#// LOOK MA I'M WRITING

[eternaldark]

i've written 8 things so far... who am i ?????????????

[mamawasatesttube]

bruce characterization is so hard because he really has been written all over the place. generally i try to think of him as a man who really does mean well, but whose drive for justice and unprocessed traumas can blind him to his shortcomings and lead to him inadvertently hurting his children. i also think that comics are a medium that doesn't usually lend itself well to character growth, because they to maintain a certain status quo to keep telling stories from, and so the bruce in my mind would honestly develop and learn from his mistakes a lot better than canon bruce actually does, because for someone who espouses the values he does, it makes no sense for him to completely stagnate, right. he's a puzzle you can put together in a lot of different ways and it's fascinating but also can be such a pain because of all the different books writing him in so many different ways, but characterizing him solely as an asshole is just boring and reductive imo...

...but all of that said i still think if martha kent ever found out how he talked to kon in sb94 #85 or in those issues of batgirl '00, she should be allowed to beat his ass with a pitchfork. yknow?

[kaelidascope]

Midnight Menagerie Chapter 12 - The Hangover Chapter is LIVE

**SHAKES HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOGGY BAG OF TREATS**

BLASTING FANTASTICAL FANFARE!!!!!!

The most anticipated chapter of the year is finally here! Hope y'all are hungry. As my birthday gift to y'all, here's the biggest chapter Midnight Menagerie has seen to date at a whopping 26 thousand words! I've been hyping this chapter up for MONTHS and I'm so excited to finally release it into the wild!!

Be mindful of the content warnings if vomiting is something you aren't comfortable with! As the title would suggest, everyone's hungover as FUCK. Enjoy a dramatic retelling of a wild weekend I had during the summer of 2017 when I was in college <33

I want to take a moment to really just say thanks as a whole for reading, supporting, and enjoying my work. It gives me so much encouragement to continue writing and drawing content, and I love reading everyone's reviews and comments. It's my favorite part of the day getting those emails! Here's to a happy holidays and a better new year in 2024 <3

(yes I'm aware the outfits are wrong LMAO I drew this months ago)

[pushing500]

I'm sure native folk of the far future will have plenty of landback and get to be connected with their homelands, but native folk spanned all the Americas. I'm sure Mechi speaks relatively regional to his tribe + how much time he spends connected to it, versus the rest of society (which, given his personality--). My mas from the south, so even though I was raised in the north, I still call her her ma (which is a bit more grown feelin than mama/momma), and slipping into her or my dads southern accents. It's especially pleasant in a long, 'But Mommaaaaaaa'. Hair style traditions also vary between tribes, but some embrace pan-indianism, meaning a lot of culture sharing in the modern era and likely future. I've taken to braiding my hair even though historically my people were more topknot oriented. | No shade on your presentation of native identity, its p tasteful, just infodump, because I didn't get to grow up In Touch with my tribe, so I've been doing studying. No need 2 post if it's hardly a question. I'll definitely send some questions.

I confess I was very nervous about trying to portray anybody who wasn't plain old caucasian white because I am very, very white, and I know that there are things I'll never understand about the experiences of being someone from another culture. I worried I'd do something wrong, but in the end, I thought it would be better to try and draw diverse people to the best of my ability and trust that if I did anything problematic or offensive, the internet would very quickly let me know in no uncertain terms.

I did a lot of research before I started drawing Mechi and planning his family and stuff. His name and all his family members' names are of Hopi origin, I believe. I saw a lot of traditional Hopi hairstyles while I was researching, and they were sooo gorgeous!! Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any RimWorld mods with traditional hairstyles, so the pawns wouldn't match any drawings I did if I used more traditional styles, which is why they all just have more generic long hair.

At the end of the day, though, RimWorld is set thousands of years in the future, and I'm pretty certain Mechi isn't even from Earth originally. He was likely born on some other urbworld. I just wanted to practice drawing people who weren't Caucasian, so I'm doing the best I can with what limited experience I have.

I do like the idea of Mechi calling Squashbug "Ma", though. Maybe he'll stick with that. It's very sweet, and easily solves my 'u' versus 'o' problem!

For anybody curious, Mechi's family names and their meanings ❤️

[muffinlance]

The audiobook for Fox's Tongue and Kirin's Bone is the best audiobook I've ever listened to. I read the book first and listened to the audiobook a few weeks later and then got my brother to listen to the audiobook and he loved it too. The narrator perfectly captures the story and I noticed so many details that I missed the first time. I'm loving book two, but my brother has insane willpower and is waiting until it's finished and published in hopes that there will be an audiobook version lol.

Gary Furlong did an amazing job! And good news: I'm signed for a three book deal, so that's a yes on an audiobook version of book two, likely sometime next year. <3

[suddencolds]

cher//ry m//agic ep12 spoilers under the cut

-

'i'm totally fine now' only to immediately turn aside to cough after?? kurosawa!! ofc he would be the type to downplay it!! 😭😭😭

bonus:

worried adachi looking longingly down at his phone is so 😭❤️

[shadowphoenixrider]

The Rescue Gambit (4/5) Escape

(Previous: Rescue the Cajun)

"We gotta problem."

Gambit nodded to the prison door. Shadow turned to see it had been closed and locked, Drifting now a floating set of clothes pressed against the wall nearby, whilst Ebak stood at the cell door, red pipe wrench clutched tightly in his hand. On the other side there were at least two men pushing and shoving at it, rattling the lock holding it in place.

"Shit." Shadow cursed, climbing into a crouch. "How are you feeling?"

"Still a li'l rough, but my nose don't hurt and I can see properly." Gambit replied. "Be jus' fine." He smirked, pulling a card from his sleeve. "Want me to show 'em how it's done?"

"Not yet. We still got two others out there and we don't wanna get split up." Shadow pressed her hand to the comm. "Myst, Ber, do you read me?"

"Uh, yeah! I think they're starting to realise that the patrols aren't turning up" Myst replied anxiously. "We've locked ourselves in the office, but I don't think it'll be long 'til they figure out we're here!"

"Can you portal yourselves out of there and into the stairs down?" Shadow asked. "Kinda got a situation developing here and we need to bunch up, pronto!"

"I think I can, give us a minute, might take two trips."

"Quick as you can, Myst!" The door banged again, rattling loudly. Shadow's finger dropped away. "We got backup coming."

Kenneth groaned from his prone position.

"Fucks sake, of all the times he had to wake." Ebak growled.

"Probably means the rest are starting to come to - we've been here too long." Shadow swore, rising to her feet. Her gaze suddenly fell onto the large what she presumed was an AK-47 that the guard had dropped, only centimetres from his hands. "Shit. Drifting, the gun!"

"I got it petite, stand back!" Gambit cried. Drifting flattened herself against the wall as the Cajun let a glowing card fly. It sliced through the rifle like a hot knife through butter before it exploded, sending shrapnel flying.

The other guards gave a cry, before redoubling their efforts, the lock beginning to make a very unhealthy scraping noise with every strike they made.

"J is taking a while with his backup!" Ebak commented, backing up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gambit.

Shadow fumbled for her comm.

"Myst, hurry UP!"

