#i heard a snippet of ruthlessness and started balling

[thunderjackal]

no art for a little bit as I'm still working on christmas stuff for my friends also going feral about the new epic the musical saga takes priority

[caught-in-the-filter]

I think your writing is brilliant and HOT! Can you tease (hee hee) what you plan to share with us next? What are you most excited to post and which fic do you find the most challenging?

Wiwksnsjadoskwndjdjwhd thank you so much!! 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️😘😘😘 It means so much to me that you enjoy it! 🥰❤️😘

Hmmm the next thing I post will probably either be Ch3 of Chasing a Shadow (Chasing a High) (which is betaed, but with Halloweek and everything going on irl, I still haven’t formatted and posted yet, shame on me) or the fic I’m working on inspired by @itsfabianadocarmo Naughty November 2021 Part Five which is absolutely gorgeous (as usual) and I can only hope the fic lives up to the beautiful art. 🥰

I teased a bit of the fic for Fabiana for this past Six Sentence Sunday, so I think I’ll give a little tease from CaS(CaH) Ch3 to hopefully re-spark some interest in that before I do post some again. 😘

~~~~~

“Gods,” she moaned breathlessly as she tipped back and slid down his body until she lay on top of him. She traced the muscles in his arms as she lowered her own, moving to gently cup his head as her thumb soothingly brushed his cheek. “Kiss me,” she pleaded, giving no pause as she pressed her lips to his and he hungrily reciprocated, the actions of his tongue far more tender with her mouth than they had been between her legs. The heady taste and scent of her own essence on his lips was positively intoxicating, and she knew she must look at least as wrecked as he did when she finally broke away from him.

“What else do you have in store for us today, my darling?” The Dark One asked, his voice low and sultry and practically a purr. “With that deliciousness as the first act, I am eager to know what you’ll have me do next.”

Emma pondered for a moment before she answered, “Next, you’ll do nothing.” An air of mischief crossed her features as she slid lower still until her feet planted firmly on the floor. Gliding her hands up his legs, she pushed on his thighs, and he easily complied as she spread them apart, a moan catching in his throat as she held his balls in her hand and gave them a squeeze. “You’ll lay there, Dark One, and you’ll do nothing until I’ve had my fill of you, your eagerness be damned. Now,” Emma gripped his cock and began to slowly stroke its length, watching his velvety skin glide with her palm before meeting his gaze again and grinning as she commanded, “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

~~~~~

As far as what I’m most excited to post right now, hmmm honestly probably one of those two. ☺️ I’m so close to finished with Fabiana’s fic, it got a bit rougher than I’d planned but that tends to happen when I write smut lol, and CaS(CaH) is my first MC which is exciting. I have several other wips I’ve started that I’m also excited for, but they’ll be a bit farther off for posting because I’ve still got quite a ways to go on all of them. They’re mostly still just the initial inspiration burst snippets for now.

The most challenging fic to write so far I’d say is definitely the MC that @holdingoutforapiratehero is challenging me to write. Basically the challenge is an MC with a lot of plot since I mostly write pwp, so I decided to go with a recurring daydream I’ve had of Emma stowing away on the Jolly and getting caught. It’s so fun to write a more ruthless Killian and to get to explore more of Emma than I usually do, but I’m also not much of a planner, so I’m kind of jumping around all over the place with little bits and pieces, and then hoping it’ll all eventually come together in an at least somewhat coherent fic when I finally have enough written lol. 😅

Smut in general is always hard for me to write too though (pun always intended lol 😏), because I want it to be accurate/believable and sexy (and y’know, physically possible lol), and I have no experience to back up pretty much any of it. So it’s all things I’ve heard about one way or another, and I have to just wing the feelings and emotions and hope that the acts are actually as pleasurable as they sound in theory to me. But it’s a fun challenge, and a safe way to explore, and I have a lot of fandom friends who help me work through my questions and concerns, including you.

Thank you. 🥰❤️😘

[vagrantblvrd]

Where the Shadows Lay (1/1)

Summary: Someone wanting them dead isn’t a new experience. Someone wanting them dead badly enough to sic the Vagabond on them is just all kinds of uncalled for.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Freewood with the Vagabond hired to kill the crew. (And bonus Drama, because reasons. :D?)

(Read on AO3)

They’ve definitely had better days.

Botch job and the cops chasing them until Michael lost them a few blocks back, but the damage had already been done. Tires shredded from bullets and reckless driving and it’s just as much luck as skill that leaves them alive at the end of it.

“Gavin, you need to shut the fuck up,” Michael says, pained wheeze to it as Gavin drags him from the wreck of their getaway car.

Used to be a lovely little thing. Shiny and fast and expensive as balls to hear Michael talk, and now it’s so much scrap metal wrapped around a light pole. Gas leaking from the tank and a hazard to be around.

Gavin ignores Michael because he’s the one who crashed the car and Gavin is not having it from him right now.

Not after that stunning display of skill and ability and total lack of turning to avoid obstacles.

“Oh my God,” Michael mutters, stumbling hard against Gavin who takes more of his weight without protest. “Oh my fucking God. Gimme your gun, asshole, swear to God I’m going to kill you myself.”

Gavin snorts, and focuses on hauling Michael out of the blast range. Not the easiest thing he’s ever done, body protesting every step of the way and Michael's breathing all wrong in his ear, but they don’t have a lot of choice in things at the moment.

When Gavin judges they’re a reasonable distance away he settles Michael against a wall because he’s a heavy bastard and Gavin’s ribs are not happy about it. (His ribs, his back. Everything, really.)

Mind churning, trying to figure out where they go from here.

The others got away – they did - and Gavin’s phone is lost in the wreckage of the car, too risky to go back for it. God knows where Michael’s is after the tussle with the Merryweather goon before they got out of the building.

