#This shit belongs on Welcome To Night Vale

[heyiappreciateyourshoelaces]

But like- picture this:

You’re walking into the kitchen late at night, in the dark, down the hall and suddenly- you see a light coming around the corner.

You breathe a sigh of relief knowing that there’s light, then your chest tightens in horror in realisation of what’s about to come. Up to you walks this- horrifying creation.

You are then forced to walk the rest of the way along side it, not daring to glance at it, looking straight ahead. There is total silence. It walks you through to the kitchen where it calmly trots around various pieces of furniture as you get a drink and a snack.

You sit down for a moment, eating your snack and observing this- thing. After a while, it calmly comes over and stops by your feet. You finish your snack, staring at it. You slowly get up, still staring at it.

It feels as if it’s looking up at you.

You smile. It’s oddly endearing.

You bend down and pet it.

It accompanies you back to your room.

You go back to sleep, still puzzled by your interaction with your housemate.

[littlebetesofeverything]

Welcome to Night Vale EP 10

It's back to Cecil time! My test was okay but definitely will be doing better on the next one. I took some time to recharge and got started on the next chunk of material. I'm pumped so let's gooo!!!!

Why does he sound so ominous? I love the openers but come on, laugh a little my dude, I'm sure Carlos would love it

A three-headed doggie? GIMME!! I want all the cuddles, maybe the kids started the shit, okay?

I think Panache is a made up disease, the others I had to learn for a test at the end of last semester

I will be a hench person for the dogs, give them all the scratches whenever they want.

I DON'T HAVE SPIDERS ON ME, GOD DAMN IT. I have no beef but no crawling on me please.

That sound change when he talks about carpal tunnel being sexual lmao

I would pay Lin to read that bit about Hamilton with Marx glasses. new intermission request.

Thank you Carlos, for reminding us that snitches get stitches. And that the dogs aren't gonna be sold out.

Firefighters have their priorities straight, love that for them.

I should tell my brother they added a rank after Eagle and see if he falls for it.

Carlos, there is something that doesn't belong on that list, bud.

I think the zoo director is actually a research scientist, they all talk like that.

Fuck you, I have a calculator in my pocket right now! I just happens to look like my phone.

I was gonna say, what the hell is this ad for? Next time do an ad for Goldfish, I would love to see how that one goes.

Listen, sometimes kids need to learn to ASK before trying to pet the doggy.

Why is it always Rico that is the weird one? Penguins, here, Hannah Montana...

Hey, I know exactly why I am going to hell. But it's not for looking up.

This music isn't too much my jam but I like the lyrics though

I love the City of Ba Sing Se vibes every time the mayor gives an announcement.

Gently coercing with pepper spray sounds like a fun time lol

Yeah, resilient is one word for it, Carlos.

As a future doctor, I would love to know how to remove the appendix without a surgery.

Had to take a break to have a call with my mom bc family news came up (mostly good, some not so nice, but overall happy). So just this one tonight, everyone. See ya tomorrow! :)

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

How did you choose their name?

Were they created for the story, or was the story created for them?

Do they have a love interest, and was that their choice or yours?

Do they have a best friend? If so, how did they meet? If not, have they ever/why never?

Did they have a pet as a child?

@melodymunson Ily bestie 🥺❤️ thank you for sending me some asks.

1. How did you choose their name?

Funny story actually. The Alejandra part is based on this really sweet girl in my math class from Mexico who used to help me with my homework. The nickname “Allie” is from my tumblr poll. I think it’s really cute alliteration: Allie and Eddie, and I headcanon that Eddie calls her that because he wants to do cute couple shit and matchy matchy with her. He probably calls her Allie Banallie too.

On her jacket, she has an anglicized version of her name, which is “Alexandra”. For obvious reasons (aka period typical racism), Allie will often tell people the anglicized version of her name in Hawkins because it’s easier to pronounce and they won’t immediately give her shitty looks when they hear an “American” name. Some people call her Alex, Lexie (she hates this), Lex (also hates this), but the Hellfire Club boys are the only ones who actually call her Alejandra/Allie.

The surname Perea actually has a funny ass origin story. My dad was a troublemaker jock in high school, so of course he did sneaky shit like use fake IDs to buy liquor. His fake ID name was “Hector Perea”. I always loved that name (and I used to joke that Hector Perea was my real dad). So I used Hector Perea as her dad’s name, so Allie became a Perea because of my dad’s poor high school decision making. 🤣

2. Were they created for the story, or was the story created for them?

The story was created for Allie. Actually, Allie wasn’t at all a part of the Stranger things fandom. Back in 2017, a friend took me to a live showing of Welcome to Night Vale which is a cosmic horror podcast that takes place in a small desert community. I fell in love with Night Vale, and immediately set out to make a self insert character/OC because hey, that’s what the fuck I do.

It’s also common practice to dress up as OCs/self inserts at live shows, so I started making up my own costume design for my OC so I could dress up for the next show. It took me many years, and I had to find the correct pieces I wanted. So I started lurking Pinterest boards and style guides, saving up my money and buying pieces for the costume. I created a character who was obsessed with cryptids and who had some kind of supernatural encounter with aliens.

Allie’s design started off with a Carhartt Santa Fe style jacket, which is a discontinued design that Carhartt never should have gotten rid of. I loved how it looked on a Pinterest cryptid hunter lookbook and I immediately went to eBay to look for one. When I found one, my jacket was super cheap and fully intact compared to the other’s I’d found, but it obviously was a company issue jacket for a trucker because it has a Curtain Side Carriers, LLC. logo on the right breast. The person I bought it from also sent it as is, so there were little odds and ends in the pockets like a lighter, dried corn kernels for some fucking reason, etc.

I really loved the unspoken history behind the jacket. So, I made up a story that this jacket belonged to my “real dad” (Hector Perea) who went missing on the road and all they found of him was his Carhartt with all his valuables still in the pockets. I was also inspired by the character Jack Burton in my favorite movie “Big Trouble in Little China”, as well as “Alice Isn’t Dead” which is another great podcast from the creators of Night Vale. From that jacket, I just made this really elaborate fantasy that maybe the corn was from my real dad going missing in a midwestern crop circle. I really just went with this really elaborate idea at random, and because Stranger Things is in the same vein as Night Vale, I just reused Allie’s story and tweaked it up to match.

I then collected the little odds and ends patches, but stopped around 2020 when the pandemic hit. I didn’t touch my jacket after that and just kinda collected more things here and there, but this year I finally got time to put it together thanks to Stranger Things. I made sure to only add things that were ambiguously timeline themed and relevant to my OC (hence the name patch of her anglicized name), so any “modern” references were limited only to the 80’s time period. The one button on here that probably isn’t really 80’s compliant is the “Talk to me about true crime” button, but I kept it because a lot of famous true crime cold cases we see on television happened in the 80’s.

I would love to do a pin/patch tour sometime, if ever someone is interested.

3. Do they have a love interest, and was that their choice or yours?

Allie does indeed have a love interest: Eddie Munson. That really wasn’t up to her, lmao. I knew of Eddie before I joined the fandom, and I thought he looked pretty cool/hot. I didn’t watch Stranger Things so I didn’t really know who he was until recently.

Seeing Eddie in action was like being teleported to high school all over again. I have mentioned this before to friends, but Eddie is EXACTLY the kind of guy I would have dated in high school. I have always loved heavy metal/hard rock (my dad is a hardcore Ozzy/Alice Cooper fan and got me into them, and my sibling was a Nu Metalhead drummer who used to force me as a young child to learn lyrics from bands like Otep, Static X, and Kittie). And the majority of my boyfriends in high school were heavy metal musicians (I’ve dated two guitarists, and a drummer). So aesthetically and musically, he and I share similar interests.

However, I fell in love with Eddie when I heard the famous “you’re asking me to walk into Mordor”, because my IRL partner is obsessed with Tolkien. We spent an entire week watching the Peter Jackson trilogy/The Hobbit while I was sick, and I loved that time we spent together. Eddie’s nerdy side reminds me so much of my IRL partner, and they have similar goofy antics and have been both misunderstood by people. The more I learned about Eddie, the more I realized he is exactly like the man I’m dating now, and all the little things that made me fall in love with my boyfriend are things I fell in love with about Eddie.

So when it came to Eddie Munson, Allie did not have a goddamn choice.

4. Do they have a best friend? If so, how did they meet?

Obviously Allie will be any other OCs best friend bc I love my moots who have OCs ❤️🥺. But I guess in a “canonical” sense, her best friend would be Chrissy Cunningham. They met in the bathroom by the drama room and bonded over period products and deep talks on the toilet about trying to maintain a “perfect” image for their boyfriends. Their interaction was one of my most favorite moments to write about because it flowed so naturally, and it reminded me of the talks I have with my own girl friends in the bathroom.

5. Did they have a pet as a child?

Sure the shit she did/still does! Allie’s got two dogs and a cat that have been around since she was about twelve. Her parents are animal lovers (her dad especially), so they have a little menagerie going on. I found random little pictures on Google for the face claims of the animals.

The family’s first pet was a little mutt named Scruffy. Scruffy is now unofficially Eddie’s dog because he’s so chill and sweet. I pictured him being the same type of mutt that Benji was. Some kind of terrier mix that has really scruffy fur. Hence the name.

The second pet from around the same time as Scruffy is Allie’s orange tabby, Ripley, named for Ellen Ripley in Alien. I love orange tabbies, I have one currently. And I felt that Allie would have loved Eddie because of his orange cat energy. Ripley admittedly isn’t present much in the story, but I’m trying to incorporate her more.

The final pet was just a requirement at that point, because every Latino family needs a crusty white dog (it’s the goddamn law, even I had a crusty white dog as a kid). I chose a Shih Tzu because I’ve owned them before (my auntie currently has two) and Allie needed a Velcro dog that was just attached at the hip to her. Thus, I gave Allie her obligatory crusty white dog named Tiffany. Eddie doesn’t get along with this pet, and calls her “Rat Dog”.

[vecnawrites]

Patreon Reward: Extra Credit: Cinder Fall 1

Cinder Fall, a professor at Beacon Academy, was usually very in control. But there was always one emotion that she had trouble with: Jealousy. The green beast always rose when someone flirted with her secret husband, fellow professor Jaune Arc. From students such as Ruby Rose and Pyrrha Nikos, to her own colleagues, like Glynda! She hated it...but Jaune never failed to let her know who he belonged to~

Cinder Fall liked to think of herself as a calm, rational woman. She had been through a shit childhood, an abusive adopted mother and sisters who treated her like a live in servant while barely taking care of her, made it necessary, otherwise the punishments would have been far worse than simply being denied food or the odd slap here and there.

But thankfully she hadn’t had to stay there too long, someone who had stayed at the Glass Unicorn had noticed the treatment, had noticed her, and had gotten the Madame arrested and brought her into their home, raising her as his own and training her, helping her get into a proper Academy and become the Huntress that she was now.

Upon moving to Vale to go to Beacon, she had met the man who would become her partner and fellow Teacher at Beacon Academy years later: Jaune Arc, who was at the time, awkward and gangly. It wasn’t that he didn’t have skill, but he was rough around the edges.

But having issues with his combat wasn’t an issue (she more than willingly helped with that, especially when he asked), considering he was brilliant. He was the only person who aced the rather brutal Strategy and Tactics classes that Beacon held for leaders. He always knew how best to use the people with him on the battlefield, as disgusting as the way it was said was. He was also incredibly kind, always helping and never judging her when she had nightmares, simply getting her some tea and sitting by her side as she stopped shaking from her terrors of memories past.

Was it so hard to think she would fall for him?

It was his intelligence and his ability to perfectly use the people at his disposal that saved so many at the tragedy of Mount Glenn, leading him to be honored as one of the “Saviors Of The Mountain”.

She had remembered being terrified when they said that they were going to collapse the train tunnels to keep the Grimm from coming in, thinking that they were going to kill him and those he was helping evacuate, but they had managed to escape by the skin of their teeth, saving those last few before the tunnel was imploded, blocking the Grimm behind.

She hadn’t waited, she had grabbed him and kissed him with all that she was worth the moment he had been cleared by the medics, and that night she had shared everything with him, claiming him in every way one could claim the one they loved that didn’t involve a ring, ink, branding, or obscene eldritch rituals.

She and he had made love for so long and so intensely, she couldn’t walk the next day, and was sore as hell, even though it had been so worth it.

After that experience, she had gone and met his family, being accepted by his mother and sisters, welcomed into the family, and teased like none other, joking that they were still virgins and had barely kissed.

Cinder wasn’t the type to take that lying down, and had teased Jaune enough that he fucked her so hard she screamed through the night, keeping them all awake.

...what? She could be petty when she wanted to!

But anyway, that was neither here nor there currently...well, it kind of was, considering she was irritated at multiple people again, just not for the reasons that she had been irritated at her now mother in law and sisters in law.

Who was she irritated by? Only the whole of the females of Beacon at this point! All of them were thirsty for her (secret) husband! While she could commend them for good taste, it was irritating having to deal with all of them mooning over her husband!

From Ruby Rose, who had advanced two years ahead, and was constantly making doe eyes at him (although she was certain that was simply a crush at this point in time), to her older half-sister, the buxom Yang Xiao Long (who seemingly had no shame, and was constantly being written up for undoing buttons on her shirt), Blake Belladonna, who walked with a prominent swing to her hips, and her skirt seemingly got shorter and shorter each time she passed her in the halls. Even Weiss Schnee, who was always chastising the others about decorum, was always bashful and batting her eyes around him!

The others were no better, even if they were a bit more subtle about it. Nikos was constantly asking for some ‘private sparring’ in order to ‘fight at a higher level’...please. Like she didn’t know which sword it was that Nikos wanted to handle!

Or the (supposedly) shy Miss Zedong. Really, Jaune used a Revolver (after a lot of convincing on her part to give him a medium to long range option!), not a Sniper Rifle! There was nothing he could help her with involving her weapon of choice!

Hell, even Glynda, their coworker of several years and someone she tentatively considered a friend, constantly flirted with her husband, offering to work with him to help grade the extra homework, making sure that she sat next to him, leaning and whispering in his ears when she needed to talk, pressing her massive bust against him, all but shoving that cleavage window in her shirt up into his face…

The worst part? Every single one of them were far more curvy than she was. More buxom, bottom heavy, or both. The years of malnutrition she had experienced had done its damage, and while she was perfectly healthy now, there was no way of telling if her body was in its truest proportions.

She sighed, rubbing her temples, trying to ease the tension headache away. A warm body slipped up behind her and gently moved her hands, taking over the rubbing of her temples, small pulses of familiar aura filling her head and making her sigh in relief as the pressure and pain faded away.

She relaxed, sinking back against a broad, firm chest, taking in the scent of spice and the feel of her husband, scooting back against him, rubbing the rounded swell of her rear against the apex of his thighs, smiling softly as she felt the steady swelling of his sword. That bit of confidence was necessary after all the hits her self-image had taken today…

Lips softly pressed against her neck, making her shudder, her heart melt, and butterflies fill her belly again. She sighed softly and tilted her head, letting her neck be more exposed and allow more kisses to be placed on her skin.

“Rough day, sweetheart?” his soft voice entered her ears, making her shiver. She mewled as his hands moved form her temples, moving down to massage her shoulders as she rubbed herself more against him. She moaned softly, nestling her ass against his groin, feeling the bulge against the cleft of her cheeks. She nodded drunkenly as his massage moved lower, rubbing along her back.

“Yesssss~” she mewled, wiggling as she allowed herself to relax, not even noticing as her husband undid the laces of her dress and moved it away, giving him access to her bare skin. Nothing besides pleasure.

She allowed herself to be maneuvered, to lie on her front on the bed, her dress being pulled down and off of her body, leaving her clad only in her thong, the bright crimson string being swallowed by the plump cheeks of her rear.

Her toes curled as her husbands hand’s roamed to her lower back, the pulses of aura filling her with bliss, the front of her thong growing damp from her desire, her nose being tickled by her musk as she whined, arching her rear up as her husband’s thumbs pressed into her hip bones. She inhaled sharply, waiting for him to remove her thong and make love to her…

But he didn’t, bypassing her ass completely and working on her thighs, pressing points on them that had the stress bleed out of them, followed by her legs, then her feet, his hands easing the stress and ache from them with skilled motions.

She couldn’t take it anymore! Pushing her rear up and spreading her thighs, Cinder looked over her shoulder desperately at her husband, seeing the love in his blue eyes as he looked down at her. “Make love to me!” she gasped, wiggling her hips and shaking her rear, “Please!”

Jaune moved fast, pulling her underwear off, Cinder’s cheeks burning as her thong stuck to her pussy for a long moment due to how wet she was, before she was fully exposed, shuddering as the cool air of their bedroom flowed over her soaking folds.

She watched her husband strip, revealing his toned and muscled body, his firm muscles...his massive cock. She licked her lips and arched herself up more, her fingers curling into their blanket as he reached out and cupped her rear, spreading her cheeks the smallest bit, his cock brushing against her soaking lips, before…

He slid in, a long, broken moan escaping her mouth as he slowly worked his way down, up until he bottomed out into her core, claiming her, making her his.

Cinder’s eyes rolled up in her head as Jaune loomed over her, his chest rubbing against her back as he slowly rolled his hips into her rear, needy whimpers spilling from her lips as pleasure filled her, her husband kissing her neck and shoulders, not even needing to use words to let her know what he wanted.

She gasped as his hands curled under her body and gently played with her modest breasts, tugging and tweaking her taut little nipples, a choked gasp of pleasure escaping her as she clenched down around him, already so close to cumming…

Another few strokes took her over the edge.

“Mmmmmeeeeewwwwwhhhhhhhnnnnnn~♥♥!!” her eyes rolled up as her body was washed over in orgasm, unable to keep herself from shaking violently underneath him, her pussy clenching and flexing around him, trying to milk her husband’s cock of it’s load.

A broken little whine escaped her mouth as Jaune latched onto her neck and nibbled, licking and sucking at the tender hollow, sure to leave a prominent mark along her neckline, mewling as she felt thick, wet heat spurting into her core, flooding into her womb and swirling around her baby chamber.

Coming down from her high, she slumped face down onto the bed, no energy left, as Jaune slowly moved them onto their sides, spooning Cinder up to his chest, his hands roaming her belly and chest, kissing her neck continually.

“I love you, Cinder…” he murmured into her ear, his voice warm, making her heart thump loudly against her ribs and tears sting her eyes, grabbing and squeezing his hand, her throat too tight to speak. But he knew how she felt. He knew.

Smiling, Cinder Fall-Arc closed her eyes and snuggled back against her husband’s broad chest, allowing herself to drift off into the land of dreams, comforted by her husband’s love.

[thetorchwoodarchive]

[Image Description: a banner for the Across the Bay Crossover Fics You Didn’t See Coming fest, featuring beach signs on a tropical island, reading “Cardiff by the Sea”, the name of the fest, “authors”, “torchwood” (partially obscured), and “one shots” (partially obscured), and a warning sign where Myfanwy chases a swimmer]

ACROSS THE BAY: CROSSOVER FICS YOU DIDN’T SEE COMING MASTERPOST

Thank you everyone for submitting your crossover and fusion fic  recommendations. Below are all submissions and some of our favorites! 

Is it Insensitive for Me to Say by aliciajazmin (EstherJohnTosh | complete | 2441 | T)

Toshiko Sato and Esther Drummond absolutely will make fun of their boyfriend for deciding to attend an audition, while also attending said audition with him. 

Crossover With: The Outer Worlds 

Golden Apples and Norse Gods (Or How Ianto Got His Groove Back) by blackkat (JackIanto | complete | 1592 | G)

Ianto finds himself back from the dead and, apparently, in the position to double-cross a power-crazed Norse god intent on conquering the Earth by taking out a team of superheroes. Must be a Tuesday.

Crossover With: Avengers/MCU

The Magic of Torchwood by Bella the Strange (JackIanto, IantoJohn, JackOther, Non-Torchwood Ships | wip |  546,512 | T)

The Torchwood team have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Set between Adam and Reset. Rated T because of Jack Harkness, swearing, mature themes, slash etc… it’s Torchwood!

Crossover With: Harry Potter

Welcome to Torchwood by Jackdaw818 (Gen | complete | 1601 | T)

A strange creature behind the Ralphs, a break-in at the Museum of Forbidden Technologies, and visitors in Night Vale. Overall, a slightly unordinary day for Cecil Gershwin Palmer

Crossover With: Welcome to Night Vale

Torchwait for iiiiit by lady-demacabre (Gen | complete | 3k | K+)

When Shawn and Gus are called in on a case for an eccentric collector of alien objects, they get more than what they bargained for. One shot, Psych oriented.

Crossover With: Psych

Theme and Variations by nemo_baker (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenKatie | 5817 | T)

Time Agent Jack Harkness is sent back in time to solve the mystery of a mysterious train bombing. The problem is, he only has eight minutes to do it.

Written for Reel Torchwood screening 8 on Livejournal. Movie Prompt: Source Code (2011)

Crossover With: Source Code 

Day Tripper by Croquemboucheballpit (Gement) (JackBessie the Third Doctor’s Car, Bessie the Third Doctor’s CarLightening McQueen (past) | complete | 2360 | M)

Bessie’s like any other companion: far from home, more than she appears, and always up for an adventure.

And Jack Harkness really will seduce anything that moves.

Crossover With: Pixar’s Cars 

An American Volunteer by That_one_kid (SteveBucky, BuckyJackSteve | Complete | 4395 | T)

What if Captain Jack Harkness met Steve & Bucky during the war? What if he ran into them again, present day?

AKA

Captain Jack Harkness and his mission to seduce the two gorgeous, capable soldiers who keep running into him.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Statement #0041708 - Future Sight by Jackdaw816 (Gen | complete | 1690 | T)

Statement of Lisa Hallett regarding a peculiar mirror found at a car boot sale

Crossover With: The Magnus Archives

(Un)Welcome Aboard by Jaune_Chat (Jack | Complete | 4,154 | T)

To make ends meet, Mal listens to a suggestion from Inara than he rent out the other shuttle. She has the perfect candidate, a charming Companion named Jack…

Crossover With: Firefly 

Death and the Definitely-Not-A Maiden by Odsbodkins (JackIanto | Complete | 3,6K | PG-13)

When Jack dies, Death is there to meet him. Every time. Written in 2008 for the Doctor Who Crossover Ficathon. Takes in Torchwood to end S2, Doctor Who to end S3, Discworld to Soul Music.

