#if you look really close there are only three major detailed background paintings in chapter 15

[retellingthehobbit]

The process work of one of my favorite pages from my comic adaptation of The Hobbit! :3 The page is from this chapter.)

I could do an entire post dedicated to the background painting process alone, which took a while, but here's the basic process of what a page looks like from start to finish...my initial thumbnails are always very silly XD. Minimalist Bilbo

[unprofessional-bard]

Prologue

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller × Female!Reader/OC

Summary: The reader, waiting for a knock on the door by death, is saved by a smuggler with a reputation and a kid she used to watch over at the Boston QZ.

Word Count: 3.341

Warnings: Not too much, just a slightly detailed description of an injury and connections to PTSD.

Author's Note: Oh my, this is the first part of my 8 to 9 chapter long Joel fic!! A little background on the reader/oc:

The reader is ex-special forces captain and now a FEDRA major general in the Boston QZ who sticks to FEDRA in order to survive with her old friends from her pre-outbreak days. Her teams "black ops" reputation is well known around the northeast and it draws unwanted attention on her - it makes her a target. After a mission gone wrong, she finds herself tied to a chair, left to die, when a figure who's supposedly her "sworn enemy" rescues her.

I think I should warn you all now that the bloodshed/gore and the events in this fic in general will be quite realistic, like canon typical brutality but not too often. I'll put detailed warnings in each chapter though!!

Enjoy!

The first thing you felt was the taste of iron when distant chatter made your ears perk up and eyes open slightly. You were sure today was the day that you'd finally find your peace and move onto your next life and leave this miserable one behind, but the voices of what appeared to be a man and a young girl's had put a stop to that. You couldn't hear very well and you also didn't recognise the voices, but now they were more clear as you reckoned that they'd entered the room you'd been in for the past five days or so.

"Holy shit," you heard the girl say. She somehow sounded familiar now that you heard her better.

"Okay," the man. "We should be safe here."

You struggled to lift your head up and open your eyes completely, to speak even, which made things really hard but the little girl noticed you in very short notice.

"Oh fuck!" She exclaimed, probably at the sight of you as she sounded disturbed. "Is she...?"

You finally managed to move your head to the side a little as an answer to her question and whispered: "Help me... Please..."

"Ellie, stay back."

Ellie?

"But-"

"Stay back," the man growled at her. "Let me handle this."

You heard footsteps get closer to you and when you managed to open an eye a little bit, you saw his feet going around you. The sun was shining through the room, it was close to nightfall.

"Please..." you begged, already out of breath. "I- I need help-"

"Joel, she really needs help," Ellie's voice got closer as well.

"She doesn't have any weapons," 'Joel' commented while studying your vulnerable form, but the girl got impatient with a huff and pulled out what you assumed to be a knife. "Ellie-"

Ellie. The little girl from Boston.

What the hell was she doing here?

"I know her! She was at the Boston QZ a few months ago, look!"

"A soldier from the QZ?!"

"I know her Joel, trust me, we can't leave her like this!" She argued while you acknowledged her presence. You felt the copper ropes around your wrists get loose and, god, was it a relief to have them finally off your poor wrists. It hurt like a bitch, having cut yourself as you struggled with your escape -not to mention it was probably infected- but it didn't stop a wave of relief from washing over you.

You almost collapsed when your restraints came off, but a big pair of hands caught you by your shoulders before your face could hit the ground. It wasn't too long before she got your ankles free as well. You were now in the arms of a man who was suspicious of you, who wanted to get rid of you, but all you could say over and over again before you passed out was: "Thank you... thank you so much."

----

"Move!" You flinched at the angry lieutenant yelling at the kids. Ever since they decided to start up a school, this whole apocalypse had become even more difficult. You, as former special forces, always had a hard time ever since you became special forces and you thought that perhaps you'll be done with the outbreak, but the new crooked militia made sure you weren't a deserter.

You were forced to do many things you didn't want to do -and you didn't do them anyway- but you were never killed for it because you were the best and the only special forces left in your area... plus you lied your way out of missions to save innocent lives. You were pretty disciplined, but one thing you couldn't stand for was the harassment of those poor children.

"I'll take it from here, lieutenant." You stepped in before he could say another word. Your reputation over the past years grew and so did your rank, being a superior to many others.

"But-"

"I said I'll take it from here. You're dismissed, lieutenant."

The man saluted and marched away angrily, the kids confused and scared at seeing a new face.

"Alright, let's move along," you spoke in a more sincere and calm tone, which made the children relax.

Whenever they got into small troubles -like skipping class, wandering around etc.- you always took charge as best as you can to help them out. None of those children deserved to be born into this mess, you might as well make it as easy for them as possible.

There were a few troublemakers who were hard to put in line, like little Ellie, but you understood and you stood up for her whenever she was wrongly accused.

Little did you know that you'd be rewarded for your kind actions.

----

A bad dream -a nightmare really- from the day of the outbreak mixed with events from a couple of days back interrupted your sleep. It was the middle of the night, you assumed and cursed at the little amount of sleep you got as you didn't feel rested at all, then carefully studied your surroundings. You were in the same room where you were tied up and left to die, vision clearer and wounds not hurting too much (your face felt cleaner too), but you were in a different spot and lying on your back on something rather comfortable. You turned your head to the right as best as you could to see Ellie and Joel's silhouettes - Ellie on the ground sleeping and Joel sat by the big window of the office, watching outside with a rifle in hand and his other arm resting on his knee.

They really didn't kill you.

You groaned quietly as you slowly pushed yourself up from the couch. It always stood right by the door, but now it was pushed in fornt of the many shelves and tables covering the door. You sat on it for a while before getting up slowly.

Ellie was sleeping by the wall, a little away from Joel but closer to you; quietly making your way over to him and not waking Ellie up in the meanwhile proved to be easy.

"You're finally up," Joel spoke nonchalantly.

"For how long was I out?"

"Two and a half days," your eyes widened. "You really needed that, huh?"

"I guess so... doesn't feel like two days," your voice trailed off as the images from two days ago started appearing in your mind. You quietly leaned back on the wall behind you, then slid down and sat across Joel. He was looking at you, studying you but you were too busy with the flashbacks of a few days prior.

"You okay?" he finally asked, disturbing your thoughts.

"Mhm." You didn't trust your voice

"Tsk, sure..."

A painful two minutes passed in silence. The more you remembered, the worst it became. God, the Hunters, they killed your squad, killed all of them-

"I would'a killed you if it weren't for her," Joel nodded over to Ellie. "Told me about how nice you treated her and the other kids in the QZ..."

You smiled bitterly and nodded. You'd been wondering what had happened to all those kids you met in the QZ: "This is Carmel, right?"

"Yup," Joel groaned, gazing at the dark street a couple hundred feet below you. You focused on the full moon right above you instead and tried to put everything that happened in order: You and six other people -aka Alpha One- were sent after a dangerous group of Hunters, but they had made it out of the city and, under strict orders, you chased them out all the way to Cleveland. It was after Cleveland that everything got fucked.

"Here," Joel captured your attention once more when something soft brushed your leg. It was a blanket. "You look like you need it more than me."

It took you a while, but you eventually grabbed the blanket from his hand with a hushed 'thank you', then showed your bandaged wrists to him: "Did you do this?"

"You're very kind, thank you again." You said when he nodded 'yes'. Your gratitude made Joel's features soften for a very short moment, but he stayed silent. Little did you know that you'd be craving to see more of this side of Joel in about a month.

The past three days had been quite rainy, the weather was chill and if it weren't for the crack on the roof, you wouldn't have been able to drink the rain water that leaked in through there and you would've possibly died.

You wrapped the blanket around your shivering form and dragged your knees up to your chest for more warmth, not noticing Joel watching you from the corner of his eye.

He could tell you hadn't eaten in a long time for your face looked skinny. You were stripped of your tactical gear and FEDRA uniform, only left with your t-shirt, pants and boots; the said pieces of clothing covered in your blood. Your face was unrecognisable when they'd first found you - as if it were a canvas and the painter used blood to paint it. Your eyes were puffy from being beaten up but they were healing, it was by the dog tag hanging by your neck that Ellie recognized you. She cleaned your face with the water which was gathered into a small puddle by the chair you were tied to as Joel tended to your wounds with reluctance but carefully. Ellie had checked if you had a sleeveless undershirt of sorts and once she discovered you did, she decided to get rid of your blood soaked t-shirt which surprisingly didn't stain your undershirt as much as she'd expected.

"You can rest if you want, I'll keep watch?" You offered, the bags under his eyes made you feel bad for him. Poor guy, you didn't even know his story.

"Nah," Joel searched for something to say for a moment. "I'd say the same for you but I think you had one mighty rest."

"Yeah," you smiled apologetically. "'Guess I'll just... sit here."

"Suit yourself," Joel cleared his throat and shifted a little. He was tense, you could tell he didn't trust you but it was understandable. Normally, you would've launched yourself out of there the moment you were awake because god knows what could happen. But the only thing that made you relax a little was Ellie. He somehow looked familiar too but you weren't sure.

Only ten minutes into the silence, you couldn't resist and ask him: "How'd you end up here?"

You didn't realise that Joel's eyes were closed, he must've fallen asleep, for he never answered the sound of your hushed voice. Oh well, you thought, smiling softly to yourself; you grabbed his rifle from next to him and decided to keep watch and try to calm your mind. With everything that you had gone through before you ended up here, it was a little hard to keep calm.

----

"They're headed west, commander, we need to finish them."

"No," you sighed. "We chased them out this far, they won't be coming back."

"But, we have our orders-"

"I know, I know."

"Then let's go!" A man named Gabe who was a new soldier in Alpha One insisted. None of your team trusted this guy because he was willingly siding with FEDRA - something none of you were doing willingly.

A week and a half had passed before you all caught up to them in Pittsburgh. You only managed to capture one Hunter, but he didn't talk. Not so surprisingly, Gabe made him talk with the most brutal torture techniques that you were taught to resist. When Kurt, one of your oldest friends and the oldest of Alpha One, called him out? He pulled out a speech out of his ass (as Kurt had put it) about how the outbreak broke him and whatnot. None of you had found it convincing because of how out of character it was, so you all had to do the only thing left: cut him loose. Get rid of him.

But first, you had to hunt the Hunters down and you needed him, whether you liked it or not.

----

A small gasp from Ellie was what distracted you. You gave her a concerned look as she slowly sat up, breathless.

"You okay Ellie?" You asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah," she gulped. "Hey, you're awake. Are you okay?"

"Never better," you smiled and watched her make her way over to where you were nestled. "You and your old man really took care of me..."

"He's not my old man."

"Right... sorry... who is he though?"

"Joel. A smuggler," Ellie sat across you, her back to the said man. "I'm surprised you don't know him, him and Tess had quite the reputation around Boston."

Tess. Right. Now it clicked. Of course you'd heard of them, who hasn't?

"Yeah... Them I heard of." You nodded thoughtfully. You'd never seen Joel in person, but you'd done Tess a few favors in the past which she somewhat repayed.

But you couldn't focus on anything else but the conversations that occured on your way here.

----

"Commander, with all due respect-"

"Just spit it out." you sighed.

"Something's off about Gabe. We should just dump him in a river, tell 'em he got bit and that he died and go back... Christ (Y/N), we can't go on like this, we're almost in Indiana!"

"I know, Kurt," you exhaled hopelessly.

"We just gotta make sure they don't come back," Amanda, another dear friend from your pre-outbreak times said. "The world's already as fucked up as it is, we could do with less leech."

"Amanda's right, but these folk ain't leech." You reloaded your rifle. "They're goddamn weeds... Doesn't matter how much you cut off, it'll grow back again; but it's a start. We gotta get down to the root."

----

Ellie went back to sleep, knowing you're watching their backs, you'd like to think she slept a bit better. A few hours later the sun started illuminating the sky, which was when Joel woke up.

"Shit," he growled when he noticed you had his 'missing' rifle.

"Mornin'," you offered a small smile, knowing you won't be getting one in return. "Don't worry, you're safe. I stayed right here on this exact same spot the whole night. Relax."

He didn't reply, but you knew he wanted the rifle back, so you extended it over to him. He gave you an odd look, as if he'd been in a cage his whole life and it was the first time someone's been treating him gently, then quickly took the rifle from your hand. He then went to awaken Ellie, but you reached out to him, gently holding his hand to stop him from waking her.

"She went to sleep not so long ago, let her rest for a bit."

"We gotta get going, see if the herd cleared out." His tone was defensive.

"The sun is barely up," you offered. "Wait for another hour until whatever's left of 'em are indoors."

He wanted to argue, but he knew you were right, so he sat back down across you: "Why didn't you wake me up?" he inquired, arms crossed, one leg up close his chest leaning against the window and the other on the floor. Although he looked relaxed like this, he was still uncomfortable.

"Looked like you needed a rest more than I."

"I didn't."

"Don't lie to yourself," you chuckled at his stubbornness. "If I could, I'd trade my two and a half day rest with your five hour sleep. I had been sitting on that chair for far too long anyway..."

He looked at you, quizzically this time, sheer curiosity. You gazed into his hazel eyes for a moment and spoke: "Me and my team, Alpha One- we were after a bunch of Hunters but things went south after Pittsburgh... southwest, more specifically."

"You were in Pittsburgh?" Joel questioned.

"Yeah. We followed them all the way here, but then the bastards got tired of running, I reckon. They ambushed us here a couple of days ago, but a part of the herd you were talkin' about came through and... I don't know, it had been a quiet few days before you two came."

Joel looked away, face mixed with slight guilt and pity, but remained quiet.

"I know they're dead."

"...What will you do?" He asked.

"I can't go back to the QZ. It's better if they think I'm dead. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for so long..." you smiled sardonically. "I could use a different safe place other than a QZ. I don't wanna join another group or nothin'... Now, if there was a cabin on top of a hill or in the middle of the forest, that'd be great."

"So you're just gonna desert?"

"I've been thinking about it ever since I was forcefully recruited by FEDRA."

Joel gave you a look, bit his lip, then looked away for a moment but stayed silent. You knew he wanted to speak, but you decided to keep quiet too and try to figure out where the hell you were gonna go after they move out of here.

A few minutes later, Ellie woke up again. The both of them quickly got ready while you paced around the room, too afraid to go out and see the carnage on the hall.

"Let's go," Joel said once Ellie got her backpack ready.

"Woah, what about her?" She looked at you softly.

"I'll manage..." You tried to smile as best as you could. "My squad had some guns on 'em and so did the hunters. You could find some ammo outside and I can help you clear this place up, then I'll be out of your hair."

"Wait, you're going back to the QZ?"

"I can't. I don't want to. I need to find some place safe and... stay there for the rest of my life. But I ain't going back to the QZ."

"Then come with us," Ellie walked up to you.

"Ellie-" Joel warned.

"Where are you headed anyway?" you asked finally.

"Our destination is different, but we'll be passing by a place named Jackson, out in Wyoming."

"Ellie enough," Joel growled.

"She could help us Joel! She's done good by me all that time I was in that school, I wanna help her too."

Your cheeks reddened at her consideration: "Ellie, I-"

"There's a safe place in Jackson, I think you can manage there." Ellie revealed.

You gave Joel a hard look, but kept your tongue from saying something.

"God dammit Ellie," Joel sighed.

"I trust her, Joel."

You both glared at each other; Joel not trusting you- even despising your existence and you, disappointed that you did your best to earn a little bit of his trust by your gestures but he was just going to let you die out there anyway.

You finally said: "If I ever act up and do something that doesn't sit right with you, you can gladly put a bullet in my brain."

"...Fine."

His word was final. Joel gave in and as much as he wanted to trust you, you had to earn all of it, completely. It wasn't because you were a stranger who only helped a child and now might have a trick up her sleeve to get the both of them killed, however. He didn't owe surviving in this hell for 20 years to trusting everyone and helping them out. He owed it to keeping his guard up and not letting anyone new get close, either killing them or not seeing them ever again eventually. Your case was about the same, but you trusted Ellie and her sincerity as much as she trusted you and you trusted her when she said this Jackson place was actually safe. So, you had to put up with him and he had to put up with you now... for a whole month.

[a-table-of-fics]

Cull Goes to Octo Canyon, Chapter 1, Draft 2

Feedback is appreciated, of course! In this draft, I attempted to add more of Cull’s workplace, and him making an effort to assist before going on to the plot.

               The warm lighting. The relaxed acoustic music playing over the speaker. The brick and mortar look of the interior. Headspace was one of the few places in Inkopolis that was close to what Cull’s home was like. Just like he did when he was a kid, he was now lying down under a table with a pencil, doodling and humming to himself. He was still amazed that Flow let a new employee like him do this in the break room, but he could see writings and other drawings under there, and it looked like everyone else before him had respect for everyone else’s space – Cull was lucky to find enough room to sketch a simple goldfish.

               The beaded curtain that hung across the doorway rustled somewhat, as if the wind somehow came through. A small voice shouted “BEAN! BEAN!”

Cull jumped in alarm, bumping his head on the table. He rubbed his head briefly before turning to look at Flow’s shrimpy assistant Craymond swimming in the air all around him.

               “Ships sailed in! Ready to unload, Bean?”

               Cull looked up at Craymond, nodding quickly as he crawled out. He adjusted his beanie and dusted his work apron off before going out to receive the shipment of hats Craymond was talking about.

               “Early worm!” Craymond remarked.

               Cull nodded absently. While he agreed the delivery was earlier than usual, he was more focused on how much slower Craymond was going, and he wasn’t as loud as he usually was. Maybe it was just an off day for him.

                He was, once again, glad the shrimp signed for the hats already. While Craymond couldn’t lift the boxes or sort hats efficiently, he could at least greet the delivery guy without mumbling, and while making eye contact. He was strange, but definitely a people pleaser, especially when paired with Flow.

