#I have…. probably a third of the prose? and most of the plot

[stylishanachronism]

I wish I had the illustrative and writing skills that dream!me had goddamn

[sundayworshipper]

*~Orthodoxia

«Sunday x Gn! Reader»

🪦| SFW, Angst, Undefined relationship, can be read as romantic/platonic (bed sharing, cuddling)| WC: ~11K

⚰️| CW: Inspired by the song Orthodoxia by Guchiry, misplaced religious worship (fictional religion), Sunday is a priest and cult leader, Small town cult setting AU, Third person prose (reader is referred to as [Name]), Major character death, Minor character death, Murder, SH? (Sunday), Allusion to suicide, Graphic descriptions of violence, Non sexual grooming, A bird dies, Ena=God, Gopher sucks ASS, mostly Sunday angst with reader being there sometimes, English isn’t my first language, non chronological, first fic ever （╹◡╹）

Credit for the commandments to Guchiry

A/N: This is so long 💀.. There’s a few plot holes? and the writing is kinda repetitive but i spent too long on this not to post. Extra warnings, beta read but not proofread, reader char is intentionally bland, not canon compliant/OOC-ish ∩^ω^∩.

EDIT: Oh god this got much more attention than I was expecting. I am (slowly) working on rewriting it 🤍

1. God’s great grace is given to those who are completely faithful.

Sunday inhaled deeply while tugging at his pristine white glove in an attempt of straightening it. In his mind, he looked like a complete mess, completely unfit for a High Priest. His Master and founder of the One True Religion, Gopher Wood, had recently taken his last breath, finally succumbing to the horrible illness that had tormented him for years. As his adopted son, the gray-haired halovian was to take on his duties post-haste. The young man only took half a day to compose himself enough to make a public statement. He probably would have taken longer, had he actually cared to pretend to grieve.

Upon deciding he was satisfied with the state of his attire, Sunday stepped out of the sascrity, taking his place at the pulpit. The gazes of all of his Master’s- no, his own followers, locked onto him, confused and impatient to hear the reason for Mr. Wood’s absence at yesterday’s service.

The man smiled, hoping that the way it didn’t reach his eyes wasn’t very obvious. After a few moments, he just decided to close them.

The fear of rejection by his followers felt as if it was rapidly piercing holes trough his insides, however, he knew that THEY wouldn’t fail him when he needed THEM most. After all, the first ever thing taught to those interested in the religion, is that good things come to those who believe.

2. Only the high priest is permitted to take God's name in vain.

“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” An unfamiliar voice screamed from an alleyway, which Sunday was just about to pass while on his routine walk. His wings twitched, and the ones on his torso tensed. He contemplated if this even counted as a violation of the second commandment, as the use of the words ‘God’ and ‘Lord’ had less restrictions than the uttering of the true name of the one they were referring to. He also thought about the possibility that ‘God’ was the three-faced idol the next town over worshipped, that maybe one of them had snuck in. He ultimately decided that using any heavenly title accompanied by such words was disrespectful, and he’d try to steer the speaker onto the right path, be they a follower of Order, Harmony, or something else entirely.

Despite the amount of information he mulled over, he really didn’t spend long thinking before rushing into the alley.

“Are you alright?” He inquired to the person that had emitted such obscene words just moments ago. Their clothes didn’t reflect those of a citizen in this town, nor the neighboring one’s. They whipped around to face him, wearing a frightened expression.

“Ah..Huh?” The emotion of surprise seemed to overshadow that of fear. Sunday gave an amused smile at this.

“Do not be afraid. I am Sunday, messenger of Ena. I heard you…Cussing, earlier. Judging by your attire, you are a foreigner, which explains that. However, I feel as if I should inform you that such an act is quite worrisome here.” He could no longer suppress his giggle, which confused the stranger.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm..Do not worry. Mind telling me how to address you? And, if you’re comfortable, what brings you here?” Sunday stepped closer, and leaned in towards the person.

“I’m [Name].” They replied, taking a step back. After spending a moment deciding whether or not to reveal the circumstances that led up to them ending up where they did, they concluded that he was trustworthy.

Sunday listened, and considered their words carefully.

“I see. Since you have no home, would you like to live with me, for the time being? I’ll help you find a job. All I ask is that you attend church and clean up after yourself.” He offered his hand, wings relaxing.

[Name]’s breath hitched. It wasn’t like they had many choices… If they stayed on the streets, they’d most certainly die. If they went with Sunday, the outcome had a slightly lesser chance of being the same.

After thinking very carefully, they took Sunday’s hand wordlessly.

3. Those who do harm to God's messenger, the high priest, will be expelled.

As much as Sunday wished he could forget the worshippers of Xipe existed, trade between the two towns was beneficial for everyone. After the death of Gopher Wood- who refused any sort of contact and terminated the transaction of goods-, Sunday begrudgingly sent one of his trustworthy followers to request that the old commerce deal be reinstated. And so, it was.

To the average citizen, all seemed well. However, Sunday could notice the way everyone that interacted with Xipe’s Worshippers on a regular basis attended church less and less often. He tried to brush it off as them being busy with such an important new task. This was until, on the seventh day’s service, the holiest of all, one of the traders defied the rules and interrupted Sunday’s sermon by standing directly next to him. The halovian’s heart skipped a beat, but he simply smiled.

“Good sir, are you not feeling well? This is not an appropriate place for you.” He placed a gentle hand on the trader’s shoulder. His kind act was met with a harsh slap which resounded through the entire chamber. However, his smile did not falter.

[Name], who had been sitting in the front row of pews ever since Sunday ‘rescued’ them, stood up, as did the woman next to them. They wanted to separate the two, but the priest extended a hand towards them as a sign to stop.

The atmosphere was painfully tense and uncertain, until the merchant reached into his pocket to retrieve his dagger. He then pressed it to Sunday’s throat, finally causing his expression to shift.

“You bastard… You rotten, filthy, deceptive scoundrel! You lied! All you and your good-for-nothing father have ever done is lie! You will pay for this.” The trader hissed, preparing to slice the man’s flesh. Sunday’s eyes narrowed as he effortlessly ripped the knife from his hands by the blade, cutting deep into his own palm. He then tossed it to the side, and grabbed the traitor by the neck.

“Tsk..What a shame. You were quite valuable.” He shook his head disappointedly before dragging him outside.

No one dared to follow… Except for [Name]. Before anyone could tell them not to, they sprinted after Sunday, finding him kicking his attacker in the stomach repeatedly just outside church doors. [Name] gasped, but they were cut off by the disgusting feeling of bile rising up their throat. This caused Sunday to turn his head. His eyes were wide, however, a disturbingly sweet smile stretched across his features. He delivered one final kick- to the chest this time- and quickly closed most of the distance between him and [Name].

“You shouldn’t have followed me. But, I suppose it’s my fault for not teaching you what to do in such situations.. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

[Name]’s eyes darted between the priest and the corpse he had just created. They soon murmured the first thought they could muster:

“Your hand..”

“I will be fine. Go back inside, and stay put. Service will resume shortly.” He smiled before promptly walking out of sight.

[Name] considered running for their life as far away from this town as geography would allow. However, something was holding them back. After taking a minute to process, they re-entered the church, earning dirty looks from the other members. Only the woman that had stood up alongside them earlier spoke to them.

“Don’t do that. No one wants to see what happens to those who get ‘expelled’.”

4. It is the high priest who is the rightful successor to God’s will.

Despite it not feeling like such, Sunday was once a child. He had a family as well, more or less. Although thinking of Gopher Wood as his parent made him feel sick to his stomach now, a brief period of time where this wasn’t the case existed.

After the traumatic loss of their parents, Sunday and his dear sister, Robin, were sent to an orphanage much like any other unfortunate soul in the same situation. Robin thought they’d be adopted within the year, but Sunday was already planning the way in which he’d make a living for himself the moment he became an adult. He’d save up any and all money he didn’t use strictly on survival to be able to sustain his sister when she reached the age of eighteen as well, he thought.

In a surprising turn of events, a man from a small, far away town, visited the orphanage only three months after the siblings’ arrival. He smiled the instant his gaze landed on them. Originally, Sunday thought it was because of their shared, relatively uncommon species, but he’d later come to convince himself that Gopher Wood saw something in them that day.

In what had to be record time, he had legally adopted them. As they rode the horse carriage to their new home, Robin snuggled close to her brother, and whispered an optimistic ‘I told you so’. Sunday simply smiled, for the first time since the death of their mother.

The first day felt like the most fun a recently orphaned child could have. They were given various sweet treats by their new neighbors, and a tour of the town. Everyone seemed to dote on them, which almost made the young boy finally lower his guard fully. He thought he was safe at last, and could heal.

Big mistake.

That very night, Sunday was ripped from bed by his eerily silent ‘father’. Before he could even ask what he was doing, a hand had been slapped over his mouth. He, being docile and untrained at the time, allowed himself to be molded like clay.

In less than an hour, Sunday had been exposed to things that would shatter the mind of most children into pieces. At the end of his extensive explanation, Gopher took Sunday to the dark, empty church, where he forced him to kneel in front of the altar. Because he hadn’t succumbed to the information that he had to forcibly ingest, Gopher considered him a worthy heir, and introduced him to Ena as such.

And yet, that was not the point where he stopped seeing that man as family. In fact, he never saw anything wrong with that behavior. He always felt so proud to be chosen, entrusted with such an important position.. Gopher said he was special. Smart. Nearly perfect. He was everything he could’ve ever wanted in a son. The knowing glances they exchanged as Robin discovered the surface rules of the religion at the pace that everyone else except for him did made Sunday feel good.

For about a year, Sunday loved his life. He felt as if he finally had a purpose..

On the night of a seventh,going into first day of the week, in the latter half of November, Sunday found himself choking back tears on the bathroom floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest along with his discarded shirt. Gopher Wood, that monster, sat behind him, trimming away at the child’s lower wings. When he was done, he’d move on to permanently tainting them black, like his own.

‘The truest act of devotion’ he called it. To prove their loyalty to Ena, high priests had to discard something they held dear at a young age.. For halovians, their wings were naturally their pride and joy, so, the dark haired man picked those for him. Sunday asked to be allowed to choose something, anything else, but his request was declined.

Of course, this wasn’t any form of religious practice. Gopher had made it up to further mold his poor victim into what he needed him to be. Every time the boy dared to show any feelings regarding that action, he reminded him that as the high priest, all his actions were carried out trough God’s will.

Sunday never wore a base layer of clothing that didn’t almost perfectly match his new wing color after that. He felt hideous, and he’d rather have people think he lost his wings completely than show off the cruel defilement he’d endured.

Since then, Sunday could no longer see him as a father. Of course, he still respected and obeyed him, as not doing so would be disrespectful to THEM, too. After all, priests were naught but a mirror of their God’s desires.

5. God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world.

Sunday tossed in bed, wings wrapping around his face as he groaned quietly. He was tormented by thought, and couldn’t sleep.

Upon the passage of one hour, he rose from his spot, and slowly stepped out of his room. [Name] slumbered on his couch, as they had since the first time Sunday brought them home. He felt bad for not being able to provide them a proper bed, and made a mental note to work on that soon. After all, it wasn’t like it cost much, or… anything at all. He was just a very busy man.

The priest then stepped on the single creaky floorboard in the entire house, alerting his roommate.

“Sunday..?” They yawned, rubbing their eyes as they blinked them open.

“Ah. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s alright,, but what are you doing up so late? And why are you going out?”

“Mm. I need a walk, to clear my head. I’m finding it hard to rest well tonight.”

“Me too. I barely even fell asleep a few minutes ago, and it was so light.” [Name] stretched their back as they spoke.

“I see. Do you want to join me?” He offered, and the other person excitedly accepted, standing up and almost stumbling. Sunday caught them, helping them to stand better. They gave a grateful look in response.

The two then exited the house, the cold night breeze gently biting at their skin. They set a comfortable pace as Sunday directed them to the woods across the river that served as town border. [Name] hadn’t gotten the chance to go there yet, as it was ill-advised to venture too far from the town.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m going to murder you for your sins?” Sunday smiled, turning his face away so [Name] couldn’t see.

“I do! It’s just that… Wait, have I sinned?”

“Of course you have. You are still new to our religion, you’re bound to make mistakes. Even devout believers sin sometimes, but God forgives all, therefore so do I.”

“Do you sin?”

“Me? No. Sinning would be disgraceful to our Lord. I mean, if even the high priest doesn’t carry himself as THEY intended, how would any normal person be inclined to either?”

“True.. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to be perfect all the time, though?”

“Not at all. Do you know the fifth commandment?”

“God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world?” [Name] cocked their head at him, almost tripping on a fallen branch in the process.

“Very good. As the high priest, I have to know these teachings better than any other mortal. The stronger one’s knowledge, the stronger they feel God’s love.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you have.” He halted, left arm occupying its spot behind his back as usual. [Name] stopped as well, confused.

“Why’d you stop? Aren’t walks supposed to be continuous?”

“Yes…Would you mind pausing here for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, this is the clearing I used to come to for respite when I was a child. I have no time for such things anymore, but it brings me a sense of nostalgia.”

[Name] nodded, and awkwardly walked closer to Sunday. There didn’t appear to be any sitting spots, so they just took a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty.