Crossover With: Discworld 

Remarkable by snowwhiteliar ( JackIanto, IantoLisa | Complete | 20.971 | PG-13)

Summary: Once upon a time, in a small village in a distant province of a peaceful kingdom, there lived a boy called Ianto

Crossover With: Fairy Tales 

Got That Friday Feeling Again by NancyBrown (OwenOther, JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenOwen | Complete | 18.3K | R)

HELP HELP HELP HELP

I AM TRAPPED IN A TIME BUBBLE

The magic marker all over the nice chintz wallpaper bled and smeared as Owen wrote in increasingly desperate lettering across the walls. Ls and Ps dragged down, wiggly at the end or drawn out in slashed strokes.

He ignored the pounding on the door frame. He’d shoved the wardrobe in front, which always kept Jack out for twenty three and a half minutes. He ignored the sweat and tears and snot dripping down his face, down his mouth. He ignored the high-pitched singing from his own throat, “If you want my future, forget my past,” chanted over and over.

HELP

Crossover With: Groundhog Day

Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (JackIanto, JennyVastra | Complete |  32591 | M)

Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.

Crossover With: Back to the Future 

Truth, Justice by NancyBrown (SupermanOwen | complete | 414 | M)

The green shit does not work. Warnings: dubcon (AMTDI)

Crossover With: Justice League Unlimited/DCAU/Superman 

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodies, or, A Humourous Interlude Between Epics by  copperbadge (Gen | complete | 749 | T)

Ianto neglected to introduce himself as he informed the senior staff that Atlantis was now under the jurisdiction of Torchwood, whatever Torchwood is.

Crossover With: Stargate Atlantis 

Never Have I Ever by  st_aurafina (JackIanto, JackDoctor (past/implied), PepperTony (implied) | complete | 1714 | T)

Written for the prompt Ianto, Donna and Pepper end up at a secretaries'/assistants' conference and have a conversation about their bosses.

Crossover With: Ironman/MCU

Beware the Sparkles by elisi (JackIanto, JackEdwardBella | complete | 4793 | T)

It's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after. Oh and Jack has sex with sparkly vampires.

Crossover With: Twilight 

The Death Note Discovery by KaibaGirl007 (JackIanto | complete | 18,992 | T)

“You’ve clearly just got a notebook belonging to some geek, a rather sick geek I’ll give you that, who likes to keep note of people’s deaths.” - Will the team resist the urge to use the Death Note or will one of them give into temptation? 

Crossover With: Death Note 

A Confluence of Personalities by  galaxysoup (JackIanto | complete | 4839 | T)

Conner Kent’s body might be dead, but his soul has apparently decided to take the scenic route.

Crossover With: DC Comics/Young Justice Comics 

Imposters Among Us by  gwendolyncooper (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 9117 | M)

The Torchwood team (+Rhys) are out for a night of fun when they end up on a spaceship with no power, no info, and no crew. Known only as THE SKELD, the team tries to fix the ship and figure out what happened to its previous occupants.

But something out there is killing them.

Something that may be someone they know.

Crossover With: Among Us 

Traitors (Among Us) by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 440 | G)

In a happy future, the team plays Among Us, and Ianto suffers.

Crossover With: Among US 

Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next??? by  BricklingGhost (TeamGwenee) (JackIanto, JackSamara | complete | 2424 | Not Rated)

'Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next???

Bollocks. That’s just a myth. Some git showing off and claiming to be the one person alive who Samara doesn’t bump off. He’ll be boasting that he’s been chosen to kill Voldemort next.'

When another unsuspecting victim falls foul of the cursed tape, he is pointed towards Captain Jack Harkness as his only hope for salvation.

Crossover With: The Ring

(My God, He Just) Came and Went by  Brokenpitchpipe (SteveBucky | complete | 1591 | M)

It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916, on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.

And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.

But that’s not when it starts. Not really.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Beast Inside by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 26934 | M)

"Argue with anything else, but don’t argue with your own nature.” - Phillip Pullman

Inside us all, there is an animal that expresses our soul. How would the world change were those animals outside?

Crossover With: His Dark Materials

Rifts and Robots by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | complete | 3021 | G)

Jack and Ianto’s date at the movies is interrupted by two robots with no theater etiquette.

Crossover With: Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Jack and Ianto Show by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | WIP | 7392 | T)

Jack and Ianto are a regular couple, living a quiet life, and trying to fit into the quaint Village of West Castle. Sure they're keeping the secret that Jack is an immortal time traveler from the future, with a fantastical machine called a vortex manipulator that can manipulate time and space around them, but they have much more pressing concerns. Such as strict bosses and nosy neighbors. Everything is perfect, a dream come true.

And Jack is going to keep it that way.

Please Stand By...

Crossover With: WandaVision 

Mutually Assured Uncooperation by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, MarthaMickey, FitzSimmons, LincolnDaisy (past) | complete | 31547 | T)

Aliens, time-travelling, resurrections. These are all experiences familiar to not just one but two top-secret organizations that have a hard time keeping a low-profile. Figures that they would encounter each other eventually.

Or: the five times that SHIELD and Torchwood had an encounter that neither were pleased with, and the one time they had to work together when two of their own were taken.

Or: There's Kree running amok in Cardiff, including a murdered one, and Torchwood is on the case, but so is SHIELD. Also, don't forget the memory-manipulating aliens there too!

Crossover With: Agents of Shield/MCU

all i know is (infatuations) by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, JackJohn,  OwenTosh, LisaIanto | complete | 439 | T)

Seventh-year Slytherin Ianto Jones handles a break up, getting a boyfriend, terrible emotional misunderstandings with his best friend Jack Harkness, being miserable, and reconciliation. (Not precisely in that order.)

Crossover With: Harry Potter

[colorful-bees]

Welcome to Night Vale Episode 110: Matryoshka

(Guess what fuckers? I live. This would’ve been posted sooner but some idiot decided that they were going to break their headphones and wait an extra week to get this out even though the last time I posted one of these was a month ago and then I just decided that they wouldn’t listen to this even though they wanted to. What an idiot, right?)

Hello, Steve.

Steve, I can’t see your poster.

How would you spell that, Cecil? A weer of dragons? That’s correct, right?

So, like, no one in Night Vale ever heard Huntokar’s explanation for why Night Vale is the way it is?

Cecil, don’t sound so sad about your town being on fire and being torn apart at the seems of reality. Every town has its low point.

Why would you run from your reality? I understand that your town isn’t the greatest but.....

Looks like Francis found the reality where antiques are actually antiques and not horrific monsters.

Did Steve actually hear what Huntokar said? Good job, Steve!

Who else can see the arrows and lines?

Well, Leanne Hart throws hatchets at everyone.

There’s..... A man. In the sun. Makes sense.

Are you people finally going to acknowledge angels exist? Or like, are you just going to be dumb.

Me? I believe you? Yeah, I do. I do believe you.

I can’t see them. I’m literally not in the same room as you. So I can’t see the angels.

ANGELS SOUND LIKE FRENCH HORNS??????

Ah, fuck, I forgot about the Distant Prince was a thing.

“Evil corporate encampments” and “beagles” are just normal problems in Night Vale.

Shit bro, what is this background music? That is.... Unsettling.

Did Night Vale have to get this dark? I mean, it casually just got darker and darker, more unsettling.

Goodbye, sky! Goodbye, reality as we know it! Goodbye sleeping peacefully tonight!

Boy, what a fun time to be living in Night Vale right now! Must be fun for you guys, what with your entire reality being ripped to shreds.

Fuck your brother.

“The bomb” Wasn’t Night Vale supposed to be destroyed along with the rest of the world by a bomb?

Cecil... Does this mean you really think it is the end? Just... Its going to be all over? Well. You’re fucking WRONG because we still have 61 episodes to go after this episode and this podcast ain’t ending soon, so get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself and your town because you’re not dying today, bitch.

Buddy, Night Vale was already broken. Its just... Shattered at this point.

Oh. This is the first time Cecil himself has referred to himself as the “Voice of Night Vale”

Oh... Then.... Goodbye, I guess.

SIKE. You thought. I knew this episode wasn’t over, we hadn’t got to weather and Spotify is telling me we aren’t even halfway through.

Maybe I should count how many times the weather said the word “die”

Wow, Cecil. Stop being a fucking jerk to your step brother.

I don’t really know much about Cecil’s childhood except that his mom was a bit cookoo.

Cecil, but maybe there really are arrows in the sky.

Oh yeah, Cecil. Matryoshka dolls.

I guess its hard to figure out what doll we belong to.

Yes, we can now high five and acknowledge the angels.

Fuck yeah, part of the sky is back.

H I R A M?

That’s really strong of Hiram to forgive Night Vale for Violet’s murder.

I think after this... Night Vale will be a little better town.

Your sky will come back, little by little. It’ll come back.

Your right. Being watched by a secret organization isn’t normal. That doesn’t happen in normal places. Most towns aren’t run by monsters and heavily armed teenagers. Night Vale isn’t normal. But they can recognize that.

Night Vale is a deeply weird town. And there’s no town like it.

[skyechaser]

Bumbleby: The Musical 2/??

She did her best to go unnoticed and yet she was seen She did her best to be the star and and yet she found something better.

This idea has been on my mind FOREVER and I finally decided to publish it. This is what the name implies: a Bumbleby story with songs. Most will be from musicals with some degree of adjustment to match the story. I hope you enjoy.

…………….

Blake woke up on saturday unsure of what had actually transpired the day before. There was a book on her nightstand: The Tales of the Fourth Moon I. That could only mean one thing: she had actually gone to the mall with Yang, had the time of her life and gotten a brand new book. The black haired girl could feel her face getting increasingly hot. What was it with that rambunctious blonde that made her feel so weird? She had made the resolution not to get close to anyone. She couldn’t let the get involved with hee. And yet with Yang...

“Are you awake?” a voice made its way to her ears. The question, though it seemed simple and direct, made her think. Was she actually awake? “Blaaaaake” the voice growled.

“Yes, Illya, I am awake” she replied, laughing a bit. “You’re such a kid”

“Well yeah, kinda” her best friend replied. They had met back home, at Menagerie, and had become quick friends even though Blake was a year older. Still, Illya was the most mature of the pair in most occasions. They shared many interests and had actually enrolled together in the… No, Blake told herself, don’t remember those days. She took a deep breath. You are in Patch, in Vale. You are safe.

“Why are you awake this early?” she asked once she had calmed down, rolling in her bed to look at Illya. She was so thankful that her parents were willing to take her in when she left Menagerie. They had actually become like her second family and made the transition so much easier.

“I have soccer practice” Illya answered “Do you recall I made the team?”

“Yes I do” the black haired girl replied with a groan “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Drive me there. I don’t want to walk” Illya grinned into her words, making the face she always did when she was asking for a favor. The more outrageous the situation the happier she’d try to seem.

“It's saturday” Blake said with a serious face “7am on a saturday”

“Pretty please?”

“You are so lucky that you happen to be my best friend” the black haired girl muttered as she raised herself from the bed and walked towards her closet to get a change of clothes. She couldn’t see how Illya’s face had changed its expression.

“Yeah, I am” the redhead whispered, too soft for Blake to actually listen.

There’s a fine, fine line (Avenue Q)

[ILLYA] There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend There's a fine, fine line between what i would wish and what is And you’ll never know what I have inside and I have hidden for so long There's a fine, fine line between love And a waste of time

There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend There's a fine, fine line between “I love you” and “being In love”. I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime But there's a fine, fine line between love And a waste of your time

And I know that you’ll never love me back like I do I don't think that you even know what you're missing out For my own sanity, I've tried to close the door And walk away

There's a fine, fine line between together and not And there's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got So I’ll keep my feelings to myself so I don’t ruin what we have. There's a fine, fine line between love And a waste of time

"So… Are you coming or what?" Blake yelled from the bathroom.

"Rising up!" Illya stood up with a smile. This was good enough.

…………….

“Get out of the car, Illya” Blake asked nicely as her friend refused to leave the vehicle.

“Do I like soccer enough to get to school early every saturday to train?” Illya replied as if she hadn’t heard the other girl talking

“Illya, you made me drive you here. You are going to practice so get out of the car” she said, almost in a growl. She hated mornings. She always had. She was more of a night person. She liked reading and silence, both things that are better done in the later hours of the day. Being awake this early on a saturday was going to ruin her circadian rhythm.

“Fine" the redhead answered as she got off the car “Thank you for the ride, Blake. Seriously” she smiled. It was hard to be mad a Illya. Blake loved her quite a lot for she was the closest thing she had to a sibling.

“You are welcome… But don’t get used to it”

“I already have so we have deal bye” Illya said as she ran towards the field, giving the other girl no time to answer. Blake rolled her eyes and sighted. She was about to drive away when she saw Yang and the world stopped moving. She was training with the lacrosse team not too far from she was parked. It surprised her that the blonde hadn’t mentioned being on the team during their afternoon together at the mall. Yang had told her about her younger sister Ruby and their dog Zwei. She even told her that her mom had walked away and her father had remarried. So why not mention lacrosse? As she debated with herself mentally a certain blonde had noticed her presence.

“Hey, Blake!” Yang shouted as she waved her hands in the air. Her voice brought the alluded one back to reality. “Wanna see our practice game?” she offered. The black haired girl blushed ten shades of red and she didn’t even know why. What was the deal with her? “Blaaaaaaake!"

“Oh… I’m sorry I… I have to get home” she replied finally as she started the car. “Bye!”

“Okay…” the Golden Dragon said under her breath as she watched her drive away. Why had she made such a proposition? And why hadn’t Blake stayed? They had a very good time the day before and, even is she was the one doing most of the talking, she had taken a liking to her. They could be very good friends or maybe…

“What are you doing talking to the new girl?” she heard behind her back. She turned around to see Emerald, one of Cinder’s minions as she liked to call them. If she wasn’t such a great player Yang would really hate her.

“I’m being nice… What’s the problem?” the captain replied.

“She’s a complete loser. Don’t bring her to our practice” this time it was Cinder who did the talking as she walked towards both girls. Yang despised her. When they met it elementary school they had actually become very close friends and they had trusted each other with very personal issues. The blonde had told her about her family situation and her struggles with reading. Cinder, on the other hand, had told her about being adopted and how her biological parents had treated her like shit as a kid.

Everything changed when, in seventh grade, Cinder entered the lacrosse team. She quickly became one of the best and ended up convincing Yang to sign in. The blonde had played several sports in elementary and middle school but hadn't been in any official team yet. It didn't take long before the Golden Dragon awoke. Yang was simply too good and the team was quick to notice and celebrate. Cinder, on the other hand couldn’t deal with Yang being better than her even thought she had been the one that suggested her to try out in the first place. They had been rivals ever since and the animosity between the two was palpable. When Yang had made captain Cinder was the only one not to congratulate her.

“Chill out, fire demon” the blonde replied, making emphasis on the nickname.

“Don’t call me like that or I might have to…”

“What’s the deal girls?” coach Ironwood yelled before blowing on his whistle. He was getting pretty fed up with his players losing priced training time. There was a tournament getting closer by the day.

“Sorry, coach!” Emerald replied as she ran back to practice. Yang and Cinder stared at each other intensely.

“If you want to preserve your current popularity status I’d recommend staying away from Belladonna. She doesn’t belong with our crew”

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Yang asked. Cinder snickered.

“It’s not personal. It’s just the way things are” she said “And there are things not even the Golden Dragon should be doing. That girl is fucking weird”

“Shut up, bitch, you don’t even know her” hearing that demon talk trash about Blake was enough to make her really mad.

“Make me you retard” the dark haired girl spat. “I may be a bitch but at least I know how to read”

“I’m not going to say it one more time get back here or I’ll suspend you both from the team!” the couch yelled once more, his voice cracking with anger. Yang turned around and started running back to practice. She was livid with rage. She and Cinder had an unspoken agreement to keep each other’s secrets secret. Still, the dark haired girl had no problem in bringing it up when it was just the two of them.

“Thank you for blessing us with your presence” Nora joked as Yang got closer to the rest of her teammates.

“What was the deal with Cinder?” Pyrrha asked raising an eyebrow.

“The usual” their captain replied “She’s a bitch”

“Who was that girl you were waving at?” Nora questioned.

“That’s Blake” the blonde answered “She lent me her library card the other day”.

“Oh I know her!” Pyrrha exclaimed suddenly “She’s the girl that got transferred from Menagerie” That made a lot of sense. Every since the island of Menagerie had gained independence from Vale, many people had started hating its inhabitants for rejecting their country. Now that their new government had decided to reunite with its motherland a civil war had started. It was pretty understable that Blake had no time to take her books with her. She had probably ran away in fear. It also explained why Cinder hated her so much. She was quite the xenophobe even if she wouldn’t say it explicitly. Yang had seen her be rude to Sun and Velvet, two other students transferred from Menagerie, several times.

“I don’t want to sound mean but why would you want to be friends with her with all the trouble it would cause you if you already have us as friends and we are honestly the bestest of best friends?” Nora asked in a single breath. Yang laughed.

“She’s nice. That’s all” she lied. She might not be that good at school but she was pretty good at identifying her feelings. Years of therapy after her mom abandoned her had taught her that. There was more there than she wanted to know. She had just met Blake and most of all Blake was a girl. Patch could be a very beautiful town but it was pretty conservative. When she was a freshman there was this girl, Coco, who decided to come out of the closet. She was pretty cool and popular and had been for very long so she thought she could actually be herself. Once the truth was out things rapidly changed. No matter how strong Coco was or how high she had been on the social pyramid, the bullying just got worse and worse with time. One day somebody broke a glass bottle on her head in the school’s parking lot. Her family left town two days later. All Yang had to do was remember she was straight. She had to be straight even if a part of her knew that she had always liked girls. She couldn’t do this to her family, to her reputation. Then why did she want Blake to see her practice? Why did she want to ask her out so badly?

…….

“Here you go, Mis Xiao Long” Goodwitch said as she handed her back her essay once the class was over. “Better luck next time” Yang looked down at her paper and her eyes shot open immediately at the sight of a big red D minus. She had failed.

“But.. I…What did I do wrong? I did the task!” the blonde asked with a frown.

“It is not about doing the work just to hand in something. You have to actually think and make valid arguments” the teacher explained with a severe tone “I gave you one extra day and yet you barely did any work”.

“I can’t fail this class. I can’t fail any class or I won’t be able to play the tournament”

“I fail to see how that is my problem” the woman replied as she started gathering her things.

“Please let me do some extra work. I’ll do anything” Yang begged, tears starting to build up in the corners of her eyes. Why was she such a pain in the ass? Why couldn’t Goodwitch be like the rest of the teachers that gave her passing grades for being the team’s star? “Please” she repeated. The blonde woman let out a sight.

“I’ll give you one more chance” she said finally rolling her eyes “I’ll give you a passing grade on the essay if you do the assignment one more time. Double the word count and the bibliography. You have until friday”

“Thank you so much” the Golden Dragon replied. She wasn’t really sure how she would tackle this challenge but at least it was another chance. She walked back to her place to get her books when her eyes fell on Blake at the back of the class. Yang knew getting close to her could bring her trouble for more than one reason. However, she really needed help with the essay. She couldn’t fail world history. She’d just have to see her outside of school and control herself when they were alone. Piece of cake.

“Hey, Blake” she called as she walk towards the alluded girl. The black haired girl raised her face to look at her.

“Oh, Yang… Hi” Blake replied with a timid smile.

“What are you doing after class?” she asked with a playful grin.

“Well… I was going to do homework and read the book you gave me”

“Would you please help me with the new essay I gotta do? I need to do some extra work to bring my grade up or I’m going to fail” Yang asked, her usual confident tone completely gone. Blake was unsure how to answer. She didn’t want to get close to anyone. No one could know there were people she cared about. It was enough putting Illya and her family in danger she wouldn’t bring other people into her mess.

“Sure” Blake answered and she didn’t even realize she had until the word left her mouth. What was going on with her? She hadn’t felt that nervous around someone since…

“YES! Thank you so much! Could we meet at your place? Mine is kinda crowded with my sister, my stepmom, my uncle, my dad…”

“Not… Not really. I live with Illya and her family and I don’t want to intrude by bringing guests” Blake said as her body once more shrunk in embarrassment.

“Oh, okay” the blonde replied “We’ll just study at my house. Give me your number and I’ll message you the address. Could you drop by around 6?” she proposed. She didn’t want to be seen walking home with Blake so meeting later was probably a good call. Blake looked up, her mind settled on saying no. Don’t do this, she repeated in her mind. Don’t say yes. It's too much. It's too dangerous. Its too...

“Sure”

Fuck.

[ladytp]

(EDIT: Oops, I thought I had posted this already a while ago but apparently forgot, as it still sat in my drafts... D’oh!)

The second and the last chapter of my Sansan Christmas in July 2019 fic to @sincerelydayyy, “Jumping from the Ropes” takes us into the conclusion of this short and hopefully sweet story… “The Jump” is also up at AO3. Merry Christmas in July once again!

Sansa

The Hound had been right: the shit did hit the fan soon after.

Bobby Baratheon suffered a massive cardiac arrest, and while he was recuperating in the hospital, his wife and co-owner Cersei Lannister called a meeting of the WWA board and announced a ‘friendly’ takeover with her and Joffrey at its helm. The board agreed, and sooner than one could say ‘contractual obligations’, Ned Stark was out of a job.

He took it well though, telling Sansa that he preferred not to work for ‘that woman’ anyway. In a family meeting it was decided that Ned would fly home and consider his next step back in the North, while Sansa would finish her semester before following him.

As for the Hound, Sansa saw him in the shows, of course, defending his championship and delivering his characteristic brusque promos, threatening to gut any of the ‘gnats’ who imagined themselves to be a match for him.

He saw her too, often glancing in her direction during the show and between the matches. Sansa was usually seated in the prime seating area – advantages of the Premier Pass she had received from her father and which even Cersei in her pettiness hadn’t revoked. That meant that she was close enough to the action to be fully aware of his looming presence and attention – which, however, was quickly withdrawn when she looked back at him.

Only once had he and Sansa spoken, and that more by accident than by design. She had gone backstage after the show, and when turning the corner, had almost collided with him, only her abrupt halt preventing a head-on crash. Instead, she had found herself eye level with his sweaty, heaving chest, covered with dark hair.

While Sansa had murmured her apologies, he had asked what she was doing there and if she was looking for someone. Then Joffrey had walked past and greeted her – and The Hound had slid away without another word.