The door shuddered violently, deforming slightly around the lock, the bolt screeching at the now rhythmic strikes that were being applied to it. Gambit fanned three cards between his fingers, lighting them up with hissing pink energy.

BANG! The door buckled more.

BANG! It groaned loudly.

BANG!

The bolt sheared in two and the door swung open, striking Drifting in the face, dropping her invisibility. The two guards tumbled in, swinging their guns around to point at the three mutants - thankfully the broken door shielded Drifting from view.

"Freeze! What the fuck have you mongrels done to Ken?" One of them snarled, the other going to check their friend.

They didn't get a chance to answer though, as suddenly a portal yawned open above the two men. With a blood-curdling roar, a huge bear crashed down upon them. Their wails of fear were quickly silenced by several slaps of its massive paws.

As the behemoth turned towards them, its wet black nose sniffing the air, Gambit stepped forward, putting himself between it and the other two mutants in the cell with him.

"Hey hey, it's okay." Shadow said, tapping Gambit's side. "That's Ber, he's one of ours!"

The Cajun looked at her, then back at the bear, who sat back on his haunches (looking decidedly more tame and smaller now), before looking back to Shadow.

"You have a bear?!" He exclaimed with such incredulity that Ebak started snickering.

The Ber bear offered an affirmative grunt, and as much of a smile a bear's lips and teeth could offer. But the true smile sparkled in his ice blue eyes - the only tell that he wasn't a 'true' brown bear.

"Sorry we're late!" Myst's cheery if not slightly shaky voice sounded out, and he poked his head through the door. "Took a few more jumps than I thought we'd need."

"Non mais, all dese people an' a bear jus' to rescue Gambit?" He turned to Shadow, flashing her a winning grin. "I'm flattered, chère!"

She couldn't resist smiling back, even as she rolled her eyes.

"Don't let it go to your head, Cajun." She remarked, glancing over to Myst, who was staring a little warily at Gambit. "Okay, quick intros - Gambit, the bear is Ber who I promise is actually a man sometimes, and this guy here is Myst, he summons portals. Very useful if he can see where to put them. Ber, Myst, this is Gambit. I've gotten him back on his feet, but we still need to get the Fuck outta here before the whole place falls on our head. Any questions?"

"Yeah, uh...You've got some interesting eyes, Gambit." Myst spoke, and immediately the Cajun rounded on him with a flirtatious smirk.

"Why thank you! Anythin' else ya no- OW!" Gambit yelped as Shadow sharply pinched his backside.

"What did I say about rizzing up my friends, Cajun?" She huffed, striding over to Drifting, who had become invisible once more. "You alright? You got hit pretty hard there."

Drifting's hand moved over her face - or at least, Shadow presumed that was what was happening.

"I'm okay." The other woman grumbled. "Just wish they'd knocked first."

"In fairness, they kinda were." Shadow replied. "Just a bit...violently."

Even invisible, she could tell her friend was giving her a withering look.

"If she's good to go chère, we better move." Gambit broke in, jerking his head towards the stairs. "Don' wan' get trapped down here."

"Right." Shadow nodded, taking command. "New plan, get out of here. Head back to that office we all came in from and out the window. Meet up with Lemming and get the hell out of here, preferably back to the Mansion." She looked over her friends. "Ber goes first along with Myst in case we need a quicker getaway, Ebak; bring up the rear-"

"No can do, Shadow!" Her brother shook his head, tapping his left ear. "I can't hear out this side, remember?"

"Lemme take back of de pack, chère." Gambit spoke, all tease from his tone gone. "Let ya brudder back up de bear an' keep ya safe."

For a split second, black brown eyes met black and red, a flash of rapport and understanding passing between them.

"Alright. But don't you even think for a second about sacrificing yourself for the rest of us." Shadow said, marching up to him and prodding his chest. "We didn't go through all this to get you out just to lose you again." To her horror, she felt tears threatening to well up, the tell-tale heaviness entering her voice despite how hard she fought to keep it level.

Gambit's eyes softened, covering her hand with his and pressing it hard against his chest, against the steady beat of his heart.

"We gettin' out of here," he said. "All of us."

A squeeze of her hand before he stepped back, reminding her of the present. Shadow took a steeling breath, Ebak thankfully picking up the reigns.

"Ber in front with me, Gambit keeping a watch on our rear." He spoke, gesturing. "Myst, Drifting and Shadow will stay in the middle."

Chorus of affirmatives and nods, and the group gathered together, Ber leading them up the stairs behind his massive furry bulk.

He nosed open the door on the ground floor, sniffing the air. He grunted, beckoning with a paw, and the group quickly bunched up behind him into the corridor. There were no alarms sounding, but there was definitely tension in the air, one that had Shadow wishing she'd actually suited up and brought her sword with her, so at least one of them was equipped for the fight they might face.

They were just passing by the security office when someone yelled out behind them. Shadow barely had time to even catch Gambit's quick movement, only his shout of: "Fous-toi!" and the explosion that sounded out.

"Move!" He barked, and Shadow relayed the order:

"GO!"

The group didn't need telling thrice, and Ber barrelled straight into the door of the unused office across the way, Gambit covering their retreat with a fan of glowing cards, their detonations making the building shudder. The window was still ajar, and Myst pushed it open, the sound of a blaring klaxxon spilling into the room.

"We've been rumbled." Ebak grunted. "We'll hold the door, go!"

Drifting hopped out first, followed by Myst, then Ebak. Shadow came next, caught by her brother and Drifting. Gambit's lithe form was second to last, and he rolled gracefully on the landing, flashing a smile.

"Back up, bear comin' through!" Was about as much warning as they got before Ber burst through the window, glass shards spilling everywhere as the mammal came down heavily on his paws, panting.

"Well that was slightly dramatic!" Myst declared.

"Have you tried to squeeze a bear through an office window?" Drifting asked dryly.

"Shadow, we got a place to go?" Gambit cut in.

"Yeah, a friend isn't far, we can pick him up and get your bike-"

"MUTANT INTRUDERS DETECTED. INITIATING NEUTRALISATION PROCEDURES."

Her blood ran cold.

The klaxxon was drowned out by the roof of the warehouse splintering apart as a Sentinel burst through, the red lights of its eyes catching them in its baleful glare. Shadow had seen Sentinels before, but only in the Danger Room's simulations, and despite Beast's efforts, nothing could have prepared her to see one in its metal flesh. It seemed impossibly large and daunting, a behemoth constructed in the image of her annihilation.

She and her compatriots froze in astonished fear, the world briefly pausing for several long seconds. Drifting suddenly winked into view, even Ber seemingly shrinking in the face of the horror you hoped never to see.

Merciless red eyes bored into them. There was no hatred behind them, only the cold chill of programming.

Somehow that was worse.

"SURRENDER, MUTANTS." The Sentinel announced, snapping Shadow back to reality, her training kicking back in with the ease of a car changing gears. She spun on her heel; her friends were still caught in mesmerised terror, mice beneath the fangs of a colossal serpent.

"Shadow!" Gambit bellowed, extending his staff. "Get ya portal guy an' get outta here!"

"What?!" She rounded on him. "I said I wasn't leaving you behind again!"

He shook his head quickly.

