#marketing departments are a whole other beast

[theeeveetamer]

One subtle thing I like about Fire Emblem Engage so far (no spoilers)

Or: the subtle ways in which game design pushes the societal expectation of Male-As-Default (and how Engage managed to avoid this one simple issue)

If you're a lady gamer, you might have noticed the thing I'm going to talk about. If you are a woman and you haven't noticed this, that's fine too, because it's such a deeply ingrained cultural phenomenon that you probably don't even notice it on a conscious level anymore. But I'm sure you've noticed it somewhere in your life. That's right, I'm talking about Male-As-Default, AKA the assumption that you are male until proven otherwise.

Maybe you got into an internet argument and were repeatedly referred to as "he" (and then you had the conundrum of correcting them and getting called "bitch" instead of "idiot"). Maybe you got a cute new puppy dog and everyone at work kept asking how "he" was doing. Maybe you were hyped for a new game, only to find out that the female protagonist was on exactly 0% (or at least in significantly less) marketing material than the male protagonist. Or, heck, maybe you're even plagued by constant junk emails advertising penis enlargement services despite your lack of one and your lack of interest in acquiring one.

There's far too many broad examples for me to go over, so I'll cut straight to the point.

Whenever there's a character creator, the "man" option is always first

My first Pokemon game, and one of my first games ever, was Pokemon Crystal. And while it's an improvement that there was an option to play as a girl at all, one of the very first things you see is this:

A list, with two options, and "boy" is at the top. If you want to play as a girl, you have to explicitly scroll down to the girl option.

This persisted throughout most of Pokemon's lifespan:

And Pokemon is hardly the only offender in this regard. Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and, heck, even my darling Stardew Valley are all guilty of this design sin.

Fire Emblem, too, has a history of this.

The assumption with all of these games is that you will want to play as a male character. If you want to play as a female character, you have to explicitly do an extra button press to choose the option. The female character is frequently posed behind the male character, under him, or in shadow initially (if she's shown on screen at all). At the very least, the cursor defaults to the male option first, even if both characters are shown with equal prominence on the screen intially (such as in Pokemon gen 6 and gen 7).

"It's one extra button press!" I hear some of you saying, "Who cares?"

Well, it's not exactly a secret that women have frequently been unwelcome in nerdy spaces in general and gaming spaces specifically. This is a meta-message, a subtle one, but one all the same. "You're unusual in this space. You are not who we are expecting to be here."

So how do you fix it? Easy. Just make men press an extra button too.

Both versions of Alear are presented with equal prominence on the character selection screen in Engage. The game does not automatically default to one or the other. It does not autoselect M!Alear while hiding F!Alear in shadow or behind him. If you want to play male!Alear, you press left and then A. For female!Alear, you press right and then A. Male is not default, just one of two options.

[kptssecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @languishingindian!

Hello, my Secret Santa giftee,

I hope you like my little ficlet I wrote you,

I tried adding all your favourite tropes to the story.

Have a wonderful holiday time!

*****

Our Differences Enrich Us

Sometimes Vegas just takes a step back and stares at Pete in awe. Life was so much easier when his lover was tied up at the safehouse and not running amok, causing a havoc everywhere he manages to reach and touch with his pretty little fingers. 

The two of them are as different as two people can be.

*

As for music, Vegas isn’t really a big fan. He enjoys the occasional classical music opus, especially when he’s back from an exceptionally tiring job, a Jean Sibelius Symphony no 5 will almost take his breath away every time he hears the highlight at the end.

But every couple of days, Vegas has a front row view to a pop music concert, performed by Pete in their cozy kitchen, his lover only wearing a large T-shirt. The ear-deafening loud banging and cheery music.. The singing.. the dancing.. 

Jesus, his bare ass when Pete reaches up to get the cereal from a high cupboard, still wiggling.. 

Vegas loves the view but detests the ruckus.

*

Actually working for the main family after the failed coup, Vegas is so thankful he doesn’t have to wear the boring outfits the crew members use. It would be a downright shame. He’s proud to say he’s still the most well-dressed member of the Theerapanyakul family. Now, Pete on the other hand, that dude has completely let himself loose. Short shorts and kiddy T-shirts with childish cartoon characters on them. Vegas is scared that one day someone will mistake them as father and son when they walk hand-in-hand on the street. (Although he doesn’t mind being sugar daddy for his Pete).

“For the love of god, what on earth are these, babe?” Vegas motions his head towards the abomination, actually shook. He’s seen men get beheaded. Gunned down. Just two days ago he pulled out three wisdom teeth from a spy to get them to talk. He has never seen anything more hideous than these khaki pants laying innocently on their shared bed. Who needs that many pockets anyway??

“Oh? I just got these! Don’t you like them, darling?” Pete’s face is so angelic and innocent when he says it that Vegas develops a devious plan right away - as soon as Pete puts the horrendous khaki pants on, he’d rip them right off him and make sweet sweet love to Pete right after. 

He’s sure Pete wouldn’t be mad..

*

Then there’s the stubbornness problem. They are both so damn headstrong. Vegas riots like the raging sea – harsh words and wild punches (never at Pete, though). That's how he was raised under Gun's palm, confrontation of any kind will bring out the beast trapped inside him. Pete, with his stoic calmness will be rational, his eyes stern and cold. That's what you get for falling in love with an ex-Theerapanyakul's main bodyguard, I guess. 

Afterwards it's always wet eyes, love confessions and apologies, though.

*

Weekly grocery shopping has Vegas on the brink of tears. He makes a meticulous list for all the food the two of them need to survive a whole week. He could call it his passion. 

Making plans. Scheming.

Pete, on the other hand.. the love of his life promises not to meddle between Vegas and his grocery shopping and says he’s bored and just wants to tag along with him to the market. It’s a whole other story when they actually get there. Vegas is amazed at how Pete manages to keep his weight (probably the hours his love spends in the gym?) if he insists on buying 3 different types of nachos ‘just to check which are the best flavored’ and his ‘let’s buy some ice cream in case Macau comes by?’, when Vegas knows for a fact that Pete would destroy all of those by himself in the span of 3 days. 

He does appreciate the squish it has added to Pete’s bottom, though.

*

Then there’s the generational gap - which is not really a thing because they are not that different in the age department. But Pete keeps talking about something called memes? 

Vegas tries to periodically remind Pete of how much he loves him, it’s still awkward for him to express his feelings, especially after their interactions during and post coup. “I don’t think I could survive without you, my love” they lay on the bed face to face, just staring, taking in each other’s features. The sun rays playing on Pete’s face make him look absolutely celestial. 

Pete holds his face so delicately before it turns into a couple of friendly pats on his cheek and saying: “So true, bestie!” And Vegas has actual no idea how to reply to that? The confusion is clearly portrayed on his face because Pete dares to roll his eyes and say: “Babe, it’s a meme!” He kisses Vegas’ nose quickly, “And I wouldn’t survive without you, either.”

The other day Pete learned a new meme from Macau who said he shouldn’t use it in public cause it’s an ‘oldie but a goodie’ - so now Pete spends an hour and 15 minutes trying to explain what a yeet is. He forgot how to write it in English and can’t find the video online and he’s grown quite frustrated about this matter, somehow convinced that it’s Vegas’s fault. “Cmon, it’s like you throw something with a force - YEET!” Pete basically whiles the last word, a little kid wildly flapping his arms in the air.

Vegas has had enough, though. “If you don’t shut up about it, I’m gonna yeet you from here to the bed and punish you so hard you’ll walk with a limp for the next three days.” He growls from his throat, this is an actual threat.

Pete beams at that and a full laughter ensues: “You got it, babe! You got the meme!” He jumps onto Vegas’s lap, somehow hitting his Vegas’s chin with his knee in the process and it hurts like a bitch. He feels weirdly proud of himself, though. Pete’s so pleased with himself.

*

Vegas likes to think he leads a nice quiet life, if you don't count the torture and the killings. He plans every little detail of his life, with his silk shirts categorized by colours, schedule for the day already arranged the day before, what he would be eating, when is Macau going to visit them, main family members's schedules so he doesn't come in contact with any of them.. 

He likes to think of his life like a sunny day. Everything is clear and precise. But Pete is more like a hurricane. Porsche could call him at odd times of the day and Pete would drop everything and just run to him. It usually involves Tankhun and his boyband of bodyguards doing something really stupid that Pete has to go and solve the problem.

Other times, Pete gets an idea in the middle of the night, when they are already in bed cuddling, to go and do the most dull things known to mankind. Vegas has to get up, get his motorbike ready because Pete wants that one specific type of ice cream from that specific store on the other side of Bangkok at 2am. Vegas would do anything for his love, though. Whilst on the bike, there would be familiar hands roaming around Vegas's torso until Pete whines that his hands are cold and they find a way underneath his shirt. More soft touches and even more groping. Then there's Vegas trying to hold onto the last thread of his sanity when Pete reaches for his zipper because they are on the highway for Christ sake! 

*

That being said (or thought), their differences are what enrich their relationship and their lives. 

Oh, how Vegas loves him. It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his sternum, he doesn't know how long it can contain all of the feelings he has for his lover.

[intrepid-fictioneer-7]

Lord El-Melloi II Case Files Drama CD summary by Comun (@kaibutsushidousha​ here) on Beast Lair:

Remember how one of the first things Flat calls Waver is "No. 1 on the ranking of Clock Tower men female students want to bed"? That wasn't a random Flat delusion. There's a whole unofficial Clock Tower event for it, with sort of an urban legend status, even. Like, everyone knows the ranking is managed by the Ouroboros Foundation, but no one knows who is in this organization and what they do other than the ranking. Every year, the girl students of all departments receive the "what Clock Tower man you want to sleep with the most?" poll sheet from out of nowhere and that gets automatically forwarded the moment it's filled. No one is obliged to answer, and naming both students and lecturers is equally fair game. Most people view it as a high effort shitpost done by silly mages, but since there's obviously a magecraft aspect to system, some people get curious and try investigate it. Shishigou did it in his student days and that's how met Jean Mario (who still brags about ranking higher than him to this day). The ranks we know of are: - Waver: 3rd in 2004, apparently 1st in 2009, if Flat is to be believed. - Bram: Lower than Waver in 2004. - Melvin: 8th in 2001, with his rank fluctuating highly every year. He suspects his ranks go up and down according to the state of the US stock market. - Wills: 2nd in 2003, removed from the list in 2004 because he's gone to the fairy realm. Anyways, the plot of the drama CD is that the 2004 results get announced soon after Rail Zeppelin and Waver gets annoyed because the students can't shut up about it. Later Bram makes salty remarks about Waver ranking higher than him, causing Waver to find out that the ranking actually existed outside of Flat's head this whole time. He tries to learn more about it and discovers Flat, Svin, Yvette, and Caules gained a lot of money, diamonds, and oil fields by running an online betting poll for the results. Waver gets mad at the kids for doing it online, where the tax office and the MI6 could find out, and orders them to investigate Ouroboros Foundation and find out that this stupid ranking deal is about. The survey is actually the Policies Department's method of investigating who has clout in each department and Hishiri has been its general supervisor for the past 10 years. The Clock Tower departments hate each other, so it's difficult to hold a fair survey covering all of them, especially if they knew Policies was involved, so they work around that by deliberately making the poll look really stupid and taking the elements of bias into account when analyzing the results. There's a giant underground space under an abandoned house in London where information from all branches is gathered and the votes are tallied up. Hishiri inherited this place from the previous supervisor when she became in charge of the project. In the end, Waver deduces that this whole Ouroboros Foundation clout analysis is another layer of cover for a greater form of cursed content being made for Great Mother (no idea what this one is) and gets Hishiri to free his students by agreeing to not pursue this case any further and to not letting his findings go public.

The Clock Tower in fandom: eat babies

The Clock Tower in canon: shitpost Buzzfeed quizzes

[pretchatta]

swoon june day 9: fairy tales

loosely based on the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice

rating: general (warning for character death); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

There once lived a man who was blessed by the gods, and his name was Kanan.

Kanan was one of the Kasminauts, the fabled heroes who travelled with Janus to retrieve the Golden Flight. His skill with a blade was considerable and helped the group out of many a tight corner over the course of their quest, but it was his silver tongue that proved to be his most valuable asset.

Kanan’s divine gift had been bestowed upon him by Depa, goddess of the spoken word, and his was the gift of storytelling. When Kanan began a tale, all would stop in their tracks to listen. Men would pause in their work; beasts of the forest both great and timid would emerge from their dens; even the trees would inch closer to hear him. It was his way with words that allowed the Kasminauts to pass the Golden Flight’s devaronian guard, Jondo, as well as surmount countless other obstacles on their journey.

When their quest came to an end and the heroes returned home, Kanan decided to settle down. He found a cottage at the edge of a forest and he made it his home. Now this forest was not an ordinary forest, for it was inhabited by a clan of twi’lek nymphs, and it was during a walk along the forest’s border that Kanan’s ears caught the sound of the loveliest voice he’d ever heard. Enraptured, he sought out its source, and that was how he met Hera.

Hera was the daughter of Cham, the leader of the forest twi’lek. Her beauty and grace were indescribable, and Kanan fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. From that day he would come to the forest every morning to tell Hera one of his many magical tales, hoping to win her affections. What he didn’t know was that Hera already returned his feelings; she had heard of Kanan and his silver tongue, but wanted to see how far he would go for her.

The first tale he told was of an ancient order of noble warriors. His words painted pictures of elegant figures in flowing robes protecting the weak and caring for the needy. In his attempt to impress Hera he made it his best performance to date. So inspiring were his words that the forest itself felt inclined to grow. The trees pushed their roots further than they’d expanded in years and new saplings shot up in every direction, increasing the area the forest protected.

Kanan’s second tale was a tragedy, one of betrayal and loss and hardship. He made this one even better than his last, delving into his deepest reserves of emotion as he told it. So moving were his words that the ground itself wept. A new stream sprang from the forest floor, feeding the forest’s new growth, and the trees grew lusher than ever.

His third tale was of new beginnings, describing friendships forged and purpose found. His voice soared with his most powerful story yet and carried through the whole forest, uplifting every beast and being who heard it. That night there was much celebrating, with everyone who lived in those woods rejoicing in the life they had and the ones they shared it with, and by the following morning the forest’s population was inexplicably larger.

Hera, seeing her home revitalised and strengthened by Kanan’s tales, held no doubts in her mind of his devotion. She revealed her heart to him and they were married in a beautiful ceremony by the stream. The wedding was well-attended, with music and dancing from her people, drinking and laughter from the Kasminauts, and a special performance from Chopper, a bird that Hera had once nursed to health and who had stayed with her ever since. Kanan and Hera moved into the cottage at the edge of the forest, and they were blissfully happy together.

But it was not to last.

They were not the only ones who lived by the forest, and a man by the name of Azmorigan also desired Hera. His covetous feelings drove him to pursue her relentlessly, but never within sight of Kanan. One day, he waited for Hera to take her daily walk outside of the cottage and snuck up behind her. Hera, having been raised in the forest and knowing its sounds like her own heartbeat, heard Azmorigan approaching. She fled before he could touch her, but in her haste to escape, she did not watch her step. Her foot fell on the back of a ysalamiri lizard and it bit her ankle. The lizard’s lifeforce-suppressing venom seeped into her blood, and Hera fell to the ground.

Azmorigan fled, and it was evening before Kanan came to look for his wife. The man of such beautiful words was silent when he found her lifeless body. He was silent as he carried her back to the home they had shared, and the silence stretched for three days and three nights. Trees wilted, birdsong was half-hearted, and instruments would not hold their tune without Kanan’s words to lift spirits.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Kanan re-emerged. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on his voyage with the Kasminauts, with his sword strapped to his hip and a small travelling bag slung over his back. He said not a word as he departed for the hills.

Kanan’s journey was a long one. He travelled out of the forest and over the hills, through fields and between mountains until he reached the sea. He took a boat and sailed over the horizon and beyond, until he found land again. He crossed arid deserts, frozen tundra and lush jungle. He saw fishing villages, market towns and cities in the clouds, but he never stopped, and he never spoke.

Eventually, he reached the cliffs at the edge of the world. There he found a cave, an opening that descended into darkness, which he entered without hesitation. The tunnel took him deep underground and far away from the land of the living. He walked, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until he reached a gate. Standing before the gate was a fearsome sentinel, the honourable guardian Garazeb, his eyes wide and alert.

It was now that Kanan finally broke his silence.

“I wish to pass into the Land of the Dead,” he said softly.

“That is forbidden,” Garazeb growled, his deep voice like grinding rocks. “Only the dead may pass this gate. As long as I stand guard here, no living thing shall pass me, in or out.”

Kanan thought for a moment. “Very well. Then perhaps I could make your endless watch a little less dull. For I am Kanan, a storyteller of great renown.”

Garazeb did not respond, merely fixing Kanan with a stony stare, but he was not deterred.

Kanan began his tale. For the gate guardian who saw people from all walks of life pass him on their way to the Underworld, he recounted long marches to battle, legions of feet falling in step, their thunder echoing around them. He drew his sword to emphasize his words as he described endless repetitive days of marching, camping, marching, camping, always surrounded by the same faces. Garazeb’s eyes followed the blade as he swept it from side to side in an almost hypnotic fashion, drawing the same shapes over and over. Soon, the mighty guard’s eyelids began to droop. Kanan did not end his story until Garazeb finally slumped back against the wall, slid down to the ground and let out a deep, rumbling snore.

Silent once more, Kanan stepped over the sleeping sentinel and passed through the gate. He shivered as he felt the change in the air that signified he had done what no other living mortal had done: he had walked into the Land of the Dead, the World Between Worlds, the Underworld. Only his blessing from Depa protected him from Death’s icy embrace here.

The tunnel continued onwards, filled with chill, damp air, and Kanan with it. As he walked he became aware of a distant noise, a rushing, roaring sound that grew steadily louder as he proceeded. The tunnel turned a corner and Kanan emerged into an enormous cavern through the center of which thundered a wide river.

On the near shore, where the rocks were wet with spray, a man waited with a boat. Kanan approached him and spoke once more.

“I wish to cross the River of Souls.”

The man looked at Kanan. His face was young, but his eyes were old, and his expression was as cold as the waters of the river.

“I only ferry the dead over this river, and only in one direction.”

“Has anyone living ever asked you for passage?” Kanan challenged.

The man narrowed his eyes. “No. Garazeb does not allow them to pass the gate.”

“So why would you not take me across? I have made it this far, after all.”

“This river washes away all souls who are not worthy of eternal life in the fields beyond,” said the boatman. “If you attempt to cross and are not worthy, you too will be washed away into nothingness.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take.”

“Hm.” The boatman considered Kanan. “Then you will pay me for your passage. I ferry the dead for free because they have nothing, not even their lives, but this is not the case with you. What can you offer?”

After his long journey Kanan had only the barest of essentials, but he knew that what he needed he always carried with him.

“I have no money with me, but I am known for my skill with words,” he told the boatman. “I doubt you have much cause for joy down here; if I can make you smile, will that cover my trip?”

“I suppose it will. But I cannot remember the last time I smiled, and you will not be able to change that.”

“We shall see. Before I begin my story, might I have your name?” Kanan asked.

“I am Ezra, bridger of the River of Souls,” the boatman replied.

Kanan began yet another tale. For the man who had companions every day but not a single one who would stay with him, Kanan told a tale of families, of belonging, of love. His words brought warmth into the air that was chilled by the river’s spray, and light into the cavern that was out of reach of the sun. When he reached the part of the story where the father went back for his son, the corners of the boatman’s mouth twitched upwards.

When Kanan pointed it out, the boatman grumbled. “It was barely a smile. More of a spasm. Doesn’t count. But I’ll suppose I’ll allow you over. Keep telling the story though, it’s a long crossing.”

So Kanan did; he told of the father rescuing the son, and taking him home, and wrapping the boy in blankets and reassuring him that he was safe now, that nothing bad would ever happen to him, and that he was loved. By the time they reached the other shore, the boatman was smiling widely, and a few tears had run down his smooth cheeks.

“That is your second smile,” Kanan told him, “and I will want to make the return trip.”

“Fine,” Ezra agreed, still smiling. “You have earned it.”

There was no tunnel on the other side of the river, but great, rolling fields under a black sky. A road wound between them which Kanan started down. Dimly, he could see pale figures wandering aimlessly over the land. None of them drifted close enough for him to see their forms clearly and he did not deviate from his path forward to investigate. He was close to his goal now; he could feel it.

The road crested a small hill and there before him was his destination: a towering construction of smooth black stone that glinted with a mysterious light. The Palace of Malachor.

The road to the palace entrance was not empty, however. His way forward was blocked by a young woman in full armour. In the dim half-light of the Underworld the armour’s markings were greyscale swirls of shapes and patterns. A matching helmet was tucked under one of her arms.

