#and rewrites for a new decade i guess

[dduane]

Oh, just in passing: a couple of SPOCK'S WORLD notes

(from @magicalgirlcrazycatlady:

!!!!!!! AUDIOBOOK SPOCK'S WORLD!!!! EXISTS? READ BY THOSE TWO?????????

Yep. If you go over to, say, Ebay, you can usually find somebody selling the audiobook on cassette (and if you're very lucky, on CD).

It hasn't been reissued in decades, and I can't really be sure why. It may be that there are union-based (meaning SAG[-AFTRA]) issues with the way Nimoy and Takei were compensated for the original performances; so that if the audiobook was reissued in more modern media, the publisher would have to deal with the way union rules for such performances have changed. (Which might run into serious money.)

In any case, it's a shame it's not more readily available. Both of the gentlemen involved did a fabulous job. I've had the pleasure of telling George so, and I'm sad not to have been able to tell Nimoy the same. (sigh) Anyway, it was a pleasure and a privilege to be involved in the endeavor.

...Also, per @rightspocko:

#oh my god you did that in 2 weeks#and you rewrote it so quickly and it’s still superb!#i never would’ve guessed because it’s so well structured and well written

The rewrite went as well as it did (and frankly as well as it could have done, under the circumstances) because before I ever started work on that book, I'd written a comprehensive outline.

It's not widely understood, I think, that when you're writing for a big IP owner / licensor, it is impossible to sell them a new project without first writing an outline that makes plain what it'll contain. Pantsing—however much some writers may enjoy that mode of novel writing, however much some may feel it to be the superior mode—has no place in the licensed-universe sales process. No licensor is going to even agree in principle with your agent that you're going to be brought in to do an original novel, let alone write the contract to back up their intent, until you've submitted an outline that tells Corporate in considerable detail what they (and their stockholders) are going to be getting for their money.

In the case of Spock's World, this rule went double, perhaps triple—regardless of the success of my previous work for Trek and Pocket. Spock's World was going to be their very first ever hardcover Star Trek novel. The whole project was a gamble... and the corporate Powers that Be therefore needed to know exactly what I was going to be giving them. So I did what I usually do for a book of the projected length—an outline somewhere in the neighborhood of 20-25 single-spaced pages. (ETA: For the hell of it, I just spent half an hour or so digging around for it, and [at the virtual "bottom" of a storage hard drive] found the ancient .arc file in which it'd been packed away. The outline is dated March 3rd, 1988, and comes to about 22 single-spaced pages. ...Call it 8K words and change.)

The outline, as always, was the "road map" I'd drawn for where I was going, to avoid wasting time in possibly getting lost along the way. All the structural work and serious plotting was already complete in the outline... ready to have the prose racked up in it, as a bookshelf's built ready to house its books.

And that's why the result, despite the near-disaster, still looks okay. All I had to do* was write again what "lost material" I'd already written, with the outline to guide me, or prompt me, where my memory failed. To this day I feel strongly that the book was significantly better because of that second write-through, however enforced. So this whole process turned into kind of a blessing in disguise (despite my poor lower back's more or less constant screams of protest).

That outline was what saved my butt... as others would, in years to come, further down the line. Those interested in having their own butts saved when necessary, and their writing life generally made less stressy, can look over here and see the outlining "blueprint" I use. C. J. Cherryh put me onto it; and what Carolyn doesn't know about writing a well- and tightly-plotted SF novel, seriously doesn't matter.

...And now I'm going to go make some spaghetti sauce. :)

*"All I had to do." CAN I EVEN HEAR MYSELF. (helpless laughter) It was like climbing hand over hand out of hell. But at least I could always see the light at the top of the tunnel...

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Sooo... Who could guess I am a big hater of how SJM made all of Rhysand's effort to change his Court, useless? 😁😁😁😁

Here we also dive a tiny bit into the past of miss gurl let's hug her collectively

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, 2% book following I'm destroying the original story atp, mentions of PTSD, mommy issues, daddy issues, lots of trauma, mentions of war, Rhysand 😚

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 10: Cold

A few weeks had passed when the Night Court finally sprang their trap. Azriel’s network had been flawless, and Lucien’s deception had worked perfectly. Tamlin’s forces, along with a significant number of Hybern’s soldiers, had walked straight into the ambush.

The battle had been quick. The Illyrians overpowered them with precision, and before Hybern even realized what was happening, their troops were bound in magic-dampening chains, kneeling before the Night Court’s generals.

Tamlin’s soldiers had cracked easily. Cowards, the lot of them. They’d spilled everything they knew. From Hybern’s plans to their next movements, even details about where the rest of Hybern’s forces were hiding. Hybern’s soldiers, however, had been harder to break. They were loyal. But not unbreakable.

You were still absorbing the news when Rhys brought you to the interrogation chambers. You expected Azriel to be inside, coaxing the truth out of them in his cold, merciless way. The way the rumors had been tailored for him around the Continent. But instead, you were met with a sight that startled you: Azriel standing in the corner, silent, unmoving, while two other spies worked in his place.

You frowned as you stepped closer to Rhys. “Azriel isn’t doing it?”

Rhys crossed his arms, his violet eyes scanning the room. “No. I didn’t want him to.”

You glanced back at the spymaster. He was listening, his shadows curling around him like a second skin, but he wasn’t the one delivering the pain.

Rhys sighed. “Azriel has done more than enough in his life. The things my father made him do…” His jaw clenched. “He doesn’t need to relive those memories. So, many decades ago, he trained a small group of trusted individuals to handle the worst of it. They are mostly from the Hewncity, they like what they do. Azriel only steps in when he wants to. Mostly when it’s personal.”

You blinked, processing that. “So, all this time… I thought Azriel was still the one—”

“He listens,” Rhys cut in. “He gathers the information, watches through the shadows. But he doesn’t have to be the one with the blade in his hand anymore. Unless he chooses to. We decided to let this information out for… you know, reputation and the likes of it. It's easier to fear only one person and not expect more.”

Your throat tightened. The idea of Azriel being forced into that life again, forced to become the weapon Rhysand's father had trained him to be… You were grateful. Grateful Rhys had made sure he never had to relive that unless he wanted to.

Rhys must have noticed the shift in your expression because he reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Come,” he murmured, “let’s get some air.”

☆

He winnowed you to a quiet clearing in the forest, far from the war camps, far from the screams echoing in the underground chambers. A picnic had already been set up. Rhys must have planned this beforehand.

He sprawled onto the blanket, arms behind his head, watching you as you settled beside him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the forest surrounded you, birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze.

Then, softly, you asked, “What other changes have you made?”

Rhys turned his head, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “You mean besides making sure I don't become my father?”

You nodded. “You’ve been High Lord centuries, Rhys. And I know you’ve changed things, especially reading all the reports we've been receiving the past months. But I want to hear it from you.”

His gaze softened. He reached for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll tell you.”

As the evening sky stretched into twilight, the peaceful sounds of the forest surrounding you and Rhys settled into a comfortable rhythm. Rhys' eyes stayed on you as you relaxed beside him, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“I’ve been High Lord for over three centuries, and in all that time, I’ve tried to push for changes that matter. The end of wing clipping was one of the first steps, but it wasn’t easy. Some of the old males that used to do the clippings are still alive, so it's harder to convince the newer generation that they're wrong. Some still hold onto that hateful tradition, the belief that clipping female wings makes them.more obedient. But I’m hunting them down. Slowly, but surely, those who do it for pride are being removed from positions of power.”

You squeezed his hand in acknowledgment, and he continued, his voice steady, thoughtful. “As for the warriors... I've made it clear that every male and female has a choice. No one is required to fight if they don’t want to. Of course, most of the males still take pride in their warrior status, but the decision is theirs. And now the females have the same freedom.” His gaze softened as he looked at you. “It's important for everyone to know that their worth isn’t tied to what others expect them to be. You’ve seen it with Feyre. She didn’t have to fight, but she chose to. I want everyone to have the same choice. Even if that means changing centuries of tradition.”

You nodded, appreciating the way he spoke with such conviction and care. “I’ve seen that in action already,” you said softly. “I've received letters from the commander of the female division. The fact that she's able to learn and decide for herself… it’s really different from how things were before.”

Rhys smiled, leaning back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And there’s still more to come. Every war camp is getting more investment, more resources, but they have to follow the rules. If they don’t, they lose it. This is how we’ll ensure we keep some semblance of order in place when everything is so chaotic. Plus, we’ve been working on mapping fatherless and motherless children. Cassian’s past doesn't need to be repeated, most of those kids don't have the same strength or luck. We can’t let them grow up without guidance, without structure. The future depends on how we raise these kids.”

His words were a weight, a reminder of the trials and tribulations he’d faced over the centuries and the legacy he was trying to build for the future. You could feel the love and hope in his tone as he spoke of the children.

“And what about the Court of Nightmares?” you asked, the mention of it bringing a slight frown to his face. You’d notice the changes there based on how polite Keir tried to be in his reports, the subtle shift in how things were being run.

“That’s a more complicated matter,” Rhys said quietly. “The Court of Nightmares... it’s still a dark place, but it’s not the nightmare it once was. Yes, there are still terrible people there, but there are also many good ones, merchants, artisans, people who have nothing to do with the cruelty of the court’s history. Those people are protected, but the ones who still live in the shadows, pulling the strings of violence, they know the rules. They lock their games inside the mountain and leave everyone else out of it. Let them play their games as long as they stay there. We play along, obviously. They know we are not the cruel crazy people they see there, but at this point I think they just enjoy the show. They think they are degrading me but the whole act turned out fun for me too.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, but his voice was calm. “The important part is that we’ve made it clear. If someone crosses the line, it’s dealt with. There’s no tolerance for cruelty against innocents anymore.”

You thought for a moment before speaking again. “Velaris, though... it’s completely different. When did you open it for the rest of the Court?”

Rhys' smile returned, more fond now. “Velaris is a city that represents everything we’re working toward. Open, free, thriving. It’s only open for the Night Court citizens right now, but we’re slowly working to integrate it with the rest of Prythian one day. We trade with every city, every faction, bringing in the resources we need and giving out what they want. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

You could see the pride in his eyes when he spoke of the city. “There’s still a lot to do, of course,” he continued, “but I’ve tried to do my best. To change things where I can. It will take time, but I believe we’ll get there. And it helps to have you by my side. To know that you’ll be here with me as I keep pushing forward. And also, a few Lords were getting mad at me for not having a wife and ensuring heirs. I guess that's a problem I can solve in a few years too.”

You breathed out a laugh but didn't deny him. You met his gaze, the sincerity in his voice settling deep within you. The weight of his words, the burden he carried for centuries, was something you understood now more than ever. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as your fingers lingered on his skin.

“You’ve done more than enough, Rhys. And I’m here, always,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling with a pride that mirrored his own.

Rhys’ eyes softened as he stared at you, a smile curving on his lips. “I know. And that’s what keeps me going.”

The sun had set, casting long shadows over the blanket as the quiet of the forest embraced the two of you in peaceful contentment. You leaned into his side, letting the stillness of the moment wash over you, grateful for the changes that were being made, for the future that was being shaped, and for the love that had flourished amidst the chaos.

Rhys’ expression softened as he looked at you, his violet eyes searching yours with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The two of you had been sitting in silence for a while, the peacefulness of the moment lulling both of you into a comfortable quiet. But then he spoke, his voice gentle and earnest.

"Tell me about your childhood," he asked. "What was it like for you, before all of this?"

