauge on how desperate other countries might be with regards to Talon’s research...”

“We could have Athena re-direct one of our satellites to send us more regular updates of imagery of the area if anything changes,” suggested Mei, “I could set up cryo-mines to stop it without too much damage to the lab...”

“If it could be frozen...” said Winston.

“if I had some samples of it... just to get a better idea of what we’re up against...” Mercy started.

“Why are we against it?” said Aedan, his voice came out as a flinch. “It didn’t ask to be made, but now we’re talking about killing it like it’s--it’s-- some sort of infection!”

“We didn’t say we would kill it,” said Winston.

“Only that it could be killed--” Aedan argued.

“It’s not an infection--” Mei started calmly.

“You said it was an ecological threat!”

“It consumes biomass---” Mei started.

“It has human DNA---” Aedan’s voice was overlapping with hers, “What, because it’s ugly? Because it’s a blob?”

“Even if it has intelligence, it’s highly likely that intelligence was also shaped by Talon’s brainwashing. If it’s smart, it could be as hell-bent on destroying us as that other cl--Andrea,” said Jack.

“But LaCroix came back from it!” said Aedan, “What, it comes into the world with no context except what Talon pumped into it and we just decide it’s a monster!? Let it be locked away in that lab or--?”

Aedan felt a hand on his shoulder and he glanced sharply over at Marti. “What?!” he snapped.

“...it tried to eat us,” said Marti.

“I--” Aedan inhaled and found his breath was short. Aedan wasn’t sure what he was arguing. He could remember the sheer terror of that thing pursuing him, the sheer horror that it came from an amnio-tank like he did. For a few mad flailing seconds he wondered if this was some instinct his mother implanted in him--an unconscious kinship with the monstrous, some mental building block for the world she wanted to build--no, no, too much speculation, too much spiraling. “I’m emotionally compromised,” Aedan said, standing up, “If you require further details on the debrief, you can call me but--I--I need some air.”

“Aedan--” Samir started as he stood up but Aedan was already out the door.

“...so... putting a pin in it?” said Winston, after a long pause.

----

David Bowie’s ‘Quicksand’ warbled through Aedan’s earbuds as he listened to the song on his comm and sat on the small bench in the Watchpoint garden. Aedan closed his eyes and took in the smell of upturned earth and orange blossoms on the ocean air. The sunlight glowed red through his eyelids, but he opened his eyes as he felt a shadow pass over him and startled slightly to see Mercy blocking the sun. He tensed a bit. “...is... there something you need, Doctor Ziegler?” he said warily.

“May I sit?” said Mercy.

Aedan scooted over and she took a seat next to him on the garden bench. A long silence passed between them.

“You know, we planted that olive tree over there when Rei was born,” Mercy said, pushing brightness into her voice and pointing at an olive tree with some canvas spread beneath it to catch the falling olives.

“Yes, she, um... told me when she gave me the tour,” said Aedan.

“Oh,” said Mercy. And they sat in silence a while longer. Aedan couldn’t recall a time when Mercy had ever actively sought him out, and she seemed too awkward to have any malice in her actions--not that it was really in character for her to go out of her way to be malicious to him, but he knew his presence in general made her uncomfortable, especially with regards to Rei. Mercy clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Aedan--” she started.

“Look--” Aedan started speaking at the same time but he caught himself and glanced down, “Sorry. You go first.”

“I... wanted to apologize for that debriefing,” said Mercy, “Of course it was standard procedure that those on the mission be present, and given the nature of the mission, it was important that you were there, but we should have taken more care.”

“I know... time sensitive,” said Aedan, slouching his elbows onto his knees.

“And... I apologize for the precedent I’ve set in how I’ve treated you,” said Mercy.

Aedan blinked. “What?”

“You threw all security and your entire future with Talon away to save Rei, but I still viewed you as a potential threat to us for months,” said Mercy.

“Well... that’s fair,” Aedan said a little helplessly, not really sure what to say, “I mean, given the history with LaCroix---”

“And we all rationalized it as that for all that time when it must have been incredibly lonely to you,” said Mercy.

“I was scared of it, too,” Aedan blurted out.

“What?” said Mercy.