Not much time later, Sunday decided it had gotten far too late to be outside any longer. As they trekked back home, the priest noticed [Name] become slower by the second. He offered to carry them, and in a moment of exhausted weakness, they accepted. They’d soon fall unconscious in his arms.

The following morning, [Name]’d find themselves in Sunday’s bed, with him nowhere to be found.

Confused, they stepped into the living room. Sure enough, the man was curled up on the couch.

6. To disobey God is to deviate from Paradise.

[Name] was integrating nicely into the town already. While trying to decide what job they should try land, they picked up gardening as a short pastime. Sunday had graciously lent them a patch of his backyard to plant things in, so long as they managed to keep it free of weeds. They agreed, and were doing a great job so far. The first thing they tried was strawberries, as it was the optimal season for planting them.

[Name] decided to ask the neighbors to see if anyone had any runners they could borrow.

“Hello!” They waved at an older lady who was conveniently planting something in her own garden. She lifted her head, smiled, and waved back.

“…Ahem. I was wondering if you had any strawberry runners? I want to grow strawberries… I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll pay you for them someday!”

“Ah, such nonsense.. Since Mr. Wood saved us, money is obsolete.”

“Huh? Then why do people still have jobs?”

“So they don’t get bored, of course! If you’re worried about payment, pay with a favor. Give some to Mr. Sunday when they’re ripe. I’m sure he hasn’t had strawberries since Miss Robin… Ah, nevermind, I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” The lady hobbled into her house, leaving [Name] confused. They made a mental note to ask Sunday about this ‘Robin’ someday.

The woman soon returned, and handed the runners to [Name], eagerly.

“Here you go, dearie. Give some to me too, if I’m still around by then…” she chuckled, trailing off into a cough.

“Don’t say that.. But, I will! Thanks so much!” They waved again, and sped off to plant the strawberries.

About three months later, the fruits were ripe. [Name] was utterly delighted… They looked absolutely perfect, as if it was obvious from a glance that they had the perfect texture and amount of juice. They quickly collected them all in a basket, and ran inside, where Sunday was actually home, for once. [Name] was happy about this, and hurried to separate the basket’s contents into bowls. The priest tilted his head at them, curious.

“I see you’ve made good use of the land I gave to you.” He hummed observantly.

“Mhm! I couldn’t have done it without the grandma across the street, though. I have to give her a portion back, but.. She asked for something else as payment.”

“Oh?”

[Name] handed Sunday a full bowl, happily.

“She wanted me to give this to you! She said you probably haven’t eaten any since some Robin something something..”

Sunday froze, and his breathing paused abruptly.

“Who’s Robin anyway? It sounds like you know her…”

“Robin is a sinner who denied our Lord’s presence in her life. She is where she deserves to be right now.” His voice had a weird edge, almost as if it was breaking.

“She’s not someone you should concern yourself with again. Ahem; thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you. Send my regards to the neighbor, too.” He left, strawberry bowl in hand.

[Name] frowned, dejectedly dragging themselves and one of the remaining strawberry bowls to the neighbor’s house. She was in the yard once again, so they just walked up to her.

“Ma’am! I picked the strawberries today!” They handed her the dish.

“Thank you, dear. You gave them to Mr. Sunday too, yes?”

“Of course. He said to give you his regards. But, something weird happened. When I asked him about Robin, he just said she was a sinner. That wasn’t much of an answer, so could you tell me more, please?”

“Really? Hm. I wouldn’t expect him to be that cold towards the memory of his own sister…”

“…What?”

“I’ve said too much. Please leave.”

[Name] frowned, but did as asked. It was taking them some time to accept the fact that there were certain topics everyone seemed to get tense around..

7. To harbor doubts about God is to suffer the disintegration of thought.

Gopher Wood always despised the neighboring town, in which he was born, raised, and first established his religion. He hated not having control over every single atom there, so, he left. However, he wasn’t always completely unwilling to maintain a cordial relationship with them.

When his daughter, Robin, reached the age of twelve, he assigned her the role of ‘peacekeeper’. She was to befriend politicians and people of note, engage in the culture there. and report any intel she could’ve gained back to Gopher, who would then try to usurp the town and convert its residents to worshippers of Ena, ergo himself, by commandment fourteen.

By her 13th birthday, Robin’s reports suspiciously all turned into ‘They didn’t tell me anything’. The high priest soon grew skeptical, and ordered Sunday to get an answer out of her by any means necessary.

And so, he did.

He approached her door, taking note of the unfamiliar tune she appeared to be loudly humming. Due to growing older, they now had separate rooms. This didn’t help their relationship whatsoever, as their paths in life were already pulling them apart.

“Sister?” He knocked.

“Come in!” She called out, ceasing her singing. Sunday did, avoiding her gaze.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty spot on her bed, next to herself. Sunday shook his head, which felt like a dagger being pierced trough robin’s heart.

“Oh. Okay… What did you want to talk about?”

“Master ranted to me earlier about the lack of new information regarding the neighboring town lately. I found this weird, so I just wanted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, are you hiding something?”

Robin’s eyes widened, before drifting downward. She dipped her head in a slight nod.

“Brother… I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier, but I feared your response. I..” she inhaled, then exhaled. “…I worship the Harmony.”

Sunday stared at her with the most disgust his face had ever held. He began to slowly shake his head.

Robin stood, paced over to him, and grabbed his hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Please, just listen to me. I discovered something that will change your view on-“ She trailed off as she met his gaze. It was evident that there was no possible way to reason with him. At that moment, it didn’t feel like she was even looking at her sibling; but rather, at the man that destroyed him.

Defeated, she let go of his hand, and sat back on her mattress. As she watched her beloved brother leave her room, she accepted that her days were now numbered.

8. To blaspheme God is to deny one's own existence.

Robin wore a gentle smile as she was walked down the path to a completely empty plain by her brother. The girl was dressed in pitch black robes, a symbol of her betrayal and a way to make her death far more painful. And yet, she didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Sunday..” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to speak.”

“I’ll be dead soon either way. What’s one more sin?”

“…”

“I love you. Please don’t blame yourself, I forgive you.”

Sunday didn’t reply to this, and pushed her towards her final resting place.

“Press your back to the stake, please.”

Robin obliged, placing her hands behind the wooden pole as well, without even having to be told. Sunday, under the watchful gaze of Gopher Wood, tied them together, then her torso to the stake.

A citizen then dumped the wood Gopher had hand picked the day prior as the fire fuel to Robin’s feet, before backing up. As per the high priest’s request, Sunday was to light it.

The heir felt nothingness rip and tear away at his being. As his Master placed a flaming torch in his hand, Sunday thought about all the things he wanted to do right now. He wanted to cry, but that would be ‘disgraceful’. He wanted to grab his sister and run, far away from here, and start a new life together, but they were just children, with a horde of angry, violent adults behind them. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream in despair, but the raven-like man behind him would definitely punish him severely for that. As his legs trembled, threatening to give out, Sunday wondered what the worst consequence could even be. Upon remembering the ruined state his wings were in and that he had another pair in an incredibly visible location, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He mouthed, before pressing the torch’s tip to the firewood.

9. God sees, but THEY never save.

Sunday inhaled deeply, eyes shut. The winter air numbed his lungs, allowing the cold to overwhelm his body. He felt no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He simply felt like pure consciousness.

“Brother!” The worried voice of his sister called out to him. Alarmed, he exhaled, and ended his meditative state.

“What is it?” He questioned, tone unusually flat.

Robin held her hands out to him. They contained a baby dove. It was barely even covered in pin feathers, meaning it couldn’t have been more than seven days old.

“I was walking to Mr. Gary’s farm because I promised to help feed his animals, but i found this hatchling crying by a tree… I can’t find its nest, or parents, b-but it’ll freeze to death if we don’t do something!” She sobbed. Sunday examined the tiny avian closely.

“Yes…I do suppose the best course of action would be to raise it ourselves.” He crossed his arms.

“Why do you sound so hesitant..?”

Sunday was worried about what his Master would do upon discovering the animal. He wondered if its wings would be clipped, like his own were. The boy pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, eventually settling on the conclusion that there would be no reason to commit such act, as it was only done to himself so he could prove his worth to Ena.

“Fine. Give it to me.” He demanded, and the girl obliged.

The siblings rushed back home, where Robin filled a shallow bowl with warm water. Sunday placed the chick in it, but held on, just in case. It let out chirps of increasing volume, which the boy found endearing. He soon let go, stroking under the bird’s chin instead. Robin gasped, and leaned in closer to observe this. Her brother interacting with animals was a truly beautiful sight.

“How long will it take until it’s grown? I can’t wait to teach it how to fly!” She smiled widely, blinking up at Sunday.

“Huh? Why would we do that..?” He raised an eyebrow.

“So we can release it?” Robin now looked confused.

“What? You can’t be serious. What even is the point of saving it now if you just want to send it to die later?” He pulled the bowl closer to himself, protectively.

“It won’t die! It’d just be cruel to keep it inside for the rest of its life!” She argued, straightening her posture.

“It will.”

“No, it won’t!” The girl gripped the edge of the table. Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back to her.

“Fine. If you insist, you’re now responsible for its well-being until the end of the next week, when you must release it into the wild.”

“Fine.” Robin huffed, and pulled the bird and its makeshift bath back towards herself.

Seven more days passed, in which the dove grew out all the needed feathers for flight. Robin was absolutely ecstatic, and dragged Sunday outside.

“Okay..How do we do this?” She asked.

“What, you made a decision that could be the difference between life and death for another living being without any research?”

“Well, when you put it like that-“

“Do you admit defeat?”

“No! I know it’ll survive! Just tell me how to help it fly.”

Sunday simply shrugged, which upset Robin. After some contemplation, she placed the dove down on the ground, and held her breath waiting.

The bird soon spread its wings, and departed from the ground. The young girl squealed happily, and watched with wide eyes. She then turned, grinning triumphantly at her brother. It was then that she noticed the tall, dark figure looming right behind him.

“Master? What brings you here?”

Gopher Wood simply smiled eerily, and Sunday grimaced, eyes fixed on the now flying dove. A chill of deep dread struck Robin’s spine, making her turn again… Just in time to see the razor sharp talons of a raven dig into the body of the smaller bird. Right as its beak was about to rip flesh off, the girl ran into the house, sobbing loudly.

Sunday and Gopher kept watching. The scene was horrible, gory and disheartening, to say the least.

After a period of silence, the boy spoke up.

“That was a trained raven.”

“What a keen eye.”

“…Why? Robin didn’t have to see that. She’s just a child.”

“I disagree. It was her choice to free the dove, wasn’t it? She has to learn that her actions have consequences, and that defying the concept of order won’t get her anywhere.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded, before walking off.

On the way to the clearing he’d claimed as solely his- which he only turned to when he was having ‘sinful’ ideas that he felt too scared to even think about in the confines of the city- he wondered if Ena would really want one of THEIR creations to suffer, just to teach another a valuable lesson. He then considered that THEY might not truly even care about anyone and anything at all. If he could see and intervene in anything happening in the world, Sunday would try to save every being. But, in the end, he was not God, and THEY were.

10. God listens, but THEY never speak.

“Father..” a weak voice on the other side of the confessional threatened to break. Sunday straightened his posture, as he instinctively always did when spoken to, even if he couldn’t be seen.

“Speak your sorrows, child of the Order.”

“I can’t take it any longer. It feels… It feels like my prayers are falling on deaf ears. My life has only been spiraling into misery… Hell, even a sign would help loads!”

Sunday closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

“I understand how you must feel. However, you should know THEY don’t often give ‘signs’. You may share your troubles with me, and I promise to try my hardest to help you.”

“You’d really do that?”

“I would.” He nodded. He’d trained himself to be aware of his body language and what every single difference in stance could be interpreted as. So, he applied that even when alone, hidden, or in an otherwise casual situation.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you… May I ask a question first?”

“Hm?”

“Do THEY give you signs? Speak to you? Anything at all?”

The halovian fell silent. He didn’t know. Ever since he’d taken over Gopher Wood’s duties, he felt like a failure for being ‘spiritually disconnected’ from the Lord.

“The answer is what you think.” Was what he settled on.

The person on the other side sighed. The next time they spoke, their voice sounded muffled.

“I’m a murderer. I don’t deserve to live. Do you think THEY would forgive me if I..”

“Don’t say that. You are stronger than you think. Why do you consider yourself a murderer?”

“I had an argument with my little sister. It was over something so stupid, I don’t even remember what it was. I was so angry that I pushed her. She hit her head on the kitchen counter, and… oh god. There was so much blood. I saw her brains, Father. I will never forget the sight. I see it every time I sleep, every time I close my eyes, every time I see things that remind me of her. Please, how do I make it stop?” They sobbed.

Sunday was silent, eyes unfocusing as the vivid memory of Robin’s body being charred alive by flames tore its way out of the corner of his brain he’d banished it to.

“Father?”

“…Apologies. That is a lot to process, I was thinking of the optimal way to help. How long ago did this accident happen?”

“I don’t know. It could be anywhere from a few days to several months. After I buried her, everything’s been a blur. She was everything I had left… i hate to think that if I treated her nicer, showed her how much I appreciate her; if I tried to understand her better and didn’t let my emotions get the better of me, she’d still be here.”