For a moment, you hesitated, the memories rising like a tide, bringing with them a heaviness you didn’t always like to face. But Rhys’ steady gaze gave you a sense of safety, a quiet encouragement to speak your truth.

You let out a breath, looking at the few stars above, feeling their stillness against the turbulence inside. "It was... hard," you said finally, your voice low. "My mother... she was a very dictatorial person. She had this vision of who I was supposed to be, who I had to become. Sometimes, it bordered on cruelty."

Rhys’ brow furrowed, but he said nothing, just letting you continue.

"She hated that I was half-blood," you said, the words bitter in your mouth. "She made sure I knew that every single day. It wasn’t just that I wasn’t pure fae, it was like she couldn’t stand the reminder of what I was. My father’s blood in me was something she despised, and she would say terrible things... about how she wished my father had never made her pregnant, that I was a burden she didn’t want, that I was ‘the mistake’ she’d never planned for."

You swallowed thickly, pushing down the emotions that tried to rise. Rhys was still listening intently, his expression both pained and supportive, urging you to go on.

"She tried to 'fix' me," you said softly, the word ‘fix’ carrying all the coldness it had been intended with. "She wanted me to be perfect for whatever purpose she saw fit. Training me in everything. Music, art, history, fighting, hunting, speaking… everything. I had to be the best at all of it, at everything. She wanted me to be some sort of weapon. A perfect, molded piece to be used for war, politics, balls, anywhere I could be useful... but never to be anything for myself. She wanted me to disappear into the shadows of existence, to never be seen for who I truly was. She never wanted me to be just a half-blood, just an accessory to whatever plan the world had for me. No… she prepared me to not be overpowered but, at the same time, not grab the spotlight."

You fell silent, the weight of the memories threatening to choke you. Rhys reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle, the touch grounding. His voice was steady when he spoke again.

"You had to carry all of... all of those expectations and cruelties?" he asked softly, his voice filled with disbelief, as though he couldn't quite imagine the depth of what you’d endured.

You nodded slowly, the ache in your chest growing heavier as the words spilled out, as if they had been waiting to be spoken for far too long.

"I was never allowed to be myself. I had to be everything for someone else, never for me. I was trained to be a tool, something to be used in whatever way would serve her... and when I wasn’t perfect, when I didn’t meet the impossible standards she set, she’d remind me of how worthless I was. A mistake. A half-blood." You shook your head, the frustration from years of it building in your chest. "I never knew who I was meant to be, only what I was supposed to do."

Rhys was quiet for a moment, the weight of your words settling between the two of you. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but firm, tinged with an anger you knew he held for anyone who had treated you that way.

"That’s not who you are," he said, his tone resolute. "You are not a tool. You are not a weapon for someone else’s cause. You're more than all of that. You always have been."

You met his eyes, feeling his sincerity wash over you like a balm. A small part of you, a part that had long tried to be buried, wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was more to you than what you'd been trained to be.

"Sometimes I don’t know who I am," you whispered. "Not really."

Rhys’ expression softened, and he leaned closer, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "Then let me help you find out," he said, his voice gentle but insistent. "You don’t have to be anything for anyone anymore. You can be whatever you choose, whoever you want to be. I’ll help you figure that out, one step at a time."

The sincerity in his voice struck deep. For the first time, the idea of being more than what had been drilled into you began to feel possible, like a faint but steady light in the darkness.

"I’ve seen what you’re capable of," he continued. "Not because you were molded into it, but because you are already so much more than what anyone has ever told you. You are strong. You are smart. You have a heart that is bigger than most. A human heart."

You held his gaze, the walls around your heart finally beginning to crack, just a little. For the first time, it didn’t feel like you had to hide, or be perfect, or be something you weren’t.

"I just want you to be happy," Rhys said, his voice soft now, as he placed his hand on yours. "And I want you to know that you don’t have to be anything for anyone ever again. You only need to be you."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the weight of his words, the warmth of his promise. You could feel the quiet relief spreading through you as the weight of your past began to shift, if only just a little.

"I’ll try," you said softly, the first glimmer of hope beginning to take root.

Rhys smiled, his gaze never leaving yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles in a tender gesture. "That’s all I ask. You don’t have to have it all figured out. But I’m here, and I always will be."

In that moment, with the stars above and the night stretching around you, the weight of your past seemed a little less heavy. Maybe, just maybe, you could start to carve out a future that was all your own.

As the words about your mother lingered in the air, the complexity of your feelings weighed heavily on you. You exhaled softly, a faint sadness in your eyes, as you looked at Rhys. "She was cruel, yes. But at the same time... I think she always wanted what was best for me, in her own twisted way. She pushed me hard, sometimes in ways that made me feel small, but I know she believed it was for my own good. She wanted me to be perfect, to be everything, so the others wouldn't have a reason to put me down because of my blood. In a strange, broken way, she cared for me."

Rhys' gaze softened, his expression understanding. "I can relate," he said quietly, the pain in his voice evident. "My father... he was cruel too. But in the end, he thought he was doing what was best for me. It didn’t excuse the way he treated me, but it made me understand, in a weird way, why he did what he did."

You nodded, the sorrow mingling with a strange sense of understanding. "I grieved for her, you know? Despite everything. I loved her, even if she was everything I feared and resented. Losing her... it was hard."

Rhys reached out, his hand gently brushing against your cheek. "I understand. It’s complicated, but that’s what family is, isn’t it? It’s love and pain all wrapped up together."

A sudden thought made you smile, and you leaned in closer to him, brushing your lips against his cheek softly. You wanted to show him, in your own way, that everything he had done, everything he was, meant something to you. "One kiss," you whispered softly, as your lips brushed against his cheek. "For every little thing you’ve changed in me. For every way you’ve made me feel seen."

His eyes softened, and he let you continue, not speaking but understanding your intent. You kissed his forehead, your lips lingering there a moment longer. "For every way you’ve made me feel heard, even when I was lost in my own pain."

You trailed a kiss to his lips, gentle at first, a simple brush of affection. "For making me believe I could have a future," you whispered against his lips, before moving down to his neck, pressing another soft kiss there. "For making me feel safe when the world has always felt so dangerous."

Your hands reached to his chest, brushing against the fabric of his clothes before planting a kiss over his heart. "For showing me that I can trust again, that I don’t have to hide who I am." You moved to his ear next, your lips tracing its edge. "For being patient with me, and showing me that my heart has worth."

Finally, your lips touched his hand, your kiss delicate and full of admiration. "For everything you’ve done for this world, for your people, for the ones you love. For proving that it’s never too late to change and to fix things."

Rhys watched you with a soft smile, his eyes dark with emotion. And then, as if drawn by the same desire, he began to kiss you back, his lips pressing gently against every part of your body that he could reach. He kissed your cheek, your forehead, your lips, your neck, and every place where he had witnessed the strength of your spirit, places where you had shown him who you really were, free from expectations and from the past.

His voice was low, almost a growl, as he whispered against your skin. "One kiss for every part of you that refuses to let the world break you. For every time you chose to be yourself, no matter the pain."

The warmth of his touch, the softness of his words, and the tenderness of his kisses filled you with an overwhelming sense of connection, like something deep inside of you was finally being healed.

Eventually, the two of you broke apart, both needing to breathe, though you remained close. Rhys chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair as he looked down at you. "You know," he said, his voice filled with affection, "we’ve spent so much time kissing that we’ve forgotten about food."

You laughed, a sound that felt foreign and free coming from you. "I suppose so," you said with a teasing smile. "But I think I could go without it for a while."

Rhys shook his head with a smirk, pulling the food toward you both. You sat back, letting the laughter linger between you before the conversation shifted to more mundane matters. But even as you ate, you were keenly aware of the intimacy that had passed between you.

And as you sat together, sharing a meal, there was one unspoken rule you both knew you had to honor. Neither of you passed food to the other, there was no accidental sharing that might ignite the bond between you too soon. You both knew that the moment would come when you were ready to accept it, to claim it fully, but not yet.

For now, it was enough to simply be in each other's presence, to share small, beautiful moments that built a foundation for something even deeper. And that, for the time being, was all you needed.

☆

Cassian had returned from Illyria a few days ago, vibrating with excitement, even if the situation wasn't the best. Rhys had told you Cassian always came back from the camps with his energy renowned. The moment he stepped into the training ring where you and Rhys were lounging, his sharp gaze landed on you. He walked with his usual swagger, but there was something else in his expression, a certain hint of curiosity.

"So," he drawled, arms crossed over his chest. "I hear you’ve been trained. Ever fought before?"

You raised a brow, amused. "I have."

Cassian smirked. "Then I think it’s time for a test."

Rhys chuckled beside you. "Cassian, I don’t think she needs to prove—"

But Cassian ignored him, already stretching out his arms, rolling his shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. I just wanna see where you're at. We’ll keep it simple. Just me and you."

You stood, stretching a little, rolling out your wrists. "Fine."

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, leaned against the railing of the training ring, his shadows curling around him. "This should be interesting."

Cassian grinned, twirling a practice sword between his fingers before tossing one your way. You caught it easily, spinning it once in your grip.

"Alright," Cassian said. "Come at me."

You tilted your head. "Are you sure?"

Rhys let out a low laugh, recognizing the glint in your eye, but Cassian only grinned wider. "Give me your best shot."

You didn’t hesitate. You surged forward with speed that Cassian hadn’t expected, forcing him to block at the last second. The force of your strike sent him back a step, and his grin faltered slightly. He adjusted, attacking with a quick sequence of slashes that you dodged with practiced ease, deflecting each one with a sharp clang of metal against metal.

Rhys and Azriel watched intently as you fought, their amusement turning into intrigue. Cassian grunted as you landed a hit against his ribs, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to prove a point. He barely had time to react before you twisted away and struck again, forcing him on the defensive.

"Alright," he muttered, shaking out his hand. "Maybe I underestimated you a little."

You smirked. "You think?"

Azriel finally spoke. "What if we made this more interesting?"

Cassian looked at him, then at Rhys. "You want in?"

Rhys grinned, standing. "Why not?"

And just like that, the game changed. Now it was Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel against you. Rhys had barely raised a hand before you attacked. You moved fast, too fast to what they were used to. You feinted toward Cassian before shifting at the last second, sweeping Azriel’s legs from under him. He caught himself with his wings, barely avoiding a full fall. Cassian lunged, but you anticipated it, twisting under his arm and elbowing him in the ribs before blocking Rhys’s incoming strike with the flat of your blade.

"Mother above," Cassian muttered, rubbing his side.

You danced between them effortlessly, your fighting style sharp, efficient, and familiar.

"She’s almost fighting like an Illyrian," Azriel noted, breathing slightly heavier than usual as he dodged another hit. His eyes narrowed. "Where did you learn that?"

You deflected Cassian’s sword and flipped back to create some space. "My mother trained me," you said simply.

Rhys shot a look at Cassian. "It makes sense. She wanted her to be prepared for anything. And since Illyrians are known as the best warriors, why not use their techniques?"

Cassian exhaled, rolling out his shoulders. "Alright. But there’s one thing we haven’t checked yet."

You raised a brow. "And that is?"

Cassian suddenly lunged forward again, this time using his wings to gain extra speed. You barely managed to sidestep, but then Azriel was behind you, and Rhys cut off your escape.

Pinned. Or at least, that’s what they thought.

At the last second, you dropped low, sweeping your leg out and taking Rhys’s feet from under him. He grunted as he hit the ground, and before Cassian or Azriel could react, you winnowed behind them, kicking Cassian square in the back before grabbing Azriel’s wrist and twisting it behind him, forcing him to yield.