"Things changed, chère! You know only I and maybe de bear can handle dis! 'Sides, don' want dis followin' us back to de Mansion!" He glanced back to her, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Promise I be comin' home, chère. I mean it."

Shadow's lips trembled, wanting to argue but knowing in her heart he was right.

"You fucking better, Remy!" She snapped, no longer caring if her voice was full of tears.

Gambit twisted around, and suddenly his arm was around her waist and his lips were pressing into hers. It was hard and urgent, and ended much too quickly as he pulled away, eyes of midnight and blood gazing into hers.

"I promise, mon ombre." He murmured.

Movement out of the corner of their eyes had him stepping away, hurling a fan of glowing cards at the Sentinel as it raised hand to fire, knocking its aim askew. "Go!"

Somehow his cry shattered the trance the others had been ensnared in, and Myst quickly pulled a portal open. It didn't take much coaxing for Drifting to go through, but Ebak resisted when she tugged at his sleeve.

"I can help, my wrench-"

"Not unless you're up close or Gambit has it charged." Shadow shook her head. "It has scanners, El - it'll lock you down and you won't be able to escape. Go, I'll be right behind you."

Ebak's lip curled, and he swore, shooting a look at Myst.

"Don't close this portal until Shadow's through," he said, his tone like a knife wrapped in silk. Myst nodded, and Ebak gave Shadow one last, pointed look before he stepped through as well.

Ber moved over, gently headbutting Shadow and uttering a soft puffing snort.

"You stay safe, big guy." Shadow said softly, rubbing over his furry head, gazing into ice-blue eyes. "Bring my Cajun back to me."

An affirmative grunt, and Shadow stepped up to Myst. "They're going to cover our escape." She explained. "We better go."

He nodded. She spared one more look at Gambit as he flipped elegantly away from an energy blast. She pressed a hand to her chest and uttered a soft prayer to whatever gods were listening, before she and Myst crossed the shimmering maw, and it closed behind them.

---

"Allons! Have to be faster den dat, tin can!" Gambit taunted, dodging another volley the Sentinel fired his way.

He didn't know what it was about this one, but it seemed to lack the cruel, simple efficiency of the others he'd faced. It hesitated more, its weapons systems were lacking, and if not for the occasional fleeing shape of guards away from its massive feet, Gambit could have mistaken this for one of Shadow's training sims.

Whether that was because Master Mold was long destroyed or whoever was behind these ne'er-do-wells had salvaged a Sentinel that wasn't quite working right, the Cajun didn't really have time to ponder.

Letting fly the last few cards in the first deck he'd brought to this place to distract the robot, Gambit skidded to a halt next to the bear that Shadow had called...Ber. Not the most imaginative name he'd ever heard, but then again, 'Shadow' was an odd choice for a woman who could heal by 'speaking' to cells.

"What would you rather I be called, Cajun? Mitosis?" Her voice echoed in his head, the way her dark eyebrow had arched up at him faint in his mind's eye, his lips tingling with the hurried kiss they'd shared moments before.

You came for me, mon ombre. I'll come back to you.

"Alright, fuzzy." He flashed the bear a winning smile. "Ya ready for dis?"

Ber uttered a huffing growl and bobbed his head in a motion that Gambit took as a 'yes'. Was it his imagination, or had Ber gotten bigger than the last he'd seen of him? He dismissed the thought, glancing back at the Sentinel starting to stomp towards them.

Looking back to Ber, a wild idea burst up in Gambit's head. Oh, he had to - he might never get the opportunity to do this again.

He patted the beast's fuzzy side gently.

"Fancy takin' Gambit for a ride?" He asked, grinning widely.

Ber bared his teeth in the closest approximation of a smile his form could give him, but Gambit saw the true smile in his eyes. Ber crouched to let Gambit spring onto his back, straddling his middle with ease. Ber's brown fur was thick and soft, but the Cajun felt his muscles ripple under him as the bear raised up, squaring down the Sentinel approaching.

Gambit took a handful of fur to steady himself, leaning forward with his staff held perpendicular to his body, his kinetic energy burning eagerly under his skin.

"Mais," he breathed, Ber's rounded ears flicking. "Let's show dis bunch o' scrap why it shouldn't mess wit us, eh?"

Ber reared up, letting out a bellowing roar that made Gambit laugh with delirious excitement before he charged. The robot seemed to hesitate, as if it somehow couldn't quite believe there was several hundred pounds of very angry mammal with teeth and claws bearing down on it, but soon it began to fire on them.

Despite Ber's bulk, he gracefully jinked and dived out of the energy blasts that crashed around them, Gambit leaning into each feint. Kinetic energy poured into his staff, and he hopped up to balance on the bear's back, his body humming with his power. To his surprise Ber began to increase in size, fur and muscle shifting under his feet as his mount grew from car-sized to that of a semi truck.

"Sapristi!" Gambit breathed. "You are full of surprises!"

The Sentinel decided to change tactics, and stepped forward, pulling its arm back in preparation to slap them aside. Gambit's staff flared bright and he hurled it at the robot's chest. It went straight through, detonating inside with enough force to stagger it. Ber roared, diving forward, and Gambit took that chance to spring off his back. The giant bear crashed into the Sentinel, massive claws tearing into the metal and toppling it over.

Gambit somersaulted in the air, sending a rain of hissing cards down with a flick of his wrist. They thudded into the Sentinel's head in quick succession, and Gambit ploughed in straight after, heel crunching down on the metal with all the force he could muster.

A shadow fell over him and he glanced up to see the giant's hand reaching for him. A bellow shattered the air and Ber smashed it aside with a mighty headbutt, twisting around to sink his jaws into the metallic flesh, the steel and alloys giving way with an angry screech. Gambit looked down at the single remaining red eye beneath him, the light flickering rapidly as the Sentinel clung to 'life'. The Cajun smirked, pressing his hands flat to its shattered face-plate. His power surged from him, lighting the Sentinel's head in a bright pink.

"ERROR. ERROR. INTENSE ENERGY READINGS DETECTED. ERROR." It sounded out beneath him.

"Bonne nuit!" Gambit cried, giving his power just that little extra push before he back-flipped away. The Sentinel's head exploded in a pink fireball, the shockwave propelling Gambit to a skidding stop nearby. Ber loped over to him, pressing his giant wet nose into Gambit's face as it to check for injuries.

"Hey hey, stop dat! Gambit fine!" He pushed the bear away, struck now by how gentle Ber was being despite the utter carnage he'd caused only seconds ago.

Shouting sounded out and Gambit looked up to see the remnants of the guards were starting to appear, nervously clustering around the fallen body of the Sentinel and half-heartedly pointing rifles in their direction. Ber snarled, turning towards them. The guards hesitated, shrinking back. Ber slammed his paws on the ground and charged forward with a bellow, and they finally scattered, screaming.

As he trotted back with his head held high, a portal opened behind them, and Myst's face popped out.

"You all done?"

Gambit glanced back at the warzone, then back to Myst.

"Yeah, we done here." He nodded. "Let's get back home."