“Yes.. You said you buried her body?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“…”

“I see. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel that you are genuinely remorseful. Fear not, the Lord will forgive you, and I’m sure your sister would too. As for the mental scarring, I can only hope that your confession has lifted some weight off your shoulders. You are not alone. If you ever feel as if you need to take drastic measures, I hereby permit you to seek me in my free time. Your life matters, and I’d rather a slight inconvenience to myself than lose another life. It gets easier, I promise. Hardship is the key to happiness.” Although he was saying all this, he barely even believed or understood himself. He’d never had anyone comfort him when he was in a similar situation, nevermind attempt to help him. When he tried to turn to Ena for solace, he was only met with silence… Which was to be expected. However, the toll it took on him was greater than he could’ve ever expected. In any case, he hoped he’d helped the member of his community, even slightly.

The sound of the fabric belonging to the other person’s clothes could be heard- presumably them standing up. It was then followed by footsteps. Sunday groaned loudly once he figured they’d have long exited the church, and placed his face in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

Upon returning home way past midnight, Sunday looked uncharacteristically horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his wings drooped pathetically as he slouched, including his ‘deformed’ second pair, which usually stayed tucked into his coat.

“Sunday!” [Name] ran to the door as soon as it opened. As they bore witness to the state of the halovian, they fell into baffled silence. He blinked blearily, far too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” He mumbled, trying to push past them and towards the couch, as the two had traded sleeping utilities after their late-night walk.

“No! Are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look horrendous. I’m worried.”

“Thanks.” He deadpanned.

“I obviously didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not like you to be so… improper. Woah, wait, you have four wings!?”

“I don’t want to talk about either of those things. Please move, I’d really like to sleep.”

[Name] frowned, and instead of letting Sunday go to sleep on the near back-breaking couch when he was clearly in no condition to, they intertwined their hand with his, pulling him towards the bedroom. Before Sunday had the chance to protest, they’d reached their destination.

“What are you doing?”

“What, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Are you implying you want to… share a bed?”

“Yeah! That’s not sinful, right?”

“I suppose not.” Sunday gave up.

“Great. I’ll let you change, call me back in when you’re done.”

Sunday didn’t know what had happened to him by the beginning of the next hour. He found himself cuddling his housemate, face buried in their chest as their fingers carded through his hair. If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve felt shame to the depths of his bones.

As [Name]’s breathing and heart rate slowed steadily, so did their hand. Sunday smiled, slowly shifting their position until they’d fully swapped roles. While he appreciated being on the receiving end of affection for once, it was just his nature to want to return any kind act done for him.

He draped a wing around their body, figuring he’d finally found a use for the unsightly body part.

11. God knows, but THEY never teach.

Sunday’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d been staring at the glass casing containing the stone slate which the commandments had been first carved into for what must’ve been many hours now. He read them over, and over, and over, and over… Despite the fact that his mind was already similar to the slate, in the sense that the words had been permanently etched into both. Every day, he could feel himself growing more and more…Hateful. And so, he decided connecting with the Lord again would be the best course of action.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. As he obsessively examined and carefully thought over every word of the sacred obligations, he could only form more and more questions… More anger. More doubt. The contradictions between several entries now seemed painfully obvious. For example, it was specified that the high priest was the exception to commandment two, but no such thing exists for the numbers nine, ten and eleven… But, communication between God and the high priest was supposed to be the basis of the religion.

As the gears in Sunday’s brain turned, he began to laugh. How could he have been so foolish? These were all just lies. Lies made up by a selfish man who desired nothing more than to rule the whole world by himself. As his laughter grew, so did his fury.

Sunday dug his fingers into the side of the glass; fragile, as all things in this forsaken town. If everyone was under the permanent illusion of safety, why was there any need for precaution? It was so bad, that nobody locked their doors anymore. No one would want to break into your house and kill you, after all. The most likely murderer was the person you trusted enough to live with. As these realizations plagued his mind, Sunday’s hands only gripped the long since shattered shards of glass tighter, and tighter. It hurt so pleasantly right now. Although, soon enough, he dropped them in favor of grasping the stone tablet itself. As he turned around, his eyes darted through the church. He needed something to break it with.

After looking for a considerable amount of time, Sunday decided he’d just fling it at the wall.

As the glorified boulder was about to leave his hand, he hesitated. What if he was wrong? This definitely had to be a misunderstanding. Maybe he just wasn’t open minded enough to understand the deeper meaning of the commandments. After all, every older resident seemed so happy living the way they were. The younger generation- including himself- would grow into doing the same, surely… God is good, Sunday thought.

God is loving.

The priest lowered his hand slowly. He rotated back to his original position, regret filling him at the sight of the broken display and bloodied glass scattered across the floor. If he were to look into his hand, he’d notice the crimson seeping from his open wound was quickly transferring to the commandments.

Sunday closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He just had to clean this up, find a replacement case, and no one would ever know. His sin could stay between him and the Lord, forever.

As for understanding all the contradictions, he was now sure that he just had to try a little harder. After all, God doesn’t teach. For a start, this probably meant THEY wanted THEIR subjects to learn from their and others’ mistakes throughout their life.

Yes, this had to be the solution. This was nothing but another trial for Sunday to overcome; a test of faith.

12. The entire Word of God is passed down through THEIR oracle, the high priest.

In an extremely rare occurrence, Sunday had found himself with a few hours of free time on his hands. He decided to spend one of them browsing the local grocery store, deciding on what snack to purchase for [Name], as a token of appreciation. He hadn’t asked them about their tastes outright, so he was attempting to piece them together from the few, yet valuable conversations they’d had. This was proving to be a more challenging task than expected, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice coming from Sunday’s right spoke sweetly. He turned his head, confused. Before him stood a person, with an appearance so strikingly out of place that he managed how they even managed to make it into the city. They had white hair, parted into short twin tails on either side of their head. They also had long curtain bangs, however, the upper part of their hairstyle didn’t even utilize as much as half of their locks. The expanse of white fell down to the floor, dragging along it whenever they moved. They wore simple, yet eye grabbing make up, which nicely complemented their tanned skin. Their eyes appeared to naturally stay shut for the entirety of Sunday’s examination of them, not displaying any of the twitching that the eyes of a normal person forcing them to stay closed would. What was really out of place, though, was their clothing. They wore a tight, black dress which was about as long as their hair. It was rather revealing, especially in the chest and leg area. Whilst the town Sunday lived in didn’t exactly enforce ‘purity culture’ anymore, it was still unusual to dress immodestly. Additionally, the sort of corset piece wrapped around their midriff and neck appeared to be real gold, solidifying their status as an outsider. The followers of Order weren’t exactly wealthy, as money had not been used since the founding of the religion, and Gopher Wood considered the concept to be inherently unfair. Of course, this didn’t stop him from continuing to hoard any currency he came across, to be able to afford imported garments and accessories of the finest quality for only himself and his children.

“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the item. It was one of the choices he’d been considering for [Name]’s snack, although he was still second-guessing himself.

“This is their favorite.” The foreigner extended their hand further, as if urging him to take it.

“What are you talking about?” Sunday was becoming uncomfortable.

“[Name]? Your.. Friend. This is their favorite. You are looking for something to get them, no?”

“Hah..I see. You’re one of Xipe’s slaves.” He chuckled bitterly, and grabbed a duplicate of the item they were holding off the shelf.

“I’d strongly urge you to return to your home, if you know what’s best for you. Good day.” He turned to leave, but a hand as cold as death itself gripped his wrist with a hold that would be sure to cut off his circulation if it was kept too long.

“Is this all the thanks I get? You would’ve spent another hour deciding if it weren’t for me.” The person pouted in mock offense.

“Stop. Get out of my mind, please.” He tried to pull away, to no avail.

“And what if I don’t? Are you going to call upon Ena to save you? Oh wait..” They laughed.

“Tsk…Do not use THEIR sacred name with such mocking purpose.”

“I really don’t get what you see in THEM. I mean, THEY’RE such a deadbeat! The Great One would never let THEIR subjects suffer.”

“Says the one whose idol abandoned THEIR town without leaving as much as a divine messenger.”

“Hm? But I am the High Priest.”

“High Priest? My a-.. ahem… That does not sound very likely. Clearly, you’re blessed in some form, but knowing Penacony, they would hold a week-long festival in your honor if you gave substantial proof of this. Who are you, really?”

The person smiled, and let go of his now bruised wrist. They’d still not opened their eyes once.

“Oh, would you look at the time. Well, I should get going. Until we meet again~” they waved, and walked away, humming an awfully familiar tune.

Sunday would then stand in the middle of the aisle, snack in hand as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He wondered if the person was trying to convince him to turn to the Harmony, or just teasing him. What’s worse is that if it was the former, he believed he might’ve actually considered.

The halovian soon dragged himself home, deep in thought. As he opened the door to see [Name] sitting on the couch as they had been doing more often lately, Sunday smiled. He sat next to them, far closer than usual.

“…I got you something.” He handed them the snack. [Name] gasped quietly.

“Ohh.. Did you know this was my favorite? Thank you so much!” They hugged him.

“Really? Must’ve been a lucky guess. In any case, consider this payment for the strawberries.” Sunday shut his eyes. Perhaps the worshipper of Xipe wasn’t all that horrible.

13. God’s aims are the aims of the world

Lately, Sunday had been frequenting the church in the dead of night. Since the meeting with the strange worshipper of Harmony, he’d been questioning his faith more than ever before. A part of him struggled with the same urge to run that he’d felt in Robin’s final moments. However, instead of his fear of angry, violent adults holding him back now, it was the fear of repercussions for becoming one.

He considered himself weak minded. He knew very well what he was getting into before accepting the position of high priest. He knew he’d have to murder and hurt, and yet… He never truly could. A secret Sunday swore he’d take to the grave, was that he never truly punished traitors as God commanded. Even after the incident with the tradesman, the worst he could muster was kicking him into unconsciousness and dropping him off into Penacony’s territory. That very night, he prayed to the God he himself had just betrayed, that the man was taken to a hospital. In his heart, Sunday still believed that if he were to implore the Lord to forgive those who turned away from them, THEY would.

Sunday had what one might call a heart of gold. He wanted the best for everyone, even if it directly contradicted the teachings of his Master, and the undeniable holy rules given to the world by God. However, his constant desire to help came at the cost of his own sanity- fact which he was acutely aware of. He considered it a small price to pay for the joy of others.

In his mind, he was responsible for the actions of each and every one of The Order’s followers. If they sinned, it was purely his fault for not managing to stop them. He’d be the one spending eternity in the burning embers, while any who sinned under him and died before he did, would be forgiven and led to the peaceful afterlife they strived for all their lives. If he’d explain this to any sane person, they’d most likely immediately pick up on how specific, flawed, and barely comprehensible his logic was… Unfortunately, he never would.

“You look tired.” The sickly sweet voice of the strange worshipper called from behind Sunday, making him halt.

“I know for a fact that I locked the gates.” He crossed his arms, but didn’t give the person the pleasure of looking at them.

“What can I say, I have my ways… Anyway, I don’t think burying yourself in your delusions is very healthy. You should rest.”

“I must say, you’re very bold. You simply can’t hold yourself back from insulting the Lord in front of THEIR messenger, hm?”

“I am simply stating a fact. You’re starting to doubt THEIR very existence, and you know that. If you acknowledge your situation, why do you still choose to indulge?”

Sunday did not speak for a long period of time.

“If you truly were a High Priest, you’d understand. God is all I have. I’ve invested so much time into becoming what I am now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

“And you still don’t follow the very principle that supposedly founded your religion. Clearly, deep down, what you want is to help everyone. You’d be well suited for the Harmony…”

“No. The harmony dictates that everyone must live through trial and error. That’s such unnecessary suffering, that can simply be avoided by protecting everyone.”

“Learning through mistakes? Isn’t that what you ultimately decided Ena’s ideal was, when you noticed people making mistakes over and over again, even when the whole point of this religion is to establish ultimate control and peace to the point where people will actively seek out pain to break the monotony?”

“…Then, I was mistaken. I never saw the similarities to the Harmony before. I pray THEY can forgive me as I try to truly understand THEIR commandments once more. Thank you for telling me this. I shall… Become a better fit for my role, through any means necessary.”

“Really? Or will you do as you’ve always done, and continue to refuse to harm anyone as your God dictates?”

“…Even if I were to do that, which I will earnestly try not to, the spiritual consequences would fall onto me, solely. I’m the one not doing my job, I-“

“Sunday! When was the last time you’ve uttered or thought something that makes any sense, at all!? Look deeply within yourself, you’ll realize how absurd you’re being.”

The halovian simply smiled. Perhaps, long ago, that would’ve been true. However, that was no longer a possibility. Any time he’d come to the same realization, his being would instinctively suffocate itself with a half-hearted explanation that would seem plausible enough at first glance, until he’d begin to deconstruct it, at which point the process would repeat.

The stranger’s expression shifted into a sorrowful one. They’d really tried to help him, but he was truly too far gone.

“I see. I hope your soul will someday be able to find peace.” They left, giving Sunday the opportunity to continue destroying himself in peace.