Still assailed by the intensity of their meeting at the party, Sansa had stooped as low – as per her usual standards – as to find out everything she could about him from the internet, searching by both his ring-name and his real name, Sandor Clegane. His biography was scanty, he rarely featured in news or articles outside the usual wrestling sites, and his social media presence was non-existent. His only entry on Twitter, apparently forced upon the employees by the WWA, was a one-liner, “So here I am – enjoy”, not followed by any other tweets.

Even adding “girlfriend” after his real or ring-name didn’t bring up any hits in Google – which was unusual by itself. If not real news, most wrestlers’ profiles were inundated with gossip and speculation about who they were dating or not – but not him.

All she could glean from her search was his career development from a solitary youth, who had discovered pro-wrestling as an outlet to whatever demons he had on his back - and now Sansa knew what they were – via indie circles, hard-core death-matches and small promotions, all the way to the WWA. That, and that the cause of his scars was universally accepted to be a house-fire in his bedroom when he had been just a child - just as he had first told. His brother’s – another wrestler in the WWA under the ring-name ‘The Mountain’ – web entries had lots of information about his career, but no hints about the atrocity he had committed.

---

It was the day of Sansa’s departure. She had packed all her belongings and sent most of them ahead by airfreight, leaving only one carry-on bag to take with her on her flight.

She eyed her room for the last time. It had been a good year and she had enjoyed every moment of it, and part of her felt sorry to leave it all behind, but another part was keen to get back home to her family and friends. This year things were going to be different for her: she was going to move away from her parents’ house, possibly with her best friend Jeyne. She was going to focus on finishing her studies, maybe get a part-time job… she was going to start her adult life for real.

Sansa sighed and glanced at her watch. She still had a few more hours to kill before she had to be at the airport so she decided to pay one last visit to her favourite café only a block away.

Stepping out of the front door, she was hit by a blast of brilliant sunshine. The weather was warm and there was a hint of spring in the air, lifting her spirits even higher. The sun in her eyes blinded her so that when she first heard the humming sound of a car engine slowing down beside her and heard a shout, she had to squint her eyes and cover her brow to see better.

“Little Bird!”

The car was big and black, one of those four-wheel utility drives favoured by rugged outdoorsmen and adventurers with extra cash. The tinted side window lowered and she saw the man driving it.

The Hound.

“Hello,” was all she could manage, surprised by his unexpected appearance. Why was he here – had he come to find her? Or maybe it was just a coincidence that he was driving by at that precise moment?

“You have a minute?”

The car had stopped right next to her, but the motor was still running. If she said no, explaining that she was in a hurry, would he take her at her word and drive away?

The thing was, she didn’t feel like saying no.

“I do have a moment, but not much more than that,” she said, bending to peer through the window. She saw the same big black dog on the backseat, its ears perking up as it saw her. The Hound reached for the door handle and with a click, the door opened.

Once Sansa had settled in the seat, the Hound steered the car to the first available parking spot and stopped, this time turning the ignition off. The silence following the death of the motor was deafening - he didn’t even have a radio on.

“So, how are you?” Sansa asked. That’s what people ask after not seeing each other for a while, don’t they?

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re leaving WWA?”

“Everything.” The Hound’s hands rested on the steering wheel, which looked awfully small in comparison. The backs of his hands were hairy but his fingers were unexpectedly long and there was something delicate in the way he slowly rubbed the spokes of the wheel, probably not even realising he was doing it.

“I told Cersei she can shove my contract where the sun doesn’t shine and packed my bags. I’m done with the Baratheons and Lannisters.”

Well, he had told her so, so Sansa wasn’t terribly surprised.

“What do you plan to do?” she asked, out of genuine interest.

“Don’t know yet. I could be a free agent for a while, wrestle in indie circles.” He looked at Sansa then. “I think I’ll leave the city, go somewhere else for a while. North, maybe.”

Sansa’s heart started to race. It was quite ridiculous, really. What was it to her what he decided to do? In the name of mutual sharing, she decided, however, to tell him about her plans.

“I’m leaving too. As a matter of fact, I have to be at the airport shortly for my flight to Wintertown.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Cersei told me.”

“She did?” Sansa remembered mentioning her departure in the parting email she had sent to Bobby and Cersei. They had been welcoming to her and her father when they had first arrived and it was only good manners to bid them farewell, no matter how things between their families had ended. Besides, Ned and Bobby’s friendship still endured, and Bobby had sworn to pay his old friend a visit as soon as he had recovered enough to do so.

The Hound turned to her fully. “I could give you a ride.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’ll be fine. I only have a carry-on bag and I can easily take an Uber,” Sansa said.

She wouldn’t have really minded accepting the offer, but what would have been the point of it? They were probably not going to see each other again, and the awkwardness of their interactions was unlikely to pass during the short drive to the airport. There was something between them, Sansa had realised over the last few weeks, something that had been ignited that evening at the university party. Something unsure and fragile, something that was more of a promise of potential rather than a thing on its own.

Yet it didn’t matter. Even should he move to the North and wrestle there, their life situations were so far apart that…

“I didn’t mean to the airport.”

Sansa’s trail of thought was so abruptly interrupted, she was confused at first. If not to the airport, then –

Oh!

“You can’t mean Wintertown? It’s halfway across the country!”

“I know.” Seemingly realising that it was not enough, The Hound continued. “I like driving. And I’d hate to confine Stranger in one of those crates for the flight. And I couldn’t leave him behind.” He reached to scratch the ear of the dog, who had poked its head between the seats. Sansa looked at the dog warily. Those breeds had a reputation, after all.

“Go on, pat him. He’s a big sook,” The Hound urged – and she did. The dog’s fur was silky and soft and its nose, when it sniffed her hand, was cold and wet. Tentatively, it licked her fingers.

Sansa’s head was whirling. For her, the notion was crazy. It would take at least four or five days to drive up, whereas in a plane it would be a matter of hours. She would be back at home this same night, embraced by her mother and her many siblings. Why should she even consider such an offer?

“That’s a very long drive,” she offered. As if he didn’t know.

“They say the route along the coast is pretty. And the scenery in the Vale is supposed to be breathtaking. I might take a few side trips. Haven’t seen enough of this country, as it is.”

The Hound glanced out of the window, which he had wound down when they had stopped. He might have appeared nonchalant and not caring a whit whether Sansa accepted his offer or not, but his fingers, tapping against the wheel at an increasing tempo, gave him away.

He is nervous, Sansa realised, to her astonishment. And something warm started to bloom inside her chest.

Every sensible brain cell in her head screamed 'NO' – it would be the height of stupidity to ditch the plane and join a man she hardly knew for such a long ride. Gods, if her mother knew she was even passingly contemplating it, she would have a fit.

And yet, every cell in her body and every nerve-ending that was ignited by his proximity screamed 'YES'.

She would be safe with him. It didn’t make sense to think so, but deep in her core, Sansa knew it to be so. True, he was a gamble, all odds stacked against him – but maybe he was worth the risk.

“Okay, then,” she breathed out.

The fingers stopped their drumming and The Hound stiffened. His eyes widened and brows lifted so high that it actually looked a bit comical, and Sansa had to stifle her instinct to giggle.

“Okay what?”

“I accept your offer. I need to call the airline to cancel my ticket – luckily it’s fully flexible – and get my bag from my room, and then we can be on our way.” She glanced at the back of the car and saw two large suitcases and a couple of boxes. “Do you have all your stuff with you already?”

“You’re for real?” The Hound stared at her, brows furrowed. “I mean… we wouldn’t have to take any side tours. And we could drive just as fast and directly as you want. And stay in proper hotels for the nights – in separate rooms, of course.”

Was that a flush creeping up his face? Sansa’s amusement grew. He was like a dog chasing after a car, who didn’t know what to do when one actually stopped.

“I’d certainly hope so; I hardly know you. But side trips would be fine. I haven’t seen enough of this country myself.”

Getting no answer from his flustered companion, Sansa clutched her handbag in her lap and straightened herself in her seat. “Well, I better get my things and make the necessary calls. Can you take us into the parking lot next to my building, the big red one in front of which you saw me?”

It took a moment longer before The Hound acted, turning the ignition on and manoeuvring the car around.

“What should I call you, then? I think ‘The Hound’ may not be quite appropriate. I know your real name is Sandor – do you mind if I call you that?” Sansa asked while he was reversing into an empty spot.

“Ah, yeah, sure – call me Sandor,” he muttered, seemingly still in shock at the turn of events.

“My name is Sansa, not a Little Bird. Can you wait for just a moment, Sandor? I’ll be right back.”

When Sansa climbed the stairs to her room, something vibrant and exciting started to bubble inside her. She felt lightheaded and couldn’t stop grinning. The whole thing was outlandish and bizarre and against all common sense.

It was… as if she had just climbed up the turnbuckle again and was standing high up, looking into the bright lights of the stadium, into the middle of the ring, so far away. She was nervous, she was anxious – but it felt right. Sandor was going to be there to catch her if she leapt.

It was time to jump from the ropes.

                            -- THE END --

[bleached-d-soul]

Going Rogue

The 20$ commission for none other than @the-wayward-arc featuring one of my favorite crack ships in RWBY

Length: 10, 058

Remnant was the land of miracles and nightmares. On the one hand, you had Aura, Semblances and Dust. On the other hand, you had the Grimm of all forms, shapes and sizes. With the threat of hordes of creatures of horror, everyone was forced to one day make a choice. The choice of how you would survive. Do you put your faith in strength? Do you pray your feet can carry far enough? Or do you build walls and fences and hide behind them?

The Branwen Tribe had mastered all three. And that is why they survived for so long. Since the days when the Moon above was whole, the Branwens were the survivors. Vernal had no illusions about her tribe. As much as some Mistralian poets and Atlesian pseudo-rebel brats loved to glorify the bandits, Vernal never forgot what the Tribe were and what they were not.

They weren't some roguish heroes that stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They weren't free spirits out to live lives, unlimited by social conventions and norms. They didn't spean days talking philosophy or playing music as everyone laughed around the fire. No, all that shit belonged only in the books of some sappy bitch who would wail one day in their life.

Branwens were the survivors. And surviving was not pretty.

They stole from those weaker than themselves and ran when facing someone stronger. They raided villages and towns, taking whatever food and supplies the people there had before leaving them to die of sickness and starvation. And some of their own fell? They would spend one night drinking and mourning at best before splitting the valuables of that person among themselves.

Their life wasn't pretty. But it was the only life she knew and had.

In the tribe, everyone had a role to play and the weight to carry. Those who weren't strong or vicious enough to fight had to accept their role as the lowest on the totem pole, only occasional captives were given rougher treatment. Having been born into the tribe, Vernal felt it on her own skin what it meant to be the weakest. And she promised to never find herself in that position again.

She trained to be strong. And she worked to be useful. She made one sacrifice after another, all for the sake of the tribe. So that she wouldn't be left behind. So that she never became a burden to be discarded.

And now here she was, taking one for the tribe again.

"Are you comfortable?" the woman's silky voice slithered around Vernal's ears like worms. "You seem stressed."

Raven was strong. Their tribe wasn't much, relying far more on their target's weakness and sheer numbers, but Raven was strong. Strong enough to take on this bitch and her two little sycophants. Strong enough to tear the three to shreds and not even break a sweat. Raven could kill them.

But she didn't. Which only meant that whoever was behind Cinder Fall was someone even Raven feared. Feared enough to not even try to escape. Whoever this person - or creature at that - was, if Raven feared them, then Vernal knew better than challenge them. It was just how the survivors lived, kill and use those weaker than you. And, in turn, be used by those stronger than you.

"Not used to flying, that's all," Vernal grunted out. It was a shameful thing to admit, especially to some outsiders. But having spent her whole life on the ground, she never realized just how much she hated the air. "How long do we have to go?"

How much longer did she need to play along, was left unsaid. Cinder told her that they would be in Vale in an hour at most. The green brat and her cripple of a friend were already waiting for them at some hotel on the outskirts of the city, ready to do whatever their little owner told them to.

"I am sure Raven appreciates what you are doing for her," Cinder smiled, not bothering to hide her pleasure at getting her way. "Once we are done with the mission, your tribe will be granted full safety and protection from our Mistress."

Vernal knew it was all bullshit. She herself had given such promises before to so many suckers and stabbed them in the back all the same. She knew it was a pile of crap but didn't call the woman out on it. And so, with nods and half-hearted agreements, Vernal forced herself to swallow the shit Cinder was feeding her. After all, what would she do after calling the woman out?

What even could she do? In the end, every choice she could make would lead to her death. The only chance at survival Vernal had laid in her trusting herself to stay alive and praying for Raven to come up with something.

As the two got off the plane. As they picked up their luggage, one of the employees smiled at Vernal, "Welcome to Vale! Hope you will enjoy your stay here."

Somehow, Vernal doubted she would.

VA

When Vernal was seven, she took the diary from the village they raided. The owner - whom Vernal assumed was a woman by how neat and honeyed was her writing - used to study in one of the bigger cities and wrote all the details about how exciting her school years were. At first, the little Vernal used to dream of living the same life. The life where she wasn't forced to pick up other people's trash and do back-breaking chores for scraps of food.

It was a nice little dream, one that she cherished for years. Her safe room where she could escape after getting shit beaten out of her for doing something wrong or just for the laughs of some creep. Those dreams used to keep her warm at night.

But that was before she realized how foolish that dream was. She was a bandit. A damn good one too. What would she do if she ever came to attend some fancy school in the city? Drink tea and eat cookies all the while gossiping about some stupid stuff? Lose her sleep over some silly crush?

Ever since her first kill, Vernal hated her childhood dream with all the venom and spite one could have.

And now here she was, in the hall of the school, just like she thought she would hate.

The first night at Beacon is everything Vernal feared it would be and more. After listening to Ozpin talk about the duty and responsibility of huntsmen and huntresses - y'know other than dying like a bunch of morons to buy other idiots a couple more days - they were locked in one room. And boy, did Vernal wish she could kill them all and be done with it. Seriously, if Cinder wanted the damn comatose girl, why not just come here with her army and kill everyone?

That would make taking Amber or whoever so much easier.

No matter where she looked, she found something or someone to loathe this place even more for. The girls who kept giggling and chatting as if they were having some sleepover. And guys who were trying to show off their physiques. Granted, some of them were quite well-built but what did it matter when facing against a Grimm? Unless you knew how to use all that muscle, you were just making a bigger meal for some lucky Grimm out there.

At least, she was spared hanging around Cinder and her posse. The Fall Maiden wanted them to spend the night apart, as a precaution in case Ozpin found the four students becoming a team so smoothly all too suspicious. Paranoid but Vernal couldn't care less. She would enjoy whatever peace she could get.

Her peace didn't last for long.

"Stop stalking me!"

"I am just trying to be friendly! Why do you have to be so crabby?"

Quarrels and yelling weren't uncommon in the tribe. Honestly, every day some morons found a new reason to start trouble with each other. Someone stealing another guy's drink. Or some bitch banging someone else's man. The everyday trouble was the kind of trouble you got when placing every arrogant and self-centered piece of crap into one family where the only law was the law of the blade.

The fights between their own weren't uncommon and, in fact, somewhat encouraged by Raven.

But these two were nothing like that.

With the mixture of amusement and annoyance underneath her skin, Vernal watched two girls - both looking too young to even be here - argue over a vial of Dust. She quickly recognized the Schnee heiress and entertained the thought of stealing her wallet at some point in time in the future. Vernal briefly toyed with the idea of buying tons of sex toys for with whatever card the heiress had.

And then she saw him.

Tall, blonde and wearing the dumbest choice of sleepwear she had ever seen. He wasn't too bad on the eyes, if looking more like an errand boy than an aspiring huntsman. A couple of girls giggled as they watched him pass with guys laughing at him. And honestly would you blame them?

What kind of idiot wears baby blue pajamas? Let alone in front of everyone? If the boy's intent was to ensure he wouldn't get any till the graduation, then he did a fucking great job at it. Still, at least, he managed to make her laugh if not knowing that himself.

"Bold choice, blondie," she heckled, getting a few laughs out of the people nearby. The boy blushed in embarrassment but stopped and turned to her. Stupid, honestly. Should've walked away faster. "Got something to say?"

She kind of wants him to start trouble. To give her an excuse to vent out her frustration. Instead of hissing or glaring, the boy looks more embarrassed than anything and mumbles, "I like it, that's all. It's really comfortable."

"I bet the others think it is," she chuckles as the blondie briefly looks around the room. His face grows even redder as some girls whistle at him in a mocking fashion. She almost feels sorry for the idiot, he really should've left when he had the chance to.

"Eh, I can deal with it," the boy shrugs, though failing to play it cool. "Not the first time someone laughed at it."

She didn't have trouble believing that for obvious reasons. "Pretty confident in yourself, huh?"

"I like to think I am," the boy smiles before sitting down by her side. Vernal raises an eyebrow but the boy seems unfazed by her seeming lack of amusement. With the same goofy mile, he extends his hand, "Jaune Arc. Short sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it."

"Are those ladies your mom and sisters?"

"Yup, mom and all seven of my sisters."

"Seven?" Vernal does a double take before looking the boy up and down in search of the clue at him joking. Nope, he is not shitting her. He is absolutely serious. "Wow, your parents are rabbit faunus or something?"

Some girl with black bow glares daggers at her and actually hisses. Eh, she would deal with her later. "Er, no, I don't think so. They just really love each other and-"

"They are pretty loud about it, right?" Vernal grins as the blondie blushes deep red again, no doubt reliving the moment he caught his mommy and daddy fucking. "Having some repressed memories? I wonder what was the weirdest place you saw them do it?"

"Okay, let's change the subject! Please?"the boy raised his hands in a plea. Alright, she was done with the joke. No need to come across as some sex-starved deviant. "So what's your name?"

"Vernal Wennbar," she said offhandedly. "Simple and memorable. The people whose villages I pillage and burn don't remember it though."

She is kind of disappointed when the boy takes it as a joke and laughs. As much as the conversation amused her, she was getting tired by the Mr Sunshine here. After a few seconds of laughter, Arc sighs and looks at the room with the weird longing expression, "Man, I can't believe that I am finally here."

"Let me guess, your parents are huntsmen as well?"

"I wish," Arc scoffs in annoyance. "Maybe then dad would actually let me come here."

The boy instantly freezes as the realization of what he just said hits him. To someone like him, a boy who never knew how cruel the world could be, running away was probably the peak of the debauchery. DId he expect her to be impressed or horrified? As if. Running away from your parents' home was about as petty as stealing candy as far as Vernal was concerned, "No worries, I am not ratting you out to anyone."

Seriously, who could she even rat him out to? And if she had someone, why would she do that? This was his life and his mess. Still, Arc thanks her with genuine smile, "Thank you, Vernal. I owe you one."

And just like that, the two kept up the small conversation. Bits and pieces of what they did prior to coming here, with Vernal lying at each and every step. Not that she expected Arc to be able to do anything even if she told the truth. But he looked like the kind of moron who could let it slip that she came from the tribe of bandits around the teachers.

And so she told a tale of poor little her who grew up on the streets, harsh and cold. How she was saved by the powerful huntress and now wished to be one to help people. And hey, other than the part about helping people, she was almost honest about her life.

As the time to sleep came closer, the blondie wished her luck on tomorrow's test. Cute if she needed it. She wished him the same, though not on passing the exam.

But simply not dying too painfully.

VA

"Now remember, you need to be on the same team. Roman will supply you with the proper communication equipment but you still need to be careful. Who knows where Ozpin might have installed surveillance. The last thing we need is him suspecting the new team of collaborating prior to the exam."

Keep your head down. Don't give away your powers. Blend in. Those were easy enough instructions even if given in annoyingly condescending tone by the Fall. All she had left to do was make sure she ended up partner with one of her little lackeys and she could get over the damn test.

The Grimm here were pretty weak as well. A few Beowulves and Ursas with big ones like Nevermore or Deathstalker few and far between, and even those were half the size of what a healthy Grimm should be. Her guess was the teachers controlling their numbers by routinely exterminating stronger ones. A dumb thing to do, really.

If their applicants couldn't handle a couple of stronger Grimm, then what good would academy do them? Weak should just stay in the line and not get in the way of the Strong. Weak died. Weak suffered. Weak begged for mercy and cried for help.

"Help! Somebody help!"

Case in point. Now where did that noise come from? She looked behind and saw nobody. From the right then? From the left?

"I am stuck up here!"

Vernal looked above and did double take. After she rubbed her eyes, the sight before her didn't change. It was the same blonde from yesterday. Impaled to the tree by someone's spear. Jeez, whom did he piss off that much that they tried to off him during the exam? Not to mention so dumbly. Seriously, if you wanted to kill Arc off, you could at least try and make it look like a Grimm attack.

Oh well, not her kill to steal. Before she could properly leave, Arc noticed her, much to her chagrin.

"Oh hey, Vernal!" He waved and smiled even though he looked deathly pale. "Uh, could you please help me get down? I think someone accidentally threw their spear at me and now I can't get down. I am not very good with heights so..."

Vernal barely suppressed the urge to throw a pebble at the guy. What was he doing here at the huntsmen academy in the first place if he couldn't even get down from the tree? It was so pathetic it was almost funny. Like watching a cat stuck on a tree. Or some moron with his head between the bars.

"If you need help getting down from there, you might as well quit the exam," Vernal said, enjoying how the boy flinched at her words. "Seriously, if you can't handle some heights, then how are you going to handle the hordes of Grimm?"

"Oh come on, is there nothing you can do at all? Come on, you aren't going to leave me hanging up here like that, right?"

It was almost amusing how wrong he was. She left much many more of much better people to much worse fates. Then again, if he made her a good enough offer, she just might consider helping him out, "What do I get out of it?"

"W-Well, I am pretty good with cooking and massages," at her raised eyebrow, Arc scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "Living with seven sisters will do that to you. You won't believe how many times I had to make up for my mess by giving them a good foot rub."

Hmm, that did sound tempting. But she could always get a professional for it. "Sorry, but if you can't offer anything better, I think I best leave you to your own-"

"I can get you a fake ID!" Arc blurted out in panic. Now if that wasn't interesting. "If, uh, if you help me get down, I can get you the fake ID. For buying drinks and getting into clubs and other stuff like that."

Well, well, it seems it was always the quiet ones. "How good are you at making those? Cause I can tell bad forgery from proper one, you know."

Arc looked uncomfortable as he sighed, "I am pretty good at it. Criminally good, you might say."

"Then you got yourself a deal,"

With a smirk, she released her weapons.

"Thank you!" Arc smiled brightly. Though that smile waned as he saw her approach the trunk of three with the savage grin. "Wait,what are you-Aah!"