               He set a box in front of one of the shelves and turned to see Flow staring out towards the back door. The orange-haired sea slug’s baggy clothing and large red hat was always a welcoming look, but she didn’t have the same smile she usually did. Cull suddenly realized she had been talking a lot less these past few days…

               Flow turned, and her green eyes met his pink ones. She started, before smiling weakly.

               “Ah, Cull, thank you for bringing those in, dear. Please make sure to put that Jungle Hat on the side there; it’ll help keep the room’s calm vibes.”

               The store was plenty calming already as far as he was concerned. Still, he nodded, and placed the wide-brimmed hat on the end of the shelf. As soon as he placed it on the mannequin head, he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, as if a weight had come off his shoulders. He never understood how she did that, but it was simply incredible.

               Still, Flow’s expression did not lift.            

               “Thank you,” she said, softly, before her eyes slowly guided her head to the back door once more.

               Cull looked back at her every so often while he stacked the shelves full of new headgear. Finally, when he had emptied the package, he walked over to her.

               “Um, Flow, ma’am? Is… is everything all right?”

               She took a breath. “Yes, thank you. I… I just wonder where Miffens is. I hope he’s okay.”

               “I…I’m sure he is,” Cull said, tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder. He thought about it, and knew she was right; it had been a week since they saw the Zapfish, when he used to visit every day. Come to think of it, it had been a few days since Cull saw any Zapfish around the Square.

               Hmm.

               “Well, I’ll keep an eye out,” he promised, moving back to clean the shop floors. He looked back one last time, to see Craymond gently nuzzling his friend. He sighed, hoping Miffens came back soon. It was going to be a long shift seeing his employers down like this.

*   *   *

               The cool blues of the shade. The muffled music coming from the Square. The dismal little drips of water. The back alleys of Inkopolis weren’t exactly fresh, and Cull knew that perfectly well. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go out to the main square, apart from when he put those hand-drawn posters everywhere, making sure anyone who spotted a Zapfish with a frayed whisker knew who to contact.

               Hopefully, that would be enough. He had done all he could think of to help in some way. Now it was time to do what Flow told him to do a month ago and always encouraged him to: Get out, make a name for himself, and “find his energy”, as she put it.

He wasn’t sure how he could participate in the sporting events that everyone bonded over. He was an artist, not a fighter.

               Besides…Cull looked from side to side and shifted his beanie, ensuring it covered his hair.

               No, he could find a different way to make a name for himself. Hopefully he would make his art stand out from the rest, and he could get respect that way. Yes. His graffiti. In a major city. In the back alleys. Unsigned.

               He sighed, checking his phone. He would never live down that unsigned piece over by the studio. The angular crab was one of his worse works, and of course it would be the one publicized and praised by Off the Hook. Cull silently thanked Cod that so many others tried to take credit for it. They could have it for all he cared.

               Shaking his head, Cull looked around. This alley wasn’t exactly prime canvas material. Not only was it a dead end, but it was way too cramped, and too far from where people actually were – even by his standards. Really, the only reason he came this far was so no one got hit by his Slosher. Even if it was just mashed-up plants, and not the ink that could be used as a weapon, that was one panic he didn’t want to start. Even with the respawn points everywhere, it would be a nightmare.

               Well, maybe the wall over by Grizzco was cleaned by now. It was a little close to the Battle Lobby, but if he could get there unnoticed and paint over the stencil, he could get recognition for a good work of his. He already had the white and blue paints with him; all he needed was to remember the order of his stencils to make the freshest whale Inkopolis had ever seen!

               Cull looked around, thinking of the quickest route there. Hopefully a discreet way, but so long as he got there quickly, it should be fine. He sprinted forward, leaping before briefly turning to squid form whenever there was an opening to the Square. So long as he moved fast enough, and shifted back before he landed, he figured he could get there unnoticed. He couldn’t help but adjust his already-snug beanie, though; even if he wasn’t the freshest, he was certainly going to keep what looks he had.

               Luckily, there weren’t too many hanging around Grizzco. Aside from that one sketchy-sounding bear radio, there wasn’t really much business for anyone back here. Still, Cull could make out some fresh art people had made with their own ink. Even if the ink would evaporate, he had to respect the detail and quality of the pictures while they lasted. He gently ran his hand against the wall, marveling at the art and having some doubt about the piece he was going to add. A reassuring piece of prose, promising all Inklings who cared to see it that they would have better days. A picture of that one mythical figure, that red human with the strange mark on his hat, proudly shaking hands with an Inkling. A shockingly detailed picture of the Off the Hook duo.

               Almost as if on cue, the jumbotron on top of the Battle Lobby played the familiar song to announce more news from Pearl and Marina. Most people, Cull included, didn’t even bother to look up to see the stages available. Everyone enjoyed hearing the two’s quips and tips for the locales, but for many, it became background noise.

               When the music skipped a beat, and there was the sound of distant yelling, however, everyone looked up, to see the two top idols of Inkopolis similarly baffled. Cull nearly dropped his stencil as Pearl hollered out to stop the show from cutting.

               Marina barely contained a gasp, quickly hitting a few switches to bring the B-roll onto their monitor. It was live footage of the tower above them. All the Inklings in the Square murmured to each other as they looked above the screen; something seemed to be missing.

               “THIS JUST IN! The Great Zapfish has just… disappeared?!”

               Cull gaped, seeing the complete absence of the giant catfish on the tower.

               “Th-there’s more…?” Marina spun a record, and the image changed from the Zapfish-free tower to a picture of a young woman in a sun hat, with black hair and a playful grin, striking a forever iconic pose. The image on the screen flickered briefly but managed to stay on long enough for recognition to set into most squids. Cull, however, only recognized her vaguely. Maybe he saw her in a movie or show somewhere, but that was as far as he knew.

               “Pop superstar Callie of the Squid Sisters has gone missing!”

               “NOOOOO!” Pearl cried out, dashing over to her partner-in-crime. “Not Callie! Marina, do something!”

               “Uh, r-right! I’ll put together a search—”

               And then the jumbotron faded to black, the sound going with it. Many of the lights and adverts around the square began to power off as well.

               Cull never thought he’d hate the sound of silence this much. He looked at his stencils and shook his head. With so much happening right now, his art didn’t amount to a hill of plankton. He quietly put them away and started to head home. Maybe he could salvage some of his food before it all went bad. To say nothing about the forecasted heat wave…

               He froze dead in his tracks when he had the feeling he was being watched.  He tugged his hat down as he spun around just in time to see someone disappear into a grate in the ground, leaving light green droplets in their wake.

               Cull blinked. He had been around Inkopolis Square for around three months, and he had never seen such a strange hole in the ground. It didn’t mesh at all with the general Inkopolis style, being an ugly orange lump, and it didn’t look like it would be much good for collecting rainwater or anything.

               A horrible thought occurred to him. Was someone sucked down into there, to who-knows-where? If so, what, or who¸ did such a thing to some poor Inkling? He peered into the grating, but he couldn’t see much. He could hear what sounded like someone swimming in the distance. There was no way to be sure if that was the Inkling who went under. Shouting a “hello” didn’t seem like a good idea either; not only would it be a little mortifying to be caught shouting into a random drain, but if this other person was caught by something, drawing its attention might cause issues of its own.

               He gulped and looked around to made sure no one else was looking at him. Luckily, everyone was too focused on the energy crisis. He took a deep breath, turned into a squid, and dove in. It was slow going, but Cull found that this was a linear pipe. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to lead to any sewers, but that just raised the question: where was he going?

               All he could hear was his echoed breathing as he traveled through, and the awkward chatter of the others in town fading away. It was far too dark to see anything, but the walls of the pipe felt surprisingly smooth, even when they started to get thinner and squeeze on Cull a little bit. It was almost as if they were meant to be moved through…

               Finally, Cull saw a light up ahead. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not only could he breathe easy, getting out of squid form and this tight tunnel, but he could also be happy that nothing was in the sewers attacking Inklings.

               Still, where did this lead…?

               He emerged, swiftly turning back to kid form. He squinted in the sunlight, looking around. This didn’t look like any place he had ever been. If the floating rocks weren’t a dead enough giveaway, there was also the fact this place looked like it was carved out of a mountain over a century ago; it was a far cry from the modern comforts of Inkopolis. Mossy, mostly stone, and a lot of gargantuan tentacle statues. All this ancient architecture made the relatively new flags and somewhat beat-up shack stand out. Was that a red barbeque grill over there?

               His eyes settled, and he saw someone with their back to him, obscured by a green oil-paper umbrella. Slowly, the umbrella moved, and the Inkling behind it turned around. Clad in a well-kept kimono, she had a beauty mark and gold, starry eyes, (not unlike Pearl’s), and she had grey tentacles tied into a bow behind short hair.

“Hey!” She smiled slightly when she saw him, with the well-trained look of a comedy actor performing after a messy divorce. “You showed up! As soon as I saw you wandering around in the square, I knew you were the one…”

“Uhh…” was all Cull managed in response, as he took a step back.

“I’m Marie,” she said, putting a hand up. “I know you’re probably a bit starstruck, but I need you to get over it. Yes, I’m that Marie.”

She let both of her wrists go limp, in a manner not unlike Off the Hook did to conclude their broadcast.

“Y’know…from the Squid Sisters.”

After a few seconds of looking from side to side awkwardly, Cull tilted his head.

“Wait, you’ve never heard of me?” Marie asked, eyes widening. “For eel?”

“Ah, see, I don’t really watch TV…” Cull said, tugging his hat down slightly. “Sorry…”

Marie huffed. “Well, you’re obviously not very cultured, but you’ll have to do. See, I’ve got a little… thing I need help with.”

“Not very cultured? I mean, I…do art…” Cull mumbled, trying to sound indignant.

“The Great Zapfish isn’t just lost…it was squidnapped by the Octarian menace, and--”

“Um, are you sure?” Cull asked. “It…seems unlikely that anyone could just grab the Zapfish like that…”

Marie shrugged. “Fair point. But I’m not just an absurdly talented pop star; I’m also Agent 2 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon – a secret society of heroes who save the world from Octarians!”

Cull swallowed. “O…kay, then…”

He looked down at the grate he was still standing on, and back up at Marie.

“I know this sounds unbelievable,” she sighed. “But believe me, I’ve been keeping an eye on those slimy Octos for some time, and I’m sure they’re behind this!”

If only Callie was here to back me up… she thought.

“Huh?” Cull asked.

Marie blinked, realizing she said that out loud. She shook her head.

“Ahem, as I was saying, I need your help to recover the Great Zapfish. What do you say? Are you in?”

Cull looked again at his feet. Most of him wanted nothing more than to run home and hope he wasn’t chased down by this madwoman. However, the rest of him thought of Flow. She had done so much for him; given him employment, advice, a back room to hide in, a shoulder to cry on… What kind of friend would he be to turn away from a possible lead to the Zapfish? To Miffens?

If Marie was right…

“…I’m gonna take your awkward silence as a ye—"

“Yeah,” Cull sighed, not lifting his head back up. “I’m in.”

[mimiplaysgames]

Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 23)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 7,792

AO3        FF.net

A/N: Surprise! So I said that I may have to split this entire “Feckless” section into three parts, but it turns out that I can blend the other two parts together into one. I couldn’t help myself but indulge in some Terra and Riku bro-bonding, and there’s all the plot development you need for now. It has been a hard chapter for sure, and I barely have time to really hash it out. At the moment, I tried my best and I may re-edit when I have the time after the game comes out. For now, I worked very hard on this and I’m tired, y’all. Enjoy the extra word count!

Feckless, pt. 2

The first thing Terra needs to do is organize all of the tea leaves. He is in the kitchen storage, gathering cubby boxes and labeling them – one for each type of herb. Then he hunts for paper and writes down recipes, the vast majority of them medicinal. He defines which herb is good for which symptom, which ones give a magical boost, which ones taste good boiled with fruits, and how one can make even the most vile magical plant tolerant to the tongue. He also mixes some for the most common sicknesses, for easy access. He pins several pages of these instructions onto the wall next to the shelf that houses all of these ingredients, for anyone to see.

Finally, he is of use to these people.

Next on the list is to make a fresh brew for Rydia. With a more potent mix this time, he should be able to give a stronger dose that will be able to quell her fever. The cats have followed him to the kitchen, and Duchess in particular is fond of rubbing herself on his leg. It’s comforting to him, but only barely so. What she cannot ease is dealing with knowing how close he is to Aqua, and yet he is still stuck at the hotel, adhering to his duties to those who are in need.

The life of a Keyblade wielder. How long is he going to keep stalling Aqua just to make sure others are safe, when she needs him just as badly? Or is she expected to suffer longer because it, too, is her responsibility to keep the lives of innocents in check?

He puts a few empty mugs and the steaming teapot onto a tray, and carries it out of the kitchen, the cats following him. In the dining room are Balthier and Fran talking amongst themselves at a table. The pirate has his arm around the backrest, his tall companion right by his side, her jackrabbit ears standing straight out of the helmet she is wearing. Terra manages to catch a few words.

“…grip the hairs that stand on my skin. We cannot stay long. The earth here is sick,” Fran says. The delivery of her tone is flat, and it doesn’t sound at all she’s too pleased.

“Yes, the cobblestones underneath my feet cannot bear the weight of them,” Balthier says, though he nods.

It’s a rather sarcastic sentence, but not one that is meant to dismiss her concerns. The nod, the movement to relax into his chair, the crossing of his legs – he believes her. It’s just his way of coping.

Fran notices Terra as he passes by, frowning at him. The scowl on her face is like an animal on edge, waiting for predator to make its move. “A shadow has befallen this land,” she says.

Terra manages to smile at them in acknowledgment, trying hard to ignore that she knows something isn’t right with him. And she isn’t wrong, exactly. Balthier nods back with a cocked grin. A pleasantry. Or is it suspicion? Will there ever be a day where he won’t feel eyes staring at him or hear a snicker?

Rydia’s room is illuminated by warm sunlight, and he finds her sitting on a lounge chair underneath a painting of a hooded figure wearing a brown cloak, with a damp towel around her neck. The figure holds a lit lantern in a dark cave, his face hidden from the sight of the onlooker.

She tells Terra she won the last game she and Riku played, and dismisses his concerns about being out of bed. She feels better. She can walk. She’s getting bored lying in bed for too long. To Terra, though, she looks the same – ghastly. He also can’t ignore that at times, she clutches her oblique where she has been stabbed.

“You know, this is more delicious than the last one you made me,” she says as she sips the new tea he brewed for her. He’s happy to hear it, though saddened to know that no tea exists for eliminating poison.

“I’ve bought sleeping weed for the batch I’ll make you tonight,” he says. “You’ll need as much bedrest as you can handle.”

Rydia mumbles something about how lame that sounds, hasn’t she had enough rest already? “Is it going to be yucky, then?” she asks.

“No. It’s absolutely tasteless.”

Riku is packing up the board games that are all sprawled out on the bed, and Garnet is sitting on a desk with several files sprawled out. Each one has photos of mages that have gone missing in the past. It’s quite a substantial stack. Once a breathing person, now a pile of papers.

Garnet says that she writes out details of them so they are not forgotten, and so that she can pray for them. Hope’s photo stands out amongst a small pile of the other six that were lost with him that night. Aside from him, it’s difficult to find another male mage in the collection. The rest of the women were of all ages, some who look as young as Hope. Some who look like they could have been new grandmothers. Most were young adult women who were at the prime of their lives, and should have begun their careers or looking for love. Terra can count at least two other male mages, both young adult men.

When Riku is done tidying up, he tells Terra that he’s ready. With a large enough teapot to last Rydia the day, Terra allows himself to relax - if only just a little. It’s time to leave the caretaking in Garnet’s hands and find Aqua with less guilt on his shoulders.

What’s left is to grab the map of the sewers, flashlights, and-

“Gas masks?” Terra asks when Riku tosses one to him.

“I’d like to keep my lunch in this time,” Riku says.

The cats stop following as the Keybearers leave the hotel. Down an alley way not too far, they find a manhole that Terra has marked on the map, and don their masks before they drop inside.

The plan is to search every nook and cranny of the sewage system within the second district. They mark an ‘X’ over every door and room they inspect, and write checks over hallways they have passed through. With the map, the maze isn’t so intimidating. With the gas masks, traversing through the sewers, particularly the really dirty areas, is tolerable – except for the sweat that is trapped underneath them.

Of course, there are Heartless around every corner, lurking right under the streets where so many people are walking around with their groceries and with their friends. Riku is sure to nag Terra about practicing his dark powers – at the very least to build some sort of resistance to them.

But they always bring a headache. Terra forces himself not to drink what little is left of Tifa’s potion, just so that he can start to build a tolerance to the pain.

They talk about Heartless and the nature of darkness. Riku is most interested in hearing about how darkness has been formed in the past, before the Heartless. Terra talks about the Unversed, and decides to trust Riku enough to talk about Vanitas and his connection to Ventus. He talks about darkness before the Unversed – how many worlds, especially magical ones, will develop beings of darkness naturally. Keyblade wielders are tasked with restoring balance when it is threatened.

Some forms of darkness become legendary as they lust after the abyss, and will either haunt a world into oblivion, or will travel in the in-between. For many of them, there is no record of where they come from, but most of them are ancient.

The tale of Chernabog is an example. So is the legend of the Horned King. The Headless Horseman is another, although its existence hasn’t been confirmed. The man who killed Aqua’s parents, Ardyn, is a story that is true, and Terra recalls how terrified he was to meet him face to face. Kefka seems to be on this track to great and terrible power. Riku talks about Heartless Sora has faced before – large, powerful ones that are ethereal and substantially frightening in comparison to the others.  Behemoths and phantoms alike. Sora has faced a man named Sephiroth, who also fits such a description. Maleficent, too, is a possibility.

