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songoftrillium · 1 year ago

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Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition and the Anti-Indigeneity in the Gaming Industry

reosted with permission from J.F. Sambrano

Dagot’ee!

Shii J.F. Sambrano gonsēē. My nations are Chiricahua Apache (Ndeh) through my maternal grandmother and Cora Indian (Náayarite) through my maternal grandfather. I am a mixed race Indigenous person, and through my father my heritage is English and Scottish. I am currently residing and doing work in my community on the lands of Lummi Nation. I use both gender non-binary and masculine pronouns, but prefer the former. I have several published works in the TTRPG industry, and am probably most known for my contributions to Mage: the Ascension 20th Edition, Werewolf: the Apocalypse 20th Edition, and the Transformers Roleplaying Game, as well as being part of the Essence 20 development team. Further, I also work in higher education at an Indian college, both advising and teaching Indigenous students across the United States. My passion is education, and I believe that we all learn through play, and that TTRPGs are a valuable source of learning, especially on personal, cultural, and social levels. This has always been what has drawn me to TTRPGs since I started playing M.E.R.P. with my brother in 1996 (and before that HeroQuest), through to my “graduation” into more story-driven games such as those presented in the Storyteller System, until now, where I author and produce my own roleplaying games.

I was also part of the First Team (in-joke intentional) hired by White Wolf Studios/Paradox Interactive via Hunters Entertainment to develop and author Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition. After several months of work, Paradox Interactive chose to go in another direction in early 2021 (I believe it was either March or April) and in fall of that year, it was announced that Werewolf would instead be taken in house, with Justin Achilli as the Brand Creative Lead and primary author of the book. Going forward I will be describing my experience while I worked with Paradox Interactive, primarily through Karim Muammar, White Wolf’s Brand Editor, as well as the developmental editor for Werewolf. Although I worked in a team, both with hired authors and in-house representatives at Hunters Entertainment, I will not be speaking for the experience of others, except when specifically noting unanimous consensuses, and specific interactions (which will go unnamed) that are particularly relevant. My hope is that by highlighting some of the anti-Indigenous attitudes that are central to the foundational members and leaders of the White Wolf brand, that I can provide opportunities for growth and healing within the World of Darkness TTRPG community, but also in the broader gaming community, where these behaviors and attitudes are rampant. I also want the community to have a better understanding of what this experience is like internally, and the challenges that Indigenous creators, as well as other marginalized creators, are met with when they try to make positive change within nerd and geek communities clinging to inherited white supremacist values, even if they don’t realize they are doing so.

What I do not want to be doing in this article is creating fuel for edition wars. I believe that both legacy and Werewolf 5th are rife with anti-Indigenous attitudes, and appalling amounts of appropriation. Both versions deserve criticism, I am not defending one over the other, I am only sharing what my experience was like working on the 5th edition of the book. Further, please understand that I was originally going to wait until I had read the final copy of the book, because I wanted to know how much of my work was used (based on previews I already know some was, just not the extent) and whether or not they decided to credit me for that work, and how I was going to be credited. My belief is that I likely will not be, but I am genuinely uncertain. Knowing how they handled that would have reframed how I addressed this. But more importantly, I want it to be very clear that even before Paradox ultimately pulled the plug on the Hunters team, I was preparing to exit working on the project based on the experience I will describe below. Not only did I find it frustrating, and personally disparaging, but I ultimately decided I was uncomfortable with my name being attached to the product based on the direction they wanted to go. So while I wanted to know whether or not I would be credited, because it would teach me something about their internal practices, I do not want or need the credit.

Finally, the reason that I decided to speak about this now instead of after having a chance to inspect the final product, was because my personal experience dealing with anti-Indigeneity coming from Paradox was just that: personal. But since then I have witnessed a throughline of hateful and xenophobic attitudes wielded against Indigenous people across the globe, and we do not deserve this treatment. I was outraged over the events that led to the segregation of the Latin American fanbase, which culminated from bottom-up criticism about how poorly their people and countries were being defined through World of Darkness products, and ended up with the firing of their Latin American Brand Ambassador, Alessa Torres, because she chose to stand with her community in those criticisms. I was further appalled when the likeness of Tāme Wairere Iti was shoehorned into the Werewolf book, a blatant example of cultural theft: not only in stealing the literal physical identity of an Indigenous person, but also his sacred tā moko. When Paradox Interactive issued an apology for this, it felt incredibly hollow to me in the wake of these events, the hateful attitudes I had personally witnessed coming from the top.