Silence. And Rhys groaned from the ground. Cassian turned, rubbing his spine, while Azriel simply let out a long breath, clearly impressed.

"You have got to be kidding me," Cassian muttered.

Rhys, still flat on his back, just laughed. "I think we just got our asses handed to us."

Azriel gave a small nod. "Definitely Illyrian training."

Cassian narrowed his eyes at you, then let out a low, appreciative whistle. "I’d love to know who exactly trained you because I need to hire them for the camps."

You sheathed your sword and smirked. "You’d have to raise them from the dead for that."

Cassian shook his head, but a grin spread across his face. "Alright, alright. I admit it. You’re terrifying."

Rhys finally sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "That was unexpectedly humbling."

You grinned, offering him a hand. "Don’t worry, High Lord. I’ll go easy on you next time."

Cassian laughed. "Oh, I like her."

Azriel just gave you a long, considering look before murmuring, "I think we all do.

You stretched your shoulders, rolling out your wrists as you met Cassian’s gaze. He was still catching his breath from the last fight, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Another round?" he asked, tilting his head.

You smirked. "Unless you’re scared."

Cassian let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I like you even more every second." He cracked his neck, stepping back into position. "Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see what else you’ve got."

Azriel and Rhys exchanged glances before shrugging and taking their places beside him. Three against one. Again. You lunged first.

Cassian blocked your initial attack, but you moved too fast for him to counter, slipping under his defenses and landing a sharp elbow to his ribs before twisting away from Azriel’s incoming strike.

As you moved, you spoke. "My mother had an estate near the Illyrian Steppes," you said, ducking under Rhysand’s outstretched hand. "She used to help females who ran away from the war camps."

Cassian grunted as he barely dodged your next hit. "Your mother?"

"She was cruel," you admitted, spinning away from Azriel’s shadows. "But she wasn’t evil. She saw what was happening to the females, and she decided to help them."

Rhys aimed a kick at you, but you sidestepped effortlessly. "And how does that tie into you knowing how to fight like this?"

"There was a male," you said, stepping into Cassian’s space and sweeping your arm up to block his next attack. "One of the few who actually helped those females escape. My mother made a deal with him, he would train me, and in return, she would continue helping those who fled."

Cassian’s brow furrowed as he adjusted his stance. "So he taught you the Illyrian way?"

"Not exactly." You ducked under Azriel’s punch, spinning behind him. "He taught me how to beat Illyrians."

That made them all pause for a fraction of a second. You took advantage of that hesitation. You winnowed behind Cassian, kicking the back of his knee to force him down before using his shoulder to launch yourself up and over Rhysand, landing lightly on the balls of your feet.

Cassian cursed. "What do you mean ‘beat Illyrians’?"

You smirked. "You fight full force, power, brute strength, reinforced defenses." You dodged Azriel’s blade with ease, twisting around to block Rhys’s next move. "But I’m smaller. Slimmer. That means there’s less of me to hit."

Rhys narrowed his eyes. "So instead of matching an Illyrian in force, you use speed?"

"Speed, angles, redirection," you clarified, sidestepping Cassian again. "I don’t hit where you’re strongest, I find your openings and hit where you’re weakest."

Azriel suddenly changed tactics, dropping his stance to try and grab you from below, but you saw it coming. You twisted mid-air, using his shoulders as leverage to flip behind him, landing softly.

"That male trained me to exploit Illyrian weaknesses," you continued, parrying Rhys’s strike. "Your wings, too big to move quickly in tight spaces. Your center of gravity, higher because of your muscle mass. Your attacks, strong, but predictable. Illyrians fight like battering rams."

Cassian grunted, rubbing his ribs. "And you fight like a fucking dagger."

You grinned. "Exactly."

Azriel, to your surprise, let out a quiet chuckle. "No wonder we can’t pin you down."

Rhys shook his head, amusement in his violet eyes. "I think Cassian just found his worst nightmare."

Cassian groaned. "Remind me to never underestimate you again."

You smirked, adjusting your stance. "Don’t worry. I’ll remind you every time I knock you on your ass.”

You barely had time to recover before launching into another round, dodging Cassian’s relentless strikes as you explained further.

"Illyrians are powerful, but after learning your ways it becomes predictable," you continued, parrying Azriel’s blade before flipping over Rhys’s sweeping kick. "Your wings are an advantage in the sky, but on the ground, they slow you down. If someone knows how to use that against you—" You feinted left before slipping behind Cassian and jabbing at the soft spot near the base of his wing. He hissed and stumbled forward.

"Shit," Cassian muttered, shaking it off. "That’s a dirty move."

"You should teach it to your soldiers," you countered, stepping back. "Better they learn it from each other than from an enemy on the battlefield."

Azriel, observing, nodded in approval. "What else?"

You dodged a punch from Rhys and continued, "Illyrians tend to overcommit to an attack. You strike with force, assuming your opponent will buckle, but if they evade too fast, your momentum leaves you wide open. Instead of lunging full force, feint more often, leave room to recover if you miss."

Cassian frowned. "We usually don’t miss."

"You usually don’t fight someone like me," you shot back with a grin. "And you probably won't for a while. But someone will figure this out one day. Better to be prepared."

Cassian smirked, clearly impressed. "I’ll make sure the war camps hear about this."

Rhysand was about to respond when a voice echoed across the training ground.

"RHYS! CASSIAN! AZRIEL!" All four of you turned as Morrigan sprinted toward you, her golden hair wild, her face twisted with urgency. "Hybern attacked Adriata" she shouted. "Tarquin is begging for help”

For a single heartbeat, everything was silent.

Then Rhysand was moving. "Get the others," he ordered. "We leave as soon as possible.”

☆

The moment you arrived in Adriata, the scent of blood and smoke filled your senses. What should have been a thriving city of shining white stone and flowing canals was in ruins. Buildings collapsed, homes burned, bodies — Summer Court soldiers, civilians, and Hybern’s invaders — littered the streets. The sea raged against the shore, as if mourning the destruction.

Azriel barely took a second before vanishing into the shadows, his siphons glimmering as he gathered intelligence. Rhys turned to you, his violet eyes dark with fury.

“Assess the battlefield,” he ordered. “Tell me where we hit first.”

You scanned the chaos before you, breaking it down into patterns of movement, weaknesses in the enemy’s formation. Your mother could be as cruel as she wanted, as restraining as she could, but she always taught you how to find your enemies weakest points.

“Hybern spread their forces too thin trying to claim multiple areas at once,” you noted, pointing to a key road where a large group of soldiers were forcing civilians into a corralled area. "They're using that plaza as a control point. If we take it, we cut them off from their strongest foothold."

Rhys nodded, already barking orders. “Darkbringers! Secure the plaza and eliminate all Hybern forces. I want no prisoners. The rest of you, clear the civilians and get them to safety!”

A low murmur rippled through the ranks, Night Court wasn’t known for aiding other courts. But when Rhysand’s power flared, swallowing the battlefield in darkness, the hesitation vanished. The army surged forward, weapons drawn.

You turned to another front where Hybern’s forces were moving toward the palace. “Az, I need your spies to take out the commanders. Without orders, their soldiers will fall into chaos. They are killing machines, but they don't use their brains as their own.”

A flicker of shadow, and he was gone. Then you saw Tarquin, standing at the city’s edge, trident in hand, watching your forces winnow in. His face was wary, unreadable.

But then he heard Rhys’s voice booming over the battlefield. "Take Hybern down. Protect the civilians. Leave no survivors among their ranks."

Tarquin’s surprise was brief. Then, with a roar, he raised his weapon, and the sea itself answered. A wave crashed into the docks, swallowing Hybern’s reinforcements whole. Just then the battle truly began.

You darted forward, slicing through Hybern soldiers as the fight spread. You moved through the fray like a ghost, reading the battle as if it were a book laid open before you. Hybern’s forces fought with brute force, but they were slow. Sloppy. You took down a general with a precise strike to his exposed side, then winnowed just as an arrow flew past where your head had been.

A soldier lunged at you, sword raised, only to be blasted into oblivion by a dark tendril of power. You turned to see Rhys hovering above, his wings spread wide, darkness writhing around him as he cut through enemy ranks like a god of death.

Not far away, Azriel emerged from the shadows, blood dripping from his blades, his expression unreadable as the enemy commanders fell.

Then Cassian’s forces arrived, Illyrian wings blotting out the sun. The tide of battle shifted. And Hybern was about to regret ever setting foot in Adriata.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe @carmenadkins78 @ireadsstuff @oiolabomdia

[son1c]

in my movie rewrite, there's a big emphasis on environmentalism. one of GUN's primary objectives is to find an alternative source of energy, because fossil fuels really aren't working out for the planet, and they've deemed solar/wind/etc as failures because they're slow to catch on. what they covet is a limitless energy source that they can milk like a battery for humanity.

10 years ago, they got close to something promising when they discovered a sunken island near the bermuda triangle. but their progress was thwarted thanks to one of their scientists going rogue. she took all of their research, wiped their computers, and ran. GUN has a new guy working on the case now (eggman) but he's eggman so his ego and personal projects are getting in the way of any real progress. that is, until he catches something unexpected with one of his drone's cameras: an artifact that had been recovered from the bermuda triangle research site a decade ago, hanging from some kid's neck. it's annie's key! (sonic is in the picture too, but he's just some blurry blue smudge.)

the truth of the matter is this: the sunken island is angel island and the key will free Chaos. you know, the big water monster guy. that rogue scientist, aka annie's mom, figured this out 10 years ago and stole the key before GUN could use it. i'm thinking also that the key isn't really a key, but some ancient seal thing that just so happens to look like a key. in reality, it's Chaos' mind or heart or something. and the closer sonic and annie get to the island, the more it stirs, and annie starts having some really weird dreams...

i was also thinking that the reason why long claw did all that shit and isolated sonic and etc is because he's The One Living Person who can use the chaos emerald's power and go super. basically he's an extremely dangerous weapon. in my rewritten lore for the movies, only one person has this power at a time and it has been historically used to obliterate entire planets so long claw's species are tasked with finding each generation's chaos controller (lame name but i can't think of something better rn) before anyone else can swoop them up and groom them into being a weapon of war. btw it's completely random who has this power. kind of like the avatar i guess. cuz i want to keep sonic's "just some guy" thing intact, it's important to me.

this would also make shadow showing up way down the line extremely disconcerting because he's not supposed to exist. but i guess no one accounted for artificially made hedgehogs. ha

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Presents (rewrite): Chapter 1

Hello I have rewritten Presents. Also might change the name later idk. Also also the chapters are still short

Content Warning: mentions of toxic families, obnoxious rich people, brief mentions of death, discussion of vampires using humans like cattle basically, mentions of inhumane conditions

— — —

On a sunny day in late August, two vampires lounge about an apartment, brainstorming what one of them, Roy, might want for his birthday.

They hadn’t seen or talked to each other in so long, being childhood friends, but with these new phones, they were able to finally reconnect.

They had both changed a lot over the decades, as to be expected. The most interesting change was how Mike seemed to be far more… would crude be the right word? Or maybe just no longer adhering to traditional vampiric manners.

Roy didn’t mind, really. He often wished to be a bit more modern too. It’s why he dyed his hair, after all.

But he knew they both would have to tone down their behavior for the birthday party, lest some aunt of his ends up yelling at him in front of the whole party like he was still a little kid.

Speaking of the party, after a while of trying and failing to think of something Roy would want, his friend’s eyes shot wide open.