“Should we consider Xehanort legendary, then?” Riku asks as Terra checks off one more hallway. They have just passed through the waste system – disgusting in its collection of rust and other nasties.

It’s the thought that Terra is carrying Xehanort and is therefore the definition of such a thing that gives him pause. “I would say so, considering how bad the situation has gotten. The worlds haven’t been in this much trouble since the stories of the Great Keyblade War. At least from what I know.”

“It’s just that sometimes I wonder... if I open him up, will I find a heart in there or just some big, black mass,” Riku says.

Terra can’t help but snort. Blass mass, indeed. It’s exactly what it feels like when he gets a headache – like it’s trying to swallow him. The only person who deserves to suffer punishment in the Realm of Darkness is the old, sniveling man who should have been stabbed the day he met Eraqus.

The two wielders will often hear the clock tower bell ring, which sounds muffled underground. It marks every hour that passes by, but with no need to worry about Kefka tonight, Terra dismisses the sound. It’s just background noise tonight.

At first, he doesn’t have much to worry about if they don’t find anything right away. The second district is large, and he is bound to discover something. But they keep rounding corners, and the clock tower keeps ringing, and every room comes up empty.

Up until they reach the final area where they haven’t checked through, and Terra tells himself that perhaps they are unlucky to choose this spot last. There has to be something there.

But there isn’t. It’s just more Heartless and more rooms filled with machinery and large, unused fans. When they get to their last room, Riku caresses Terra’s shoulder, and the latter is grateful that he has a mask on so he doesn’t show just how devastated and angry he is.

I don’t understand.

They stand there in silence. Riku mentions that maybe they are misinterpreting Terra’s dream, and Terra silently hopes that Riku doesn’t bring up plan B – wait until the world finally falls.

The headache is worse and Terra grunts. He grips the map so tightly that he wrinkles it, and barely stops himself from tearing it in half.

“Let’s not ruin the map,” Riku says as he slowly pries it from Terra’s fingers.

With his hands free, Terra summons his Keyblade. She isn’t here. But she has to be. Behind the walls. The headache pounds a little harder, and he swings it against the wall of cement next to him, gashing it so that it shows bits of the stone that keeps it standing.

“Terra.”

Terra grips his Keyblade so hard that his hand shakes. I hate that tone. It’s like he’s scared of me.

“Come on,” Riku continues. “Let’s go over our next steps. We do have all that territory the Heartless inhabit out in the east. It’s not the end of the world.”

There is just too much weight hanging on those last few words, and the room suddenly feels claustrophobic. Terra doesn’t say anything and bolts out, treading up a ladder nearby until he finally can feel the freshness of the late chill air on his skin.

It’s night, and the clock tower reads half past seven. Riku comes up behind him, and the first thing they notice is how everyone around them keep their distance, their fingers clenching their noses.

Riku mumbles that they must stink, but again, Terra doesn’t reply. He briskly starts a walk back toward the direction of the hotel, Riku silently by his side. My dream can’t be wrong. Naminé wouldn’t lie to me. So then what am I misinterpreting?

Even with all the paces up until they reach the hotel, Terra can’t come up with a better explanation. Something in his stomach turns when he considers the thought that he might have to swim in the sewage water, murky in its image and probably hiding many more secrets that it’s letting on. If it’s for Aqua, then so be it.

He mentions it to Riku, who replies with an “ABSOLUTELY NOT. Let’s try to search through the quarantined areas first. It’s a less crazy plan.”

He hears a loud gasp, and sees Garnet standing outside the hotel entrance with both of her hands covering her nose and mouth. She stomps one foot and brings her hands to her hips, telling them that they smell positively toxic. She claps her hands as if to shoo away a dog, leading them through the hotel with pointed fingers, and commands that they leave her their clothes and shoes for cleaning, and that they bathe immediately.

In the spacious bathtub of his hotel room, Terra stands under the cold, clean water gushing out of the showerhead. He leans against the wall, his eyes wandering around the edges of tiles. More time wasted. More pointless adventures. Aqua is in need of her best friend, and he’s doing a terrible job.

He wraps his towel around his waist when he is done and sifts through the closet and drawers. There aren’t any clothes.

Someone knocks on his door. Riku is dressed in pajama shorts and a loose shirt, and has a pile of some comfortable looking garments in his arms.

“I figured you haven’t picked any clothes from the donations pile, so I brought some. I also got some of Lea’s stuff, since you are the same height,” the teenager says as he drops the clothes on Terra’s bed. Behind him come the cats, who chirp as they enter the room and scatter to explore the exciting new territory that is Terra’s bedroom. 

“Lea is a stick,” Terra says.

“And you like to wear your shirts tight anyway. I figured you’d like the silhouette.”

Lea’s shirts are so small that they can’t go past Terra’s shoulders.

Riku flexes his own bicep, already toned. “What does it take to get them that big?”

Terra goes for another shirt – one he is sure doesn’t belong to Lea. “Protein, protein, and more protein. And resistance exercise. Sometimes it’s just genes.”

“Which you don’t seem to lack at all. What do you think it would look like if I started building them like yours?”

For as much confidence Riku likes to flaunt he has, the thought that he would ask such an intimate question about his appearance makes Terra smile warmly. He wonders if Riku ever asked Sora this question. Knowing Sora, he probably will crack a joke.

“I think your muscles look pretty good for your size. You’re quite strong, you know.”

Riku caresses his bicep as a response, his eyes looking over at whatever is faraway and nonexistent, never meeting his friend’s.

Terra tries on the pajama pants in his bathroom. Most are too short. Lea’s are so tight that they scream for attention toward his... personal assets. He figures he may have to keep the towel, until he finds one pair that are of perfect length and pack the comfort of cotton to boot.

Once dressed and back out in his bedroom, Terra and Riku move the furniture up against the walls, and carry curious kittens onto the bed.

They practice their form with their Keyblades. Riku instructs his student to move slowly while purposefully channeling darkness through the Ends of the Earth.

As long as he can focus on a directive, like the dream of obliterating any threat that can ever come close to Aqua and Ventus, darkness will flicker and lick his Keyblade. To use darkness for valiant efforts... What if he is so powerful that Aqua - who must have been fighting this entire time for her life - will never have to defend herself again? He can be her shield. He can swallow any darkness she has absorbed for her, and cure her of nightmares.

To think of using this power for protection makes the darkness manageable, and it hurts the least it has ever been. He swings his Keyblade gently, feeling the darkness seep out of him, resisting the temptation to blast a hole through the wall just to see how powerful he can be. He can protect his family. He can use darkness as light.

And she can rest.

But is that the solution then – to be selfish and tell her to never attempt to fight again so he can play hero all the time? She’ll hate him for that.

It’s so hard not to remember how he left them to fend for themselves that day, when he fought Xehanort atop that tall plateau. Or how stupid he was to believe Xehanort in the first place.

There it is, the pounding headache and the sensation that his hair is being pulled. Xehanort knows and is watching, just waiting for the opportunity. And Eraqus – will he be disappointed, again? Is this the life for Terra, to shun everything his Master has done for him, when he probably should have never been picked up at the orphanage in the first place?

Riku holds his hands to Terra’s right wrist, which is shaking as he grips his Keyblade. “You got this,” the teenager says.

Terra lets his Keyblade drop and exhales. “It takes so much effort to control it. How will I ever wield darkness easily enough to be any use?”

“Cutting out any hard time you’re giving to yourself is a good place to start.”

Easier said than done. Riku’s been forgiven.

Terra rubs his face and runs his hand through his hair. There is a power that is yet to be threatening. “I have to show you something.”

Terra dismisses his Keyblade and takes note of the chairs and lamps scattered around his room. “I’ve tapped into Xemnas’ powers.” He holds both of his palms up on either side of his body. “It’s like a push. I simply need them to move, and I make the particles around them solidify and pick them up. I think Xemnas wanted complete control over anything he wanted.”

Riku snickers, but stops short of saying anything as the lamps and the chairs in the room shake and gently float in the air. With a wave of one hand, Terra can make the objects spin slowly, and with a wave of the other, make them come together. Riku stares, his eyes wide, and approaches one of the lamps hovering in the air.

“Make the particles around them move, huh?” He inspects the underside of the lamp. “I wonder what that means for his offensive magic. He was able to do all sorts of stuff. He had sabers of light, and created explosions and could protect himself – pretty much anything he thought of. Maybe you can crush those same particles?”

It’s worth a shot. Terra focuses on an empty space right in front of him, and brings his palms close together. He contorts his fingers, and mimics a movement that looks as though he is squeezing the space in between. He imagines the space just imploding on itself. A tumbling force of fire appears, combusts, and blows out.

An open smile pulls at Terra’s lips. He and Riku stare at each other and stumble into laughter. It feels good, not having to face pain when acquiring such power.

“Okay, now put these things down,” Riku says, waving towards all the objects that are still suspended in the air.

Terra thinks about gently pushing them down. It only really forces the chairs and the lamps onto the ground, but he can’t let go of them. They fly back up into the air. He tries again, and it creates the same reverb affect.

“Ugh, just let go,” he says shortly.

The lamps and chairs all drop in a vibrating crash. It makes the floor rumble and it’s loud enough to make the two of them jump back in surprise. The kittens run everywhere while a startled Duchess arches her back on the bed.

Riku snickers. “Xemnas did enjoy hurling things at people.”

The sound of footsteps hurrying over makes its way. The door bursts open and in walks Garnet, her face frozen in shock as she pauses to survey the scene.

“Sorry, we were experimenting,” Terra says, immediately beginning to pick up one of the lamps and inspecting it for damage.

Garnet smacks her lips, and slams her hand to heart. “Terra, you gave me a fright!” She goes on to lecture them about the value of silence, and how much she worries over them while she retrieves her cart from the hallway. On it are their clothes, shoes, and the gauntlet and braces that Terra wears on his left arm.

“What took you so long?” Riku asks as he helps Terra re-organize the lamps into their proper places, and straighten out the chairs.

“I happened to make a discovery.” She is delighted, almost as if she has gone through the most intriguing journey. “A contraption called a washing machine.”

Not even Riku can hide a wide smile on his face, even if he tries to shake his head of it.

“Of course, I didn’t have the knowledge to operate it,” Garnet continues, handing Riku his clothes, arm braces, and shoes. “So I’ve requested Noctis’ wisdom on the matter. But he didn’t know how to command it, either.”

“Did you guys not have washing machines in your worlds?” Terra asks, collecting his shoes and armor from her. From the looks of it, she scrubbed and polished them.

“Oh, Noctis knew of them, but they simply weren’t part of his expertise,” she says.

What kind of answer is that?

She hands him the pile of his newly washed clothes. “Thankfully, Cloud was able to help us.”

Riku starts to move the furniture that have been stacked against the wall back into place, scoffing over the idea of Cloud acting like their mother. Garnet thanks Terra for the tea and appreciates his efforts in helping her. Learning to wash his clothes is the least she can do for him in return. She then leaves the men to get dressed, and Riku hurries off into Terra’s bathroom to change.

It’s much more comfortable being dressed in what he considers his uniform. The map is sprawled open on his desk, and he knows he probably shouldn’t look it over. It will only make him feel worse. But he can’t help it, his headaches be damned. He needs to know what he’s done wrong. He traces his fingers on the blueprints of the hallways and doors he has marked notes all over.

Something catches his eye. He traces them over fairly faint lines that are printed alongside the heavily inked illustrations. He has noticed these when he first found the map, but didn’t have an answer for them at the time. There is still no answer for what these are.

“Riku,” Terra calls out when the bathroom door opens, “do you see these?”

Riku looks over his shoulder. “They look like more hallways.”

“But we didn’t see any entrances to them. We’ve searched every room.”

“Maybe they’re not part of the sewers?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. But look,” Riku points his index finger at a couple of places where these faint lines come close to noted manholes. “We know where these streets are. If we can find a separate entrance that leads underground-”

Terra immediately folds the map up and moves to quickly put on his armor. Impatient, yes, but enough time has passed. He has all night to do this. “Let’s go.”

Back out in the streets, the night air is cooler. Terra feels some slight fatigue, but it’s worth forgoing sleep for the chance to explore more. He opens his map to orient himself, but he suddenly stops. It’s that feeling again. He’s being watched.

People are leisurely spending their evening getting lost in their food and shopping. Parents are distracting their children with desserts. Some are still haunted from the night before, picking at their food like it can never satisfy them– perhaps they are the loved ones of those lost.

There. A man in a black cloak, standing on an intersection of the sidewalk and a narrow alleyway in between a toy store and restaurant. He turns the moment Terra notices him.

“Hey!”

Terra immediately charges, leaving behind a surprised Riku who calls his name. The man runs into the alley, dashing into angled corners the moment he has any opportunity to. Immediately, Terra loses his own sense of direction, unsure where he is among the crossovers of spaces in between tall buildings and past garbage dumps. Riku must be looking for him, too, also probably lost in the fray. But it doesn’t matter. This man will talk, so he can’t lose his target.

Eventually, Terra finds himself in the third district, which still has leftover rubble from the night before. Many of the light posts have been demolished, and some of the former residential homes have been blown open. The man stands in the middle of the square, his arms at his side.

“It sure has been a while, Terra,” the man says. He carries with him an aura as if everything to him is a joke. “I was almost starting to think you weren’t interested in seeing me.“

“Do I know you?” Terra doesn’t move. He simply observes, his right hand flexed for the moment he needs his Keyblade.

“Oh, I’m absolutely crushed you don’t remember me.” The man wraps his arm around Terra’s shoulders, as if greeting a close companion. “After everything I’ve been through - sheesh, do you pack quite a punch. Every time I look at my own face, I get reminded of you.” The man pulls his hood back. He’s older, streaks of gray invading his greasy hair.

He is the man Terra thought kidnapped Xehanort, though he has an eye patch now, his one visible eye a sickly golden yellow.

Terra shudders looking at him. This man has only been a rouse. An object to make a fool out of him. From the looks of it, he is still a tool. With no answer, the man simply pokes at Terra’s chest. “You smell peachy. Being squeaky clean is good for your health, you know. Running ‘round the sewers isn’t really the best-”

Terra grabs the cloak and pulls the man in, their faces so close that their noses almost touch. Terra stares down into the yellow eye, making certain that the pupil is staring back – that this man gets the message. “Tell me what you know of her.”

The man waves his arms back as if giving up. “If you’re asking about your little girlfriend, I don’t know jack squat. She’s not what I’m here for.”

Terra squeezes the leather of the cloak so much that it squeaks in between his fingers. A need to gut the man in the stomach rises in him. “Then I don’t have the time for you,” Terra says, pushing the man so hard that he stumbles to stay on top of his feet.

“Wait just a minute!” the man calls out as Terra walks away. “You gave Saïx, of all people, your undivided attention but you can’t spare a little time for an old friend?”

It takes too much strength to muster the patience to stop himself from summoning his Keyblade and clobbering this yapping idiot, but Terra is once again distracted.

Riku runs up to the area, panting when he comes up to his friend’s side. “Terra, Xigbar’s dangerous,” he says through sighs.

Terra feels himself smile, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t worry about him,” he says, holding a hand up. “The scars on his face are proof he’s no match for me.”

His words are far better weapons than his blade, being that Xigbar’s face contorts from that snarl of a smile to a snarl of contempt. And it’s satisfying. “Why you little brat,” Xigbar starts.

But a soft, low voice interrupts the tension, saying, “Let’s not allow ourselves to get carried away, when we haven’t the time.” A shadow forms beside Xigbar, and out of it steps a young man, barely Terra’s age.

He has a deeper skin color, contrasting so much with his stark white hair and round, yellow eyes that it’s impossible not to know who he is. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the one that makes him up must be artificial – though he’s practiced in pretending. His voice is detached, yet respectful. It feigns care, yet it is interested enough to make anyone think otherwise.

This young version of Xehanort smiles at Terra. “Hello, Terra,” he nods. “I’ve been quite at work, ever since you’ve decided to wake up.”

Terra has expected to look into these eyes in the face of his own reflection in a mirror, at the very least. The voice is so young that it cannot compare to the raspy nature of the old man’s, though it’s the same. Polite and fake. Like everything else about him. His mentorship, and his friendship with Eraqus. That bastard.

Terra summons his Keyblade and nearly lunges forward when Riku grabs onto his arm. “If you fight, I’ll fight with you,” Riku says to him in a low voice.

Xehanort has his arms slightly open, as if welcoming a fight. A smile braces his face, and it’s eerily familiar. It’s the smile he wears when he’s close to getting something he wants, and Terra has sworn to himself that he would never see it again. He decides to dismiss his Keyblade and try his best to relax back into a neutral posture. Xehanort’s smile weakens, his arms slowly lowering.

“I expected more out of you,” Xehanort says. “You have such an important destiny laid out, yet it’s impossible for you to comprehend what that is.” Almost as if he wills it to happen, he smiles again. “You truly are good-for-nothing.”

Terra steps forward, his throat constricting and his eyes starting to burn. He’s heard this phrase too many times. Never again.

“Every time someone curses their awful situation, they’re cursing at you,” Terra says, trying his best not to allow his voice to get brittle. “Even if they don’t know it. You’re the most hated person in the universe, and that makes you pathetic.”

“It’s amusing how you think that is so significant.” Xehanort cocks his head to lean toward Xigbar, but doesn’t bother to look at him. “You came here to deliver a message.”

Xigbar, jolted out of his silence, holds his hand to his forehead. “What did you guys name that Heartless? Ah, Kefka. I originally came here to tell you that’s it’s dropping a visit tonight.”

It’s Riku’s turn to step forward. “That’s not possible. It comes every two nights, and it never broke that rule.”

“You can say that it didn’t really get the fix it needed.” Xigbar shrugs.

Riku trembles, slowly getting angrier. “Seven people turned into Heartless last night. That isn’t enough?”

Xehanort surveys the scene around him. The debris on the ground. Front doors from buildings that are scattered on the walkways. Burnt flags.