Whether from North America, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, or Peru, or across the globe in New Zealand, not only do Indigenous people deserve better treatment from such a major company, but their Indigenous and Latino fanbases, who have twisted and worked themselves through difficult representation for decades at this point, deserve better. Apologies are not enough, especially when they come with next to no real change.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse in Context

At the time that White Wolf Publishing began to produce its World of Darkness line, the TTRPG industry was dominated by white men, both as producers, developers, and authors, as well as the main characters in their settings. White Wolf's World of Darkness made an impact at the time, by defying these Eurocentric, patriarchal presentations, first by defaulting to feminine pronouns throughout Vampire: the Masquerade, and then by focusing on Indigenous representation and values in Werewolf: the Apocalypse, and as a young Indigenous nerd, it had a positive impact on me, as I know it has on some other Indigenous people who became fans of the World of Darkness at the time. This was because before opening the pages of Werewolf: the Apocalypse, I had never seen heroes that I could play who looked like me and my culture. It was off, and often offensive, but it was my first experience in which I could directly play a hero who shared my heritage--and I also had more than one option through two different Tribes to do so. This might sound a little like I was cheering for table scraps, but again, at the time, table scraps was more than I had ever seen before.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse 1st Edition was originally published in 1992 via then White Wolf Publishing (not to be confused with Paradox Interactive's White Wolf). From its inception, the premise was interwoven with what its then-authors believed to be Indigenous praxis and representation. Like many pop-culture presentations of Indigeneity from this time period (see Fern Gully, Dances With Wolves, Disney’s Pocahontas, or in TTRPGs, the NAN from Shadowrun) it was rife with problematic and even offensive stereotyping. The most obvious examples thereof are within the two "Pure Tribes" Uktena, and W****** who I will henceforth refer to as Older and Younger Brother. However, Indigenous inspiration was at the core of the game's spiritual premise as well, where animism and "Totems" are central to the setting and gameplay. The way these concepts are presented is trivializing and dehumanizing, but it is important to acknowledge that the appropriation present in Werewolf: the Apocalypse goes a lot deeper than the two Brother Tribes (even the term "Tribe" was meant to invoke a vision of Indigeneity compared to the previous setting in the line's use of "Clan"). Additionally, there is art throughout every generation of these gaming books that represents humans, wolves, and human-wolf hybrid forms wearing Indigenous regalia, including sacred items such as headdresses, or engaged in sacred rituals such as the Sun Dance. The list of problematic representations goes deep, and my examples only scratch the surface, but it is also important for me to note the positive impact that this had, particularly in the 90's.

Even though the primary contributors to these narratives were non-Indigenous authors, or in one case, a Pretendian, and another, a culturally disconnected author, by the time the Revised (or Third Edition) era of the books came around, White Wolf Publishing was actively engaged in cultural consultation. While I do not believe cultural consultation makes a big difference on its own, it matters that the attempt was made, to a degree: while these efforts fall short of what needs to be seen in cultural representation, this was still ahead of most other gaming companies at this time.

Hired by Hunters Entertainment

In February of 2020 I was approached by one of the co-owners of Hunters Entertainment to be one of the primary authors for Werewolf: 5th Edition due to my work on other World of Darkness projects, and let's be honest, because I was capable of bringing a much needed Indigenous perspective to a gameline that was rooted in Indigeneity and rotting with appropriation and racist stereotypes. I was overall receptive to the invitation, largely because I was very passionate about the World of Darkness setting overall, and Werewolf in particular, due to the impact that 90's representation had on me when I was a younger gamer. I also felt hopeful that with a really hard rewrite of Indigenous aspects of the game that I could shift a lot of really painful aspects of the game into something that was a net positive for Indigenous representation. I will tell you now, more than anything, I was excited to rewrite the Younger Brother Tribe, because when separated from racist authors, their message is very empowering and real to my lived experience.

That said, I did not agree to join the project without first asking for reassurances. I said that I was not willing to write negative Native stereotypes. I would not use appropriative language, or generally engage in appropriative writing (which meant at minimum that the names of the Pure Tribes would need to change), and most importantly, that I would not not engage in writing that contributed to erasure. While the person who recruited me to work on the project was eager to work with me, he acknowledged that he was not sure he could get everything I wanted to see approved, but also promised to fight for everything I suggested as hard as he could. Additionally, he shared with me that the original setting pitch for W5 involved all of Younger Brother being slaughtered en masse in a massacre. I made it clear that this was exactly the kind of thing that I would not write. I cannot remember if this was something he suggested to be changed before or after I was invited onto the project, but with some pushback it was changed. However, I point this out because I want you, the reader, to understand how eager Paradox Interactive was to start with mass genocide and erasure as a foundation to the setting. All that said, I cannot stress enough that I have had nothing but positive experiences with Hunters Entertainment, and none of the following concerns fall upon them.