She caught sight of him immediately.

“You are not dead,” she accused. “You do not belong here.”

“I seek an audience in the palace,” he told her.

“And I seek justice, as I did in life. I will not let you proceed until you are dead.”

Having come so far, Kanan would not let this stop him. Not when he was so close.

“So we will duel,” he said, “and if you win, I will die. But if I beat you, you will let me pass.”

She considered him for a moment before nodding. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

She fitted the helmet over her head and unsheathed the blade at her hip. It was even blacker than the land around them, so dark it seemed to absorb light. Kanan drew his own blade, and their duel began.

The warrior was strong, and quick with her blade, and Kanan soon realised he was outmatched in skill alone. So he began to talk as their blades clashed, and for someone so young who needed so much armour, he told a story of acceptance. He described a young girl forsaken by her family, forced to strike her own path before she was ready. He saw his words have an effect as the warrior’s blows faltered.

He continued, describing the comfort and safety the girl found in the arms of people who accepted her for who she was, and who loved her unconditionally. Her parry went wide and Kanan’s blade slipped past the warrior’s guard to press against her neck. The tear that had blurred her vision fell from under her helmet to splash on his blade. She yielded, and true to her word, allowed him to pass her.

It was not far, then, to his final destination. The doors of Malachor opened to his touch and he stepped into the throne room. Before him sat Maul, Lord of the Underworld, and it was he Kanan addressed.

“O Great Lord of the Dead, I have travelled vast distances to come here before you. My wife, Hera, the light of my life, was taken from me too soon and now she walks in the fields outside this very palace. I have come before you to humbly beg for her return.”

Maul regarded Kanan with utter indifference.

“And why should I do that?”

Kanan took a deep breath and opened his mouth. He told Maul a story, the tale of his long journey to the Underworld, the lands he had crossed and the sights he had seen. He told of how he had surmounted the obstacles from the gate guard to the boatman to the warrior of the fields. He told all of this with his most magical of gifts, but Maul was a god, and unmoved.

He did, however, recognise Kanan’s voice.

“I care not for the trials of mortals before their demise, but you have done me a service in the short life you have led so far. In your love for your wife, you told stories which grew a forest and the numbers of those who live in it. Many of them have, in turn, died, and their souls have come to me. In return for this act I will grant you the chance to see your wife again.”

For the first time since finding Hera in the woods, Kanan allowed himself to feel a spark of hope.

“She is indeed in the fields outside,” Maul continued. “Go to the doors and tell one of your famous stories; she will hear your voice and will come to you. If you then walk back to the land of the living she will follow, and I will make sure none will stop you. But be warned: if you are to see her complete her journey, you cannot look at her while she is still in the Underworld. Do not turn around until you are both standing under the sun once again, or you will never see her again.”

Kanan bowed deeply in gratitude and thanked the Lord of the Underworld before departing his presence to do as he suggested.

Kanan went to stand just outside of the palace doors, and he knew exactly which story to tell: the story of his life. It was one Hera would know well, because she knew him better than he knew himself. He began his telling, and the slightest brush of wind encouraged him to start walking.

As he crossed the fields, he passed the warrior again. It was as he was telling of his childhood and of the importance of family and standing together. Her helmet was tucked back under her arm and she nodded at him respectfully, the faintest of wistful smiles at her lips. She gave no acknowledgement of anyone following him.

He reached the river and the boatman, whose face was back to its stony mask. The man did not hesitate as Kanan approached, remembering their agreement and giving Kanan passage back to the other shore. During the crossing Kanan told of the heartbreak of having everything he knew ripped away from him, and the boatman nodded along mournfully as he steered the boat. Neither when he boarded nor disembarked did Kanan feel the boat respond to anyone else’s movements.

He was telling the legends of the Kasminauts when he came up to the gate. The guardian was awake again and watched him impassively as Kanan approached, recounting his adventures with his brothers. The honour guard gave no indication that anyone was following Kanan but made no move to stop him from leaving the Underworld.

It was as Kanan started the uphill climb through the final tunnel that he reached the best part of his story. This was the part where his travels ended and he met Hera. The most beautiful, perfect woman, who healed him and loved him and gave him everything he needed. His words echoed off the tunnel walls along with the sound of a single set of footsteps.

Kanan had no idea if Hera was following him. He knew, he trusted, that if she had heard him and been able, she would have come to him in the field and would have stayed with him since. But what if she hadn’t? What if Maul had tricked him? What if the warrior had blocked her way, or the boatman had denied her passage, or the guard had closed the gate on her?

He could see the brightness of daylight just ahead of him. If he returned to the overworld now, he would never be able to return. If she wasn’t behind him, he would lose her forever.

He had to know. He could not leave without her.

And so Kanan turned, and was overjoyed to see Hera’s wraith-like spirit only a short distance behind him. But her expression turned to dismay as he looked, and even as he opened his mouth in reassurance, a shadow fell over her.

Maul.

“I warned you not to look,” he spat, face twisted in anger, “and what have you done? Now, you will look no more!”

There was a flash of red, a blinding pain, and Kanan felt himself flung backwards and out of the tunnel. He landed on soft grass and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, though no light came through his eyes. He knew he was back in the mortal realm. He knew he could not return to the Underworld. He knew he had shattered his chance to retrieve Hera.

He cried out in pain and frustration and grief.

But then warm arms gripped him and pulled him into a solid embrace, and a voice spoke in his ear.

“Kanan?”

The most beautiful voice.

“Hera?”

He reached up to where the voice had come from, and his fingers traced an achingly familiar face. Tears tracked down her cheeks, but she was here, with him, alive again.

“Oh, Kanan, your eyes!” she cried. “He has ruined your eyes! How will you see?”

But Kanan smiled.

“I do not need my eyes to see you,” he told her.

And so they returned to their cottage at the edge of the forest, and to their happy life together. Though he was blind, Kanan could still tell his stories, and Hera still loved him deeply. The tale of how Kanan’s love for his wife had driven him to retrieve her from the depths of the Underworld was one he told to many generations of twi’lek in the forest, and it was even more popular than the legends of the Kasminauts.

He was still telling it when, well into old age, he recognised that his time had come. This time, Kanan and Hera travelled together into Death. They greeted the gate guard, the boatman and the warrior like old friends, and hand in hand they stepped into the fields, ready to spend eternity together.

[dragonshifter-minecraft]

Prologue II

[Previous] ~ [Next]

[Word Count: 1198]

[Content Warnings: None!]

He’d been in his usual spot at the market district when it all went down. The whole day had been spent calling out to passersby and holding up one of the many dragonscale necklaces that he intended to sell. He’d made a lot of coin already, which wasn’t unusual given the novelty and scarcity of his wares, but the competitive nature of the market ensured he could never make too much in a single day. Of course, he’d had to haggle with some over the price, but he didn’t mind the back-and-forth so long as they didn’t attempt to lowball him.

It wasn’t too long after noon that the city guards began to sweep through the crowd, barking orders at to everyone to get inside.

His brows furrowed as he leaned out from behind his stand, confused as to what was going on. He hadn’t seen a disturbance this significant since the last time Dream had stopped by, when their visit had been cut short by a dragon destroying a big chunk of the local magic school.

“Hey!” he shouted at the passing guards as they quickly ushered as many people as they could out of the market. “What is this? What’s happening?”

“The King has ordered everyone to seek shelter immediately,” one of the guards briefly paused to inform him, before hastily rushing off before he could utter another question.

Growling to himself, he finally took the lead of the other merchants around him, hastily pulling down and packing up his various dragonscale trinkets, haphazardly shoving them into the bag he’d brought them in. As soon as he had everything gathered up, he followed after the rest of the people departing from the marketplace, making his way towards the building he lived in.

There were whispers in the crowd, some lost or separated from their respective groups, some worrying over where they were expected to go, and many wondering aloud what was going on. There was confusion and fear abuzz through the masses.

At the distant echoing of what sounded unmistakably like a roar, he felt his blood run cold.

The people around him all began to scramble about even faster, some dashing straight ahead to whatever their destinations were, others darting about aimlessly. The low murmur of hushed voices had become a loud cacophony of panic and terror. The dragon attack from only a month prior was still fresh on everyone’s minds, and the fear was felt even deeper.

It wasn’t until a blue, winged beast was seen flying past that shrill screams rang out, and the commotion devolved into utter pandemonium.

Bag clutched tightly, he ran as fast as he could, dodging and weaving between moving bodies as he made a beeline for his home. All around, the crowd was in frantic motion, many being shouldered or shoved aside as people fled the streets in a disorganized free-for-all.

He’d pushed past a number of bystanders as he’d entered the building he lived in, making his way up to his room.

“Woah, what happened to you, Sap?” was what he’d been met with as soon as he’d shut the door. His face twisted into a grimace as he turned to face his roommate, who had evidently arrived not long before him, if the unkempt hair and clothing were any indicator.

“What happened to you?” Sapnap retorted jokingly. His roommate shrugged.

“Oh you know, dragon attacks, mass hysteria, people running around like headless chickens – seems like that’s becoming the norm around here,” was the sarcastic answer.

“Tell me about it,” he groaned, tossing his bag of scales to the side before slipping his shoes off beside the door. He put on a smile and a gloating tone as he went on, “I saw a dragon fly past on my way back, how about you, Punz?”

“Dude, I did not even look up,” replied his roommate. “Wasn’t Dream going after the one that destroyed the school? You think he’s still around?”

“Doubt it,” Sapnap stated, “dude’s a ghost, even at the best of times.”

Idly, he wondered what the slayer had actually done about the last dragon to trash Knightport. He considered heading over to the pocket dimension to check on him…

“I know how he feels,” Punz grumbled, looking exhausted. That didn’t sound good.

“By the way, how’d that job of yours go?” the dark-haired man inquired innocently.

“Poorly,” was the terse reply. “Hope you’ve brought back enough coin for both of us.”

“That bad, huh?” Sapnap queried sympathetically.

“The client refused to pay,” his roommate snarled, “not much you can do when that happens.”

“You’re still welcome to come work with me at the market, you know,” he offered, “I could use the help.”

Punz could only glare at nothing in reply, and the dark-haired man knew better than to pry. His roommate was currently working for the local guild of bounty hunters, taking whatever sporadic jobs were available in order to get paid. It wasn’t an easy career to begin with, and having clients refuse to pay afterwards certainly didn’t make life any easier.

Sapnap had been just about to say something, when a distant roar cut him off. That alone wouldn’t have been so unusual, had there not been a second, answering roar.

“That’s two,” he finally managed to choke out. Sapnap had forgotten just how scary dragon attacks truly were. Especially when he didn’t know them personally. Granted, the incident that occurred about a month ago had been bad, but at least Dream had been there, and that dragon hadn’t really done anything to begin with. This time, he was completely alone. Well, not counting Punz, that was.

The two of them could only sit and wait, listening to the continued chaos outside as people proceeded to panic even more. It was terrifying to be able to hear the distant sounds, unable to see any of it, or even know who was winning. All they knew now was that there were two dragons that had strayed far too close for comfort, and at any moment they might decide to turn their attack onto the city itself.

The day wore along, and the occasional roars grew distant, the beasts seeming to have moved on.

Eventually, a city guard arrived at their door.

“By order of the King,” the armor-clad man had spoken, “citizens of Knightport are to remain indoors until the dragon threat has been properly dealt with. The city is hereby on lockdown, and you are not to set foot outside except for only the necessities. Good day.”

With that, the man turned and marched on to the next room.

“Lockdown?” Punz shouted angrily. “Are you kidding me? They couldn’t kill those things?!”

“You think you could’ve done better?” Sapnap rejoined, finally closing the door. “What am I saying, you catch the occasional bad guy – killing two dragons is the most obvious next step!”

“Hey, don’t joke, you’d only have more merchandise to sell!” his roommate exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, ‘torched human bones for sale’, I’m sure that’ll go over well at the market,” the dark-haired man mentioned sarcastically.

In Sapnap’s mind, getting hit by a quick-flung boot had never been so worth it.

[Author’s Note: Kinda gave up on the ending of this chapter, not gonna lie. But that’s beside the point because PART II IS ON THE WAY, BABY! Grab your popcorn and try not to get burned – our boy Sapnap is finally here! Please try to excuse the fact that I don’t know much about Punz or how he talks, he’s ultimately not a major character in this story, but he’s here.]

[commander-diomika]

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 7 Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, James Barnes/Howard Carter Word Count: 1600 Rating: Mature Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Trans Male Character, Barnes and Carter have a mild D/s thing going on but there's nothing explicit in here

Summary: Wilde opened the Campbell. He genuinely tried to read, but like bubbles in a glass, his eyes rose off the page and over the top of the book. He enjoyed this one, truly, but a fictional romance held slightly less fascination for him than the reality of the one relaxing in his sitting room.

It’s been almost a year and they still can’t bear to take their hands off each other, Wilde thought bemusedly.

Barnes lounged on one of the comfy chairs in Wilde’s sitting room, watching the fire, whiskey in one hand. Carter had a pile of knives and complicated-looking tools laid out on the low table, humming softly as he did inventory and repairs. He knelt on the floor practically between Barnes’ uwabaki-clad feet, and as Wilde walked in, Carter reached behind himself almost absently to pat Barnes on the thigh, finishing with an affectionate squeeze before shifting focus back to his work.

The pair of them had just finished up yet another round of quarantine and, post bath and debrief, had seemingly settled in for the evening.

Wilde nodded to Barnes and went to pour himself a drink then settled in opposite the pair with a book. Zolf was away once again, returning to his old network with the Harlequins to see if they had discovered anything on the simulacra since he’d left their employ. He was due back in the next few days, and the fact that Wilde had timed each deployment so that the other men could do the inspections for Zolf… well, it was just good luck, not good management.

Wilde liked sending out Zolf alone about as much as Zolf had liked the reverse. But that was part of the job. They no longer lived in a world with much room for sentimentality. Besides, Wilde was almost accustomed to the underlying hum of anxiety every time one of the team was away. He was adept at neatly packaging up that fear, that preemptive grief, and putting in a quiet corner of his mind to either be unboxed when the worst happened or discarded if it didn’t.

“Thought you’d already read that one,” Barnes said by way of breaking the quiet. This was often how it was after a mission, by unspoken understanding; conversation carved deliberately out of the soft, the easy, questions neatly avoiding the state of the world or the work.

“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.” Wilde replied. Truth was, between the enforced waiting between missions and the inescapable breakdown of the global market, books he hadn’t read were becoming harder to find.

Barnes gave a non-committal grunt that said he didn’t know the feeling.

Wilde opened the Campbell. He genuinely tried to read, but like bubbles in a glass, his eyes rose off the page and over the top of the book. He enjoyed this one, truly, but a fictional romance held slightly less fascination for him than the reality of the one relaxing in his sitting room.

Barnes reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the whisky, and without taking his eyes from the fire, gave the back of Carter’s neck a squeeze; strong grip working into the muscle. Carter’s tune transformed into a low hum of pleasure, hands briefly stilling on his tools.

It’s been almost a year and they still can’t bear to take their hands off each other, Wilde thought bemusedly.

This had been the last thing he’d expected when he’d paired them up together. He had honestly been worried they would both crack after the first quarantine, and either quit or demand someone new to work with. At the very least after the umpteenth round of spending a week in a small room together, Wilde thought they’d want a little space. But here they were.

Wilde felt a strange pulse of guilt. If either one of them died whilst out on a mission- he snapped his eyes back to the book. It was a harsh world. As their handler, it could only be viewed as a good thing that they had become, well, devoted to one another. A strategic benefit, he said to himself, wanting ardently to believe it.

Wilde turned a page without having read a word on it.

“Hey sailor,” Carter said softly. He’d finished repairing his thieves’ tools and was pulling out a weapon-care kit. “Grab your sword, I’ll do her first.”

Wilde fought to keep his eyebrows level as Barnes fetched and handed his sword over to Carter. “Use my whetstone; don’t think yours is quite up to the task.” Barnes settled back in his chair, looking like a man without a care in the world.

Wilde swallowed. They really did feel safe here, safe with one another. If only they all could just… stay here. Hope that the war would not come to their doorstep. If only they could be left in peace, if only there was no threat eating away at the world. If there wasn’t a job to do, Wilde felt like he could just stay here; with these two, and the locals, and be happy.

He could put it all down. And Zolf would be there too.

His dreams used to be much bigger than a life of relative safety and obscurity in a tiny Japanese backwater, but the looming decay of a previously ordered world had a way of shifting priorities.

Carter eventually finished his chores, and then successfully watched the fire for three whole quiet minutes before announcing he was going to the kitchen.

“Don’t be a pest,” Barnes said in a well-practised farewell. “When you come back, I’ve got some shirts that need mendin’ too.”

Carter blew air through his teeth. “I’m not your valet, Barnes,” he replied, and Barnes just raised an eyebrow at him. Walking out, Carter muttered something under his breath about buttons that didn’t even get used.

“If you’ve got anythin’ that needs repairing, I’d get Carter to do it to,” Barnes offered, secure that Carter’s departing comments in no way reflected his actual intentions. “He’s a fair hand with a needle.”

Wilde smiled knowingly as he shook his head, and without conscious thought, a question popped out of his mouth.

“How did you two… happen?”

Barnes looked surprised at the question. Not that he felt it inappropriate, Barnes just wasn’t used to Wilde being confused about the obvious. “Well,” he said, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how to phrase it. “He just needs a firm hand on the rein, y’know. Didn’ take us long to figure out I could be that for ‘im.”

The noise that Carter had made as he came, muffled in said firm hand, was still remarkably fresh in Wilde’s memory. The sound flashed through his mind as if to punctuate Barnes’ comment.

Barnes must have seen the brief rise of heat in Wilde’s cheeks, because his next comment, mildly spoken, was, “You interested in joining us, Wilde?” When Wilde’s only response was a raised brow, Barnes continued. “I don’t mind sharin’.”

Wilde leant back in his chair, considering this surprise twist of in the conversation. It had been quite some time since he’d been openly propositioned, and despite the languid set of his body, he felt his heartbeat speed up and a slight blush heat his cheeks. A younger Wilde, an unshackled Wilde, would have said yes in an instant. He’s fallen into bed with someone, or someones, for less.

Wilde briefly allowed the beast that was his imagination off-leash. He saw himself, besieged with pleasure. Bodies surrounding him, hands and lips on him, stuffed at both ends, absolutely overwhelmed, worshipped, had.

It was a very nice thought.

But it was more complicated now, without his magic. It wasn’t that he felt shy, or that he thought either of his co-conspirators would react poorly to his… unconventional physiology. It was just that sex for the younger version of Wilde didn’t used to be so revealing. It used to be something he could just fold into his performance persona, slide straight from stage to bed without having to play a single open card.

Skies above, Wilde missed those days. He investigated his drink, calm face hiding the stream of images bubbling through his mind. Somewhere amongst the tantalising and lascivious, were the complex and confusing. Barnes and Carter fucking in the cell downstairs, the very same one where Wilde had been pushed to let Zolf in on a secret truth. An expression of conflicted desire on Zolf’s face.

Wilde couldn’t sort those images into a cohesive narrative, so he put them aside with a dark, self-deprecating chuckle. “I thank you, but no. I was merely seeking satisfaction for my curiosity.”

Barnes nodded, unruffled. Wilde had seen the man fight and had heard him fuck. He knew the energy, the potential Barnes contained, and yet in conversation he was such a mild creature. He was a contradiction. It was almost as though he saved up all that vitality, that power, for when it was needed the most. The rest of the time he simply… switched it off.

Wilde pulled his mind back to business with a sigh, “Besides, if we don’t hear from Zolf in about twelve hours, I’m sorry to say you two will be heading out again. It’s a short turnaround, I know. You should spend it together.”

“For sure, I wouldn’t mind a sleep in a proper bed for one.” With that, the two lapsed back into a comfortable silence.

When Carter returned from the kitchen, he had a bottle of sake and a bunch of grapes. He came up behind Barnes, dangling both his prizes into the seated man’s eyeline.

“C’mon, sailor. Let’s get out of Oscar’s hair.”

Barnes smiled slowly, making deliberate eye contact with Wilde. He wasn’t the sort to waggle his eyebrows or leer, but his gaze communicated last chance, offer still stands, as clear as a sunny day.

With a small smile, Wilde waved them off. There was something like envy bubbling in his chest, over the ease which Barnes and Carter shared with each other.

He sighed and picked up his book.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Freedom Seekers

Summary: In a world of dragons, the scouting regiment seeks to free humanity from the fear of the beasts. Dragon seekers fight for the survival of the dragons, working directly against the government and the scouts. Both fighting for their own definitions of freedom, but are they really all that different? 