14. God and the high priest shall be regarded as one and the same.

Gopher Wood’s amber eyes intently observed Mikhail. His head was informally resting on the table, wings fluttering in anticipation as he waited for his ally to finish reading the documents he’d presented him with.

“So? What do you think?” He finally spoke, having grown impatient.

“I’m not done yet..”

“Well, you’ve read most of it. What do you think so far, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such little patience, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, yes..Well, now you know.”

“I don’t consider it appropriate to share my opinion on something that I don’t fully understand. I ask that you continue waiting.”

“Fine.” Gopher scoffed, and stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Mikhail sighed as he continued reading. Him and Gopher had met just over three amber eras ago, under inexplicable circumstances. At the time, it seemed they had similar ideals for the future of Penacony- a beautiful town, ravaged by an unfortunate dispute. The two quickly struck up a friendship, or at the very least, a cordial working relationship. At first, they agreed that their end goal was to join The Family, a union of towns and cities who worshipped a god known as Xipe and believed in the concept of Harmony. The men slowly gained the respect of most Penaconians that, too,wished for peace, who allowed them to become something akin to a two-person government.

After all that, they successfully completed their goal. Although, soon after, Gopher began acting unusually. He distanced himself from Mikhail, only talking to him to ask odd questions, such as ‘if he ever wished the entire town’s residents could be puppets’. The blue-haired man grew incredibly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing, but could never reach Gopher to speak to him about this topic.

A few days prior, he had invited him out to drinks to discuss ‘an exciting new discovery’. They now found themselves here, Gopher having handed Mikhail a folder full of papers, detailing the proof of the existence of another deity before Xipe. THEY were known by the name of Ena, and represented Order, which was awfully close to the concept of Harmony, besides the awfully concerning attitude towards those who desired to follow their own path in life.

Just as Mikhail finished reading, the halovian returned.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes…?”

“Wonderful! So?”

“I’m… Not quite sure I understand. Do you want to leave The Family and pursue this religion? Do you even have any current proof this, ‘Ena’ even exists..?”

“Oh, THEY don’t!” He giggled, joyfully taking a sip of his wine. Just as Mikhail was preparing to open his mouth, he continued:

“Not anymore, at least. But if we can make people believe THEY do, we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers. They’ll just do anything we want under the guise of religion. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? There can truly be peace upon Penacony.”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re not thinking straight. That would never work, it’d just be defying human nature. Besides, if the ones who continue trying to end our lives for opposing them can’t even agree with Harmony, what makes you think they’d want to obey the words of an imaginary God?”

“Oh, them? They have no place in Penacony either way. If I were to execute my plan, I’d be doing a great favor to everyone.” He grinned.

“That’s enough. Get up. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to sleep off all that wine.” Mikhail stood, tossing the documents into the nearest trash.

“I know what I’m doing, my dear Misha. I’ve been fantasizing about this since before we even met… It’s my greatest wish, and what’s the best for Penacony- no, the world, even! Why must you be so cruel~?”

“…You’re not who I thought you were. Why.. Why would you even say that?”

“Mm.. Tell me one thing, then.” He rounded the table, until he was face to face with Mikhail. He then grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him even closer, grinning. “How long do you think a society under the Order’s rule will last? Hell, even with the most haphazard basis I can throw together in one night?”

“Don’t-“

“Answer me.”

“…A decade, at most.”

“Very well.” Gopher hummed, and let go.

“I say… Triple that, before it spreads to Penacony. At least a century after that until the downfall.”

“What are you planning to do..?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re,, a psychopath. This will never work! Even if it somehow lasted for your entire lifetime, you’d never find a successor gullible enough to extend your little cult’s existence for that long.”

Gopher’s smile widened sinisterly.

“Cult? I prefer the word social experiment. Anyway, I should get going now. I heard the next town over has little contact with outsiders, and I’d like to get there before that changes.” He turned, and began to walk.

“Until we meet again, Misha.”

15. God is absolute.

After his second encounter with what seemed to be Xipe’s chosen one, Sunday felt completely drained. He hadn’t fully felt like a living, breathing entity since he was maybe six years old, but the mental haze that affected him worsened with each significant event that happened to him. He stumbled home at the same time that the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Despite the fact that he returned to sleeping on the couch after the night him and [Name] cuddled, he didn’t feel like sleeping alone at this moment.

Following several minutes of hesitation, Sunday opened the bedroom door, cautiously stepping in. Of course, his friend was sleeping peacefully, and luckily for him, deeply. The man stalked over to the closet door, which had been divided into halves to accommodate both his and [Name]’s clothes. He quickly discarded his current outfit, changing into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt rode up his stomach slightly, as he hadn’t ever found the time to poke wing holes into his casual garments; therefore, his wings were just hanging naturally.

He slowly sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed, pausing to see if the sleeping person would wake. When they didn’t, he made himself more comfortable, even pulling half of the blanket over himself.

That action caused [Name] to turn. Sunday was preparing an apology speech for waking them, but they were unbothered. They grabbed his arm, snuggling it. The halovian took a moment to process, upper wings tensing in surprise. He was still not used to being touched, but he’d feel too bad pushing them away. So, instead of getting any rest, he just awkwardly stared at them for hours, frozen in place.

Finally, [Name] yawned, attempting to stretch. They were stopped by the sensation of a warm, solid object being held between their arms. When their eyes shot open, they barely stopped themselves from screaming at the sight of Sunday, who looked at them with a tired frown.

“Sorry,, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just feeling unwell, and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’m just, a little surprised. You don’t really seem like the type of guy who’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“‘Stuff’…?”

“Yeah. You know, like, closeness.”

“Really? Hm.” He turned his head away, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.“ He nearly whispered, pulling his arm away.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. So much so, that [Name] decided to speak the first thought that came to mind:

“Can I touch your wings?”

“Sorry?”

“I want to touch your wings. They look super fluffy.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, wondering where they obtained such courage. A halovian’s wings were just about sacred, and most only allowed those closest to them to do as much as stare at them for extensive amount of time. And still…

“You may. But, please be careful. They’re very sensitive, and tear easily.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t really expecting you to let me..” [Name] was dumbfounded.

“I suppose so. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, as I… Truly appreciate you. It feels like you’re the only person that has seen me as human in an embarrassingly long time. This is the least I can do to express my gratitude.” He leaned in closer, extending the wings on the side closest to [Name]. They didn’t speak, only reaching out to pet the wing sticking out from under his shirt. Sunday was surprised, as he figured they’d first pick the carefully preened, pristine, and intact wing on his head.

“It’s so soft..” they gasped, brushing a finger along the trimmed edge of the appendage. They then moved on to his upper wing, scratching behind it like one would with a cat.

Sunday metaphorically melted, gently collapsing onto [Name]. His eyes closed contently as his roommate continued their exploration of his features.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn’t last long. The distinct sound of wood being axed through snapped both people out of their relaxed state. Sunday jumped out of bed, and out the bedroom door. The sound was coming from the front entrance- which was stupid, as it was unlocked, much like any other door in the town. He crossed his arms, glaring at the widening hole in his door.

Upon completely decimating the wooden structure, a furious mob of followers of the Order barged in, carrying pitchforks and unlit torches. Sunday blinked in disbelief, if only for a couple seconds.

“You liar… Murderous whoreson of a cunt! How could you… How? Do you even realize how many people have lost or wasted their lives on your fuckass cult!? You will pay for this!” A man near the front screamed, spit flying onto Sunday as he did so. He wiped it off his face, giving his subjects a tired smile.

“My children, please. This must all be one great misunderstanding. I urge you to lay your weapons down, and explain to me what crime exactly you think it is that I committed.” He clasped his hands together, eyes closing inoffensively. Once again, his communication attempt was met with a slap.

“Misunderstanding? Hah. Tell that to The Devil! Tie him!” The man ordered, in response to which, the follower of Harmony stepped forward, rope in hand. As they stood parallel to Sunday, they opened their eyes for the first time. The blue outer ring transforming into a deep purple one didn’t look the least bit human, and neither did the grey sclera. If anything, such colors more closely resembled the written description of Ena, if only reversed.

It was then that it clicked.

Sunday began to twitch, in what seemed like the unfortunate moment where the psyche of a tortured man finally shattered. Hell, maybe that was accurate. He soon began to laugh, louder than he ever had before.

As he found himself preoccupied with that, Xipe gave him one last pitiful glance.

“I’m sorry.” THEY mouthed, beginning to bind his arms and wings.

[Name] gripped the edge of the bedroom doorframe. They had been observing for the entirety of the conflict, frozen. Perhaps, if the sea of people didn’t extend well past the confines of the house, they would’ve tried to help Sunday.

“See? He’s gone far past mad- Wait, should we do something about [Name]?” A villager questioned another, causing Sunday to cease his laughter.

“Absolutely. Burn the entire house down, everything he’s touched is tainted.”

“Are you insane? They’re pretty new. What do you think are the chances that they knew?” A third chimed in.

“[Name] didn’t know. It… It was all on me. I’m the one who lied to you. I deceived each and every one of you in pursuit of control. I corrupted the pure intentions of Gopher Wood, and, I ended his life via poison. I am the only culprit.” Sunday tensed, frantically looking around to see how many people believed his faux confession. Of course, only the first sentence was even remotely true. However, if he were to die today, there was no reason to drag the dead and the innocent along with him.

The villagers fell silent, looking between each other in a silent discussion.

“I believe him.” Xipe said, tugging on Sunday’s binds as THEY lead him towards the door, clearing a path through the mob.

The crowd followed, much like a herd of sheep would. This left [Name] alone, and confused.

When the silence became deafening, they hurried to follow. They figured that even if they couldn’t physically be that close to him during whatever was going to happen, then being there at all might make Sunday feel less alone. Even if what he’d confessed was true; which they didn’t fully believe, he did save their life. This was the least they could do for him.

Tears rolled down Sunday’s face, shining golden from the bright sunlight seeping into them. He was awarded the courtesy of choosing when he’d be ended, and he picked sundown. He’d been nailed to a cross, through his hands, wings, and shoulders. The fallen priest was in utter agony, and yet, he was quite alright with this.

Xipe took the same role Sunday had all those years ago; the killer. The villagers were seething, and craved nothing but blood. So, they all collectively decided Sunday was going to be nailed, burnt, and finally shot in the neck. Xipe offered THEMSELVES as executioner. No mortal deserved to have to live with the fact they were the direct cause of another human being’s untimely demise…

As THEIR lit torch approached the kindling, Xipe gazed into Sunday’s eyes once more. They smiled. It was barely visible, yet earnest.

Sunday returned the gesture, inhaling the last breath of fresh air he’d ever take.

[Name] kneeled in front of the charred, bloodied, and decaying corpse of Sunday. They didn’t even think he saw them in his final moments, ergo, they exposed themselves to his disgustingly brutal end for nothing.

They dipped their head, placing the bouquet of wild flowers they’d picked from the clearing which Sunday introduced them to, at his feet.

“Do you want to bury him?”

“…What?” [Name] turned, recognizing the voice as Sunday’s executioner.

“You cared about him. I doubt you want him to publicly rot for..What, a decade?”

“Yeah.”

“Stand. And take the flowers. I’ll carry him.”

And so, they did. In the same clearing the flowers had been picked from, [Name] and Xipe had buried Sunday. They didn’t mark his grave, deciding to finally let him rest.

“So? What will happen now? To everyone in the town, I mean. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have nowhere to go, and a town without a leader is a town without laws. But they’re all so violent…”

“Hm..Penacony has a place for all. Even with their violent tendencies, they can learn and grow.”

“So, why couldn’t Sunday?”

“Despite not knowing what he even believed in, Sunday thought he was nothing without Order. No matter what anyone could ever try, he’d refuse to change. It’s unfortunate, but, he should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“…But that’s so unfair.”

“Being forced into obedience would be equally unfair, no? Sunday died on his own terms.”

“I guess. It’s just, sad.”

[Name] received no reply. They felt as if the other presence had suddenly vanished, but didn’t bother to confirm this.

They laid down next to Sunday’s resting place, closing their eyes. They still struggled to comprehend how their life had taken such a horrible turn so quickly.

It didn’t matter now. [Name] yawned, rolling over onto the side they were most comfortable on. Upon waking, they’d set off to Penacony, where they would find a job and make a living for themselves. But tonight, they just wanted a semblance of a proper farewell to the cozy lifestyle they had grown so accustomed to, and to the man that made it all possible.

[nicosraf]

You inspire me…. Any advice for writing books ?

!! I'm honored u get a little inspiration from me! That's very sweet of you.

I struggle with advice because I've only written about 5 books and published... two-ish. (An old fanfic and ABM, which as you know is basically fanfic). But I think I have some specific advice since I'm revising right now and have a lot of thoughts... Here is what works for me (!):

Outline. I know it sucks but... please try it. (Or you'll end up like GRRM).

Draft without going back to read what you wrote, or at least don't read your unfinished manuscript in full. You will want to edit it. Don't edit it. Yes it sounds bad; yes you used the same word 8 times in a paragraph by accident; yes you can see a major plot hole. Don't fix it yet, maybe write it down somewhere so you don't forget to fix it later. You need to avoid editing while drafting or you will never finish the draft. This is the biggest advice I can give anyone, especially if you haven't written your first book yet.