The bark didn't even make the sound as she cut through it in one swift motion. The blonde did though, letting out the girliest cry Vernal had the displeasure hearing. With a loud crash, he groaned on the ground. "Ow... I think my arm is broken."

"Your Aura will heal it."

The boy looked at her as if she had just grown a second head.

"What is Aura?"

Was he fucking serious? "Are you fucking serious? Are you telling me that you are trying out for the Beacon Academy to fight Grimm and you don't even know what Aura is?"

"I, uh, was kind of planning to learn it later? You know, catch up on all the material once the semester starts and all."

Catch up on all the...

"You have no idea what Aura is, do you?"

The boy deflated, "No..."

"Great," for a moment, Vernal considered leaving the idiot alone in the woods for Grimm to eat. It was only right, after all. The idiot brought it on himself by coming here unprepared. And hey, maybe some meat would placate the other Grimm around and make it even easier for her to kill them.

But if he died right now, then she would be losing her fake ID maker. And while she didn't doubt the Fire Bitch could help her get one, Vernal was sure she wouldn't get her one. Alcohol makes you sloppy. Alcohol distracts you from the mission. And more of the same dumb garbage she didn't need listening to. Not to mention that if she was given one, those little lapdogs would follow her all the way to every good drinbking spot.

With a sigh and thoughts of quiet pleasant drink in mind, Vernal motioned for Arc to come closer, "Come over here. Before I change my mind."

He did as told, trusting her entirely. Seriously, who was this guy? He was too weak to be a huntsman. Hell, he trusted her - a random stranger who cut down the tree he was stuck to - as if they had known each other for years. For all he knew, she could just stab him and take whatever was of value on him.

Which she had done already. Many times.

And yet he didn't run or even look suspicious of her. Ah, she had no time for that. Better be done with him and move, "What are you going to do? Why is your hand glowing?"

"Just shut up and let me do it," Vernal snapped at him. The boy fell silent. The bandit took a deep breath as she placed her palm on his chest, letting her Aura flow free into the boy and find its way to his own. "For it is in our power that we achieve freedom. Through this, we become juggernauts who know no restraint. Free from laws and untamed by nobody, I release your soul and by my hand empower thee."

She could feel the momentary rush - the feeling of sharing her Aura with another and forcing it open. She felt slightly winded, both annoyed and impressed at how large his Aura reserves actually were. Well, her work was done here. With those reserves, he should be good enough to last until the teachers arrived to save him if something went wrong.

"So long, blondie," she said as she headed off in her own direction. "Try not to die too fast."

"Wait, aren't we partners now?" Arc asked awkwardly. "I mean-"

Partners... Yeah, right. "Oh just shove it, will ya?" Vernal scoffed. "You already owe me two favors. Don't go pushing your luck."

Just as she left, she heard someone else call out for him. Vernal didn't look, of course. She already helped that moron enough. Not that Aura would help him once Fall brought the whole place down. Helping out the weak wouldn't them any favor in the long run.

She just wanted to get whatever was worth out her deal with him.

VA

Days passed by and their team - appropriately named Venom (VENM) even if the Headmaster didn't know - was about as close as four strangers pushed together could be. Unlike many of the other teens though, there wasn't any real attempt to bond. And honestly what could they bond over?

Their kill counts? Favorite types of knives and guns? Their top ten ways to kill someone? Vernal just knew that it was much better to just put up some distance between each other. Mercury and Emerald would hang out with each other. That Neo girl would do... whatever it is she did when they weren't watching.

And Vernal would enjoy her lunch by herself. At least, the food here was decent enough. As much as it sucked she couldn't get any booze here, at least, they served some decent meat and fruit as well as some sweets. The latter of which they didn't keep around in the tribe.

Pancakes and waffles were, in particular, the rare treats around her home. She reached for the last plate standing when someone else grabbed it out of her reach. Well, this was looking like a good day already.

"Sorry, you snooze you lose~" the girl with ginger head and sickeningly sweet voice said in a sing-song tone as she made away with her pancakes. Heh, if it wasn't for the girl's love of frilly and pink, they might have gotten along. After all, pancakes, as everything else, belonged to those who got them first.

And who was strong enough to hold onto them.

"What the- Woah!"

The girl slipped and fell, her tray flying up with everything else. Eggs, bacon and juice all spilled all over the floor. And only the plate of flapjacks were safe, carefully snatched by Vernal. Her Semblance was usually for combat only. But who would judge her for that?

"Oh my God, Nora! Are you okay?"

Vernal didn't even make three steps away from the mess when she heard a familiar voice. As she sat down at the nearest empty table she watched as the three other students surrounded the gingerhead. A redheaded tall girl. A boy with pink strand of hair. And the blonde she kind of assumed was dead by now.

So they were a team, huh.

To her credit, the girl, now identified as Nora, didn't make much of a fuss about her clothes or hair as Vernal expected. She looked positively nonchalant until her eyes caught something missing among the pile of food. Eyes suddenly narrow and sharp, the girl looked around the room until her eyes zeroed in on Vernal.

Specifically, her plate of pancakes.

Vernal smirked as she slowly cut a piece of thick cooked dough, covered in honey and sprinkled with berries. Just as slowly she brought it to her mouth without breaking an eye contact with the girl. Their eyes locked, Vernal bit into the treat, making sure to show the gingerhead just how much she enjoyed it. The quickly growing scandalous look on the girl's face made the already sweet treat so much more delicious.

You know what, maybe the breakfast was a great time to be petty.

"You thief!"

With the impressive speed, the girl was in her face, an accusing finger pointing in her face. Under the scrutinizing gaze, Vernal saw no other option than take another slow bite and say, in a mocking imitation of the girl's voice, "Sorry, you snooze you lose~"

"Why you..." The girl looked positively murderous, ready to get into a fight. Great, just what she needed. And hey, whatever happened to it would in self-defense so she could go pretty much all out. "Rennie?"

Or would have, if her boyfriend didn't step in. Along with the two other people. "Come on, Nora. You may have mine if you want."

"Eh, but yours are never as sweet as I like them," Nora whined. "Can I have Jaune's instead?"

"Hey, I never agreed to that!" Arc protested. Only to fold in when the brunette gave him the look that said it all: his pancakes were no longer his and he had to deal with it. "Oh, alright alright. I'll just double down on the cereal then. Oh hey, Vernal!"

"Hello, Jaune," Vernal greeted him in return. "I see you aren't dead. Congrats, I guess."

Arc laughs awkwardly, probably thinking her words were a joke instead of genuine surprise. "Thanks, Vernal. I couldn't do it without you helping you there. Hey, where's your team, by the way?"

Probably robbing a shop or torturing someone. "They decided to skip breakfast."

"Why don't you join us then?" Vernal groaned silently. "My mom always said, breakfast is best with people."

Not when anyone could snatch your food when you aren't looking, Vernal wanted to add. Unlike the blonde overe here, Vernal actually liked being by herself when eating. No bastards smoking near her food or trying to stick their fingers in it. She had half a mind to tell the blondie to go and screw himself. But the way Jaune was smiling told her she wouldn't get out of it that easily. "Sure, thanks."

"Great, let's go then!"

The breakfast went from quiet attempt to enjoy her food to the lively conversation with the group. Surprisingly, the whole situation was not as annoying as she might have expected. None of them pried too much or did anything to particularly annoy her. And, in a way, it helped her out with her mission. As it turned out, Jaune got himself the famous Pyrrha Nikos as partner. She didn't even recognize her, with how shy and quiet the girl in front of her was acting.

Someone as strong as Nikos should have carried herself with more weight.

Still, Champion of four years in a row was someone she might need to keep an eye on. If Ozpin was half as smart as Raven described him, he would pick someone strong. But also someone gullible or naive enough to mold into a perfect little Maiden. Mistralian Champion with obvious self-esteem issue would definitely do. Not the only potential candidate but one who fit the bill well enough.

"Hey guys!" Slowly, four more people joined their small group. This one, looking all so much more interesting. With the exception of the quiet brunette with a dumb bow, she recognized the three easily. Two girls from the night before the exam, one of which was the potential score of a lifetime and another was a jailbait brat. "Who's your new friend?"

And, of course, Vernal recognized Yang Xiao Long. The weakling Raven had abandoned. The daughter whom her leader didn't want to have. She would have lied if she said she wasn't itching for the chance to meet her. If only to see what kind of warrior Raven's daughter could be.

"The name's Vernal," Frankly, she wasn't impressed. The blondie was strong, that much was obvious to anyone. She was strong but not powerful. For her, strength meant just raw physical power, disregarding the ruthlessness and killing instinct necessary to be truly strong. She could see it in the way the girl carried herself. Not like a warrior who would slay anyone who opposed her. But rather a fool who thought she could take on any challenge that came her way. "Nice to meet you."

The girl shook her hand, without any hint of doubt or suspicion. Even with her teeth shown and eyes sharp, Xiao Long didn't think twice before letting her get so close to her. If Vernal wanted, she could kill her. A knife within her reach would be enough - she was too fast for the girl to activate her Aura in time. And just like that, the bimbo would be dead and Raven would have one less nuisance distracting her.

Then again, murdering a fellow student would be a bitch to explain.

As the discussion within the group shifts from discussing weapons to weekend plans to dances and teachers, Vernal is feeling more and more frustrated with her position. With her plate now cleaned of any food, she asks what class they have first. And silently, she prays that it is not the Port's class on Grimm. She would rather suck Shay off than listen to another lecture by the man.

When she hears that they have the Combat Class by Goodwitch first, Vernal feels genuine relief. She finally gets to kick some ass around the place without any worry for her cover.

VA

"For the final match," Goodwitch says as the screen behind her is flashing with photos of students. "Cardin Winchester and Jaune Arc, come forward and prepare your weapons."

By this point, Vernal is ready to go out and fight the woman herself. Having been forced to sit out the whole class watching the others fight was one thing. But having to watch these morons fight so poorly was just infuriating. Everyone moved slow. Their attacks were sloppy and didn't have any actual force behind it. They were holding back, afraid to hurt someone. Scared of getting hurt in return.

Vernal was simply disgusted with it. And the final match promised nothing better.

Winchester was a hulking mass of muscles. And he had some skills and traits Raven would appreciate. But the shining armor he wore along with the arrogant grin that seemed to have been painted all over his face made him look less of a fellow survivor and predator and more like a hyena. It was clear that all that he had came from power and money. And those born into those things were always the first to break under pressure.

That, however, didn't change how this match would end.

Because even if Winchester was an arrogant prick, he still had enough strength to act like one. And Arc, for all his passion about being a Huntsman, was weak and as skilled as a toddler in terms of combat.

The match proceeded just as she expected. The bigger guy didn't seem bothered by the gap between them. In fact, it was quite the opposite as it was clear to everyone that Winchester enjoyed kicking the blondie all across the ring like a puppy. Arc was clearly faster and more agile but, just as with his sword and shield, lacked any actual experience in using those to his advantage.

In the end, Arc has no other option other than put all his remaining strength into holding his shield and taking on the hits. Vernal is somewhat impressed with how long it takes blondie to run out of Aura. His reserves are definitely twice what a normal huntsman his age should have. If he were better trained, he would make a fearsome warrior with those reserves. But the way he is right now, all he can do and is doing right now is just whimpering behind his shield as he weathers down the hits.

"Mr. Arc's Aura is in the Red, Mr. Winchester wins the match," Judging by her tone, the older Huntress hardly considers this a match and Vernal can't help but agree with her. A bully dishing out hits and leaving himself open because of his arrogance. And a weakling too unskilled to take advantage of said openings and turn the tide. "We will be covering the shortcomings of you both next class. Trust me, there is enough to last a semester."

Winchester scowls at the insult but doesn't do anything. To the professor, that is. As soon as Goodwitch's attention is focused on the rest of the class, the bigger guy quickly shoves past the blonde, knocking him down. Vernal expects the latter to yell, get angry, do something. And, unsurprisingly, she is disappointed as she sees the blonde just bury his eyes in the ground as he simmers in his own frustration and self-pity.

She stays a bit longer and watches on as his teammates try to comfort him. It's not his fault, they say. He will get better, Nikos promises. With a smile a bit too eager and desperate, she offers to train him. Get him up to speed on some basics. A generous offer, if one asked Vernal. She heard some people were willing to pay top Lien for private lessons from the Invincible Girl.

"Thanks," the blonde responds, with much edge to his tone than she expected from him. The trio mistake it for frustration with his loss. But Vernal feels like there's more to it. "I mean it, Pyrrha"

And in that moment, she sees something worth her attention. It is small but unmistakable for Vernal. The smallest glynt in Arc's eyes as he considers Nikos' offer. Briefest and impossible to catch unless you were watching, but it is there. But it is not the noble or grateful spark in the eyes of an aspiring hero. Not the bright flames of determined champion of the weak and oppressed.

But rather the same lust for power she and Raven shared.

The desire to be stronger than anyone else.

Vernal scoffed to herself as she gathered her things to leave. There was a spark, but hardly anything more. So what if the boy had some twisted desire for strength like her? From what she had seen, he had neither the drive nor readiness to do what needed to be done to achieve that kind of power. He wasn't willing to stain his hands and siul with the blood of others.

In the end, it was only those two things that determined whether you were predator or prey. And Jaune Arc had neither of those traits. He was a rabbit wishing to be the wolf. And creatures like that didn't last long out in the cold cruel world.

A sad yet simple fact.

VA

Days pass and Vernal wonders how long she would have to stay here. The classes are boring and useless as far as she is concerned. She knew plenty about killing Grimm and surviving in the wild. Why she needed to know about history was beyond her.

Luckily for her and any poor soul who'd suffer for her boredom, just when it seemed she was ready to start some trouble for the sake of having something to do, she happened to overhear something truly intriguing. A conversation between Nikos and Jaune, one she caught only thanks to her room being so close to the roof.

She expected a lot of stuff. A heartfelt confession. Or maybe even the two banging up there. Whatever high school cliche on the roof you could expect, she did. But what she heard was something completely unexpected. Though, in hindisght, maybe she shouldn't have been.

"So what you are saying is, that Arc kid faked his way in here" Black asks in the mid of their spar. For an asshole with no legs, he fights well enough. He actually makes her break a sweat. "Gotta say, I didn't expect that from him. It's always the dumb ones, I suppose."

Vernal notices that tiniest bit of respect in assassin's voice. And she can see why. Faking documents wasn't exactly an easy task. His fake ID was good enough for her to use, sure, but she never expected something of this scale.

Forging the certification from a huntsman school well enough to enroll into Beacon? This wasn't some sick note to skip school or prescription for drugs. This was the place where future fighters of humanity were raised into warriors of high calibre. To fake it so well... Jaune certainly had some talent for it. His skill would definitely be useful for the jobs in the cities if he were a part of the tribe.

Too bad he was too busy chasing after fairy tales and daydreaming.

"Cinder will like it," Sustrai smirks. "If I am right on Nikos crushing on that guy, we can use it as leverage. Get him to dig up whatever weaknesses the Champion has."

Vernal sighs in annoyance. That was indeed a good leverage. But just like everything else, only good in the right time. And theirs might have passed them by already.

"I doubt that will work out right now. From what I saw, Nikos is giving him a cold shoulder right now. Man, for a professional athelete, she is really uptight about the whole cheating thing."

Seriously, where could honest work get you in life? Slaving away from morning till night in some office as those born into power and money kept bragging about their hard work? Or work until your body breaks for someone to swoop in and take all that you've earned? In the end, the world didn't care if you got what you had by honest work or through cheating.

All that mattered was if you were strong enough to hold onto what was yours.

"And then there is Winchester," Vernal scoffs as she blocks Black's kick and goes for his gut. He dodges but she finds an opportunity to get him in the shoulder. "He knows it too."

The thief and the merc exchange brief looks before the latter smirks, "Feeling sorry for the Arc kid? Don't tell me someone got a crush."

The comment costs him a blow to the chest. Her crushing on Jaune? Right, as if she wanted to have some needy weakling for a boyfriend. As if she even wanted one. The guy looked like the kind of sap who would try and introduce her to his family after the third date or so. Life was short and Vernal wasn't one for commitments. And most definitely not to someone as weak and pathetic as that kid.

"I could care less about what happens to someone as weak as him," Vernal says honestly. "But lately the prick's been getting bolder. Thinks that just cause he got some weakling under his thumb, he is the king of the fucking school."

And she hated those kinds of assholes. Because if there was one thing Vernal despised more than weaklings, it was weaklings who thought they were some tough shit. Then again, she couldn't just kick his ass. Everyone knew that she was stronger than him. Her beating him up wouldn't humiliate him as much as she wanted him to be. No... If she wanted Winchester crushed, he had be beaten by someone he saw as weak. Someone whose victory over Winchester would leave him burning with shame.

"I am tired of being weak... This is why I came here. To learn how to fight. To never be left behind as my friends put themselves in danger trying to protect me!"

Arc's words from that night echo across her mind. She didn't buy all that crap about him wanting to protect friends, of course. What, would he be happy being weak and useless if there were no enemies? No, underneath all noble and heroic act the boy convinced even himself of, he wanted the same thing as all the people wanted. The same thing that people would fight and die for.

Power.

Winchester wanted power to push those weaker than him around. Black sought power to be free. Sustrai was a moron who hungered not for her own power but sought to give it all to her owner. And Vernal wished to be strong just for the sake of being strong. In the end, none of that crap mattered. Why they wanted it. How they would use it. None of meant anything.

It only mattered that you had power.

For power, you would sacrifice your soul and heart. For power, you would break your body over and over again. For the sake of never feeling weak, you'd do anything.

Even betray your partner.

"Leave Nikos to me," Vernal smiles as the plan brews in her head. "By the time I am done with Arc, he will be ready to hand over whatever he has on Nikos."

Power came before everything, after all.

VA

Mom always said that hatred was like poison. It entered your body and killed you from the inside. She always told them how important it was to let it go. Let the anger and rage wash all over you and fade away.

But how could he do that when he was drowning in this hatred?

"You better have my paper ready by tomorrow, Jauneyboy!"

Jaune grits his teeth as he struggles to keep himself in control. The bully notices it and smirks at the impotent rage on Jaune's face. He makes sure to look him in the eyes, challenging him to do something - anything at all.

He wishes he had enough strength to fight Cardin. To wipe that arrogant grin from his damn face. Or failing that, make it damn hard for Cardin to win. But he doesn't have the strength to do it. What's worse, he doesn't have the guts to even try doing something. Not just a weakling but a coward too...

Though honestly, what even was there for him to do? Even if somehow, through some miracle, he was strong enough to beat Cardin, he would still be ratted out and expelled. He would be paraded out of the school as everyone saw him for a fraud he was. And forging the documents into a huntsmen academy wasn't as forgivable as making fake IDs to get some alcohol.

At best, he would be blacklisted from all schools that trained huntsmen. He wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the academies and his best chance at fighting Grimm would be joining some faraway outpost city.

At worst, he might even go to jail. Mom and sisters would be devastated. And dad would blame himself for everything. His family would be shunned by everyone around them as the news of their only ending up in jail spread.

In the end, it didn't matter what he did. He was screwed either way unless he somehow got Cardin to never tell his secret.

"I always could kill him and bury his body somewhere in the forest," Jaune jokes as he walks to his room. His mind is falling apart under the stress as he struggles to do the double workload thanks to Cardin making trouble each and every class. "Yeah, right, that would totally solve all my problems."

"Don't be so sarcastic," a familiar tone interrupts his thoughts. Jaune is surprised to see Vernal. And slightly embarrassed about saying those things out loud. "Violence solves a lot of problems. More than you'd think, actually."

He gives Vernal a tired smile and half-hearted greeting, "Vernal, hey," Secretly he wishes he was in a better mood right now. Vernal was a good person, not the nicest girl, but a good one. "Sorry, but I am a little busy right now. I-"

"I know your secret, Jaune," the girl smiles and Jaune can almost feel the ground slip from under his feet. "I know all about your transcripts."

Suddenly, Vernal doesn't look as innocent or harmless as before. There is no pity or disappointment in her voice or eyes, but neither there is any support. As he looks longer at her, his heartbeat grows more frantic as he sees the same miscievous glynt in her eyes. The same burning in the eyes that he saw in Cardin's.

Both look like predators. But if Cardin looked like a hungry beast who had caught its prey, Vernal seemed more akin to a cat.

She looked like she wanted to play with him.

"Vernal, please, just listen," he doesn't even try to play dumb. The girl's eyes tell him that she knows everything and won't be fooled. "I know I messed up and I know you don't owe me anything, but please, don't tell anyone about it. Whatever you want, I will do it."

Pathetic and weak. Coward and wuss. Those are some of the nicer words that swin in his mind as he is trying to get Vernal's silence. Gods, how pathetic could he be? He wasn't strong enough to get in without cheating. And now he was too much of a coward to face the consequences like a man should. Though disgusted, he still begs and pleads for silence.

"You are tired, aren't you?" Vernal's question stops his pleas and he looks up at her in confusion. "The stress of keeping the secret, the whole Winchester mess... Those are really troublesome, aren't they?"

He nods miserably, feeling as the weight on his shoulders is slowly being lifted. "I just wanted to be a huntsman... To get strong enough to protect others. Where did it all go so wrong?"

"You chose the wrong purpose, that's all," Vernal smiles at his confusion. Wrong purpose? What was wrong with seeking strength for the people he loved and wanted to protect? "People don't seek power for the sake of others. The only person you should seek power is yourself and only yourself."

"That's not true," he quickly protested. "Huntsmen and huntresses all across Remnant train to help others. To fight the Grimm. How is that not for the sake of protecting those who can't protect themselves?"

"I think it is the part where they are strong to deal with Grimm," Vernal chuckles when he has nothing to say to that. "Think about it, Jaune, why seek power to fight Grimm if not to ensure that you don't have to fear them yourself? How many huntsmen and huntresses trained and graduated from one of the four academis yet chose to find safer places where they are the strongest?"

No, she was wrong. "There may be some bad people, Vernal. But that doesn't mean that all of the hunters are out for their own gain!"

"Yes, you are not one of them, are you? You only have the noble intentions," Vernal sounds genuine, yet something in her voice rubs him the wrong way. Like garlic floating in sweet tea. "Which is why I want to help you out."

What?

"Really?" he curses under his breath at the note of suspicion that creeps into his words. Vernal seems unfazed, even somewhat amused, by it though. "Why would you do that?"