“Ooh, I have an idea! What about a Blood Bag?”

“A blood bag? Isn’t that kind of... boring?” Roy laughed, imagining how underwhelming a little baggie, probably made of plastic, would be when compared to whatever extravagant things his relatives got him. Every family event was a little bit of competition, after all. Who was the wealthiest, who had the best manners, who made the best life choices, and all that.

And after all, it was going to be the party of the century, held in his family's ancestral castle.

So to then unwrap the next one, only to see some simple food? He would hate for Mike to be embarrassed like that.

"This is a birthday party thrown by the Wu-Schulz family we’re talking about, and you want to get me blood bags?”

“Okay, jeez. Didn't know I was dealing with a blood purist." Mike joked. "How about a really fancy one, no, two fancy ones? The kind they raise on those free-range farms and shit, so the blood tastes better.”

“Free-range?”

“Yeah, you know, the ones that human right activists go nuts over. Didn't your parents have some when you were a kid?”

Roy had no idea what his friend was going on about. He had never heard of free range farms for blood bags before. Usually those places were more akin to nightmarish prisons than anything that could be even remotely considered "humane".

Then again, his moms had gone through humane phases a few times, usually after their Living Meals died and they were trying to soothe their grief with huge life changes (it always irritated him that they would eventually go back to owning those poor humans instead of just staying as human right supporters, but whatever). So maybe there really was enough of a market for whole farms to pop up.

“Eh, it sounds cool I guess. And if it’s as fancy and prestigious as you make it sound, it might actually impress my family a bit.”

And the two went on with their day.

— — —

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@wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @nicolepascaline @whumpsday @whumpcreations

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Just ask to be added or removed!

[mahou-furbies]

Closing thoughts on Magia Record Scene 0

Scene 0 has finally ended! Or the translation I've been following has been completed. To those who don't know, it tells the Madoka Magica story, but the point of view of a new character Mabayu, who for some reason keeps her memory through Homura's time loops and can move while time is stopped. And since we all know how the Madoka plot goes (right?), the main story here is the mystery of Mabayu having lost her memory of why she is already a magical girl.

(spoilers)

First things first, the whole premise conflicts with what I think is one of the core points of the Madoka Magica drama, that is, how Homura had to do her thankless time looping job all alone and became increasingly isolated because of it. But here it's "revealed" that she had a buddy all along, with whom she became very close friends and who is eventually cast as the reason why Homura is able to keep going on in the first place. The whole thing considerably waters down her devotion to Madoka, when most of the story is about how she bonds with Mabayu. And then there's also the inherent awkwardness of inserting a brand new nobody to the story you already know, to whom the characters you've known for a decade become the side cast.

Then again, that is the premise, so you just have to make peace with it if you want to enjoy the story at all. And in fact I like Mabayu a lot, so I'll take it, though I'll have to consider everything a non-canon super AU (even within the canon's actual AUs). There was also the other problem though that some of the stuff was kind of fanservicey, and not in the horny way but in the superficial "let's put the whole cast in maid outfits for no particular reason" way. But I was a fan of some of it, like Nagisa being un-witched in one time loop, so fine.

I don't know how much this is about what the story actually is and how much should be blamed on me not paying enough attention, but in the end I think there's still plenty of holes in the story. Like we learned how Mabayu became a magical girl and what how her personal magic power works, but I didn't understand how her memory doesn't reset through the time loops and why she can move when Homura stops the time. Also the way she erased other characters' memories was inconsistent, she had to cut Sayaka's memory all over again in each loop, but when she cut Mami's, the effect was carried to the next loop. And I guess it was explained how the final resolution worked (duh) but I don't think I quite understood.

That's a lot of complaints but I did have a decent time with this actually, and that is because I really like Mabayu. She's the kind of character I'd really like to see more in magical girl stories: low energy, kind of lazy and self serving, passive and loner but not in an edgy way, and it was interesting to see her grow to be more heroic. She also has a lovely voice, and it turns out the same actor also did Ha-chan whose voice is also great. She also had really good dynamics with the main cast, and I especially like growing friendship between her and Homura, they had good banter with Homura being super serious all the time, and their growing friendship was touching. And she had some interesting stuff going on with Sayaka and Mami too.

And while I complained about the whole premise being about rewriting canon, I also think there were some worthwhile additions. For example in this version Mami used to recruit other girls to become magical girls with Mabayu, and the guilt from that is a major reason for her breakdown when she learns the truth about witches. On one hand I prefer the version of a seemingly strong character actually being weak and emotionally unstable, like she's been through a lot and doesn't need a more noble reason for her breakdown, but I think the Scene 0 version is also interesting.

Ultimately the ending left me somewhat sour with how inconclusive it was. Mabayu cut herself from everyone's memories (including her own), but it feels like there's a ton of stuff about her that's not resolved. Like she's still able to move during Homura's stopped time and doesn't understand why, she's still a magical girl even if she doesn't remember it, becoming friends with Mami again doesn't lead much anywhere if she's going to die to Charlotte in a few days… If the idea is the bittersweet knowledge that Mabayu made a difference in the Homura-Madoka story but nobody can remember it, it doesn't work for me since I didn't really get what her contribution was. Or I guess it was pretty clear how important Mabayu's presence was for keeping Homura sane through all the failed time loops but that was like my number one issue with the premise, so maybe I'm just incompatible with the whole story to begin with.

Still I had a good time following this as the translations came out, I was eager to see where the plot would go and watching a short video every few days didn't require that much from me. Though I do think the story was too long for its own good and especially the early loops could have been condensed.

[darkwitch1999]

TOTAL DRAMA RE-WRITE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!!!!

Hey there, everyone! Hope everybody has been doing well in the new year! (I'm pretty sure I haven't made a new post since 2024. Time just flies by y'know). As you probably guessed from the title of this Tumblr post, I am in the works of making a rewrite fanfiction of Total Drama Island!

I actually started writing a rewrite of Total Drama Island and Total Drama Revenge of the Island in what feels like a decade ago but most likely it was only five or so years ago or something, but I never got to finish them because I got busy with college and I just hit major writer's block in general (probably didn't help that I added a lot more characters in both fanfictions.) I still have both of the original fanfics posted on Wattpad and AO3 if anybody is interested in checking them out (they are under the same username).

Anyway, I've always wanted to finish a Total Drama Rewrite series of my own after being inspired by other authors' rewrite, but I lacked the motivation to finish them.....until now! So far, the cast is going to be made up of twenty-four characters. Eight character from the original cast, eight from the Revenge of the Island cast, and eight from an OC cast that I will either be creating myself or asking others if they would like to have their OCs featured in my rewrite, with credit being given to them of course. While I don't have a complete list of characters that will be featured in my rewrite series, I currently have a list of "Non-Negotiable Characters" who will be featured no matter much hate they may or not get:

Non-Negotiable TD Characters List

Owen

Heather

DJ

Noah?

Duncan

Courtney

Mike

Zoey

Dawn

Cameron

Jo

Lightning

Brick

These are the characters I have so far for the rewrite cast. Currently I have two spots open for the Island cast and one spot left for the Revenge of the Island cast. While I definitely still have a lot of options to consider for the island cast, I'm kind of leaning more towards adding B as the last character of the revenge of the island cast, but the decision is not final as I have considered other plotlines to write in this rewrite (the plan is to not only write a Total Drama Island rewrite, but I also plan to continue with Action and World Tour as well). I would love to hear y'alls opinions on this cast and who you would like to see added in the rewrite series.

Well, that's all for now folks. Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions in the comments or ask me any questions. I'll keep you updated on how the series is coming along and post the final cast list when I make the final decision.

@booksrbetterthanpeople @msweebyness @imsparky2002 @thetwistedarchives @miraculousfan1232 @t-bird510 @nerdy-chocomallow @eillanu @miraculousladygirl2003 @dragicani @eternalstarlitwonderland

[tashatoons]

The assassination of Mr. Zaggerzigg

I have been slowly rewriting my heritage fic Catfish this year- and wanted to share one of the spicy HisoIllu scenes from it.

Eventually, I'll repost the entire fic as a new story on Ao3, but for now, enjoy this preview!

Janice finished pulling up the zipper of her pencil skirt and turned to face her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. She brushed her fingers through her elbow length chocolate waves and gave it a flip, ensuring it fell just right over her white blouse. After studying herself for a moment, she decided to pop open the third button on her blouse then, picked up her documents folder and headed to Mr. Zaggerzigg office. She knocked three times and purred his name. “Mr. Zaggerzigg, the documents are ready to sign.”  “Come in, Janice,” came the gravelly voice from inside the office. Janice opened the door.

Don Zaggerzigg was the CEO of Darkstone; a titan amongst all land and property lenders in the nation. In just under two decades, the corporation had become the carp that outgrew the other fish in the pond, and as one might guess, its appetite had become ferocious. It gobbled up land in poor towns and built luxury apartments that sold for top dollar, forcing out the small businesses and people that called it home. Even locations outside of the continent weren’t safe, as Don had just agreed to sell the land of the Begerosse Union’s last indigenous tribe.

Janice could hear the angry shouts of protesters from Zaggerzigg’s open window. “Having second thoughts, Mr. Zaggerzigg?” she asked as she placed the folder on his desk. Her blouse draped lower as she stayed bent over, showing a peak of her black lace bra underneath. 

Mr. Zaggerzigg let out a laugh and spun around in his chair, tapping off his cigar into the ashtray next to the framed photo of his wife and young daughters. “Not a single one,” he said. His eyes lingered on her chest for far longer than what was appropriate for office etiquette. “The company’s going to see twenty percent growth from this deal. You think a little whining from downstairs is gonna make me change my mind?” Janice’s ruby red lips turned up in a sideways smirk and she chuckled lightly as she walked around to the front of his desk. “You always did have a heart of ice,” she said, and sat down on his desk just inches from his family photo, “Mr. Zaggerzigg.” Mr. Zaggerzigg rubbed a meaty hand atop Janice’s exposed thigh. “I’ve never heard you complain about it.” He let go and grabbed a pen, then began to sign the documents in front of him. When he was finished, he closed the folder, and waited for Janice to reach for it. When she inevitably did, he caught her wrist and forcefully pulled her into his lap. “Not so fast. I haven’t excused you yet.” Janice repositioned herself into a straddle atop his lap and draped both arms around his shoulders. Her long manicured nails dug into the skin on the back of his neck before she pulled him into an open mouthed kiss. Mr. Zaggerzigg mouth tasted like sour tobacco, and his tongue felt like an eel trying to force itself down her throat. His grip tightened around her ass, and he held her in place as he pushed his arousal against the spot between her thighs. 

Janice pulled back from the kiss and looked down at him. Her once honey brown eyes now looked like dark voids behind her lashes. “Hmm, you truly are a fool,” Janice said as she watched the man’s skin start to turn purple. He clutched his chest as he started to struggle to breathe. “Hmm, that’s the feeling of your heart stopping,” she said, her voice sounding like someone else's. She smiled and leaned her head against the suffocating man's chest. “Don’t worry. You’ll be dead soon,” she started to giggle, but stopped when something struck the side of Mr Zaggerzigg head, killing him instantly. 

 "My my," a melodic sing-song voice spoke from across the room, causing the faux Janice to turn her attention towards it. "How long do you plan on keeping this up? Are you trying to make me jealous?"

Several more of the objects zipped from the shadows and embedded themselves on top of Zaggerzigg mahogany desk. An ace of spades and four of clubs.

"Did you take care of security?" Janice asked while getting up from the lifeless Zaggerzigg, voice and mannerisms now distinctly Illumi's.