Word Count: 5.5K 

The young girl ran through the woods eagerly as she chased down a large ram. Each step she took was quiet. So quiet that the animal didn’t even bat an eye. The sheep stopped in his tracks and leaned down to chew on some grass. She took her stance behind an old oak and lifted her wooden bow. Reaching behind her back, she carefully pulled out an arrow and noched it between the string and her forefinger. She pulled the string of her bow back until her thumb brushed her cheek. She closed her left eye and honed in on the shoulder of the animal, she counted to three before taking a slow inhale. As she silently exhaled she felt her body still, at just the right moment she released the taut string, which bounced back and tickled her face. The arrow whistled through the air and landed with a dull thunk in the ram’s chest. The animal froze and leapt a few bounds through the grassy grove of trees before disappearing into the thick trees. With a growl the girl pulled another arrow from her quiver and stood to give chase. But before she could leave her hiding place a heavy hand caught her shoulder. She whirled around in shock, her mouth hanging open ready to protest. But the air left her lungs at the sight of familiar amber eyes gazing into her own jade green ones. 

“Frankie, I’m so glad that I found you, your father is livid.” The boy pulled his hand back and also took a healthy step back. Frankie bristled, still in the mindset of the hunt, which had so rudely been interrupted. 

“You think I dunno that.” She snapped, throwing her arms to rest simply by her sides. The whole point of going on this hunt had been to escape her parents’ nagging. For the past week it had been: “Have ya packed yet?” or “Make sure to sharpen that dagger.” it was getting old, after having been away for a full year already she had grown accustomed to being on her own, having the liberty to make her own decisions. It had been bliss, but alas she had to return back to the village for supplies and to give a report, just as all the other dragon seekers must do. 

“We don’t have long now, the sun will come up and it will be time for us to depart once more.” The boy told her these things, although she already knew this information. 

“You really should try and get some rest.” He said, as she shifted, a twig snapping under his weight. The sound made Frankie cringe, Harvey never had been good company on a hunt, he was much too large to roam through the forest undetected. 

“Fine, let’s head back then.” Frankie relented, knowing that he wouldn’t leave her side now that he was with her. His shoulders slumped with relief as she began to silently pad through the dense forest. The chill of winter had retreated, making way for fresh growth of spring, the forest was lush and teeming with new life. It was Frankie’s favorite time of year, the mountain that the clan called home was most vibrant in late spring and early summer, the melting snow from the peaks would cause the creeks to overflow and become insanely chilly. Frankie stepped onto the well worn path at last, much to Harvey’s relief, the village wasn’t far from here. 

Nestled on the mountain was the small remote village that the teens called home. The small establishment had dwindled in size, only a single main road connected the buildings. The community was mainly hunters and gatherers, the mountainside was not rich in soil, making farming nearly impossible.Not many chose this lifestyle anymore when there was a large city not more than a week’s travel away. Norwich was barely even qualified to be called a village at this point. The old fashioned view that the village clung to prevented the citizens to linger for long, dragon riding was not legal, and being so close to the metropolis that was known as Eldia was not ideal. The Eldian Empire had doubled in size since the Marlyan Empire had been defeated and once more consumed by the Eldians. Norwich was known for producing infamous dragon riders, who worked to protect and preserve the dragon species, fewer than three hundred dragons remained thanks to the Scout Regiment. Frankie dug her nails into her palms as she stalked down the beaten path, Harvey close on her heels. She had been searching for her dragon for over a year now, going into her second year once the sun rose. The last crop of dragon seekers had not returned, meaning that they died in search of their dragons or were arrested for fraternizing with the creatures. 

“I know that we aren’t meant to speak of it but-” 

“No, I won’t tell you.” Frankie cut Harvey off, her words minced and sharp. He flinched and chuckled awkwardly, she was really pissed at him. She knew that Harvey was wanting to ask her about her travels for the past year, however it was highly discouraged to speak about the journey that was taken when searching for a dragon. It was meant to be a sacred link between the pair. 

“You’re right.” he chuckled a bit dejectedly as the pair emerged from the trees, the soft baying of sheep and goats was filling the crisp morning air along with the melody of song birds. A shepherd was tending to the sheep and goats as the couple walked into the small town, passing by the cabins and lone barn. The sun was rising slowly, today was the Summer solstice, a sacred day to their people. It marked the second departure of dragon seekers, this year it would be Frankie, Maeve, Harvey, Killian, and Mary. All of them had already taken a year to dip their toes in the water in a sense. However due to their close proximity to the Eldian Empire they needed to travel a great distance to reach dragons. But it was customary to return after a year as frustrating as it was, in the old days it would take seekers less than six moons to find their partner, so it wasn’t as big of a deal to return in a single year. Frankie came to a halt in front of the humble cabin that her family called home, a few chickens were scratching in the dirt and cooing in the early morning light. Harvey kicked his toe in the dirt, sending a small dust cloud up into the air. 

“Well…” Harvey chuckled a bit awkwardly as Frankie rolled her eyes as she climbed the steps up to her cabin. She paused on the top step and leaned down, her hand reaching for Harvey’s broad shoulder, with a heavy sigh she brought her lips to his cheek and gave him a peck. He smiled triumphantly and turned to leave, Frankie crossed her arms and shook her head as she watched him saunter off. 

Frankie pushed into the house, the wood burning stove popped in the corner and her mother stocked the logs, her back turned to Frankie. 

“Took ya long enough.” She muttered, turning around and wiping her hands free of the soot. 

“I was huntin’” Frankie said, her words clipped as she moved to retreat into her room before her father arrived. 

“Aren’t you always, it’s time you gave up on this dragon business, settle down and marry Harvey.” Her mother began her age old rant, and Frankie rolled her eyes. 

“Mother my time isn’t up yet, I could still-” 

“Enough of this talk, the girl is right Ellenor.” Frankie’s father lumbered into the room, ducking his head to squeeze under the door frame. 

“But James-” 

“She’s all we got left, the last chance of glory.” He interrupted, as he dropped his ancient hunting knife onto the table. Frankie stood tensely, she hated when her parents spoke like this, both pressuring her to follow opposite paths. 

“We’ve already lost two to the cause, is that not enough?!” Ellenor’s voice was strangled and thick with emotion as she planted her hands onto the tabletop and leaned into James’ space. 

“There ain’t much of a choice, she’ll die either way. Might as well die with honor.” James grunted as he picked his knife back up to clean the blade. 

“You know I don’t agree with that.” Ellenor slammed her fist onto the table and James sighed before looking up. Ellenor’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her tears, James reached up and cupped her cheek in one of his large callous hands. 

“Nor do I, but it is the truth. Francine is the last of our line, our last chance to bring honor to our name once more.” James spoke slowly, Ellenor grabbed his hand and held it closer to her face as a few tears escaped her eyes. James looked to his daughter, who stood still as a statue in the center of the room. Frankie stood taller under his gaze, lifting her chin proudly and meeting his eyes with reserve. 

“Aye.” She agreed, adjusting her quiver and hanging her bow next to her father’s on the wall. 

“See, she understands. She knows what must be done. Besides, she’s already survived a year, at the very least she can live another.” James said with a nod of approval at his daughter’s resilience. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. My emotions overcome me at times like these.” Ellenor pulled away and returned to her chores. Frankie took her cue to leave and freshen up for the long day ahead. 

__ 

       The fresh air greeted the young girl's nose as she walked outside of her home for the first time today. She saw two teens bickering down the path, of course they were waiting for her. A smile spread across her warm cheeks as she ran down to meet her peers. Two small dandelions placed in her chest pocket. 

“Why must we always wait for loony?” The tall girl asked, her back turned to the other girl as she met the two with a smile. The tall girl knew what she had called her, but she brushed it off with a shrug. Glancing to Harvey who kept his eyes down. 

“Am I that much of a trouble Mary?” The young girl asked walking between the two. 

“No trouble at all.” Harvey said, nudging the girl a bit. 

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Mary asked, looking ahead at the road that led to the market. 

“Calm yourself Mary, it’s not going anywhere.” Harvey said squatting slightly in front of the girl, waiting for her to take his invitation. Which she did flash, hopping on his back and placing her arms loosely around his neck. 

“Can’t you walk Maeve? I mean you’re not a child.” Mary scoffed, walking away from the duo who just began to laugh. Despite Mary’s callous attitude she had missed her friends over the past year. 

They walked leisurely towards the village. As they got closer, Maeve could practically taste the baked bread. The bustle of the village carried a familiar tune. Harvey leaned down and let the girl slide off of his back. Mary had already left the two, going off to find the younger group of girls that worshiped her words and held her ideals. Maeve's eyes searched the market for the boy she wished to see. 

“He’s by the flowers.” Harvey said, pointing over to a tall boy who stood by a small cart. His strawberry blonde hair stood out to the girl. She smiled over to Harvey. He gave her a reassuring nod and Maeve ran off. 

“Killian.” Maeve shouted, moving closer to him. The young boy turned his head and held a kind smile on his face. He met the girl with a smile, picking her up off her feet and twirling her around. They both held each other tight, his eyes looked worn but she knew he was still the same boy from before. 

“I like your hair.” Maeve said after Killian had put her down. It had grown slightly, it looked as though he had chopped it with a small knife. 

“How I have missed you.” Killian said, placing some of her ashe blonde hair behind her ear. She looked up to him, his eyes still held that golden tint. She could feel her cheeks turn red as she looked into them. 

“I have something for you.” The young girl said, taking the small flowers out of her pocket and showing Killian. His smile widened as she placed one in his breast pocket. 

“Thank you.” He said softly, reaching down to take her smaller hands into his own larger ones. 

“Give me a break.” Harvey moaned, before turning to continue through the market. Killian chuckled and released one of Meave’s hands, sure to keep one held firmly in his grasp as if she could disappear at any given moment. The trio meandered through the main street, the people were bustling about in preparation for the evening’s send off festivities, streamers and banners were being stung between the townhouses. Stalls were being erected, goods set out for sale, children darted around the dusty road, waving small flags that had a simple dragon stitched onto them, the symbol of their people. 

“Remember that year that Frankie stole an entire shoulder of beef?” Killian scoffed as they watched the children squeal with delight. Meave scoffed and nodded, recalling the memory fondly. 

“Where is the thief anyway?” Mary asked joining the small group once more. They all looked to Harvey expecting an answer. 

“We’re not exactly attached at the hip like Maeve and Killian.” Harvey said, gritting his teeth. The two young teens let go of each other’s hands, their faces growing visibly red with embarrassment. 

“She must be around here somewhere.” Nave said, stepping on her tiptoes and grabbing onto Killians arm as she searched the crowd. They all began to search for the redhead around the lively village. Harvey’s eyes caught her first. He noticed that she was talking up a blacksmith. Who seemed to be uninterested in what she had to say. Harvey smirked at the sight of her getting worked up. 

“Over there.” The young boy said, pointing over to the girl. The teens cut through the crowd, which split at the sight of them, the famed seekers that had managed to return. Once they reached the girl they could make out her words. 

“-The hilts much too long, how will I ever get a proper hold of the bloody thing?” Frankie asked exasperatedly as she waved her hands about. The large man rolled his eyes and continued hammering the blade he was working on, drowning out Frankie’s words, much to her displeasure. 

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Frankie snapped, rounding the anvil to meet his downcast eyes. He pulled the glowing blade off the anvil and dunked it into a bucket of water with a loud hiss. 

“Fraid not little miss.” he said with a shake of his head. Frankie growled and abandoned the argument, as she whirled around Harvey caught her, a dopey grin on his face. 

“Long time no see little red.” Harvey said smoothly as he held her shoulders, Frankie grunted and brushed past him. 

“What brings a recluse like you into town?” Mary scoffed, giving Frankie a skeptical once over, from her ratty emerald green dress, work boots, messy hair pinned back into a loose bun. 

“Where have you been, pretty lady?” Maeve asked, pulling the young girl into a hug. 

“By the looks of it she’s been livin in the woods.” Killian said, looking the girl over with a grin. 

“Nothing new bout that.” Mary huffed, but she couldn’t keep the hint of fondness from her tone. After all, these were the people that she had grown up with, trained with. After all they were her family. 

“Can we just go now? I don’t want to spend the whole night by this blacksmith.” Maeve said, grabbing onto Frankies hand and dragging her through the market. The rest of the group followed them, all laughing along the way. 

The group made it to the large field that stood right in front of their village. Memories came flooding back, of a simpler time. When finding dragons was something miles away, and their parents would only sing them lullabies and not speak of the things that grow beyond their forest. When people were just people, and not someone who you could wed someday. When they could just be children. Frankie sat with her friends as she thought. Looking into each of their eyes, as Mary tried to hide a smile. As Maeve sat in Killians lap and looked into his eyes with hope. And when Harvey sat next to her and talked about adventure. Her stomach turned at the thought of one of them not coming home. She knew once they got out into the world she couldn’t protect them, and what she feared most was that when it came down to it she would have to make a choice that she was not prepared to make. The summer day flew by in a warm haze of wildflowers and cool creeks. The teens all waded out of the large creek, feet sloshing in the crystyline water. Meave was the last one left in the rushing creek, she was doubled over, her skirt was beginning to drag in the water as she studied the creek bottom. 

“Mary...Come look at this.” Meave said slowly, her eyes never leaving the creek bottom. Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes, but still approached the bank, the closest she dared to get to the water. She had been the only one to remain dry the whole afternoon. 

“What?” The tall girl asked. Placing some of her snowy hair behind her ear and looking into the creek. 

“Right there.” Maeve said pointing at the muck on the bottom of the creek floor. Mary squinted her eyes, trying to see if the girl was pointing at some sort of stone. But right before she could say she didn’t see anything the small blonde splashed her perfectly nice dress with dirty water. Maeve fell over with laughter, her flower filled skirt now getting drenched in the water. Mary swatted at her dress and tried to keep her balance. The rest of the group had engulfed in laughter. 

“You disgust me.” The tall girl said, walking away from the creek and leaving the blonde sitting alone in the water. Though Maeve didn’t mind, she just looked at the sky and watched the sun set as she moved her hands through the creek. Letting her fingers move gently along with the small waves that the two girls had made. 

“If you were wise you’d go get cleaned up for this evening.” Mary said as she wrung the water out of her skirts. Killian clicked his tongue and stood from his seat on the bank. 

“Almost forgot.” He agreed as he made his way back into the creek to pull Maeve out of the water. Mary stalked off in the direction of the village, not waiting for her friends. Harvey draped an arm around Frankie’s waist and pulled her flush against him, her hand splayed across his chest as they watched Killian pull Maeve out. 

“How could you forget about the biggest party of the year?” Frankie scoffed as the pair emerged from the creek, their clothes soaking wet. 

“I didn’t! Not really. I guess I just...didn’t want this day to end.” Killian rubbed the back of his neck as he rejoined the teens on the bank. Frankie’s eyes softened, she knew how he felt, and she assumed that the others felt similar as well. The past year had been a major eye opener for them, violence within the kingdoms, unforgiving wilderness, they had seen it all. Frankie was forced back into the present when the sharp sting of cold water struck her cheek, she turned to see Meave shaking her head like a dog to free the water from her ash blonde locks. 

“Mary was right, we’d better gather our things, the sun will set soon.” Harvey broke the silence, holding a hand up to his eyes as he surveyed the sky. Frankie hummed in agreement and untangled herself from the boy and set off after Mary. Meave followed close behind, holding her sopping wet skirts up to allow her to jog. The two boys walked back at a leisurely pace, having already packed the necessities for their journey. The girls reached the village first, splitting up to gather their supplies and get dressed for the journey. By the time all five of the teens were ready, the village was aglow with torches and a single bonfire in the town center. Men and women danced around the fire, casting ominous shadows over the town square. 

Frankie narrowly dodged a small child as she entered the fray, a large swine was being mounted over the flame. People cheered as Frankie and the other girls arrived, wearing their armor, which was made of shed dragon skin of various colors. On the opposite end of the clearing was the boys, along with Thomas, a boy who was a year older than them. He had found his dragon. A young fire breathing type dragon, the creature had been turned loose to survey the perimeter of the village, a luxury that they hadn’t had for years. The girls crossed the opening and stood before the boys, shoulders back and chins lifted. Harvey extended his hand as the music resumed in jaunty tune. Frankie accepted his outstretched hand and the pair began to dance, Killian and Meave followed their lead, leaving Mary to glare at the older boy, who smirked down at her, his hand held out expectantly. 

“Well Mary?” His voice was annoyingly smooth and the quirk in his lip made her chest fill with rage. 

“If you expect me to dance with ya. You’ve got another thing coming.” Mary said, crossing her arms and turning to her friends who smiled in one another’s arms as they danced around the orange flames. 

“You know ya have to.” Thomas whispered close to her. Turning her attention towards her parents who were looking directly at them. 

“I despise you.” Mary growled, taking the boys hand harshly and walking over to the group of couples. 

“Ya will be my wife.” Thomas said, pulling her close to him. His breath smelled of fish and his palms were sweaty as he took her hands into his. He reminded her of a bear, eager and greedy. They danced silently together, each of her steps worked perfectly with his. She was never one to miss a beat, each time they got closer to her parents they would give her a reassuring nod. Which made the girl lean into the boy more. Knowing that it would make her parents happy. 

The rest of the towns people joined in, bodies twirling and dancing to the rhythm of the tune, the beat of music picking up pace. Frankie smiled brightly at Harvey who spun her, his eyes full of love. Frankie felt her heartbeat speed up, the surroundings becoming overwhelming quickly. The scents of roasting meat, the sound of the jaunty music and cheering towns people filled the summer night air. It wasn’t often that the village threw large festivals like this, mainly when the seekers departed and if they returned. The music paused and Frankie slipped away, leaning against a house, her chest heaving. She just wanted to leave already, back into the woods, she never wanted to return. The childhood home that she had loved so much now felt like a prison. 

She only needed to last a few more hours, until the first rays of the sun peeked over the mountain that was directly across from them. Then the seekers would leave, resume their quest for dragons for another year. Or however long it took to find the beasts, men got longer than the women did. Women only got two years while men got their whole life if they so choose. Frankie balled her hands into fists as she looked longingly at the treetops, she wanted nothing more than to be sleeping up in them. She snuck a glance back at the festivities, people were swarming Harvey, who was pleased to feed their excitement by singing along to the music. Killian and Meave were still dancing, their arms linked as they spun. Mary was not too far off, clearly she was trying to escape her suitor, Thomas. Frankie was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. Before she could reason with herself she jogged across the clearing and grabbed Mary’s hand. 

“Need a distraction?” She asked, jerking her head towards the trees. Mary’s lip curled in disgust but she nodded reluctantly. Frankie led them into the darkness, weaving through the trunks of the trees and until they reached a cliff. The cliff overlooked the valley below, which was wide and teeming with life. A river cut between the mountains as well as another large field of flowers and a grove of trees. 

“Don’t care for Thomas much do you.” Frankie asked conversationally as the pair sad in the grass, their legs dangling over the edge. Mary shook her head and scoffed in disgust. 

“Or any man for that matter.” She quipped, her blue eyes scanning the redhead’s features. Her sharp jaw, the slope of her nose and the freckles that were painted there. 

“I hear you...Although Harvey has always felt like the right choice….” 

“The outside world made you question that, didn’t it.” Mary said, clearly understanding where Frankie was coming from. 

“Aye. There’s so much that we have yet to see.” She agreed, her head tilted to look up at the blanket of stars above. 

“And you? Did you find some clarity beyond the village?” Frankie asked, her green eyes turning to meet Mary’s blue ones. She inhaled slowly, thinking over her response carefully. 

“Yes, but I’m afraid not enough.” Mary said after a moment and Frankie let out a bark of laughter. 

“It’ll never be enough Mary.” Frankie chuckled, her shoulders shaking as she looked out at the neighboring mountain. The sky was turning pink by the time the girls returned, most of the people were too drunk to notice their absence. Frankie’s father was singing loudly alongside some other men as they waved mugs of meade in the air above their head. The seekers gathered their supplies in preparation for their departure. The village elders emerged from their homes and stood by the entrance of the village, the people migrated to watch them give the departing blessings. The seekers stood in attention as the elders lit sage and waved it in front of them, bathing them in the scent. They chanted in the ancient language of their people and the townspeople echoed the prayer. 

“And now the parents and loved ones may say their goodbyes.” The elder said once he had finished burning the sage and the sun was nearly over the mountain. Frankie’s mother embraced her tightly, tears stained the leather armor that she wore, her hands grasping the bow on her back. 

“Come back to me.” She whispered as she kissed her daughter’s cheek. Her father gave her a brief hug before patting her on the back and leaning down to peck her on the cheek. 

“Make me proud.” He said, the scent of ale lingering on his breath. Frankie nodded and stepped away from them with a soft smile. 

Meanwhile, Meave hugged both her parents stiffly, her mother pulled back first, her eyes stern. 