Michael’s earpiece went the way of his phone, most likely, and Gavin’s is fidgety, fussy. Bursts of static in between snippets of conversation from the others.

Not the worst situation, but they’ve been better.

There’s a safehouse not too far from where they are.

Good place to go to ground until things settle down out here. Contact the others to let them know they’re still alive, patch each other up best they can.

Just. Need to rest first, orient themselves before they set off.

“Getting a bit fat there, boi,” he murmurs, because Michael’s not doing well. Bleeding all over and looking like he just came out of the fight ring again. Worse. “Too many fast food runs with Jeremy, I reckon.”

Michael scowls at him, but doesn’t argue the point, which is worrying in itself.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Gavin says, sitting back on his heels. Feels blood spilling from his split lip when he grins, slipping into the scruff on his chin but it’s a small hurt. Slight sting compared to everything else. “Michael Jones, agreeing with me.”

And there, there is the Michael Gavin knows. Snarl on his face and mouth opening to retort, slap Gavin down a peg or two in this little back-and-forth game of theirs.

“Fuck.”

There’s a sound behind Gavin. Footsteps. Michael’s gaze skipping past him to focus on something behind him, eyes narrowing. Hand coming up to grab the front of Gavin's shirt, jerking him down so their eyes meet.

Gavin flails, throws a hand out for balance. It puts them closer together, lets Michael speak without fear of his words carrying past them.

“Get the fuck out of here Gavin,” he says, no levity to it. “Go.”

Gavin stares at him, sees the worry, fear, in his eyes quickly hidden because Michael's like that, isn’t he. Glares at Gavin to make sure he knows Michael’s not fucking around here, to goddamn listen to him for once. Please.

The footsteps slow. Stop altogether, and Gavin hears a gun being cocked.

Not the cops, because they would have shot by now. Yelled a bit too, unimaginative threats and insults, but whoever crept up on them hasn’t bothered with that.

Puts the hair on the back of Gavin’s neck up, chill down his spine.

“Alright,” Gavin says, just for Michael. “Alright.”

There’s a flash of relief, determination, in Michael's eyes as he lets Gavin go. Shoves him to push him away, and Gavin uses the slight momentum to start things off.

Just -

“Sorry, boi,” he says, and snatches the gun he can see tucked into Michael’s waistband hidden by that jacket of his. Gets to his feet and turns, gun raised to see a figure standing a few feet away.

Everyone in Los Santos knows who the Vagabond is, of course they do. Too many stories, rumors, floating about the city not to.

Somehow the reality of the man is more intimidating than all the horrible stories that go along with the name, his reputation.

Black of his skull mask terrifying in the dim light of the alley, and Gavin can hear Michael bitching him out behind him. (Fear, desperation. Anger.)

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Gavin says, lays the charm on thick as he spots the Vagabond’s gun aimed at him, lovely little standoff going on. “Which is a shame, I’ve heard about your work. Amazing stuff.”

Horrifying, too, if you just go by the stories.

If you bother to do a little digging, you get a better idea of the truth. Glimpse of the larger picture and all that.

Still a big, scary bastard, but not quite the monster people like to paint him as.

Ruthless, yes, but not a monster. (Los Santos, though. Loves to twist things just so, turn things on their heads and backwards.)

The Vagabond’s watching them, nary a flicker of emotion to give him away. Tall and dark and menacing and Gavin will be honest here, no reason not to, but this isn’t how he thought he’d go out.

And he’s thought about it, since he got into this life. Scraping by on his own by picking pockets and dabbling in night-time robbery. Picking up hacking almost by accident and on and on and on, all the ways he’d die and never once something like this.

Oversight on his part, surely.

The crew’s gotten big enough to be a problem for people here in Los Santos. Rocking the boat, as the says goes. Shaking things up and making people uneasy and of course someone would think of sending the Vagabond after them before too long.

“Gavin, what the fuck?” Michael hisses, sound of his voice drawing the Vagabond’s attention as he switches his aim to Michael.

Nice fat target siting on his arse the way he is, and Gavin won’t have that either.

Moves to put himself between Michael and the Vagabond’s gun, smile full of teeth when the man tips his head to the side, just so.

Not expecting Gavin to do that, or the way Michael's full-on bitching at Gavin out for being this kind of stupid. (Might stand a chance if he ran, popped off a few shots at the Vagabond and fled. Left Michael behind as a sacrifice and everything would be fine, yeah? No worries at all.)

Gavin’s earpiece decides it’s going to be good, and he gets a loud burst of static in his ear followed by worried yelling – the others demanding to know what’s going on – and it’s distracting. So. Gavin reaches up and pulls the mangled thing out of his ear. Tucks all nice and safe in his shirt pocket and gives the Vagabond a little smile.

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” he says. Shrugs. “It was giving me a bit of a headache too, to be honest.”

There’s a burst of muffled yelling, shouting, cursing from the earpiece, and Gavin smiles brighter when the Vagabond gives him this look.

Well.

Gavin assumes he’s giving him that look anyway, so used to the particular vibe he gets when someone does it.

“Where were we?” Gavin asks, shuffles to keep Michael squarely behind him when Michael moves around.

Tries to pull the Vagabond’s attention back to him, and Gavin’s certain they must look like a pair of lunatics, but nothing about this is funny.

The Vagabond says nothing, but after a moment he lowers his gun.

Gavin is...confused, to say the least.

Figures the only reason the Vagabond would track them down like this would be to kill them, and since the man has a zero percent failure rate this is odd behavior from him.

“Fucking shoot him!” Michael hisses, like one of those damned shoulder angels you see in the cartoons. “Gavin!”