"Ohh, so nice to see you too, Lumi," Hisoka remarked dryly as he approached, hands absently shuffling his deck of cards. "Of course I did. I'm a professional too, you know."

He sat on the desk, mirroring Illumi's previous action with Zaggerzigg and then looked him up and down. "That's a cute look on you," he grinned as he reached a manicured hand out to brush through a lock of Illumi's chocolate brown waves. “Will you let me fuck you like this later?”

Illumi swatted his hand away. "Not a chance. I only did this for the mission." He stepped a few paces away, ignoring Hisoka’s giggles, then breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. His body relaxed and his hair changed from warm brown waves, to a waterfall of heavy black silk. 

Aura churned in a vortex around him and the secretary's once feminine body started to morph with violent jolts as bones and muscles and ligaments tore apart and rearranged themselves underneath his skin. The entire process took no more than ten seconds. When it was over, Illumi opened his mouth wide and pushed a thumb into the side of his jaw, popping it back into place. He signed again, this time with relief.  

"That's always so fun to watch." Hisoka's eyes were wide, glued to Illumi's form who now seemed terribly out of place dressed as a seductive secretary. 

“I hate holding those forms. They always hurt the most when I switch back,” Illumi said. There was a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He stopped to pick up the document Zaggerzigg had signed only minutes earlier and brought it to the fax machine by the window. As the machine sang into connection, a murderous pressure concentrated on his back. He didn't bother to turn around, opting to speak to the reflection in the floor to ceiling window instead. "What?"

"What?" Hisoka's reflection shrugged, his golden eyes gleaming like coins in the glass. "You're just gonna ignore me after getting me all excited?"

"I am not ignoring you," Illumi stated, still not turning around. "My job is not done until I can confirm these documents are sent successfully." On cue, the machine chimed, fax sent successfully. 

The job was done.

Illumi reached into his blouse to retrieve his burner phone and confirmed the final payment was sent to his account.

"Maybe I should be jealous, you usually charge more than that," Hisoka said as he peered over Illumi's shoulder. His hands came to rest on either side of his waist and a blossom of heat churned in Illumi’s stomach. 

"Well," Illumi began to say as he put the phone away. "I considered this an act of charity. Ensuring the Gyudondond tribe have a permanent reservation of land to themselves seemed more important than charging full price." He turned around to face the magician. "The job was simple enough, I just needed Zaggerzigg's signature to reverse Darkstone's hold over the land and resources.

Hisoka’s arms encircled Illumi’s waist and pulled him closer, a genuine smile stuck on his lovestruck face. "How philanthropic of you."

Illumi shrugged, his dark unblinking eyes staring into Hisoka’s. “The man was a fool to make so many enemies,” he said matter of factly. He leaned closer to kiss Hisoka’s cheek, but pulled away when Hisoka tried to capture his lips with his. “If you kiss me now, your heart will stop too. It will take thirty minutes before my body metabolizes the poison.” Hisoka’s smile turned wicked, “aww. Don’t want to see me die yet?” Illumi cupped the sids of Hisoka’s cheeks, his middle fingers resting along the line of his jaw. “I still have use for you.” “How nice to know,” Hisoka said while letting go of Illumi. He stood up straight and yanked Mr. Zaggerzigg's lifeless body out of his office chair, then offered it to Illumi. “I should thank you for that.” Illumi kept his composer on the outside, but on the inside it felt like fireworks were going off inside of him. He sat down in the office chair, the seat still warm from Zaggerzigg's body, and tilted his head to the side when Hisoka’s lips claimed his neck. He sucked in a breath and let his eyes fall shut, relishing the sensation of Hisoka’s mouth traveling across his skin. Hisoka kissed his jaw, his collarbone, and popped another button on his blouse open before claiming one of his nipples with his tongue. Illumi made a soft sound and let his head fall back, his fingers getting lost in the magician’s hair. “You still haven’t told me where you’re staying this weekend,” Hisoka said against Illumi’s chest. His voice was warm like melted honey, and he continued his trail of kisses back up Illumi’s neck and along his jaw.  Illumi’s ears turned hot, “I'll text you the address. But I have to get my brother out of the room first.” Hisoka pulled back to meet Illumi’s gaze. His eyes scrunched up into little crescent moons as that fox-like smile stretched his lips. “Let me know as soon as you do,” he said and leaned closer to kiss the other side of Illumi’s neck. “I’ve been dying to finally have you all to myself.” Illumi sucked in another gasp, his fingers gripping onto Hisoka’s reddish purple waves as his kisses traveled lower and lower. “I will,” Illumi said, and watched as Hisoka got onto his knees in front of him. He really needed to make sure Milluki stayed out tonight. 

[sarkyfancypants]

Fascinating observations upon the release of the Borderlands movie

I've been digging a lot through video reviews about the games and the movie and I've caught a few things:

-Non-gaming people were all on the same page about how it's terrible from the outside perspective that the movie is just bad and convoluted and tragically butchered through constant script rewrites to get that PG 13 rating when it originally had the R rating so it is unbiased from the game lore

-However gamers who do know the lore and gameplay were all on the same page about how it is terrible because it does nothing with its source material and only made whatever the hell they wanted and being like a decade late to deliver it

-Borderlands games had a sudden increase of players upon the movie's release very likely because fans wanted to wash out the horrible stench while non-fans probably wanted to actually give it a try, this one is hilariously shocking almost like it was Gearbox/2K's plan all along (it wasn't)

-Everyone who has played the Borderlands game either old fans or new, EVERYONE and their dog are saying Borderlands 2 is the best out of all of the games if we focus on the story, while some comment that Borderlands 3 is pretty fun only gameplay-wise

-There has been a sudden rise in Borderlands gaming/lore video reviews and analysis by people who finally gave the franchise a chance after twelve or so years or people who were already familiar with the game and wanted to revisit the franchise

-The Pre-Sequel is suddenly getting the recognition it deserved u_u

-A lot of people are saying the franchise is dying but idk, it's pretty bad yeah but saying that "it's all over" might be a bit too overdramatic. We'll live (I hope)

And that's it so far I guess. Nothing too special, just something I started noticing and I'm quite amused by it.

[tryslora]

learning sentence level editing

It’s no secret that I hate editing.

I’ve told this story before: When I was in high school, I had an English teacher who told us on our first day of sophomore honors English that she would not give an A for a first draft. She had a rigorous outlining/drafting process that she was determined to teach us. Me, I had undiagnosed ADHD and was a dyed-in-the-wool pantser. So I resolved on that first day that by the end of my time with her, I would get an A on a first draft.

My final essay of junior year AP English (yes, same teacher two years in a row), I wrote about Victorian morals and literature. I read it aloud. I got an A. I only ever wrote one draft.

What that taught me was how to write very technically clean drafts, something that has stayed with me for almost four decades now. Which is great!

What it did not teach me was how to be patient enough to properly edit. And I have never really learned. In fact, that is one of my ADHD sticking points (yes, I know, that’s obvious from my reaction to her statement in the story above). I often feel that a large part of the reason I have never made it as a writer—have never broken into tradpub—is because I do not have the patience to not only write, but then create an outline from the draft, then rewrite, then do it all over again and fiddle with each sentence until it’s perfect.

I’m learning, but I’ll admit, I’m still not there, and I’m not sure I ever will be where novels are concerned. 

But right this moment, I’m feeling very accomplished and proud of myself. I had a short story that every time I worked on it, it grew. Every time I cut it, it felt like it lost its heart and like the taste of the words stopped feeling like mine. My voice disappeared.

I had finally worked out a version of it that was just under 7500 words long, and I thought it was decent. It got no traction, and I was frustrated. I put it up for critique on SFFOWW (a critique group site) while I was active there a year and a half ago. It was chosen for an Editor’s Choice review, and the first half of it got some great comments. Which I promptly had to ignore because I was dealing with other editing problems.

I returned to it recently, because I saw a call I wanted to send it to. The problem was, the call was for stories under 6k, and I wasn’t sure I could cut this story again and still retain its punch. But hey. The biggest feedback I got was about how I handled my descriptions and dialog, and the amount of repetition that slipped into my words. So I absorbed that, and I dug into the story, and I started ripping it apart.

I didn’t edit it, exactly, nor did I completely rewrite it. I printed it. I read it twice. Then I placed it on the desk and went a few paragraphs at a time and started with a blank file and filled it in. Some pieces went in verbatim. Most of it changed. Huge chunks disappeared, and a few new things appeared. Some of it got rearranged. The wordiness disappeared.

Here’s an example…

Before:

"You get one hour," Lana says softly. "One hour with him, and then you're leaving him behind. You're taking your fate and you're setting him free."

After:

"One hour," Lana says. "Then take your fate with you and set him free."

The new version of the story came in under 6k. I did it, and the best part is, I don’t hate it. In fact, this was sentence level revision of a style I had never done before. The closest I’ve come to it is editing flash fiction to be under very tiny wordcounts (or drabbles of exactly 100 words, which gods, those take me longer than writing a short fic!).

I’m not sure I could’ve done this without the editing I did for Into the Split over the last many months. I had to dig into that in ways I have never edited a novel before, and it prepared me to dig even more deeply into this short story.

I’m learning. I guess you can teach old dogs some new tricks.

[coconutgingerjuice]

Hello, author! Hope you're doing fine!

I'm a reader of your fic, "Call me in the morning" and, I have to say, I'm DEVASTATED. I don't know how many times I've re-read this story, it's been a few days I found it and I can stop thinking about it. I was reading it yesterday and when the page uploaded with the new chapter I literally screamed. It's everything so good I don't even know how to start.

The still strange relationship between William em AltMark is so good. I love the depth you gave Mark, what happened, the backstory that made him ended up like this hopeless person who, above all, hates himself so much it hurts. Istg I can feel the hate and the pain and it's devasting. When I read Mark noticing Will "wide, frantic" eyes and seeing this as a bad thing, I was this close 🤏 to break, because at the end of the last chapter Will saw him with the same wide and frantic eyes and there was no moment he though it as a bad thing. AltMark is so broken that he can't see himself as worth. Like, in how many pieces you can break a person to the point they couldn't find the way back?

*deep breath* I need a moment 😭

And Wil!!!! hflspajhddieoahgai 😭😭😭

Chapter 7 (guess what) was devastating. The "Do you have any idea how much it’s been eating at me?"?? Yeah, boy, I know EXACTLY what you are feeling because I was exactly like that. And you write them so well, all the snow cabin situation was heartbreaking for both. They have different views and feelings and life experiences that made them who they are and you can always tell wich one you're talking about, even if you don't say it.

I love the complexity you create for them, I always loved William and it made me so happy how he's shinning at your fic (shinning with sadness, confusion, certain, and hope), and the sensible, sad contrast he has with Mark. How they both know this Mark and this William aren't the ones who they know, but there's something there they still, somehow, treasure.

Seriously, I can't find enough words to describe how much dear this fic is to me, already in my heart. Thank you for dedicate your time to write this story 🥲❣️ And good luck at your exams!!

Hello, dear reader! Thank you for your message.

I think at this moment in the story, Alt-Mark and William and like two adjacent magnets that are spinning uncontrollably. When their equal poles face one another, they repel and push each other away… but then they've also go the opposite poles which pull them towards each other. Everything is so complicated between them and around them! But once they stop their little rotations and find stillness, they'll be able to align for good. I think they are already on the way to that :)

I've only recently realized every fic I've written (or attempted to write, I'm sorry to my JJK and Spider-verse fics) that I either write about morally gray characters or straight-up villains. And Alt-Mark is that too, but very rare are antagonistic characters just pure evil; we've all got different sides to us, both good and bad, and due to how his life turned out he pushed the evil within to the forefront and did some bad things. But at the end of the day, he's still a person who understands morals, is capable of guilt, and has this sweetness to him-- which is the side William witnessed in the cabin.