(Previous: Rescue the Cajun)/(Next: Home Safe)

[blinkbones]

Nana, Émile Zola

Finally getting some French lit in. To be completely honest, I've had this book for almost a decade, and I never read it. Well, actually, apparently I tried at some point, because I found some underlined bits very early on -- but it's clear that I gave up. I remember struggling with it back then. I didn't, this time. It's nice to see proof of my improvement, although I'm not sure what specific skill is concerned.

For a quick & anachronistic summary, it's the story of a 19th century escort girl who makes it big in paris.

I was actually surprised by how easy to read this was. I kind of expected very difficult language. It is poetic, but not actually difficult. The text is easy to follow, almost journalistic. Poetic journalism.

I really, really enjoyed Nana. It's a long ride, and what a ride. It reads, at times, like a soap opera, with how she has a roster of desperate men orbiting around her. She really is the sun of her novel -- and it is her novel. I entered this book ignorantly (despite being French and a ~lit student, I'm not actually well-versed in my country's literature) and it kept surprising me. Where I expected a moralizing tale, or at least a pessimistic outlook on the arrogant seductress, I got the unstoppable, inescapable success of Nana. It's almost a power fantasy, although I doubt Zola saw it through this angle. I mean, it does end badly. Spoilers, but she fully dies in a disfiguring manner. And there is this underlying theme of Nana, the beautiful Venus from the lower classes, bringing the rot of the sewers to the silk sheets of the aristocracy. She all but ruins the entire upper class with the raw power of her sex-appeal, and I thought that there was something cosmic about it. By the time she's at her apex, she herself does not have control of her situation. She becomes like an empire, constantly conquering further reaches to maintain peace and prosperity throughout her imperial reign. She devours. And yet she's so incredibly human. She felt to me like a deity unaware of its power, and, in that sense, her death (especially because it's in the full bloom of her youth and legendary status) felt more like a shedding of the mortal form. Admittedly, I also just find it more fun to interpret it that way. I'm reading for fun, after all. Ah, the specter of academic seriousness hangs over me.

I think Nana is an easy entry point into that sort of literature. Yes, it's part of some long-ass series, but no, you don't need to read the previous books (I didn't). It's very self-contained. It's a long, very eventful ride, through Nana's chaotic and glamorous world. It's long but it feels like going downhill on a bike, and like everything's going too fast still. And it's fucking funny.

And for you, tumblr, my beloved, yes, you will find some messy queers in there. I only talked about Nana herself here, but Nana holds a whole ensemble cast of secondary characters, many interesting women (a wealth of them, really), that are really a whole other serving of delights that I just didn't have time to talk about here. But seriously, just about every character, especially the women, is interesting.

[greatunironic]

work in progress wednesday

Mike rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, if we ever start this shit. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“You’re lucky Eddie’s not in charge tonight,” Chrissy told him. “Or you’d be rolling with a disadvantage immediately.”

“Still might.”

“What? Will! No!”

“The Aotrom Continent is mysterious, Yseult Cresthouse,” Will said to Mike airily, “and there are many pitfalls in the vast, unforgiving lands of the Emperor. For that is where you find yourselves this dark, rainy afternoon, fellow travelers. You’re on the edge of the Continent, in fact, in a little settlement on the path to Watchling Keep, the seat of the Earl of Lístost. Lístost is the last hold of the Emperor, before it tips into the Howling Sea and, beyond, a string of archipelagos that form the first reaches of the Southern Warlord’s lands. But, now, our story is here, in the backroom of a small inn, where an even smaller goblin sits alone, damp and drinking from an almost comically large stein of beer. Yseult, if you would describe yourself.”

“Yseult is a small, green skinned female goblin, a bounty hunter and rogue,” began Mike. “She’s got big purple eyes, long dark hair tied up in a knot with like a sick undercut and a ton of earrings on her left ear, mixed metals, copper, iron, gold, you name it, she’s probably got one. She’s got a dark cloak wrapped around her, damp like you said, and you can tell she’s not very strong but she’s tough and crafty. And you can’t see any weapons on her but she’s got them.”

“She’s not been in this backroom by herself for long,” Will narrated to the table, “maybe twenty minutes, thirty, tops. Meanwhile, the main room of the inn, beyond this room, is bustling with life. The innkeeper’s daughter is moving too and fro, bringing food and drink to weary travelers. There are four people of note in this particular room: a man and a woman are in the corner closest to the door, furthest from the roaring fire, heads bent in conversation — Heard Brontide, and Sanngriðr of the Western Sea.” He gestured to Steve and Chrissy but didn’t ask them to describe themselves yet. “In front of the fire sits a woman in a very fine cloak, Beru, the Left Hand of the Duke of An Diona, and performing for the room at large is the Bard Narrow.” A quick, light melody sounded from Eddie’s side of the table. He’d produced an honest to god lute from somewhere — because of course his throwaway introduction of himself earlier was actually story accurate and came with a fucking prop — and was playing it with a shiteatting grin

[tj-dragonblade]

Seven Lines Tag Game

Tagged by @bruce-wayne-simp - thank you!

So uh. I drafted a thing over the last two days bc I'm trying to get at least a couple hits on the House of Horrors and on Monsterfucktober Bingo. Extremely dissatisfied with how it's turned out at the moment so I'll let it sit a couple days while I move on to the next, but here's a wee sample from the end (which I am actually happy with):

"I'll take it," Daniel interrupted, excitement bubbling up in his stomach. A haunted flat? Could he be any luckier? "That is—if I may?"

"Look, kid, you wanna give it a shot? Go for it. Come on in, I'll draw up the paperwork. 'F you stay, I'll give ya a super steep discount—any rent comin' in's better'n none, heh!" The grizzled man turned and stumped back into his office, still cackling and muttering; Daniel followed, mind racing.

Tagging, no obligation, tag me in your post if you've already done it, etc: @valeriianz, @lenreli, @seiya-starsniper, @chaosheadspace, @delta-pavonis

[beeholyshit]

man.

this makes me so sad

[thetomorrowshow]

hubris killed the god - ch 2

first chapter

sorry this one took so long folks! while i’m on my tumblr break i’m only uploading once a month, and this fic got pushed back farther than i would’ve liked.

cw: talk of death, illness/plague, implied animal death, religious setting

~

Scott tries to sleep. He really does.

But every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is a darkness more sinister than what he knows lies in Sanctuary.

Every couple of minutes, he can’t stand it—he opens his eyes, sits up, and scans the dark room.

Every time, there’s nothing there. He’s safe.

But it’s terrifying, lying alone, alone the way he was for the past weeks in his house as the plague closed in around him.

Eventually, Scott can’t handle it any longer. He slips out of bed and into his boots, wrapping the soft spare blanket (a fluffy tan thing that he’d found under the bed) around his shoulders like a cloak.

Scott eases his bedroom door open, slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaking that might wake someone. He’d heard several people pass by earlier as he prepared for bed, so he knows he isn’t alone on the floor.

He sneaks out and down the stairs, wincing at every creak his boots make against the wooden steps. There’s nobody in the public section of the inn, all candles blown out and leaving the room eerily silent in its emptiness.

He chooses not to stay. The dim light of the stars, the wind in the trees, the sounds of animals—all a much preferable peace to this. And there’s a cool breeze, a fresh scent on the air, and the distant shadowy figure of someone standing by a campfire at the edge of town past the church.