Gavin huffs, shifts his grip on his borrowed gun and thinks about it.

He’s a better-than-average shot, and from this distance there’s not much chance he’d miss. Assuming the Vagabond is half as good as the rumors say, he’ll still lose precious seconds bringing his gun back up to aim it at Gavin. (Or, Gavin thinks. He could go for Michael instead. Cost him less time to aim and all that.)

So.

Gavin lowers his gun, decides it’s the safer bet here. Show of trust or faith, or maybe just Gavin being a naive bastard about to get them both killed. (Flip a coin, take a risk.)

The Vagabond could have shot them any time he wanted. Killed them before they even knew he was there, those deliberate footsteps and accompanying drama. Little standoff that’s taken a strange turn.

He doesn’t know why the Vagabond hasn’t, but Gavin’s not about to question it. (Not yet.)

The Vagabond inclines his head – smug bastard – and walks away without a word spoken.

Gavin stares after him, no idea what to make of the whole strange situation.

“Jesus fuck, Gavin, what was that?” Michael demands, struggles to get on his feet, and Gavin tucks his gun away to help the idiot before he hurts himself.

Takes the glare Michael shoots him, the frustrated punch to his shoulder without complaint because he knows Michael.

“Safehouse isn’t far,” Gavin says, feeling shaky after that confrontation with the Vagabond, the aftermath of the chase and resulting crash. The whole damn day. “You going to faint on me before we get there?”

Teasing edge to it, mocking, just enough to get Michael fired up. Stubborn as hell and angry about it as he berates Gavin for being an idiot and not running while he had the chance, and Gavin bites down a laugh as he points them in the right direction.

========

They get one hell of a dressing down from Geoff and Jack when the others come get them. Lecture about why you don’t just go radio silent on them like that Gavin, Jesus fucking Christ. (Too soft when it comes down to it, this crew. Care about each other too damn much and it’s bound to get them killed one day.)

Gavin listens to it all with half an ear, well used to Geoff’s lectures and the things he won’t, can’t, say that go into them. Too busy watching Jack handling Michael, quiet words and the way the two of them just get one another.

And then -

“He what?” Jack says, tone of his voice derailing Geoff’s lecture, drawing everyone's attention.

Gavin winces as Jack pins him in place with a look. Expression hard to read as always.

“What’s this about the Vagabond?”

Yes, that.

Gavin clears his throat, all too aware of the way everyone’s watching him.

“Did I forget to mention that?”

========

Geoff puts the crew on lockdown, once everyone’s accounted for. Hides them away in a safehouse only the crew knows about until they get this mess sorted, and Gavin goes along with if for the first few days.

Hurts too much to get up to any shenanigans, as Jack phrases it. Waits until he heals up a bit, until Michael's moving around under his own power. Gotten more vocal about things and doesn’t make Gavin worry so much.

Doesn’t stop him from getting restless from being cooped up, sneaking out to wander the perimeter. Old habits and paranoia, and it pays off in its own way a week down the road when he realizes there’s a sniper out there.

Little red light sweeping along the asphalt to land over his heart, wink of light against the scope on a rooftop in the distance.

Gentle warning, Gavin knows. Rooted to the spot, all too aware of how vulnerable he is.

Could be anyone out there, the bastards after them or some other enemy with incredible timing.

The way the dot vanishes without warning, there and gone, and Gavin still standing tells him it’s not.

Knows the Vagabond’s too smart to hang around after that little...whatever it was, but he still goes to check it out.

Slips past the B-Team members guarding the perimeter and makes his best guess where the Vagabond would have set up his sniper’s nest. Spends half the night looking for it before he stumbles on that damn thing. Finds cigarette butts and empty cans of diet eCola. Candy wrappers. Nothing helpful, and it’s driving Gavin mad.

So.

Gavin sneaks out.

Does a proper job of it after he lets slip they might want to consider the threat of snipers. (Plenty of viable spots for one to set up shop, pick them off one by one, and all that.)

Plays dirty and calls on a favor with Lindsay, bribes Matt with guaranteed good behavior from Gavin for a solid month to be redeemed when Matt sees fit.

Lindsay’s too much like him, fire in her eyes about protecting their boys and she knows how Gavin works by now. Makes him promise to check in regularly. Not do anything stupid like getting himself killed, and sends him off with a kiss to his cheek and the keys to one of her cars in his hand. Winks as she tells him no one knows it’s out of the shop yet, won’t be missed.

And Matt -

He’s Matt.

Too clever by far, saw it coming from the moment Gavin and Michael told the crew about the Vagabond’s appearance.

Demands Gavin send him everything he finds out and maybe not die out there, huh? Be a shitty way to go out.

Gavin leaves his gear at the warehouse because that would be a dead giveaway of his intentions, and he’s got plenty stashed elsewhere. (Never know when something will go wrong, after all. Best to be prepared for anything.)

He goes to a safehouse even Michael doesn’t know about. Hidey spot from before his days with the crew he hasn’t needed in ages. Dusts everything off and starts planning.

Gavin goes to see Maddy down by the docks. Ignores the rumblings from her boys who are the closest things to pirates Los Santos has these days.

Wheels and deals, sells off favors like it’s going out of fashion and gets names, a motive, in return. (Bit of debt he can’t handle, the way of things in a city like Los Santos.)

Bastards the Fakes tangled with a year back, broke their crews down to kindling when they tried to move in Fake territory. Killed some of their allies in the area, made a mess of things that forced them to treat more harshly than they would have otherwise. (Geoff coldly furious, and the rest right there with him.)

“Ah, well then,” Gavin says, does a little more digging after sending off a message to Matt with what he’s learned.

More than enough reason to hold a grudge. Want to hit back at the Fakes, make them hurt.