Give each character a strong backstory, even if it never shows up in the plot. Sounds obvious but sometimes I have to remind myself of this.

Give your characters friendships, not just romantic relationships. Include tender scenes with friends.

A lot of writing is tedious and boring. Drafting is hard, editing is hard. You have to be disciplined. But finding motivation is also hard. Don't motivate yourself using the dream of a fanbase or the dream of becoming famous. You're setting yourself up to be hurt. (Not because any of that is impossible but because achieving it in the way that you dream is virtually impossible.) Motivate yourself using something more personal, if you can.

Re-do your outline after you draft. Why? Because you probably changed things while you drafted, you probably made some stuff up on the spot, character dynamics changed, etc. A new outline is good because you can see the story you actually wrote, which is helpful for editing for plot cohesion, moving scenes, adding and removing stuff.

Your draft is going to be bad. Don't freak out. Drafts are always bad. You're going to want to analyze the hell out of it though. What did you plan, what did you write, what worked, what didnt work, what themes are on the page, what themes should you remove, what themes should you amplify.

When editing a scene isn't working, rewrite it entirely. Yes it's more work. You'll be much happier though, I promise.

The first to second revisions should be for plot and characters and pacing; these should take the longest and be the most difficult. The last third to fourth revision should be about prose. Don't focus on prose when you're trying to fix the plot.

Let characters fuck up unforgivably.

Consider your audience heavily when you edit, but don't consider them when you draft.

I've given this advice before but when it comes to plot devices/objects, you want to give each device a moment of introduction, a moment where it's recalled, and a moment of use. (Ex. A knife is introduced in chapter 1, its mentioned again casually in chapter 7, then it's used to kill someone in chapter 14.) This is mostly to give each object its own arc that feels satisfactory but ur the boss about what works best.

Kill all your characters, but not physically (unless you want to). Make them change so much that, by the end, they would barely recognize who they were at the start.

This is book advice for the type of books that I've written. Things are very different if you're writing, say, contemporary romance, but I think this list is pretty general !! I hope it helps. Good luck!!

[onewomancitadel]

A scattering of TWC impressions, which I played because a mutual posted fanart featuring a guy with long hair and I wanted to see if he had long hair in the game. The character my protagonist romanced only had long hair in a flashback. I told you, they are trying to contain me

That being said, I'll try to be fair:

By Book Two I was calling that the mother is a traitor, and I presume the epilogue in Book Three confirms this. My favourite silly thing that authors do is something like:

"I'll never forgive anybody who ever does this."

[Character who is later never forgiven for something immediately speaks]

"I sure hope nobody betrays us."

[Traitor speaks]

or in the case of TWC, every time a Rogue leader was mentioned, Rebecca immediately began speaking. It's just a subtle way of linking information together that most people aren't going to pick up on, outside of actual hard clues (e.g. there's the bit where Rebecca gets the pure DMB, and somehow Murphy had pure DMB on hand, the repeated emphasis on doing anything for her child, caginess about leaving being a leader of the Chamber/the dad thing, etc.)

I cannot imagine how much work it was to twine together a CYOA game and try to structure the prose as part of that experience, so I tried to be really gentle on that aspect when I am at my most critical with such a thing.

Present tense works best with first person (there is one time that I've read third person present tense and it's transcended my issues with it, I think because there was a real deft employment of where it's good for - especially sex scenes) in my experience because it reflects that natural English conversational tone, though my preference would still be first person past tense, for the sake of CYOA I can see why it was chosen. That being said, I think it really did struggle at points trying to marry a past tense reflectional tone to the present, and there were times that the description of the environment was especially clunky. I wrote a post about dialogue tags that was implicitly about this series lol.

I did pay for all three books so I'm not knocking on something a fan put their heart into, hahaha. To its detriment I think the quality of the prose depreciated by Book Three - having gone back to do a second playthrough to do a male protagonist/Morgan playthrough, I don't think this is recency bias. In terms of actual structure, Book Three probably has the overall better dramatic moments but experiences a weakening of connective tissue - lots of 'and then'..., and fewer scenes where I can smash my dollies together.

This really brings me to my issue which is that I didn't go in knowing it was all about romance, and I really wish - ironically - it had leant more into being about romance.

The plot is there to carry the development (which I enjoy, unless you are able to write something truly literary) up until it fell more like it was beginning to overwhelm it by Book Three - then again I hated the fake dating in Book Two because it's a beloathed trope of mine, so maybe I'm just hard to please. I think this might be an issue of the will-they-won't-they Adam romance, which - whilst I love slow burn and most of all absolutely love slow burn which dicks around - really needed to torture Adam more and torture my protagonist more to get the message through, I think in part a consequence of the tone of this sort of story which is trying to feel grounded, but I would choose sensible character development in exchange for tonal compromise (especially as it would be constrained to one route). I'm willing to be seated for people who try to stay away from each other - yess please yummy yummy - but you need to feel comfortable in getting the emotional cattle prod out.

And I wouldn't be so upset about the realism of portraying a 900 year old vampire knight unless the setting leant hard into that 'supernatural-but-realism' modern style of cynical writing... like, you can't have characters laugh about believing in God (when God structured that period of Adam's early life and magic is real and a Gnostic-esque Echo World is also real...) and then get mad at me when I want you to portray a 900 year old vampire knight properly. He sounds like a traumatised soldier from 20-30 years ago; did he change with the times? Did he never fit in back then anyway? I guess I just wanted to go weirder! Also what's his attitude to sex. Lol

Also the fact that human bloodsucking didn't come up until the end of Book Three made me very disappointed. I wanted him to try sucking her like as early as Book One. I wanted to suggest it as a thing to help them fighttttt but it could also be so so sexy. 🥰 It felt a little like dramatic scenes kind of get postponed. No idea what Murphy is doing now

That being said, the most important thing to me were the nonviolent resolutions and being nice to the monsters. I think the real reason I kept playing is because it did keep offering outcomes that let me try to be peaceful and show compassion to the big sad mean monsters... whether that was in the romance itself, or towards the antagonists, that was actually great fun.

It's not even something you necessarily get to do in a Bioware game because combat is considered the lifeblood of video games (maybe in some older games you can talk down the antagonist, thinking of the original Fallout here - but notably its sequel eschewed this, almost like a joke) and the type of character I tend to construct for this setting is the gentlest I can think of, just because such gentle characters are so rare. So it's very very valuable to me to get to play that.

That actually brings me into what I liked about the romances, which is that I never had to consistently hit a 'flirt' option - something I hate about how RPG's construct romance now - because that's not even how people become attracted to each other! - and it asked me what route I was going to take. Notably on my second playthrough, it asked me why I had been avoiding Morgan - so it actually integrated how you met those hidden romance checks into the storytelling, even when I went through a romance with fewer checks seemingly hit. (I think this might've been because I let her wait outside? But why would I force my character on her? Lol).

And because Detective Majestic (okay I was thinking of Destroy All Humans because cops/supernatural/special agencies, I wanted something silly, and then they kept using her surname the whole goddamned playthrough...) is so gentle, she never pushed Adam not even once, and it let me keep playing that way without punishing that playstyle because it didn't ~meet the romance checks~, but it also had romantic scenarios where neither of them let themselves do anything hahaha, which was amazing. This is probably the rarest portrayal of romance I've ever seen in a CYOA/RPG, and pretty much redeemed my experience because it was so fun to actually play something unique which met me halfway. That in itself is very hard to do - the reason you'd structure something linearly with absolute checks is just because this method is very complex to write. Now you've got more than 'romance - no romance' to write a route for.

So the discovery element was really the strongest, and I enjoyed it for that reason above all else. It let me be nice, pacifistic, and play a romance with a unique approach - and though I am not always the kindest on some requisite romance tropes (part of the reason I liked playing a gentle character is that I like the subversion of pushy romance tropes lol) it was admittedly quite fun!

I'm glad I checked it out, so now I know who is the one with long hair and who isn't, and though I am rather curmudgeonly, I had a little bit of fun. I can definitely see how this would service a rich transformative fandom - especially because I don't know if you could reasonably write a sex scene in the main story proper. Blood sucking might have to supplement it... that's what the vampire can be a facsimile for, just with a much more negative portrayal, lol. Probably a separate thesis to be written on why the vampire has enjoyed a burgeoning positive reception in modern romance.

[slayingfiction]

Preliminary Editing

Hi! There are 4 stages of official editing: 1. Developmental/structural editing, 2. Line/stylistic editing, 3. Copy editing, 4. Proofreading. These are tips to do before these stages.

Here are some ways to edit your book as you work from your first to second, third, fourth, etc. draft, before you start officially editing, or better, hiring someone to do it for you.

Start by going through chapter by chapter, and rewriting all the prose you find cringy, or that you don’t find flows well. Cut any information and scenes that you find unnecessary, or that has no value in the story.

Add all the small details you forgot to add, or only thought of after writing the chapter. Every single event in your story should be able to be tracked back to a specific moment that caused the cascading event, and therefore the consequences.

Add or change all details so that the story is cohesive, and there are no plot holes. Your MC has OCD? Make sure the entire story they are exhibiting those symptoms. Your MC has a pet? Make sure you know where they are at all times, and what they are doing, even out of scene.

Change your verbs to ensure you are always using the same conjugations. I usually mix past and present during first drafts. :(

Go over all dialogue to make sure all dialogue is representative of the characters speaking. From personality distinctions, mannerisms, dialects or language barriers.

Add description, the 5 senses, where you feel it should be more descriptive, or find different ways of describing your story, instead of always using the same words or adjectives.

Improve writing by being more concise with your words. Example, remove all “very ****” and get better adjectives or adverbs. Take out ‘very fast’ and replace it with quickly or hastily, rapidly, swiftly, or instantaneously. You can also remove most instances of words like possibly, may, might have, likely, probably. They did or they didn’t, just choose one.

Double check the accuracy of all the information you’ve used. From fighting styles, to when people need their passport, or how your world delivers communication in a technology free world, etc.

Share your work. Beta reader, or alpha reader. It doesn’t matter, get someone to look over it to point out any problems you may not see and then adjust accordingly.

Repeat as necessary until you are ready to do the 4 stages of official editing.

When you have feedback, try not to take it personally, though you almost always will at first. Be proud of yourself for the work you have accomplish, and know that it’s not done, so it’s ok to not be perfect. I promise you, as likely it is that someone doesn’t like your story, it’s just as likely someone will love it. Just find your people.

You don’t need to do all these steps separately, but also don’t do them all at once, or you will likely miss some details. Try to do 2 to 3 full preliminary story edits before the official ones.

Happy Writing :)

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

I finished acotar a while ago and I was gonna write a review right away but then christmas happened and I was pretty busy and wanted to enjoy myself so youre getting like two weeks late

It was fine, I really didnt have any strong feelings about the book itself. Like, my main complaints are that it was pretty boring and directionless for most of it and stuff thats mainly related to the next books, if I just look at it as a standalone I would describe it as "not for me, but not that bad"

That is, until we get to Under The Mountain, where everything just gets really stupid and convoluted. That whole section, which is a solid fourth or fifth of the whole book, severely clashes with the sweet fairytale romance that came before it. It reminds me of how all those twilight-knockoff trilogies in the 2010s would have two pretty low-stakes books worth of basically only romance with some weird magic sprinkled on top, and then in the last book it would turn out that the protagonist and her beloved need to Go To War or the world will end except even worse (also now that I think about it, the first three acotar books also seem to be structed like that, so youre getting two shitty plot structures in one. yayyyyyyy)

There was literally no reason for all of that happen, it was honestly just unpleasant reading about Feyre, who had spent the book recovering from her trauma in a way that was genuinely pretty nice to read about, being tortured for three months until she was feeling worse than she ever had before. And some people might say "oh, thats the point, its meant to be tragic" but it didnt feel like tragedy, it just felt tonally dissonant. Also, the entire ending was so weird and dragged out, like that bit where she and Tamlin are staying one last night UTM for some reason and then she talks to Rhysand before they finally leave and its like, BRO dont stay in the Palace of Torments for any longer than you have to, just leave through that portal-tunnel thing

Speaking of Rhysand, he wasnt that bad in this book but Im sure my opinion on him will change. The main thing that sticks out about him is how sjm simply could not resist ALREADY explaining all of his motivations and portraying him as someone whos obviously so noble, despite all the obviously horrific and completely unecessary shit hes doing. Like, theres that scene where Rhysand crushes that guy's brain when Amarantha ordered him to crush his mind and the narration goes "that was actually an act of mercy from Rhysand" ??? that mightve worked better in third person limited where youre working without the implication that the prose is the pov character's actual thoughts, but since its first person and meant to be Feyre's thoughts I was just like "why is she thinking that when she should be thinking 'holy fucking shit, i just signed my life over to a guy who could squish my mind like a grape if he wanted to?!?!?!!'"

Also, theres that scene where Rhysand comes into Feyres cell to "escape from it all" or whatever and he basically monologues to her about his sympathetic motivations and I just. sarah, girlie, you shouldve saved this shit for the second book. Like, rewrite the scene so that he just comes in eithout a word, hes totally unresponsive to Feyre insulting him or trying to ask him what hes doing here, he just sits down in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, he mutters something vague about just wanting to be left alone, maybe he's even got tears in his idk. I think that would be a far more effective way to have him be sympathetic in a more subtle way than just having him monologue his tragic circumstances and noble intentions at Feyre

Thats about it so far, I'll probably start reading ACOMAF in january when winter break is over and I can read it on the bus and in class again

[butterflydm]

Since you're on a reread right now (and I don't have the spoons for one), I'm curious: does Min pass the Bechdel test after she leaves Salidar?