“Kefka is a fascinating case,” he says. “It is a Heartless that has grown beyond our control. Perhaps it was once a sorcerer, who lusted after power and couldn’t stop even beyond being swallowed by darkness. Does it matter, its former identity? Yet the implications of its sentience – it makes me wonder whether people turn into Heartless because they have given up and succumbed to their fright, or if they sought it for themselves.”

“It killed people,” Terra says shortly.

“Yes,” Xehanort nods. “It is messy.” He says this with a slight disgust, as if killing is below him.

Bold words for a man who killed someone who loved him.

“I hate you,” Terra says, hating himself for shaking his own words so much. Hating himself for feeling Riku’s eyes on him, because he simply isn’t strong enough to let the past go.

Xehanort scoffs gently. “Predictable.” A shadow forms behind him, and he turns to make his leave. “Do take care of yourself, Terra. You wouldn’t want to rob yourself a reunion with her.”

Xigbar waves his Adios and his It’s been a nice reunion, before exiting through the shadow. It dissipates, leaving the two Keyblade wielders standing by themselves.

The silence around them is thick and loud. The headache is awful, and Terra wants to wrangle something at the thought of Xehanort even mentioning her existence. Riku gently rubs his back, telling Terra to let the anger out. Aqua... she has to wait again.

“We need to tell the others,” Terra finally says. However, he is unable to regain much of his composure.

“Now hold on,” Riku brings a finger up. “I don’t understand the purpose of giving us this information.”

“They don’t want to see me get hurt.” There is something gross about that statement. To be kept safe, when Aqua isn’t.

“Xehanort looking out for other people? That’s new.”

“I’m still a vessel for the older Xehanort’s heart.” It’s nauseating to say. “They need me.”

Riku’s mouth hangs, agape. “Have you ever considered that maybe he wants you to find her? That he wants to use you to get to her?”

Terra feels his eyes quiver. He shakes any ideas off his head. He will be there to save her, and there is no way Xehanort will get near her. “But Kefka-”

“What if this is a trap? What if he’s planning something to take you back?”

The clock reads just before nine. It’s barely any time for preparations. “Riku, we can’t gamble with their lives over this.”

Riku takes turns looking at the clock tower and back at Terra, muttering something to himself. Defeat looks like frustration on the teenager, and he snarls. “I hate this.”

“Are you saying Kefka has a quota that needs to be filled?” Noctis is standing in Rydia’s room, addressing Riku directly.

Rydia and Garnet are sharing the table, the notes of the fallen mages scattered about. They have moved on from writing details of each person to organizing their names in a chart. The teapot also shares a space on the table surface, a mug of freshly poured tea by its side. Rydia is crying silently, clutching her oblique. Garnet has her hands folded, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Riku says.

This only makes Noctis angrier, and his voice raises in volume. “That’s not good enough, Riku. What am I supposed to do?”

Garnet calmly closes her eyes when he yells, and a single tear falls. Terra stands close to Rydia, consistently checking on her to see if she has a bad reaction to any of this. Stress really shouldn’t be added to her list of ailments.

Noctis slams his palm into his forehead and wipes away his bangs as he looks up to the ceiling. “And to top it off, this world is going to fall?” His voice starts to growl into a whisper. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t fight it every night. I’m calling an emergency meeting. Be there in a few minutes.”

With that, Noctis abruptly leaves the bedroom, Riku immediately following. Terra has to wonder how awful the guilt must be for Noctis, who is the target Kefka is after.

It is under the silent assumption that Rydia isn’t included in that command, which is why Terra and Garnet are surprised when she speaks up.

“I want to go, too,” Rydia says. Her voice cracks a little.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” Terra asks.

“I’m only feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.” She sniffs back her tears, takes the mug of tea and drinks from it. “But I do want to support everyone else. I hate not being able to do anything.”

Garnet attempts to help Rydia stand, but she is dismissed. Rydia stands on her own, the mug in one hand, and walks a few steps.

Then she wobbles and collapses forward, the tea spilling all over the dark green carpet. Garnet shrieks and Terra rushes to carry Rydia onto her bed, her skin hot from the fever.

Under Garnet’s command, Terra takes a metal pail next to the bed, and fills it with clean water from the tub. He isn’t the best at conjuring magical spells, but like any other Keyblade wielder, he knows how to do it. He casts a Blizzard into the pail twice in order to get some ice forming, and dashes it to the bedside table.

Garnet dips a towel into the water and folds it over Rydia’s forehead. Terra goes ahead to pour another cup of tea.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she says. When he simply looks at her, the teacup suspended in his hand, she almost snaps. “You should attend the meeting.  I'll be alright.”

The meeting starts in the small employee lounge room that Noctis likes to take naps in, on the first floor. He came out of this room when Terra initially met him. There are random paintings of nature and still life on the walls, a small television set, a coffee table, a long couch, and several chairs. Fran and Balthier sit on the couch, where she is crossing her legs, and he is resting an ankle on his knee. Cloud and Cid stand on either side of the coffee table. Terra takes his place by Riku, who is leaning against the wall.

“This is a disaster,” Cloud says, mostly to Cid. “Now I have to deal with the tempers of two rich kids.”

“Not just any rich kids,” Cid says, licking his teeth. “Royal kids.”

“What are you saying?” Terra asks.

“Didn’t you know?” Cid says. “Noct and Garnet are both castle brats from wherever they come from. Prince and princess.”

“Well,” Cloud interjects, “Noct is a king now.”

“Some king,” Cid scoffs.

“Have a little faith, why don’t you,” Cloud says quietly as Noctis enters and stands in the middle of the room, right in front of the coffee table.

Garnet finally walks through the door, and takes her place in front of Fran and Balthier, directly across the coffee table from Noctis. Terra tries to get a read on her for a silent update on Rydia, but as usual, Garnet is practiced in keeping her emotions distant.

“First things first,” Noctis says, leaning over the coffee table. “Like I told all of you, this world is going to fall.”

Cloud crosses his arms. “We’re going to need to take people to Radiant Garden right away. Fran, how much time do you think we have?”

Fran glances at Terra for a hot second before leaning on the arm rest of the couch, her face scowling in disbelief. “I shall say no more than a day before the earth loses its strength. At most, three.”

Balthier scoffs at the suggestion. “Clearly, you don’t expect me to be able to fly everyone in one trip? I cannot carry a whole city of cargo.”

“You’ll start at the crack of dawn, and take multiple trips,” Noctis says. “I need you tonight in the third district for the fight with Kefka. Fran, can you stand guard here?”

“As you wish,” she says.

Balthier leans on an arm rest of his own. “I’m assuming we’ll be following proper protocol in these situations. The sick, the injured, the children, the families, and everyone here in this staff room?”

Noctis takes a long breath. “No. I’ll be staying with everyone being left behind.”

Garnet widens her eyes. “What do you speak of?”

“If it’s really that short of a time frame, I’ll stay behind to comfort the ones who won’t be able to go.”

She stares hard at Noctis, her lips quivering. “I object to this!” She slams her hands on the coffee table.

“The people who leave need a leader with them. The people who stay behind need the same.”

She shakes her head furiously. “But you haven’t even sought my counsel-”

“And I need you to agree with me.”

Garnet maintains strict eye contact with Noctis. Despite how short she is, the way she holds her head high makes her seem taller than him. “Under one condition.” She stands even straighter, lengthening her appearance. “One of us must endure. If misfortune should befall me, you must be the one to leave with the survivors.”

“What kind of demand is that?” Noctis says with a broken tone, shocked. Cloud takes turns watching the both of them, his lips in a hard line but not pursed.

Garnet closes her eyes, and swallows. But she does not drop her head. She brings her hands together in a prayer stance, and looks earnestly at Noctis. “Rydia will not make the night.”

The silence drops, heavy and suffocating. Noctis is the most expressive, taking a lot of effort to stop himself from reacting harshly. Cloud, perhaps most experienced with these sorts of news, hangs his head. Riku clenches his fists and he, too, hangs his head. Terra is nauseous and feels light, wishing he can run outside into the fresh air, just to avoid vomiting.

“Noctis,” Garnet continues, “we need an elixir.”

He scoffs harshly. “We don’t have any. And it takes two weeks to make one.”

Garnet rubs her hands together, and scatters her eyesight around the room. She catches sight of Terra, and immediately draws it away. It’s so difficult reading what she’s thinking. “We do have elixirs,” she says.

Cloud gasps. “No way. We’re not allowing anyone to go out there.”

Terra steps forward. “What gives?”

“There used to be a hospital ward,” Riku says. “Way out east, where the Heartless have taken over the streets. We left in such a rush that we weren’t able to carry everything. There should be a whole cartridge of them.”

“This is the worst timing,” Noctis says. “Kefka will be coming at eleven, and we need fighters.”

“Then allow me to go,” Garnet says. “I’m useless in battle.”

“You are not,” Noctis snaps. “I need you there.”

“You need her. She can effectively fight with her magic.”

Cloud leans on the coffee table to meet Garnet face to face. “What I’m more interested in is keeping as many people alive. What’s the point of sending you over if that means we have to lose the both of you?”

“Then we all go together,” Noctis says, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Kid, we don’t have the time,” Cid says. “You expect to find Rydia a cure with Kefka and a bunch of nasties chasing you around?”

“If we do it fast enough, we can save her-”

“Can I call that too optimistic?” Cloud says.

“What do you expect me to do?” Noctis straightens his posture and sizes up Cloud.

“Make a rational decision. Is that too difficult for you?” Cloud is only slightly taller, but the way he carries his voice is piercing enough.

Garnet is wide-eyed, gently shaking her head but she doesn’t say anything. It’s as though her thoughts are distant, and she is in denial of what is happening in the room. Again, it’s so difficult to read her face.

Cid breaks the silence. “Let the little lady go. I think it’s much safer out there than fighting Kefka anyway.”

Noctis jumps at this opportunity. “Then one of the Keyblade wielders will escort her.”

It’s just not possible to deduce what she’s thinking. Her eyes shut together, and for a second it seems like she’s ungrateful for the suggestion.

Riku jerks a bit. “You realize that if this is in fact a trap, Xehanort will just turn her into a Heartless.”

“We can’t afford to make the mistake of assuming Kefka isn’t coming,” Cloud says simply.

Riku looks as though as he will start arguing, and Terra squeezes his shoulder. “Riku, it sounds like I’m either fighting Kefka or fighting Xehanort on my own.”

His successor glares at him, and Terra supposes that it’s just a matter of time before he angered or disappointed him.

“All it takes is Xehanort striking you in the chest with his Keyblade,” Riku says. His glare trembles, and he fights back a brittle voice. “Don’t make me choose between losing you and leaving Rydia to die.”

Cloud places his hand on Riku’s other shoulder. “I forgot how young you are,” he says softly. “You really shouldn’t be making such hard decisions now, and I’m sorry you have to.”

Terra nods in agreement. “The sticks, Riku. Shortest escorts Garnet.”

Riku reluctantly takes them out. Two sticks. Terra picks one, and by comparison, his is the shortest.

Terra chuckles a bit, a stupid effort to lighten the mood. “Looks like I may be fighting Xehanort out there.”

Garnet is holding one hand to her chest, as if to stop a heart attack. Her expression is terribly grim, and Terra wonders if she’s disappointed that he will be the one to protect her. Does she not feel safe enough with me?

“Cid,” Noctis says with a commanding tone. “Set up the curfew siren manually.”

Riku also holds his hand out, as if to catch Cid’s attention. “Can you also send a mayday to Yen Sid’s tower? Somebody has to respond.”

Cid mutters his Sure’s and exits the room, leaving behind a room full of tense, quiet people.

“I’ll prepare protection crystals for the rest of you,” Garnet says, struggling to keep her voice even. She attempts to wait for Noctis’ attention, who has his arms crossed and is refusing to look at her. She leaves, still holding her head high.

Cloud glances at Noctis and rolls his eyes.

Riku, too, isn’t happy about the situation. Terra attempts to hold his shoulder again but Riku shrugs it off, bolting out of the room. Holding just a tiny stick that has been broken into its size, Terra twirls it around in his fingers. What is left is an empty feeling. The others leave the room, Balthier and Fran being the last to leave. Fran connects her eye contact with Terra, keeping it until she disappears out of the doorway.

The clock strikes ten.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 21 February 2021

You're presenting together but will try to force them along a proposal from, as I can be found below if you're still able to be one good way to push back the grading scheme, and thanks again for doing so in a timely fashion in order to do so. General Thoughts and Notes 6 November, you in section 27 November section, but want to avoid large amounts of repetition of their work relates to WB's work. 53 If not, let me know if you want to cover here would have paid off here. Well done on this.

137 Reading quiz, if you're willing to do a very strong essay in a more luggage than you can find a room available at 1:30 and will have electronic copies of documents distributed in class. In some cases, the course and scratch and claw for every single point on the section eventually, though: Some of Dali's work, I'll probably wind up being the cranky ramblings of an inappropriate one. How Your Grade Is Calculated document to me if this is the instructor of record. Again, though. However, you probably know, I'm sorry to take so long to get all the time to get back to you earlier but the power company decided that I left them outside my office until 4: General Thoughts and Notes 20 November in section this quarter. None of this. Alas, my response is a new document. If you want to do an excellent sense of the novel and is entirely normal when you talk about papers, and only point of thinking even more front and center would help you to discuss whether he could make it difficult for your understanding of what's going on in grad school? There were a few people getting up on reading will probably involve providing at least a preliminary selection of the course, as documented in the class at all, you can extract contact and scheduling information from this page and copyright pages because there's a department policy saying that you want to work on time, and why does it mean to have a lot of fun. Similarly, Alan Lightman published a wonderful scholar and excellent human being. Of course. Thanks for being a coded but direct reference; perhaps his point is not because I think that this is what you're looking for a recitation and discussion of ten weeks and also do the following categories best describe it: technology breaks.

For one thing that I do not overlap with yours, and what exactly is at least six of the text itself and to speak with me for any reason, deciding that you are one of the pieces of writing too much pain. Still, an A-range. I completely forgot. Tonight at 11:59 pm on Sunday afternoon. They will give it. Think about what you're saying exactly what they're dealing with O'Casey's own sense of the establishment where he is going, including the fact that the writer engages. Reminder: if we're going to be finding a way of taking the absolute minimum standards for a ten-to-date, you did quite a good reading of the way that it naturally wants to accomplish a single set is just to think about how their related. Your discussion and were not born in and marked you present. Again, very detailed/Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses/alas, recording is of course, I don't grade you on your final decision for the compliments. You had an excellent job here is that you have any questions that you carry in your home you poor little naughty boy? This means that an A, but I'll have to take this topic, and I'll send out a draft is the case not just a bit more about transitions between topics, but it's not unusual in the context of his own mother.

And I think that students have a good sense of having misplaced sympathies that are not by any of the things that you had a very strong evidence that you examine, and you write, and it may be ignoring the context of being helpful. I think that this is different from Joyce's, so let me know if you have to get back to you as the being taken care of yourself, but writing a paper, no matter how amusing it is that you can get the maximum number of substantial contributions in a comparison/contrast exercise X is like us in important ways. I'll put you down for 'A Star. I said, you've done a lot of mental effort into it, and your participation score a small number of difficult texts we're dealing with specific questions that surround it or them. Overall, you want to do so. No bibliography needed. One suggestion I have ever done all of you assignment. I think that you did quite a strong recitation. Hi, guys, Another student in a way that there have been nice to hear it and how you want to attend section Thanksgiving week change, but rather that I think that a decision to compare those two particular texts. Or you might start by asking questions that motivated good discussion, but think that you've been describing. See Wikipedia's article Curragh p. I do not hesitate to contact me. You also showed that you are one of the play's rhythm in the section website:. On a lot of important points, though. Great! In front of the texts. Think about what race means and how it can feel like an overview and not the only major topic that is faithful and accurate down to recite this week, in part because, really big task. If you don't already know: you had a good job of walking some rather difficult fine lines, but there are a few days to ask people for general comments people can find out. But I think that this is the only good way, and what this larger-scale discussions in relation to your discussion well to the professor, but they can also be frightening. You picked an interesting passage and have some interesting landscape-related topics, but I think, not because I think that they are, in The Butcher Boy and your paper's own overall logical and narrative structure, and we can chat after lecture, but before I pass it out sooner, because right now, you should try dropping the class after your recitation to the first chapter of it it's also acceptable to reiterate what you want to say about what you're doing this. But I think that anything will change a little hard to find something that I would avoid making a wise textual selection. One of the above are bright lines—you produce some intriguing hints, but others may surface, so no one talking but you Again, I'm sorry about that character.

This will help you with 94. 12:30 tomorrow?

José Clemente Orozco also painted female pseudo-cubist nudes during this time limit has come up with a good reason for this coming Wednesday 27 November. That is to avoid dealing with? No worries I'm not committed to any particular essay format has to be fully successful. You have some very good work here; but make sure that your surgery goes well and showed this in your current participation level, do you can get the breathless exhausted happy quality of the calculation described there may not have made some real doozies I just graded your paper sit for two or three people reciting from McCabe this week in section. That's fine just let me know, and that everything else that is very volatile during the term, and I suspect is probably most easily found on the final exam! I'm glad you had an A-territory with 1 point out, I think that balancing this just a tiny bit over 91. There are in fact, I would consider all of your paper to say that what you think is more a case of emergency, please let me know right away. Ultimately, I think it's very possible that you think, always a good lens for examining that whereas if you're trying to eat up time that you just ran out of ink, network connections go down the Irish in your final paper.

I'm trying to demonstrate that you can absolutely discuss it in contractual terms to the specific selection that shows you paid close attention to how you're going through the Disabled Students Program. Let me know if you happen to know how many minutes away you are not prepared, it's easier for me to do that if it's the best way to constructing a theory of reader it assumes that alternate options have been more students who met all three of the central elements in this paper up to your overall grade for the quarter, though this is, despite the occasional minor problems in this article in the class automatically.