“You’re our last hope Meave.” she said grimly. 

“You mustn’t fail.” her father said, his eyes seemed to say that she already had. She had never been able to please her parents. She nodded stiffly at them and stepped back to join Frankie. Harvey and Killian both received warm heartfelt goodbyes from their parents, being the eldest sons they were golden children among their families. Mary on the other hand didn’t even say goodbye to her mother and father. They had said all they had needed to say the night prior: “Come back with a dragon, or don’t come back at all.” and she took it personally. She wouldn’t fail them, or the village. She would be victorious if it were the last thing she did. Once the boys finished they all turned and left, the village was rowdy once more with screaming and cheering as they marched down the narrow path out of the village. 

“So what’s the plan, when should we split?” Killian asked as he tugged on his pack. 

“I’m going north this time.” Mary said as they picked their way down the mountain as they had exactly a year prior. 

“As am I.” Killian said eagerly, Mary rolled her eyes, but secretly she was glad to have a companion to travel with for a bit longer. 

“I was going to head North east this time.” Frankie said thoughtfully as she tilted her head back to catch the morning breeze. 

“I’m heading south once more.” Harvey said with a heavy sigh, he had been hell bent on finding a fire type dragon, while Mary was set on an arctic, Killian and Meave had no preference. But Frankie wanted an earth type dragon, one that dwelled in the forest and was one with it’s environment. She had heard legends from small villages in the north east of such a beast, one that lived in a cave deep in the woods. 

“Still set on that fire type?” Meave asked as she adjusted her own pack on her back. 

“Aye, I just know that I’m close to finding it.” Harvey said excitedly, his eyes shining. 

“I’ll come with you, southbound I mean… I still haven’t a clue which type is for me.” Meave said, her face a bit grim at the thought of her dragon. 

“Maybe I’ll go with you Frankie… Now that I think about it I heard a rumor that there was a beast in the mountains out east.” Killian said thoughtfully. Frankie nodded, she had heard the rumor too, but had no interest in an air type like Killian did, besides, rock climbing was not her forte. 

“Ah so the three of us can travel north and branch off at Balivack.” Frankie said, reaching into her pack for her map, the rough sketch of the continent and the major cities were laid out before her. Killian leaned over her shoulder and clicked his tongue. 

“It’ll be difficult to maneuver around those large cities, we’ll need to keep a very low profile.” Killian said, a frown on his lips. Frankie nodded in agreement, her eyes trained on the large forest that laid beyond the cities. It was one of the last untouched areas of forest on the continent. She vaguely recalled overhearing some low ranked soldiers saying that the queen was aiming to tame the land, if that were true then dragons days were truly numbered. 

The forest had proved to be a haven for dragons and other mythical creatures. Thomas had found his dragon in that wood two years prior, he’d been the only survivor among his fellow seekers. 

“Aye, it can be done.” Frankie said thoughtfully, she passed the map to Killian who held it up in the early morning light. 

“If we make good time we could even visit the seaside, never know if there will be a basking water type.” Killian hummed, tapping a finger on the coast line before passing the map on to Mary. 

“It’ll be straight north for me, I was so close to finding an ice type last fall.” Her voice took on a determined tone as she passed the map on to Meave who scoffed and passed it directly to Harvey. 

“The southern dessert and the wasteland will be my first stops.” He said proudly as he rolled the map back up and passed it back to Frankie who shoved it back into her bag. 

“Well we should reach the base of the mountain in an hour is we keep up this pace.” Frankie sighed as she turned to look at the trees as they walked past.

“With any luck.” Mary huffed with a roll of her icy eyes. 

Sure enough in an hour's time the teens had made it to the base of the massive mountain. Frankie shifted uncomfortably, anxious to be on her way. Killian was sending longing glances at Meave, who was double checking her supplies. Killian finally stepped over and enveloped her in his arms. Harvey nodded at Frankie, his eyes soft. Frankie knew that he wanted to hug her but she had no intent on allowing him to. Killian pulled away from Meave who looked up at him with wide eyes as he turned to rejoin Frankie. 

“Wait.” Maeve said walking over to Killian. She took off the small woven bracelet that was on her wrist. Killian held out his wrist, she gently wrapped and tied the bracelet around his outstretched arm and looked up at him. He embraced her again in a tight hug. 

“You’re not weak. You can do this.” Killian whispered into the girl's ear. She gave him a soft peck on his cheek but didn’t say anything. Deep down she knew something they didn’t. The young girl walked back over to Harvey who still was studying the map.

“Be safe guys.” Maeve said, looking between each of her companions. 

“Ready?” Harvey asked, putting the map in his satchel. The young girl nodded. The teens shared one last glance, a somber fog falling over them as they examined one another one last time. Mary was the first to break the tense silence, not with words but with her footsteps, her feet crunched on the ground as she retreated into the forest. Frankie nodded at Harvey, who mouthed, ‘Be careful’ before she turned and followed after Mary. Killian was close behind her, his neck craning to watch Meave and Harvey as they departed. Meave waved with a teary smile and Killian smiled sadly before turning to face forward. Harvey patted the girls shoulder before turning and trudging into the dense forest ahead. 

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - The Delta Paradox. Chapter 1: Deceit

Rumor is the outbreak spreading like fire around the world is somehow Dr. Morbius’ fault: people turned into monsters after getting bitten by the ones already ravaged beyond the irreversible mutation. The last news broadcasted four months ago suggested not all creatures are mindless beasts, a few might still remember who they are and The Joker is about to find out if the story is true.

“Dad…” you whisper and point at the box on the shelves. “I found some peas.”

The Joker turns around and silently walks your way, signaling you to fill up your backpack while he patiently waits for his turn.

The King of Gotham and his 23 year old daughter are scavenging the convenience store on Halsey Street for supplies: food was running low and they had to come out of the bunker in order to acquire basic necessities.

It’s hard to see in the darkness with the tiniest flashlight since they can’t risk being detected.

“Did you find water?” you mumble under your breath.

“No.”

“Dammit, we only have six bottles left,” you sigh, upset at his disclosure. “Should we raid the mall too?”

The Joker covers your mouth, carefully listening.

You can’t discern much until an unnerving screech echoes in the air followed by others in the next second.

“Ssstttt,” J removes the restrain and you clutch to his arm, scared to death.

“Dad…”, you gulp at the commotion happening in the distance: the creatures are probably hunting and you are not willing to become the prey.

“What do we do?” you barely utter and The Clown shakes his head, worried.

“Let’s use the sewers entrance by the dumpster to make it passed the dangerous radius; it’s still open from last time we were here.”

“Ok…” Y/N quietly agrees.

J adds the rest of the containers to his rucksack and lifts it up when he accidentally knocks off a light bulb: the fragile glass shatters to pieces and the two of you stare at each other terrified for a few moments.

The turmoil outside immediately intensifies as The Joker urges:

“Run!”

The panicked Y/N follows her father and she can’t even hear what he’s saying over the deafening roars that seem to come from above the building. Suddenly, the mad man turns and gives you a violent push against the loading dock exit; it’s so unexpected you stumble and before you have the possibility to process what’s going on, J locks it.

“Dad?!” your eyes pop at the small, broken window just to distinguish him backing away. “Dad?!” you start crying. “What are you doing?! Let me in!” The Princess pleads with her parent.

The Joker bites his lip, conflicted at his desire to survive no matter the cost: even if the price to pay is his own daughter.

“Daddy?!” Y/N sobs, petrified at his behavior. “Please?...”

“Better you than me,” he grumbles and runs in the opposite direction, covering his ears when your screams reach him. J rushes out of the shop and drops in the sewer, three monsters already on his trail attempting to grab him; yet they fail because thankfully these beasts are so much larger than the humans they used to be: they can’t fit through the narrow gap The Joker used.

Your father keeps navigating the convoluted catacombs in the darkness while the dim flashlight fails to warn him of the obstacle floating in front of him. He staggers on the dead dog and plunges in the disgusting waters, instantly resurfacing after the initial shock of how bad it stinks. J crawls to near the concrete wall, panting up a storm succeeding the whole ordeal and it hits him: Y/N didn’t pursue.

How could she? The Clown sacrificed his daughter in order to save himself and her agony still resonate in his mind. She was brutally ambushed without any chance of escaping her fate: The Joker made sure of that when he forced her out of the mini-market.

The same daughter that came back for him at the Penthouse when it was clear things are going downhill - no other gang member ever returned; the same daughter that accompanied him in their perilous searching trips as it all went to shit; the same daughter that took care of him when he got sick in the bunker and risked her life in order to bring her father antibiotics; the same daughter that was the only family he had left on this God forsaken planet.

And now she’s gone.

The Joker is all alone like he was always meant to be: nothing can withstand his poison.

**************

8 Months Later

The King of Gotham sneaks in the blackness with precious cargo: tonight was a lucky one. He found soda, crackers and peanuts at a vending machine inside the mall. The road to the bunker is not a short one and he has to be alert; food is scarce and each time he has to venture further and further to find needed items which is why he’s still roaming at this late hour.

Surprisingly calm atmosphere in this neighborhood; J saw a lot of creatures on McCormick Avenue and then an infested Main Boulevard made him backtrack and take this path. It was the correct call because his progress has been steady: moving in shadows has developed into a skillful talent.

He abruptly stops noticing movement blocking his route West of 5th Street. The Joker had no idea it’s swarming with the infected also.

J barely notices something splattering at his feet and freezes: it’s difficult to discern what it is but he has a vague concept. He looks up only to see one of the winged scouts landing on the broken light pole whilst drooling and sniffing the air. The Joker’s body is stiff, his senses sharpened to the maximum: what is he supposed to do? Try to leave? That’s an enormous risk and motion could unleash a chain reaction among the beasts if the one above identifies the helpless individual. Stay? The threat would be equally menacing.

The high pitch snarl belched by the demon’s throat makes him inhale in fear: was he spotted? Or is this merely a power display from the crazed predator?

The Joker feels there’s something behind him and before he can act a sharp pain in his forearm makes him yell. Another bite in his leg makes him lose balance and he collapses to the ground, unable to defend himself from the hoard. The burning sensation is taking over completely: the creatures tear his flesh apart and he passes out without having the strength to shout for help anymore.

*************

The Clown opens his eyes and rapidly blinks since the sunlight is hard to endure.

“Ugh…” he groans and rolls on his side on the concrete pavement.

Everything hurts, including the brain: it’s as if someone drilled holes and he can’t concentrate or form thoughts.

He aims to lift his torso off the walkway unsure why it’s strenuous to accomplish such a simple task; J doesn’t register the reason why is the different anatomy he now has: scaly, gray skin, long, distorted arms with sharp claws, inverted knees and membranous toes. The wings certainly don’t add to his ability to sport the same agility he was blessed with while still a person.

He finally manages to gather himself up, surprised to experience an odd sensation: The Joker is so much taller after his mutation and everything crushes down once the hideous reflection shown in the partially broken glass belonging to “Macy’s” department store glares back at him.

“Ahhh!” J blurs out alongside an uncanny roar emerging from his transmuted vocal cords. The frantic sound gets the attention of beasts in his vicinity, then they ignore him because he’s one of them.

“Fuck…” he mumbles in disbelief at their reaction, grateful they didn’t attack.  

The Joker’s raspy breath scores big with a creature nearby though.

Apparently a female due to her red orbs, she’s approaching the former human with a certain restrain.

The Joker would love to bail: unless he can control the horror of what’s happening to him in a few moments, he might get out of there in one piece.

The curious monster is inches away and J had nothing better to do than articulate:

“… Do you… understand me?”

“Grrrrrrr…” the female sneers, unraveling her fangs.

“Y/N… is that…is that you?” The Joker tosses the question out there for the lack of a better plan.

No answer, just a low howl that makes a few males digging in rubble unhappy: why is the group’s favorite displaying interest in the newcomer?

They shriek and emerge more and more agitated, drawing the attention of others in the proximity. The displeased attitude seems to elevate the mood in a negative direction to the point of having a large flock landing on the same street too.

“Crap…” The Joker assesses his situation and it’s not good. “Shoo!” he gently gives the female a nudge and she coos as her distorted fingers touch his grotesque face. Nevertheless, her gesture unlocks the gates of hell: the female’s keen dart towards the unfortunate Clown with the sole purpose of finishing him off. Competition is not tolerated from a rookie and that’s how The Joker is perceived by the mindless crowd--a threat to the hierarchy.

A loud, eerie scream covering all others makes the murderous bunch halt in their tracks: a humongous female leading the group that arrived moments ago is making them retreat. She keeps shoving them and growling while followed by a huge specimen: definitely The Alpha Male with his yellow eyes and dominant figure that don’t allow disobedience.

The party showing The Joker affection gives up on her advances as you stand in front of your father, not necessarily excited about the encounter.

“Dad?...” you smell the air out of habit.

“… … Y… Y/N?... …” The Joker stammers at the inexplicable revelation. “You… You’re alive??!!”

“If you consider this being alive.”

“Delta, we have to go soon!” one of your fighters announces. “They might snap again!”

Your parent is baffled and you bother to enlighten him a bit:

“I’m part of a coven made of turned humans still self-aware. You’re lucky we flew by and saw you. I felt you were born but I didn’t know it was you until I sniffed you. I wished I knew so I won’t waste my time!!!!” the bitter statement brings to life past memories. “Let’s go!” you raise your voice.

“We’re not taking him with us?!” The Alpha Male inquires, baffled. “He’s self -aware!”

“Trust me, we don’t need someone like him amidst us!” you spread your wings and prepare to fly.

“Y/N… “ The Joker gulps. “Can I come?... Please?... I don’t want to die here.”

Y/N ignores his plea and angrily replies:

“Better you than me!”

How can he justify his behavior in these circumstances? It’s impossible to request forgiveness when you’re at an obvious loss regarding your daughter.

“I’m sorry I did what I did, ok… Pumpkin?”

“I am NOT your Pumpkin!! I am Delta!!!” Y/N mutters.

“Huh?” the clueless King inquires and your obvious disapproval suggests you hate where the conversation is headed.

“Delta is more valuable than any of us and we must protect her at all costs until we find Morbius,” one of your companions gives away details you don’t care your father knowing about. “She can do incredible…”

“Enough!!” you cut him off. “We’re leaving!”

“What… what things?...” The Joker attempts to distract you from the imminent departure.  

“None of your business!” you float in the air, the other 40 sets of wings following you while he is left behind with the horde that made him an outcast: brainless monsters already clustering around once more in order to punish his transgression.

“Hey!!!” The Alpha Male glides on top of The Joker. “Delta said you can come!”

“Really?” hope flourishes in his heart.

“Hurry up before they shred you to pieces!”

“I don’t know how to fly!” J shouts.

“Don’t be an idiot! Move your shoulder blades!”

Your father would normally go ballistic at such affront but he actually ignores the disrespectful sentence due to the insane events leading to today’s reunion.

What other choice does he have besides taking advantage of this unique opportunity?

The Joker clumsily bumps into a trash bin and finally ascends towards the blue skies trying to keep up with the flock.

His daughter might be a mystery now but one thing is undeniable: he would rather suffer a thousand deaths before abandoning her again.

 Also read: Masterlist

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho

[monster-bait]

Hi, do you have any tips for someone starting out who would like to make money off my own writing. I think I may use patreon, and self publish, I Mainly write Poto Leroux and would like to take request for original fiction, but I have a very small following and am put off sharing my work because I'm afraid not many people will see/read it. Sorry for the really long ask but if you have any tips and/or advise that would be greatly appreciated.

Oh wow, I don’t know where you guys got it into your heads that I’m any good at making money, lol!

Soooo...first off, I’m far from a publishing professional and I’ve only had my own Patreon up and running since September, so I’m a questionable authority at best. 

I can only speak to my own experience and schedule, and time tends to be my most limited commodity, so I put a lot of thought into considering what I was and was not willing to commit to my Patrons each month, and for how many patrons I was willing/able to make that commitment. My patrons are guaranteed to receive one (1) exclusive story between 5-10k words a month, in addition to exclusive viewership of my multi-chapter work. Since that’s not an insignificant time commitment, in addition to commissions, side projects, and real life responsibilities, ensuring I had an audience first was a priority, because it’s *not* a time commitment I’m willing to make for 3 people. (Even though I’d be supremely grateful to @thelampades and two others regardless. 😜)

Since you’re specifically asking about monetizing, I’ll be blunt: if you don’t put the work in to build a readership, you’re not going to see much financial return. Now, that’s absolutely not an indictment of your work. That’s simply the nature of commerce and marketing: people won’t buy what they don’t know exists. This is especially true for what they’re willing to pay for, particularity when fanfic is free. If transformative fanwork is what you’re writing, then you already know the market is crowded. 

I would ask yourself why you’re unwilling to share your work now, when you also want to make money from it. (I don’t mean give everything away for free, but presumably there’s going to be considerable overlap with the audience with whom you’re currently not sharing and the audience you eventually want to buy your work.)

If you search my #writing woes tag, I’ve answered questions previously on how to build and sustain a following, and that would be my advice, if it’s advice you’re seeking.

As far as self publishing goes...people self-publish for myriad reasons—because they have a pet passion that’s under-represented, because they’re trying to launch an authoring career, because they simply want to own a book on their shelf with their name on it, etc, so your experience will depend on your motivations. @jamiepage19 has self published an absolutely lovely bit of poto fiction, so she would be a good resource to whom you could reach out! 

If you’re seeking to self-publish to make money, be prepared to spend money. Everything costs money. Covers, formatting, editing, advertising. But! Again, it depends on your expectations for “making money”. 

If you’re interested in selling a dozen copies to family and friends, KDP is completely free. If you are bringing your own audience to the table, it might mitigate some of the advertising need. You can edit your own work, you can make your own cover from free-use stock images, and your investment is minimal. 

If you’re looking to enter the realm of author as a career, it isn’t. The average spend for a self-published author is about $2k/book, including edits, cover, ISBN numbers if you’re selling anywhere other than KDP, and ad campaigns. 

I will say, if it’s fanwork you'd be publishing, because its so niche you’d have an easier time finding readership than authors of broad categories like murder mysteries or fantasy romance (OMG, I’m going to sell 3 books, what is wrong with meeeeeeeeeeee 😭) *Ahem.* People who read niche fiction tend to browse the whole list of offerings, so there’s that. But again...with writers like, say, Michelle Rodriguez out there, a known quantity with multiple POTO works and followers, the main thing separating someone from buying your book is going to be the unknown factor.

Bottom line: you’ve got to put yourself out there. It’s never easy to share something you’ve created, because it’s personal and it hurts to have it be overlooked or ignored or criticized, but that’s the nature of the beast. *Especially* if you want to monetize it. People should keep their opinions to themselves and move along with fanfic; if it’s something they’ve paid for? They have the right to pick it apart and review it and that means growing a relatively thick skin as a creator.

If you want to write original fiction, start doing it. Create a Writeblr side-blog to share, if you want to move away from the fandom aspect. If you’re asking me how to start writing original work, you just need to take a breath and do it. I left the poto fandom and fanwork in general about 2 years ago and I’ve never looked back or felt the need to, so don’t feel like you’re locked in place. There IS life after fandom, I promise.

(I could honestly write a small book about planning and executing a launch, because that’s actually what I did in my day job and it really grinds my gears the way people can be so utterly clueless in assuming they can flip on a light switch and the whole world will know about it...there are entire departments dedicated to product launches in every retailer in the world, so if/when you get to that point, feel free to ask questions!)

My advice is to start sharing! Not sharing because you’re worried about your writing being overlooked and then jumping to monetizing seems like a sure-fire way to become discouraged over a lukewarm reception. (Patreon has its own pitfalls to be prepared for even without the question of ‘will people find me’ looming over it.) Build a readership, even if it’s a small one. Small and loyal is just as important as large and transient. Keep your readership. Work on making you writing the best it can be. And good luck! Please don’t be afraid to hit me up again...I’d love a progress report, and I always reblog work I’m tagged in on my Bookshelf page.

Check out my #writing woes tag for more typo-riddled writing advice-type posts on navigating Tumblr as a creator and building an engaged audience!

Join my Patreon

[arcticdementor]

Media Twitter does not hate Substack because it’s pretending to be a platform when it’s a publisher; they don’t hate it because it’s filled with anti-woke white guys; they don’t hate it because of harassment or any such thing. I don’t think they really hate it at all. Substack is a small and ultimately not-very-relevant outpost in a vastly larger industry; they may not like it but it’s not important enough for them to hate it. What do they hate? They hate where their industry is and they hate where they are within their industry. But that’s a big problem that they don’t feel like they can solve. If you feel you can’t get mad at the industry that’s impoverishing you, it’s much easier to get mad at the people who you feel are unjustly succeeding in that industry. Trying to cancel Glenn Greenwald (again) because he criticizes the media harshly? Trying to tarnish Substack’s reputation so that cool, paid-up writer types leave it and the bad types like me get kicked off? That they can maybe do. Confronting their industry’s future with open eyes? Too scary, especially for people who were raised to see success as their birthright and have suddenly found that their degrees and their witheringly dry one-liners do not help them when the rent comes due.