The Sword of Heimdall

The first encounter the Hunters Entertainment team as a whole had with problematic guidelines for the W5 draft was the direction that Paradox Interactive wanted to go with the Sword of Heimdall. At the time, the suggestions from Paradox and Karim Muammar were that the Sword of Heimdall was going to represent the new major villain of the Werewolf setting, and that they were to also represent the far-right, fascist direction that Werewolf society so often turned toward. They were meant to be representative of how far the new concept of Hauglosk could take entire communities. However, the Sword of Heimdall was discussed interchangeably with the Get of Fenris as a whole, and more than once Muammar seemed to suggest that every member of this Tribe was guilty of the same attitudes espoused in previous editions from the Sword of Heimdall. Now let's not beat around the bush: the Sword of Heimdall are literal Nazis. They believe directly in white supremacy and don't shy from it. They wanted to cleanse impure elements from the Get of Fenris, including BIPOC people, other non-white ethnicities, women, neurodivergent Garou, and other disabled Garou.

The writing team found this approach problematic for several reasons. The first, and most obvious, was that the direction seemed to want to turn one of the most popular Tribes into a horrific stereotype of its most abhorrent faction. Whether or not Muammar’s goal was to turn them into villains, we could not imagine a world where fans of previous editions would get their hands on this book, and not look for a way to play one of their previous favorite groups, thus creating the issue of making a guide to playing Nazi. Even beyond that, it’s not as if historically there were not players who used the tools of the setting to play Black Spiral Dancers, why wouldn’t this draw people who actually wanted to role-play through these toxic, harmful politics? Further, and while this is less important, it left a bad taste in my mouth, the justification for this major shift in Werewolf lore seemed to change over each pass. At first, Muammar suggested that all Fenrir were Nazis/SoH. Then, when he was provided with evidence that it was a small faction that was eliminated in the early 2000’s, he started to shift toward the idea that we should not follow the lore. Finally, when every single member of the writer’s team flatly refused to provide what would essentially be “a player’s guide to being a Nazi werewolf” the writing was on the wall about the end of our involvement with this product. More than once, he suggested that we were cowardly social justice warriors for being unwilling to work with this concept, even though there were several attempts to write a heroic version of the Fenrir that were focused on undoing these ills of the past.

Indigenous Erasure in Werewolf: 5th Edition

While the entire Hunters Entertainment writing team was handling the major, glaring issue of Paradox’s fervor to include a major Nazi element in Werewolf, I was personally dealing with the problematic approach to the Indigenous issues in the setting. The largest problem, for me, was in addressing Younger Brother’s issues, the history of non-Indigenous writers creating horrifically racist stereotypes, and what was valuable in the Tribal identity that should be saved and recentered. However, my attempts to do so were thwarted with every approach. I rewrote this Tribe four times, and offered three different versions of it to try to earn approval for a final write-up, but each time there was a lot of negativity directed towards my attempts and all them boiled down to this: Muammar felt that having two Tribes (both Younger and Older Brother) representing the “Indigenous population” was too many, and wanted them to only be focused on Older Brother, and that Younger Brother’s connection to a central, Indigenous identity, was undesirable because “other sources wrote them as having Siberian and European connections” and that future writing on this Tribe would require a lot of sensitivity…suggesting that one, Muammar wasn’t interested in doing the work to handle that level of sensitivity, and further, that he wasn’t interested in including me in future work, since I was involved with doing that at the time.

I want to take a moment to remind you that the work that was put into recovering Younger Brother started with “Let’s Kill Them Off” and at this point, through a combination of convincing and pleading, had been walked back to “They can live, but now they’re not connected to being Indigenous anymore” which is just representative genocide of a different variety. “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” It was also explicitly something I said I would not write about going into this project. Ultimately, my efforts did not get much further than this, with some specific exceptions I will cite below.

Karim Muammar’s Anti-Indigenous Positions

Muammar consistently and repeatedly communicated to the team in ways that were condescending and dismissive of our collective accomplishments and capabilities, but from my perspective, no one suffered as much significant derision as I did while discussing the changes I wanted to make to Younger and Older Brother in order to make their representation empowering and exciting.