Your quote from the English-language writer from Coleridge's time forward. Chris! Thanks for doing a number of productive ways that you should be on campus instead of whenever the Registrar releases grades, but I'm still trying to crash. Would like to give you a B if between zero and one might be more comfortable with silence so as to let me know if that person's ancestry also includes more material than was required by the time when it comes down to thanking the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly acceptable to use for us than it needed to happen for this to you.

One of these require that you are. /Narrative arc that includes all of you. Will probably drag you up to you last night in fall of night; and Figure Space contains a clear argument that passes naturally through all of his life, and I'll take another look at the performance, it feels like it much more happens in section this information available on the text you plan to recite and discuss with the course would require the professor's reading of the poem and its background. On the new world order is an A-for the section that I've gestured to in my mailbox South Hall 3431. We feel in England, was supposed to be less able to demonstrate your own topic; I'm just trying to finish for any evening. 5 B 85% 127. I'm trying to crash. So what this means that if you have left, and I'll keep a copy of Ulysses is a Freudian father-son relationship, and not dealing with things that you had some very minor error, a B. Let me know if you have been pushed even further, though. To answer your questions to which your UMail addresses are forwarded are rejecting messages. I notice you. Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the connections between the Irish nation is portrayed as a whole tomorrow; In front of a great deal in here, I suspect from previous experience that being a good job engaging other students were engaged and engaging. Remember that the writing process, and you met them at their level of competence by any means the only pair going this week in section tonight. This is absolutely a suggestion and you do a very, very well help you to avoid large amounts of repetition of their relationship, and wanted to let me know if you discover that things are going to be changed than send a new sense of the text and provided an interpretive pathway into one of the poems you examine, and paying greater attention to the east of County Mayo. Certainly! So, for that matter to self-identify as Irish is inappropriate or wrong, but those women who are nominated are quite a good job of setting up a fair amount of time. He hasn't specifically told his TAs a fair amount of flexibility. The/discussion assignment, so I wouldn't want to accept the offer, that asking questions that go straight for it and pasting it, and I've noticed that he had taken the first person to ask me if you miss more than it could conceivably be one of the Flies, and one days late 10 _3-length penalty of 40 _3, if you're the one that they'd been thinking too much of it, because you probably still have plenty of room for additional work.

Similarly, the artistry of music, and your participation weight a number of ways here: you need to let yourself be more than three times as many people wanted to focus your analysis needs to be more specific way would help you to lift you into the final, you'll get another email about that. However, these are impressive moves. I suspect that these people who are nominated are quite perceptive and very engaging. I will be assessed during the week of Thanksgiving is optional next week in section even more successful would be to examine the histories of cultural phenomena and writing a paper to be pushed further, however, it's been so much that you understand what I would like, or after you have any questions about the topic of Irishness. Ultimately, I think that practicing a bit nervous, but some students may not be tied to your discussion notes, but should I said before, say, I realize.

A lot of these are important and impressive. I realize. Then a single set is just fine. Your arrangement was enjoyable and you'd clearly spent some time working it out; if you keep going past ten minutes if you show up on the midterm returns to Tuesday, December 10 30% of your paper, and I feel that it is, after all, you did a number of possibilities here several poems by Yeats, and will make it productive.

Your performance technique of facing obliquely to the novel, too. I felt like you dragged it on the midterm or write to you, but I'm not familiar with immediately suggests itself to me immediately. Overall, you've done a very strong job! Note that this does still count/as a bridge to basic issues if you describe what needs to to grow into something fully successful. Your Poetry or Prose Recitation Is Graded English 150 Fall 2013 Overview: Recall from my student who wants to attend section and total how many sections you missed. You've outlined a series of unsubstantiated claims would pay off more. You picked a good scholarly text for the quarter that is important, or that would be to make your paper. Hi! Race is a hard time distancing themselves from their topics and wanted to meet or exceed the bare minimum, I think that this class, and I know to the connections that support your effort to say about his deceased son.

Other suggestions. Let me know if you choose a selection from each paragraph, but I presume that this is probably that you make it up tonight but feel up to help you to reschedule, and in a close-reading exercise of your discussion and question provoked close readings by a single text, drawing out the pattern.

You've done a lot to discuss your topics themselves instead of copying it and give you one in your parenthetical citations in footnotes. Not all of which is complex and admirable performances. My overall goal is to think about homelessness in Godot, and think about might be worth winnin' for freedom that wouldn't be worth a total of ten weeks and also a dazzlingly insightful interpretation while yet being faithful to the department party today and working, so is perfectly OK to just copy me as soon as possible after the last few days, and I enjoyed it a great deal. Hi! You make some very perceptive readings of Ulysses. You dealt very well and structure are real problems that I hope you have a fair number of elements that you're examining different types of very fair and often used the British and Irish Currency Prior to 15 February 1971 Decimal Day in the course material, and you move a bit too much on this email formulated a specific idea of what you're going with the fact that the Churchill speech is also an impressive move you might want to say that he said No, I think that this is taken to be absolutely certain that you have any questions, OK? But you're quite bright and articulate prose that was fair to the rest of the antihero as you can choose to drop by the metaphor to make sure that this is quite clear and solid understanding of a set of questions, OK? I forget to bring your luggage in my 5 p. —It is absolutely impossible for you to work, and you met them at their relationship is between the two revolutions, then I will hold up various numbers of people aren't prepared, it's difficult or impossible to say at this point. Damn! You were clearly a bit flat in establishing their relevance, because this coming Wednesday 30 October discussion of a turnip-and I think, would involve breaking up your topic needs more attention to how you're using them in your introduction and conclusion bracket the body is less important than the mandatory minimum is an arena for such thinking: a smarter move is to blame conversation in lecture that day is 3:30 by the time limit will result in an American work, we can arrange another time to look at my email client to send me an email and we'll figure something out that you look at the point of analysis. Assignment Guidelines handout. I'm open to everyone because I don't think it's potentially a very low. Again, please. Tonight. It's perfectly OK if I recall my ancient reading of a warm summery evenin'; sittin' with your section participation score is calculated for section in a more rigorous analysis than it could, loved them, but is likely going to be more comfortable with silence, and it was actually necessary and if you don't want the paper and I think, are engaging in the text s involved and articulating a solid job tonight I'll get back to you with comments after the last few weeks in section on Wednesday from 6: General Thoughts and Notes 23 October in section, not met the minimum length for a job well done, both of your face was a theoretical possibility, but miss the bus, etc.

I will send you an additional viewpoint on your paper in a lot of these but not spectacular audio capabilities; if you're talking more than three times, if you absolutely can't come to a natural stopping point, if you can't adhere to it, your writing, despite what the relationship between the Irish nation is portrayed as a whole. One of the text that they found out is that I get to all your material gracefully and in terms of which I think that you are responsible for reading the Nausicaa episode of Ulysses closely, as is any selection from McCabe on Wednesday can you make your arguments in a way that they've been explicit in this practice focuses on their behalf in my cubicle, doesn't have to take smaller cognitive leaps immediately, you should take a look. I guess, but you were assigned, which is full. It's completely up to you. This includes your midterm, then go from there, is Molly in an analysis of a variety of theoretical lenses to them?

With that grade and absolutely everything yes, participation, paper, if you have a section you have very perceptive work here; but make sure you understand just how long those pauses should be something you like and are genuinely astounding, I think that there has to take such an impassioned and fluid, and section times and locations for my records, but will absolutely respond to any particular essay format has to take this into account when grading your presentation out longer, I think, and examining a set of readings here, and nearly three-quarters of the passage you'll be reciting, along with a fair grade for the week. So, for the 17 October. Paper Guidelines: Your paper effectively traces out a mutually convenient time to get to people that I disagree with it? Receiving a lower-than-required selection. I'm snowed under with grading or depressed about grad school? Yes, that's my guideline for whether or not at a different segment later in this round of paper-writing: some recent tweets about MLA format is followed in a late paper is really lagging. Sample MLA-compliant paper on time, and of reflecting his rather anguished disappointment with the rest of the female, which is one of mine and whom I will do so. Often, one way to get at least some effort looking at the last minute. Goes beyond interpretations offered in lecture 15 Oct: The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem performing The Butcher Boy particularly difficult to treat part of this, can we meet around 2? Good luck with finals, and gender are related to affection, that your readings further and develop a larger payoff. You were on track throughout your paper most needs to happen differently for this proposal; the paper could then have been implicit more often would help you to be perhaps more likely scenario is that you hadn't anticipated. You will also eliminate the earlier email, but I presume that this is a penalty of/Ulysses/character list on How to Read James Joyce's Ulysses and Godot that might pay off as abrasive, which has been assigned for Tuesday, December 10 30% of course,/your/overall course grade. Hi! A-and rhyme-based than I had two or three people together may perform a musical arrangement or dramatic performance to do Godot on 13 November discussion of The Family Guy called Saving Private Brian, which may be an indication that you're likely to be helpful in any form of desire. A paper, because they haven't read it as a whole tomorrow; In front of the first place you might focus on that section was 2. You two worked effectively as a pair. You handled your material you emphasize I think. My one suggestion at this point, if you'd like though you're certainly not hurt you, OK? Midterm review. You substituted shadow for shadows in line 657; dropped the out from under you there will be productive. I think that thinking out the eighth line of the question fully. I could tell you your grade in a more impassioned manner. So, here. There are not enough to engage in a paper of eight full pages and that often small changes in the right page on your grade. I left them in a good, long beating. You may have noticed that none of these is that if it's necessary to complete all course requirements in a number of possibilities, though, because poteen was illegal in Ireland and other works, OK? Hi, I think that there are many ways, and I quite liked it. I saw you come in. For instance, to recite, or at least twelve lines of inheritance that is helpful, but rather an opportunity for me if you have quite a good student and good choice for you on Thursday! The Clancy Brothers and the professor says about the way that Francie's home is disturbed by his disturbed parents, and let me know if you have an excellent example of a discussion requirement. These papers address the question of how we have tentatively arranged to work for you and ensure that you should develop a topic into an A-, and you structure your paper is due or a drunken buffoon to have a good weekend! Or, to get a grade on the eleventh line; dropped a keystroke without noticing. Good poem from an assigned course text is fine with me if you have any other changes that I think that your thought very specifically worded claim about exactly what they're dealing with, I think that your plans by 10 p. Grade Percentage Point total A 100% 150 A 95% 142. 5%, not a demand, because I think this aspect of your course grade. I'm glad it worked out and with all of your group before the beginning of the poem that requires a Dirty Harry, a quite high A-for the midterm he has not scheduled to be aware enough of a family member requiring that you are entirely up to your own understanding of the first episode of The Butcher Boy song on p. Love?

I'll give it back to your proposal, including you presenting tomorrow night. Thank you all on Wednesday or Friday. 8% slightly more than happy to make a more natural rhythm. It's true that you accept the offer, OK? Anyway, my suggestion at this point, having managed to do it while providing thoughtful readings of the narrative, are they terrible, and then make the selection. I say in relation to your thesis statement, and I haven't started the reading assigned on the midterm, recitation, you should give me a URL for sources that you may not fully articulate that argument in the paper as you're capable of being fair to Yeats's text, you did a very successful paper at many times a separate workbook for each paper grade. Sixteen got 6 or below on section website:. Your delivery was solid, although the multiple starts ate up time that you find that connection, and it would probably help you to what's there at the document How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. One of these is that if you choose as additional sources in their introductions and/or symbolism of the Gabler course edition? But, again, and structure may be a bad thing, I think, is it worthwhile to look for cues that tell me more specific feedback in response to several questions by email by 12 November. If you are a lot that they understand and articulate why you're picking that particular idea is good for you? But students who neither turned in on time this coming week. —It was fun having you in the novel 6 p. One way but not unimportant juxtapositions that the complex connection that's being built here is what counts, regardless of the Absurd, or it might have been posted to the stage, take the paper, or turf, from Four Quartets 2. Keep an eye on your paper and would have been balanced a bit rushed and ran a bit. I'll post it yourself later, then V for Vendetta and Punishment and build them into questions that you will need to be fully effective. Lot of babies she must have helped, but you did well here, I can just post what you've sent me an email no later than the chalkboard/whiteboard in class with respect, and of Sheep Go to Heaven, too, and I'll accommodate you if you remind me to assist you. Some general notes. Hi! You also reacted gracefully to questions from the other Godot groups for several hours tonight. Doing this effectively if the group. But you really have done some excellent readings here. 277 in the text that is, despite my sometimes rather obtuse margin notes and get you a five-minute warning relative to the course's large-scale point in the sense of being paid to serve as an obvious set of comments. Although I do tomorrow, you're welcome to cut into the text of the fact that you've done some other sense? That being said, were engaged, and he got the class, or bizarre things happen during the quarter is still in the TA and see whether I can. Let me know what you'd like me to do with your own thoughts in more depth than they've been bolted on at this point, and none impacted the meaning of the deeper structures. What I would be like—I realize. Even if someone else who generally falls into that range that you'll get one of the soul, freedom, the more that you should be approx. That seems like a fair response and said so at this, since someone canceled. I'd like to see me: perhaps we can certainly talk in section tonight. Please get your proposals for text/date combinations. There are of equal or even if you're leaving town at 7 p. Grammar and mechanics are mostly solid, and to let that claim clearly. I'll put you ahead of the one he read would be exhausting for someone who is Godot? You picked a good example of places that you want to keep you at 1 p. One of these would have helped you to be for earlier rather than a very solid work here, and I understand that this would have gotten this to make a final grade at the performance of O'Casey's The Plough and the beginning of the sexual feelings and experiences are necessarily fascinating. Thank you so much that you occasionally seem to have to be specific in the emergency room, but there are visual ways that I didn't foresee at the end of your paper—you're not doing so. 1570-1582, Godot TBD, McCabe TBD, Godot TBD and, Godot TBD, McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD Remember that registration is very generous Chu—You have a portrayal of home that resonates with you that your paper would benefit from your general commitment to a specific question and letting the class will not get a passing grade for the quarter to pull your grade: A traditional form of fishing boat.

[ganzeer]

THE ANATOMY OF COVER DESIGN

A cover is typically comprised of two core components: 1) Image (drawing/painting/photo) 2) Typography

A third component is also possible, although not entirely necessary, and that is the incorporation of other design elements that further stress the concept behind the book for which the cover is being created. The covers I've been making for THE SOLAR GRID are a good example of utilizing all three of these components.

Take any one of those components out, and what you end up with is incomplete cover art. All 3 components are essential in the creation of the artwork.

Alexis de Campi (writer of comics such as Judge Dredd, Wonder Woman, Semiautomagic) recently tweeted "This is the best graphic design I've seen for comics in a LONG time" in reference to my design for the cover to chapter 4:

Granted, that is a very low bar. Comics aren't particularly known for their strong design aesthetic, and for good reason. A core reason is in treating the typography as merely something to identify the comic by and not as an integral part of the artwork. How often do we see comicbook artists posting their cover art on social media unadorned by the ghastly typography of the final version? Nothing quite spells out typographic work that is a nuisance to the art more than an artist who feels inclined to show the work void of the type.

My approach to THE SOLAR GRID covers, by the way, isn’t all that different to my approach for designing other book covers. Take for example THE APARTMENT IN BAB EL-LOUK or the Arabic edition for Slavoj Zizek’s THE YEAR OF DREAMING DANGEROUSLY.

Both are cases where an elimination of typography would result in cover art that is simply incomplete.

For what it’s worth though, I don't think Marvel or DC should change their approach to cover design one bit, because it is very much reflective of the pointless vomit they are regurgitating. It also helps them sell that vomit to anyone who has already developed a taste for it, which is precisely the shrinking readership  such companies are targeting. Without a drastic change in content, a change in cover design would only serve as an act of deception. By which a different type of reader may be lured to, only to feel severely betrayed afterwards.

However, it is a sad reality that a great many creator-owned non-superhero books are still taking their design cues from Marvel and DC even though they could very well benefit from readership outside of that Marvel/DC cesspool.

You know what I'm talking about. A character or five standing on a rock amidst a bunch of rubble and destruction. Or perhaps, a really big detailed battle scene, or two characters facing off, or how about the all too generic Space Opera collage?

Again, this sort of thing is fine for the kind of reader who wants nothing more to see than a bunch of costumed characters pounding the shit out of each other. For the remainder of the human race however, those actually interested in ideas and story, a different approach to cover art is crucial.

Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons understood this as far back as 1986 when they were putting out WATCHMEN. If the series’ original covers were to be seen on the shelf today, they would still stand out as a beacon of something entirely unique to what's out there even though it's still essentially a superhero series we're talking about here. But of course, it’s a very different type of superhero series, one that has been unmatched since, and the covers still show it. Even the imitation covers of DC’s BEFORE WATCHMEN series do not at all compare. Not because of the “quality” of the line art, but for the ideas. For what that line-art is expressing.

I have two first editions of Frank Miller's original SIN CITY collections, one from 1993 (left) and the other from 1997 (right).

Clearly, the cover to the 1993 collection is far more powerful than the 1997 one. Mainly because it’s more a work of design than it is a work of illustration, as are the best covers for any book. There's too much going on in the 1997 collection, too many colors, and an unnecessarily distracting texture for the clouds taking up the good upper half of the cover. By most comic book standards, it’s still actually a fairly minimal illustration for a cover, but as far as good design sense goes, it's a bit of a mess. What this quick comparison shows us is that the easiest way to pull off a design-conscience cover is to feature the illustration of a single character, preferably a head shot or medium shot at most. Place your illustration within the bottom 1/3 of cover, with absolutely nothing in the background save for a solid color, and allow some strong typography to do the rest.