…

Life in the “content” industry already sucks. A small handful of people make bank while the vast majority hustle relentlessly just to hold on to the meager pay they already receive. There are staff writers at big-name publications who produce thousands of words every week and who make less than $40,000 a year for their trouble. There are permanent employees of highly prestigious newspapers and magazines who don’t receive health insurance. Venues close all the time. Mourning another huge round of layoffs is a regular bonding experience for people in the industry. Writers have to constantly job hop just to try and grind out an extra $1,500 a year, making their whole lives permanent job interviews where they can’t risk offending their potential bosses and peers. Many of them dream of selling that book to save themselves financially, not seeming to understand that book advances have fallen 40% in 10 years - median figure now $6,080 - and that the odds of actually making back even that meager advance are slim, meaning most authors are making less than minimum wage from their books when you do the math. They have to tweet constantly for the good of their careers, or so they believe, which amounts to hundreds of hours of unpaid work a year. Their publications increasingly strong arm them into churning out pathetic pop-culture ephemera like listicles about the outfits on Wandavision. They live in fear of being the one to lose out when the next layoffs come and the game of media musical chairs spins up once again. They have to pretend to like ghouls like Ezra Klein and Jonah Peretti and make believe that there’s such a thing as “the Daily Beast reputation for excellence.”

I have always felt bad for them, despite our differences, because of these conditions. And they have a right to be angry. But they don’t have much in the way of self-awareness about where their anger really lies. A newsletter company hosting Bari Weiss is why you can’t pay your student loans? You sure?

They’ll tell you about the terrible conditions in their industry themselves, when they’re feeling honest. So what are they really mad about? That I’m making a really-just-decent guaranteed wage for just one year? Or that this decent wage is the kind of money many of them dream of making despite the fact that, in their minds, they’ve done everything right and played by all the rules? Is their anger really about a half-dozen guys whose writing you have to actively seek out to see? (If you click the button and put in your email address, you’ll get these newsletters. If you don’t, you won’t. So if you’re a media type who hates my writing, consider just… not clicking that button.) Or do they need someplace to put the rage and resentment that grows inside them as they realize, no, it’s not getting better, this is all I get?

It’s true that I have, in a very limited way, achieved the new American dream: getting a little bit of VC cash. I’m sorry. But it’s much much less than one half of what Felix Salmon was making in 2017 and again, it’s only for one year.

You think the writers complaining in that piece I linked to at the top wanted to be here, at this place in their career, after all those years of hustling? You think decades into their media career, the writers who decamped to Substack said to themselves “you know, I’d really like to be in my 40s and having to hope that enough people will pitch in $5 a month so I can pay my mortgage”? No. But the industry didn’t give them what they felt they deserved either. So they displace and project. They can hate Jesse Singal, but Jesse Singal isn’t where this burning anger is coming from. Neither am I. They’re so angry because they bought into a notoriously savage industry at the nadir of its labor conditions and were surprised to find that they’re drifting into middle age without anything resembling financial security. I feel for them as I feel for all people living economically precarious lives, but getting rid of Substack or any of its writers will not do anything to fix their industry or their jobs. They wanted more and they got less and it hurts. This isn’t what they dreamed. That’s what this is really about.

…

My own deal here is not mysterious. It’s just based on a fact that the blue checks on Twitter have never wanted to accept. I got offered money to write here for the same reason I got offered to write for The New York Times and Harper’s and The Washington Post and The LA Times, the same reason I’ve gotten a half-dozen invitations to pitch since I started here a few weeks ago, the same reason a literary agent sought me out and asked me to write a book, the same reason I sold that book for a decent advance: because I pull traffic. Though I am a social outcast from professional opinion writing, I have a better freelance publishing history than many, many of my critics who are paid-up, obedient members of the media social scene. Why? Because the editors who hired me thought I was a great guy? No. Because I pull traffic. I always have. That’s why you’re reading this on Substack right now.

…

A really important lesson to learn, in life, is this: your enemies are more honest about you than your friends ever will be. I’ve been telling the blue checks for over a decade that their industry was existentially fucked, that the all-advertising model was broken, that Google and Facebook would inevitably hoover up all the profit, that there are too many affluent kids fresh out of college just looking for a foothold in New York who’ll work for next to nothing and in doing so driving down the wages of everyone else, that their mockery of early subscription programs like Times Select was creating a disastrous industry expectation that asking your readers directly for money was embarrassing. Trump is gone and the news business is cratering. Michael Tracey didn’t make that happen. None of this anger will heal what’s wrong. If you get all of the people you don’t like fired from Substack tomorrow, what will change? How will your life improve? Greenwald will spend more time with his hottie husband and his beloved kids and his 6,000 dogs in his beautiful home in Rio. Glenn will be fine. How do we do the real work of getting you job security and a decent wage?

…

But how do things get better in that way? Only through real self-criticism (which Twitter makes impossible) and by asking hard questions. Questions like one that has not been credibly confronted a single time in this entire media meltdown: why are so many people subscribing to Substacks? What is the traditional media not providing that they’re seeking elsewhere? Why have half a million people signed up as paying subscribers of various Substack newsletters, if the establishment media is providing the diversity of viewpoints that is an absolute market requirement in a country with a vast diversity of opinions? You can try to make an adult determination about that question, to better understand what media is missing, or you can read this and write some shitty joke tweet while your industry burns to the ground around you. It’s your call.

Substack might fold tomorrow, but someone would else sell independent media; there’s a market. Substack might kick me and the rest of the unclean off of their platforms tomorrow, but other critics of social justice politics would pop up here; there’s a market. Establishment media’s takeover by this strange brand of academic identity politics might grow even more powerful, if that’s even possible, but dissenters will find a place to sell alternative opinion; there’s a market. What there might not be much of a market for anymore is, well, you - college educated, urban, upwardly striving if not economically improving, woke, ironic, and selling that wokeness and that irony as your only product. Because you flooded the market. Everyone in your entire industry is selling the exact same thing, tired sarcastic jokes and bleating righteousness about injustices they don’t suffer under themselves, and it’s not good in basic economic terms if you’re selling the same thing as everyone else. You add that on to structural problems within your business model and your utter subservience to a Silicon Valley that increasingly hates you, well…. I get why you’re mad. And I get that you don’t like me. But I’m not what you’re mad about. Not really.

In the span of a decade or so, essentially all professional media not explicitly branded as conservative has been taken over by a school of politics that emerged from humanities departments at elite universities and began colonizing the college educated through social media. Those politics are obscure, they are confusing, they are socially and culturally extreme, they are expressed in a bizarre vocabulary, they are deeply alienating to many, and they are very unpopular by any definition. The vast majority of the country is not woke, including the vast majority of women and people of color. How could it possibly be healthy for the entire media industry to be captured by any single niche political movement, let alone one that nobody likes? Why does no one in media seem willing to have an honest, uncomfortable conversation about the near-total takeover of their industry by a fringe ideology?

And the bizarre assumption of almost everyone in media seems to have been that they could adopt this brand of extreme niche politics, in mass, as an industry, and treat those politics as a crusade that trumps every other journalistic value, with no professional or economic consequences. They seem to have thought that Americans were just going to swallow it; they seem to have thought they could paint most of the country as vicious bigots and that their audiences would just come along for the ride. They haven’t. In fact Republicans are making great hay of the collapse of the media into pure unapologetic advocacy journalism. Some people are turning to alternative media to find options that are neither reactionary ideologues or self-righteous woke yelling. Can you blame them? Substack didn’t create this dynamic, and neither did I. The exact same media people who are so angry about Substack did, when they abandoned any pretense to serving the entire country and decided that their only job was to advance a political cause that most ordinary people, of any gender or race, find alienating and wrong. So maybe try and look at where your problems actually come from. They’re not going away.

Now steel yourselves, media people, take a shot of something strong, look yourself in the eye in the mirror, summon you most honest self, and tell me: am I wrong?

[animus-inspire-archive]

Tell me more about your Midgar Sector headcanons!!! :O

Before the Plate was formed and town histories erased, Shinra Manufacturing Works moved into Midgar. A region that was separated into 8 townships that relied on each other to form a wider collective.

Galera || Sector 1

Includes the area where the Shinra Tower was built (Sector Zero) - selected because of its rich mako deposits. There were whole sequences of materia caves that reached deep underground, including interior lakes, some of which had dried up to form intricate crystalline formations. 

This is where a basic prototype reactor was installed, that was the same as the one made in Nibelheim. Both needed to be in a place of very high mako density for them to be even to generate a small amount of electricity, but it was enough to start the reliance from the small towns, and fuel the large scale manufacturing of Midgar the City that started in 1976.

Was not a predominant residential town as there were too many beasts attracted to the surface via the caves.

Arnafell || Sector 5

An important town within the Midgar boundaries, one that was predominantly agricultural due to the wide variety of plants that could be found there. 

Several new species of plants were discovered by the fledgling scientific department in Shinra, including those that were researched and synthesised into potions and remedies (as well as several psychotropics and stimulants).

The Arnafell Church was a community centre as much as a place of worship. People met there to eat/drink/share stories and dances were held there. It is also the place that Shinra first commandeered in order to hold their first official Board Meetings - because nothing says power like taking over a place of worship in order to usher in the new era of Mako and capitalism. 

Burfell || Sector 6

A large plateau with natural boundary lines that was formed by an eruption. This was the sector that Shinra first moved most of their employees into. It quickly became too crowded, and the residents resented the influx of people, causing some conflicts. (Enforced) relocations spilled over to Brenning predominantly but also Laxard and Hafur. 

Brenning || Sector 7

A well balanced township, that accommodated the influx of people much better than Burfell and Hafur. A bit of a melting pot, with a good atmosphere. It did however get stretched to its absolute limits eventually, leading to a significant decline in housing stock. (In a case of history being perversely ironic, to bren means to burn or to set ablaze).

Hafur || Sector 8 

Was a quiet township, with very few residents. This soon changed in the spillover from Burfell. Was the first Sector to have development infrastructure tested above it, resulting in a freakishly high mortality rate (per % residents). 

Mydair || Sector 4

A township that ran on trading fundamentally. The Mydair Markets attracted people from all the surrounding towns and beyond (such as Junon fisherman) either as vendors and suppliers, or as customers. The place to be on Saturday and Wednesday.  

Laxard || Sector 3:

Actually encompassed a fast-flowing section of river that was being used in hydroelectrics. The hydroelectric dam got destroyed in what was probably one of the Dept of Administrative Research missions, and river diverted further upstream back towards the sea, or drained in large sections. Then it became predominantly a residential area. 

Skalmarn || Sector 2:

Rich in mineral ores and metal veins. It was a predominantly mining and industrial town. Residents in this township welcomed Shinra in with open arms, and many became employees in their own right. Particularly in engineering disciplines for both weapons manufacture and city planning.  

Midgar development:

His Father had been a junior architect who had come up with the idea of a plate to reduce the issues regarding over population in the towns. 

However Reinhardt’s vision was 8 individual garden / habitation plates above each town, interlinked in a honeycomb lattice section with mono-rails joining them together. It was not sustainable nor cheap.

Reinhardt was forced into retirement on the basis of medical grounds the year before Reeve was born.

Construction of the city started in 1976, when Reeve was 4yo

However he was remarkably precocious and stole a ride into Midgar via Veld when he was but four and a half years old. 

There he briefly met Vincent Valentine and stopped a reconnaissance plot where someone was using an automaton doll in the shape of a bird to get into the levels of the tower that had already been built. 

He was still a child when he started researching Mako Energy that had been put into place several years before he was born. 

Shinra really had no qualms about exploiting children.

This is another reason why Reeve feels so strongly when Denzel approaches him to join the W.R.O.

He takes an internship with Shinra whilst he studied, submitting the designs to the Mako Reactors and full plate construction circa 1990 when he was 17/8yo. 

The Reactors were then built in places like Corel, Gongaga, Fort Condor.

During the events of Crisis Core and the Wutai War certain sectors are shown to still be under construction.

Sector 4 is the last sector scheduled for construction. 

Most of Midgar is completed by the events of OGC/Remake. However Sector 6 is destroyed during the summoning of Zirconaide in Before Crisis. 

Mako Reactors 1 and 5 are destroyed, then Sector 7 plate is dropped and Meteorfall finishes the job completely

[gegenji]

A Minute Movement of Masks and Monsters

There was a bit of a sickening crick as Tsunene finally got up from her work and forcibly popped the stiffness out of her back. A sound that echoed a bit over-loud in the chamber she had been toiling in. A chamber that - while a few degrees less cramped than the musty cell she had been in not all that long ago - still felt a bit like a prison.

The reasoning for that was a bit complicated, of course, since it was technically different from those prior arrangements. She was... relatively free to come and go as she pleased, though she always had the strange suspicion whenever she did depart that some manner of eyes were on her at all times. And, as was promised, the facilities were decently well stocked for her purposes. Purposes that were at the behest of her strange benefactor, rather than her own desired goals.

And that was honestly the rub of the whole situation: she had wanted to make super-soldiers off of this strange and potentially profitable discovery she had all but been handed as an act of providence. She had planned to amass wealth and fame and power with her alchemical genius in deciphering the mystery and replicating its results. Not be stuck in relative obscurity, limited to trying to create the next big gimmick for the brutes of the Bloodsands to throw themselves at.

Though, to be fair, she argued with herself as she idly cracked each finger joint individually, this was still technically better than the alternatives. The idea of having a wealthy patron to fund her experiments and developments was not something she could so easily dismiss out of hand. And even being stuck doing this sort of... alchemical grunt-work was infinitely preferable to withering away in a Flames jail cell. Or, worse, having to fight it out on the Bloodsands like her former assistant D'lilac.

D'lilac who - thanks to Tsunene's gift, of course - was doing quite well on that front. An up-and-coming rising star of the gladiatorial world with a "special technique" that was "surprising, entertaining, and enticingly powerful." Or, at least, that's what all the posters about her liked to proclaim. Posters likely manufactured by that selfsame patron and benefactor.

While the alchemical genius herself was stuck huddling over beakers. Seeking to replicate some variation of the formula from sheer memory and experimentation to meet with the ever-rising standards her one successful test subject was setting. Which was certainly moving faster than Tsunene's progress. The lady Plainsfolk had managed some interesting results on the test beasts that had been provided to her, but given all the positive buzz the 'Legendary Leozaru' or whatever was getting... they didn't seem quite good enough.

It figured, Tsunene noted with an irritated sigh, that her troublesome assistant continued to make things more difficult for the lady Plainsfolk even in her successes.

All of this added up to just one thing: that it was definitely time to step away from the alchemical table and get some fresh air. Clear her head and indulge in what little freedoms she did have, comparatively. And perhaps in some of those delectable pastries from down in the markets. If she was going to be observed while out and about, she might as well be observed enjoying something sweet.

... Or that had been the plan, anyway. Tsunene had only made it halfway up the staircase that went from her alchemical workshop to the door when the latter creaked open and her way was figuratively and quite literally blocked by the hulking form of Swyrkhan. The Roegadyn wearing one of his apparently massive collection of similar-looking pinstripe vests. This one having the audacity of being a bright yellow - as if mocking the lady Lalafell with the color of the sunlight she was being denied at the moment.

And it got only more problematic from there, because the big lug wasn't alone. Moving in a dramatically sharp movement that Tsunene thought - or perhaps hoped - would've sent the lumbering behemoth tumbling over the railing to the floor below, Swyrkhan sidestepped to give way to the lady Lalafell's second guest.

None other than her ‘illustrious’ patron himself: "Master Hohoyahu."

As the name suggested, the man in question was a Lalafell like herself - Dunesfolk rather than Plainsfolk - and to stick to more... polite adjectives in order to describe him, Tsunene would likely go with "eccentric." After all, a man whose only constant was the black-and-white jester's mask on his face while everything else from clothing to hair to even eye color seemed to change at whim every time she saw him could hardly be considered "normal." And that was before one got caught in conversation with him. Something that Tsunene had a sinking feeling was an inevitability now.

"Ah, there's my masterful alchemist!" the masked Dunesfolk announced in a voice that somehow seemed to be even more bombastic than Swyrkhan's. And the Roe already seemed to speak as if he were on a stage rather than in a normal conversation. Hohoyahu paused only long enough for the echo in the chambers to begin to fade before he continued right on. "I do hope this sun has been most agreeable for your research!"

"'Twould be far more fortuitous if I was free to fetch myself some food," Tsunene grumbled quietly, deigning to not reveal that this was for sweets. And quietly hoping that presenting the need to eat in a more vague sense would allow her to escape. A hope that was quickly dashed.

"Now now now, sustenance can wait for just a minute or two, can it not?" Hohoyahu countered, waggling his finger - an action Swyrkhan mimicked, which only made the motion all the more irritating to Tsunene. They were like some sort of deranged buddy act. "After all, I have so graciously come to see what progress you have made for me! With D'lilac making such wonderful waves, the audience is ready and willing to see what else we can bring!"

"Progress plods, as per what I have perpetually presented in those superfluous reports I pen for you," the alchemist stated flatly. "Seeking to synthesize the solution from scratch without source material - let alone make modifications for your 'marketable monsters'  - is not an act I can accomplish with any sort of alacrity."

"Now now now!" came the counter, in the exact same cadence and pitch as before. "We both know you have quite the mind in there." He was in front of Tsunene in a quick flourish of a step that her eyes could only barely follow and... actively knocked on her head as if it was made of wood. "I'm sure you must have something to show for your work thus far!"

Tsunene stumbled back a couple steps, rubbing at the bruise she was absolutely sure was forming where her erratic patron had rapped on her skull. "I can present the potion I have prepared thus far, sussed using sanguine samples from your supposed celebrity," she relented, motioning stiffly back down the stairs. "But I offer no promises as to its potency. Instead, it has proved... problematic."

"Intriguing!" Hohoyahu stated with a sharp clap of his hands before motioning for her to proceed on ahead of him. "Let us go and take a look then, shall we? I'm absolutely certain that together we can solve whatever problems you're having!"

“... Delightful.”

“Indeed!”

A forcefully swallowed sigh, and Tsunene started her slow trek back down the stairs - her dreams of pastries on hold until she had sufficiently placated her patron. To hurry that process, she began her explanation once she heard Hohoyahu and his manservant following behind. Which wasn't too difficult, given the sharp clack of their shoes on the stone of the staircase. She wouldn'tve been surprised if they were wearing tap shoes or something - they seemed the sort.

"Given my former fellow's... feline features, I figured that the first flagship should be of similar stock," she explained matter-of-factually as she descended. "Her tincture turned her towards that... more primal state. So it stood that solutions sourced from her should show similar results..."

"And that's why you requested the couerl kitten!" Hohoyahu chimed in with another clap of his hands that neatly interrupted Tsunene's train of thought. "I knew there was a reason for that one."

"Impeccably deduced, sir. And lo, we provided as we said we would," Swyrkhan added with a grand spread of his hands. Or as much as he could without bashing one of them into the wall. "And many suns ago besides. So, Sunshine-" Tsunene frowned at the nickname. "-whatever happened to that illustrious little test subject?"

"Suns spent ensuring the subject wouldn't simply... succumb to an untested solution!" the lady Plainsfolk snapped, pausing on the bottom-most step and whirling around on the Roegadyn. She paused to collect herself - not willing to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her flustered - and adjusted her glasses. "I am a professional, not a poisoner."

“So! No... catdavers, then,” Hohoyahu interjected, forcing Tsunene to swallow a groan this time as her patron made a dramatic bow for his horrendous wordplay.

“No... sir...” The sarcasm dripped despite her best attempts to restrain it, and she moved to a holding cell set in the wall. Well away from everything else, for good reason. “Not as such.”

A click, and Tsunene pulled open the door and motioned inside. Inviting them in. “She has a...” She groaned a little before continuing. “Stormy disposition. So step lightly.”

“There we go, Sunshine!” Swyrkhan applauded. “By the Twelve, we might even see a smile from you at some point!”

“Unlikely.”

Hohoyahu merely laughed behind his mask, and strode through the door without nary a care in the world. And then there was a brilliant flash as a bolt of lightning crackled out from the darkness of the cell, striking where the bombastic Lalafell stood.

Or where he had been standing. There was a blackened mark where he had been, but the Dunesfolk himself was mere ilms off to one side. And, for some inexplicable reason, in a pose.

Tsunene wasn’t quite sure which part of it assaulted her sensibilities more.

“My!” Hohoyahu gasped dramatically. “You certainly...”

Another bolt of lightning sidestepped, complete with new pose.