Oh, that is a huge task, anon!

Haha, off the top of my head, I can't think of any -- maybe her telling Melaine about her being pregnant, if you count her napping on Rand's lap as her 'leaving' her earlier conversation and starting a new one, oh but Rand is still part of that convo, so I guess it doesn't count. Ah, maybe a super-late series conversation she has once she leaves Rand's side counts.

I know that most of the female characters talk to other female characters about plot points fairly frequently but once Min gloms herself to Rand, most of her conversations happen with at least one man around or a man as the object of the convo, I think. But actually sifting through the books to check would be a pretty big task.

What I can do is run a general search on my pdfs and see if I get any results that might count. I'm going to use "Min said" or "said Min" as my search phrases, which is not ideal and probably won't find every time she talks to someone (it misses any time she was introduced in a scene via prose but then Jordan used "she said", for example) but should hopefully give an idea.

TEotW: the only time she talks to someone 'on-screen' in this book is her conversation with Rand, so nothing in this book.

TGH: has ten conversations in this book. First one mentions Rand; second one mentions Galad and Logain; third one mentions Rand (and is the first occurrence of her blaming Rand for things that are her own choice); fourth one mentions Doman; fifth one counts!; sixth is with Doman; seventh one counts!; eighth one counts!; ninth one is about Rand; tenth is with Rand. So 3 out of 10 aren't about or with men.

TDR: has four conversations in this book. First one is about Rand; second one is about Rand; third one is about Rand; fourth one is about Rand. So 0 for 4 in this one.

TSR: has four conversations in this book. First one mentions Gawyn; second one is with Gawyn and Galad; third one is about Rand; fourth one is her helping Leane and Siuan escape and counts; fifth one is with Gawyn. 1 out of 4.

TFoH: has five conversations. First one is about Gareth Bryne and Rand; second one maybe technically counts but Min is thinking about men a lot during it; third one is about Logain; Elayne and Min's reunion technically counts because they don't mention Rand out loud but he's the obvious subtext; and then they do talk about him in the fifth conversation. So... two half points adding up to one full one?

LoC: has six conversations. First one is about Rand (and is Min expressing the idea that Rand is the only thing that gives her happy thoughts); the second is about Rand; the third is her reunion with Rand; the fourth technically counts but is about her escaping Merana and the embassy so that she can go see Rand again; the fifth is Perrin introducing Faile and Min; the sixth is with Rand. So maybe half a point, but that 'conversation' is a single line of dialogue and the subtext was about Rand.

ACoS: has four conversations. First one is with Rand; second one is with Rand; third one is about Rand; fourth one is with Rand. 0 out of 4.

TPoD: has three conversations. First one is Min fetching drinks for Rand and Dobraine; second one is with Rand; third one is with Rand. 0 out of 3.

WH: has seven conversations. First one is with Rand; second one is with Rand; third one is about Rand (Min talks about how she "doesn't tell him things he doesn't need to know"); third one is the group love confession to Rand; fourth one is about Rand; fifth one is with Rand; sixth one is about Rand; seventh one is with Rand. 0 out of 7.

CoT: has one conversation, with Rand. 0 out of 1.

KoD: has eight conversations. First one is about Rand; second one is about Rand; third one is with Rand (and is the infamous "Min struts sexily through corpses on a battlefield" scene); fourth is with Rand; fifth is with Rand and Loial; sixth is with Rand; seventh is about Rand; eighth is about Rand. 0 out of 8.

TGS: has nine conversations. First is with Rand; second is with Rand; third is with Rand; fourth is about Rand; fifth is with Rand; sixth is with Rand; seventh is about Rand; eighth is about Rand; ninth is about Rand. 0 out of 9.

ToM: has seven conversations. First is about Rand; second is with Rand; third is with Rand; fourth is with Rand; fifth is with Rand; sixth is with Rand; seventh is with Rand. 0 out of 7.

AMoL: has fourteen conversations. First is with Rand; second is with Bryne; third is about Bryne; fourth is with Mat (and features their bizarrely appearing from nowhere friendship); fifth is with Mat; sixth is with Mat; seventh is about Mat; eighth includes Mat but most of the scene is a conversation between Min and slaver princess; ninth is with Mat; tenth is about Gareth Bryne and Mat (her convo with Siuan); eleventh technically counts but it's her leaving a helpless slave to die while cursing her for not helping (when Min should know that it's impossible) and is only two words and is said along the way to rescuing Mat, which is her focus in the scene; twelfth is with Mat; thirteenth is about Mat; and her last scene in the series is about Rand. So... half a point out of 14, I guess?

Just for comparison's sake, I'll pull out a random book for Aviendha and see what I get. I used a randomizer to give me a book number between 3-14 and got 9, so Winter's Heart. I'll use the same criteria ("Aviendha said" and "said Aviendha"). I'm doing Aviendha instead of, for example, Elayne, because I feel like Aviendha is closer to the same kind of secondary character status as Min, while Elayne is a main character so she's going to be talking a lot more.

Aviendha in Winter's Heart: ten conversations.

First conversation is her first-sister bonding with Elayne. While it does touch on Rand during the confessions, the bonding itself is a whole group of women talking about a bonding ceremony between two women. Still, for fairness sake, I won't count it.

Second conversation is talking with Birgitte about Nynaeve. 1 point.

Third conversation is with Birgitte, Elayne, and Nynaeve and they talk about Dyelin's loyalty and Aviendha teases Elayne about her being overly proud. They do mention male assassins during the convo, so I won't count it.

Fourth conversation is the love confession with Rand (as mentioned above).

The fifth conversation is introducing Min to Birgitte. Again, Rand is somewhat mentioned here, so I won't count it.

Sixth conversation mentions Elayne tricking people into thinking Mellar is her kids' dad, so doesn't count.

Seventh is Aviendha and Elayne talking about pregnancy and the Kin, so that's a second point.

Eighth is Aviendha, Elayne, and Birgitte talking over plans; third point.

Ninth is Aviendha talking to Birgitte about Elayne. Fourth point.

Tenth is Aviendha talking to Master Norry to get him to leave a very-tired Elayne alone, doesn't count.

For 4 out of 10 for Aviendha there.

[raiquen]

Book Review: The Invisible Man, H. G. Wells

My review in a Tweet:

"Would men turn evil if they were free from society?" is a frequent question in fiction and phylosophy in general, and while it's present in this book, it has been exaggerated on literary analysis that followed it. Overall, an interesting read with a very dull middle part.

Complete Review:

I decided to pause my other readings to dive into special thematic books for Halloween, while also complementing the nights I watch movie classics. So, for the first special review, I chose "The Invisible Man", by Herbert George Wells.

Years ago, I read "The Time Machine" by the same author, and it left a good impression of his writing skills. This time, while it wasn't bad, I'd say it left me a little unimpressed. The prose and descriptions, like the dialogues, were precise and well written but a bit dense. Wells would go over too many details, and although it's probably a common product of its time, it lacks a more deep or meaningful story.

The book it's divided in chapters, but I think the plot it's separated in four parts:

The arrival of the Invisible Man to a small town, his secret protected by the costume he wears.

The reveal of the secret and the following chaos.

The origin of the Invisible Man, told by himself to an old friend he runs into.

The manhunt of the Invisible Man.

The first part it's quite interesting as a reader, because we know what his secret is, so it's fun to read the guesses of the townspeople and the "mysterious events" that surround the stranger.

The second part is also fun, because of the paranoia and desbelief that the reveal of the Invisible Man provokes.

This third part, his backstory, the one I was most eager to read about (driven by the curiosity of getting to know how would the author explain or justify Griffins' invisibility) turned out to be so dull and slow. The proccess is a bit uninteresting (applying the refracting properties of an object to another thanks to a machine barely described), but the tedious first days of Griffin as an invisible man and his laments for all the unfortunate stuff that happens to him because no one can notice him is so... unsufferable. Specially because H.G. Wells decides to describe a lot the most boring stuff. We barely get to see a truly evil Invisible Man.

He does tell to his old friend that he needs an accomplice to declare his Reign of Terror, but by the time we reach this point, we have 10% or 15% of the book left, so the last part is mostly his friends saying No to him and helping the local police capture him (because the narration of his first days invisible gave him the information he needed). Griffin kills a man and injuries badly a few more men, but besides that and stealing money and food, he's no more evil than any person left behind by society.

So maybe, another possible interpretation to this story is not "Do men turn evil when free from society's watchful eye?" but rather "Men will do what they must to survive in a society that won't notice (help) them". Then, maybe, after a life like that, they will grow resentful and bitter like Griffin.

Score: 6.5/10.

My other 2023 readings.

[rriavian]

I have a curiosity about Baiting the Trap / Courting the King / chapter 1, when Gault visits Dream in the throne room. Gault says "The Corinthian is avoiding me". I wanted to know more if possible about why the Corinthian is keeping away from Gault and why there is for a moment a palpable tension between Gault and Dream :)

So I’ve actually been wanting to talk about this for months and months, because while it crosses into the plot of CtK it’s not really what it’s focusing on. There’s the beginnings of the thread in CtT too. I’d thought a lot about Gault when I was writing—have a lot of discarded prose that delves into it—and I picked her specifically to be the third character Dream interacts with in chapter 1. She contrasts very nicely with the Corinthian in a lot of ways and I’ve always thought her dream self would make him incredibly uncomfortable.

(Disclaimer: I do really like Gault so while some of this might seem very critical please bear with me.)

That moment of tension between her and Dream comes from how I feel her decisions in season one may have affected their relationship. And the Corinthian’s avoidance of Gault is a direct response to her becoming a dream. What Dream did to (for?) Gault is something to fear for the Corinthian. What’s an act of agency for her is a loss for him—though Dream’s alterations to Gault can be said to have only been surface level and in allowing her to call herself/officially act as a dream, the Corinthian doesn’t know that.

The Corinthian only sees Dream’s ability to change him at will, with or without his consent.

He only sees how easy it is. Only sees Gault asking for permission to change. That isn't the agency the Corinthian is trying to grasp. He doesn’t see her needing to ask for Dream’s approval to really be agency at all. The idea that change hinges on Dream’s allowance of it sits badly with him even as he still craves his creators approval, which is interesting because Dream is actually pleased by the fact he hasn't asked.

The Corinthian is also insulted by Gault even wanting to become a dream at all. It’s like oh? You don’t want to be a nightmare any more? You think you’re better than me because the King gave you some pretty wings and made you a dream? 

This leads into how some of these reasons are reflected in Dream’s response to Gault. I see it as that, outside of her personal feelings, Gault has implied a hierarchy. A bias. And this is part of the reason why Dream is tense with her. There is also her misjudgement of him carrying forward into CtK even after she’d been made a dream (as if she hasn’t yet learned what he was trying to help her realise). When she visits him in the throne room Gault implies he’d kept the Corinthian from talking to her on purpose.

So part of the Corinthian’s very personal reasoning for avoiding her is reflected in Dream but in a much wider context. For Dream it’s not an ego thing, not really about her rejecting how he made her. It’s an insult to the King. To his role and to what that means. But it’s not just that, the wider context also includes the Dreamer’s, and he sees it as a rejection of them too. Of their need for what Gault is. Dream will probably be making something to fill her role, the role she found so intolerable, and so I think what matters most to Dream is the insult to them.

As he said to Burgess when he was freed from the cage:

“Have you any idea the damage you’ve done to your world?”

By separating Jed she stole him. Not just from Dream. But from his right as a Dreamer. It’s something I delved into a bit in ‘In Silence’ but part of the crime in what she did to Jed is in how she imposed her will/feelings onto a Dreamer. The Sandman/Nightmare King conflict came from her. (“You are the Sandman? Is that what she told you?”) Gault added to Jed's dream, built it with him by using her own perspectives, her own feelings of wishing for freedom. What she did was an abuse of power, it takes the Dreamer away from the center of their own subconscious experience. Akin to a therapist using a session for their own needs.

Her own attempts to reconcile the two halves of Dream’s role also showed him that she doesn’t really understand him either.

From what we see of it, Gault’s issues with Dream are very very self-based (I don’t want to say selfish because it’s not an intrinsically negative thing and I think there’s a difference between having those feelings and the way she acted upon them). It’s very much ‘I don’t want to be this any more, I want to change’ and ‘your rules are the issue’ and the framing of a I vs you is very similar to how the Corinthian frames his own rebellion. It’s the reason why rebellion is punished so harshly, and the reason why the other creations leaving the Dreaming is such a tragic, painful thing. Because Dream doesn’t frame his responses like that, doesn’t see this as a personal conflict at all.

It’s always the good of the Dreamer’s vs individual wants/needs. An attempt to negotiate that without failing his duties, an attempt at balance that doesn’t compromise why Dream and all his creations exist.