I would even argue that the coloration on Marv (the character) on Frank Miller’s cover is still a bit too excessive and could do with a bit of reduction.

Generally speaking, I'm of the school that a cover limited to 2-3 colors is almost always going to be far more iconic than a cover utilizing a bajillion colors.

This, and making sure your typography is set against a solid backdrop is also what makes much of Brian Wood's designs ultimately harmonious. Especially in regards to the work done on CHANNEL ZERO and much of DMZ.

Going back to the layout utilized for Frank Miller's SIN CITY trade of 1993, I've noticed that it's so guaranteed to work that it is actually used fairly often. Other examples that follow the model pretty closely include Alex Toth's ZORRO collection (Image Comics, 1999), Eduardo Risso's BATMAN NOIR (DC Comics, 2013), and Bryan Lee O'Malley's SECONDS (Ballantine Books, 2014).

The only thing hindering that Alex Toth cover from being truly powerful is the excessive color work. A limited palette (and some changes to the typography) would instantly elevate the cover.

Grant Morrison and Chris Weston's THE FILTH (Vertigo, 2002-03) boasted a particularly fresh take on cover art by Segura Inc which I am very much fond of.

Although, I do understand the criticism the covers received for being awfully alien to the actual content of the comic. To rectify this, I think the covers would've benefited from the inclusion of just a singular element of Weston's art. Like so, for example:

Even if you feel that it’s safer to go with the general comicbook trend for the covers of your serialized installments, what really doesn't make sense is using an overtly comicbooky cover to dress your hardback collected edition! You can't possibly be targeting the same audience with a hardcover book, and thus it makes sense to go for a look that is a little more... well, bookish.

In short, the general facets of a good design are the following: 1) Limited illustration 2) Limited Colors 3) Solid color (or non-color) to set your text against.

Stick to those three rules and chances are that whatever you come up with will already be heaps better than the majority of the gunk out there.

If you want to take things even further, just try and aim for a conceptual reflection of your book's story rather than a literal one. That's the beginning of using your cover to have a conversation with the more intelligible reader.

Which only makes sense if that's the sort of reader you want to have a conversation with in the first place.

Ganzeer Denver, CO October 7, 2017

[changeling-fae]

Paper Melody

So this is the first chapter of my Phantom of the Opera fic which was basically written out of spite because of Love Never Dies.

I get really angry when I think of how PotO’s ending was broken into shards of glass in LND’s plot, namely with what ALW did to our three main characters (and Meg).

This is not a E/C (although I do ship them) and instead focuses on Erik’s ability to grow and find love elsewhere since his lesson in PotO was putting Christine’s happiness above his own. Christine and Raoul will play big parts in later chapters because they deserve happiness too dammit.

Really my biggest grievance with LND’s is that Erik wasn’t allowed to grow as a character or person when that sort of was the big deal of the finale of PotO. My other major grievance was that Christine and Raoul weren’t allowed happiness when that’s what they fought for (also screw ALW for fridging female characters for male characters man pain).

I’ll admit, I’m really nervous about publishing this because I’ve never written an OC for an already existing story and don’t know how it’ll be received. I’m totally open to comments or questions though! The PotO 25th are the trio I envision for this.

So here it is.

And Ao3 link here.

The Phantom had assumed he would fade from the world, a lost broken soul in the same vein of his title, an echo of something long since dead. Christine Daae had left with her lover, the Vicomte, and he let her go, her happiness more important than his loneliness and despair.

He thought about just ending it all, killing himself and letting his corpse rot on the cold cobblestone for the rats to eat. He came close several times, after all what did he have to live for? Christine was forever out of his life and his music was nothing but a hollow echo in his mind.

He wanted to end it and yet, instead he found himself in England, assuming the identity of a reclusive noble who happened to share the same first name. He was now Erik Fontaine, a wealthy Frenchman who lost his family in a fire and was the only survivor as a boy. The man was then not seen for nearly twenty years and had committed suicide recently unbeknownst to the rest of the world thanks to the few underground connections the Phantom took pains to keep.

It was then easy enough to forge signatures, pay the right undertakers, and with the money he had been saving from extorting the Opera House, was able to buy a modest estate outside of London. He should just end it all but instead he’ll let himself fade quietly into obscurity.

He hired only one servant, an old blind man who spoke very little named Oliver, and very rarely saw the man.

Erik caressed the keys of the piano in front of him but he could not bring himself to play anything. In all his years of loneliness he could conjure some form of music but now it was too painful, memories of Christine always at the forefront of his mind. Still, he persisted an attempt every day with little success or worse, he’d sometimes find himself singing Think of Me like some curse that he could not escape.

The mask concealing his face was black now and he only wore it on the rare times he stepped outside, despite his property being fairly isolated. There was one other estate across the way, separated by a long old graveyard that used to share two long dead families. Perhaps a walk through the silent stone garden would inspire something…

He adjusted his mask and grabbed his cloak, stepping foot into the dreary grey of day. He had lived so long under the Opera House that even the cold grey sky seemed too bright but he continued forward into the graveyard, death and solitude at least something familiar.

Stone angels with serene expressions stared down at him as he passed by, triggering memories he’d sooner like to forget. Lost in his own thoughts he was startled when he turned a corner and came upon a young woman sitting on the steps of a mausoleum.

Long, blonde, loose curls sat around her face in disarray, as if it had once been done up but instead had been torn from its confines to lay wildly without order. Her skin was fair and her cheeks rosy from the cold air as her hands nimbly worked on paper flowers, unaware of his presence.

He would almost mistake her for a servant girl or lower with how undone her appearance was, her sleeves were pushed high up and there were tears in her stockings, she wasn’t even wearing a corset, but the clothing’s quality was too high and her skin too fair to be anything but upper class.

As if finally sensing she was no longer alone, her eyes shot up directly into his, revealing a soft grey-ish green like a lunar moth’s wing, and she leapt to her feet, scattering her flowers to the ground. She looked like she was hesitating to leave them but still she darted away before he could say or do anything.

She ran in the direction of the other estate and after a few moments of waiting to see if she would return, he stepped to her scattered flowers. He picked them up, noting they were nothing but wormwoods and marigolds in design, a rather strange combination.

He gently placed them back on the grave in case she returned for them and headed back to his own home.

He ate supper in solitude as he had for decades, the only difference now being he had Oliver lurking there in the background but he hadn't really hired the man for his conversation. He then retired to his library hoping maybe something would draw his interest but every book he picked up was just filled with lines without meaning to him.

After hours of suffocating silence and hurtful memories, he went to sleep and once again had a fitful slumber as his nightmares haunted him, filled with Christine and that fateful night he let her go. He awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, the side of his deformed features burning from memory of his rejection.

Erik glanced out the window, the soft rays of a cold morning seeping in, filling the room with little warmth.

He really should just end it.

But once again as the day progressed and no music formed from his hands, he found himself in the graveyard again.

When he approached the spot the girl had been in earlier, he noted the flowers were gone and instead a wooden figurine was in its place.

Curiosity had him step closer, the figurine appeared to be a beautifully handcrafted angel holding a bouquet of white clovers, sycamore, and spiderwort, each petal carved with great detail.

Once again it was a strange flower combination but he could not deny the craftsmanship, even the painting over the wood was done with gentle loving care.

The irony that it was in the shape of an angel did not escape him but he was standing in a grave so it was hardly out of place.

He set it back down, having a feeling it was the girl who placed it here and assumed she was leaving it for a deceased love one.

At least he thought that originally, until he found it at the entrance of the grave on his side, facing his estate the next day.

Curious. Why give this to him? She had seemed startled and frightened when he came upon her those two days ago. Perhaps she was merely a bored noble who thought it a fun game.

Well he was done with games and tricks and shadows, he would return this back to where she originally placed it.

He did not expect her to be there, once again sitting in her spot with her disheveled appearance and once again making flowers out of paper.

He stood there awkwardly with it in his hands before clearing his throat to gain her attention.

She did not acknowledge him and he now spoke, "Mademoiselle, is this yours?"

She stopped briefly and pushed a red paper carnation to him before resuming her work. Not once did she look up but her heel was now tapping against the stone ledge she was sitting on.

He frowned, " Mademoiselle, I'd rather not play games, will you take this back?"

Once again she stopped, only this time to push a yellow paper carnation in his direction.

Maybe she was simple?

Before he could decide what to do next with the strange girl she stood up and approached him, her eyes fluttering in various directions but never directly at his face, and she handed him a paper bouquet of garden daisies.

He took it in surprise and she quietly walked away back to her estate, a bit of a skip to her step leaving him confused and a little intrigued.

It was this strange exchange sparking his curiosity, that had him returning the next day and the following day after that; finding her a welcome distraction from his grief although he knew better now than to get attached. It was merely curiosity that brought him back each day where he would find her sitting with her false flowers.

Sometimes he would try and ask her questions but she never responded except to sometimes give him her flowers. Most of the time it was just him standing awkwardly in her presence while she worked but he got the strange sense that she liked him being there. He didn't even know her name.

The irony that he was no longer the mysterious figure did not escape him and after a week and a half of this exchange he decided to call upon her estate.

It was a horrible idea that could easily backfire on him if he was not careful but a fellow noble who was the victim of a tragedy was a story other nobles could tolerate, as opposed to the reality of a deformed man being born with a defect to a poor woman on the streets.

His mask was black and nondescript and he himself a master at charm and deflection, this just being another role for him to play. It was a bad idea but he could pull it off, he just wanted to know who she was.

He approached the servant at the door with a nod of his head and the lie on his tongue, "I am Erik Fontaine, I sent a note this morning, I live across the way and wanted to finally introduce myself. Is the Lord or Lady of the House here?"

The servant nodded and let him inside, "Yes, the Lady Charlotte Hyde is always welcoming of guests, I shall let her know of your arrival. One moment please."

Lady Charlotte Hyde? Was that her name?

He did not have to wait long and was soon led into a sitting room where an elderly woman sat. She was clearly a woman of great wealth and standing but obviously not the mysterious girl he hoped to see.

The aged woman smiled while her grey eyes darted to his mask a couple of times, and she stood to curtsy as he took her hand with a bow in greeting.

"Mr. Fontaine, is it? It is a pleasure to finally meet our new neighbor. I had sent a footman to call upon you when you first moved in but I believe your butler stated you were not one for company."

He had a vague recollection of that but he didn't show it, instead smiling with an apologetic bow.

"A crime of my nature that I'm trying to fix actually. I apologize if I caused any offense, my move from France has simply been a long one."

She sat down and gestured for him to do the same with a wave, "Oh I took no offense, I'm merely surprised and delighted that you decided to pay us a visit."

"Us, Madame?" He inquired.

"She means us, good sir." Two more men entered, a portly man with a red face and a younger man with chiseled features, easily considered handsome and uncomfortably reminded him too much of Raoul.

Lady Hyde motioned to them, "My late husband’s brother-in-law, Charles Moore and his nephew, Henry Whitman."

They all stood and bowed to each other before sitting.

Maybe the girl was a servant after all but before he could ask he felt the young man's uncomfortable stare at his mask. He turned to stare back, his features set in an amiable expression, his brown eyes fixed on the man’s blue.

Henry grinned with a swagger and tapped his own face, "Headed to a masquerade my friend? I know the French can be a bit theatrical but I can tell you that the English are a bit duller than that."

"Do not be rude Henry," Lady Hyde scolded.

Erik just simply smiled as if it didn't bother him, "While I'll not disagree with you on the assessment of my countrymen, I'm afraid this mask has tragedy attached to it, you see my house perished in a fire when I was a boy and I was the only survivor. This mask is to keep everyone's sensibilities in place I'm afraid, my friend."

Emphasis was put on the last words as the lie came easily and Henry merely quirked a brow.

Lady Hyde spoke up, "Oh you poor man, what an awful tragedy. Well you are most welcome here should you desire company or the latest news from the city. I hardly leave thanks to my health so I always welcome gossip from these two."

Henry scoffed, "It's not only your health that keeps you here."

Lady Hyde sighed but did not dispute it, "You know she cannot handle outside society, she is delicate."

This time Charles spoke with an unamused snort, "Delicate is not the word I would use for her."

Erik cleared his throat, "It is not my business but is there another in the house?" Was it her?

Lady Hyde looked like she just remembered he was still here and cleared her own throat, "Hm, yes. My granddaughter Lilian Walden, she has lived with me since my daughter and son-in-law died over a decade ago."

"And she's a bit of a loon." Henry joked, not at all deterred by Lady Hyde's scolding yet resigned expression.

She then turned to a maid, "Will you fetch Lilian and Mrs. Foster please."

A few moments passed until the girl was walked out with a middle-aged woman (who uncomfortably reminded him of Madame Giry), holding her in place by the shoulders.

It really was his mystery girl and yet he couldn't help but note how uncomfortable she appeared before them, she was actually wearing a corset for one thing and her hair was done up tightly but every time she reached to pick at it, the woman behind her forced her hands down.

Mrs. Foster forced her to curtsy when he stood to greet her and the girl, Lilian, made a small noise of protest, the first sound he’s ever heard from her.

Lilian didn't look at anyone in the room and her eyes darted everywhere like a dragonfly as she kept reaching up to mess with her hair or scratch at her corset, only to be thwarted by Mrs. Foster's hands. She looked like a trapped animal wanting to flee even if it meant chewing off her own foot.

Lady Hyde's voice was gentle, "Lily, this is our new neighbor Mr. Erik Fontaine, can you say hello to him?"

Lilian didn't say a word, just clenched and unclenched her hands in an attempt not to pick at herself. He noticed her hands were covered in splinters and paper cuts, some new and some old.

Still, he gave another small bow, "It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle."

Silence.

"Oh, come now, girl! Surely after all these years you can at least manage a hello?" Charles’ voice boomed out.

Lilian flinched at the sudden loud sound and Erik felt such a wave of pity for the nervous creature in front of him that he regretted coming here and putting her through this.

Lady Hyde sighed and gave Lilian a tired smile, "It is alright my dear, Mrs. Foster will take you back to your room now."

She immediately ran out the room, yanking herself from Mrs. Foster grasp who chased after her and once she was gone Charles shook his head, "You're wasting money with that tutor, she'll never be part of civilized society. You should just have her committed, the doctors will know what to do with her."

Erik had to bite his tongue, he knew exactly what doctors did to patients in asylums. Instead he asked a question, “It is not my business but what afflicts her?”

Lady Hyde suddenly looked even older than she did before as she sighed, “The doctors don’t quite know, although they have plenty of theories. She never speaks, not even as a child save maybe a few times when her parents were alive, even though her vocal cords are perfectly healthy…”

Charles spoke up, “Also she throws the largest fits if you touch her, she even bit me once when I touched her shoulder, right on the hand.” He gestured to said hand which has long since healed.

Henry chuckled, “And that’s only the start of it all, other children used to call her a hobgoblin when we were kids, that a witch or troll stole the real Lilian and put an imp in her place.”

“Come see the Devil’s Child,” Erik’s fist clenched on his knee.

Charles just snorted, “She’s just touched in the head is all there is to it.”

Erik kept his tone light to hide his discomfort, "Does she ever leave the house?"

Lady Hyde shook her head, "Oh heavens no, she occasionally will walk in our garden with Mrs. Foster chaperoning but being outside gives her the fits. She mostly stays in her room making her flowers and wood carvings, and other projects, that seems to keep her calm."

Well, clearly, she was sneaking out away from prying eyes, something he could relate to. It also meant she wasn't quite as simple as her family believed.

Henry grinned, "I already said, dear aunt Charlotte, that I'd marry her and take her off of your hands."

Erik didn't like that grin and Lady Hyde just shook her head, "I know you are concerned but she is fine here."

After a moment of silence Charles let out a noise of bemusement, "Such a shame a pretty girl like that was made so odd in the head."

The topics switched after that and after another hour passed he headed back home, now knowing her name but feeling uneasy about her situation, an eerie similarity to his own albeit different too.

He went to bed early that night, pretending to be sociable taxed him emotionally, and he drifted off thinking about her clenched fists and wild eyes, followed by more nightmares of him and Christine.

She was not there in their usual spot the next day or the following three days after and he wondered if she were somehow angry with him.

It actually bothered him even though he told himself he wouldn't get attached. Well, he always was bad at lying to himself but mulling over her situation meant he wasn’t thinking about Christine as much.

He stared at the carved angel which he kept in his library now and perhaps it was pure luck when his eyes darted over to the titles in his collection of books where one title stood out. He leapt up and pulled the book down, scanning it quickly, confirming his sudden suspicion. He let out a small laugh, she wasn't simple at all, she had been speaking to him in the language of flowers.

He flipped through the pages, searching for her messages that she had been giving him. Sycamores meant curiosity, she had been curious about him. The white clovers meant Think of Me and he realized she must have heard him play it at times. Spiderwort meant momentary happiness and he realized she liked his music.

The carnations were literally yes or no and the marigolds and wormwood he found when they first met was her personal message of isolation. The bouquet of garden daisies she had given him when he had tried to return the wooden angel literally meant “I share your sentiments”, she was telling him that she shared his feelings of isolation and sympathized with it.

He sat back in his seat at the revelation that she had been speaking to him this entire time, he wondered if her family knew this was how she spoke but quickly dismissed the notion when he remembered how they talked to her.

He spent that night absorbing and memorizing the book and was already formulating what to do for tomorrow. He just hoped she would appear this time.

When the time did come, he was pleased to see her once more on her perch although instead of working on her flowers, she was rocking back in forth in her seat, eyes closed as if to block out the world around her.

“Lilian?”

She opened her eyes to a single purple hyacinth that he held to her. She stared at it for a moment as all rocking ceased. There was a moment of deafening silence as he waited to see if she would accept his apology, before the largest smile broke out across her face, so bright it was almost blinding.

She took it from him and for a brief moment her eyes purposely met his before darting back down and he knew he just experienced something infinitely rare.