William was mostly exposed to the good part of this Mark, and first impressions really do matter. Whenever someone switches up on us, it takes us a while to rewrite our perception of that person all because they treated us differently. William is latching onto all of that. And I too, relate to that. These kinds of connections don't always have a good ending, but I can tell you right now that won't be the case here-- this story is my canon and though they may or may not be sacrifice, a happy resolution is assured! I'm looking forward to it. It'll be quite therapeutic for me 😋

I discovered fanfiction about over a decade ago, and I have so many works the just had me in a chokehold and even helped me heal. I didn't expect to receive such support for this fic, but people resonating with it the way I did back when I was younger (even now, though unfortunately i do read fanfiction less-- perks of adulting I guess :/) is kind of a full circle moment for me. I was in the planning stages of an original novel, but I got the idea for this fic and just had to write it. I don't think I can write anything original until I complete this fic-- Its my love letter to every fanfiction that's helped me, and now to you and my other readers. After receiving so much support for this, I don't see myself not completing this, even if it's just for you guys to feel a little bit more whole.

Now, I'll get back to my studying. Thanks for the wishes on that ❤️. Looking forward to you reading the following chapters!

[perenial]

gene im so glad you said this cause I haven't seen anyone else comparing it to the book as source material for like character and tone but i am So sure that if terry was alive the season would not be like this but i fear good omens fans dont realise how big a factor the lack of terry's influence is?? or like they forget that good omens was never just neilman???

ok before i go any further: i rly don't want to detract from anyone's enjoyment of the season and everything im going to say comes from a place of love for a) the original novel (& season 1 to a certain extent bc it got me back into it lol) and b) tv as a medium so like peace and love on planet let people enjoy things etc etc

but

like u said, terry's influence on the book was enormous – what makes gomens gomens is the balance of his genuine warmth and precise understanding of humanity tempered with neilman's sardonic voice and general like.....savvy approach to storytelling? i guess u could call it? anyway what rly helps the book is that it took them years to write it, passing ideas back and forth and rewriting each other's work until their voices blended seamlessly and a well structured capital-s Story was created. when i praise the book for being self-contained i think a huge part of that comes from the circumstances in which it emerged: two authors with complementary styles writing in a v particular time period where they had both the space to play with their ideas and the constraints of the novel as a storytelling format from which to craft something extremely specific.

adaptations are a tricky business and a tv version of gomens produced literal decades after the book was always going to have some unique challenges, but i don't think that's a bad thing bc the challenges could prove to be creative opportunities to take both the established audience and those new to the story by surprise. my biggest hot take here is that i don't think translating a story into a different medium means it has to follow the original narrative exactly, bc each medium has its own ways of communicating information and these structures, rules and traditions in turn inform what that story is. what matters more than following a story beat-by-beat is capturing what that story is about at its core, what themes and messages and ideas it works through and how.

all this is to say i never expected tv gomens to be a perfect reproduction of the book and if it had it been, it probably would have been worse off for it. that being said, there are parts of the book – like u said, its tone and character – that needed to have some fidelity in order to pull it off, and for the most part s1 did that bc it was still working predominantly within the bounds of the novel & its core ideas. while i did have some issues w how neilman & amazon adapted some details and characterisations, i generally rly liked s1 – it reminded me of why i loved the book and it was just generally fun to watch.

s2 was. not that fun to watch

a few positives before i go ham w the critiques:

the hair & makeup + costumes were fantastic (although i feel like s1 was slightly better re: makeup?)

the sound design & score made some of the more awkward scenes bearable and thats no mean feat imo

david & michael gave incredible performances w what they were given – michael especially managed to salvage aziraphale enough that his complete 180 didnt feel completely tonally dissonant (more on this later)

the detail of the sets is NUTS and i genuinely want to see more of hell bc of how intricate and fun the props look

i actually like gabriel/beelzebub!! their getting together montage worked for me, although they could have spent sliiiightly more time establishing what it is they like abt each other so much + why gabriel wanted to stop armageddon 2.0 so suddenly

the opening scene, although not on par w the novel's & s1's, was visually gorgeous and thematically resonant (although neilman owes me royalties for ripping it off from this shitty fic i wrote back when raphael!crowley was all the rage lol)

now w THAT being said:

like i said yesterday, the pacing was fucking awful. flashbacks are hard to work w at the best of times and the way they were used in this season felt so needless, especially the 40s one in ep 4 that takes up like 90% of the episode. in both flashbacks + present day there were scenes that dragged for no real reason, dialogue that looped back around on itself to stretch out the runtime, and weirdly enough places where there should have been character & plot work where there just,, wasn't any?? for example, maggie & nina's night locked in the café – some parts of the dialogue in later episodes made out that they'd had some rly deep conversation abt how they feel about each other or even that they'd had an affair, but that isn't clear from those scenes in the café. i'm not saying we had to see that conversation in its entirety but that there needed to be more connective details – either in dialogue or direction – that gave that part of the story coherence.

(there were pacing issues w the editing too but i don't want to jump down the editor's throats on this one bc im more focused on writing & direction issues)

the second major problem that i mentioned in my tags yesterday is the protagonist shift, which is an issue that started in s1. aziraphale & crowley are side characters in book gomens – significant ones, yeah, but still somewhat peripheral to adam (& anathema who counts as a deuteragonist imo). this works incredibly well w who they are as characters: they're Just Some Guys who happen to be involved in this epic biblical-level bureaucratic nightmare and importantly, they don't want to be in the spotlight. the arrangement was created so that they could explore what it meant to be themselves away from the Big Narrative; literally any time they get involved in larger affairs is bc the plot is alive and caught them unionising on company time. the last fucking chapter is adam (& god) being like haha u guys are alright keep it sleezy and letting them go. like. hello. neil u let them go.

but then!! tv gomens s1 does something interesting at the end w the body swapping addition that i dont totally hate – it gives aziraphale & crowley the extra bit of character work that brings them slightly more adjacent to their book selves. see i kinda view tv a/c as the younger, less settled versions of book a/c; they're still caught up in the immediacy of being key players and haven't fully realised that earth is their home. i haven't watched s1 in a while but one scene i remember rly clearly is crowley throwing all those astronomy texts in the air and angsting abt when he was an angel; i remember it bc his anguish in that scene feels a lot newer and rawer than book crowley's feelings about falling. when tv a/c do their bodyswap, it gives them the chance to land a blow against heaven/hell in a way that solidifies their allegiance to earth in a way that more closely resembles what book a/c have been abt the entire time (still adjacent, though. not parallel).

the reason why this works is that it does one final pivot to orient aziraphale and crowley as almost-main characters in a manner that makes sense in relation to a) their book selves and b) the position the tv show has placed them in. a combination of factors made tv a/c feel a lot less mature than their book counterparts but at the end of s1 they're sort of facing the same direction the book ended in, albeit through their own flashy late 2010s means.

when s2 was announced i was.......apprehensive bc to me, that felt like a satisfactory ending. i get the impression that amazon saw how wildly successful the adaptation was and was like oh shit we could make way more money out of this and neilman, having all those undead darlings that he and terry killed in the process of whittling the book into a workable novel, jumped at the chance to resurrect all those half-realised ideas. but not only were those ideas probably discarded for a reason, they've either been laying in wait for years unworked or they're new inventions, which means they weren't molded in the way that the book had been. like i said before, book gomens underwent years of rewrites and creative collaboration, and i think that process was what made it so good; s2 didn't have that. even if some of terry's ideas made it into s2, his influence is still missing bc he and neilman weren't in dialogue the same way they were in the book (and in some ways s1 bc i know terry was involved in the process of adapting gomens to screen before his death).

i don't think it's a case of newer fans forgetting terry so much as it is the context of terry's involvement being so removed from the current circumstances that certain aspects & discourses (i.e. is the s2 finale queerbaiting (no), does binge watching change the viewership experience (yes), etc etc) about the show overshadow other discussions that would usually be taking place. and before anyone says it's a case of neilman forgetting terry, i definitely don't think it's that either bc thats. yknow. wildly disrespectful. but also there are larger systems and structures at play than one writer no matter how much beef i have w him and his decisions, bc ultimately he's just one guy (a powerful and wealthy guy, but just a guy) and there's a wider cultural shift happening rn towards rehashing old stories without understanding what made them successful in the first place, and that same culture just doesn't allow for much, if any, constructive discourse analysis

so yeah

[beastimusprojects]

Lets try this one more time.

Going back and rewriting some stuff because I'm not fond of the direction I was going. Specifically, we had a really weird distribution of character time, and just chapters that didn't really do anything. And I ended up with a situation where I didn't have a way to do the stuff I wanted to do without just doing a bunch of talking scenes in a row.

So here's the first 2 chapters, again. I'll try to get chapter 3 done today, but it's where the major rewrites need to start.

Chapter 1: A Beautiful night.

______________________________________________________________

               Phoenix finally relaxed.

               As she watched the moon slide over the sun, she relished the fact that she was now, truly, wonderfully alone. More alone than anyone has been in a long time I think.

               There are, of course, ways to be alone not requiring physical distance, and ways of being together that overcome any distance. But it had been a decade since Phoenix had been together in any of those ways, barring a few times, but those had turned out to be false.

               Physically though, I’m as alone as anyone could be, sitting here 30 miles from the nearest other person. By all rights, trying to get to me now would be like trying to contact the spirits of the dead. She clutched at her necklace, as she always did when she felt lonely. That’s good. Solitude is safety. It’s been a long time. She let out a long breath as she steeled herself up for the thought. A decade, exactly.

               I’m seventeen now, an adult. She looked around at the island. A second chance, I guess, to build something new. A new life. Safe. Out here.

               We can’t do that alone. Its barely more than a barren rock.

               Ok, that’s fine, we’ll have to go into town for a while, but that’s a small risk, we can mitigate those.

               That’s the name of the game, small risks, small contact, don’t get attached to anyone and return to safety quickly. It won’t happen again like last time. She put her head between her knees. I hate you Karol.

               As Phoenix looked up to seen that the moon had finished its arc, leaving only a ring of fire visible in the newly night sky, a feeling washed over her. Not happiness, and not really peace either, but determination. No, it won’t happen again. In mere hours her first scar would twinge, and many more in the coming weeks, reminding her of the worst moments in her life. This time, I won’t just survive.

               She looked for a place to sleep as she breathed in the crisp, cool air of what was ordained to be the first night of her new life.

            And what a beautiful night it would be.

______________________________________________________________

               It was of course, a beautiful night, but even from his perch on top of the headquarters of the Hunters, Orwen saw very little of it. He ignored the brilliant ring of light around the moon, its glimmering reflection in the lake, and he did not notice the glittering swath of stars, like diamonds above. Instead, he looked deeply into a small handheld mirror as he ran his finger across his scar.

               A letter lay at his feet, opened and read, a Condemnation, a sanction for public execution. As a Hunter, this was all he needed. If it had not come that evening, maybe he would have forgotten, no, not forgotten, but moved on. Duty is always to be the driving force of a Hunter. That was rule three, petty vengeance was beneath him, but now, the order was set, Phoenix Alkaryl was to be his next mark. And the hunt would be sweet. He would prove once more that he was the best of the Hunters, that he deserved the title of Nitehawk.