Go after them one by one, let Geoff watch his little empire crumble and burn, supports knocked out from under him.

Maybe hire the Vagabond, offer him a significant amount of money to make sure someone did the job right, but.

Why let Gavin and Michael go?

Why not kill Gavin when he had him in his cross hairs? Or go after the others when he had the element of surprise on his side?

==========

Turns out, even the Vagabond’s got enemies too big to handle on his own.

Rival crew to the Fakes, funding the bastards who are taking the revenge game to a far more personal level than most they’ve dealt with until now.

Hired the Vagabond on to deal with them because they didn’t trust those idiots to get the job done, or maybe they just wanted to watch the chaos unfold.

Weaken the Fakes, get them looking the wrong way and move in for the kill. Use the Vagabond as another distraction in the meantime.

Big enough threat to make him agree to work for them, and not one of theirs so why worry what happens to him? (Might want to lump him in with the Fakes before it’s all said and done, remove another obstacle in their way.)

“Did I get that right?” Gavin asks, arm pressed to his throat and point of a knife resting under his eye.

Vagabond in his space and most likely the stupidest risk Gavin’s taken to date. (Hopefully not his last.)

“I don’t have all the details, so I hope you forgive me. I did the best I could with what I had.”

And oh, the favors he owes now. Gonna be a long time in getting back to where he was before all this.

The Vagabond is staring at him, using that damn mask and this whole knife thing of his to intimidate Gavin, but honestly.

The man’s been leaving them a trail of breadcrumbs to follow this whole time. Doing what he can to lead them to the right answers without outright telling them.

Well, alright.

He’d taken a more roundabout way of doing things than most people would, but Gavin figured it out, didn't he?

Tracked the man to his little safehouse and almost gotten past his security before being caught.

And now here they are.

There’s a nail digging into Gavin's back, stabbing into his shoulder blade and he wriggles a little. Tries to get the pressure off it – and the Vagabond makes this...noise.

Alarmed, has him yanking the knife away from Gavin’s face and moving back a little, head cocked as though he has no damn idea what to make of Gavin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gavin mutters, using what room he’s been given by the Vagabond backing off to get more comfortable. “Nail poking me in the back. Annoying.”

He looks up at the Vagabond, and goes still because the man seems confused.

Holds the knife up where Gavin can see it and waggles it to remind Gavin of the precarious position he’s in. (Looks like he can’t believe Gavin isn’t in the least bit concerned.)

“Yes, yes,” Gavin says. Soothes. “You love your knives. I understand. Very shiny and sharp.”

The arm against Gavin’s throat presses harder, punishment for making light of things, and Gavin -

“Rude,” Gavin wheezes, going lightheaded. “Also, not helping your case.”

There’s a little snarl, frustration to it as the Vagabond eases up.

Looms.

They stare at each other for a long, long moment, and then the Vagabond just...deflates.

Doesn’t sigh, no, but he pulls his arm away from Gavin’s throat, takes a few steps back and his shoulder slump.

Watches Gavin, completely baffled.

Knife in his hand like a child who’s thrown a tantrum and didn’t get the reaction he expected and no idea what to do next.

And Gavin.

Gavin grins, straightens his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. Plays off the Golden Boy’s reputation, borrows a little of Geoff’s theatrics.

“What do you say,” Gavin says, bounces on his heels. “What do you say we team up, yeah? Make those bastards sorry they thought they could get away with this?”

Using those poor bastards with a grudge against the Fake, strong-arming the Vagabond into working for them. Everything they’ve done to get things to this stage, send the Fakes into hiding and damn near kill Michael.

All of it.

Turn everything around on them and let them know who they’re messing with, remind them how the Fakes got where they are. Why everyone in the city knows the Vagabond’s name, his reputation.

Rude wake up call, as they say, and too long in coming.

The Vagabond snorts, tucks his knife away and looks at Gavin.

Nods his head, and Gavin laughs.

Knows he’s a damned idiot, taking the risks he has, but he’s got a good feeling about this.

[taliawells]

Flash Points

this got long, so grab a seahorse and saddle up

what are some of your favorite tropes? 

It is such a cliche, but I really enjoy the fake married trope. It’s so goofy, especially when they go to great lengths to prove how ~~in love!!~~ they are. Bonus points if they are very grudging about this, but end up becoming a little bit soft and closer together. I love a found family moment, and arguably they can be deeper and just as, if not more important as other familial connections. It was a choice, and that can make all the difference. Another that gets me every dang time is when a pair always call the other by their last name only. In an emotional moment when one is injured or in dire peril, when the other just cracks and uses their first name while pleading with them to hang on just OOFs right to my heart.

do you have a favorite character you’ve written, in or outside of shiver? if so, what makes them your fave? 

I really enjoy playing Talia, simply because she’s different from the types I’ve played most recently. Talia is dauntless and ruthless, but there’s a vague nervous energy deep down and she just shrouds herself in apathy and indifference. Internally there is so much more going on. She is strong and would happily throw down if the situation would call for it, but she clings to an icy poise that’s called from her for all of the different roles she has to play. She has never felt more vulnerable and yet, more like herself on land since she’s been able to take a step back and reevaluate. She’s strong and seems unwavering, but Talia is really figuring out who she is and what she wants currently, happily putting royal duties on the backburner for now... especially when a familiar face popped back up that doesn’t have her wanting to go back to the sea quite yet.