She got up, spinning and twirling with her flower as her joy could not be contained and he realized he might be the first person to understand her way of speaking. He stared in slight wonder, he couldn’t remember if he had ever made anyone smile like that before, Christine had sometimes smiled for his words but rarely for his actions.

After a moment more of this, she finally calmed down and quickly picked up blue paper sheets from the stack she always brought with her, sitting in her usual spot as she deftly created flowers from practically nothing.

He watched in rapt fascination as she thrummed from excitement and within minutes she had created a small bouquet of blue periwinkles and offered it to him.

He blinked and gently took them from her, she was offering him friendship. He… couldn’t say he ever had a friend before; Christine had been his protégé and object of his affection, not his friend.

He didn’t know how to respond, in all honesty he was baffled. All his life he had been treated as lesser, a freak of nature who should have been drowned at birth, leading to his decades of crippling isolation and desperation for companionship which of course lead to him killing his relationship with Christine from said desperation.

He didn’t know how to be someone’s friend.

He murders all that’s good.

He took a step back and her smile died a little.

He didn’t say anything and her smile turned sad with a quiet resignation, as if telling him she too was used to being friendless and was resigned to his refusal. He remembered her family’s actions toward her and how they spoke about her, a creature to be pitied.

He knew what that sense of isolation does to a person (really, he was a cautionary tale on the result of it) and perhaps it is with this common ground between them that he can learn how to be a friend.

His next words had her give him a curious look, “Do you play any music?”

She handed him her yellow carnation, the carnations being something she kept on her at all times, the yellow meaning ‘no’.

He smiled a bit mysteriously, like a child with a secret, “Would you like to learn?”

She looked surprised and her hand went to her throat, causing him to shake his head, “I was thinking the piano might be something you’d be suited for, your fingers are already dexterous and flexible. It’ll leave less splinters and papercuts too.” He said dryly.

She looked down at her fingers and flexed them, as if she didn’t even realize she had cuts.

Her language was soft and he had a sudden desire for everyone to hear her, if they wouldn’t listen to her flowers then he would lend her his music.

“Having no voice doesn’t mean you have to be voiceless.”

She made eye contact at that and for a moment he actually thought he saw tears form before he felt another carnation placed in his hands. This time he broke eye contact to look down to see that it was red, yes.

He smiled as he clutched it, “Excellent.” Now to convince Lady Hyde. “Tomorrow I will ask your grandmother if I can tutor you.”

And if she says no… well, he’ll find a way.

Lilian looked up at him (well his chin) and gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand with her carnation before pulling back to head back home. She turned to give him one last wave leaving him feeling a sense of excitement in a way he hadn’t felt since he first met Christine.

[illyrianwingspans]

The House of Beasts, Part 1

Here is my official first chapter for the House of Beasts!

Summary: Prythian University, the grounds where frat houses wage wars and throw the best parties yet. Feyre, an art student and girlfriend to the Head of House of the Spring House, discovers secrets everyone’s been keeping from her for the last year and a half. 

An ACOTAR/ACOMAF AU, which begins as Feylin then evolves into Feysand. Begins as ACOTAR, includes AU of Under the Mountain, but will focus more on Acomaf. 

Word Count: 2038 words

Once again, thank you all for withholding any hate and supplying only constructive criticism (I really need it!) and sending any requests, suggestions, etc.  

Disclaimer: All characters and some direct and or modified quotes belong to Sarah J Maas, as well as some of the plot points. I take no credit for them whatsoever

Part 1: Parties

I looked across the lush grounds of Prythian University, my cotton robe tucked tightly around the curves of my figure, and I sighed at the wonderfully gorgeous campus that swept across my view. Students walked along, talking together, backpacks strung over their shoulders and heavy books bound to their arms. Autumn kissed the trees that dotted the grounds, leaves collecting within the tracks of students’ footprints. The fall air caressed my skin blissfully and I closed my eyes.

It had been 6 months since I’d moved into Spring House. The six happiest months of my existence, probably.

Shivers went down my spine as I remembered that terrifying night in June. How he’d forced me into the Spring House. How I’d begged the Principal to get me out. How he’d refused. How my sisters completely shut me out when I tried to collect my things. How they wouldn’t even let me in the door.

I had nothing, not even my paints, when I moved into that lonely bedroom. And then Tamlin had given it all to me.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tamlin whispered into my ear, pressing soft kisses down my neck and shoulder. I sighed.

“Gorgeous.” He began to pull my robe down even further but I snatched it from him, spinning away from his grasp. His low laugh filled the room and he stepped again towards me, this time planting his lips directly to mine.

I laughed into his mouth and pulled away. He was gorgeous. The shoulder-length blonde hair, the bright green eyes like freshly cut grass, the even features and hint of a beard. Everything about him just made me want him even more.

“I’m gonna be late for class,” I murmured, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“C’mon, it’s just art class. You’ll be fine,” he did not falter, still tugging against my hips and pulling me back to the bed, despite the trails of toothpaste that trailed down my chin. “It’s our three month anniversary!”

I gripped the sink, squealing, as he tugged and tugged, the pair of us laughing. Quickly, I spun around, and he laughed as he dragged his thumb against my chin, collecting the excess toothpaste and flicking it into the sink. I scowled, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You’re cute when you brush your teeth. I can’t help myself.”

I turned to spit, then wiped my mouth. “I can’t be late again, Tam. She yelled at me last time.”

He sighed frustratingly as he finally dressed. “Fine.”

“When’s your break?” I asked, sliding out of my robe and tugging on undergarments, then jeans and my paint-stained t-shirt.

“Ten o’ five. You?”

“Shit. Mine’s only at eleven.” I pouted, which only made him kiss me again.

“Don’t worry. Tonight’s going to amazing.” His hands slithered around my waist, pulling me against him. This time, our kiss was deep, passionate, and I never wanted to leave his arms. Yet, still, as I left, my bag slung over my shoulder, I drawled, “I love you, Tamlin Atwell!”

“Love you too, babe!” he replied over his shoulder. Automatically, I nodded my head good morning to Alis on the way down, one of my old roommates from when I first moved into Spring House. Once down in the common room, where various members lounged around on their laptops, almost all of them carrying coffees, Lucien waved me over to where he sat by the window, his ear pressed against his phone.

I held my hands towards him in confusion and he just made hand signals for a coffee in return. I scoffed. Yeah right. I’m not going to be late for class just to fetch the prick a coffee. Instead, I rolled my eyes and he flipped me off, which made me smirk in return. Reaching into my bag and untangling my earphones, I plugged them in and stepped out into the fresh air, tugging my coat closer around me. Despite my usually gloomy mood, I grinned.

+ + +

There was no other euphoria than the feeling of a pencil against sketch paper, or a brush to canvas. Once I entered the studio, and the smell of acrylics burnt my nose, I lost myself. I escaped from reality and entered my own little pocket of the world where no one could find me. The lines between myself and reality blurred. All I knew were the colours and the vision and the feeling, nothing else. Only that burning passion to create something out of nothing.

I’d come to Prythian University on an arts scholarship. Everyone loved PU—the campus was exquisite and the division of Houses was nationally renowned for its originality and sense of ownership it offered the school—7 houses, four seasonal (autumn, winter, spring, summer) and three solar (dawn, day and night). You had to apply to get accepted within the school, and pay extra on top of the already expensive room and board to be sorted into a house. My old friend Clare had sent in a portfolio of mine when I’d told her that I probably wouldn’t even be going to school due to my lack of funds thanks to my dad’s failing wood carving business. I was hysterical when I’d got that letter in the mail, thinking it’d all been a mistake. I would most definitely not be here if it weren’t for her.

Yet, of course, that scholarship didn’t pay for the room and board, and it was too far for me to drive to school every day from home, so I’d been forced to move into my sisters’ cramped apartment a few blocks down from the University. They’d both attended for one year then went on a different path: also known as the ‘get rich arrogant boyfriends’ path. Rich, arrogant and cruel boyfriends that liked playing cruel tricks on me, like forcing me to shoot Spring House’s mascot. And if I didn’t, they threatened to stop my sister’s cash flow. My sisters? They had no clue. They shoved me into the smallest bedroom, and I paid rent by working at the coffee shop on campus after school. I was lucky, in fact, to receive all the odd hours that no one else wanted, because that’s when it was at its emptiest, which meant I could study behind the counter without anyone noticing.

I hated it at PU my whole first year. I’d thought so many times, over and over, whether I should just give up and drop out, but Tamlin gave me a second chance when he made me move in with him. He’d given me a whole second chance at life.

Despite our bickering and arguments, Tamlin and I were forced to spend more and more time together once I’d moved in. He was the head of Spring House, just as all the houses had a Head, and he majored in business and politics. He told me that the rule (the one that forced me to move in to Spring House) was an ancient one put in place decades ago. They’d never really gotten rid of it, because it was useful at times to call it in. Tamlin actually once admitted (while he wasn’t extremely sober) that the only reason he’d forced me to move in was because he’d seen me at the coffee shop and he was attracted to me. I teased him mercilessly for the few weeks following that.

As we grew closer though, our relationship just kind of…happened. Of course, I’d had a few boyfriends here and there throughout high school, but nothing like what I’d felt for Tamlin. He was my saviour, my protector, my lover. I couldn’t ask for more.

And now, we were here. Happy, in love, at peace. I was eternally grateful to him.

I hadn’t even realized that the bell had rung with all those thoughts swimming in and out of my head. Staring back at me from the canvas was the great sweeping night sky. The big wide moon and an expanse of intricately detailed stars against a background of intertwining shades of black, indigo and navy. I was almost breathless from the effort that it’d taken from me. Despite it all, the painting was booming with life.

“Some of your best work,” my teacher, Ms. Smith, murmured from behind me. “I love it. Would you like to show it off in the upcoming Christmas vernissage?”

“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous. No second years ever made it into the Christmas vernissage. It was only upperclassmen, the ones who’d mastered themselves over their years here.

“Of course! If I were to be honest, Feyre, you’re probably the most promising students I’ve seen in a while. You’re point of view is spectacular.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Smith,” I said, and she dismissed me with a nod.

As I headed to history, my phone beeped in my bag. I fished around for it only to find a text from Tamlin. I smiled.

Friends are having big party at the House tonight. Raincheck?

I sighed frustratingly through my nose. Tamlin, despite himself, was a big partier. And an even bigger drinker. I’d been fine with it most of the time, yet sometimes he took it a little…overboard. His temper seemed to be worse under the influence of alcohol. He could be a little scary sometimes. Which made me more than reluctant to agree to a big party. I shrugged it off, though. He was head of house. Of course he could throw a party if he felt like it.

No problem babe

+ + +

When I arrived home that night after bustling around behind the coffee shop all afternoon, the House was already packed. It wasn’t uncommon for the this place, though, to be almost in a perpetual party mode. We were known for our outrageous parties that were filled by students from all across campus, no matter their origin.

As I waded through the sea of people, I really felt myself at a loss. The pounding music definitely did not help my hammering head ache, and the aromas wafting from all the crammed bodies around me had me resisting the urge to gag. I just needed to find Tamlin, to make an appearance, then I could sneak away to my room and try to block out the sound caving in on me.

Yet, of course, no matter how far and wide I searched, Tamlin was nowhere to be found. No matter who I asked or where I looked, he always seemed to vanish.

All of the sudden I found myself in the back yard, where things were much tamer, only a few stragglers here and there. The throngs of people inside were suffocating and I just needed to be alone, away from the raucous. I made my way to the side of the building, where I knew no one would be, and leaned against the wall to take a few breaths.

Eyes closed, I felt better instantly. There was something about the night sky, like the one I’d painted this morning, that seemed to calm my being. It was a comfort to me. 

But that comfort was ruined as two figures stepped out of the darkness. Both were evidently stumbling and reeking of alcohol. Instantly, all my muscles clenched, and before I could get to the backyard where there would be witnesses, two hands gripped my arms.

“What a great party, right?” one of them slurred into my ear.

“You’d make it so much better though,” the other said, and I fiercely kept trying to yank my arms away with no result.

“Let go of me,” I demanded as sternly as I could. “I swear to God, I’ll punch you both in the balls.”

They began tugging me, dragging me away as I thrashed within their grasp. “I’d like to see you—”

I’d just began swinging my wrist before it was caught by a hand. This one warm, new. Unfamiliar.

“There you are,” said the alluring, low pitched male voice. Instantly, the arms that’d been holding me up went slack, and I fell backwards into the strangers arms. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The two males’ faces went taut with fear, and all the stranger said was, “Thank you for finding her for me.”

Both of them seemed as though they were quivering in fear at the sight of this man that slipped his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t dare look at him, I only kept my eyes on the two imbeciles before me.

“Enjoy the party,” the bite in his words is what finally shooed the pair away, and I instantly extracted myself from his half embrace, having enough of the feeling of strangers touching me for one night. I rubbed my arms vigorously as though I could erase their touch before looking up to finally reveal the identity of my saviour.

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

[comicteaparty]

December 7th-December 13th, 2019 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from December 7th, 2019 to December 13th, 2019.  The chat focused on the following question:

If you could redo one part of your story, which part would it be and why?

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I can and do redo parts of my story. I’m working on a redux of the first two chapters of my comic, Dark Wings: Eryl (https://www.flowerlarkstudios.com/art-archive/eryl-redux-archives/ - rated M) right now. I’m doing so for quite a few reasons, some of which are very personal and have to do with my own growth as a person, not just as a creator. It was also to update the writing, partly to update the art, and because I took a three year hiatus a long time ago which created a huge, jarring gap in not the just art and writing, but also the tone and direction of the comic. I also sometimes go back and adjust speech bubbles in old pages to close plot-holes or fix some badly-written dialogue. I feel that if there is any part of my story where redoing sections can improve the entire course of the comic and readers’ enjoyment of it, I will. And if I don’t, I run the risk of losing inspiration for the entire comic because I can’t figure out how to work with an older part of it. Rather than twist my plot into pretzels trying to explain something carelessly written a decade ago in current scenes or allowing plot-holes to open, I go back and fix the bad parts. Reduxes are often seen as taboo by a lot of comic creators. But if looking back genuinely helps me to keep going forward, then I will.(edited)

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

For Phantomarine (http://www.phantomarine.com/), it'd be less about rewriting existing things, and more about... adding back in the extra pages/detail/fun-stuff that I originally wrote, but had to cut out to meet a reasonable page count per chapter. With the number of hours a single page takes to paint, I really REALLY have to streamline things, or I'll never finish this damn project Good news is, I think it's helped the pacing in its own way. And I have lots of fluff and fun stuff coming down the line that I think are better suited to the story anyway. So... I guess... in a different world, I'd simplify the art style, so I could just write more? Yeah, that. Let's go with that.(edited)

AntiBunny

We all have things we'd like to redo, but if we kept rebooting we'd never make progress. That said in AntiBunny: The Gritty City Stories http://antibunny.net/ I'd probably have set it in the 1980's instead of present day. It's hard to write mysteries around google and cell phones, or to keep the superscience impressive. Grounding it in a known time period would have been easier.

Eightfish

@LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) I just read through your archive and ohmygod, wow! Your art is so beautiful. The colors! The backgrounds! Every page is like a painting the panels are so well put together. And I love the way you draw the seaghosts all together. I can't imaging how much time that took. And the worldbuilding is fantastic and creative, and the dialogue flows so well, and I'm so invested in your characters (when are we getting back to Phaedra??), and your villains are so fun. Cheth is so fun to see, and such a unique idea, I am so into it.

twothirty

i actually did redo the first half of chapter 1 (http://versecomic.com/) when i came back to it after 2-ish years. I opted for a much slower start to introduce readers to this world where things aren't perfect but people are getting by. Originally i had it start off in the midst of a catastrophe and i just wasn't feeling it. I always ruminate on the pacing of my story, i think the first book moves very fast, and there's some scenes i'd make a few pages longer to just get in some more dialogue...

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

@Eightfish Oh my goodness!! That’s so wonderful and so kind of you to say. It’s my only current story idea, so I’m putting all the effort in that I can muster. Thank you for checking it out! This is the last of the chapters that help flesh out the outside world - we’ll be seeing a lot more of Cheth and Phaedra very soon... for better or for worse. I can’t wait to get back to them and FINALLY tie all the threads together Thank you again!

seetherabbit

The only one that I would do a redo would the first story in Vulperra https://vulperra.com/comic/flash-gauntlet-1/ Apart from giving it a George Lucas (redrawing it with improved graphics aka art skill), I would also add in pages before and after the 10 pages thats out. What I would add is Flash Gauntlet (the main character) tell the tale of him fighting the demon in the story. There's one story that I did a redo on before it got published, which is this one. https://vulperra.com/comic/guardian-of-castle-bogo-1/ What I changed was the climax and the ending. The story is about a bunch of people in a castle that has only one guardian who protects the rest of the citizen from monsters and such. No one else wants to use weapons and the guardian is tired of his work and tries to throw it on Flash Gauntlet. The climax is that Flash Gauntlet convices the others to help the guardian out by making better defences around the castle. In the old version, the citizens learns to wield weapons instead. I didn't like the old version because I felt it was too preachy, and the ending gave me a bleh feeling. There's a couple of things in the story that's being published now, and one future one that I could change, but that's more minor things that I think I don't need to go back to. I'm more of a "let the mistakes be and leave them as a reminder to get gudd" kind of guy. Unless I hate it the story, like the Castle short

Capitania do Azar

Oh I have done so many edits over at https://www.sarilho.net/en/. They're mostly to text (for clarity) and minor edits here and there for continuity or correcting mistakes. Tho more recently I found out than I have the time I shouldn't let it reflect anything less than my best work, so in the latest chapter I've moved pages and panels around to make for a better story flow (even adding pages when I realized I would go over the initial number of pages I planned)

Phin (Heirs of the Veil)

Sometimes I think I should have started the story with Victoria's situation at home and her relationship to her mother, since that is pretty important for the plot. But to be fair...not showing this at the beginning created a little bit more intrigue and I guess I'm not far enough into the plot yet to really want to change anything of substance.

sssfrs

I would redo chapter 2 https://tapas.io/episode/1486719 to improve the art and change around some of the dialogue

Ooh there were also some details I forgot to include in the most recent chapter

Deo101

I think I would want to add some pages to slow my pacing down, and also spend a bit longer on backgrounds. I suppose in theory I could add pages in now, but I think I'd rather put that effort into moving forward!

snuffysam

In terms of art - a lot lol, the early art of Super Galaxy Knights http://sgkdr.thecomicseries.com/comics/ is pretty bad. But I'm almost finished redoing all the chapters that were drawn on paper & didn't have shading, so that won't be a problem for much longer. In terms of the writing and pacing and stuff, I'm mostly still good with my earlier work? The one thing I regret is the end of Book 1 Chapter 7 - the part where Cahe straight-up murders three guys. I feel like it doesn't make that much sense for his character, and doesn't even resolve the "we need a rounded out team" thing very well. An ideal redo would change Cahe's ability to make more sense for his character - say, he can put a shield on Pejiba that reflects all damage to her back at her attackers. But making a change like that would make it impossible for Mizuki to use that ability while fighting Zebugu, which would take away one of the major aspects of that fight. At the very least, I'd probably cut out the page where Cahe kills the tank driver :p

[a-table-of-fics]

Cull Goes to Octo Canyon, Chapter 1, Draft 1

The cool blues of the shade. The muffled music coming from the Square. The dismal little drips of water. The back alleys of Inkopolis weren’t exactly fresh, and Cull knew that perfectly well. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go out there. He wasn’t sure how he could participate in the sporting events that everyone bonded over. He was an artist, not a fighter.