Scott doesn’t approach them—he’s sure it’s one of his friends, out keeping watch, but he’s afraid that going over there will bring him into sight of the mites, and thereby set him up for a sleepless night.

Instead, he turns to the church.

The foyer is silent, the blankets and pillows in the corner abandoned. There’s still a lamp burning, though, which gives Scott hope that someone might be here, if not awake.

He pushes open the door to the chapel and steps inside.

Sure enough, beyond the rows of simple pews, setting up a candle at the altar at the front is Sausage.

Sausage turns at the noise, his face breaking into a smile as he sees Scott. He abandons what he’s doing, strides down the aisle.

“Scott! You’re here, I’m so happy you’re here!”

Sausage wraps Scott in a big, warm hug, and Scott just melts into it, gripping Sausage as tightly as he can. Sausage smells just as he always does, a bit smokey mixed with some sort of incense, and it’s more comforting than anything else he’s been through today.

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” Sausage says, drawing back to examine him. He frowns. “Te ves consado, Scott. Haven’t you slept?”

“Not really,” Scott admits, drawing his blanket closer around himself. He doesn’t want to talk about his lack of sleep, though, instead gesturing toward the stand. “Are you . . . lighting a candle?”

Sausage perks up. “Oh, yes! I do most of my worship at night lately—Santa Perla is strongest then, you see!” He takes Scott gently by the elbow, leading him up to the front of the chapel. There on the altar is, indeed, a plain unlit candle, flint n’ steel beside it.

“I didn’t know candles were involved in your religion,” Scott says curiously. He’s sat in on a few worship sessions and a sermon or two, more out of support for his friend than any real interest, and in all his recollections he can’t picture a candle anywhere in the service.

“They aren’t,” Sausage says. He kneels there, in the same spot as earlier, and strikes up the flint n’ steel. Carefully, he lights the wick of the candle, coaxing a flame to life. Scott waits in silence, watches as Sausage raises his eyes to the image of Saint Pearl, mouth moving soundlessly in prayer.

“I saw it in a vision,” he says eventually, when his prayer is finished. “A friend, I think. Someone who helped the dead pass on by lighting them a candle. And I figured, well, it can’t hurt to give them a helping hand! That’s what we’re all about here in Sanctuary.”

Sausage reaches under the altar into the compartment there, where he retrieves a second candle. “The first one is for Joel,” he says. “This one is for my people who have passed on.”

Again, Scott waits patiently as Sausage lights it and prays over it, quiet until Sausage begins to stand.

“Do you believe in it?”

Sausage shrugs. “I believe in Santa Perla,” he offers, eyes flicking up. “And I believe if she wishes this to be one of her many ways of helping, then she will accept my offerings. And if it doesn’t actually help them?” he shrugs again. “At least it’s something to remember them by.”

Scott thinks about that for a moment. It’s . . . it’s really a beautiful sentiment. Whether he believes that the flame is genuinely helping to light their path to the afterlife, or whether it just represents their life here on earth, it’s something that he likes. Neither explanation is less spiritual, less meaningful.

“Do you have a third?” he asks quietly, and when Sausage nods, he kneels in Sausage’s place and lights a candle for his llamas. He stares into the flickering flame as Sausage murmurs a prayer over the candle, imploring his saint to ensure the safety of those passed, if she is able.

“Do you mind if I just. . . .” Scott gestures to the pews when the ritual is done, pulling his blanket a little tighter around himself.

Sausage nods. “Oh, go right ahead! There’s a little room off to the side where there’s a bed, if you want, but it’s fine if you stay in here! There’s always blankets and pillows somewhere!” Scott turns to go, but Sausage catches his shoulder. “If you hear little footsteps in the morning, don’t worry about it,” he says, eyes twinkling a little. “That’s just Hermes running in to relight his daddy’s candle. Don’t let it wake you!”

Scott realizes, for a millisecond, the absolute magnitude of being a child in this apocalypse.

And then he moves on.

Scott does wander for a moment, finding the room spoken of, but he decides fairly quickly that he would rather stay in the chapel with Sausage, where the lamps are low but lit and there’s a person awake to make sure all is well.

He grabs the pillow and another blanket from the foyer, drapes them across one of the pews sort of midway between the doors and the stand. He spares a quick prayer of thanks to Saint Pearl (which consists of “Hi Pearl, thanks for Sausage making these pews cushioned, amen.”), then lays down with the blanket from his room draped over him.

With the mutterings of Sausage’s worship and the slight spicy smell of incense and the warm, soft glow, Scott falls asleep easily.

-

It’s only two days later that they’re gearing up to rescue Katherine.

In those two days, Scott’s learned a lot—fWhip walks him around the invisible perimeter, warning him that if he ever crosses it, he’s no longer protected by Sanctuary’s magic. Which is stressful to hear, especially considering the marking is less of a fence and more of a slat of wood sticking up in the dirt every couple of feet, but fWhip assures him that he won’t be on watch by himself for a while.

Scott has his first watch with Gem, and together they keep an eye out until midnight, when Jimmy relieves them and Scott returns to the church to sleep in the cozy warmth of Sausage’s presence.

He at first wonders why they patrol at all, but Jimmy explains that the noise of their footsteps keeps the mites from attempting to get through the perimeter. There are also various times set apart during the day to patrol, make sure that everything is in order.

Sausage sleeps during the day, so Scott’s careful to be quiet when he finds himself in the church foyer. His companions don’t seem to take the same care, though, particularly fWhip and Gem, and Scott finds himself staring at them frequently, recalling the ominous note he’d found in his room.

The group meets at mealtimes, where they share food either in the foyer of the church, or at the outpost (just a campfire with some logs around it not far from the church), seemingly interchangeably. It’s then that Jimmy will ask someone to get in a patrol before the next meal, or ask about certain capabilities that might help in a rescue. It’s during breakfast in the foyer that Jimmy announces his plans for rescuing Katherine.

“I’m thinking a team of me, False, and Gem,” Jimmy says that morning, just two days after Scott’s arrival. Jimmy nods toward Scott when he looks up.

“Scott, if you want to see how these sorts of things go, you could tag along. fWhip knows how to run the place, I just figured he shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Which is something that really irks Scott, because why would fWhip be running Sanctuary in the first place? Sure, Sausage sleeps for a good part of the day, but it’s still his land.

Scott opens his mouth to say something about how he wants to go, then reconsiders. It’ll just be him and fWhip and Sausage out of the main group here. Maybe he can do some investigating, sneak into people’s rooms. After all, the note from behind his mirror is still nagging at him.

And maybe it’s selfish, or cowardly, but he really doesn’t want to go out into the world so soon after being saved from it. Seeing the masses of mites that wait just outside Sanctuary’s safety seems like something that he isn’t prepared for. He can only imagine how embarrassing it would be to have a panic attack in front of the rest of the party, when he’s meant to be proving he's worth keeping around.

“I’ll stay back,” he says. “I can do some patrolling, keep learning my way around.”

Jimmy nods, then continues laying out the plan.

The next day, very early in the morning, the three set off on False’s airship for Glimmer Grove. Scott waves to them, even though no one looks back.