“Weren’t...”

And a third, with similar results as Hohoyahu twirled into a flourish on the third dodge.

“Kidding!”

As the eccentric Dunesfolk pressed further onward, Tsunene could only gape in disbelief before turning to the Roegadyn manservant who seemed completely unfazed by such antics. And only one word managed to escape her lips: “How?”

“Ah, but a true performer never reveals their secrets!” Swyrkhan countered, in a cadence that instantly identified the quote as something from Hohoyahu himself. Then, with a chuckle, the Roegadyn surprised her further by obliging with an actual answer. Of sorts. “Master Hohoyahu has always claimed to be able to see a couple steps ahead in the dance.”

“And such foresight somehow allows him to sidestep being struck by lightning!?”

“You created Miqo’te able to shapeshift into a beast,” Hohoyahu responded from a couple steps behind Tsunene, startling her with the suddenness. Whirling about gave her an even more audacious sight: a striped puffball was floating lazily and purring mere ilms above the masked Lalafell’s head. The static of the cloud-couerl kitten causing his hair to stand on end.

“I would’ve thought that brought with it a far more open mind,” he sighed grandly and shook his head, the action allowing some strands of hair to escape the static pull and drift back down into place. “Nevertheless, I rather like this one. Does she have a name?”

“... Subject C-1.”

“No no no!“ Hohoyahu countered with another waggle of his finger as the kitten made lazy circles around his head. “That will not do!“

He immediately pointed to Swyrkhan. “Dear, dear Swyr, you always seem to have a knack for names. If you would, please? Show her how it’s done.”

The Roegadyn folded his arms over his chest and let out a long, thoughtful sound. As if he were observing a grand painting in a museum. Stout fingers stroked a chiseled chin time and time again as the Sea Wolf pondered. And then, as if inspired by an aesthetically appropriate bolt from the blue...

“Mjeowlnir.”

“There we go!” Hohoyahu laughed with a clap of his hands, startling the newly named kitten - who sent out little sparks of lightning all over the place in her alarm. None of which hit the masked Lalafell, of course, but also fortunately did not travel far enough to strike the other two. Though Tsunene scampered back - and behind Swyrkhan to use him as a human shield - just in case.

“Well done, Swyr. A master of words, as always,” Hohoyahu continued, reaching up to scoop the floating fluffball into his arms. “Well, I think this delightful little prize is proof enough that you still have merit. I do look forward to what else you will create.” He started his way back up the stairs before pausing a couple steps up. “Preferably a little more monstrous next time, if you please.”

And then he continued his ascent, running his fingers through the frizzy floof of Mjeowlnir.

“Do make sure to take the Master’s suggestions to heart,” Swyrkhan added in an overly dramatic stage whisper, a hand over his mouth as if to direct the words only to Tsunene. “It is... in your best interests.”

With that enigmatic warning, the Sea Wolf followed after his patron - taking the steps three at a time to catch up to the smaller man - and leaving Tsunene still wondering what all had just happened. Though the few moments of almost deafening silence that followed after that bombastic duo had left didn’t help clear that question up any. Instead, it left the lady Lalafell wishing she was just dealing with D’lilac’s eccentricities again.

... and with a desire for something to drink to go along with that pastry.

[antiques-for-geeks]

Game Review: Beyond the Forbidden Forest

Cosmi / 1985 / C64

‘An archer took a stroll through the deep dark wood…’

With one eye firmly on Halloween, we’re going to review some games that used to make us breathe heavily, grasping our joysticks tightly in our sweaty palms…

Beyond the Forbidden Forest starts dramatically with flashes of lightning against a starlit sky. With every flash comes a crack of thunder from the C64’s SID sound chip, before the title of the game is revealed against the darkness. It’s obvious even at this point that the game's author, Paul Norman, was aiming for something much more cinematic than the average computer game of the era.

You start, alone, in an overgrown forest. You are an archer, sent to slay the dreaded Demogorgon, who legend says can only be killed by a golden arrow to the heart.

Your character occupies the middle of the screen. You can walk through the forest to the left and to the right. You can also walk into and out of the scene. Sometimes trees or bushes can obscure your view. There’s a primitive parallax scrolling effect so that the trees in the foreground move more quickly than those in the background, which could charitably be described as decent for the time.

There’s nowhere to actually ‘go’ in this game, and the forest isn’t there to be explored. You’re not really alone, you see. This forest is actually the scene of a desperate fight for survival.

The first creature you encounter is the scorpion. The scorpion will enter from the side of the screen and will rush straight at you. Like all this game's enemies, he gets his own special musical theme that plays during the encounter. This is where you run away! If he reaches your archer he’ll messily jab your organs out with his stinger, to the accompaniment of a kind of musical shrieking noise generated by the SID. Imagine something like a primitive version of the score that plays in Alfred Hitchcock's ‘Psycho’ when Janet Leigh gets stabbed in the shower. This game doesn’t pull any punches for its death scenes, that’s for sure.

It’s behind you!

Luckily your archer can defend himself with his bow. Hold down the fire button and you’ll stand in place, aiming around the scene. A grey indicator bar moves up and down showing the elevation of your shot. Simply let the fire button go again to let loose an arrow. As you might imagine, it’s hard to keep away from a scorpion who is intent on perforating your innards while also stopping to pepper it with arrows, but this retreat, aim and fire mechanic is all a part of the game’s charm.

Plug the scorpion a few times and you get presented with a golden arrow, which appears from a spinning orb after an overly long fanfare plays. These golden arrows are important; you need to collect at least 4 to progress to the next stage of the adventure, and they also act as your ‘lives’. Every time the archer is killed you lose half of the stash of golden arrows, until the game is over. You will get very tired of hearing the victory fanfare, I assure you.

The next foe you meet is a massive worm, who rises out of the ground at various places in the foreground and background. Let him rise too many times without hitting him and he’ll swallow you whole, reappearing to regurgitate the bow, along with a healthy fountain of archer blood.

After that is a giant mosquito, who darts around the sky. He only takes one hit, but is tricky to get a bead on. He’ll drink your juices like a milkshake if he gets a chance, leaving only a crumpled heap on the forest floor.

Last up is… some kind of demonic frog / crocodile thing… who’ll jump about unpredictably and will mash your body like a pub piano at closing time.

He’s hungry for your offal.

One nice touch is the way that the game shows the passage of time in the forest. The sun sets, and eventually night comes, with the colours of the trees and sky changing appropriately. The day to night cycle welded to the ability to move in and out of the scenery prompted Cosmi to market this game as having ‘OmniDimension 4D`. This was sadly typical of the shameless bullshit marketing departments would churn out in the 80’s.

Once these 4 different foes are defeated, it’s back to the scorpion again, in an effort to gather enough golden arrows for an assault on the caverns, which lie... beyond the forbidden forest. See? Although 4 arrows are technically enough to progress, you’ll want more than that to have a realistic shot at what comes next. To progress to the caverns, you have to to pause the game with F1 and then press F3. If you don’t do this the forest encounters repeat until you die or your patience runs out.

Once within the caverns you face off against 3 final foes.

The Bats: A group of bats flutter around the cave. One of them is a golden colour, and that’s the one you need to shoot. You only need one hit, but it’s flight is fast and unpredictable.

The Hydra: This four headed monstrosity fills the entire screen! Each head can shoot fire, and you’ve got to dodge about to land a hit on each one. Succeed and he’ll stop moving and turn to stone.

The Demogorgon: Squatting over a pit, this massive beast follows your movements with his head, shooting deadly bolts from his eyes that will disintegrate you instantly. Shoot him in his glowing heart to win the game and free the land from his evil!

I appear to have misplaced my skin.

Beyond the Forbidden Forest surely must be the most ‘‘Commodore 64ish’ game of all time.

Chunky blocky graphics? Very. Lots of muddy browns and muted greens? None muddier. Bone rattling soundtrack courtesy of the SID chip. All present here.

It was also creepy, atmospheric, and with all the sudden and violent deaths, really quite nasty… for a computer game of the 80’s at least.

Trivia

This is the sequel to ‘Forbidden Forest’, which is probably a bit better known and generally held in slightly higher regard (even by the game’s author). There was a third game in the series released in 2003 for Windows PC. It’s a third person 3D effort, which sadly looks pretty generic and uninteresting. There aren’t even any gory death scenes!

Playing it today

Only released on the C64, and copies are getting rarer. Easily emulated, but bear in mind that the function keys are important on this one.

Commentariat

Meat: This game could be the poster child for anyone who considers C64 graphics to be dull and unappealing, but behind the ugly front there’s a lot to admire here. The ‘gore’ is also hilarious! With the notable exception of the head chopping in Palace Software’s ‘Barbarian’, games of the era were very timid in their depictions of graphic violence. I guess this is about as close as we were going to get to a survival horror game in the 80’s...

Pop: I got this one on a magazine cover tape, and was immediately hooked on its strange atmosphere, shocks and gory death scenes. I was a latecomer to the C64, and by that point these graphics really looked like a dog’s dinner. Despite that I still found myself playing this game quite a bit. Aiming the bow at enemies in the foreground and background feels a little tricky initially, but it can be mastered. My main issue now is how long the player resurrection and golden arrow presentation scenes take. Skipping repetitive cutscenes was a luxury you were so rarely afforded in those days.

Sadly I never went ‘beyond’ the forest, because I didn’t have a clue that the keyboard was required to progress to the next stage of the game.

Score card

Presentation 8/10

Starting with the fantastic cinematic introduction screen, this is a game that goes the extra mile to involve the player in its world. There’s even a proper ending sequence with its own musical theme. The various versions of box artwork are all, however, distinctly amateurish.

Originality 8/10

Made before all games started to look and feel the same, this is obviously the work of a single individual. It doesn’t look, sound or play like any other game of the time… except perhaps for its own prequel.

Graphics 6/10

Undeniably ugly, blocky, untidy and muddy. Also somehow atmospheric and appealing. The screen filling hydra is a pretty impressive piece of work for the time. Gets an extra point for splashing the pixelated claret about.

Hookability 7/10

From the first moment the scorpion scuttles over and messes you up with its stabber you’ll either want to see what other horrible fates await you in the forest… or switch the computer off in disgust.

Sound 9/10

A series of memorable tunes, played by the C64’s SID chip in the style of a demented horror film organ. Though it’s somewhat crude, few soundtracks at the time were better suited to the on-screen action.

Lastability 7/10

It takes some time to get used to hitting the different foes with your arrows, but there are ultimately only 7 different types of enemy to face in this game. Despite that, it puts up a decent challenge, and you'll want to make it to the caverns to see what horrors are lurking in the darkness.

Overall 7/10

A game with plenty of quirks and flaws, which it overcomes by sheer force of personality.

[heartslogos]

executive assistant to the batman [45]

Dick stops talking mid-sentence as soon as he steps off of the elevator, face moving from calm to panicked so fast you’d think he’d never experienced any kind of turbulence in his life. Jason would be alarmed at that kind of panic, but this is Wayne Enterprises, so it kind of fits in.

While Jason should be concerned that Nightwing looks so worried, and should probably get ready to throw down, Dick Grayson looking worried in the context of W.E. is a totally different beast altogether. Jason should still be ready to throw down, but he should also be ready to attempt to blend into the wall and hope he gets forgotten. Or just get ready to witness something that enters the realm of the absurd.

Someting like —

“Oh, holy shit.”

“What happened?!?”

Jason immediately stops the area out, shoulders tensing.

Dick rushes over to Drake. Fox is standing next to him, looking like someone just pronounced him dead on the spot, and one of the W.E. medics is checking his pulse while the man holds an oxygen mask to his face.

Jason does not want to know what could possibly exist that could knock Timothy Drake into a panic attack. He didn’t know it was possible for the guy to feel fear. Jason is pretty sure that Fear feels Tim Drake.

“The phones,” Drake wheezes.

“The phones?”

“They’re…”

“The phones are?” Dick prompts. “The phones are down?”

“No,” Fox says, hand on Drake’s shoulder as she shakes her head, “They’re up.”

Drake wheezes as he closes his eyes. He looks like a corpse freshly pulled out of the bay. He raises the hand not holding onto the oxygen mask and weakly gestures towards his computer.

Jason goes over, walking around the desk, grimacing. Drake’s email is open and it’s literal non-stop notifications about missed voice mails. The phone itself isn’t ringing, everything is just going straight to voice mail and triggering an email alert for missed calls.

Three separate alerts pop up at once.

“Jesus,” Jason says, “Since when were you popular?”

“Mask on,” the medic and Fox both say when Drake glares, attempting to pull the mask back so he can reply. “You fainted.”

“You what?” Dick’s alarm goes up two whole degrees, “Go home.”

Drake’s glare moves from Jason to Dick as he points again at the computer.

“What, are you going to call all these people back? Who are these people, anyway?” Jason asks.

“A variety of people,” Fox answers. “Reporters, vendors, suppliers, outside contractors, various people who call our general line for information or access to services.”

“And what, they can’t call our customer support line?”

Drake lets out a death rattle that wouldn’t be out of place on a ninety year old smoker who lived through the bombing of a city with lung cancer.

“Think in prime numbers,” the medic suggests. “Count backwards from a thousand by subtracting nine or seven. Stare on a single point on the floor and let your eyes unfocus. Don’t take the oxygen mask off.”

“Someone,” Fox says darkly, a real threat of horrible ruin in her voice, “Someone changed our phone lines. Corporate is linked with our general eight hundred number. And Tim’s number somehow got linked into the phone queue system. So people calling our general eight hundred help number hear the prompts and — we’re not sure yet about this — push a number and somehow get routed to a phone queue that goes straight to Tim’s voice mail. It’s been non-stop and we don’t know what time it started. We’re working on interrogating the entire IT crew.”

Drake reaches up, bracing his hand on the medic’s shoulder as he glares at the floor, pulling the mask away.

He takes a slow breath on his own, eyes closing before he nods to himself, standing up and taking his jacket from where it was hanging over the back of his chair.

“Excuse me. I need to go.”

Jason and the other nod solemnly. He really shouldn’t be here for this. Jason respects Drake’s ability to handle bullshit and bite off way too much to chew, but he also can respect a man knowing his own limits and calling it quits. It’s a sign of maturity, or something. Drake’s grown as a person.

And all of this is shot down the drain as Drake wraps his jacket around his arm and punches through the “Break in Case of Emergency” glass next to the fire extinguisher, fire hose, and axe. Everyone gapes as Drake tosses the jacket and pries the axe out of the red case.

“Tim,” Dick stands up slowly, eyeing the axe, “What are you doing with that?”

“It said,” Drake answers, resting the axe on his shoulder as he walks towards the elevator, “Break in case of emergency. I am currently in an emergency.”

“Where are you going?” Fox asks as Drake punches the call elevator button.

“Fifth floor.”

“IT isn’t on the fifth floor, Tim. Our servers aren’t even on the fifth floor.”

“No they aren’t. But fucking Clarence Todd Jules is. And I’m going to separate Clarence Todd Jules’ airhead fat-lipped loose-tongued head from his fate of space body.”

“Christ,” Fox and the medic both rush over to Drake and try to physically hold him back. Bold of them. The last person to do that in Jason’s recollection was a trained assassin and Drake bit them. He fucking bit them. Drew blood even. “You saw his email, Tam. You were cc’ed on that email. That walking pink slip cc’ed the entire fucking company on that email telling me to answer a few phone calls because his department can’t be bothered. Tam, what the fuck is his department here for if it isn’t to answer phone calls?”

“Do I know this corpse?” Jason asks Dick.

“Department Head of Customer Service,” Dick answers, “AKA, the guy responsible for all of our customer service teams. Who run our eight hundred number phone lines.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

Fox and the medic are busy trying to talk Drake down when the elevator door slides open with a soft chime, and the three of them go perfectly still.

“I am here,” a voice Jason recognizes after a few seconds as the department head of Acquisitions and Inventory, Li, “Because I need to discuss in person the interdepartmental friction this…reorganization of our phone lines has caused.”

“She left her department floor?” Fox says, “You can physically leave your department floor?”

Li brushes past the three of them and sits herself down in front of Tim’s desk. She is also holding an axe. She’s got three different neckties wrapped around one of her arms and some shimmer on them that means they might have been used to break some emergency glass.

“Either this gets resolved or I am going to find Clarence Todd Jules and I am going to acquire his head. I will not tolerate such thoughtless lack of regard towards me, or my department.”

“What did he do to you?” Drake whispers, no longer holding the axe but holding onto both the medic and Fox for physical support.

“Jules told me that I should be answering phones, a job that his department is supposed to do,” Li answers, “And that perhaps I should dedicate some of my staff — my staff, who handle every single purchase and inventory detail and financial oversight for this billion dollar international corporation that is consistently audited and monitored by local, state, federal, and international organizations — to answering phone calls that do not pertain to any of their job duties so that the team explicitly dedicated to answering phone calls for this company doesn’t have to.”

Drake closes his eyes, sagging a little.

“If I give you first go at his head will you let me take a swing at his knees?”

Li nods once, standing up and lifting her axe. “I accept those terms. Though I have a feeling that a few members from sales and marketing might be on their way to take a go at Jules’ as well.”

“How many people is this guy pissing off in one morning?” Jason asks.

“All of them.”

[fairysmolsxoxo]

Unwarranted Destruction before Halloween!

MOMMA JADE GET HURT BUT GET NEW BITTIES AND ITEMS TO ADD TO THE SHOP!

It was a quiet evening at the shop,with Al managing the front and the little market while Jade is away on business. It was slow and the caretaker decided to get some new ingredients for the new items  to introduce into the shop. Halloween is coming up after all and the shop itself is pretty empty. The shopkeeper and alpha dragon skeleton bitty agreed that it will be a nice change of pace...And there is hardly any excitement in the front end, while in the back in the her packs and prides is a whole different story.  So Jade gave him the duty of being the Shop Manager for the time being.Though it was getting late, Jade usually comes back around this time yet none have yet to see her. Al was getting worried, he even called up Shy and the other adoption centers that Jade had recently visited but no one had seen her… 

That until... there was an explosion coming from Jade's living quarters...And the sound of a familiar yet eerie scream of pain echoed throughout the shop...It made all the bitties magical essence that all their creators that put the time and love into, to give them life? It felt like all their life had been sucked out of them when they know who's scream it was…

Jade.

Every submissive and child bitty started to cry confused and scared at the scary scream…

Why is Momma/Missus/Mistress/Jade screamed? Is she okay? She has to be right? Please be okay! 

Every  calm minded bitty quickly was set on alert as they went around to keep the rest of their pack safe and ready for the word of the alphas on their command… Some even started to patrol that area.

Every aggressive bitty that was kept away from the rest of them in their own started to claw their cages their doors was crawling their prison…The scent of blood and the scream made them have even more need for violence...

WHO HAD HURTED WHAT WAS THEIRS!

All the leaders of the packs and pride let out a snarl their body and soul screamed in the most primal way…

MUST PROTECT! MUST SAVE JADE!

 Al teleported just a few feet away from the closed door of Jade's Room and He was soon joined up with the leaders of each pack and lone pride.

Navy, Jade's Alpha Sans "Prince"  bitty and the Head of The Night Wind Whispers Pride was the second to appear before Al… He usually stoic and cold expression and personality that he had shown toward bitties that isn't in his pride and the other alphas is replaced with tense irritation and concern toward his caretaker as he nodded at Al in acknowledgement. Both Marigold, Jade's Alpha Papyrus " Stray" bitty who is in charge of the Blood Venom Sky Pack and Ramil, Jade's Alpha Grillby bitty, head of Golden Sun Burst Pride was sprinting quickly toward the room. Marigold was snarling as he charged through and slammed the door open, followed by his Alpha Leads. All of them cried out their fairy caretaker name to be greeted by the sight of her room in shambles and abominations in what was left of her room…

They did not see the fairy but a sobbing  voice of the fairy made it clear...They need to defend...They need to protect...They need to kill…!

The Aftermath

It took awhile for the Alphas to get rid of the monstrosities but they made quick work, leaving a big mess behind...They were tired and tried to listen for the fairy but the sobbing stopped halfway during the battle...They calls out the fairy's name…

But no one answered…

That til a few moments of silence later, a pile of destroyed piles of rumble started to shift and shake as a figure started to get out and under it. It was Jade, clearly hurt with cuts but that wasn't the only thing that was different about her...She looked a little nightmarish than her usual self...She seems relieved for some reason but also annoyed as she tried to morph herself back toward her more friendly form...but it deemed useless...She was injured in a way that she can't control her magic to shift back to her usual form...It would take some time to heal and it is a little annoying...At least no one saw her true form when she was injured from earlier by the beasts...She never want anyone to see her like that...at least her appearance is much preferred and it matches with Halloween. She seems calm now and the Alphas quickly mothered her as soon as she stood out of the rumble...She whined at the attention as she eyed the remains of the abominations in what used to be her room and her doorway toward her lab…

Hours later… Jade appears with her more Halloween theme appearance with still a gentle smile on her face. 