In the pulled quote from the previous paragraph, I want to point out to you that Muammar, who had the title of Lead Editor on this project, refused to capitalize Native American. Further, he would often redline my work with edits to decapitalize my own uses of Native American, as well as the word Indigenous when referring to Indigenous peoples. While there are plenty of people who might want to argue about this, I will point out that both the AP style guide as well as the Chicago style guide (the one which I am most familiar with in my academic historical work) both call for Indigenous to be capitalized when referring to a people. Further, I challenge anyone to defend the consistent decapitalization of Native American. More importantly, the reason that these are standards in respected style guides, is because the English language has been used historically to oppress and erase ethnic identities, including Indigenous identities. By transforming adjectives into proper nouns, we are declaring that Indigenous and Native aren’t descriptors that can be applied to animals, plants, and soil, but real lived identities and culture groups.

When I was explaining to the Paradox team (which was mostly just Muammar) why it was important to change the names of these two Tribes from the appropriative (and offensive) ones used in the past, Muammar pushed back by defending the previously used Younger Brother name, even after reading my extensive research and explanation about how this would harm Indigenous communities and fans.

While doing so, he also decided that it was appropriate to refer to this entirely Native American tribe by the word “savages” a slur that has been specifically used to dehumanize Native Americans, and then mocked my rewrite that focused on presenting them as stewards of the land using Indigenous methodologies and praxes, instead of the “savage” racist stereotypes they were presented as in previous editions. Further, as in the above quote, even after it was communicated that the use of this term was problematic, he kept doubling-down to use it to refer to the Tribe.

Even though I worked hard to redefine Younger Brother through Indigenous theory, such as place-based theory, relational theory, and communal theory, Muammar either refused to recognize this work, dismissing it as simple, or else simply could not understand the importance of these changes. Either way, the choice is that he didn’t want them to change, or couldn’t comprehend why the change was important because of how entrenched in white supremacist thinking he is. Further, after the massive effort that I put forward to attempt to educate him and the rest of the Paradox team on these issues, the insistence on using offensive terms and belittling my work felt intentional. So let’s talk about the work I did that was above and beyond my job description: free cultural consulting work.

“Sensitivity” and Consultation

I have seen several misunderstandings of my role working on this project going around, so I want to make something very clear. I was hired to work on this project as an author, and nothing else. I was not ever hired to be a cultural consultant. I do not do cultural consulting work. While I feel that there are many creators and companies who hire cultural consultants with the best intentions in mind, their responses often fall short of what is needed, as no one is ever obligated to actually follow the advice of cultural consultants. Further, I think there are also many companies who choose to hire cultural consultants only to say “we did this minimal step, and that is enough” in order to ward off naysayers.

However, anyone who hires me gets some level of cultural consulting for free, because it comes out in my writing–in both what I won’t write and what I choose to center my writing around. In the case of Werewolf 5th Edition, however, it was far more involved than this. I came with a plethora of “I will not write X” because I knew the setting was so problematic. A short list of my demands besides not being willing to write Indigenous erasure, was that we needed to change the names of the Pure Tribes (and the term Pure Tribe itself), we needed to change the word Totem to Patron, and also the Patrons of the Pure Tribes. We needed to move away from the term Metis for obvious reasons, and we needed to move away from the term Skin Dancers. I also specifically noted that there was a lot of cultural theft happening from the beginning of Werewolf until now that I wanted to address. The only way these issues were going to be addressed was to convince Paradox they were actual issues on the level of PR concerns, because nothing else was likely going to be considered. So in order to achieve this, I put in weeks worth of research, writing, and meetings with top level administrators with Hunters Entertainment so that they could bring this information to Paradox. I never documented my hours, but I would guess that I did approximately 80-100 hours of what I could only describe as cultural consultation work for free that was outside the contract work I was hired for. Let’s be clear: I did this willingly because I was passionate about the positive changes I wanted to see in this product, because I believed that Werewolf’s historic ills could be turned toward non-toxic representation.

Besides my actual words, such as naming the Ghost Council, and arguably the name Gale Stalkers came from a combination of names I pitched to Paradox after Winter’s Teeth was denied, and several sentences and paragraphs that I have seen so far that appear so close to what I originally wrote that you could imagine they were just edited versions, my largest contribution toward the final version of Werewolf: 5th Edition was this work. The only reason the offensive, appropriated names were changed were because of hours of my work to convince them it needed to happen. The reason that the Gale Stalkers aren’t just dead and gone: again, I pushed against this. The reason that Skin Dancers, Totem, and Metis will not appear as canonical titles? I pushed against their unwillingness to alter these things (see Karim’s defense of Wen**** Tribe name above).