               You know, it’s kind of funny, the Hunter’s Mark is supposed to only fall on the best, but this one is the only evidence that I am not the best, my only failure. “You mean nothing” he told himself he was talking to the scar “until I find her.”

               He was not there in the morning.

______________________________________________________________

               “Dere, I can see you!” Hywel had been sent out to collect the demon again. Ever since he’d been moved to Seeker Headquarters, the thing had been frustrating the living daylights out of him. He shot an arrow up to the top of the wall. I’m sure that my magic is the only reason they brought me here. He was on top of the wall in a second, his arrow in his right hand.

               His left hand was on Dere’s scruff, he always took the shape of a cat, trying to seem cute to distract people. It worked, but only marginally.

                    “Would you believe I was just out for a walk? It’s a very nice night!” Dere exclaimed. It curled up to try to seem cuter. It would be dropping the act as soon as it didn’t think it improved its chances.

               “No, I don’t believe the words of demons, especially not ones who I catch trying to escape.”

               “Oh, you’re always so serious, I was just out for a bit of fun.”

               Hywel took only a little bit of pleasure in stuffing Dere into the carrying cage as he said “oh, and I see that your idea of fun is tormenting people.”

               “There’s nothing else to do in this god-forsaken place.”

               “You see, you say things like that to try to get people to take pity on you, but then we have to remind ourselves that if you were free, your idea of fun would be to grow a thousand feet tall and bat villagers around until they pass out from the pain, when you would then eat them.”

               “”

               “Oh, nothing to say to that do you?”

               “I am not a demon of lies, I’m a demon of greed, it does me no good deny that you just described exactly my idea of fun.”

               After this moment of bluntness, Dere took to screaming profanities for the rest of the duration of the walk back to its cell.

______________________________________________________________

               Chapter 2: And a Wonderful Morning. ______________________________________________________________

               There’s nothing. Here. But. Blackberries! Phoenix was kind of mad about that fact, so mad in fact that she lit the nearest bush on fire with a clap of her hands.

               She took a few breaths, it’s fine, it’s fine, I wanted some meat, but I won’t starve. She walked back to her gondola and rustled around in her bags a little, coming up with some potatoes, onions, carrots, and a head of cabbage. You see, it won’t be that bad once we fry these up a little. She gathered some firewood, there were in fact, trees, so she could get enough wood to make a fire at least. I wish I’d had the sense to get an axe, if we have to build a house, we’re going to need one. Such concerns were, for the moment, however, pushed to the back of her mind as she started chopping vegetables.

               Cooking was one of the things Phoenix enjoyed the most. Fire had always fascinated her, mostly due to her powers. It engrossed her in a way that most things didn’t. Fire, used to make, and not unmake, it hearkens back to a simpler, more complex time, one of less violence, of more love, that is to say, the future, which if we do not make it, will be forever within our hearts. Her father had said that line many times, though she’d never understood, cooking was one of the first things he had taught her.

               Once the vegetables had been sliced, Phoenix roasted them over the fire in her pan.

               I’m going to have to go into town tomorrow, I need to buy more food if nothing else. But if I can get a few sheep and some chickens, I can probably stay here for a while and not have to go back. I really don’t want to go to town right now though.

               She watched the fire and put those thoughts away for now.

______________________________________________________________

               Orwen was known for being fast, but right now he was mostly just frustrated. He had tracked slippery prey before, but Phoenix Alkaryl was one of a kind. A night and a day and he could still only narrow her location to about a quarter of The Sky, a pitiful performance by The Nitehawk.

               Doesn’t matter how long it takes. I will find her.

            He was pouring over a map (the mirror laid just north of Levias) as he sat on the 11:45 ferry from Nerestar and Dorsinli, a convenient service which, 6 months ago, when Nerestar had been in Alliance territory, he couldn’t have used. He was glad the Free Cities were winning the war, if for no other reason than it made his job easier, the Alliance had made it clear they would not sanction Hunter activity in their territory. Now, Phoenix couldn’t be anywhere in Alliance territory, ever since he had killed his last mark, Scout the Seeker, the Alliance had closed their borders to all travel, Phoenix was supposed to be a good navigator, but no one got past Alliance gusters. So at least one thing was in his favor.

               If she’s this far off the map, she probably wanted to disappear. So, she went outward. If she made it all the way to the Outer Rim she could be on any number of islands.

               Oh, we’re here, I’d never thought they were that close.

               As he left the boat, he caught a glimpse down a dark alley of something he’d never seen before. A tall woman, wearing golden chainmail, one side of her face covered in burns, with three of her limbs replaced with prosthetics. Their eyes met, and she smiled with one half of her face. A Valkyrie, they were all supposed to be on the Levian front, the war was picking up steam there too over some drama about the missing prince. He tried to walk quickly away, but as he turned a corner, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

               “Excuse me, you are the Nitehawk, yes? You’re looking for a girl named Phoenix, right? The one who gave you The mark?”

“Indeed.”

“I know where to find her.”

No way, even if they did, why would they know? But if they did know, they wouldn’t tell me. No harm in asking about it though.

“Where?”

“Asera.” Makes as much sense as anywhere else, but no way it’s that easy.

“Why do you know that?”

“We have an interest in her, we’ve been tracking her for a while.”

“And why tell me?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” She raised her eyebrow.

“There is no trust, only favorable circumstance.” Rule 7

The Valkyrie frowned “We can’t catch her without your speed.”

Transparency or an attempt to play to my ego? Well, it wouldn't work anyway.

“Thank you for the information.” He turned to go but felt her hand on his shoulder.

“You misunderstand, I am to accompany you.” That’s not good.

“All right, we leave at once then.”

She shook her head “I have a few matters to attend to beforehand. Meet me by the northern gate.”

Probably don’t want to piss off a Valkyrie, I’ll play along for now, but if anything seems off, I’ll ditch her. “Ok.”

______________________________________________________________

            Guarding Dere was hell, and Hywel had been booked for a full week of it, some sort of hazing ritual he guessed. In every way, the thing was pure evil, you could almost feel badness radiating off it. Even just sitting close to it made you numb, like all the feeling was being sucked out of you. If you met its eyes, they weren’t really eyes at all, just pools of infinite empty blackness, more than just nothing themselves, also threatening to make you into nothing. And its smile was dreadful, you knew it was happy with itself, and when you saw it smiling, you couldn’t even hate it, the hate would drain away before you could replenish it. All you could feel was nothing. A vile creature.

               And then there was its voice. It didn’t make any sound; you heard it in your head. It didn’t say anything of any consequence, but it seemed to know everything about you. Or sometimes it would say the most utterly outrageous things, but that was the trouble, after a while of hearing, you sometimes wouldn’t know the difference.

            It was evil. In its most concentrated and loathsome form. Precisely what the Seekers were out to eradicate. Or so they say. Seems like they mostly are just fighting the war. Capturing and killing things like Dere was what Hywel had signed up for. Though the job mostly consisted of long guarding of the one that had already been captured. He longed to be out with one of the capture teams, or even out fighting in the war, something where he was doing something for someone, where he felt like he was helping.

Sometimes I hate this job.

               We aren’t that different you know. We’re both just stuck here, powerless to really go anywhere. It’s the worst feeling. I know you wish you had the power to go out and help people. You could. All you’d have to do is say the word.

               I’m gonna stop you right there, Dere. You aren’t wrong, we are both kinda trapped here, but we’re here for opposite reasons. You had to be dragged here, because if you were out, you’d go on a murder rampage. I’m here by choice because I want to stop things like you. You are fundamentally evil, and I will never make a deal with you, because I’m not that kind of person.

______________________________________________________________

@brokendarkfairyempressforever

@hijabi-flavored-nerd

Bear with me.

[theseventeensteps]

so here's the first 1,000 words of my little experiment, rewriting A Study In Scarlet to take place in cyberpunk future-Chicago:

New Chicago is the kind of city that gets into your guts. Like hookworm. The silt of the sea, the lights perilously perched at the water’s edge as the waves lap at the mildewing apartments of the Scaffs and floods the temporary shelters of the Undertow. It’s a tough place to live, but everywhere’s tough now. New Chicago won’t hold your hand, but it won’t lie to you, either, and these days that’s in short supply.

I guess that’s why I came back.

I had no illusions that being a battle medic for the Conglomerate was going to earn me a life of leisure and luxury when I signed up. It was just that medicine, my only true calling, was the stuff of scanners and computer readouts now. All the major hospitals employed CATvance scanners to diagnose everything from the common cold to Ion disease. Even if I had dreamed of the glorious, tumultuous life of a paramedic (I didn’t), they’d gone the same way as the dodo when Conglomerate lawyers figured out that putting emergency medicine in the hands of bots would save them billions in malpractice lawsuits.

At the end of the day, anyone serious about the real practice of medicine signed up when the Conglomerate put out the call. Thousands of jobs in real, bone-setting, infection-fighting, hot-blooded medicine, needed on the frontline out West where the edge of the Federation of American States met the burgeoning power of the Diné Empire. I spent two years in the ranks of the 66th Light Infantry Battalion, where there were no CATvance scanners, no thermobots, no Surg-o-matics, and you could barely requisition a pack of plaster bandages without getting your ass lit up by your superior officer.

That is, until a Diné Sun-gun shot me clean through the shoulder. When it’s you, bleeding out in the dirt of the Lesser Plains, you wish you had the damn Surg-o-matics, because their needles don’t shake like the hands of mind-rended teenage soldiers.

The Conglomerate sent me home, half-stitched and addled with river virus from the stinking banks of the Mississippi. I spent the next six weeks in a hospital, though I remember little of it. When I woke, they told me I had been discharged, had me sign a military NDA with my good hand, and sent me back out into the world with a weekly allowance only big enough for a room at the seediest motel I could find and a half-glass of gin before bed to keep the nightmares at bay.

I lived like that for six months. I spent my nights in restless sleep, and my days sitting on the balcony, blearily looking out into the world I’d given my right hand to defend. I thought about leaving — I knew there were smaller settlements out there, places where you could still breathe without a purifier, even. But New Chicago gets into you. Like fucking hookworm. It won’t lie to you — it will whisper in your ear at night, saying, what I have is what you deserve. You belong here. You and the dirt of my gutters are made of the same stuff.

It was right.

I was contemplating this problem — half a fifth deep — at a moonshine bar in Motor Row, just above the Scaffs, when I ran into an old acquaintance.

Ford looked too nice to be there, that was for sure. His clothes didn’t smell like gin, for one, and he sported an Ocular, a kind of monocle-like implant issued to doctors at high-ranking Conglomerate hospitals. He sat down and ordered a drink before he recognized me.

“Jon?”

I winced when he said my name. Ford had known the version of me that existed a decade prior, fresh-faced and idealist, an exceptionally gifted member of the last graduating class of the Conglomerate Institute’s School of Medicine, after which the whole degree was discontinued in favor of a small certificate program. The Ford that knew me then didn’t know me now.

“Jon Watsin?”

I plastered a smile onto my face, ignoring how twisting in my barstool made my shoulder twinge. “Ford — I thought I recognized you.”

“Jon! I thought you’d gone out to the ��� what are you doing here?” He searched me, his Ocularly-improved eye whizzing around my person, no doubt diagnosing my arm, my blood-alcohol level, and my profound halitosis all in one.

“I could ask you the same thing. Bit of a dive, for someone who’s clearly doing well for himself.”