The character I played before Talia was Stella Rosenthal. She stuck with me through five iterations, and seems much more fragile than she is. She is an entirely soft human that aims to be a bright spot in a darkening world. Her strength is in her softness, and it’s almost unexpected with how gentle she is. Talia seems unbreakable, but she’s more vulnerable and guarded. Stella was a museum curator + conservator and really, really cared about inclusiveness and accessibility throughout all facets of her life. She aimed to be a walking safe space but really struggled with her own mental health at times. Stella tried to surround herself in layers and layers of light, but she struggled in immense darkness and some trauma until she started working through it. She’s deaf in one ear and her other isn’t the greatest, and I had 8 ear surgeries of my own growing up so she’s near to my heart. She was a ray of sunshine and Talia is a ball of fire. Stella is the type to Rick Roll her beloved in sign language on their wedding day, while Talia will flip the general public the bird and elope.

do you prefer writing with small casts of characters or large ones? what are some of the pros and cons?

I think I tend to like things somewhere in the middle! Of the two, I would say that I tend to gravitate towards things on the slightly smaller scale. I love a good small group where you really feel included and integral to the plot, where all of the characters and layers of the bigger story intertwine and intermingle. I tend to like that as a more casual environment with friends I’ve written with before or friends of friends. I truly love getting to know people and their characters, but I’ve been incredibly picky about truly small groups. I’ve had to miss out on one due to real life issues, and it was rough having everything move forward and then those connections carried over into future projects with the same people. If not done right, it can end up being very cliquey and that’s not a good time for anyone. I’ve been burned by that before. Some roleplays are truly massive, and that can be so great for a busy time of the year where you don’t feel like you’re holding everything up if you can’t get online for hours and hours. I was advanced literate elite on a different website back in the day (I am so freaking old) but it was just deluded pretentiousness disguised labeled good writing -- it wasn’t. Bigger ones tend to move more quickly which can be exciting, but it is so so easy to fall between the cracks and hard to feel heard. I really dig the size of Shiver and the different areas of play.

what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done in the name of outlining/worldbuilding (timelines, research, maps, spreadsheets, etc.)? 

There was a time where I really got stuck in a rut writing bios, and I was creating yet another dark academia/murder roleplay back in the day. I had a cast of 15 characters and ended up settling on a skeleton roleplay but I wanted to come up with a fun little twist. I wanted to leave things incredibly open and let the writers sink their teeth in and really breath life into the characters. The roles were all named after flowers/plants (big shocker, bless you Jess for putting up with weekly Plant Rants with Rian™) but there were strong hints of digging a little deeper than that. Be it the symbolism of the flower, some pulled from the Victorian language of flowers, the colors, the locations. Basically, there was a lot more to the label should the writer want to dig in, or it was just simply taken at face value. It was fun seeing how it was interpreted!

The skeletons themselves were about a thick paragraph, with the bulk of things being presented in Two Truths & a Lie and a playlist for each character. What was true and what was false was left up to the writer, with the option of swapping out two of the three for a different interpretation. Three songs were to be added to the five given, but more could be subbed out. Snippets of the lyrics for each could be pulled for that section, or a quick few sentences about what the songs (and even a few classical pieces chosen by the writers) either meant to the character (a memory, etc) or what they said about them.

It was just a different way of presenting starting points for characters and a lot of fun trying to figure out what were the truths and lies throughout the game.

share the last paragraph you wrote you’re most proud of. 

I can’t decide between these two so yikes

The ocean could be cold, so terribly frigid in the concealed, inky depths. How many placid surfaces disguised stormier waters that hid debris pulled to a final slumber upon a sea bed? There were wrecks, warnings. Something had happened here. Good, bad. Wrought upon nature by mercurial seas or upon souls by its inhabitants. There were distinct memories of explorations of such ruins, and the most vivid cast itself upon Talia’s eyelids when she closed them. Spires of shrapnel, warped wood of vengeance that had been wreaked. They were almost skeletal, and she had so curiously flit between the carved curves. The mast had toppled and bent at unnatural angles, and she figured her own rib cage looked as such currently. An irregular thud was beating so fervently against that cage in an internal collision that threatened to sink her very being. Would the bones break in the newly found fragility of a human body, or would the heart beat itself to a mangled pulp in a valiant ploy for release? Would the state it was in even matter, as Talia never intended to offer it up for the taking? One day she would love her kingdom and she would be loved in return. That would be enough.

--

Her heart had slumbered in darkness. A place as cool, calm, dark, as unyielding and eternal as the saltwater they were pulled from. It could be as serene or tumultuous as a rolling storm – ready to pull down and trap anyone that dove too deep into those depths. One person had learned the angles of a sole beam of light and learned how to reflect it just so. One person emanated light into her dark so thoroughly and Talia held it as close as she could without immolation. She was but a jealous moon. A detached, mysterious beauty that pulled beings to her like the tide before sending them ebbing away. The hand she held was warmer than hers, and Evikaia would always hold that sentiment. Before her was a radiant beauty, though dimmed by something she couldn’t place, but Talia would turn her face towards her own personal sun until she went blind. She wanted to observe and absorb every shred of warmth he had offered until her bones were drenched in his rays and sun-bleached; washed ashore and finally free of the seaside sepulchre.

describe your current muse’s physical appearance using only one, over the top sentence.

She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine.

A crepuscular girl with a crescent smile, a moon’s pull to your demise under inky waves, waves & waves & waves of dark and auburn  — a red sky warning daring you to step closer.

if you had to write a novel about one of the characters in or outside of shiver, which character would you choose and why? 

I would have to go with the meyrs! I’m so excited that we have some more in these waters, but I’m so excited to see how everything plays out in the group. The group, and different writers and perspectives, would just add more nuance and ideas than I could ever do justice solely. I think it would be so exciting to explore the different kingdoms and how different people cope with courtly life. The plot of the Amethyst leaving and all of the regents pulled from the deep to unite on one task (with their own motivations or lack thereof [[Talia]]) just offer so much to explore. I think this is much better suited for a group dynamic and I’m thrilled to be a part of it.