"Maybe I have a thing for you. Maybe I fell for you the moment you came in that ridiculous sleepwear and have been pining for you ever since, waiting for the chance to get closer to you," Jaune chuckles humorelessly at the obvious bait. Normally, he would blush and stutter at the way Vernal widened her eyes and spoke just a tiny bit higher, obviously mocking the cliche romance tropes. But it was his life and dream at stake right now, so it was a bit harder for him to feel anything but fear and pressure. "Or maybe I just think there should be more noble huntsmen around. Someone who knows right from wrong. Someone willing to fight for what he believes in."

Coupled with her comments from before, Jaune can't help but feel the doubt in his gut grow. Was she serious about training him? Or was she just stringing him along for the sake of some cruel joke?

"She is not Cardin," Jaune chastised himself as he looked at Vernal again. This was the girl he befriended on his first night here. The same girl who helped him get down from the tree and even unlocked his Aura. Because of all the shit Cardin pulled on him, he now was blaming an innocent girl of something she didn't even do.

"I would like to take you up on this offer then," Jaune takes her hand. For a second, he feels the weird cold feeling coil around his heart. As if he was stepping into the dirty waters or night forest. He quickly shakes off the uncomfortable feeling, opting to focus on the more important things. "You can't imagine how much this means for me. Ever since I fought with Pyrrha-"

No. He won't talk about Pyrrha. Not like that. Not behind her back. His partner didn't deserve him lashing out at her back then. And she certainly didn't deserve him talking trash about her just bgecause he was dealing with consequences of his own actions.

"That's no problem, Jaune," Vernal smiles. "I am sure you will pay me back someday."

Definitely.

"I give you my word, Vernal. And an Arc never goes back on his word."

VA

Invincible Girl was the idol of countless people. The Champion of Mistral, capable of taking on any opponent, be it a professional fighter just like her or a very personal and invasive interviewer. Yes, Invincible Girl was indeed a confident and unshakeable person.

Too bad that Pyrrha Nikos was a nervous wreck, always anxious and worried. Her fame and success kept the others away from her. Alienated and starved for the interaction with her peers, she wished just for the normal person whom she could talk to without them going crazy over her status as the Champion.

And then she finally found one in Jaune. He had no idea who she was or how much being a Mistralian Champion meant. With him, she could be just Pyrrha Nikos. Not an Invincible Girl who had to carry herself with the power and esteem of the elite warrior but just another teenager.

And then she pushed him away.

Sure, Jaune had cheated his way in. But his heart was in the right place. He just needed someone to help him and Pyrrha was sure he would make an exceptional huntsman. But their first training session ended unpleasantly and now Pyrrha had no idea how to fix it with him. For all the interviews and meet-n-greet's she's done over the years, she still had no idea how to smoothly talk to someone when they had a fight.

Jaune, I don't agree with what you did but I want to help.

Hey, Jaune, weird week we are having, right?

Hi, Jaune! Wanna get back to training tonight and pretend nothing happened?

It wasn't just the fact that they had a fight, but also Cardin's increasing bullying of her partner. She wanted to put an end and she could. On the other hand, how could she know it wouldn't only worsen the relationship between her Jaune? If she just went and made Cardin stop bullying her partner, how could she knoew Jaune wouldn't see it as her looking down on him?

No. She was going to talk to him. No hesitation or doubt. The moment he walked inside, they would talk and resolve all their issues. No match could be won by remaining on the defense or waiting for your opponent to make a mistake. You had to be proactive and create opportunities on your own. With deep breath, Pyrrha promised herself that the moment Jaune came back, she would talk to him.

The door clicked open. Jaune entered. That confidence vanished.

"Hey, Pyrrha,"

Crap.

"Hi, Jaune," she smiled politely. "How was your day?"

"Not bad," he responded briefly, going for the closet in search of something.

"Good, that's good," she said and, for a few brief moments, there was awkward silence. Finally, Pyrrha decided to follow through with her tactic. "Look, Jaune, I know that- Wait... Where are you going?"

Only now did she realize that in those brief silent minutes, Jaune had changed out of his school uniform into some training gear. What concerned her even more was almost manic expression on his face as he packed Crocea Mors.

A small spark of hope lit up in Pyrrha. Could it be that Jaune also wished to bury that fight and get on with their training? "I see you are going to train," Jaune nodded in response as he checked his bag. "Great, just let me change into my workout clothes and I-"

Someone knocked on their door. Loud and hard.

"Hey, Goldilocks! Hurry up!"Pyrrha's words died in her throat as her mind struggled to match the face to the voice from behind the door. Not Nora or anyone from team RWBY. Then who was this? "You make me wait one more minute and I am breaking the door!"

"Oh man, she is pissed," Jaune didn't look afraid or surprised. In fact, he looked positively excited. Just who was this girl? "Sorry, Pyrrha, can't talk right now. I will be late so tell Ren and Nora not to worry."

Another loud banging on the door, followed by something that sounded suspiciously similar to blades being sharpened. "Five... Four... Three..."

"Okay, gotta go. Good night, Pyrrha!"

With a swipe of his keycard, Jaune opened the door. Behind it stood the girl whom Pyrrha vaguely recognized from their breakfast a week or so ago. Now also clad in combat gear of sorts, the girl looked positively annoyed. "Just for making me wait, I will make sure you are all sore by the morning. Oh, hey there, Champion."

"Hi, Vernal," Pyrrha feels something form in the pit of her stomach. Something small but hot. Something ugly and unpleasant. And that feeling grows bigger and stronger the longer she looks at Vernal and how close Jaune stands to her. "W-Where are you two going?"

"Just some late-night training," Vernal smirks. And Pyrrha can't help but feel the urge to wipe it off her face. "Jaune over here asked me to beat him into shape. Hope you don't mind if I borrow him for a few nights."

She did mind. She minded very much.

"Oh, sure," curse her tongue. "I am really happy Jaune has someone like you to help him out."

Even though he already had a professional fighter as his partner.

"Cool, then I'll return him by breakfast," Vernal slapped Pyrrha's shoulder, giving her a wide grin. Then, turning to the left, she called out for Jaune, "Let's go already. Trust me, blondie, you want to start the training as soon as possible."

Jaune doesn't even question or comment, instead obediently following the instructions as he runs after the girl. As she watches the two leave, that nasty burning feeling coils itself around her heart like a snake. Her fists clench and, for a brief moment, she considers fighting the girl right there and then. But then she stops...

It was good that Jaune found someone to help him out. Even if it wasn't her, Pyrrha wasn't going to start trouble over some jeal- concern for her partner. It was rational, after all. It was logical and normal to allow Jaune to train under whoever he wanted, he was old enough to make his choices after all.

But the further they left, the less Pyrrha believed her own words. And as the two disappeared behind the corner, that ugly feeling tightened its hold around her heart. She was happy for Jaune. But she certainly did not trust Vernal. Whatever was happening between the two, she would keep a close eye on it.

For both her and Jaune's sake.

VA

Vernal smiled as she stood in the pale moonlight, enjoying the sensation of cold light on her skin. Opposite of her, clad in his own gear, Arc stood ready. Ready to listen. Ready to follow. Ready to obey. In a way, she felt some gratitude to Winchester for driving the boy so desperate that he would listen to her every word. People, when backed into corner, would always take any chance to get out of it, after all.

"I hope you are ready to hurt, Goldilocks." She cracked her knuckles and let her Aura flare. "Because I am not going easy on you."

No pep talk. No kiddy gloves. No safe words or any other crap. If he wanted to be strong, he had to be vicious and mean. No matter how much she pushed, he wouldn't get to Cardin's level of brute force. So they would make up for that with pure viciousness and resilience.

"I am ready, Vernal."

To his credit, the blondie didn't let himself be intimidated. Instead, he stood tall and confident. Determined to take on any pain as long as he got what he wanted. That kind of determination was almost impressive. Bigger men than him ran away from her, begging for mercy.

"Do your worst..."

Despite being weaker, he grins. And in that grin, in those azure eyes, she sees the same hunger she once saw in her own reflection. The same desire for power that started out innocent and then turned primal. The same look in her eyes when she promised herself to stand above all with her strength. The same fire that burned in her eyes today every time she fought.

"Because I am not backing down!"

And she liked what she was seeing.

[ace-alex-art]

Dot Day

Woo finally wrote something! Also this is a collab with the ever lovely @itscecilpalmerbitches. If you haven’t checked them out before, then you definitely should. (I mean don’t feel obligated. It’s just a suggestion)

-------------------

“That useless piece of shit!”

SMASH!

Michael flinches back into the corner of his room. His Father is drunk again, and Michael had managed to do something to piss him off again. He wants to run, but honestly there’s no place he really could go. Sure Cecil and Carlos say that he’s always welcome to come stay with them, but he’s certain that they’re just saying that. Nobody would really want a kid to show up to their door in the middle of the night. Or, rather, at least he thinks it’s the middle of the night. Time is weird in Night Vale to begin with, and without any way to tell time in his room- besides the mainly boarded up window- he has no track of the imaginary time.

“Darling, calm down. Do you honestly want to pay for more dishware?”

“IS THAT REALLY ALL YOU CARE ABOUT?”

“Of course not, my sweet heart. But it was Michelle’s fault, so why don’t you go have a talk with her instead of ruining our dishes?” There’s a tone of annoyance in her voice.

Michael jerks his head up. Father’s footsteps are heavy and thundering in Michael’s head as they approach his door. He has nothing he can do to protect himself. Just stay quiet and don’t fight back. That’s the only way he can minimize how long this night will be. He’s not sure how much his Father has had to drink, but he knows that his punches seem to always get stronger the more he drinks. Michael takes a deep breath, though careful not to move his broken and bruised ribs too much, as  he readies himself. The only sleep he will get is when his Father is done using him as a punching bag or when he takes too many hits to stay conscious. With his luck, it will be the latter.

The lock to Michael’s door clicks as it unlocks.

---------------------------------------------------

Michael blinked awake. He was on the ground underneath his window. The first thing he noticed was how much pain he was in; his ribs flared and every breath was another flame of fire being swallowed. His room is destroyed. The few personal items he had were spread in pieces throughout the room. There were new holes in the walls too. ‘Guess I passed out too early for Father’ Michael thought.

Carefully he begins to sit up, wincing at the ache his entire body has. He still has no idea what time it is, but he can guess. There’s some light that managed to sneak through the boards on the window dancing on the floor as it stretches towards the wall, and he can’t hear anything outside of his room. His parents must have gone to work which means he needs to get ready to head to the station.

He slowly stands and whimpers as he stretches. His ratty hoodie hardly covers anything anymore. There’s more holes than fabric, but it’s all he can wear at home. Michael pushes the door to the closet aside and carefully reaches for the pile of clothes hidden in the corner. Smiling, he pulls out the new binder that Cecil had gotten him. He needed a new one since his last one nearly killed him. No wait, his last binder did kill him which is why Cecil missed the show that one day. He just wouldn’t give up CPR until Michael began to breathe again. The radio host still hadn’t given up on him yet, but then again it’s only been a month.

Michael cautiously slides into the binder, making sure he got himself situated before continuing. The next thing he pulled out was a hoodie. Navy blue with “Night Vale Community Radio” written on it adorned with an illustration of a radio tower and the city logo. It belongs to Cecil, but since he told Michael to keep it, it technically now belonged to the kid. Though he swears he’s only borrowing it and will give it back as soon as Cecil wants it. He pulls the hoodie over his head, smiling at how baggy it was on him. Cecil was much taller than him and weighed reasonably more than him, so the bagginess wasn’t surprised.

He throws on his shoes before rummaging through his room looking for duct tape. It takes him a couple minutes in the mess, but he finally finds it. Sitting down again, Michael pulls his foot closer to him. The sole of his left shoe was falling apart again, so he held the edge of the tape down while he wrapped the roll around a few times. He’d decided last time that he didn’t need new shoes, especially since his last pair were stolen.

After finally making sure he was ready, Michael went to his door. It opened with ease. His parents rarely locked it come morning, so he was able to finally leave his room. The hallway wasn’t the neatest. The few pictures that still hung on the walls were cracked, and there were cigarette butts on the carpet. The living room wasn’t any better; broken and unbroken bottles littered the floor. There were recent cigarette burns on the couch which caused Michael to mess with his left sleeve in discomfort. He didn’t have any keys, so he had to hop the backyard fence to leave or his parents would be upset at him for not locking the door.

Just as Michael hops the fence he realizes something. He has two blue dots on his hand. ‘Great. I forgot it’s dot day. Red on what you love; blue on what you don’t.’ Michael stares at the dots for a few more seconds before shaking his head and continuing to the station. He walks the same path everyday- except the days that get canceled, of course- to the station, so he doesn’t have to worry about how long it takes him. His ankle gives out as he’s walking past Big Rico’s causing him to stumble into the wall. That’s when he hears the laughing.

A shiver runs through Michael as he tries to steady himself again. He can’t run at the moment, and, even if he could, he’s not fast enough to outrun them. It’s always the same group of kids from school; one way or another they always find him in and out of school. Before Michael can even move, hes grabbed and yanked backwards into the alley space next to the pizza place.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Freak?” A harsh kick to his ribs cause Michael to yelp.

“Why are you even still breathing, Tide Pod?” A fist connects to his face.

Another few kicks to his stomach causes Michael to curl further into himself. His every breath burns terribly, and he wishes it would stop. He can usually handle these attacks just fine, but after such a rough night, Michael feels like he’s dying.

“Do everyone a favor and just die already!” A sharp kick to his head steals Michael’s consciousness.

Michael wakes curled in the dirt of the alleyway. He rolls over slightly as he coughs and spits blood. His vision is more blurry than normal, and he’s grateful that he forgot Carlos’s spare glasses at the station since they probably would’ve been broken. His entire body aches and screams in protest as he slowly tries to sit up. He’s covered in dots now. All blue.

He groans as he forces himself to stand. His ankle seems to have gotten the rest it needed and lets him support himself. The radio station seems so far away now that he can hardly stand without the world spinning. Michael, feeling like his head is stuck in a fog, heavily leans on the walls of the buildings as he makes his way to the station. It takes twice as long as it normally does, and by the time he gets there, Michael feels ready to pass out. His vision keeps spinning, and he feels nauseous.

He’s the first one to the station, so he can hear Khoshekh howling for food before he even unlocks the door. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually he made it to the men’s restroom. Khoshekh was still howling when he managed to stumble into the room which makes his already spinning head hurt even more. He limps over to the cat bowl before filling it and gently petting Khoshekh. The mirrors were all covered as usual, but Michael knew he’d have to clean himself up before Cecil showed up.

Taking as deep a breath as he could without further inflaming his lungs, Michael moved the covering just a little. He hated mirrors, but he didn’t have much of a choice now. He looks- well he looks pretty terrible if he’s going to be honest. His nose has a bunch of dried blood that trailed down, and he had multiple cuts on his face- some of which were still bleeding. Not to mention the red mark on his cheekbone that already is beginning to swell.

Michael gets to cleaning the dirt and blood off of himself with the paper towels that are next to the sinks. It takes him a good twenty minutes to get all the bleeding to stop and clean off everything else. It’s only when he’s double checking the cuts on his face that he notices his eyes. His pupils are dilated at different sizes. ‘I’ve got a concussion, don’t I? Dammit. Cecil’s gonna be so mad if he finds out.’ His hoodie is also coated with dirt and blue dots, but he doesn’t have the time to deal with it.

So Michael carefully covers the mirrors back up before leaving the bathroom. He still feels like shit, but he doesn’t have time to waste. Making his way into the booth, Michael finds the glasses Carlos gave him on the desk. He puts them on and takes a minute to get his breathing normal again. The world is less blurry, but he still feels sick. Regardless he begins to sort all the tasks he has to do. He’s slower than normal, and he forgets a few of the prerecorded messages but nothing major.

Time- or at least what we perceive as time- flies by as Michael works and before he knows it Cecil is there. This time, though, the coffee is on just like he prefers. The booth is also picked up, and his notes rest neatly on the table. Yeah he didn’t get everything done, but Michael feels he’s done a fairly adequate job considering he was late and also likely concussed..

Cecil rounds the corner, having an argument with himself. He stops outside the booth and peers in, watching Michael order the papers. He had watched for a good three minutes before realizing the dirty hoodie is covered in blue. Not a single spot of red. That simply cannot do. Cecil digs in his bag and pulls out his container of red dots. He owned a limited supply of blue dots and only used them on two people. Red though, he had more than plenty of. He does a count of the dots he can see on Michael's shirt and arms, counting out two red ones for every blue one. Cecil himself was covered in quite a few red dots, most of which were from Carlos. He taps on the door frame of the booth, so he didn't spook the kid. He didn't want a repeat of what happened last time Cecil scared him.

“I have something for you Michael.” He announces.

Michael turns when he hears Cecil tapping, but he’s forced to lean against the desk as the movement makes him sick. He gives a half smile to the radio host.

“Hey Ceec. Still haven’t gotten everything done, but I think I’ve got the important tasks out of the way.” He glances nervously at Cecil’s smile. He trusts the host, but it’s in his nature to be anxious and suspicious. Michael didn’t know what Cecil was planning, but considering he knew how much Cecil participated in the city’s events,he assumed another blue dot would be added to his current collection. “What’s up?”

Cecil crosses the room in just a few strides and stands in front of Michael with his lips pursed in thought, rolling the container between his hands. Finally he sits it down, pulls one of the dots he had set aside and sticks it to Michael's forehead. He smiles to himself.

“Much better.” He muses, slowly applying the rest of the dots.

Michael doesn’t understand what’s happening at first, but Cecil just keeps putting dots on him. Red dots.

“um...Cecil? I don’t- I-I think you’re using the wrong color…” Michael softly says.

He’s never been given a red dot before, but that’s alright. He doesn’t deserve red dots. So either this was a seriously messed up prank, or Cecil mixed up the colors of the dots. Regardless of the reasoning for the mix up, Cecil was covering him in them, and he certainly didn’t deserve them. Red dots are for things and people who are lovable, and he doesn’t fall into that category.

Cecil looks at the dots in his hands and then back at Michael.

“These are red, aren't they? Or do I have temporary color blindness again? Oh I hope not. I never get a heads up on that. It just happens and it's rather annoying. Especially on Dot Days.” He rambles on, continuing to stick the dots to Michael's face and hoodie. “I gave all my blue dots to Steve.” He freezes. “Oh my god what if I accidentally gave him red dots? What if he tries to hug me again? That would be a disaster!”

Cecil blinks rapidly before going back to sticking the dots on Michael. He was starting to run out of room.  

Michael laughs a little at Cecil’s rambling, but he’s still confused- though at this point he’s not sure if it’s from the concussion or not.

“No, Cecil, they’re red dots, but that’s- I don’t get red dots. Ceec, those aren’t the right color for me. I-I mean we can probably find blue dots around here if you need more of them…” Michael takes a breath and looks unfocused and unsure at Cecil. “Is-is this a joke or-or a prank? Cecil, it’s not funny…”

Cecil stops sticking again.

“No, I used all the blue I needed.” He pauses. “Did someone trick you with red dots? Who was it? I will ruin their life and their credit score.” He is completely serious as he says this, sitting the container down, and looking at Michael more thoroughly. “What happened to your face? Your eyes are doing that thing that Carlos’ did when he fell-did you hit your head? Are you okay?!? Why didn't you tell me?!?” He fretted, taking Michael's face in his hands.

“I- yes but- no I- it’s not important…” Michael looks down at the dirty hoodie. “I- uh- I fell on the way here. It’s nothing really. No reason to fret or anything… besides I don’t need to cause you to miss another show because I can’t stay on my feet properly or long enough to run awa- long enough to get to a bench, so I don’t fall…” Michael feels bad, but technically he’s not lying. He did fall, and his ankle did cause it. If his ankle didn’t give out, the he wouldn’t’ve stopped at Big Rico’s and the kids wouldn’t’ve yanked him backwards and kicked the shit out of him.

“If you fell, why are you still standing? You could hurt yourself more!” Cecil ushers him towards a spare desk chair. “Sit. I don't want you to get more hurt than you already are.” He sticks one last dot on top of Michael's head. “Are you concussed? Do you need to go to the ER? I mean I know the ER is the last place you want to go and I could always call Carlos….we really need to employ a medical specialist here. I'll have to bring that up….”

“Cecil, I fall all the time. I’m like a newborn deer most of the time. And I’m just like a magnet for injuries, sitting or standing…” Michael sighs before poorly concealing a whimper of pain when he’s made to sit. “I don’t need to go to the ER! Please don’t make me go!” His eyes go wide in panic, and he feels even more sick. Groaning, he closes his eyes again. “I- uh- I might have a concussion...but it’s alright! It’s not a big deal...I need to help finish setting up for the show…” Michael tries to stand up again, but Cecil and the pain doesn’t allow it.

“Okay okay. The ER is out.” Cecil takes a step back and rubs his chin in thought. “Okay. Um, so I don't actually…...know how to treat a concussion. I have some painkillers but I don't know if that will make it worse or not.” He rocks back onto the balls of his feet. “Can I see if maybe Carlos knows? Or Rochelle? Or even Old Woman Josie? Her winged friends know a lot.” He looks at the clock. They were running out of time….

Michael smiles a little. “It’s not my first concussion, ya know.” He keeps his eyes closed as the lights begin to irritate him. “It depends on the painkiller, Ceec. If it’s got acetaminophen- er...um...if it’s like Tylenol, then it should be fine. But if it’s ibuprofen or aspirin, then it’ll make my blood thinner and can make the risk of bleeding higher.” He pauses while he tries to remember what the doctors said to him the last time he actually went, though it was a while ago. “Um...no general physical exertion, and m suppose to limit my activities that need thinking and concentration...but that’s like this entire job, so we’re gonna ignore that part.”

“I don't have aspirin because aspirin gives me weird dreams. Weirder than usual I mean. I have some Tylenol. It's cherry.” Leaning back against the desk, Cecil throws up his hands. “Ignoring that is the last thing we should do! Especially in a situation like this one. Last time I ignored a doctor, I had throat spiders for a month.” The radio host shudders. “So we’ll just be careful today. If it starts to hurt more, let me know and we can go from there?”

Having no energy to really protest, Michael just gently nods. “May I have a Tylenol, Ceec?” His head was pounding, but he didn’t have time to deal with it. The show needs to start soon. So he does what he does best, and pushes the pain away as to not be more of a burden. “Okay, Ceec.” He pauses again. “Still think you used the wrong dots…”

In response to that, Cecil sticks yet another red dot on Michael's arm before leaving to retrieve the bottle and a glass of water.