And then he gets to work.

It isn’t hard at all to shake fWhip off, seeing as fWhip heads out almost instantly for a patrol. So Scott, claiming he’s tired and going to take a nap (he is tired, the pews are less comfortable the longer one lies on them and it’s taking him longer and longer to fall asleep), heads into the inn, ready to break into his companions’ rooms.

Which isn’t hard. None of them were given keys, apparently, and only lock the doors from the inside. Not that any of them have any valuables, but Scott has taken to carrying his coat and fedora with him everywhere, just in case of a robber.

He checks Gem’s room first, sliding in and easing the door shut behind him near-silently. Gem’s room is decorated in mostly orange hues, a soft orange rug beside the bed, an auburn duvet spread across the bed. It’s nice, home-y almost, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it.

He makes quick work of going through the wardrobe—there isn’t much but a few changes of clothes—and a random boot thrown in at the bottom.

The boot doesn’t match any that he’s ever seen her wear, strangely enough. Scott tugs it out, turns it every which way. It looks like something Katherine made, and sure enough, the sole of it has two imprinted ‘G’s curling around each other in her familiar logo.

None of that is too strange. What’s strange is that it’s not made out of the typical supple leather. This boot is stiff and rubbery, made for walking through mud and puddles without getting the foot wet.

He searches through the rest of the room, ducking down to check under the bed. There’s no match.

Why on earth would Gem have a specially-made boot for traveling through mud and marshes, when she lives in a perfectly dry part of the world and would have no practical use for it? And only one?

And Scott doesn’t know the sizes of his friends’ feet, but this looks a little small. Is it too small for Gem? If it was crafted by Katherine, wouldn’t it be made to fit?

He realizes with a start that he’s been pondering the boot for at least ten minutes. He tosses it back into the bottom of the wardrobe, draws the doors closed, and leaves. There’s nothing else to look at. Time to move on.

Jimmy’s room is the next down, and it’s a decent bit larger than either his or Gem’s. The past few days have made it fairly clear that Jimmy’s the leader of their ragtag group, but Scott would bet that the room size is less Jimmy throwing his weight around and more like first come, first served. Still, he can’t help but feel a bit miffed when he notices that Jimmy’s bed is nearly double the size of his own.

There’s no rug in Jimmy’s room, but his bed has plain white sheets and a grey comforter. Jimmy has a wardrobe and a set of drawers, which Scott finds aren’t empty—there’s several papers in the top drawer, mostly maps and half-baked rescue plans. There’s one big, thin book (an art book, by the looks of it) atop the dresser drawers, a couple of sheets of paper and a pencil atop that. The rest of the drawers are empty.

A couple of shirts and an extra pair of jeans are hanging in the wardrobe. Scott feels around the top shelf (he’s too short to properly see it; Jimmy’s wardrobe is taller than his) and finds two items.

The first is a well-polished badge, ‘Deputy Norman’ inscribed in the middle. Scott puts that back, grabs the second.

This is a huge circlet of dull gold, a laurel crown that Scott recognizes immediately.

Joel.

He hadn’t thought that there must have been a period of time during which Joel had been a part of the surviving rulers group. A time when he joked with them, went on rescue missions, stood guard.

Scott remembers the way Jimmy had looked away, face drawn, when he said that hubris had killed Joel.

He wonders how risky it must’ve been for Jimmy to take his crown after whatever had happened to take him down. He can imagine the god’s giant body, swarmed with mites. And Jimmy had gone for it anyway, just to keep a piece of Joel with them.

Or maybe it hadn’t been like that. Maybe Joel had died slowly, in Sanctuary, succumbing to the plague little by little. Maybe Jimmy keeps hold of the crown as a reminder of what they’ve lost, and how careful they need to be.

Whatever the reason, Scott slides it back into place on the shelf, closing the wardrobe doors on it. He doesn’t need to dwell on death. He doesn’t have time.

fWhip’s room is next, and Scott is considerably more cautious with this one. fWhip usually spends the day in the church, using it as a hub of sorts so that if anyone needs help, there’s someone right there, but there’s every possibility that he might need something from his room.

fWhip has just the one change of clothes (and Scott remembers him mentioning it, talking about how he’s a generally strange size and has been having to take in spare Sanctuary clothing in his spare time) in his wardrobe, but the only really notable thing in his blue-themed room is the rocks.

There are rocks piled up in the wardrobe, so precariously that Scott thinks if he even touches one all the rest will fall down. Most of them are run-of-the-mill pebbles and chunks of brick, a couple bearing the distinctive craggly features of dripstone.

Under the bed is a bit of a different story, because fWhip appears to have stripped his bed of the covers and pillows and built a bed underneath the frame, pillows neat and blankets folded. A couple of geodes and cooler-shaped rocks surround the space (which Scott would normally think of as a nest, but it’s far too organized for that).

He hasn’t really found the move from Chromia to Sanctuary to be too difficult to handle—maybe that’s because he’s a traveler by nature, or maybe that’s just because he’s been putting off processing the traumatizing events of what’s gone on. And sure, he’s been hunkering down every night in the chapel, lulled to sleep by Sausage’s murmured prayers, but overall he doesn’t feel too homesick.

fWhip must be a different story. The guy hides it well, but he must miss the caves of Gobland more than he gives away.

Scott doesn’t disturb the bedding, not wanting to give away that he’d been snooping, but he catches sight of something . . . out of place. A rag, by itself, beside the rocks of the bed. A rag that looks like it’s crusted-over with a reddish-brown.

With blood.

Scott doesn’t touch it, of course. He’s not an idiot.

“Okay. Okay. Blood. That’s fine,” he mutters to himself, more to keep his stomach steady than anything else. He really doesn’t want to investigate further, so he crawls out from underneath the bed and heads to the next room.

Two doors down is the next one that’s occupied, and Scott stands in the doorway for a long moment.

This is Shelby’s room. The oversized witch’s hat on the bed makes that clear.

Scott’s careful in his perusal of her room, some irrational part of him telling him that Shelby’s spirit is haunting the room, ready to attack if he breaks anything. Not that there’s much to break, really.

Instead of a wardrobe, Shelby has a set of drawers, and Scott opens each one. The top drawer has a couple of potion bottles, two full of shimmering liquid and one empty. Beside those is a bundle of dried netherwart, some loose golden powder making a fine silt at the bottom of the drawer.

The middle drawer is clothes. Scott hadn’t been terribly close with any of the rulers, but Shelby had been one of those he considered a friend. Opening the drawer of clothes also unleashes a familiar scent, the smokey smell common of brewing businesses intermingling with a sweet melon that is so very representative of Shelby that Scott almost instantly shuts the drawer again. He can’t handle whatever emotions are tied to that.

The bottom drawer is empty. The bed is made, purple duvet a little wrinkled where the hat lies on it. Beside the bed is a congealed, drying-out bucket of slime.

Scott exits quickly, moving on to the last room in the hallway, which must belong to False.

That door is locked.

Scott twists the doorknob this way and that, jiggling it to make sure it isn’t just stuck. No, it’s well and truly locked, which Scott can’t help but find inordinately strange—nobody else even has a key. Why does False have one, when no one else does?