Writing one for Talia would be rather interesting as well. She has a lot of conflicting emotions about her role as Regent and the royal court. She could have had an easy, glamorous life with Vik at her side as her betrothed, but she felt she had too much potential and the opportunity for power was far more enthralling than a vapid existence. The trials were such an extended period of heightened emotions as she laid claim to what she wanted, or thought she wanted. It’s so starkly juxtaposed to her own time on land in the 1970s, and she still has a bit of flair for that era. She had never, and has never felt as free and happy since but duty called and she was bound to answer. I’d probably have to choose writing Talia living her best life while exploring her dynamic with Vik.

[yackowarner]

This is a snippet of a fic I wrote that I doubt I’ll ever finish so I’ll post it ... i hope you enjoy! I miss this show :0

Fingers ran delicately over the green crystal ball, its swirling contents currently unreadable. The ball had a mysterious tendency to go eerily silent before it broke out into bad comedic lines.  Hildegard Gloom pressed her palm against the cool rounded glass, blowing a hair out of her eyes and sighing. Weirdly quiet moments like this one were so torturous to her, she so wished Grim would come home soon with the potion ingredients she had sent him to go fetch for her.

The silence provoked long trains of thought, which usually lead to memories of past failed plans. Which, of course, lead the young witch to grind her teeth and scratch her nails against the green glass ball. Hard. She pressed hard enough to make a loud scraping sound, after which she groaned and threw her head back onto the dark colored couch, forcing a pillow over her face.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the property damage? You’re hurtin’ the merchandise!”

The crystal was awake.

“That bumblin’ husband a yours do something big and stupid again?”

“No.” Hildy replied, her voice muffled by cushion. What couldn’t be muffled, however, was her clear tone of disgust. “I was… thinking. Icky.”

“About how you’re not Queen of Jollywood, by the slime that’s just dripping from your words, there.”

“Don’t you rub it in,” Hildegard let out another whine of protest and frustration, the pent up anger from so many losses suddenly gathering together at once into a single sound. “I try over and over, but those stupid Jollywoodians just can’t be taken over! Most of all, those seven… argh!!!” She dug her nails into the pillow now, nearly ripping the thing to shreds.

“You’re soundin’ like a bad book, Hildy. A really cliché one.”

“Thank you, all knowing crystal ball. You’re very helpful.”

“Haha, hey, listen. If you wanna be Queen so bad… I’m going to let you in on what may or may not be a good idea.”

Hildy sat up, attentive, but the expression crossing her brow was skeptical. He hadn’t guaranteed success with this one. She eyed the ball’s smirking face, as it looked around the house with a bit of trepidation.  Was this actually serious?

“I’ve had this in my back pocket—figuratively—for a while now. If you wanna be Queen, why not call an experienced evil Queen and ask her? I happen to see… a future for a nearby kingdom… having an especially evil woman ruling it. Ruthless lady. Pretty foxy, though, if I do say myself. Whew!”

The witch gaped at the orb for a moment, the new information processing slowly. She knew her crystal ball knew a lot, but it usually kept from telling her future events. Maybe it felt bad for her, since it had watched her horrid attempts of taking over the kingdom.

“That’s a brilliant idea!!!” She suddenly hopped up, her leg nudging the table which jostled the ball a bit.

“Whoa, whoa, careful!”

“I’ve got to find a spell to call someone back from the future.” With a steadfast determination, Hildy threw open her spellbook, ignoring the dust that flew off the giant tomb. Certain pages were never turned to, and were all stuck together.  She had to peel apart two pages to reach the spell, excitedly reading it until she saw the ingredients for the cauldron that needed to be used over the incantation. Luckily enough, those were the ingredients that Grimwold was out getting, but it meant she had to wait. Hildy was impatient to get what she wanted, that was a clear trait about her. She spent the next several minutes pacing back and forth across the living room until her ears caught the faint footsteps of Peaches coming up the drive.

The witch burst out her front door into the swamp air, and scurried over to the carriage where her husband was happily holding the reigns.

“Grimmy! Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. I need those ingredients you bought for a very important spell. You did get all of them, didn’t you, darling?” She gave him her best little puppy dog pout, clasping her elegant hands together under her chin. Thankfully, he nodded his head.

“Yup, all things on the list accounted for Hildy-Wildy!” He had on a proud smirk. Pretty charming, the witch silently admitted to herself, before breaking out into a huge grin and squealing loud enough for the whole kingdom to hear as she climbed up into the slowly moving carriage and grabbed the grocery bags.

“Oh, Grimwold, my dearest dark delight, you’re going to see me take over Jollywood soon enough, just you wait!”

--

She eagerly poured the last bit into the pot, rubbing her hands together, cackling darkly. Hildy wasn’t sure why she was so convinced this was going to work, but it was a special bit of advice from her crystal ball, so she couldn’t help but be just ever so excited about it.

Taking a long, deep breath, Hildy held her hands over the boiling cauldron and took a look at the spell, thinking of a good way to modify it to her liking, so that she would get the person she so desired. Grim sat on the couch on the other side of the room, watching carefully. He was not permitted to move an inch during this whole thing.

Hildy let out a long sigh, and immediately re-inhaled all of the air. Here went everything.

“Calling, calling, from times past, a future Queen is what I ask, bring her here, bring her quick, so I may have my greatest wish!”

It was a near rhyme. But it would work. Near rhymes worked.

A flash and a spark emitted from the cauldron, and a light, starting form around eye level for Hildy, slowly took the shape of a slim woman clothed in royal robes. The silhouette certainly looked like a Queen, and the witch let out a squeak of anticipation.

Which turned into a gasp. Her face melted into confusion at the equally confused woman standing before her.