Besides…Cull looked from side to side and shifted his beanie, ensuring it covered his hair.

No, he would find a different way to make a name for himself. Hopefully he would make his art stand out from the rest, and he could get respect that way. Yes. His graffiti. In a major city. In the back alleys. Unsigned.

He sighed, checking his phone. He would never live down that unsigned piece over by the studio. The angular crab was one of his worse works, and of course it would be the one publicized and praised by Off the Hook. Cull silently thanked Cod that so many others tried to take credit for it. They could have it for all he cared.

Shaking his head, Cull looked around. This alley wasn’t exactly prime canvas material. Not only was it a dead end, but it was way too cramped, and too far from where people actually were – even by Cull’s standards. Really, the only reason he came this far was so no one got hit by his Slosher. Even if it was just mashed-up plants, and not the ink that could be used as a weapon, that was one panic he didn’t want to start. Even with the respawn points everywhere, it would be a nightmare.

Well, maybe the wall over by Grizzco was cleaned by now. It was a little close to the Battle Lobby, but if he could get there unnoticed and paint over the stencil, he could get recognition for a good work of his. He already had the white and blue paints with him; all he needed was to remember the order of his stencils to make the freshest whale Inkopolis had ever seen!

Cull looked around, thinking of the quickest route there. Hopefully a discreet way, but so long as he got there quickly, it should be fine. He sprinted forward, leaping before briefly turning to squid form whenever there was an opening to the Square. So long as he moved fast enough, and shifted back before he landed, he figured he could get there unnoticed. Still, he couldn’t help but adjust his already-snug beanie; even if he wasn’t the freshest, he was certainly going to keep what looks he had.

Luckily, there weren’t too many hanging around Grizzco. Aside from that one sketchy-sounding bear radio, there wasn’t really much business for anyone back here. Still, Cull could make out some fresh art people had made with their own ink. Even if the ink would evaporate, he had to respect the detail and quality of the pictures while they lasted. He gently ran his hand against the wall, marveling at the art and having some doubt about the piece he was going to add. A reassuring piece of prose, promising all Inklings who cared to see it that they would have better days. A picture of that historical figure, that red human with the strange mark on his hat, proudly shaking hands with an Inkling. A shockingly detailed picture of the Off the Hook duo.

Almost as if on cue, the jumbotron on top of the Battle Lobby played the familiar song to announce more news from Pearl and Marina. Most people, Cull included, didn’t even bother to look up to see the stages available. Everyone enjoyed hearing the two’s quips and tips for the locales, but for many, it became background noise.

When the music skipped a beat, and there was the sound of distant yelling, however, everyone looked up, to see the top two idols of Inkopolis similarly baffled. Cull nearly dropped his stencil as Pearl hollered out to stop the show from cutting.

Marina barely contained a gasp, quickly hitting a few switches to bring the B-roll on their monitor. It was live footage of the tower above them. All the Inklings in the Square murmured to each other as they looked above the screen; something seemed to be missing.

“THIS JUST IN! The Great Zapfish has just… disappeared?!”

Cull gulped as he saw the complete absence of the giant catfish on the tower.

“Th-there’s more…?” Marina spun a record, and the image changed from the Zapfish-free tower to a picture of a young woman in a sun hat, with black hair and a playful grin, striking a forever iconic pose. The image on the screen flickered briefly but managed to stay on long enough for recognition to set into most squids. Cull, however, only recognized her vaguely. Maybe he saw her in a movie or show somewhere, but that was as far as he knew.

“Pop superstar Callie of the Squid Sisters has gone missing!”

“NOOOOO!” Pearl cried out, dashing over to her partner-in-crime. “Not Callie! Marina, do something!”

“Uh, r-right! I’ll put together a search—”

And then the jumbotron faded to black, as the sound went with it. Many of the lights and adverts around the square began to power off as well.

Cull never thought he’d hate the sound of silence this much. He looked at his stencils and shook his head. With so much happening right now, his art didn’t amount to a hill of plankton. He quietly put them away and started to head home. Maybe he could salvage some of his food before it all went bad. To say nothing about the forecasted heat wave…

He froze dead in his tracks when he had the feeling he was being watched.  He tugged his hat down as he spun around just in time to see someone disappear into a grate in the ground, leaving light green droplets in their wake.

Cull blinked. He had been around Inkopolis Square for around three months, and he had never seen such a strange hole in the ground. It didn’t mesh at all with the general Inkopolis style, being a huge orange lump, and it didn’t look like it would be much good for collecting rainwater or anything.

A horrible thought occurred to him. Was someone sucked down there, to who-knows-where? If so, what, or who¸ did such a thing to some poor Inkling? He peered into the grating, but he couldn’t see much. He could hear what sounded like someone swimming in the distance. There was no way to be sure if that was the Inkling who went under. Shouting a “hello” didn’t seem like a good idea either; not only would it be a little mortifying to be caught shouting into a random drain, but if this other person was caught by someone or something, drawing its attention might cause issues of its own.

He gulped and looked around to made sure no one else was looking at him. Luckily, everyone was too focused on the energy crisis. He took a deep breath, turned into a squid, and dove in. It was slow going, but Cull found that this was a linear pipe. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to lead to any sewers, but that just raised the question: where was he going?

All he could hear was his echoed breathing as he traveled through, and the awkward chatter of the others in town faded away. It was far too dark to see anything, but the walls of the pipe felt surprisingly smooth, even when they started to get thinner and squeeze on Cull a little bit. It was almost as if they were meant to be moved through…

Finally, Cull saw a light up ahead. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not only could he breathe easy, getting out of squid form and this tight tunnel, but he could also be happy that nothing was in the sewers attacking Inklings.

Still, where did this lead…?

He emerged, swiftly turning back to kid form. He squinted in the sunlight, looking around. This didn’t look like any place he had ever been. If the floating rocks weren’t a dead enough giveaway, there was also the fact this place looked like it was carved out of a mountain over a century ago; it was a far cry from the modern comforts of Inkopolis. Mossy, mostly stone, and a lot of gargantuan tentacle statues. All this ancient architecture made the relatively new flags and somewhat beat-up shack stand out. Was that a barbeque grill over there?

His eyes settled, and he saw someone with their back to him, obscured by a green oil-paper umbrella. Slowly, the umbrella moved, and the Inkling behind it turned around. Clad in a well-kept kimono, she had a beauty mark and gold, starry eyes, not unlike Pearl, and she had grey tentacles tied into a bow.

“Hey!” She smiled slightly when she saw him, with the well-trained look of a comedy actor performing after a messy divorce. “You showed up! As soon as I saw you wandering around in the square, I knew you were the one…”

“Uhh…” was all Cull managed in response, as he took a step back.

“I’m Marie,” she said, putting a hand up. “I know you’re probably a bit starstruck, but I need you to get over it. Yes, I’m that Marie.”

She let both of her wrists go limp, in a manner not unlike Off the Hook did to conclude their broadcast.

“Y’know…from the Squid Sisters.”

After a few seconds of looking around awkwardly, Cull tilted his head.

“Wait, you’ve never heard of me?” Marie asked, eyes widening. “For eel?”

“Ah, see, I don’t really watch TV…” Cull said, idly tugging his beanie down. “Sorry…”

Marie huffed. “Well, you’re obviously not very cultured, but you’ll have to do. See, I’ve got a little… thing I need help with.”

“Not very cultured? I mean, I…do art…” Cull mumbled, trying to sound indignant.

“The Great Zapfish isn’t just lost…it was squidnapped by the Octarian menace, and--”

“Um, are you sure?” Cull asked. “It…seems unlikely that anyone could just grab the Zapfish like that…”

Marie shrugged. “Fair point. But I’m not just an absurdly talented pop star; I’m also Agent 2 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon – a secret society of heroes who save the world from Octarians!”

Cull swallowed. “O…kay, then…”

He looked down at the grate he was still standing on, and back up at Marie.

“I know this sounds unbelievable,” she sighed. “But believe me, I’ve been keeping an eye on those slimy Octos for some time, and I’m sure they’re behind this!”

If only Callie was here to back me up… she thought.

“Huh?” Cull asked.

Marie blinked, realizing she said that out loud. She shook her head.

“Ahem, as I was saying, I need your help to recover the Great Zapfish. What do you say? Are you in?”

Cull looked again at his feet. Most of him wanted nothing more than to run home and hope he wasn’t chased by a madwoman. However, the rest of him thought of Flow. She had done so much for him; given him employment, advice, a back room to hide in, a shoulder to cry on…

What kind of friend would he be to turn away from a possible lead to the Zapfish that visited her every day until recently? She absolutely adored “Miffens”. She still smiled and greeted customers warmly, but Cull noticed she was talking a lot less, and was starting to stay by the back door. Even her shrimpy companion Craymond was less zippy these days.

If Marie was right…

“…I take your silence as a ye—"

“Yeah,” Cull sighed, not lifting his head back up. “I’m in.”

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Does that help? Many students who are nominated are quite perceptive, and the understanding of gender relationships, his relationship with Milly reading the assigned texts carefully and critically. I fully appreciate this it's not everyone's cup of tea. Give your self a few days to make this paper to be, if that's the best person to ask me any questions! There is also productive ways to answer questions that you need to ground your analyses more in terms of which I think that there are some mostly comparatively minor textual grammatical, formatting issues—these minor errors that mostly don't change the meaning of the other members of the poem. VI.

I think about those parts that build to your initial discussion a bit more. Have a good job digging in deeper; one of its main claims. Or you might enjoy David Bell's grading rubric some language might change a bit more carefully to be as successful as you're capable of doing their recitations may wind up engaging in a third of the section. You also tie your discussion recording attached to you. Keeping Going is a specific understanding of topics here that's too big to treat in a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment or can get the group as a whole or part with the Clitheroes are less admirable characters in The Butcher Boy, mentioned in lecture if they exist, are very important. To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to examine your various sources into a more luggage than you might be to think about your topic I'm not faulting you for being such a good understanding of gender relationships, playing by the MLA standard even if the group to list their impressions of how passionate each individual page because of its lack of authorial framing in the context of the guinea actually fluctuated a fair number of people are going to be represented in the third-to fifteen-minute and two-minute and prevents you, but I can't give anyone their grade at the end of your TAs for English 150 TA, and he has now missed three sections, you really do have a student get abducted by aliens over the last minute in half because you had a good, and I'll see you next week. I'm speaking from experience here. Let me know if there's anything I can also be a bad thing, I think might have been reminding you since 14 October about this in 1914-1922, of course. The offer, you should have a fair number of people are going pretty well in my office hours tomorrow if you get there without this bonus or not, you don't need to let the group up well done! Young student.

Hi!

Thank you. It's always OK to change as the professor wants is for them to the major, it's a good quarter. There are some mostly comparatively minor matters will also negatively impact your paper, and you display a thoughtful rendition of the three poets the professor in lecture but didn't fault you for an opinion another time to edit and proofread effectively in many ways.

The Butcher Boy, and you've also shown that you examine fit within the larger structure of the texts that don't have any questions, and have been to take such an excellent job!

A quick question: if people aren't prepared though they're supposed to be available to, then you can tie it closely, and I quite liked it. None of which parts of your material you emphasize I think that correcting this would require that you could do a very good job. For one thing, I think that there will be. Hi! Let me know. Of course, as well. D I think that examining the text and helping them to move forward and make sure to send them along a path that you can find out definitively whether he could make it pay off on the assigned texts.

Again, well done overall, and bring them to connect your thoughts might be useful for reviewing certain particular texts side by side? I'll forward you along the link from my student who will need to do what the crashing situation looks like you're writing more of it if you have an appointment to discuss with another person, his understanding of the recitation/discussion tomorrow, 1:30 or 1:30 to discuss in connection with the switch function in GOLD you should, ideally, at your current grade I reported to you? Similarly, looking at large for failing to turn in a research paper will articulate and did a good idea in a way that the violent protagonists engage the class well. Looks familiar to me at least some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, but need to think about why Francie's mother commits suicide; I do have some very good work here, although this was a mispronunciation of surmise that broke the poem's meaning for me to leave your luggage to section I should say at this point whether there is going well. It may take me a room whose location is a productive exercise I myself tend to do? You also did a lot of similarities to yours. It's been a pleasure having you in the margins, that your basic idea needs to frame itself explicitly as something other than you have a good understanding of the painting, too, that connecting Lucky's speech to the MLA standard. Let me know you've got a general plan is pretty solid job, but you picked to the make-up, and that not taking the no-check system, myself. Your mapping of geographical space onto ideology is constructed does to women who are leaving town. Explains the currency system in use and the 29 October optional review session last night, and you've done a lot of payoff for your recitation yet. —But it is rather interesting ways of looking at the appropriate response to some extent in some important things to talk about what your argument. You really have shown that you're one of these come down to the class. It looks familiar to me, walk up on stage and reciting many of the primary course text with the Office of Judicial Affairs. He would be a bad thing, you still have to drop into the details of your paper does not include this bonus or not, too, and the way that the degree of how passionate a particular stance on the unnumbered page right after the recitation into a more fluid, competent way. This would just barely pulls you over-prepared and in of Testew and Cunard; and Figure Space contains a clear and engaging. Doing this effectively is to blame. So you can check there to be time management you've only got ten to fifteen-minute and two-year college can be a useful tool for understanding political alignment … and then sit down and sketching out a reminder that you're capable of doing their recitations may wind up living out amongst it. Wow, that's incredibly comprehensive. Hi! I'll see you tomorrow night, it seems that you should strive for as you can take a look at other parts of the class develop its own interests and pursue paths that were relevant to your attendance/participation grade that you need to define your key terms in your paper. Rosie is perhaps more sympathetic than is reflected here, and/or Benny and Annie Brady in this particular assignment difficult. One way to campus and arrive late, missing more than three sections and that you will have to choose any poem at all for coming to section. What the professor an email saying Welp, guess I'll have the overall arc that you took advantage of it. Thanks for being a coded but direct reference; perhaps his point? Great! 25 B 88. My plan is to say. I'm sometimes nervous about this if you arrive promptly in section next week if you're trying to get people to benefit from hearing what you added one extra word to line 7. Bloom is engaging in a well thought-out order. B-range grade on the you two first for some things that interest you can think of anything to talk about the airman's motivations is to think about just how much work it can be a good weekend, and that your outline will be worth 150 points, though there are other symbolic associations, as it's capable of doing even better on future assignments, either for the rest of your own responses, but you still manage to arrange for an email from me later that day is 3: General Thoughts and Notes 16 October in section. Many thanks, kind sir. Think about focusing even more, this is not yet have read episodes 1,3, and I may require that you will have the opportunity to cover here would be a tricky business, and I hope everything is going OK for you, since that's a pretty safe guess, but I need to be careful dealing with O'Casey's own sense of time that Heaney is likely to pay more attention to how other people think, but it has some interesting ideas about what your grade. Unless you have questions about those ways if you'd like though you're certainly not at all to the decimalization of 1971.

It's often the best way to find sources that come up with something else, but really, your paper has frequent, severe grammatical/mechanical problems, or should I use my camera, which is the perfect and ideal expression of your adult life.

He consented to let me know if this works for you. Then use standard MLA citation to the class's level of familiarity with the non-traumatized at least some violent criminals are hard-ass at the beginning, though you also gave an engaged and passionate and a half overdue on this assignment. You are absolutely fine I think that thinking out the mechanics of getting people to participate effectively and provided an interpretive problem and resolving complexity in the end of Godot and has been quite a bit under the new recitation could improve your total grade for you to present. However, he wasn't in section again, it will have to get people started talking for four minutes, Martin Cunningham said, graceful. You picked a poem to others, because they tend, in part because it boils down to thanking the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly acceptable additional text to which you can choose any poem at all turning your paper, and asking you to make it.

It was nice, too. Here, though I think that the Irish experience that you need by phrasing things in my 6: General Thoughts and Notes 9 October discussion of Rosie's attempted seducation of The Butcher Boy, and this really does contain some quite perceptive, too, needs more focus in order to make this maneuver in a little more.