That balance might need to shift (as the series shows us Dream is testing out different ways of change) but it’s such a huge deal because of the risk of what might happen if he gets it wrong. Dream is thinking of the wider picture. He’s thinking of all the Dreamers, all his subjects, of the responsibility he has that is also shared with his creations (especially major acarna!) and he’s reacting as a ruler should. 

A misunderstanding of this is a bigger insult coming from all three of his major arcana. While Fiddler’s Green doesn’t ‘rebel’ as such, Gault and the Corinthian both seem to see their rebellion as a noble retaliation against tyranny, a quest for agency against a ruler that allows them none. But both of them are wrong, or at least have a warped perspective of what exactly Dream is and what he represents. 

Which returns us to the point about the Sandman/Nightmare King conflict Gault adds to Jed’s dream. It's not just a judgement of him and it definitely factors into that tension between these characters because in regards to measuring his creations against one another Dream is neutral. 

(Bar that lovely masterpiece comment of course)

It’s more accurate to say that he doesn’t show prejudice to nightmares like Lucienne does (who demonstrates very clear bias against both Gault and the Corinthian), but Gault’s argument/request undermines this position. In blindly pushing so hard for her own interests—again, not saying she is wrong to want to change—she essentially forces Dream to appear to pick a side. To perhaps imply favouritism. To set a precedent without thinking through the consequences.

What could these be?

Well, they are the Corinthian’s complaints in a more widespread form. All of the other creations seeing the King allowing this and wondering what that means for what they are; other creations feeling disrespected, nightmares wondering what’s so bad about them that made Gault want not to be one anymore, dreams being like oh so can we be demoted?

As I said, it’s potentially introducing the idea of there being a hierarchy. 

Dream isn’t really supposed to do that and I think there will be ramifications in the rest of the series. There is a happy resolution though that’s pretty easy to implement as a balance in how perhaps a dream being like 'yo I want to be a nightmare' could ease tensions. But at the moment there is no balance to this decision. And Dream isn't going to force one of his dreams to make that transition. I think Gault put Dream in a very difficult position with her request and assumed it was just him being a dick that fuelled resistance. She doesn’t see the bigger picture. 

So I think Dream is angry on behalf of his other subjects too. 

There’s probably some personal rejection in there, but it isn’t the larger motivator. I could very much write an angsty oneshot about Gault and Dream tbh because I have thought so much about them. But what’s important too is that Dream gave her wings regardless. I don’t think Gault would have done that for him. Also she didn’t dictate it (there’s more on this but I will move on before this gets too much longer). Regardless of his personal feelings Dream made her the most beautiful dream he could. Perhaps as a lesson—in CtK I imply the gift is double edged—but also leading by example, a ‘you may feel disgruntled but don’t let it warp the work you do’.  

This also acknowledges her failings with Jed.

It’s Dream’s way of trying to help her figure out why he was so angry. As a personal choice ‘I don’t want to  make people afraid’ is not bad at all, but on a larger scale, when factoring in the bigger picture, it gets dicey. 

Dream has a kingdom to run. A service to keep running. He creates art he loves, but he’s got things that need doing, that he needs to do too, and it’s like going up to your supervisor half way through your shift and going ‘I hate my job give me another. Specifically that one. Oh also I’ve been doing it anyway and neglecting my own duties.�� And the supervisor being like ‘i can’t really do that right now so I need you to get back to work.’

Very oversimplified but hopefully you get my point. 

The job they all do is so incredibly important. And Dream has similar expectations for his creations as he does for himself. It’s like ‘I am not just your creator, I am your boss, your king, and I’m also responsible to a role I can’t escape. And as your king I have to tell you to just do your damn job’.

The allowance of her change is, for me, Dream saying ‘ok I will shoulder the heavier burden, give you the wings I wish I could give myself, because it’s not that you don’t deserve a freedom I can’t touch it’s that to give you it is far harder than it looks’

(But I am Dream and I will find a way)

Anyway, bringing it back to the Corinthian. He gets a different response because he isn’t about rejecting his nightmarish nature, or Dream’s, or classifying those parts as ‘bad’ . Gault has very much entered that territory. Really hope we see some development for her next season/some unpicking of that transformation and what it could mean in a wider context. I really think she might see some rejection/tension from other nightmares. To return to my supervisor metaphor. It’s like watching one employee seemingly get special treatment and being like ok what is going on here.

This got very long but hopefully coherent!

There’s a bit of dialogue coming up in the next fic where the Corinthian asks Dream straight out why he’s still angry at Gault but not at him. But I am honestly thinking of making the next part of the series a longer fic. Just because the lens is widening and I’d like to be able to pull some more of this stuff in, and explore a wider range of dynamics with other characters. Anyway thank you so much for the ask and hope this is an ok answer!

[anthyies]

Hi! Can I ask for more info about the necessity of reading Baru books 2 and 3? Because ngl, I really disliked book 1. Not because of the ending. The ending was the only part I liked. I was like, "Something is FINALLY happening in this goddamn book, the promised treacherous behaviour is FINALLY here." I know some people are reluctant to read on because they found the ending of book 1 devastating, but that was not my experience. Sure, it's sad, but it's narratively necessary. So... WILL reading the sequels help, in my case? I see so many people talk about how amazing this series is, comparing it to other series I really like (like Locked Tomb). What is it that makes the sequels worth reading to someone who didn't enjoy the first one?

tl;dr: idk if you’d like them. if you’re invested in baru as a character and her emotional arc try them. Long post under the cut lmfao sorry

without knowing why you disliked the rest of the first book i can’t really tell you whether you’d like the second and third. negative reviews of monster and tyrant revolve around a) “Baru is too emotional and messy and i wanted her to be a calculating mastermind cryptarch plotting” b) on the other hand “Baru is too cold unemotional calm and it’s freaky” (she is just autistic, most people who think this drop out at traitor) c) not connecting with how the cryptarchs are portrayed as a messy group of people / not liking the expanded scope and introduction of the cancrioth (secret cancer cult) / not liking the story of ash sections that focus on a new character, tau indi bosoka. take that as you will i guess? you need to be invested in baru as a character for them to work, i think. and it depends on what you want/expect from the books. if you were bored by the first book well the second and third do have a lot of things happening like the aforementioned cancer cult. basically yeah traitor is just the start of baru, i think monster and tyrant are necessary if you’re going to talk about baru being “grimdark” (imo it’s not), or if you want to figure out what the series wants to say, but if you didn’t like the start of baru’s arc idk if you’ll like the rest of it you know? it really does depend on ur investment in baru + what you want from her; a lot of neg reviews of monster are from people who expected something completely different.

monster and tyrant are special to me because of how baru’s arc is carried out as she deals with the aftermath of traitor - her narration does get wildly more emotional which im obsessed with personally #griefcore #widowpilled, and the emotional catharsis of baru freeing her mind from the influence of empire is incredibly important and personal to me. and i rec that people who have finished traitor and can’t make themselves read the next two because of emotional devastation read them because baru dealing with the emotional devastation helps 👍 it gets worse it gets to the worst place she could possibly be and then it starts to get better. also monster and tyrant have tau in them ❤️‍🔥 and ISCEND. and ulyu xe becomes so important. and aminata gets to be so fucked up and closeted-to-herself-probably-bisexual. they have fucked up gay women in these books 👆

re; locked tomb comparisons I’m not into tlt like that but i don’t really understand them beyond the superficial level of “lesbians who commit atrocities and also there’s an empire and also lobotomies and also dead gf in your head”. the lobotomy and dead gf in head happen in monster and tyrant fwiw (although the context of the lobotomy is so different .. they don’t match up thematically at all lmao. the htn lobotomy is out of love the baru lobotomy is an existentially horrifying threat). baru has a very different prose style and also is a much more focused look at empire like it is about empire and colonization that is what the books are about. whereas at least gtn/htn were not that focusedly about empire. also crucially baru is about homophobia it is very much about homophobia and tlt is queernormative (i prefer baru because she feels truer to my own experiences like when i say she is just like me her journey is personal to me i mean it lmfao. stream this essay)

[the-platelet-queen]

20 Questions Writer Tag

Thanks for the tag @justafunctionalmess ❤️

I have two AO3 accounts so I'll be taking from both of them.

How many works do you have on AO3? 32 works, not counting two abandoned works that are not associated with me anymore.

What is your total AO3 word count? 76,137 words

What fandoms do you write for? Oof, so many it's such a long list. As for the ones I've posted: Psych, Bones, The X-Files, New Girl, Victorious, Monk, That 70s Show, Supergirl, Schitt's Creek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Shadowhunter Chronicles, and two others I'm not gonna mention because they're cringe. I write for at least double what I listed.

What are your top five fics by kudos? Daddy with 343 kudos (Supergirl; I hate it's my most popular fic, purely because of the title), Walter and Nancy with 239 kudos (Victorious), Sparks Fly with 207 kudos (Supergirl), Sleepover with 143 kudos (Schitt's Creek), and Superstar with 127 kudos (Supergirl again).

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to! I get email notifications of comments, so I really see them on there, absolutely cherish them, then forget to reply on AO3. Sometimes I go on to reply to some in batches. I never know what to say in reply, but I'm so grateful to everyone that comments!

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The fic with the angstiest ending was Jericho (The X-Files). I've posted like two angsty fics total, and I don't usually write angst.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All of my fics end happy so this one was really hard. I guess I'd have to say Cold Blooded Killer because it's not a traditionally happy fic until the end :)

Do you get hate on your fic? Very very rarely, yes. It's only happened three times. The first time I was so upset about it. The second and third times I'm pretty sure it was the same person (guest account commented) so I just deleted it.

Do you write smut? Yes, but I don't post it. I don't write it very often either, very rare.

Do you write crossovers? Nope, not my cup of tea. I don't read them either.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Probably not. At least not that I'm aware of...

Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I have had someone record an audio of a fic I wrote. Hands down the coolest experience I've had with my writing so far!!

Have you ever co-written a fic? In a way, yes? If writing letters as characters back and forth with my sister counts.

What's your all-time favorite ship? I don't really have a favorite, BUT I guess I choose Mulder and Scully. Because of how they grew old together (I only watched the monster of the week episodes in the revival, but they were so cute together <3)

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My Bones high school AU. I've gotten so far on it, but the path ahead is longer. Also, the Boneheads podcast needs to come out so I can rewatch Bones and start writing it again.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, probably. I love character interactions, that's what I live for in writing (and also why I write fic). I want to see characters interacting, not necessarily a cool plot, which is why I emulate that in my own writing.

What are your writing weaknesses? Prose. I just don't like writing it (or reading it for the most part).

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I don't know enough about any language to confidently write dialogue for it in my fics. I'd probably get one of my friends who's more fluent in other languages to help me.

First fandom you wrote for? I'm absolutely devastated to share that my first fanfic was for Martha Speaks. I was in second grade and PBS Kids was holding a contest for written stories. Mine ended up over the word limit so I never sent it in.

Favorite fic you've ever written? All of them. Even if the writing isn't as good, it was something I was so proud of at the time, and I can feel that when I read it.

Hmmmm, I'm tagging @bianxiousandcute, @sprqpointintern @that70sshowgoldencouple @thatseventiesbitch @tht70sblog

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

please support this blog

🦇 The Wedding Witch Book Review 🦇

❓ #QOTD What's your favorite witchy read? ❓ 🦇 Bowen Penhallow has always been a loner, studying dark and ancient magic on a mountaintop in Wales. Tamsyn Bligh is not a witch, but she makes her living off of them as a procurer of magical items. Bowen becomes her exclusive client—as well as the star of several of Tamsyn’s dirtiest dreams. They both attend a wedding at Tywyll House—Bowen to help a dearly departed friend, Tamsyn to complete a job that would set her up for life. Unfortunately, a strong spell combined with a wedding mishap transports Bowen and Tamsyn into Tywyll House’s past, to the Yuletide Celebration of 1958. Can Bowen and Tamsyn work together to get back to the present while fighting feelings for one another--before it's too late?

💜 Erin Sterling's prose is strong, witty, and enchanting. The chemistry between Tamsyn and Bowen is off-the-charts from the moment they meet in person, simmers through texts and emails, only to completely boil over once they meet again in person. This is a fun, flirty read, perfect for witchy season!

💙 Unfortunately, the story itself leaves much to be desired. As the third book in a series, the characters and world-building should be well-established. Instead, this reads like the writer was rushed to meet a deadline with only a half-baked idea. A lot of the chemistry builds off-page, leaving us with more of an insta-love story (no thank you). The mixed time travel/Parent Trap plot is messy, and most sources of conflict are resolved without explanation. There's so much potential here, but it doesn't quite meet the mark.

🦇 Recommended for fans of witch lit, paranormal romance, and April Asher's Supernatural Singles books.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🐈‍⬛ Witch Lit 🧹 Only One Bed 👻 Work Relationship 👻 Time Travel + Parent Trap 🧹 Holiday Season 🐈‍⬛ Third in a Trilogy

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #TheWeddingWitch @Avonbooks / @HarperVoyagerUS

💬 Quotes ❝ "Read once that magic was like a naked blade. You can hold it, but you damn well better be careful with it, and even if you are, you are probably still going to bleed.” ❞ ❝ "I’m not having us break that rule on a technicality, Tamsyn,” he told her, his voice rough. “When we break it, it’ll be the real thing, cariad.” My love, he’d called her, because she was." ❞ ❝ “From the moment you walked into that pub,” he said, “I knew you’d be the making and the ruin of me all at once, woman.” ❞

[daisywords]

pulling more from my pre-2019 draft for these scenes than I thought I would.