She was a Queen alright, her crown told that much. But she was oh so young, and oh so fair. Her skin was pale, but not a sickly pale like Hildy’s own. Her hair was perfectly dark. She was quite beautiful for Jollywood standards. But she was certainly not evil.

“I… where am I?” Her voice sickeningly coated in sugar hurt Hildy’s ears. She cringed, and looked at the woman in disgust.

“You are not what I was looking for.” The woman was gathering herself, examining her surroundings.

“Oh, are you a witch? Have I been called here for a reason? Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be settled at the castle—“

“I wanted an evil Queen, not some prissy princess like Delightful!” Hildegard stomped her foot, her voice rising steadily in pitch with each word.

“Delight—“ She stopped in the middle of her word when she saw the fire in the eyes of the purple haired witch. This was not a wise road to go down. “I will… depart. If you do not require me.” She backed away to the door, while Hildy fumed endlessly.

“I’m going to try that AGAIN.” She said through clenched teeth, holding her shaking hands above the pot.

“Calling, calling, from times past, a future EVIL Queen is what I ask, bring her here, bring her quick, so I may have my greatest wish!”

The spark was giant, this time, Hildy was pushed backwards as the shimmering silhouette made of a dark essence formed in front of her. Now THAT was more like it!

The second woman was gorgeous. The first thing to notice was her crown, atop a hood she had tightly over her head, hiding any notion of hair color. A long black cloak with a large white collar was securely fastened to her dress, and a large ruby necklace encircled her neck.

She was clearly an evil Queen. An evil green mist surrounded her. A sense of greed and hatred was just FILLING the air.

Hildy’s eyes grew wider, and a tear of joy slid down her face.

“I have… so much to learn.”

--

The evil Queen was from a less distant future than the first one called backwards in time, and this one was making her way carefully through the swamp until she exited the forest, coming upon the quaint kingdom of Jollywood.

“Jollywood. I have heard of the place." She whispered to herself. “I know not much of the family who hails here, however. I wonder…”

She stepped down the hill and walked cautiously through the town of small people. The quaint clothes and lack of height gave her warm memories, memories of stumbling upon a tiny house deep in the woods…

They were whispering to each other as she walked by. She was on her way to the castle, but taking in the surrounding sights was always a nice way to pass the time. The kingdom had a large amount of hanging buckets taking people to and fro, a famous gadget she had heard about so many times, that had been present in Jollywood for so many years. She wondered, then, why they seemed a bit polished, a bit newer than expected.

With a few more glances around, seeing a large clock tower and a strange looking cottage on the hill on the edge of town, she made her way across the castle’s bridge.

--

--

“Well, you’re not getting home to the future any time soon, miss.” Starchbottom crossed his arms, but he looked apologetic all the same.

“Oh, Starchbottom don’t say that! We just need a little help on this one—“

“No, no your majesty she can just stay here in the castle—“

“No! I’m going to have the 7D build her a lovely house. I’ll have to ring the Bing Bong Bell!”

The future Queen perked up her brows. “The seven… what?”

A rope, descended quickly from the ceiling, and Delightful gave it a gentle tug, and a ringing from the sky could be heard throughout the kingdom.

“You… may want to move, miss.” Starchbottom directed her away from the tubes.

One could hear a rumbling from beneath the floor. Seven holes opened, and through them jumped the previously mentioned 7D, all of them standing straight and saluting, minus one, who was flat on the floor. Still saluting, though.

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes sparkling in recognition. “Oh my, it simply can’t--!”

“Your majesty, the 7D reporting for—who’s this?” She heard Doc’s voice waft into her ears, through her astonishment.

Someone was hiding behind her. She quickly recognized Bashful’s little embarrassed laugh as he ran away from her the moment she noticed him.

“7D, my task for you today is of the highest importance. Please build Miss White a house!”

[asksythe]

FtGoG Snippet: Mouse sees the Wind fall - part 3

Her voice breaks a little near the end, just before she stops completely. Something wells from her eyes. Not tears, but a silent, dark despair that no words can describe. And beneath that despair—Mouse breaks out in cold sweat—is madness. Black and lurking like oil at the bottom of a dry well. He sees then that though her body is whole and largely unscarred, she has nevertheless been horrifically brutalized by this ordeal; sees then that she has been kept quiet by shame, by guilt, by pain; that though three years have passed, little has truly healed. And now, the wound opens to show the rotted blood and fetid flesh, opens to show that something else—something more dreadful and abominable than even the enemy that was devoured by her, has grown in its place.

For a single feverish moment, Mouse fears that this madness would subsume her, that from her flesh a monster would grow and feast upon the souls of all those who walk this earth. But then it passes. She leans back in the chair and suddenly she seems shrunken: a slender young woman, clad in simple white, with tired blue eyes that are steeped in sorrow.

“I said it.” The words gush from her mouth like blood from a wound. “Finally... I said it. I have… I have never ever said this to anyone before… not even out loud to myself. I never thought I…never thought I would...” She brings one hand to her lips. Though her eyes are dry, a single sob wracked her slender frame and breaks free from her mouth.

She looks at the Lord Kazekage. She is waiting for his response, waiting for his judgement. He is her lover and her protector. He is also the avowed leader of his people and sworn upholder of the law. And she has just confessed to possibly the most horrific crime in recorded ninja history. It might not have been committed in Sunagakure, but that does not change the possibility of a repeat in the future. Beyond even the Biju, she is without a doubt the single greatest threat to Sunagakure’s existence. If she were to lose control again…  

She waits with bated breath, the tension coiled tight and hot in her ribcage. Half of her is fear and sadness, and the other half a self-flagellating eagerness. Would he cut her from him? Would he throw her out? She is the beacon of hope for a lot of people in Sunagakure, but in truth she may be the single greatest existential threat their village has ever faced. It is the duty of the reigning Kazekage to deal with such threats as quickly and decisively as possible.