“Here you go. Don't go to fast.” He sits back once more to not over crowd.  

Michael simply nods and swallows the pill. He hates taking medication especially because of his Mother and Father, but Cecil never forces him which makes it a bit easier to handle. He does, however, greedily drink all of the water in the glass; he hadn’t had anything to drink since the other day at the station.

“I-um- thank you, Cecil.” He’d argue with the dots, but there’s really no point. Cecil doesn’t relent very easily when he’s stuck on doing something. So instead Michael just gives him a lopsided smile. “We need to get the show started. Don’t want you to be late or miss it like last time.”

Cecil makes a noise of agreement. “Time shifts are strange, aren't they?” He winks before circling the desk and sitting down. He puts his headphones around his neck and leans over the soundboard, checking the prerecorded messages. Be then puts the headphones in and flipped the switch.

“The sun is cold. The moon is cold. You are cold. You are an ice cube floating endlessly, trapped and melting but unable to escape. Unable to save yourself. Welcome to Night Vale.” He leans his chin on his folded hands as the intro music plays.

The show went smoothly, which Cecil is grateful for. News, traffic, sponsor(today's was Target). Even the weather was nice. A soft trumpet solo. That mean sunshine and nice breezes.

‘I will never understand that man.’ Michael muses to himself. He loves assisting in running the show- well maybe not the death certificate he’s practically signing by being here- but he can’t help but be grateful that it seems to have flown by. His headache has lessened since the start of the show, but it still exists. There’s not much need for him now that the show is done for the day; most of his work gets done before the show.

Michael stands slowly as to not further aggravate his beaten body. “Hey, Ceec, good show. Is there anything major that I need to run for tomorrow?” He questions as he tries to help straighten out the papers and notes Cecil had.

Cecil lays his headphones on the soundboard and pushes his chair back.

“Mm…..horoscopes and the bakery downtown is running a segment on how to fireproof your muffins. I think that's it for now.” He says, standing. “ How does your head feel?”

“Fantastic.” Michael pauses, even he knows that that’s a terrible lie. “It’s not as bad anymore, but I still have light and noise sensitivity. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

Before Cecil could answer, Carlos rounds be corner. He was also covered in red dots, most of which were in his hair.

“Hello Cecil. Michael. Did I miss anything?”

Cecil turns and his face breaks into a smile. “Not really. Did you have a good day?” He asks, crossing the room to give a quick kiss.

“Pretty slow day.” Carlos answers, looking around the room. His gaze falls on Michael. “I see he got you too.”

Michael shifts awkwardly where he stands leaning against the desk and gives a half smile to Carlos before shrugging. “I think he mixed up his dots. I told him I could search for some more blue ones for him, but I think he chose to ignore me.”

Carlos gives a hum, digging in his lab coat. “You're missing something, I must say.” He taps Michael's nose with his index finger before replacing his finger with a red dot. “Perfect!”

Wrinkling his nose a little, Michael tilts his head to the side. He has to close one eye in order to focus on the dot on the tip of his nose. ‘Another red one? But-’

“Why?” Michael signs, not trusting his voice.

Carlos chuckles softly before signing back. “Why do you think? It's because we love you, Pez Pequeño. Why else?”

“But I…” Michael stops signing and looks at Carlos confused. “Is-is this a joke? Carlos, I- I don’t deserve…” His feeble voice trails off before it can break.

Carlos stands up straight. “No joke. I promise you that. Jokes about this kind of thing are not okay.”

“I already said I'd ruin their life and their credit score.” Cecil speaks up from across the room.

Michael’s eyes dart around Carlos’s face trying to sense if he’s lying. He hasn’t lied to him before, but things are always changing and nothing is permanent. Another wave of dizziness washes over Michael as he closes his eyes. His legs begin to wobble, and he hugs Carlos to keep himself from collapsing.

“m sorry… world’s spinning again…” he slurs slightly and presses his head into Carlos’s chest to hide from the lights of the booth.

“Cecil turn the light off.” Carlos says, looking up at the taller man. “Please?”

Cecil sticks his pencil behind his ear before pushing his chair back and switching on the desk lamp. He picks up a paper weight, weighing it in his hand and throwing it across the room. It hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness, save for the lamp, before falling to the ground with a dull thud. Cecil gives a satisfied nod before returning to his work.

Michael groans a little at the paper weight hitting the switch and the floor. He keeps his head in Carlos's chest.

He mumbles. “Think ‘ve got a concussion.” Michael pauses before pulling his head back slightly and signing. “Can I stay with you?”

“You can't go home like this.” Carlos says, looking up again.

“That's why we're taking him to our place. So we can keep an eye on him.” Cecil replies, pushing a stack of papers aside. “I think out of all of us, you're best suited to take care of him Carlos.”

Michael nods weakly. He keeps himself up by holding Carlos with one arm while his other one reaches deep into his pocket. Carefully, Michael pulls out two red dots. He takes one and sticks it right above Carlos's heart without saying anything.

“Ceec?” Michael calls softly. “Can you come here? Please?”

"Of course." Cecil says, laying his pen down and making his way over, dropping onto the floor beside them. "Hi." His eyes searched in the low light.

Carlos brings his hand up to the dot and gives a smile of both surprise and fondness.

Michael smiles at Cecil. “Hi.” He takes the other red dot he has and presses it onto Cecil's throat. “I like your voice.”

He looks up at Carlos, his pupils matching his lopsided grin. “Can we go home? Your-your home? Please?”

Cecil's mouth hangs open for a moment as this happens. He touches fondly. He presses a kiss to the center of Michael's palm and nods.

“Let's go home.”

[cecilspeaks]

122 - A Story of Love and Horror, part 2: “Spire”

Do you hear that sweet melody? That sweet melody on the breeze? No one else hears that sweet melody, That sweet melody on the breeze.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Frances did her best to pretend that she had imagined what she had seen that night in the house of Nazr al-Mujaheed. When Barks Ennui, the cartoon spokesdog for the Sheriff’s Secret Police, had come out of the television and told her that she does not belong, and that they were both doomed. This obviously wasn’t an easy thing to forget, but people forget difficult things every day. We are all of us carrying around difficult things like cannon balls rolling, unstable in our heads, occasionally throwing us off balance when they shift too much to one side. But mostly, just slowing us down while we pretend nothing is wrong.

She and Nazr continued to see each other. He let people know at school, and the faculty and administration were happy for him. Everyone felt that he was always too consumed by high school football. Especially Principal Fryman, who grumbled to himself that the team didn’t even have a good record to show for all of that obsession.

Nazr took Frances to a faculty after school drinks meet-up, the first one he had ever gone to, because he always spent his evenings prepping for that week’s practice, studying game film, drawing up defensive schemes, and slithering around his living room on his belly while hissing like a snake.

Frances, in turn, took him to her monthly book club meet-up. This month’s book had been Irvine Welsh’s “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child”, the controversial follow-up to his classic novel “Trainspotting”. Everyone agreed that it wasn’t nearly as good as the original, since it only shared a couple of the main characters. They also agreed that Frances’ relationship was having a real effect on her. “You hardly seem like the same person,” said Jeremy, who had liked Frances before and was jealous that she might change and grow as a person, outside of his influence. Jeremy was, all in all, being a real shit.

Everyone else agreed that she seemed to be happier and more open to the world than before she had started dating. Frances quietly wondered if changing so quickly, just because you were eating meals with and sometimes sleeping with someone, was a good or bad or neutral thing. She thought that change was hardly ever neutral.

Through all of this, she pretended that Barks Ennui, the cartoon dog, did not appear to her most evenings in her home. But he did. He would crawl out of her television, even if she was watching a channel his commercials didn’t play on, or even if the television was off. The proportions of his body, lovably clumsy interview wo dimensions, seemed a horrifying mistake of nature in three dimensions. And his features were warped and blurred, as though seen through static.

“You don’t belong together,” Barks Ennui said in a goofy cartoon voice that occasionally veered dizzyingly into other pitches. Sometimes a child’s giggle, or a bassy growl for a few seconds before sliding back to the middle. She would hide under her covers, and she would hear from within the hot dark of her blanket, his familiar cartoon voice say: “There is a price that must be payed!” And she would scream and scream and then realize she was alone. And then she would choose to pretend that none of this had happened.

Nazr did not see Barks Ennui. But he was not without his own troubles. He would find, some evenings, that when he looked in the mirror, there were two of him. One of him sitting behind the other. He would stand and the second reflection would stand too. It would follow all of his movements from behind is primary reflection. This went on for days. Then one night, he looked in the mirror and there was only one of him. He sighed, feeling some relief to the tension that had been with him so long as to become his new normal. And that is when, in the mirror, his second reflection into the room, followed by Frances Donaldson.

Nazr whirled. The room he was in was empty. He looked back in the mirror. There was his own face, terrified, and behind that on the bed, there was himself again with Frances. The two of them were kissing passionately. He watched himself kiss, and then his reflection and the Frances in the mirror stopped watching and looked up at him with startled faces. They stayed frozen that way, and he stayed frozen too. After several moments, the mirror couple smiled. Their smiles got wider and wider, and then they were both dead, blood covered and sprawling at irregular angles. And then – they were alive again and smiling at him.

He shouted and stumbled back form the mirror. From them on, he too to covering his mirrors, and that worked for a few days. But then one day, he came home to find himself in his bedroom, already sitting in front of the covered bedroom mirror. The him that was in his bedroom looked up at him who had just entered, with wide eyes and a yawning mouth and Nazr, who believed himself to be the real Nazr, turned and walked out of his house. He checked into a motel and decided to stay there for a while.

Finally the strain broke on Nazr and Frances. At Applebee’s over lunch, she started crying, and he was so surprised that he started crying. And they were crying at each other and didn’t know why the other was crying. And she said, “This is going to sound crazy”, and he said, “You’re not going to believe me.” And then they told each other, and it didn’t sound crazy, and she believed him.

“What does it mean?” she said. “Why are we being punished just because we’re finally seeing someone?” “That’s a good question,” said Barks Ennui. He was sitting in the booth next to them. They both yelled in surprise, and the other people in the restaurant looked over with a mix of confusion and annoyance. None of them could see Barks, and so they assumed the couple must have accidentally ordered the electrolysis nachos appetizer.

“Who are you?” asked Nazr. “Me?” said Barks, his animation dog face stretching and compressing in mesmerizingly horrifying ways. “I’m a construct!” he said, “in order to allow communication”. “Communication with who?” said Frances. “I represent the Brown Stone Spire,” said Barks. The Brown Stone Spire was a strange monument at the edge of town. It offered great gifts in exchange for even greater sacrifices. It was extremely dangerous, and neither of them had ever heard of it trying to communicate with anyone. Barks continued: “Everything’s gone strange since you started dating. You know what I’m talking about?” “Maybe,” Nazr said, thinking of the mirrors in his home. “Maybe?” repeated Barks mildly. “Maybe it will get even stranger. Maybe your conditions will continue to deteriorate.” “What do you mean deteriorate?” she said. “We’re two people dating, what’s wrong with that?” “This town is a point where many universes meet,” said Barks. He was on the other side of the table, next to Frances now. “Recently those universes collapse into each other. When the mess was finally sorted out, not everyone ended up in the right universe.” “It’s me,” said Nazr, “That explains it. The other me in my house, plus my tongue is like two feet long and that doesn’t seem right. I don’t belong in this universe.” “No,” said Barks. “It’s Frances. She doesn’t belong here. Frances, you switched places during the collapse with the Frances of this world, and you are coming into contact with a person from a different universe, which has an exceptionally detrimental effect on reality. I believe,” he said to Nazr, “you were saying something about reflections in your house?”

And now, a look at traffic.

The cosmology of the universe is thus. First, there is the sphere. The indications of the sphere are warmth and bristle. The colors of the sphere are blue and yellow. Then, there is the cube. The indications of the cube are touch and lift. The colors of the cube are red and white. Then, there is the expansive plane. The indications of the expansive plane are speed and shadow. The colors of the expansive plane are myriad. And finally, there is the outward fade. The indications of the outward fade are a ringing bell and a rush of water. The colors of the outward fade are none. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Mute children perched atop strange formations on desert plateaus. Our eyes gaze toward a horizon that will never change. There is no movement here, no sun, but there is light. No darkness, but there is night. We do not need to eat, but we are hungry. We have no way to drink, but we are thirsty. We have nothing to sell you. Remember us. This has been a word from our sponsors.

Frances couldn’t believe it. or she could, but she resolutely chose not to. Nazr thought again and again of the other him and the other her, lying dead on his bed and then smiling. And then dead again. It was true that something was horribly wrong. Perhaps they didn’t belong together. Perhaps they didn’t belong together so much that the universe itself was collapsing around the relationship.

It wasn’t fair. Didn’t both of them deserve happiness?

Cecil here. I’ll go ahead and answer that. They did! But what a person receives and what they deserve is only ever tangentially and coincidentally related.

They decided they should go to the Brown Stone Spire. It had offered to help them. They should at least hear out what it was asking for in return.

Nazr drove them. Cars stop working within a few hundred feet of the spire, as the spire prefers humans to approach on foot. Actually, it prefers humans to approach on their bellies, but it takes humble walking as a compromise. The closest parking lot is the Radio Shack, but of course that one is always full of customers, and so they parked at the Wendy’s and walked.

Her foot started bothering her, but she didn’t know if it was actually bothering her or if she was just afraid of what the Brown Stone Spire would say.

The Brown Stone Spire hummed. They fell to their knees before it. “Help us!” said Nazr. “We just want to be together,” Frances said. “I don’t know if we belong together, but we make each other happy. Isn’t that something worthwhile? Don’t we get at least that?” The Brown Stone Spire heard. It hummed. It already knew the problem and it already knew the solution. And it already knew the price. It told these humans all three by implanting the thoughts directly in their brains.

Frances threw up. Nazr wept. There was a solution, but the price was unthinkable. It was impossible, it was inhuman. Of course, the Spire isn’t human nor possible nor even thinkable.

They walked back to the car in silence. And now, The weather.

[“Fire Drills” by Dessa]

That evening, they sat in Frances Donaldson’s living room and thought about what to do. “Impossible,” she said. “Unthinkable,” he said. “Then we agree?” she said. “Of course we agree,” he said. “What else is there?” he said. “We’re not monsters,” he said. “Right,” she said. “I want to show you something,” said Barks Ennui. He was on the TV screen so close that whatever backdrop was invisible, just his exaggerated snout and his wild eyes. “Come here!” Both of them knew for certain they would refuse, and both stepped forward obediently. “In here!” said Barks. “Into the TV!” Frances put her hand on the screen and felt nothing. It was a hollow frame. She put her hand through the frame. Her hand felt like her hand, no different than it had a moment before. She leaned down and put her torso in, and she felt a pull, like gravity. And she fell downwards through the TV screen.

She was in her living room again. It looked very much like her living room, although a few details were different. The framed poster from the International Musée (du Chats) [0:19:33] in Paris was now from the Museo Internacional (de los Gatos) in Mexico City. The taxidermy deer foot penholder on the mantle was now a taxidermy boar’s foot penholder.

Nazr tumbled in next to her. “Oh, cool penholder,” he said. Frances took his hand and helped him up. They looked around, and then out the front window. Frances was outside working in a garden. A different Frances, in the garden being watched by the first Frances in the living room. “The Frances from your universe, Nazr,” said Barks. His three-dimensional form was enormous this time, taking up the living room from floor to ceiling, although he displaced nothing in it, and Frances and Nazr had plenty of room to stand. “She ended up in this universe and the Frances from this universe, that’s you Frances, ended up in hers, a silly mix-up. But these things do need to be set right, or else both of you will slip further and further into the gap between universes, until neither of you exist anymore!”

Frances couldn’t take her eyes off herself in the garden. “Try to stay together,” said Barks, “and you both will cease to exist!” The Frances in the garden waved to Jackie Fierro, who was biking past. A car drove by. In it was Dana Cardinal and her brother. They waved, too. “Enough!” said Barks, grabbing them and pulling them upward. They were all back in the couch in Frances’ living room, or the living room she had thought was hers. There was only one Frances here. “You know the price,” said Barks. He crawled backwards into the TV, staring intently with his droopy animated eyes. “There are only two ways forward. The first is that this Frances returns to her correct universe, and you two never see each other again. The other would allow the two of you to live as long and as happy as anyone can together. It would be simple, but in order for that to happen, the Spire will destroy the other universe and every person who lives within it. That Frances and every other person in that world will cease to exist, but then you would be able to flourish in this universe.”

He was fully back onto the screen, a two-dimensional cartoon dog in a none yellow cartoon backdrop. But his eyes were still huge, like they were inches away. “You don’t have long to decide!” He gave a silly laugh, the kind he did at the end of his appearance on children’s shows. The laugh that made children laugh back at how silly it was. But this silly laugh did not end. For several minutes, Nazr and Frances stared at him, and he looked back, laughing.

Stay tuned next for decision to be made.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: I’m going to give you a piece of my mind. It’s in this clay jar. Please keep it in a cool, dark place and away from cats.

[queen-scribbles]

The Company of Shadows

@pillarspromptsweekly #18, Infiltration. This is sort of AU, where Tavi says Fuck It to ruling Caed Nua, leaves someone else in charge, and goes to help Aloth with dismantling the Leaden Key.

“I’m coming with you.”

The words were expected, as was the determination with which they were uttered. “Tavi, no.”

“Aloth, yes.” Tavi plunked down next to him, spinning the point of her whittling knife against the table. “It’s important, an’ I don’t like the idea of you goin’ alone. And I don’t mean it like that,” she hurried on, raising a hand to cut off the protest he was about to make. “It’s not a slight against any of your skills, I just think for as ambitious a goal as dismantlin’ the entire fuckin’ Leaden Key, you should have at least one person’s worth of backup.”

Aloth smiled knowingly, tracing graffiti carved into the tabletop with one finger. “And you think it should be you?”

“Gods, yes,” she said vehemently. “We work well together, you know I’m good in a fight, if it comes to that, and I can read souls. I figure that’ll come in handy for something like this.”

Aloth bit his lip. “All of that is true,” he allowed. “But subtlety has never been one of your strengths, Tavi. And that will be a rather important skill for this... venture. As will the ability to bite your tongue.”

Tavi was quiet for a moment, staring at the divot her knife was making in the table’s surface. “For somethin’ this important t’ you, I could work on both of ‘em.”

“You know better than anyone the Leaden Key is not a forgiving opponent,” he felt obligated to point out. “Your first slip up would likely also be your last.”

“Well, good thing I’m a fast learner,” she shrugged, twisting the knife again.

“What about Caed Nua?” 

“Steward’s run the place for decades, she can handle a while longer,” Tavi countered. “And Keya can be my representative or whatever . I fuckin’ pay her enough t’ do that, and she has a better temperament for mediating conflict and shit than I do, anyway.”

Aloth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “No, dear. You’re not.”

<<>>

They left three days later, with a mostly thought-out plan and complete confidence everything would be fine while they were gone. Keya had accepted the ‘diplomatic representative’ role with alacrity and Tavi trusted her.

“Next stop, Defiance Bay,” she grinned, as Caed Nua faded into the distance behind them.

“I’m still not sure this is the best idea, Tavi,” Aloth sighed, adjusted the straps of his pack. “You’re rather well-known in the city, especially since the Dozens assumed leadership, and that’s detrimental to keeping a low profile.”

“It’s also the location of the only Leaden Key cell we know about,” Tavi countered. She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you know somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me, city slicker.”

He shook his head. “No. I said no more secrets, and I meant it.”

“So we go back in through the catacombs--disguised of course--an’ if the Acolyte and her cell are still there we try to delicately question some people. If they aren’t, we see if they left anything helpful behind. Both are long shots, sure, but it’s all we fuckin’ got.”

“Better than nothing, at least,” Aloth agreed. “Anything that helps is good.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tavi grinned, reaching for his hand as they walked.

<<>>

The catacombs under Woedica’s temple were empty, the former Leaden Key enclave deserted. Tavi had been expecting that, if she was honest. The unrest in the city had citizenry on edge, which would work against a group trying to go unnoticed. Also, it had been long enough since she killed Thaos that a strategic withdrawal made sense. It was easier this way, anyhow. 

She and Aloth spent the next couple hours combing the enclave for anything useful, but came up empty until Tavi found a half-rotted corpse in the Acolyte’s former chambers. Enough of the soul’s essence clung to the body that she could get a fairly decent connection, and there was just enough in the lingering consciousness to the point them where they needed to go. Much as she disliked the idea of traveling all the way to fucking Mercy Vale, Tavi couldn’t deny it made sense as a location for the Leaden Key. So after one more night’s rest at the Charred Barrel, they were on their way.

<<>>

Mercy Vale was further along in its recovery from the Saint’s War than either of them expected. There were still signs, of course; the wooden skeletons of buildings not yet completed, a smaller populace than expected for a town  this size.

“Alright, who are we looking for?” Aloth asked, pulling the hood of his cloak higher in a gesture that reminded Tavi rather sharply of their first meeting, in another, far distant, village.

I hope this one has fewer belligerent drunks, she thought idly as she called up the mental image provided by the poor soul in the catacombs. “Um... don’t have a name, that would be too easy. Dwarven man, brown hair, clean shaven, eye patch.”

“Well, that’s distinctive,” Aloth said dryly. “If you don’t have the name, do you at least have an idea where to find him?”

Tavi snorted. “Where do you always find people? The tavern.”

“Oh, of course. Silly me to expect any deviation from the norm.” He reached out and grabbed her arm as she began striding down the main street. “You remember our plan?”

“‘Course I do, city slicker.” Tavi patted his hand reassuringly, then shook it off. “Let’s go. An’ stop worryin’. If this group’s run by a cipher, they can probably pick up on that.”

“Right,” Aloth nodded. They made the rest of the walk to the tavern side by side in silence. A quick scan of the room when they arrived didn’t reveal the contact they sought, so Tavi asked the bartender.

“Aye, that’s Kendel,” the woman nodded. “Back in the corner, love. But he’s real picky ‘bout his comp’ny.”

“Warnin’ noted, but I’m sure I’ll convince him,” Tavi replied with a smile. She heard the bartender snort as she walked away, and briefly worried how much attention it would draw if they could convince Kendel to talk to them. “There he is,” she told Aloth, pointing toward the table the innkeeper had indicated.

The dwarf in question looked up as they approached, his remaining eye glittering dangerously. “What d’you want?”

“To talk to you,” Tavi replied, maintaining eye contact until he grunted and looked away.

“Well, then, state your name and purpose,” he said, tone surly, almost mocking.