Ford smiled, almost guiltily. “Well…”

“In fact…” I had been sharp in medical school, once, but months of sickness and isolation had taken it out of me. Still, though, I knew a sore thumb when I saw one. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you weren’t robbed on the way here.”

“I’ve just done the right work for the right people, Jon.”

“Damn,” I swore under my breath. “You’re harvesting for them, aren’t you?”

Healthcare in New Chicago was a simple affair. Pay your monthly fee to the Conglomerate, the gov-corp that cropped up in the city in the failing corners of the Federation, and the hospitals would serve you. Not for free, mind you, but even dying’s expensive these days. Fail to keep up your Conglomerate subscription, however, and you could only gain access to Federation clinics. Good for an antibiotic or an STI test, but not much else.

That left a gap. And gaps are filled with — what else? — organized crime.

Around here, it was the Hope Cartel, as in the Hope Family, as in the Hope Diamond. Need a new kidney? Dialysis? A bone marrow transplant? You could get it, for a price, in a Hope Cartel chop shop, a Frankenstein’s laboratory probably in the back of an auto yard or abandoned warehouse. But the cartel needed parts. And that’s where people like Ford came in.

“Relax,” Ford assured me, speaking quietly so as not to be overheard. It wouldn’t matter, though — if Ford was a cartel supplier, he’d be virtually untouchable, even in the dark alleys of Motor Row. “I’m Head Coroner at St. Lucy’s. What I take, nobody ever knows is missing.”

Well, that was a comfort.

I raised the glass of gin to my lips again, allowing the bitter liquid to ease the consternation that had lodged itself in my mind. “I’m not judging, Ford. There’s no angels in New Chicago.”

“There certainly aren’t,” Ford said sympathetically. “While we’re on the topic, want to tell me how you got your wings clipped?”

[nepmaxxing]

so poppy playtime's story is pretty bland, at least in my opinion, but watching the latest chapter did inspire me for a way it could be more interesting.

so, the prototype, right? main villain of the game with shockingly little screentime and a penchant for imitation. he's cunning and he's evil. but he's not all that interested in the player. he only really goes after the other living toys wandering around. and to be frank, it doesn't make a lot of sense for the person who organized the hour of joy to then go around murdering his fellow experiments while ignoring the first human to show up in over a decade.

what i propose, that i think would've made the story more interesting, is a rewrite of the prototype's backstory and role. this new version of the character isn't hostile towards humans at all. this version of the prototype would not have organized the hour of joy.

he would be introduced and spoken of as the most dangerous thing within the facility, because all the characters we interact with are experiments. his real target. he doesn't want to hurt us. hell he might even want to help us. or, i should say, we want to help him.

see, another gaping hole in poppy playtime's story is the lack of motivation for the player character. i guess they're supposed to be a blank slate for the player to project onto, but the more story-heavy a game is the less that works. and poppy playtime is very story-heavy and very linear. what that means is that the player character is someone events just sort of happen to. they do things because other characters tell them to or because there is no other option.

fact is, we don't know how the player character feels about any of the game's events. for all we know they came to kill everything in the factory once and for all. wouldn't that be an ending? all the characters supposedly on your side, you were going to destroy them all along. wouldn't that be cool? i think it would be cool.

[doodlegirl1998]

I hope you don't mind me asking but what are your views on inko because as much as hori tries to paint her as this overprotective mother I just never seem to get that vibe. I always get the vibe that sometimes she does more harm them good to izuku . So I would like to know how you think of her character and how you would changed her character to seem more supportive i guess?

Hi @bibibbon 👋,

Midoriya Inko is someone who I feel like loves her son but she is not someone I view as a good parent.

She reads to me as emotionally neglectful of Izuku - a key example of this is letting Izuku stay in Aldera while Bakugou was exploding him and destroying his things his whole childhood. To people who try to defend her and say 'Izuku hid his bullying from her', how well do you think a four year old can hide being exploded or having their things destroyed?

Inko also reads as someone who is overly emotionally dependant on Izuku - *insert the scenes we have of her crying and Izuku comforting her here.* Most of these scenes are because of her worrying because of bad things that have happened TO IZUKU such as news of his quirklessness or when he wakes up from a coma after the War Arc. Parents are meant to provide emotional support and be a pillar of strength to their children - with Izuku he seems to be that for his mum because his Dad is MIA. This is an unhealthy dynamic because he should not be his mum's emotional support.

How would I rewrite Inko?

I would have her be a proactive presence in her son's life like parents should be.

I would have it so as soon as Inko realises her son is being bullied by Bakugou she is shown notifying the teachers / bringing this to Aldera's attention.

I would have it so when Aldera does nothing or if they refuse to do anything she reports them and transfers Izuku into a better school (such as Iida or Todoroki's schools - because Izuku deserves either of them as a childhood friend more than a decade of being abused by Bkg.)

I would show Inko confronting Bakugou's parents about Bakugou's bullying and behavior to bring it to their attention. (None of this "Auntie Inko" nonsense from Bakugou like I see some fics use even if Mitsuki is her friend, and that's not confirmed by canon, I can't see any good mum liking her son's abuser.)

I would keep her emotional nature but have her actively try to hide her upset from Izuku on certain things. I.e the Quirklessness diagnosis, I would have her try to reassure Izuku that she loves him and believes in him quirk or no quirk yet him catch her crying at night when she thinks he's asleep. (This keeps the angst but makes Inko look like a better and more supportive mum.)

I would have her have more of a suspicion of Yagi around Izuku and have her bond with Yagi more. - We know Yagi is All Might. We, as readers, know this is an innocent and wholesome mentorship but to Inko this strange man has just popped out of nowhere and is spending all this time with Izuku. That, if Inko knew of it, should raise Alarm bells to a parent. Plus it would be good for Inko to see over time how good Yagi is for Izuku and have Yagi and Inko bond outside of Izuku.

Have Inko learn of OFA - I am forever salty that BAKUGOU learnt of OFA before anyone else, let alone Izuku's mum. And this version especially has a right to know.

Have Inko have more of a problem with UA - UA doesn't seem to keep the parents well informed plus AM and Aizawa's 'teaching' leaves a lot to be desired. Having Inko have more of a problem with it cements her as looking out for her son's best interests and being a proactive rather than a passive presence in his life.

These are seven improvements I can think of at the top of my head. Inko is a character that could use some rewriting to be a good parent but ultimately loves her son.

[tiffanybluesclues]

HELLO! I'm making an obnoxiously long meta about the inconsistencies of Dick's and Bruce's relationship. I'm ALMOST finishes but I need an instance of adult-ish Dick Grayson saying that he didn't want Bruce to be his father pre-flashpoint

Also if you have instances of the writer hammering they're brothers pre-flashpoint that'd be cool as hell too, but I already got at least one instance of it (when dick goes to college)

Thank you in advance!!!! I'm still on the Kory-Bruce meta lmao I'm so annoyed he barely mentions her lmaooo

Somewhere in the decades and decades of pre-Flashpoint DC Comics, there may be an instance where Dick Grayson (as an adult or at least as a teenager) said he didn't want Bruce to be his father, but I've never seen it and I'm kind of glad I haven't because tbh based on what I *have* seen it would be Dick lying to himself.

I'm guessing the page that inspired your quest is this court scene from "Batman: Year 3" (1989)?

– Batman #439, 09/1989.

Maybe it was a modernized explanation for why Bruce took Dick in as a ward instead of adopting him – as opposed to the version in Batman #213 (08/1969), with the court saying Bruce couldn't adopt because he was a bachelor.

Something that speaks volumes to me is that in the same story as the above court scene, in the preceding issue actually, Dick thinks to himself that Bruce was like father to him. There is no internal conflict in this statement, no thought about how he at some point didn't want this. "He was like a FATHER to me and I LOVED him." He follows that up with a sad reminder of the distance between him and post-Crisis Bruce: "...and though he could NEVER bring himself to say it, I know he loved me too."

– Batman #438, 08/1989 or 09/1989.

You're familiar with the college-send-off, so please keep it in mind when you read this scene with [regard to] Bruce and pre-Crisis Jason.

– pages from Batman #376, 10/1984.

Alfred's response makes sense, it's a good explanation. It's also a complete rewrite of history, so these two are lying to themselves – or, more likely, the writers are trying to emphasize the current day stakes and emotions at the expense of the past. With the above panels in mind, let's look again at how Bruce actually reacted when Dick left home...

– pages from Batman #217, 12/1969.

Oh suuuuure, he definitely didn't mope around feeling lonely and depressed at all – and closing up Wayne Manor and moving out was a ~totally~ chill and non-dramatic reaction to Dick leaving for college... lol, okay, Bruce. I guess 159 issues and almost 15 years can make memories faulty.

The following are two pages I saved because of their references to the history that Bruce and Dick share. I want to highlight the page on the left though, because on a single page this comic manages to pay respect to the long history between Dick and Bruce while also disrespecting Dick's role as a surrogate son in Bruce's life.

– pages from Detective Comics #533, 12/1983; The New Titans #61, 12/1989.

That final yellow panel is so rude to me lol, like how dare you say "for the first time" as if like-a-son-to-him Dick Grayson didn't happen.

Comics from the 60s and 70s were probably the peak time for the idea that Bruce and Dick were like brothers. As far as I can tell though, writers didn't really have other characters describe them as brothers. I've seen mentor & apprentice, friends, partners, guardian & ward, knight & squire, and (primarily when there are no other children in the mix) of course Dick is also described as Bruce's heir pretty often.

I feel like, compared to Batman comics, the 1980s Teen Titans comics were more willing to say Bruce and Dick had a father and son relationship. Donna even contrasts her sisterly relationship with Diana to the parent and child relationship of Bruce and Dick during "Who Is Donna Troy?"

– The New Teen Titans #38, 01/1984 (Donna); The New Titans #61, 12/1989 (Alfred); The Brave and the Bold #197 04/1983 (Golden Age/Earth Two Bruce Wayne).

At least they let Earth Two Bruce remain true to Golden Age vibes.

My headcanon is always that he is the Bruce who every Dick Grayson grew up with, regardless of era, regardless of rewrites. Here are some panels that kind of support that – a significant factor in how Dick views Bruce is that he had a "softer" version of him than the man we see now.

– Batman: Gotham Knights #26, 04/2002 (Barbara); Nightwing #134, 09/2007 (Dick in flashback); Batman #437, 08/1989 or 09/1989 (Dick again).

A repeated theme from Dick is that he is insecure about his place in Bruce's life, and in some instances Bruce even made it clear that Dick's role was as a soldier, or at best a partner, and that being part of his family was conditional.

– left: pages from Robin: Year One - Part 2, Part 3, Part 3, Part 4, 01/2001.

right: panels from Robin: Year One - Part 4, 01/2001; Batman: Gotham Knights #43 09/2003; Action Comics #613, 08/1988; same; Nightwing #134, 09/2007; Nightwing Secret Files #1, 10/1999; same.

With that underlying insecurity, and the deep love and loyalty that Dick has for Bruce, I think that by the time he came of age it's likely that Dick actively wanted Bruce to be his father.

The first 20 or so issues of Gotham Knights offered some great material about their familial relationship (leading up to the adoption storyline). In issue #14 Dick writes a letter that he still never send. I swear half the delay in my response was probably me deciding which panels to include from this because it is a gold mine for the kind of meta you're writing.

– panels from Batman: Gotham Knights #14, 04/2001.

& with that I've hit the image limit, but I'll reblog with some panels on the point about how Bruce and Dick were often described as friends (something I saw possibly just as often as ward and heir).