Jade: Hello my favorite dreamers…It is your friendly bitty loving dream fairy...I must apologize for my current appearance… It seems like my encounter with the unsavory sort, have made my magic glamour gone all haywire...So instead of taking off my glamour or overexerting myself with no desired results,I have managed to make a different appearance for the time being...just until my magic get sorted all out… Thank goodness for my adeptness in all sorts of dreams and illusions...So bonus points being a jack of all trades with that…

But worry not after all this experience, Al had made it his goal to keep me coop in the safety of the shop and quarantine my room and portal doors to the Realms...Just until things calm down I hope..

That being said… I hate being here… bored...with nothing to do...So I have some exciting news! 

We got some new companions to add to the shop! Along with some amazing new staff who will be introducing these delightful yet spooky treats and exclusive items for the month of Halloween and The Days of the Dead!

Please come and introduce yourselves everyone!

Monty: Ello' I am Montgomery Duvall...Please call me Monty… I am human?At least from what I know…I used to have a business of my own...that I had to close down because…*He cleared his throat.* of my personal problems..I will be taking over as a part-time caretaker for Ms. Jade bitties at the store and would be taking care of the delicious confectionery and delights of the store… I have a bit of experience with management and done some cooking as a hobby… I also worked at a bitty center recently. So I have some experience in that department as well...

Jade: *pushed the old gentleman aside* He is much too humble I swear! He is going to be the entrepreneur who is going to help start up better alternatives for our bitties nutrition! So what you are going to see in our food display is going to be from his amazing mind!

Monty: *blushes* Ms. Jade please...no need to praise an old man like me…

Jade: Nonsense! You are an amazing human…

*Another figure stepped before them, a small timeless young Japanese woman stepped in a kimono. She look like any normal girl if only it weren't for  her hair that seems to move around like it was a part of her...Like her hands…This was Mina, she was monster from where Jade was from. She was close acquaintances of Jade she still lived there...She was a Futakuchi onna...a yokai..Japanese spirit or monster… Even her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, what is hidden underneath will show you why she is a monster...*

Mina: Konnichiwa...I am Mina it is a pleasure to be here and be in presence… I am going to be Monty-san partner in the food department. I am the person who is going to help his ideas come to life in the things we cook. I am quite the expert when it comes to making food and tasting it. It will be quite desirable...I specialize magic infused food though I have experience in some human cuisine as well...

*Monty let out a sigh, having to deal with Mina quite well at this point, he knows of her sneaky eating habits… He could see the hungry glint in her eyes*

Monty: Ms. Mina...please refrain from eating our examples… We had to do several tiring and time consuming replacements, over the course of several accidents...

Mina: *Pouts* I have been good, what sort of person you think I am? * Both her and her new elderly acquaintance started to head back toward the small cafe located near the front desk of the bitty shoppe*

*Monty and Mina started to get the future item for this month in big trays…*

         

          CAFE HOT ITEMS OF THE MONTH

     FLUFFY PLUMPKIN FUDGE 

This irresistible sweet is great for all humans and monsters all alike who like a little sweetness in your day or night. 

This mildly buttery smooth,light  yet creamy delight is excellent for this time of year when welcoming the autumn weather and scenery. Don't eat too much of this though, it may be good for the heart and soul but too much of this addicting sweet, will cause the bitty or humans get plump in certain areas like the stomach, chest, hips and rump…

SPOOKY SHADOW MANGO AND PINESONIOUS TART

This delicious sweet yet sour treat is literary borderline poisonous to make.One wrong move, this treat can be down right deadly. But if done right, it can be quite refreshingly sweet and have healing properties, especially toward other infections and heal terminally sick humans and bitties. Make sure that your chef is well versed in with their ingredients and a well educated doctor is nearby, just in case. Must sign a waiver if it just for the thrill or taste these delight. So are you are willing to take the risk and sign your death wish?

ABYSS MUSHROOM AND GARLIC STRUDEL 

This pastry literary came from the abyss! Don't ask how our dreamy fairy  got her hands on these rare ingredients to make these but do know it is quite a pain to get them. But it is the number one item back home that the majority females,  foodie, health and fanatics sought for. This is a strudel not only it won't cause you to gain weight from eating it, but also eat your weight away. Well technically not eat away but store it elsewhere. Don't worry it effects are quite safe. It is all different for everyone but know this after a couple of days  will stop it effects. Get it while it lasts!

STARBAKED  BUN BUNS ASSORTED

This treat comes in sweet and savory fillings that makes you come back hungry for more. It's just that you need to have the speed and determination to catch it. Prefect for your more active bitties and humans that wants a little challenge catching their food or bitties have the need to hunt something “live”. As of right now for the month of halloween the bun buns will have a little more monstrous appearance and more of a spattering filling when bitten into. 

FAIRY BERRIES

Inspired by the different fairies back home and words from another bitty caretaker that Jade looks up to , these little delightful creations are certainly fun to catch and eat. Having different various set of wings and fruits, these are perfect for staying in a healthy diet while having fun at the same time as you dance with these fluttery snacks. Ideal with bitties that want a little change in their meaty diet and have something sweet with still the fun of being the hunter. Great for baby bitties and beginners.

OVEN-BAKED FOG FOWL PIE

A savory tasty pie for all races, the fog fowl is quite hard to catch due to is shapeshifting way of hiding and avoiding beings, but true a delicacy back home for Jade. And a luxury item to make, once you eat this fowl beast, it will provide a sharpness of the mind and improvement of stamina and energy. This is great for those sluggish days off for both humans and monsters. You will have energy and stamina for days Get it now for a limited time only. These fowls are hard to come by after all. Side effects include a sudden lightheadedness, nausea, lack of sleep, and sudden fatigue out of nowhere. Basically crash and burn out of energy ten-fold. So heed this warning...

            ASSORTED SKELE-WITCHES

 Just decent stacked  sandwiches made and shaped as your favorite skeletons of your choosing with witch/wizard hat or riding a broom. Made by human hands, Monty’s specifically. Safe for everyone...Monty works so hard on these...Don’t shame him...

CEREAL KILLER DONUT

Another Monty idea but infused with Mina magic, this scary horror pastry topped with your favorite cereal shaped into a little murderous killer that will come after you. But worry not, due to their squishy insides and their less than intimating "weapons", they will kill you with their cuteness instead. Little angry muffed yells and grunts as they try to kill you with their pretzel pitchforks… Will definitely make you scream in laughter instead. Though hurry and eat them while they are fresh, before they figure out that their weapons are stupid and look for stuff they can use to actually hurt you… 

TALL DARK AND MURDER COFFEE

Normal coffee...Were expecting more?...Of course you were! The coffee beans are potent! These beans were carefully harvested from the Land of Nightmares.These are for those who want to stay up a few days before during the days of the dead or planning something big that requires no sleep? This is the coffee for you, for experienced coffee drinkers that needs more oomph than the plain normal human coffee. Must drink one cup a day and no more! If drink more than 1,it effects will last for more than a week depending on how many cups you drunk...You will develop hallucinations and maybe see an entity that follows you around...waiting for the moment you finally crash...and well sweep your soul away...Not before scaring you and cause the most horrible nightmares you have ever faced…It is advised that you seek the local dream fairy, Jade(despite her constant warnings and the waiver you signed) as soon as you see them so their hold on you aren't strong…Your local dream fairy will try her best to deal with the situation but keep in mind...This is a dangerous situation that you could have prevented if you had only listened, so be prepared to trade something of equal value… Something that will cause you utter despair and can not live without can't not replace… Don't lie because both local dream fairy and the entity knows… Make the right decision or it will murder your soul one way or another… Please don't let your bitty have a sip of this since they are more prone to this and these entities would love little morsels like them...

CHILLING DIRTY CHAI LATTE

If you need that coffee pick-me-up as you pass out candy on Halloween but aren’t a huge fan of pumpkin flavor, you may love the homemade dirty chai latte. If you want to make it extra dirty for those legal adults out there we will offer some pick me up concoctions from your friendly fairy to add to delicious drink.

BLOODCURDLING I SCREAM

This creamy cold delight was made with the crushed teeth of ice wraiths...And of course being magical they will make the ice cream enchanted to stay cold for a long time. And it will scream as you take a bite out of them. Not in pain but just because they wish to not interact with anything. The screams are small, squeaky and quite exaggerated. Like " Ahh!.... Ahh!..." like it was trying to process what their next word should be...Don't worry if you think the screaming is annoying, just scoop where their screaming mouths would be and there no more screaming and you can enjoy the treat. It comes in common human flavors and new ones that Jade that bring back from home...

TRICE MICE

Enchanted little candy mice that has three layers. A candy coat, a chocolate coat, nougat center. . You saw right there are mice in the kitchen but don’t  fret, health inspectors or lawsuits won’t hit these store anytime soon.  these It is so good that will make all you chocolate lovers want some even though the scurry around and those who are a bit afraid of their counterpart reconsider. 

*Monty let out a soft smile as both him and Mina finished introducing those new treats.*

Monty: These are the items we order in the cafe as of right now… But we also cater to all our customers needs...So of their any item you want, we shall make it our goal to provide it for you…

Jade’s Medical Counter 

ROCK A BYE SLEEPIES

ENCHANTED GUMMY SHEEPS THAT YOU OR YOUR BITTIES TAKE IF YOU HAVE A BAD CASE OF INSOMNIA. JUST TAKE A SMALL BITE OF IT AND IT WILL COME TO LIFE AND MULTIPLY AND HELP YOU COUNT TO SLEEP OR THE LESS TRADITIONAL WAY, CUDDLE UP TO YOU OR INTERACT WITH IN A WAY TO HELP YOU SLEEP. ONCE THE MEDICINAL EFFECTS HAD TAKEN OVER THE SHEEP WILL MORPH BACK INTO ONE AND JUMP INTO YOUR MOUTH. IT DISSOLVES INSTANTLY.

STELLAR HUFF AND PUFF DROPS

THIS STARRY SHAPE WILL MAKE YOUR BITTY WANT TO TAKE THIS MEDICINAL CANDY. THIS WILL HELP ANY BITTY IF THEY ARE FEELING SICK AND LESS ENERGETIC THAN USUAL. COUGHING AND SNIFFLING BEGONE AS THIS STELLAR CANDY IS EATEN. JUST TAKE THIS THREE TIMES A DAY PLEASE. 

HEAL YEAH WOUNDS WRAPS

These magical wraps will help heal lacerations or scratches more quickly than any normal bandage. These are soaked from plants from Jade's home and is high with magical healing properties.

STARMINT CHEWS 

These chews will brighten anyone's day with a smile or fresh breath. Eating these will help your bitty teeth glow and grow strong and bright with minty freshness that is out of this world. Beneficial for skeleton bitties.

            LEMONY GINGER BITES

Citrusy and ginger mixed together to help with that sore throat or rasp. But these bites back, well more like gumming since they are gummies and it doesn't hurt you when it bite. Those who likes gimmicks and enjoy the soothing sensation of their sore throat melting away.

            *Jade smiles sheepishly at her stock. * 

Jade: This seem to be the only items I can provide at the moment but I will come up with new ones I promise! And unfortunately, we still need a tailor but it is okay...*She grins excitingly as her wings fluttered* Now the main event! You see during the mishap with the abominations destroying my room...They possibly... well... got into my lab and my bitties samples got well...contaminated with these dark creatures… They are still amazing mind you and I love them all the same! 

*She went into the back and brought out a basket that is covered with a blanket. She had a mischievous look on her face as she pulled the blanket away.*

MEET MY DARLING DARK INTUNED BITTIES!

Sugar Bites: ( a zombie candy-gore candied  dragon skeleton. A monster kid variant.)

This precious one was going to be part of the angelic series of her bitties but the dark magic got to him first. He is made from candy and from his ectoplasm, horns,  bones made from strong sugar and accessories. He is candy. Though he is a zombie as well...He is a zombie that likes eating candy...so you get the picture what he does to himself since he is close proximity to himself… To prevent from the bitty eating itself you need a durable muzzle to put on this sweetie and feed them candy daily. Don't take the candy away from his ectobelly please he needs it. Baby will cry. Don't eat the baby, he already knows he is delicious. Besides that he is a healthy bitty that tries to get along with everyone, if not a little hyper from his sugar intake.

BC: ( bad luck shadow cat skeleton. A sans variant.)

This bitty oozes bad luck, not like he wanted to...it was just how he is made. And it took him and his creator a few cuts and bruises to get his magic under control. He is aloof bitty with a permanent grin on his face and bones as black as the night. He loves to be in the shadows and often hangs around those younger and innocent...Not because they are cute and needs protecting...he likes to tease them and give them a little bad luck. He loves scaring them too...Though he means no harm...Don't be alarm when bad luck suddenly happens to you for the first few days of keeping this bitty. He is cautious and always will always know that he has a loving place to return to if he deems the owner unsuitable for him. Though once he realizes he is here to stay and you actually care about him, expect this mischievous feline to wake you up with him laying on your face and him constantly meowing for food, when you know well that he could talk...He also your personal stalker...He goes everywhere with you as long you have a shadow. He will be there...no buts and if about it...He won't be upfront with confrontation but he is vindictive...and has a quiet fury when it comes with the people he cares about...So if your bully suddenly gets pooped on by seagull then suddenly gets a thousand more seagulls droppings...You know who did it...He won't stop either...even if you tell him to stop...he will feel bad and make sure that he torture your bully more selectively and quietly when you are not around...as I said he is a vengeful thing…

Omen: ( Voodoo Doll...Nice Cream Guy variant )

 This bitty is bigger than most nice cream guy  bitties and more plush than most but you best not to underestimate him. This fluffy bitty can curse you if you ever look at him wrong. He is jaded to most of his emotions due to the fact he is a doll for curses and he could always transfer his pain somewhere else to the person he decided to curse...He is an amazing addition to the family and can easily be mended up. He has his own soft toy soul that he usually keep it away from his body. He will only hand it to the person who he trusts and those who his soul get to control him...Though I recommend not to...Let him be your plush buddy and let him keep his soul close to you can see the bae give you those rare happy buck tooth smiles. He comes in different varieties from the brownish coloring with X button eyes to the typical pure black with skeleton markings...We also have the original coloring… Though we have different varieties of "skins" that if you want to change his looks available. It is like changing clothes for the Omen bitty and won't hurt him. If remove his outer layer, he will disappear momentarily. Don't fret though, as long you let him know that you want him to change into a different layer. And leave the "skin" you want him to change into where he disappeared... He will disappear where his soul is (which is always nearby)...

Make you compliment him on his new look when he appears again afterward because he will love you for it…

*Jade smiles gently as she pet them affectionately.* 

Jade: As of right now they are available for the month of Halloween! So get them while they last...the merged magic that made them could only made them last for so long…

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Twelve.

The next morning after breakfast Harry headed for the kitchens with Ron and Hermione in tow. He was slightly surprised that neither of them knew where the Hogwarts kitchens were, or how to gain access to them; especially considering all the nonsense that Hermione had been going on about all year with the bloody house elves. Not that Harry had really been paying it any attention.

He actually hesitated in taking her in there since he was sure the sight of the room full of house elves, slaving over stoves and the like would result in some annoyingly long lecture about human rights and the evils of magical enslavement, but he really didn't have much choice. Sirius's letter had said to bring a lot of food, and the kitchen was obviously the best place to get it.

Harry had actually put some legitimate effort into ignoring Hermione's idiotic campaign to free the house elves all term, and as such, had also ignored the house elves themselves. This was why it was an honest surprise when he saw Winky, Mr. Crouch's house elf, in the corner in an obvious state of inebriation, holding a bottle of butter beer.

The other house elves were scampering about, quickly collecting food for the three Gryffindors, and Dobby was speaking excitedly with Hermione, but Harry's eyes were trained on the sick-looking little elf.

He had first seen her in the top box they sat at during the Quidditch World Cup. She was there to hold a seat for Mr. Crouch, but he had never showed up. And then after the mayhem with the Death Eaters and the dark mark in the sky, she had been found with Harry's wand, and accused of having cast the spell herself.

Mr. Crouch had fired her on the spot, and had seemed visibly furious with her. The whole thing had been terribly confusing at the time.

And now, she was working in the kitchens of Hogwarts? Or... well, not working so much as getting wasted, but she was still here.

Harry wondered if she knew anything about Crouch impersonating Moody...

"You ready, mate?"

Harry blinked and turned back to his two friends who were waiting for him expectantly. Ron was holding out a wrapped bundle of food from the house elves.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, taking on an excited, carefree mask as he took the bundle and shrunk it with his wand before sticking it into his bag.

The trio left the castle and began to make their way down the path towards Hogsmeade.

They busied themselves with window shopping for the morning. Harry spent some time in the local bookstore, but was extremely unimpressed by their selection. There wasn't a single 'questionable' book in the whole store.

He spotted a shadier looking little shop that several of the Slytherin students came in and out of, but he couldn't shake Ron or Hermione long enough to go check it out.

There was a small grocer in town that Harry had never had a need to visit before, but he slipped inside now and found a selection of magically preserved food that would last a few weeks. The food from the kitchens would help feel Sirius now, but from the desperate wording of his godfather's pleas, Harry could only assume that getting regular food was a problem for the man. The food he brought from Hogwarts wouldn't last more than a day or two, but the food he bought would last him quite a bit longer.

Hermione praised him on his planning and smart thinking but Harry just shrugged it off. It seemed like common sense to him.

He shrunk his purchases and added them to his bag.

At one thirty the trio headed down past Dervish and Banges towards the meeting spot described in Sirius's letter. As they neared it, Harry spotted a very familiar looking large black dog. The smile that spread across his face was authentic for once and he hurried his pace.

"Hey Snuffles," Harry said as he came up to his 'dogfather's' side and reached down to pet his messy matted fur.

Sirius was holding a collection of newspapers in his mouth and made an amused coughing sort of noise around them before turning away and making his way past the stile.

The trio climbed over and followed him out of town and towards the mountains on the outskirts of town.

The terrain grew rockier and rockier and harder to traverse, but Sirius just kept going. It took nearly a half hour before they came to a stop, and by that time, Hermione and Ron were distinctly out of breath. Even Harry felt his endurance reaching a limit, and was relieved when he saw the opening to a cave, and Sirius disappearing inside.

The trio entered and found Buckbeak the hippogriff inside, tied to a rock. The three bowed and waited until the half-eagle, half-horse beast had bowed back, showing his acceptance of them.

Ron and Hermione rushed over to pet him, but Harry turned his attention on Sirius, who had just finished transforming back into a human.

He was wearing the same gray robes that he had been a year prior. His hair was longer than it had been when he had fire-called hair in the fall, and it was matted and dirty. Sirius looked thinner, and clearly worn and exhausted.

"Are you out of your mind?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?" Sirius responded, with a note of surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"Performing my duty as godfather."

"You're going to get caught!" Harry exclaimed.

"You three, and Dumbledore are the only ones aware of my animagus form. The villagers are coming to know me as a lovable stray. I can't take too much food though, or they'll start to notice."

Harry huffed and shook his head in mild exasperation. He slipped his bag off his shoulders, removed all of the food and began to unshrink it.

Sirius's eyebrows rose into his forehead, with apparent surprise at Harry's use of a fifth year charm – why, Harry couldn't imagine. He really didn't understand why shrinking things wasn't covered sooner. It's not like it was a hard spell, and it would have been damn useful to know in years prior, since he could have kept his trunk hidden away from his uncle...

The surprise at Harry's spellwork was lost as Sirius registered the mountain of food, and his stomach made a loud growling noise.

"Chicken!" the man gasped, hoarsely, with a relieved thrill in his tone.

"There's a bunch of preserved food in here too. It'll last you a couple weeks, I hope. Picked them up in the local food market," Harry said, pointing at the jars and boxes of varying nutritional options he had purchased. "Are you planning to stick around Hogsmeade?"

Sirius nodded as he began to tear into a chicken leg with much the same fury that his dog form would. "I wanted to be on the spot. What with your last letter... and other things, considered... Things are looking a bit too fishy lately. I wanted to stay close."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What other things, exactly?"

Sirius nodded his head towards a few yellowing newspapers on the cave floor a few feet away. Harry walked over and spread them out. There were two, but it was the first one that really caught his attention.

Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch

The second said, Ministry Witch Still Missing – Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved.

Harry picked up the one about Crouch and began reading.

"What's the deal with Crouch?" Ron asked as he came to stand behind Harry and look over his shoulder.

"He hasn't shown up to work since November, apparently," Sirius said before taking another bite of chicken.