“I--I was scared Mum put something in me. Something in my head. Some unconscious set of automatic orders that I would follow just when we’d all let our guard down,” his breath shook a little, “I even looked for it--Master Zenyatta helped me search for it in my head--some Shambali hypnosis thing--but it wasn’t there. But a part of me’s still scared of it,” Aedan threaded his thin fingers into his red hair, “Zenyatta said, maybe this fear is some... manifestation of having this-this consciousness just... propped up within me all at once. Like... I don’t have... the physical chronology so my brain keeps thinking there has to be something more and then jumping to the worst conclusion---” he curled his knuckles against his forehead, “Seeing that thing in that lab--Mum made me to prove that nanite organisms can survive infancy--and once Talon knew they could do that, they just started making....” His other hand unconsciously went over the point on his solarplexus where Andrea’s fist had torn out of him, “They just... started making...” He drew a steadying breath before letting his hand drop from his solarplexus.

He felt a gentle hand on his back and his head jerked over to look at Mercy. She was looking at him gently.

“I don’t know what I could say that could comfort you,” Mercy said quietly, “I wish I did.”

“Honestly I’m still kind of processing the fact that you’re even listening to me right now,” said Aedan.

Mercy snorted. “Fair,” she said with a slight nod before looking over at him, “Have you... mentioned any of this to Rei?”

“I’ve heaped enough clone hangups on her,” muttered Aedan, “And she’s scared enough about Mnemosyne nearly being used on her back in Urdr without me adding my anxieties to the list.”

“You shouldn’t think like that,” said Mercy.

“Like what?”

“Making yourself smaller and living with a problem rather than working through it,” said Mercy, “But... you could talk to me, or Genji, or Zenyatta about it. There was a time when Genji had a lot of anxieties about how human he was, as well.”

“Oh--Uh, thank you,” said Aedan, honestly more than a little intimidated at the prospect of talking to Rei’s father.

“You’re a part of this team, and you’ve proven that plenty of times,” Mercy went on, “And... we wanted you in that debriefing not just because you were on the mission, but I think... we thought you might know better than anyone how to deal with..”

“A giant cannibalistic human tissue nanite blob that we’re not even sure is sentient?” said Aedan.

“Yes,” Mercy caught herself, “But I don’t mean ‘deal with’ like--”

“I understand,” said Aedan. He paused, “I--I don’t want to kill it. Or hurt it. Not unless we have to, and not until we understand it more.”

“I agree,” said Mercy.

“Maybe it could even help you find that cure for Reyes,” Aedan mentioned offhandedly.

Mercy gave him a slightly shrewd look.

“I knew it crossed your mind,” said Aedan, he caught himself, “But--it can’t be a lab rat, either...” his voice trailed off a little, “I wonder if it’s in pain right now...Maybe it had been down there so long, the nanites in it couldn’t distinguish between loneliness and hunger...” 

A softness filled Mercy’s eyes and she tilted her head at him slightly. 

“What?” said Aedan.

“You know... your mother was always trying to push humanity to something... beyond human. I just think it’s very special that you try to see humanity in what we don’t understand.”

Aedan scratched at his temple blankly, weighing her words for a few long seconds. “Uh... thank you.”

Another pause passed between them, not uncomfortable, but both ruminating on passing over a threshold of mutual discomfort into a sort of cautious familiarity. 

“Does loneliness sometimes feel like hunger to you?” said Mercy, her brow crinkling slightly with some amused curiosity, “With your nanites?”

“Well, I don’t know if the connection is that direct, but sometimes I feel them... perking up when I’m with Rei, and I wonder if they’re responding to the biotics her body naturally--” Aedan realized he said the words ‘perking up’ and ‘her body’ regarding Rei to Rei’s mother, instantly caught himself, and noted that Mercy’s face had shifted from gentle curiosity to maternal alarm. He cleared his throat. “Er--I mean... it’s probably psychosomatic---It’s not like I feel the same around a biotic rifle---That is---nanites are--You know what? I’m going to stop talking.”

“Mm,” Mercy forced a nod, “Yes. I think this is a good point to stop.”

“Good talk?” said Aedan.

“Good talk,” Mercy huffed before standing up. 

“And--Doctor Ziegler?” Aedan said as Mercy started to walk away. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Thank you,” said Aedan, “Really.” 

Mercy smiled a little.