He sits there in his big chair beside a desk filled with papers and unsigned documents, still like a statue. It is only Mouse’s many years of service as a shadow that allow him to parse the minutiae of lord Kazekage’s reactions. Beyond that stillness is the tightness of his shoulders, how his left hand is balled into a fist and his right hand strains to hold back the nervous tic he has whenever he is agitated. If he had a kunai in his hand right now, Mouse is more than sure he would have started twirling it round and round without even realizing it. He is trying to make it seem like it doesn’t affect him that much but in truth it does. Beyond the carefully blank look of his eyes flit recognition and pity, but curiously no fear, and no anger.

Eventually, the stillness breaks. He turns to stare at the ceiling above him, draws in one big breath, turns back to her. Mouse sees the tension bleeding out from him, some weighty choice having been made. He seems almost sad in that moment. It makes for a strange expression on the face of the usually fierce Fourth Kazekage.

“Well…” he says as if he’s discussing the weather. “We are going to have to adjust your training. Less exercise, more meditation. And we need to bring in a genjutsu specialist and probably someone similar to the Yamanaka to see if you still have that vulnerability to mental assaults. If no, good. If yes, there are measures we can take.”

Now it is Mouse’s turn to still with shock on the rafters. Measures? We?... She just admitted to murdering seventeen million people because she could not control her own power! He turns to the side to see if he’s alone in his shock. He isn’t. Diamondback crouches rigid in the corner, fingers and pen frozen, while Eagle merely looks back at Mouse, his head shaking imperceptibly. And yet the Miko below does not look surprised in the slightest. On the contrary, she looks as if she has been expecting this.  

“...Are you sure?” There’s an odd timbre to her voice. She says the words slowly, as if by lingering she might offer him the time to rethink and retract what he has just said. But he does no such thing.  

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She stares at him. “Even by your laws, I am a mass murderer.”

“And by your laws, I am a war criminal,” he replies with a shrug. “Are we going to compare our mistakes and see which one of us is worse? Because I am sure I can match your quality with my quantity.”

She doesn’t answer him, merely looks away. He sighs, loud and audible, as if he has expected this.

“Or would you rather I tear you apart with words?” he asks. “Tell you what a monster you are? Would that be more to your liking? To be flogged for crimes none but you remember? But what point would that make? That subjectively, we are both monsters? That objectively we are humans, and are bound to mistakes like all humans do? But because we were born with the burden of extraordinary powers, that our mistakes are so much more extraordinary compared to those of others?”  

She turns around at that and stares at him. Her eyes are dry like drift glass, and they seem to see into him, and then through him altogether. She wears a strange expression on her face, a rictus of intermingled gratitude and some vague, aimless anger. Eventually, it fades into a sad smile.  

“This is so like you,” she says faintly. A hint of wistfulness clings to her voice. “I tell you I murdered seventeen million people, and you say we should adjust my training. I tell you that I am burdened by a world-rending power that has no true counter, that I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and you say there are measures we can take. As if there are measures to deal with what I can… what I did. Do you know how weird you sound to me?” Despite the wording of her question, her words are undeniably infused with an exasperated fondness.  

He blinks, cocks one eyebrow. “I’m the weird one?” He parries right back. “Shouldn’t I be the one to say that? For as long as I have known you, you would cry for the pain of complete strangers, for people you have never known, for sinners and innocents both, but for yourself, you would not even shed a tear. I would say you are a glutton for punishment. And you tell me I’m the weird one? You cried for me...” He pauses. There is a look of faint surprise, as if he himself is caught off guard by the secret he has just confessed. But then it passes, as if it does not merit more than a single thought. He looks down for a second this time. “…Knowing what I did.” Then backed up. “But not for you. Do you truly think so little of yourself? Put so little value in yourself?” Another pause, and slower this time, with quiet words pregnant with a sincerity that seems ill-fitting in their usually ruthless Kazekage, he says. “Do you not know that you are precious to me?”

Now it is she who is stunned into near speechlessness, her eyes wide and mouth parted. Mouse doesn’t blame her for that reaction. For someone like lord Kazekage, that is probably as close to a declaration of love as it’s ever going to get. In front of Mouse, Eagle makes a warped hand signal that roughly translates to either ‘awww…’ or ‘aewwhhh...’

She sits like that for a full minute, silent. She looks down and for the first time, Mouse sees wetness in her red-rimmed eyes.

“Rasa…” she says, and somehow imbues that single word with so much weight. He wipes the wetness from her eyes with one hand.

“This is no longer about that boy, isn’t it? It couldn’t have been easy telling me the things that happened to you, the things that you did. But that’s not even the main point, isn’t it? What are you trying to tell me, my dear? What brought this on?” An almost imperceptible shiver runs through her. Lord Kazekage must have picked up on it, because immediately he states as if to reassure her.

“I promise you, whatever deep, dark secrets you have left, chances are I have seen or heard of worse, and I am not walking out on this, not until we lay to rest every bone of your past.”

............................................................................

TBC in part 4 (last part)

..............................................................................

A/N: see this? 

https://asksythe.tumblr.com/post/159451304375/sythe-updates-please-anything-ill-take-anything

I’ve been... well... busy. I am perpetually exhausted these days and it’s looking like it’s going to be like this for at least a while more (maybe a month? I don’t know. I can only hope). Reason why this snippet takes so long and also reason why I’ve been quite lately. I have a free day today... well... free night more like, so I’ll try and finish this snippet. If you don’t see anything new tomorrow, chances are I didn’t manage to finish it. 

Thank you for all the people who asked after my sister and wished her well. You made my day.