"Yeah... he didn't show up to judge the last task, either," Ron said, looking thoughtful. "My brother is his personal assistant and had to fill in for him."

Harry continued to skim the paper, and a few lines jumped out at him: hasn't been seen in public since November... house appears deserted... St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment... Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness...

"My brother did say that Crouch is suffering from overwork," Ron added.

"He did look rather ill when I saw him the night my name came out of the cup," Harry added absently. He figured that Crouch must have been using his illness as an excuse to cover for his absence while he impersonated Moody. He still had no idea why he was doing that though.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Yeah, pup?"

"Do you know much about him? Crouch, I mean? What were his loyalties in the last war?"

"Oh I know quite a bit about him. And his loyalties were definitely with the light. He headed off quite the crusade against You-Know-Who and his followers. He was the one who sent me off to Azkaban – without a trial."

"What!" Ron and Hermione gasped together.

"Without a trial!" Harry exclaimed. "You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads.

"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius said. "He's a great wizard, Crouch is, powerfully magical – and power-hungry. Definitely never a Voldemort supporter, though. Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side.

"Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers – powers to kill, rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without a trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you – plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.

"Yes," Sirius said, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak before tearing into a loaf of bread. "Nasty shock to old Crouch, discovering that lil' Barty was a Death Eater."

Harry nearly choked. "What?"

Sirius blinked at Harry with confusion. "What, what?"

"What was Crouch's son's name?" Harry asked, shaking himself out of his moment of surprise.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. But everyone called him Barty, from what I understand."

"Barty..." Harry breathed.

"Ringing some bells, pup?" Sirius asked, sitting up straighter.

"Er..." Harry faltered, "I'm not sure really. What happened with Crouch's son, anyway? Was he really a Death Eater?"

"I can't say for sure, but he was definitely seen with some people who I would guarantee were. As for what happened to him, Crouch tossed him into Azkaban."

Hermione gasped. "His own son!"

Sirius nodded, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..."

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry asked as his mind began working away furiously.

"No," Sirius said, dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."

Harry paused. "He died? Are you sure?"

Sirius looked at Harry with a bit of confusion for a moment. "I'm sure, all right. He certainly wasn't the only one to die in Azkaban. Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, and they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw old Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."

Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up a flask of pumpkin juice and drained it.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic... next, his son dead, his wife dead, and the family named dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

A silence descended upon the cave while the group processed Sirius's words, and Sirius continued to eat.

Theories and possible scenarios were flying through Harry's mind while he sat in the thick quiet. A man named 'Barty' was helping Voldemort. It was his job to try and set up Harry's capture.

Bartemius Crouch was the one who had pushed to have the tournament reinstated. He was one of the people running the darn thing, and had loads of contact with the cup. He could have easily had the opportunity to put Harry's name into the goblet of fire.

But Bartemius Crouch Sr. actively fought against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and he most certainly wasn't the man that Harry had seen with Voldemort, in his visions. Which meant that Barty Crouch was not dead.

So Crouch Sr. and his wife had gone into Azkaban to visit their dying son. Crouch Sr. had left 'practically carrying' his wife. Barty had died, and the dementors had buried him. There had to be a body left behind, and Crouch's wife was reported dead shortly after Barty died.

Would Crouch Sr. actually have left his wife in Azkaban and snuck his son out? Crouch Sr. could have given Barty polyjuice potion to look like his wife, in order to sneak his son out of Azkaban, but polyjuice only lasts an hour, so that wouldn't have kept his wife looking like his son for very long

… Unless he killed his wife right after giving her the potion. The body doesn't revert if it's dead.

Bloody hell...

But what had he done with Barty since then? Kept him hidden somehow? Would Crouch Sr. really be helping his son, if his son was helping Voldemort? Perhaps Sr. was under the Imperius when he put Harry's name into the cup. And now he was missing because... he was dead? Or being held captive?

Harry didn't know. There were any number of different possible explanations.

But one thing was for sure. The Bartemius Crouch that Harry kept seeing on the map where Alastor Moody was supposed to be, was not the man Harry had thought he was. He wasn't Crouch Sr., he was Barty!

"You alright there, Harry?" Sirius's voice broke through the thick fog of contemplation and Harry blinked.

"Huh? Oh yea... just thinking."

"Well, pup, we probably ought to discuss what you saw going on between Snape and Karkaroff," Sirius said, taking on a rather serious look to his face.

Hermione and Ron both looked at Harry with confusion in their eyes.

"What is he talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh! I totally forgot to tell you two," Harry exclaimed, acting as if he honestly had just forgotten, and not that he had intentionally hidden it.

"I er... saw Snape and Karkaroff having an interestingly heated conversation a number of months ago. I was under my invisibility cloak, so neither knew I was there... I saw the two of them on the Map and got suspicious, so I went down into the dungeons to spy on them."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Harry, will you ever stop being so suspicious of Professor Snape? Do you honestly think that Dumbledore would –"

"He's a Death Eater," Harry said, cutting her off.

Ron's eyes went wide, but Hermione's face shifted instantly to disbelief. "He is not, Harry! That's ridiculous!"

"He is, Hermione! Or at least, he was. He's got the dark mark on his left forearm. So does Karkaroff. That's why they were talking. Apparently it's been getting clearer over the last few months and Karkaroff freaked out. He's scared. From the conversation I overheard, it sounds like Karkaroff is pretty convinced that Voldemort won't be particularly pleased with him. Said something about Dumbledore protecting Snape, but not having anyone to protect him."

Hermione's jaw had dropped and she was staring at Harry with stunned shock.

"You saw it?" she gasped. "Are you sure!"

"Well... I saw it on Karkaroff's arm. He was holding up his sleeve and shoving his arm in Snape's face. But from what Snape said, it was obvious that he had a mark too."

"But you didn't actually see the dark mark on Snape's arm?" Hermione said, pointedly.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "Come off it already! Why do you keep defending him!"

"I just don't understand why Professor Snape would have saved Harry's life in first year, if he was really a Death Eater. If he was really loyal to You-Know-Who, he would have just let Harry die!"

"Yeah, well like Harry said, Dumbledore protects Snape, right? If Snape let Harry die, Dumbledore probably wouldn't keep protecting him, now would he?" Ron said, as he folded his arms over his chest, indignantly.

"Perhaps, but Professor Dumbledore wouldn't trust Professor Snape if he was really loyal to You-Know-Who! Now would he?"

"Dumbledore doesn't know everything. He didn't know that You-Know-Who was on the back of Quirrell's head our whole first year, did he?"

I don't know... did he? Harry grumbled sarcastically, internally as he secretly scowled. Sometimes he really wondered...

"What do you think, Sirius?" Harry said to try and put an end to Ron and Hermione's pointless bickering.

"I think they've both got a point," Sirius said, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid he was," Sirius added and Ron grinned. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."

Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names. "Rosier and Wilkes – they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges – they're a married couple – they're in Azkaban. Avery – from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse – he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never properly accused of being a Death Eater – not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

Hermione was frowning. "Alright, lets say for a moment that Professor Snape was a Death Eater... he would have had to done something that earned him Professor Dumbledore's trust if he got a teaching position here. Dumbledore would never allow someone who was actually loyal to You-Know-Who teach here!"

Sirius shrugged and set down his pumpkin juice. He lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Harry.

"Well, got any other interesting news to inform me of? I hear your performance in the tournament was spectacular."

"Oh... yeah, I guess," Harry said ducking his head and shrugging.

"Oh! Oh, Harry! You have to tell him!" Hermione said suddenly and Harry looked at her with total confusion.

"Tell him what?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, tell me what?" Sirius echoed.

"About your transformation, Harry!" Hermione said with exasperation.

"Oh! That," said Harry.

"Transformation?" Sirius asked with a confused furrowed brow, looking between the two of them.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and huffed slightly before continuing. "Er, yeah... so I've been keeping a big secret from everyone."

"What sort of secret?"

"Well, for a bit under a year I've actually been secretly trying to learn to be... an animagus," Harry admitted with a sheepish smile.

"You've what!" Sirius gasped.

"Yeah, so I sort of... did it."

"Did what?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"The transformation. I did it."

"What! That's impossible! Less than a year? And you're only fourteen!"

"Yeah, well I guess when I put my mind to something I can actually be a fast learner sometimes. Plus I had some real strong incentive there in the end because I realized my form would be useful in the second task."

"You're an animagus?" Sirius asked just to make sure he was really understanding everything.

Harry grinned and shrugged. "Yeah. Guess so."

"Bloody hell! And you said your form was helpful in the task? What is it?"

"Er... yeah, well that's sort of the biggest reason why I kept it a secret. I mean... I didn't even tell Ron or Hermione I was doing it because I was afraid how they would react when they found out what my form was."

Sirius frowned and looked at Hermione and Ron. Hermione was giving Harry an encouraging smile, but Ron was little a bit ill.

"Well, let's here it pup. It won't change a thing. Just get it out."

Harry heaved a sigh and squared his shoulders. He actually was a bit nervous about telling Sirius about his snake form. It wasn't really his animagus form, but this was his story and he had to stick to it for consistency. Despite all the changes Harry had gone through, Sirius was still somewhat important to him.

"Alright... well, I'm a snake," Harry said quickly.

Sirius blinked. "A snake?"

"Yeah, a sea snake to be specific. A Sea Krait."

"You turn into a snake?" Sirius asked again.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, a snake."

"A great, ruddy, huge snake," Ron put in now, still looking a bit pale with the subject matter.

"Is that so?" Sirius asked, looking from Ron back to Harry for confirmation.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Can I see?" Sirius asked.

Harry had been afraid of this question. He still wondered if an actual animagus would be able to tell that the transformation Harry was undertaking wasn't an animagus transformation, but something else entirely.

He took in a deep breath and nodded his head. He got down onto his knees, like he had when he demonstrated for Hermione and Ron and focused his mind and his magic on performing the transformation. A moment later, he was laying flat on the cold ground, looking up at the stunned face of Sirius Black.

"I told you he was huge," Ron said.

"That he is," Sirius muttered before blinking and then looking down at Harry with a slowly spreading grin. "Merlin, Harry... this is... this is just... incredible!" Sirius threw his head back and laughed before looking back down at Harry again. Harry slithered around a bit, coiling his body into a pile and raising his head and first few feet of his body up off the ground so that his head was at eye level with Sirius who was sitting on the ground.

Harry hissed out a laugh, and Sirius's chuckled lightened as he looked at Harry with interest. Ron was looking pale again from the sound.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione chipped in and Sirius began to nod his head emphatically.

"Yes, Hermione. It is. Harry, this is truly a remarkable achievement. I really don't care what your form turned out to be. Being able to perform the animagus transformation after less than a year of training, and at age fourteen is just amazing."

Harry nodded his head and quickly transformed back into his human form.

He grinned and ducked his head sheepishly. "You really think so?" he said, trying to play up the modest card.

"I really do," Sirius said with a proud smile. "Well now we've got to get you a Marauder's name!"

Harry blinked at Sirius. This hadn't actually occurred to him, so he really hadn't given a nickname any sort of thought.

"That sounds like fun," Ron said. "Your form is a dog and you're Padfoot. Professor Lupin is a werewolf and he's Moony. And Harry's dad was a stag and he was Prongs, right?"

It didn't go unnoticed that Wormtail was neglected from the list.

"Right," said Sirius.

"So... something to do with a snake..." Ron said slowly as he screwed up his face in concentration. "Scales? Forked tongue..."

"They're legless lizards, so Legless?" Hermione said, shrugging. "Or Fangs? Oh – Venom?"

"Do you have venom!" Ron paled considerably.

Harry chuckled. "Actually, I do," Harry said smirking. "Hmm... Fangs and Venom both have potential, but Hagrid's dog is named Fang, so that's sort of taken. Don't know how I feel about Legless, but it's not too bad either."

"How about Stripes? You've got that white and black stripe thing going on," Ron offered.

"Hmm," Sirius hummed, "Okay, so we've got Scales, Legless, Venom, and Stripes, or Stripe? What do you think, pup? It'll be your nickname?"

Harry paused and ran the different options over in his head for a minute. "Er... I guess Stripe works for me," Harry said, shrugging. It didn't scream 'snake' to him, so if anyone outside of their group ever heard the nickname, it wouldn't be too suspicious.

"Alright, pup. Stripe it is," Sirius said with a proud grin. "The newest Marauder. Merlin, kid, I still can't believe you really did it. And on your own too. Wow..."

Harry ducked his head. He felt the tiniest bit of upset in his gut for lying to Sirius about this, but it wasn't something he could really do anything about so he violently shoved it away in his mind. "Thanks," he mumbled in forced shyness.

"Anyway," Sirius said, shifting his attention away from Harry and onto Ron. "On to other matters before we call it a day. You say your brother is Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy though. Percy loves Crouch."

Sirus heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.

"What's the time?"

Harry had his wand out with quick, practiced ease in the blink of an eye and cast a tempus. "It's half past three," he said.

"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He looked particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of the school to see me, alright? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."

Harry almost snorted at this, but took on a slightly cowed look and nodded his head as he toed at the ground.

Considering that Barty Crouch was currently impersonating his defense teacher, he was probably in a lot more danger in the school, than out. But he wasn't about to go telling Sirius, or anyone about his suspicions regarding Crouch.

"Alright Sirius," he said with a weak smile.

"Good. I'll feel a lot better when this ruddy tournament is over. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"

He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," Sirius said, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up towards Hogwarts.

– –

AN: ** several passages from previous chapter were taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling

– –

Harry was exceedingly frustrated that he wasn't able to get down to the Chamber that night, but Ron and Hermione had pounced on him as soon as they were back at the school about not having told them about Snape and Karkaroff. It was difficult, but Harry continued to play it off as having just slipped his mind. They didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't honestly care. They'd get over it.

Sunday Harry managed to give them the slip and went down into the chamber, and back into Slytherin's study. His companion joined him in his mind and directed Harry to Slytherin's desk and told him to feel along the bottom of the desk and hiss out a parsel release spell. Once accomplished, a thin book fell down onto the floor from its place, stuck to the underside of the desk.

It looked incredibly delicate, and Harry feared that the ancient parchment would crumble under the pressure of his fingers. He set the book onto the desk with incredible gentleness and fingered the cover gingerly.

He opened it to the first page and instantly realized that the damn book was not in English.

"Okay... so what language is this?" Harry asked his companion with mild frustration. It didn't even look familiar.

It is... Elbirin... Old Aldric...

Harry blinked. "That, unfortunately, means absolutely nothing to me."

Old Aldric was the language... of the British Elves... prior to the Tartessian War... and the Celtic takeover in Britain.

Harry looked back down at the book with greater curiosity. Elves!

"I take it, that you aren't talking about house elves?"

House elves... are the punished... perverted descendants of those... who defied... the elven high council...

That didn't actually explain anything to Harry – if anything, it brought more curiosities, but he expected as much from his companion, and didn't bother to press the subject. He did wonder if he had stayed awake in more of his History of Magic classes, if Professor Binns ever talked about any of this in between his endless rantings on goblin rebellions. He certainly had no recollection of anything called the Tartessian War, or any discussions on an ancient elven race in Britain.

"Alright... so this is in an ancient elvish language. Is there a way I can translate it? Or would the house elves know it?"

It is... lost... to the punished ones... There is a book... on the language... go to the far corner... by the mirror...

Harry did as he was directed and was gradually led to an almost horrifyingly large book on the Old Aldric language. He thumbed through the enormous old tome with widened eyes.

'Phonology' was the first section. In it, it described the consonants, then vowels and something called 'vowel harmony'. Next the 'Phonotactics', accent, and linking?

Next section was called 'Morphology'. It covered roots, affixes, word formation on derivation and compounding, and then the book got into the nouns and adjectives, propositions, pronouns, verbs, tenses and conjugation...

Harry felt utterly overwhelmed. Was he going to have to learn an entire bloody language just to translate this book?

He sighed and let his head fall onto the desk in front of him. He was not looking forward to this.

He picked up the enormous book on Old Aldric and began reading the first chapter. After an hour, he left the chamber with a headache and the language book in his bag. He wasn't willing to take the other one out of the chamber with him, since it was far too old and fragile looking. He would have to do his translation work only in the chamber, but he could still read up on the language while in the common room.

– –

The rest of the week dragged on. Harry was anxious for Defense and the opportunity to continue his investigation into 'Moody', and if he was being honest with himself, he had a deep, powerful desire to do something utterly reckless, pertaining to the man. He was still in the process of talking himself out of it though. Despite what he wanted to do, and what he needed to do, he had to wait because he didn't actually have Defense until Thursdays, and couldn't come up with a good excuse to approach Moody out of the blue.

Monday was Herbology, which was boring, but bearable; and then Care of Magical Creatures, which was anything but boring, and only occasionally bearable. After lunch, however, was Divination, which was never bearable at all. They were working on Shell Scrying at the moment, which Harry found utterly idiotic.

The idea was that you hold a sea shell up to your ear and the 'sounds of the ocean' that you heard from it would eventually turn into little voices from sea spirits or some such nonsense, that would whisper prophetic things to you.

The whole exercise just grated on Harry's nerves, and made him wonder that much more about this mystery prophecy that had set the dark lord against him, and utterly fucked up his entire life.

Tuesday was History of Magic – boring – and then Potions after lunch. Harry's performance in Potions class had improved steadily over the term. He had a pretty firm grasp on ingredient interaction, and proper preparation now – or at least a good grasp on how to look it up and cross-reference things correctly. Something which Snape had never actually explained to them, but had somehow expected them to just magically know.

Because of his improved performance, and his tendency to actually know the answers to every question Snape threw at him – thanks mostly to his companion, who stayed in Harry's aware mind almost every potions lesson – Snape had significantly cut back on how often he actually called on Harry in class. This suited Harry just fine, and that trend continued as they brewed a Cough Away potion.

Wednesdays Harry only had a single class – Charms – and spent the rest of the day down in the chamber, slowly working on the translation of the book. He was at least relieved that the ancient, crumbling tomb was thin. It was only about fifty pages long from what he could tell, so at least he wouldn't have to spend an eternity to translate some enormous 800-page book to get to his answers. Translating fifty pages he could deal with. At least... he hoped so.

His work was slow and tedious. He had a new bound notebook of parchment specifically just for translating the book, and was slowly making his way through translating the early pages. From what he could tell so far, it seemed like a log of some historical events in the ancient elven race's history. Nothing that seemed to apply to Voldemort's so called 'task'.

Late into the evening, Harry's stomach reminded him that he had been down there for an extremely long time, and he finally climbed back out of the chamber and made a quick detour to the kitchens before heading up to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione's curiosity was becoming more and more annoying with each passing day, and this evening, it unfortunately hit an all time peak. The second he entered the common room, she set in on him, asking him where he'd been all day and what he had been doing. She dragged him out of the common room and into a nearby empty classroom so that they could speak privately, but this only irritated Harry further since it denoted the expectation, on Hermione's part, that Harry would be telling her what he'd been up to.

Harry had been using the excuse that he had been jogging around the lake to get into better form, and then practicing various hexes by aiming at trees and into the water. Today, she had apparently gone out to the lake to look for him and seen that he was not there.

"Harry, I just want to know where you were!" she moaned in frustration after several minutes of annoying bickering. "Why won't you just tell me? What are you hiding from us Harry! We're your friends! You know you can trust us!"

"Do I? Do I really know that?" Harry shot back, finally growing too irritated to maintain a friendly mask, or make any more excuses.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, flinching back as if she had just been slapped.

"Tell me, Hermione – what reasons have I got to trust either you or Ron?"

"Harry! You know you can trust us! We're you're friends!"

"Yeah, were you my friends last November after my name got pulled out of that blasted cup?"

"How many times do I have to apologize for that, Harry! I'm sorry! I was an idiot! I swear I won't ever abandon you again like that!"

"And I'm just supposed to trust that, am I?"

"Yes!"

"The way I look at it is I can trust that you guys will be there for me; base all my plans on having you two there, to rely on if I end up in a pinch, and then end up getting utterly screwed if either of you bail on me again, or aren't there when things go south. Or I can just plan for it all on my own and be prepared to handle whatever comes at me on my own. Personally, I prefer to be prepared to handle things without the need of any assistance, because chances are, when the shit hits the fan, I'm not going to have any assistance."

"Harry..." Hermione whimpered as her lip quivered. "But we can help you! You don't have to tackle the whole world alone!"

"You can't help me in the third task, Hermione. No one can. I'm going to be going into whatever deathly task they come up with, all alone."

"But Harry..."

"No, Hermione. I'm done with this conversation. What I do and where I go everyday is my business. Now BACK OFF!"

Harry spun away from her and stormed out of the classroom, down the corridor, and back into the common room before storming up the stairs towards the boy's dorm.

He was sick of them. All of them. Merlin he needed to get the hell away from the school for a while.