He bends down, peers through the keyhole—he can’t see anything. He adjusts positions, switches eyes. Even his magical eye sees nothing.

There’s something placed over the keyhole to make it impossible to peek in.

Scott leans back, chews on his lip. There has to be a way into that room, right?

The window.

Scott jogs down the hallway then the stairs, taking them two at a time. He makes a note of which side of the building False’s window will probably be on—the back—and hikes around to it, kicking through grass to gaze up.

There’s his window, he thinks—he remembers leaving the curtains open. Gem’s beside it. He tracks down the line, finds—

Nothing. What should be False’s window has the curtains closed. There’s no way to see in without the woman letting him in herself.

Which shouldn’t be suspicious. It really shouldn’t be suspicious. If anything, Scott’s the suspicious one for snooping around in everyone’s rooms while they’re away.

It’s just . . . the note, that he found behind his mirror. During every moment of free time, his thoughts return to it. Who left it? Is it recent? Is it about one of his companions?

Whoever the notes was about, it said they would kill again. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth to imagine—someone (possibly someone that he knows) has killed a person, and is looking to do it again.

He can’t imagine any of his friends as a murderer.

But it’s the apocalypse. Who knows what they’re capable of?

fWhip. Constantly trying to please, smoothly redirecting conversations when they go places he doesn’t want them to go. Jimmy, the leader and a dead-eye shot, stubborn and quick to anger but quicker to forgiveness. False, stoic and private, her room blocked off and thoughts kept to herself. Gem, careful not to offend, but judgemental and self-important. And Sausage, up all night praying, apparently sleeping during the day—but for some reason, none of the others ever want to see him or talk about him.

Actually, Scott can imagine all of his friends as murderers.

And isn’t that a comforting thought?

-

“We’ve got another sick one,” fWhip tells him as they walk down the main road of Sanctuary. Scott glances down at him, then back to the street ahead. There are a couple of people milling about, talking with neighbors in hushed tones. Their eyes follow Scott and fWhip as they pass, boring holes into the back of Scott’s head.

“A youngling girl,” fWhip continues. “Refugee with her older sister from Dawn. I wish we could do something.”

Despite himself and his suspicions, Scott’s curiosity is piqued. He’d just thought his llamas had a normal illness when he first noticed it. Are there unique signs? The plague probably presents differently in humans than it does in llamas, right? “How can you tell she’s got it? It’s not just some normal illness?”

fWhip chews on his bottom lip. “I’ve seen . . . five people get infected since being here, I think. Jimmy said he’s seen twelve. If one of those things touches them, they leave a little red mark. A fever spreads from the mark. Usually the first sign, though, is hallucinations.”

“I thought hallucinations were a symptom of a fever already. How can you tell the difference?”

“Well, they don’t get the fever right away,” fWhip explains, stopping as the main street dwindles away. “It starts with hallucinations. The fever comes a day or two later. And then they just . . . go downhill. Slowly, sometimes. It depends on how willing they are to give up, I guess.”

“How long has she been ill?” Scott asks.

“Her sister noticed the red spot on her leg this morning, but apparently she’s been acting weird for a couple of days. It’s. . . .” fWhip draws in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t continue his thought, but after a moment, he says, “Kids are the hardest. They think they’ll be fine if they accidentally play outside the border. They don’t even notice it, sometimes. And every time, one of them dies.”

Scott doesn’t even know what to say.

He woke up in the chapel this morning to see a little boy with curly brown hair kneeling at the altar, shifting his weight back and forth, whispering a prayer that echoed through the hall.

“Santa Perla, por favor bendice a mi papá. Gracias por mi padre, quien es en el paraíso. Por favor ayúdame con mi español lecciones. ¡Te amo, padre!”

Hermes had finished his prayer and bounded out of the church, face shining and calling for his papa.

He can’t imagine that little boy lying in bed, hallucinating and feverish and on death’s door. He can’t imagine how destroyed Sausage would be were that to happen.

“And there’s nothing we can do?” he asks, fighting to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

fWhip sighs. He doesn’t say anything.

It tells Scott all he needs to know.

-

The missing members of their little party return that afternoon, accompanied by a familiar face.

Katherine hops down before False has even quite landed the airship in the field beside the church, striding toward Scott, dropping her huge battleaxe beside her. She pulls Scott into a hard hug as soon as she reaches him.

Scott hugs her back, doing his best to ignore her sweat sticking to him. She’s battlestained and gross and looks exhausted, but Scott holds her tight, trying not to let his arms shake, until she pushes away and hugs fWhip.

“It’s good to see you,” Scott says, reaching over for her battleaxe—the least he can do is carry it for her. As soon as he lifts it a couple of inches off the ground, he has to let it fall again with a grunt. He pauses, staring at the massively heavy axe in shock. He’d barely even been able to get it off the ground! How does Katherine even use it?

He heaves, manages to pull it up under both arms, carrying it like a baby rather than a weapon. Who on earth needs an axe this heavy? How much can Katherine lift?

He totters this way and that with the weight of it, following fWhip and Katherine toward the church—Jimmy comes up beside him, takes half the weight of the axe. Together, they carry it inside and lean it against the doorframe. Then, with a jerk of his head, Jimmy exits once again.

That probably means he wants Scott to follow him. Scott bites his lip, glances back at Katherine—she’s already sitting at the table, ravenously attacking a bowl of chicken and rice.

He can talk to her later.

Scott follows Jimmy out of the church, jogs to catch up with him at the edge of town.

“What’s up?” he asks. Jimmy shrugs.

“Just wanted to tell you about the mission. Katherine was pretty much in the same position you were, closed down to just one house.”

“Why’d it take longer to spread to her?”

“Probably something to do with the fact that Katherine’s a known monster hunter, and you were defending yourself with an old iron shovel,” Jimmy laughs, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “She had some tricks up her sleeve. That’s actually why we went for you first—we figured Katherine could hold her own longer.”

“Well, now I’m offended,” Scott says, not actually offended. He’s fully confident that Katherine is more capable than he is against these things.

Jimmy kicks a stone absently. Scott’s eyes follow it as it rolls away, just passing out of range of the border. Jimmy goes to kick it again; Scott throws an arm across his chest to stop him.

“That’s the border,” he points out. Jimmy frowns, points beyond it a couple of feet to where a slat of wood sticks out of the ground.

“No, that’s the border,” he contradicts. “We marked it.”

Scott blinks, stares at the wooden slat. Because, yes, when he got shown around the place, fWhip had made a point of referencing the wooden markers, set two or three meters apart, keeping an eye on where the border was. Apparently Sausage had laid them out before they even arrived, just to make sure none of his villagers ever crossed them.

And yet, Scott’s certain that the border does not fall in place properly.

“Jimmy, I don’t know how to explain this, but I’m certain that the border is . . . here,” he says, pointing to where it is. “This marker must be off, or something.”

Jimmy shakes his head doggedly. “No, Sausage placed them himself. And he can sort of sense the border, since it’s his magic.”

Right. Magic.

Scott closes his right eye, surveys the area closer. Sure enough, just looking through the magically-inclined eye allows him to see a slight shimmer in the air, right where he feels the border is.

And if Sausage had been able to see it too, there’s no way he would’ve gone outside of it to place a marker.