The elves exchanged a look and then Aloth cleared his throat. “My name belongs to the gods and my hand to their service.”

Suddenly Kendel looked very interested indeed. He pushed aside his mug, the ale sloshing slightly. “And what company do you seek?”

Tavi had to bite her tongue to keep from answering with Aloth. “I seek the company of shadows, that our work may remain secret.”

The pattern repeated with the other two passphrases; Kendel asked, Aloh answered, and Tavi bit her tongue to keep quiet and play the new recruit even as her conversation with the Acolyte rattled around in her head.

Once Kendel was satisfied, he gestured at Tavi. “So what about her? Why’d she clam up?”

“She wants to join,” Aloth explained with a shrug.

“Even with what just happened in the Dyrwood?” Kendel probed. Seeing their blank looks, he leaned forward and explained, “Some elf bitch fucked up the Grandmaster’s plans. Some say she killed him, but I ain’t sure I believe that part.”

Believe it, asshole. “Even if that’s true, surely the gods still have need of you.”

“Right you are,” Kendel said with a nod. “As far as you joinin’ goes, I”ll hafta talk to our Acolyte; see if we’re even interested in bringin’ in new blood.”

“Of course,” Aloth said smoothly, squeezing Tavi’s hand under the table before she could protest at the delay. “Should we meet you here?”

“Nah.” Kendel jerked a thumb toward the door. “Take a room at the inn across the street. We’ll be in touch.”

<<>>

They took long enough to make good on that promise, Tavi was beginning to wonder if he cell had decided against recruiting now, or figured they were a threat. But finally, after two days of twiddling their thumbs and getting progressively more nervous, a messenger arrived with a short note. So short, in fact, it only contained a location and a time.

“Well, that’s promising,” Aloth murmured, toying with the scrap of parchment. “If they were suspicious, they would simply vanish like smoke on a breeze and we’d never find them.”

“So, what, we go to this meeting and they test me to see if I’m worth their time?” Tavi asked, running her fingernail up and down the length of a scratch on the table.

“Essentially,” Aloth nodded. “Mostly seeing if you have any useful skills or knowledge and how well you can keep a secret.” He looked briefly troubled.  “They won’t hold back, and I won’t be able to help you.”

“Got it.” She smiled at the lingering worry in his eyes. “I’m a big girl, city slicker. I can take care of myself, and withstand quite a lot.”

“I know. In most cases it’s just some questions anyway, so remember our story and everything will be fine.”

“Right.” Tavi cracked her knuckles. “Fine.”

It was. The Acolyte for this cell was male, tall enough Tavi briefly wondered if he was aumaua before catching a glimpse of dusky tan skin between his hooded masked and robe. He asked her some rudimentary questions, but she could feel him probing at her mind the whole time. She put up a wall of emotion to match her story--curious, seeking to best serve the gods--and prayed that it was enough.

The Acolyte didn’t seem thrown by what he found, and welcomed her as a sister and initiate of the Leaden Key. “Your first task is a simple one: attend the town meeting tomorrow, and report to me on the people’s attitudes.”

“Yes, Acolyte,” Tavi said blandly. “You want me to go alone or...?”

“Take him,” the Acolyte gestured almost dismissively at Aloth. “You two already seem to have something of a rapport, and a couple will draw less suspicion than a lone stranger.”

They both nodded and took their leave. Neither spoke as they climbed the stairs out of the basement, or made their way through the house.

“Well, that went well,” Aloth finally said as they walked down the street.

“What’s the point of havin’ us go listen to people talk?” Tavi kicked a pebble and watched it skitter.

“It’s an easy thing to give a new member,” Aloth explained. “As a test of ability and intent. I did the same thing many times when I first joined. And this sort of thing allows them to gauge if popular opinion is going the way they want it to.” 

“Alright, I guess that does make sense,” she admitted grudgingly. “Whaddya think they want public opinion to be?”

“Since I know them so much better than you?” Aloth said dryly. He smiled when Tavi rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder against his. “Knowing the Leaden Key, almost definitely something negative regarding animancy. As to what angle they’re using, I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve no idea how much of an issue animancy could possibly be in a village this size, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”

<<>>

And find out they did. Not at the town meeting, or even the Leaden Key debriefing afterward, though a local thayn was a popular topic at both. It wasn’t until a few days later, when the Acolyte directed Tavi to slip into Thayn Yngmar’s house and switch some papers, that they realized he was housing and funding an animancer.

“The woman acts his wife in public,” the Acolyte explained disdainfully, “but in fact their relationship is of a different nature. Simply find this Esmy’s workshop and replace her research notes with these. Her work will remain fruitless for a good while.”

“Is anyone gonna get hurt?” the question escaped before Tavi could stop it, but fortunately fit her crafted persona well enough to not raise eyebrows.

“No one who wasn’t going to already,” was the cryptic--and not at all reassuring--reply.

But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. To get in good enough to truly dismantle this cell, she had to complete her task. Alone. Well, almost. The Leaden Key had someone in the household who could help a little, but she was going without Aloth, which she didn’t like. She hated the secrecy of this gods-damned organization. The Acolyte had simply said Aloth was ‘needed elsewhere’ and gotten huffy when she pushed for details, so she dropped it.

Now, as she followed a blond elven servant through the house, part of her was wishing she’d pushed just a little harder. She had a bad feeling twisting in her gut that something for one of them was going to go wrong. If she was right, she wanted to at least know where to stage a rescue. Hopefully she was just being paranoid, but she hadn’t survived this long by banking on hopefully. The secrecy was driving her insane.

“Here we are,” the servant said, tone reminding her far too much of her brother, as he gestured at a door. “The thayn and his animancer are out playing the happy couple for dinner with the mayor. So you don’t have to rush, but I wouldn’t dawdle either.”

“Well, with that in mind, you have any hints where she keeps her notes so I don’t have to search the whole fuckin’ room?” Tavi asked, looking the door up and down to check for enchantments.

“No.” He shook his head. “Mistress Esmy is very secretive. You’re on your own, I’m afraid.”

“Lovely.” She sighed and pushed open the door. “Does she keep a back up copy of her notes anywhere that I’ll need to find?”

He shook his head. “Too paranoid they’ll fall into the wrong hands.”

“Ironic. Alright, then.” She watched him walk away and tried not to dwell on the question she hadn’t asked. Why couldn’t you do this? She was pretty sure the answer involved her being far more expendable if she go caught.

Fortunately, she didn’t get a chance to test that theory. The switch went off without any issue, and was creeping out the shadowed back even as the thayn and his ‘wife’ returned through the front. In keeping with her instructions, she didn’t return to the Acolyte, but instead went “home” to the rented room at the inn. She pulled the curtains closed and locked the door before pulling a messy bundle of papers from under her cloak and spreading them across the table. All but two were Esmy’s original notes. Notes Tavi had been instructed to burn. The other two were from the altered replacement notes. She’d figured replacing the majority would still have the same effect, and now she had some proof of the Leaden Key’s dealings in Mercy Vale.

Aloth smiled tiredly when she showed him upon his return several hours later (enough she was starting to worry). “Is that your plan, then? Dismantle this cell by publicizing their sabotage?”

Tavi shrugged. “Why not?”

“Oh it’s a good plan,” he clarified, clearly fighting a yawn as he discarded his cloak and sat on the bed to pull off his boots. “It’s just... lighter on fighting than I would expect from you.”

“Yeah, I know.” She wrinkled her nose in pretended displeasure. “But most of the kith we’ve met in the cell don’t seem like bad people. I don’t wanna kill ‘em unless we fuckin’ have to.”

“And you don’t have an qualms about furthering their goals?”  he probed.

“Aloth...” Tavi sighed. “You know I’m not as settled on the animancy thing as you are. But even if I was a hundred percent in support of it, the way it’s bein’ handled here--in secret, with no oversight--is bad. I may not like that it won’t be fairly represented thanks to the Leaden Key’s meddlin’, but that doesn’t mean I fully fucking support it, either.” She ran one hand through her hair and focused on straightening the pile of papers. “‘Sides, I expect when we expose the Key’s activities here, we’ll also expose Thayn Yngvar an’ his animancer, so it’s worth waitin’.”

There was no reply or commentary from behind her, so she turned to see if Aloth had gotten lost in thought or something and couldn’t help but grin. He’d fallen asleep. Just leaned over until he was sort of laying on the pillows and gone out like a candle in a gale.

Tavi shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear as she crossed the room. What did they have you do that wore you out so bad? She tucked her hand under his knees and shifted his legs up on the bed, which earned her sleepy mumbling but not much else. “Gods, I don’t remember the last time you were out this hard,” she whispered, tugging the blanket free from her side of the bed to wrap around him before she went back to the papers. She needed to find somewhere to hide them, and hopefully any others they found. This venture, keeping company with the very shadows they sought to undermine, was going to be risky.

<<>>

It took several harrowing weeks, four close calls, and at least two lost opportunities, but Tavi and Aloth did manage to scrape together a good sized collection of fairly damning evidence, amassed little by little on various endeavors. Thayn Yngmar had only been one person of interest to the Leaden Key. Mercy Vale’s archivist was a former animancer who still held favorable views toward the practice. Leaden Key agents had done much to subtly undermine the man, and Tavi had very nearly gotten herself caught collecting proof. That night had been the first one in a long time Aloth insisted on sleeping with one arm wrapped around her. Now, as they surveyed the collection of papers they’d built, Tavi could only think of one thing they were missing.

“We need somethin’ to prove who the Acolyte is,” she said as they bundled the evidence back up. “That’s the only way I can think of to be sure this cell stays wrecked once we’re done with it.”

“Tavi, you know how dangerous that is,” Aloth protested, straightening a stack of papers before folding them over and binding them with string. “We have plenty here to dismantle the cell; I don’t see why-”

“B’cause if we don’t expose him, he’ll just go to ground ‘til things are calm and start again,” Tavi shot back, raking hair out of her face impatiently. “If we’re gonna take down this cell, I wanna fuckin’ do it right.”

“I see your point,” Aloth conceded reluctantly, packing away the bundled evidence. “I just... you do realize what that will entail, yes?”

“Yeah,” Tavi nodded. “Infiltrating and searching his chamber in that basement without getting caught.”

“And we still need a lead of some kind to the next cell,” Aloth reminded her. “We haven’t found anything solid yet.”

“I know.” She sat next to him and squeezed his hand. “If there’s anything to find we’ll find it. The house is empty; we can sneak in whenever we want.”

“And if he’s there?”

“We sneak right back out an’ try some other time. There’s no evidence that he or anyone lives there. It won’t be that hard.”

“Famous last words.” Aloth smiled gamely. “Even if it would be, what choice do we have?”

“Exactly.” Tavi leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, trying not to dwell on the dangers inherent to their plan.

<<>>

Much to her relief, there were no guards posted, and no enchantments or traps that either of them could detect when Tavi and Aloth snuck into the empty house. She wasn’t sure if that was arrogance--thinking no one would look for them--or trying to make the house seem worthless, but it didn’t really matter. Still, they were cautious. Despite her growing impatience, Tavi made herself creep down the stairs only slightly faster than a snail, listening carefully for any sign someone was down there.

Given that it remain silent as a grave(bad analogy, Tavi) the whole way down, they relaxed slightly once they reached the floor. Still quiet, but with slightly more speed, they made their way to the room the Acolyte used. Tavi let Aloth take the first peek down the short corridor, and then did the honors of trying the door herself.

It was locked, of course. So she took the simplest route and broke the lock.

“What are you doing?!” Aloth hissed.

“Getting in the room,” Tavi whispered back fiercely. “Neither of us knows how to pick a lock, and this is our only shot anyway, so I don’t particularly care if someone knows we were here.”

He looked less than thrilled, but didn’t argue. Instead he nudged the door open. Both let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding when it was clear no one was in the room.

“Okay,” Tavi murmured, scanning the organized bookshelves and near-immaculate desk. “You search the bookshelves, I’ll take the desk, and we’ll both have to keep an eye on the door.”

Aloth nodded and both of them went to work. After a few minutes, he commented in an undertone, “Are we certain the Acolyte’s not a wizard?”

“Considering his multiple attempts to read my mind, yeah, I’m pretty damn sure he’s a cipher,” Tavi muttered, poking through a drawer. “Why?”

“There’s quite a collection of grimoires here for someone who’s not using them,” he replied.

She frowned, looking up from the desk. “Could he be both?”

Aloth bit his lip and pulled one off the shelf to page through. “That would be... unpleasant. But not unheard of. In theory, anyone could learn to be a wizard. And a cipher’s ability to focus would make it far easier for them. I don’t relish the thought of facing someone with both skills.”

“Was that your subtle way of telling me we should hurry?” Tavi said with a smile, closing another unhelpful drawer.

“It’s my subtle way of telling you perhaps we should just find a lead to another cell, turn what we have over to the authorities, and leave. Without unmasking him. I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

After a few moments of thought, still furiously rifling through drawers, Tavi reluctantly nodded. “You’re right. As usual. Which isn’t fucking fair- Aha!” she crowed, pulling a small, folded slip of parchment from the back recesses of the drawer. “’Our brothers and sisters in Deadfire could use some help. Can the family spare aid?’ Here we go, this is promising.”

“I’m so glad you found what you were looking for.” The Acolyte’s voice rang in her head, but Tavi couldn’t see him.

She tensed, leaning over the desk, evaluating each item visible as a weapon and dismissing them all.  Behind her, Aloth had frozen as well, still paging through a grimoire.

‘You heard him, too?’ she mouthed, and he nodded. “Awful nice of you to be happy for me,” she said out loud, still trying to locate him.

“No trouble at all,” the Acolyte said smoothly, stepping out of the shadows at the far end of the short corridor and stepping closer. “In finding what you sought, you confirmed a suspicion of mine. So we both profited from your little venture.”

“Always glad to help out,” Tavi said glibly, mind racing. She was weaponless, and even if she had her sabres he was too far away--

A searing bloom of pain lanced through her mind, cutting off her thoughts as she dropped to her knees. She was dimly aware of banging her chin against the desk, Aloth’s cry of alarm, but they were a distant second to the agony speared through her skull.

Fucking ciphers, she groused internally, even if she couldn’t push the words past her lips. As she attempted to gather herself and regain her feet, another wave of pain pulsed through her head. Gods damn him!

Even as she struggled to push through the pain, Tavi could hear Aloth chanting something, and looked up just in time to see a crackling bolt of electricity fly from his outstretched hand. It hit the Acolyte’s chest with enough power to burn through him before rebounding off the wall and down the corridor. It slammed into a pile of dry-rotted crates, splintering them and setting the pieces ablaze.

“Nice choice. Guess he didn’t know you were a wizard,” Tavi managed as Aloth helped her to her feet. “Or he’d’ve made you put the grimoire down straight away.”

“That’s the spell I had it open to, and I worked very hard to keep that knowledge secret,” Aloth said, dropping the borrowed grimoire on the desk so he could tip up her chin. “You’re bleeding.”

“An’ the fuckin’ house is gettin’ ready to burn down,” Tavi retorted, running her tongue over her split lip. “Priorities, city slicker. Let’s get outta here an’ then we can worry about me.”

“Right.” Aloth nodded, his hand curling around hers as they hurried toward the stairs. Tavi gave in to the urge to spit on the Acolyte’s body as they passed, and Hylea’s tits did it feel good.

Old and dry as it was, the house kindled quickly, and the floor of the main level was already smoking when they emerged from the basement. Hand in hand, Tavi and Aloth hastily exited the building, warned the first locals they passed, and then hurried back to their room at the inn.

“Well,” Tavi said as she cleaned her lip, “guess we don’t hafta worry about unmaskin’ the Acolyte anymore....”

Aloth gave a sharp laugh. “That’s one way of lookin’ at the bright side, I suppose. We also burned down a house.”

“No one but us knows who did that,” Tavi protested. “An’ I’m pretty sure they caught it b’fore it burned all the way down. I know it wasn’t subtle, but it’s not like we did it on purpose, and it doesn’t tie to us, so the Leaden Key shouldn’t get suspicious...”

“Suspicion is in their nature,” he countered cynically. “But I do appreciate the we.”

Tavi shrugged. “We’re in this together, an’ you were protectin’ me. Figure we can share the blame.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get this shit dropped off with someone in authority and get the fuck out of here.”

Aloth grinned. “Feeling antsy already?”

Tavi shrugged. “It’s a long way to the Deadfire Archipelago. I’d rather get movin’ sooner opposed to later.”

He slid one hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. “They’ll still be there in a few weeks, Tavi. Better to do things right than fast.”

She smirked and rested her forehead against his. “You do realize how many different ways I can make that dirty, right, Corfiser?” 

“Yes, and I’m fervently hoping you won’t take any of them,” Aloth replied, taking a step back. “Even if we’re not in a hurry, we still have work to do.”

“That we do,” Tavi nodded, eyeing the pile of evidence on the table and praying silently the next time would go more smoothly. “Deadfire, here we come.”

[davetheshady]

It Devours! liveblog 5

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Chapters 31-34!

It turns out this is pretty much the best possible outcome to confronting people in a sketchy white van:

Darryl told Stephanie and Jamillah about Nils’ suspicions before they crashed the service, and they agreed to find out what was going on and stop it if necessary.

They’ve stolen Pastor Munn’s creepy centipede-skin Smiling God for Dummies, in the hopes of finding some way to stop her. 

I really enjoy the recurring thematic resonance of deductive reasoning, teamwork, and drills.

Nils loops in Mark and Luisa so this can be a proper team-up between Team JoyCon and Team Science and there is an immediate fight about science vs. religion, except there are so many strawman arguments you might as well add a hayride and a corn maze and turn it into a Halloween attraction, fun for the whole family.

idk what happened forty years ago, but that does put it well before 1983. 

So Kevin is already brainwashed by the time he runs into the Smiling God, I guess?

Anyway, Stephanie points out the repeating geometric triangle pattern in the book, and Nils realizes it corresponds to the patterns in the video Helo (<3 <3 <3) sent her. Mapping the two together, they realize Munn and Gordo(n) will be summoning the Smiling God at the epicenter: Larry Leroy’s under the edge of town.

Team ScienceJoy heads out to investigate, and Nils calls Carlos. He’s not sure that summoning the Smiling God is even possible because it’s religion, not science.

::squints:: so... liturgical dance is the most real? Martha Graham is god? I don’t follow.

Anyways, this is kinda a weird position for someone who’s hopped between dimensions in a house that doesn’t exist and through randomly appearing old oak doors and who once stopped the light from the coils of the universe unwinding with a random masked army and a science umbrella and then got trapped on the wrong side because the universe decided he didn’t belong in Night Vale?? “Weirdos perform a pattern of words and gestures and a big centipede appears” is, like, small change compared to that. Doesn’t it become science as soon as you start studying it?

In any case, Carlos is heading to the lab to do what he can and leaves Nils to deal with JoyCon. Unfortunately, Team ScienceJoy is blanking on ways to stop Munn and Gordo(n) and/or the Smiling God, because they’ll have memorized the ritual already and/or are a giant, unstoppable centipede.

Walk without rhythm?

Darryl offers to risk being excommunicated and separated from his friends and family if he can just convince Munn and Gordo(n) that puny mortals have no right to dictate the movements of the Smiling God. Aww. 

However, Nils has a better(?) idea:

I somehow get the feeling Nils would also advise splitting up in a haunted house.

However, no one has any better ideas, so they prepare for the ritual.

SHE SPILLED THAT ON HER DESK

1) lol

2) EW

3) EW

4) EW

5) EW

Pesticide primed, flashbang (or bangflash) machine at the ready, potatoes disappointed, gross fox skins decaying on their heads, hot milk and teeth tray all set out, and fake smiles plastered on their faces, they begin the ritual.

And nothing happens.

However, Nils gets so frustrated she tries to neaten the distribution of the teeth in the hot milk tray and spills it all over the desert, which may summon the giant centipede but which is still WAY LESS GROSS than spilling bacteria all over her desk.

Hey, look, research! According to wikipedia, centipedes like cool damp places, and also:

Even nonvenomous centipedes are considered frightening by humans due to their dozens of legs moving at the same time and their tendency to dart swiftly out of the darkness towards one's feet.[23] A 19th-century Tibetan poet warned his fellow Buddhists, "if you enjoy frightening others, you will be reborn as a centipede."[24]

Faced with the reality of a giant hecking centipede, no one’s really sure what to do, but Stephanie continues the ritual while Nils readies her pesticide.

WALK WITHOUT RHYTHM!!

As the centipede closes in on Stephanie, Mark tries to distract it with his flashbang machine, but it only bangs, then flashes! Useless!

But just as it’s about to attack Mark and Jamillah, Luisa distracts it by throwing her potatoes!

this is the best team-up ever and i hope this is also the plot of infinity war.

Darryl realizes that Nils wants to kill the Smiling God with her science and balks. But when she points out that the only choice is between killing it or watching people die, he agrees with her and does it himself.

He’s almost eaten by the Smiling God, but Nils saves him! They hear the pesticide container explode in the centipede’s “stomach” (fun fact: centipedes actually have a three-part digestive system, broken into the foregut, midgut, and hindgut)! The centipede collapses to the ground!

...and then it gets up again and disappears into another pit portal, heading straight for Night Vale, totally not dead.

Nils, maybe you should have thrown your desk at it.

Team ScienceJoy races to the center of the commotion in town, to the house that doesn’t exist.

1) apparently we are now more scared of a large bug than the light of the universe unwinding?

2) the government agents finally learned how to roll down their windows before taking pictures! I’m so proud!

Pastor Munn and Gordo(n) show up, yell at Team JoyCon for being faithless losers, and generally taunt everyone that Night Vale is about to get eaten by the Smiling God. 

This is indeed what starts to happen, despite the best efforts ::cough:: of the Sheriff’s Secret Police.

You know what would be a great plot twist? If the giant foot of Carlos from another dimension came right down and SPLAT

Tragically, that doesn’t happen, but Nils has come up with another cunning plan and calls Big Rico’s (hole in the ground) and tells them to get ready.

Ah, yes, the classic literary technique of Chekov’s Basement Full of Worms.

Also, given that this acts like a normal centipede, this implies there is probably more than one. Perhaps an entire dimension, filled with giant centipedes! You’re welcome.

Incensed that the unfaithful are getting eaten before them, Pastor Munn and Gordo(n) enact their sinister to plan to also get devoured by the giant centipede. It totally works! In Soviet Night Vale, Kool-Aid drinks you.