(At this part, Alya's plans and knowledge level are different this time around, so she's not going to go about things in the same way.) But there are some pieces and descriptions I can frankenstein in, and I honestly wish there were more, because why does my writing from 6–8 years ago kind of slap? I feel like everything from the second half of that draft hits really hard, and my current draft seems lackluster in comparison

(the most notable improvement being that this draft has a much more functional plot. so we have to be grateful for what we have.)

but idk like I kind of expected to eventually reach a level of cringe regarding that stage of my writing, but I haven't yet. maybe it's good actually? idk 18yo me really knew how to write Alya in a way that is harder to capture now. maybe I'm too old?

probably just that I've branched out beyond that specific wip and voice, which I think is good for me in the broader scope of things. And I've been writing a lot (proportionally) of DaDBaB, which is sparser and more distant (read: more normal), so it makes sense for that to color across wip boundaries.

But my prose back then was so pretty! And so hard hitting! (too bad I didn't know what I was doing with the plot*)

All that to say I'm discovering a lot of dead darlings and unfortunately most of them will have to stay dead. but I might be more inclined to harvest for parts than I was planning one

*actually I rescind that. it was a mess but most of the core plot points as it stands now actually originated during that era, so maybe I was onto something?

Anyway I have to remind myself that current me is still. winning because she actually knows for the most part how the third act is supposed to go

[darkdoverpseeker]

hello ! i’m a 21 year old college student looking for a few long-term roleplay partners (preferably 19+), who are interested in crafting multi-faceted characters and stories !

my writing style consists of adv.literate to novella prose through third-person POVs, and i would prefer my partners to write similarly ! though i’m not averse to rapid fire, literate-style writing as well, i am a bit rusty after all :’).

as for pairings, i’m generally very flexible in terms of the relationships & genders i play but lean heavily towards F/F & F/M romances. however, i’m a big fan of doubling and wouldn’t mind doing so as i generally like to play multiple characters — and could probably quench a craving or two! furthermore, i wouldn’t mind taking fc suggestions so long as the favour is returned !

genres i typically gravitate to:

historical (bonus points if it has to do with ancient rome or ancient egypt :))

mafia/crime/gangs

fluff, fairytales and/or “cottage core”

supernatural

dark academia

travel/adventure-centric

royalty

comedy

neo-noire

romance

arranged marriages

villains

dark and/or mature themes

fandoms (ocxcanon & ocxoc preferred):

house of the dragon

bullet train

succession

game of thrones

the bear

p.s. i am also nsfw friendly !

any and all roleplays will be taking place on discord as that’s where i’m most active ! i’d also like to move ooc onto there once we’ve established a plot and gotten to know each other a bit better !

please leave a like if you’re interested and i’ll try to reach out soon :).

have a nice day !

like if interested!

[dethkomic]

Writin' Comics and Junk: Part 5 - Point-of-View Within Comics

Welcome once again, pals! We're now on the third issue of our second volume of Dethkomic, and I'm really excited to share with everything that goes down in this one! If you haven't guessed that the pace won't be slowing any time soon, then I have bad news. Anyway..!

The next Dethkomic update will be Friday, June 2nd, 2023!

For this tutorial update, I thought I'd share a little bit about something a little on the abstract side as it pertains to writing and specifically, comic writing.

Storytelling in the pages of a graphical media like comics, as I've alluded to in previous updates, is a multifaceted thing with a lot of different angles to consider -- and I mean that pretty literally.

More on this, under the cut!

Putting the Pieces Together

Last time we met, I went over the various panel layouts that are commonly found in comics. Before that, I talked about studying movies, tv, and other visual media as a means of understanding direction and decision making in that area. Way before that, we touched on the differences between plot-driven and character-driven stories.

What I'm going to cover today, and into the next string of updates, sort of mashes everything together. So if you haven't yet, take a moment to at least scan over some of the entries that came before this one. Here's a handy guide:

Part 1 - Covering the basics of the character versus plot relationship and the differences between character-driven arcs and plot-driven ones.

Part 2 - Covering story beats and sketching your plot.

Part 3 - Covering Comic Composition (Part 1) - General comic panel layout and decision-making

Part 4 - Covering Comic Composition (Part 2) - Types of panels and further analysis of how they drive the story

Good on all that? Wonderful! Onto our topic, then!

So we know that in a very broad sense, most stories fall into the categories of character-driven or plot-driven. In comics, as it is in all stories, what makes something come off as important is based on what may seem like insignificant choices the author has made. These push the reader to notice, often subconsciously, that our perspective should be riding behind the eyes of one character, or standing a few feet behind a few characters, or way out into space as we take a look at the entire world...

Who or What is in the Driver's Seat?

If I was going to write a story from an omniscient point of view, I might phrase a paragraph like this:

Charles stood atop the bridge in Copenhagen, looking at the hard-won keycard in his hand. He didn't know it, but somewhere else in the city, a doctor was taking care of his partner.

And if I wanted to write something similar but framed from a limited perspective, it'd be more like:

Charles stood atop the bridge, his muscles aching from the fight they'd just endured. It was worth it, though. The keycard in his hand proved it. He could only hope his partner had also survived.

Again, broad example. Don't @ me because of my syntax, English majors - I know there are objective, omniscient and limited POVs and that they come in numerical "person" states, hehe.

These examples are all well and good for prose (Dethkomic: The Novel is not something I'll be pursuing, but if you want to take a crack at it, by all means, go nuts), and depending on how you'd been inspired to write the rest of the story, you'd probably follow one or the other method based on that, alone. But comics are a bit trickier. We definitely do have places where plot is driving the story, and times where characters are taking over... but you're not always sticking to just one.

Here may come my greatest point of controversy, then: If you're going to write comics, you're probably going to be doing some head-hopping.

Still with me? Very well, and I appreciate you hearing me out, despite typing something so sacrilegious.

Learning how to Write Good Head-Hopping

First, if you're not a prose fiction writer or are otherwise unfamiliar with what head-hopping is, then I suggest a primer over here. Next - Is the term "good head-hopping" an oxymoron? You can decide for yourself, but I really don't think so.

Many a story has been written that shows an author's mastery of their craft in seamless jumps from perspective-to-perspective. Many, many a comic has, too. Not trying to toot my own horn, here... but let's take a closer look at the flashback scene we were referencing in our prose exercise, from page 40 of Dethkomic:

The panels are all laid out as you saw them in the story, but I've color-coded the two different points of view. In the red panes, we're in Charles' head. In blue, we've entered Caj's. Did you notice the shift? If I was doing my job as an author, you might have, but it didn't kill your immersion. So how is that done?

It's all in the transition.

As we saw, the scene above could quite easily handled by an omniscient POV. Want to tell the audience what someone is doing, then in the very next sentence, reveal what someone on the other side of town is up to? No problem!

In a limited perspective, however, things get trickier. We're in Charles' head, and if we want to know what happened to Caj - he simply doesn't have that information, so the author's not going to be divulging much. We'll need to shift scenes, therefore, and that probably means ending the chapter.

In a comic, though? I can't always cut a scene on a brand-new page. Hell, I can't always cut a scene in the same panel! But regardless, I have to communicate to my audience that we are, in fact, moving away from Charles' perspective and into Caj's. Several things help to do this transition in a clean fashion:

First, I kinda leave you hanging on poor Charles. He doesn't get a resolution, as nobody picks up the phone. Still, we're left to understand that his part in the story has ended.

Second, we start the panel shift on a new line. You don't always have to do this (especially if you want it to be jarring) but it helps to cut the scene in two.

Third, we literally place the camera behind Caj's eyes as she wakes up. There are few things more effective at showing we are now going to see how things go down for one character above all others than literally getting in their head.

Again, there are other ways of doing this, but paying attention to how your "jumps" occur can make a big difference in the comfort your readers feel when, inevitably, you have to have one character tap out so that another can lead the reader around for a bit. We're lucky in visual media, since we can employ a few more tricks than the folks who only work in words and lines of text - but we also have to take extra precaution so as not to be more confusing than intended with our layouts. If I had missed a beat, and just moved over to Caj talking with the doctor, that would have been too quick. If I would have lingered on Charles, that too, might not have been as successful. It's a balance, and your instincts about storytelling won't steer you wrong.

I think I'll wrap this little lesson up, here. Next time, I want to talk about the other ways a story can be carried, but not by the characters - by the plot.

I hope you enjoyed these insights. I realize they are a bit more advanced than the things we've previously covered, and therefore, a little trickier to understand and employ. But, as it is with all things, being aware of the rules and putting in a little practice should be all you need to master them.

Join me soon! And remember, Dethkomic loves you!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 2/7/23

feeling sort of neutral to apathetic about a lot of media this week! two pics of my cat tho to make up for it

listening

NOT feeling neutral or apathetic about the tuesdaysong, pont alexandre iii off the 1998 album Noir by alexander lasarenko. this is a sort of fun little film score exercise by a composer who did a lot of tv work, including PBS' NATURE. the drum fill does sound like it’s from 1998 and i mean that as a compliment. bond movies are emphathetically not noir although they occasionally borrow some visuals, but this piece reminds me of early daniel craig bond movies with the sleek synthy orchestra and subdued horns. they both have the same fuckin uhhhh. the british exotic location travelogue strings. the piano makes me think point and click mystery game.

-

reading

star wars: yoda dark rendezvous by sean stewart. i am about halfway through but this reread is reviving memories of my last reread in uhhhhh. summer 2011 probably. this feels like it was half a concept for a middle grade book about a padawan finding her confidence and ability after losing her master very early in the clone wars, and half a concept for an adult book about the deep sorrow and loss between the treacherous count dooku and his former master, yoda. and in the background of all this ventress (ventress my worstie i love her) is begging and pleading to be made an apprentice while dooku flatly refuses. a generous reading would be “this is all history that rhymes and points to how the master/padawan relationship is not a good pedagogy method for either side and is deeply fucked up” but i think this idea is quite muddied in the middle of this book. it does not always feel deliberate that everyone at once is having trouble managing either their padawans' or their masters' emotions.

the tonal whiplash between the first few chapters is absolutely bonkers. like it's star wars, you couldn't Really show torture on screen or on the page in this specific storytelling era, but it's certainly implied. and then we get a fun field games day for the padawans in the next chapter!!! you don't really consume any star wars media for the prose, but the prose here occasionally gets in the way of itself. it does take a few chapters to find its footing but it is, as i remember, a snappy and fast read. one of the most goth settings in the starred wars imo. the soft plush moss that will start to dissolve your skin if you take a nap in the blood forest has stuck in my brain in the. idk, decade plus since i read this book.

-

watching

The Big Sleep (1946, dir. Hawks) is just as good the third time around. i still have a great deal of difficulty following the plot, but this is a movie that first and foremost Looks incredibly good. shoutout to physical media once again bc this 2005 dvd from the turner classic media co. has solid, reliable, properly timed subtitles. none of the pirate streaming sites i like can boast the same for this particular movie.

in other news new felix colgrave short dropped and it is a bizarre perfect delight

-

playing

beat wolfenstein: the new order on the babiest level and it still took me like forty minutes to sit through the cutscenes. it does such a good job of presenting you with all these very fun environments to run through that you manage to forget that you are very much on rails and it's essentially a boomer shooter (over the top maximalist first person shooter) cramming itself into hallways until the last level in the castle, which feels like endless corridors. im also cranky they showed me so many airships but never let me walk around on an airship. or throw a nazi off an airship.

might wanna get that tesla coil on fire checked out. like i know it's my fault but someone should be alerted about this

i don't really know that this game stuck the landing, for me. i think the last castle level really dragged, and the courtyard arena + the last hallway arena with the catwalks felt very same-y. it's also annoying to me that they give me a sniper rifle but there's no real way to use it as part of a stealth run. there aren't a lot of opportunities for stealth in the back half of this game. it is too much of a shooter and not enough of a narrative/rpg for my tastes, i think. i don't think i'll be continuing on with the series bc i'm not terribly attached to blazkowicz.

this and fallout are like The big AAA alt-history tentpoles, but it's a very small tent. this game was fun for what is was, which was a self-contained and fairly short shooter you're meant to play through twice to get two slightly different narrative routes. it reviewed well at the time and i think the reviews are pretty fair, i had a normal amount of fun aside from the sharp glee of the moon exhibit ramps and crawling through vents in the moon base, i liked it a normal amount and will not be integrating it into my personality. so it fuckin goes sometimes.

-

making

a baby (not mine) blanket, which will absolutely not be ready for the baby (again not mine) in a month and a half. this is going to end up about 40" square and is this pattern off ravelry. it is some flavor of caron baby yarn (i cannot currently find the ballband) on 4mm bamboo circs bc u cannot make a delicate baby blanket. what's the point. its going to go through the wettest hell you can imagine bc a baby's one job is to make fluids.

this pattern is just spicy enough that it's hard to watch TV and count stitches at the same time so i am BURNING through podcasts. slowly but surely getting caught up on A More Civilized Age and their three hour discussions of each star wars episode of Andor. five star podcast five star runtime