“We need to get Sausage,” he says, and ignores Jimmy’s questions as he runs back to the church.

-

“Yep, it’s moved,” Sausage announces to the gathered crowd—rulers and villagers alike—, straightening up and dusting off his knees. “About three feet here. I’ll check everywhere else—it looks mostly the same, luckily! So you all can go about your day and just know that there’s new boundaries, so stay far away!”

They wait a moment longer, but Sausage turns away and crouches back down, inching his way down the new border, feeling with his hands as to where the line may be. The crowd disperses with a bit of anxious whispering, villagers back to their jobs and homes, rulers back to the church.

Scott kneels down beside Sausage, watching his fingers carefully search out the border. “Can’t you see it?”

Sausage sighs. “A little bit. It’s easier at night. But I can feel the threads that sew into the ground, which is a better way of telling, usually.”

“I can see it,” Scott offers. “My gold eye. It can see magic. Would that help?”

Sausage doesn’t pause in his searching, just nods. “If you wanna go along the border ahead of me and put rocks where you think it is, that would be awesome! I just wanna be totally sure.”

So Scott does that, trailing all the way around Sanctuary in a slow patrol, with an armful of pebbles that he picks up and places down in a line on his way around.

In most places, it’s barely moved. Five or six inches, usually, on rare occasions a foot. But it’s movement, it’s the magical border adjusting against the mites, and more than once as he lays down his line of stones he notices mites right along the border, often piled up against the invisible shield where it bows inward the worst.

The boundaries of Sanctuary are giving, little by little. Scott doesn’t know how long they’ve been up, exactly, but it can’t have been more than a month or so. They’re bending inward, the space stolen little by little and it may be moving slowly right now, but the three feet lost where Scott had first noticed the difference isn’t a small amount. Some points are weaker than others, and those points are a significant blow to their defenses.

If the trends continue, Sanctuary may not be a sanctuary much longer.

He and Sausage finish mapping out the boundary just as the sun completely disappears over the horizon. Sausage turns in, hoping for a few hours of sleep before the moon rises, and Scott stays out, taking first watch and kicking back at the campfire. He’s joined, once again, by Jimmy.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asks absently when Jimmy sits across from him. Jimmy shrugs.

“More important things than my sleep.”

“At least tell me you showered. You guys came home all sweaty and gross.”

The way Jimmy’s eyes slide guiltily to the side tells Scott all he needs to know. He rolls his eyes. “Look, Jimmy, you know I love authentic, but you don’t have to be covered in mud to be a cowboy worth my attention. Actually, I think that makes it worse.”

Jimmy groans and buries his face in his hands. “You’d best not be flirting with me,” he threatens. “I get enough of it from fWhip and Sausage already.”

Scott spreads his hands. “I’m just saying, that vibe makes you a pony express that I definitely will not be riding.”

“Scott, stop!” Jimmy sounds very put-out, but when he raises his head, he’s laughing. “You are something else, I’ll tell you that. Go walk the perimeter or something, leave me alone.”

Scott stands obligingly, chuckling, though he’s fairly certain Jimmy doesn’t mean it. As he passes Jimmy, the man catches him by the sleeve.

“I’m really, truly glad you’re here,” he says seriously, smile shadowed a bit by some emotion Scott can’t quite make out. “I know it’s a bad situation, but you’re a good one, Scott. We need you.”

“Thanks,” Scott tells him, touched. Jimmy’s the kind to be open with his feelings, to wear his heart on his sleeves, and it’s been strange to be here with him so closed-off and distant. This is more what he’s used to. “Really, take a night off. I’ll be fine.”

By the way Jimmy nods and dusts off his knees, Scott knows he's just pretending to get up.

And sure enough, when Scott swaps with fWhip for the next watch, there's still the lanky silhouette of a cowboy sitting by the campfire.

Scott actually goes back to his room that night, hanging his coat and fedora in his room and stripping his bed of another blanket before heading to the chapel. This blanket is fully tucked in, and Scott strains for a moment against it before it pops loose.

There's a bounce and a rattle and a little bit of a squeak when he does so, and Scott pauses.

Did that—did the blanket just make noise?

He shakes it out, hears nothing else. He scours the bed, and there's nothing there, peers around the side—

And there, on the floor, dislodged when he moved the blanket, is a little toy mouse.

[emerald-dragonflame]

Girl, help, I'm thinking about Pseudo-Centaurian myths that have no bearing on the story.

[somedaytakethetime]

He's arrived!

Mr. Yellowcard! 😌💛

[kellshaw]

Author Ask Tag Game!

I'm knee-deep in edits at the moment on Book Two of the Revenant Records, so haven't been able to write all the Deep and Meaningful posts I wanted to. So I'm playing a tag game!

So this open tag came via an open tag @nonsenseramble via @mthollowell-writes reblog.

(Am I doing this right? Should I reblog, reply or just post separately with tags?)

This is about the current book I'm editing at the moment.

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it? It's about accepting things, moving on, gaining wisdom. Lukie was murdered twenty years ago, made a deal with a ghost lord, and returned to the living lands as an undead revenant. Having dealt with her killer, all she wants to do is go home again. But her father's got a new family now, and the magical and mundane worlds are severed from each other because of ancient rituals. When she tries to reconnect with her father, he doesn't believe it's her. Worse, she accidentally causes his soul to become trapped in the Underworld. Her attempts to get it back stir up ancient curses and malevolent forces.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)? It's a secondary world modern day setting. A lot of it is figuring out, "What would elves look like in the modern day" and "how does a hidden occult world work and what does magic look like in an age where most of it has passed?" And "what does magic look like when it's all based on pacts?" I pose a question and try to answer it in the setting. Then take out lots of extraneous world-building, leaving enough for the story to work. Also, it's also heavily inspired by all the urban fantasy tabletop rpgs we played in the 1990s/2000s. I'm working on a game for the setting, once I find the System of my Dreams (I've got through so many....) I've run a few games in the setting, and some worldbuilding comes from how the players did!

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person? Lukie leaps into things without thinking and makes decisions she thinks are the best at the time but have messy consequences. One idea was to figure out how to grow up when you're stuck at being seventeen forever? How do you escape from a mire of supernatural debt that you took on to gain the power you have? And also, how do maintain your friendship going with your former best friend from high school, after he's forced to become your guardian and control how and when you feed on souls? Especially when he's keeping secrets...

How many chapters is your story going to have? 33. There were twenty eight, but I added a POV character to flesh out a plot line that beta readers thought needed more development. It's working out.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it? Original work. I'll stick it up on the book store fronts Amazon, Kobo, etc when it's ready.

When and why did you start writing? I've been writing since primary school, but i decided to publish shorter, urban fantasy crime/thrillers after spending years bogged down trying to write epic fantasy. I have a vast graveyard of trunk novels. Sometimes I think about revising them, but I'm working on building up fiction in my current setting first.

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? Keep on writing. Write what you like. Find what works for you—writing every day consistently works for me.

What other writers of Tumblr do you follow? People with cool writing blogs!

Uh, do I tag people now? @anomalousfrequency @jgmartin and everyone else, you're all awesome.

[chenyann]