Team ScienceJoy is shaken by their deaths, and by the fact that the centipede is no longer heading to Big Rico’s. But Mark, inspired/enraged by the fact that Munn and Gordo(n) were willing to risk their lives for what they believed in, rams the centipede with the sketchy white van and annoys it so much it chases them to Big Rico’s. PROBLEM SOLVING.

The centipede dives in to dinner, literally. The text does not comment on whether this would be classified as “worms...”, “Worms!!”, “WORMS!!!”, or 

The centipede is distracted, but there’s a problem: Nils knows there’s no way to keep it in the pit. As soon as its done eating, it will just escape and continue to devour everything.

But in their moment of darkest despair, who should arrive with a fleet of helicopters and a giant heavy tarp? THAT’S RIGHT BITCHES, IT’S HELO. HELO EXTRAPOLATED FROM NILS’ PLAN, CAME UP WITH A WORKABLE SOLUTION, AND SOMEHOW CONVINCED THE REST OF THE SURVEILLANCE HELICOPTER FLEET TO HELP THEM.

It doesn’t say they accomplished all this while blasting “Flight of the Valkyries” from onboard speakers but I think it’s safe to assume they did.

Anyway, the Smiling God is trapped! Darryl is in awe that it is truly real! Nils is in awe that she has a giant hecking bug to study! But Pamela Winchell wants to kill it for reasons of partially safety, mostly revenge, and... 

Carlos agrees with her. 

He not only agrees with her (a complete 180 from earlier in the book, in terms of both ethics and opposing everything Pamela Winchell stands for) he gets out a gas can and lights that shit on fire himself.

‘Twas beauty killed the beast.

[shot-through-the-hart]

tagged by the ever-amazing alexander @whiskey-not-entirely-straight ily alexander thanks!! 

1. What was the last thing you put in your mouth? orange juice probably idk

2. Where was your blog picture taken? ?????????? how the fuck should i know that? i edit most of my icons and shit though so i probably did that on my personal laptop tbh. 

3. Worst pain you’ve experienced? emotional or physical haha? emotional: The Worst Day Of Karate Camp. i won’t overshare but boy was that day not fun and the summer following it continued to be a bit of a disaster. physical: probably that one time i got kicked in the uterus during sparring class while i was already having cramps. sorry for tmi but i’m just answering questions haha

4. How many times have you been married? i have been married zero (0) times. 

5. How late did you stay up last night? 1-ish? probably?

6. If you could move somewhere else, where would it be? canada or scotland. probably scotland because i miss it more than i miss canada. 

7. Do any of your Tumblr friends live close to you? ......not that i know of. i’m eventually gonna make a massive road-trip once i graduate so i’ll probably manage to visit some peeps if that ever actually happens haha :D

8. When was the last time you cried? i drew some sad fuckin bullshit yesterday so probably at that? unless crying right now thinking about crying counts. in which case, right now. (do not take this as a joke i am genuinely crying as i type this haha rip)

9. Who took your profile picture? someone. 

11. How many marriage proposals have you had? serious? none. i’ve proposed to one person in a group chat jokingly because they came up with a great AU that i loved. 

12. If you could have any career, what would you have? counselor. maybe. maybe a florist who writes books in their spare time. 

13. What was the last book you read? uhhhhhhh probably the welcome to night vale book. or at least that’s the last one i read that i remember reading/intending to finish. 

14. If you could talk to ANYONE right now, who would it be? my tumblr friends ily and i wish i knew how to start conversations

15. Are you a good influence? probably not. i make bad decisions so i ain’t exactly a good role model, but at least i’ll attempt to get you to make good decisions if you ask me for advice. 

16. Does pineapple belong on a pizza? sure, just not mine. i don’t like pineapple, but if i did i’d probably like it on pizza. 

17. You have the remote, what channel would you watch? i’d put it on Netflix?? 

18. Whom do you think will play along? .... @dovecandies maybe?? :):)

19. Have you graduated from university? i haven’t even graduated high school. 

20. Your Favorite Football Team? yes,,,, i know Sport,,,,,,,, my favorite team is the one with the bright colors and the animal mascot,,,,,,,,,,,, 

[mahlifern]

A Yolngu tale...

I sit in Brisbane airport, plugged back into the matrix. Facebook, email, sound system announcements, planes, trains, chain stores… we all know the deal.

A few days ago I sat by a fire, covered in Buffalo blood and dirt, chewing on its freshly cooked heart and ribs, seasoned with nothing but sand and coal. I was surrounded by a group of men and boys speaking in a tongue that has been used for at least 40, 000 years, wild nature, and the unbridled night sky. We were sharing the harvest of the day’s hunt; 2 Dethung (wild buffalo) shot expertly by my Wawa, my adopted brother, and butchered as a group. It was my first hunt, and the first time I had found myself wrist deep inside a warm and bloody animal’s body removing it’s insides. I consider myself a humane, conscientious and sensitive man. Yet the whole act of finding, killing, slaughtering and then providing and sharing wild meat had given me a deep sense of connective joy that brought me vividly alive. This was one of many powerful lessons in life learnt through a two week immersion into the ancient but evolving life and culture of the Men of Mapuru, Yolngu Land, NT. A set of experiences facilitated by a man I respect deeply, Sam Robertson of Nature Philosophy Australia, and shared with one other Balanda (whitey), Jonno, another gem of a human. I would like to share these with you if you have a little time and curiosity…

Now don’t get me wrong, the community is not living as they once would. When you drive in, any romantic notions of a people existing naked with the land and culture as it was before white colonisation are quickly dispelled. They live in simple, often dilapidated western housing, they wear western clothing, they eat flour, sugar and milk powder as a staple. They are increasingly speaking English and they all have phones. There is rubbish strewn around the land, packs of dogs and broken down vehicles. In fact, at first glance you might be forgiven for judging them as a people living in poverty, in need of some positive intervention. But such an approach would completely destroy the potential to scratch the surface and understand that beneath this superficial surface, is an ocean of beauty and wisdom that we have much, sooo much to learn from….

On our way out to the remote community in North East Arnhem Land, we were given strong advice from our leaders Sam and Kate (Kate leads the Women’s Weaving experience alongside the Men’s Business) to take things slowly. We were entering relatively untamed territory, the danger’s out there were very real. Accidents, infection, sickness, crocodiles, snakes… Kate was adamant: Let go of our western pace, breathe, watch the Yolngu people, move like they do, take your time and you will be fine.

Of course the moment we got into camp, in my excitement, I jumped of the roof of the car and hurt my right foot. Shit, I thought, you have gone and done it again Mahli! I hobbled around that night… but it turned out that it was merely a bruising… and a good warning…

Kate was right, the Yolngu do not run around trying to get everything done. In fact, the pace of the men could easily be considered ‘lazy’. But, as I discovered over time, there is usually a deeper sense of wisdom that directs their culture, a culture that has evolved organically within that place for many thousands of years. It is often our modern western mind, and it’s quick to judge attitude, that vales the genious of the Yolngu Way. The men move through the land (be it the spiky but lush bushlands, rich swampy mangroves or the stunning but sharp stoned coastal edges) only when necessary, and when they do, it is with an ease and fluidity that I could not come close to matching. In the heat of the day they rest. But when it is time to act, when moving food offers itself, the response is rapid, precise and effective. In this way they survive, avoiding injury, dehydration and unnecessary wastage of energy. Something that becomes increasingly valuable as you move away from the western world. At the same time I watch the young ones. They run, jump, swim, flip, twist, wrestle and play like energy is an in exhaustible resource. They are incredibly agile, and their strength defies their wiry frames and damper based diets. Inspired by their movements I tried myself to follow. But unfortunately I was not quite up to their standard, and an attempted flip off a tree into the nearby, potentially croc inhabited water hole ended with a bruised face, bruised ego, and even a public 'shaming’ telling me I was not to take part in such behaviour. I was more than a little embarrassed, and felt my sense of anger towards being told what to do by the elder men and women. But again, upon reflection it made sense. For their intent was first and foremost to protect me, both because they care deeply for the well-being of their guests and because an injured person is a liability to a community that exists much closer to the edges of survival.

It is a matter of listening to our elders. Something I believe I have lost, or at least find challenging. For their elders hold high regard. They are respected and honoured. Of course, in an often contradictory and difficult to interpret cultural model, they are also at times ignored. For all members, young and old, are given free will. And teenagers are teenagers. But more often than not their directions are given with a wisdom that commands respect. I would be lying if I said I found it easy, but it taught me to be a little more humble, and to pay more attention to my ears, rather than my mouth or egotistical sense of self.

As I did start to settle in. To slow myself, to pay more attention, to listen more carefully and with less western judgement, I found I began to dive much more deeply into their world. I was adopted and given a Yolgnu name Napalawal (or pigeon), a family, and a Malk or skin name which then meant I was intrinsically connected to every member of the community, and Yolngu people of the land. This kinship system is the foundation of their communal existence. Both with each other and the land. You refer to all members both by their Yolngu name and their relational name; Ngandi (mother), Ngapipi (mother’s brother), Waku (sisters children) etc… Each relation has a set of guidelines that help you negotiate interactions and to maintain a balance within the complex system. It also creates an understanding of which land you belong to, where you can hunt, the stories song and dances that belong to that land and your family or moiety.

As we spent our time making gara (spears), nyidaki (didgeridoos), joining morning literacy sessions at school and going on Men’s business to the beach or local hunting spots, I practiced language, Yolngu Matha. I listened to stories of the land, of Sacred Men’s Business, of the hopes and dreams of the elders and the young. With every new word or story came another piece of the puzzle. One that is vast and complex, deeply interconnected. And by valuing and showing an interest in their traditional ways, we were welcomed into their network lovingly. What’s more we were helping them take pride and put time into practising culture in ways that many of their neighbouring communities had lost.

Mapuru is a special community like that. They have resisted Western dominance. They have maintained language, kinship, ceremony and control over their land. Although their school is Christian, it is co-run by two amazingly dedicated Balanda John and Linda, who have invested their lives into working with community Elders and giving the community a sense of self-empowerment and determination. The Elders refuse to allow drugs and alcohol into their community. Their is no real violence, theft or maliciousness within their community. They are keeping it real.

Throughout the two weeks, the challenges continually presented themselves.The western way of thinking; expecting a please or thank you, the idea of mine, monitored systems of work, hygiene, rubbish disposal. The superiority complex. Resentment at the discomfort or lack of 'personal space’. It was a journey in patience and non-judgement. But it was worth every moment. It was an adventure outside and in. It helped me see what it means to be connected to a deeply earth-based community. I saw young men spontaneously create a bongul (or ceremony) in which they danced and sung ancient songs of their lands and its beings, one after another, with increasing ferver and joy as the sun settled in the west with another dazzling display of crimson hues. I had no idea what they were so excited about, but I knew that if we can come along and support the continuity of this incredibly rich culture, simply by valuing it and wanting to be part of it for a little while, then it was something of deep importance.

As we headed home, exhausted and probably a little to eager to reconnect with our own land and people, we slightly overshot a sweeping bend, went sideways and flipped the troopie. I saw death narrowly pass over our group in a slow motion video of red dust and terrified faces. In the aftermath, to find that our worst injury was a badly bruised arm and some internal bruising, I saw the powerful lessons I had learnt emerge. Life is fragile, but beautiful. It wants to be lived slowly in a deeply connected way. If we rush into the western world view not taking time to know ourselves, our land, our relationships, we might miss this beauty. It may not come with comfort and after dinner mints, but it certainly allows for some wild and wonderful adventures! And sometimes we need to step, open-hearted, into other worlds to fully appreciate and understand this amazing web we are part of!

[subtletyislost]

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1. Tell us about your WIP!Currently I’m working on a lesbian romance novel about two girls in college,one is a double majoring in business and english education, the other doublemajors in computer science and astrophysics (the college she goes to doesn’t do“rocket science” or aeronautical engineering, so this is probably as close asshe’s going to get for programing rockets and theoretical space flightpaths/devices). The other major part of the story is that the MC (the rocketscientist) is searching for her missing brother at the same time.

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part aboutwriting?My favorite part about writing is that moment hen someone tells me eitherthat they like my writing or gives me some kind of critique/encouragement (yes,I actually like receiving constructive criticism). My least favorite part aboutwriting is trying find people to give that critique/trying to stay focusedenough to actually finish a story.

5. Top five formative books?I don’t know what this means but the books I read as a child that made mewant to write were: 1. The Magic Treehouse Series 2. Molly Moon’s IncredibleBook of Hypnotism 3. Bloody Jack 4. The Tale-Tell Heart (and other Edgar AllenPoe things) 5. The Little Princebooks that shaped my writing style/preferences though were 1. Molly Moon’sIncredible Book of Hypnotism 2. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witchof the West 3. Welcome to Night Vale: The Novel 4. The Hitchhiker’s Guide tothe Galaxy 5. Martin the Warrior

6. Favorite character you’ve written?Fandom: Sera, Leliana, Josephine, Cole (Dragon Age), Jack, Liara, Peebee (MassEffect), Pharah (overwatch), Raven (Teen Titans), Lara Croft (Tomb Raider)Original: Cassandra Tesla (the MC of the wip from question 1), Scion, Xia,Sage, Ruka, and Nvros

8. Do you have anywriting buddies or critique partners? yes! @wardenpharah @snowstorm-thirteen @uswhovianswillholdasiton and acouple others who I mostly talk to on discord

9. Favorite/leastfavorite tropes? Favorite: I don’t know trope names, but there’s trope that I didn’t know was atrope until I came across it in a few fics and a podcast where basicallysomeone is separated from their spouse and when they meet back up with themthey’re like “I missed you so much! Btw I kind of accidentally adopted thiskid/[wayward character]”; that trope “remove your weapons” *pulls a ridiculousamount of weapons out of nowhere* “ALL of them” *reluctantly hands over one ortwo more*; “will this work?” “I have no idea” *thing explodes* “was it supposedto do that?” “I don’t know but it was awesome!”Least favorite: that trope where they destroy the MCs hometown/house/familyjust so the MC has nothing tying them back to where they began and then proceedto do absolutely nothing with that plotwise and it affects nothing but gettingthe MC to actually leave their town

10. Pick an author(or writing friend) to co-write a book with@snowstorm-thirteen or @wardenpharah or one of my new friends from discordwhose tumblr I’ve forgotten

12. Which story ofyours do you like best? why? Original Works: either Light in the Dark or The Forgotten Realm of Dreams orThe Invisibles, because they’re all really really gay and really really nerdyFanfic: Is This Home Yet is without a doubt my best work ever. I’m consideringrewriting it as a novel. Wouldn’t be hard because the only thing making it afanfic and not an original work is that I used the two mcs to basically justget more attention.

13. Describe yourwriting processIt tends to be: sit down, open a notebook/grab paper/open scrivener/word/googledocs, stare at the page, start writing, erase things, write different things,listen to music, check tumblr, write more, somehow things get done or they don’tget done.

15. How do you dealwith self-doubt when writing? look at paper, say “I hate this”, cry, complain to anyone who will listen,stop writing for however long that takes, go back to writing, say “this is bad”,complain more, talk shit out, then it branches: if feel better, keep writing! Ifnot, stop writing and play video games then come back to writing two or threedays later!

16. Cover love/dreamcovers? I love me some good book covers, but professional ones are expensive orrequire talent that I do not have. Light in the Dark would be good with eithera mysterious cover, cover with a bunch of letters and envelopes, a soft gaycover with two girls that fit Cass and Ruka’s descriptions, or a cover that’s likethe soft gay cover but with space and video games/a computer incorporated intoit.

17. What things(scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? scenes: anything not smut or fightingtopics: I’m comfortable writing about anything except incest/ddlg|mmlb/anythingthat falls in the realm of ‘not my thing to talk about’ (ie. I will write transcharacters, but not specifically about trans issues—nonbinary/agender issuesthough I will; I’ll write mlm characters but not specifically about theirissues; I’ll write poc or religious characters but I won’t write specificallyabout the issues that they face-without a lot of research and talking to peopleand such—because it’s just not my place. To explain a bit, I mean that I’llwrite characters that are not like me, and will do research to make sure I don’taccidentally do that in an offensive manner, but I won’t tell their stories forthem because I am not them. I hope this makes sense.)character types: women or nonbinary individuals, rebels, nerds, autistics,abuse victims/survivors, lesbians, ace people, the secretly nerdy femme, thesecretly nerdy butch, the secretly nerdy anyone,the tough girl who likes soft things, the soft girl who will kick your ass, thereptile person (person who likes reptiles), pirate, scientist, explorer, ectthere’s a lot of character types I love to write

25. What’s yourworldbuilding process like? this deserves its own post

21. What aspect ofyour writing are you most proud of? characterization

22. Tell us about thebooks on your “to write” listmost of them are in some way all part of the same series, but not necessarilyconnected, and not necessarily linearly or direct successors. Some/most can be stand-alonethat just happen to take place in the same universe as the others

27. Every writer’sleast favorite question - where does your inspiration come from? Do you docertain things to make yourself more inspired? Is it easy for you to come upwith story ideas?Dreams. Most if not all my story inspiration and ideas come from dreams, therest come from songs or random thoughts that just get stuck in my head. To getmore inspired I play games, bounce ideas off my friends, listen to music, orsleep. It’s fairly easy for me to come up with ideas, almost as easy as comingup with characters *shoves my like 300 ocs into the closet*

28. How do you stayfocused on your own work and how do you deal with comparison?I don’t focus, that’s the problem that’s why there’s so much unfinished shit onmy ao3. Tbh I’m usually the one doing the comparing and I deal with it bylearning from the work I’m comparing mine to and improving.

30. Do you like toread books similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick tonon-fiction/un-similar works?I don’t read. I can’t focus long enough to read. Instead I play video games inthe same genre or daydream or occasionally relisten to the Welcome To NightVale novel audiobook. I’m starting to branch out and try to find otheraudiobooks to listen to, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a pretty goodone on Audio.

33. What’s yourrevision/rewriting process like?draft one on one side of the screen, draft two on the other side of thescreen and literally rewriting draft one in draft 2. Sometimes I’ll rewrite onthe same document using markups like strikethrough instead of deleting thingsand other colors for the new additions, also lots and lots of sleeping andcrying, and soda (I don’t drink coffee).

34. Unpopular writingthoughts/opinions? Ernest Hemmingway sucks. He’s a terrible writer and you should not aspire towrite like him nor should you look up to him. Said is a perfectly valid word.The Oxford Comma is required not optional. Adverbs are not bad, use them if youwant. First person is a valid form to write in. Parenthetical asides (likethis) are just as valid as hyphenated asides—like this—and should be used if itfits the story/narration style. If your pov character doesn’t understand theforeign language the other character is speaking, putting the words in theother language in the text with a footnote translation is just as valid as “hesaid something in [language] but MC didn’t understand it.” Stalking is notromantic. Unhappy endings do not belong in the romance genre. Your charactercan be gay without complaining about it or it making their life hard. You canhave more than one minority character! You characters never going to thebathroom is unrealistic. Mosquitoes are a thing and if your character isoutside in the summer they had better damn well be protecting themselvesagainst them or slapping at at least one. A romance story with a character whowon’t take no for an answer, who isn’tthe antagonist/big (or little) bad, is not romantic. A romance story where thecharacters kiss or have sex when one of them clearly doesn’t want to, is notromantic. BOTH characters in your romance story need to change by the end ofthe story, that’s just good characterization. You can have polyamorouscharacters, but we are not a kink/fetish, if you don’t actually support actualpolyamorous people in real life don’t write about us in your fiction it’sdisrespectful and you’re probably going to do it wrong. Cheating is notromantic. Asexuals exist, Aromantics exist, Bisexuals exist. Romance doesn’tneed sex. … I’ll stop now, I have a lot of things I could say here.

35. Post the lastsentence you wroteShe blinked them back, willing herself not to cry.

36. Post a snippetCassandra had never been one for plans, if she had she might have actuallytalked with her roommate before move-inday. Even so, despite not planning things much, she did have goals. Her goal onmove-in day was simple: move in, preferably alone. She’d been under theimpression that she was the first one to arrive and that her roommate wouldn’tbe coming until later in the day. So, it was a shock to her when she arrived ather dorm room and found it was already open. She tapped her foot against the doorto get the attention of whoever was inside the room. She couldn’t quite see whomight be in there through the boxes that she was carrying.

“I hope you don’t mind,” a soft voice from inside the roomsaid, “it’s just that it was easier to leave the door open than to have to keepunlocking it.”

Cassandra tilted her head as she walked into the room,lowering the boxes just enough to see over them as she did so. “It’s notrouble,” she replied. “Who are you?”

The girl she was addressing, that she assumed was herroommate, was probably the most delicate looking girl she’d ever seen—wearing alight blue sundress with a ribbon around her waist and matching Mary Janes. Inher mind, the girl gave the impression of the enchanted rose from Beauty and the Beast; almost more likean idea than a person. She had long dark blonde—or was it light brown—hair withfaint, but still visible, red and dark brown streaks running through it, asthough it contained a fire within its French braid. Her smile was soft, barelyeven visible, and she looked like she might have played a sport in highschool—probably archery or fencing. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light fromthe window, like a stone of topaz against a blanket of snow. Never in her life,had Cassandra ever seen a girl that made her wonder if she was staring, but shehad now.

37. Do you ever writelong handed or do you prefer to type everything?100% depends on the story, and the day, and whether or not my eyes hurt.Sometimes ideas flow better on paper, sometimes typed, sometimes they flowbetter when I talk them out those days are bad for writing but good for gettingideas.

42. How many draftsdo you usually write before you feel satisfied? 100% depends on if it’s original work or fanfiction. Original works I’m usuallynot satisfied even after 6, 7, or even 10 drafts. Fanfiction, sometimes I justpost up the first draft without caring, sometimes I’m more satisfied with a seconddraft. It usually doesn’t go beyond that.

48. Do you prefer towrite skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut itback?I just write. Usually my second draft is longer and more detailed than thefirst, and by the 5th or 6th everything has changedbecause of added or removed details.

51. Are you asecretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books?I don’t shut up about my writing, not with my friends.

52. Who do you writefor? Myself., or anyone who pays me.

54. Favorite firstline/opening you’ve written? Absolutely nothing could go wrong, she thought just exactly as everythingwent wrong.

50. Do you share yourrough drafts or do you wait until everything is all polished?I share them, if I waited until they were polished no one would ever get toread them

55. How do you manageyour time/make time for writing? (do you set aside time to write every day ordo you only write when you have a lot of free time?) I have no job and no life. 0/10 do not recommend my method of having writingtime