Further, and this is the biggest reason I decided to write this article before seeing the final version of the book, I want to mention that I was also included in discussions with Hunters Entertainment to potentially be part of the art direction team, especially to oversee depictions of Indigenous characters, regalia, and art, to ensure that it would be represented either respectfully or not at all. I decided I needed to speak as soon as possible after the artistic portrayal of Tāme Iti appeared in the Glass Walkers preview without his permission. There are many arguments surrounding this issue and I am not going to address everything, but ultimately, I can tell you that had I remained as part of the art direction team, and saw that, I would have questioned it immediately. Even if I didn’t recognize Tāme Iti immediately, I would have asked what the source was on the depiction of moko in that piece, because I am aware that this is a sacred form of art–and I had already discussed wanting to make sure things like Crinos in headdresses didn’t appear in the book (as had often happened in previous editions, particularly on a certain white-skinned character whose name rhymes with Steals-the-Past).

As time working on this project went on, and I went through rounds and rounds of trying to convince Muammar and Paradox that it was important to not steal Indigenous identities, art, and stories, and that a greater effort needed to be put in powerful and empowering Indigenous representation, and I constantly ran into refusals and criticisms that were clearly hateful toward Indigenous identities and peoples, not to mention the push to represent Nazism as a major part of the game setting, I grew increasingly frustrated and restless with feeling like I was trying to work on a challenging project while also defending my right to exist as the person I am at every turn. Eventually I turned to another Indigenous TTRPG and game creator to ask for advice, and after a long and difficult discussion, I came to the conclusion that I was going to talk to the Hunters administration team and tell them that if Muammar kept using slurs and other anti-Indigenous language and attitudes, I was going to need to step off of this project, because it was harmful to me on a personal level. In furtherance of this point, I have been avoiding doing any contract work at all where I can tell that I am wanted for my specific cultural perspective ever since, because this situation was so harrowing for me.

Unfortunately, before I could have this conversation, after one final draft of Younger Brother and Bone Gnawers (which had its own issues, but that is not the point of this discussion), before we received any other specific feedback, the Hunters Entertainment administrators announced to the writing team that Paradox had decided to take the book in-house, and would no longer need our services.

The main point I would like to leave you with, besides these few specific quotes (out of dozens and dozens) that Muammar made that were anti-Indigenous, is that there is often a big call to have more BIPOC voices in various entertainment industries, so that both our stories, perspectives, and unique views on how the universe and life works, can be included; so that an industry that is historically, harmfully Eurocentric, might turn toward new, healthier, and inclusive directions. And I agree with this call for change, but I implore you to consider the conditions that BIPOC creators often have to work under: doing cultural/identity work and consultation for free as part of being present, being subject to vicious refusals of our experiences and perspectives, and straight-up having slurs lodged against our work. I want to see these changes in the industries we love, including the gaming industry, but currently the people who are in charge, who have the most power, are severely hostile to our work and our perspectives. This is why, for example, works like Coyote & Crow were done with an almost entirely Indigenous group of creators, and led by Indigenous creators, because trying to work for and with this ugly, hateful, and xenophobic group of people is so often exhausting, both mentally and spiritually, and because no good changes end up being made.

I am glad the harmful, appropriative terms were removed from the setting. I am glad I was part of the fight to make that real. I am not so glad that I was treated with hostility and racism by Muammar for the effort and love I put into this work, and I am not so glad that I will certainly be reviled by one of the two communities I did this work for–the gaming community, and certainly the people in power in this industry–and I am also not so glad that I didn’t have the opportunity to properly acknowledge how much of Werewolf’s base themes and setting are twisted and tied-up in Indigenous appropriation without giving the proper acknowledgments.

More than anything, I hope that this story will help you, the fans, realize that there is a lot of darkness in these communities, and they won’t change unless you hold their feet to the fire.

Ánaagodzįįhł

J.F. Sambrano

#decolonization #ttrpg #werewolves #writing #world of darkness #werewolf: the apocalypse #werewolf the apocalypse #mage: the ascension #vampire: the masquerade #changeling: the dreaming

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lackadaisycal-art · 3 months ago

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The ability to illustrate your stories in the time you could be writing them is a blessing and a curse

#writeblr #creative writing #illustration #oc #original character #the changeling #art #character design #procreate #writers on tumblr #writing

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bunnieswithknives · 3 months ago

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OK LAST CHIMMY POST IM NORMAL NOW IM NORMALIMNORMAL @cubbihue

#fop #fairly oddparents #fop a new wish #fairly oddparents a new wish #timmy turner #changeling timmy #chimmy #fic #fanfic #I started writing this a few days ago and im not sure if its good yet but Im terrified of waiting too long and it becoming irrelevant #so here it is!!!!!#Changeling timmy I love you bb girl.....

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ashleyfableblack · 2 months ago

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"Okay… what about this one?" Queen Twilight tapped a hoof on the page. With a soft glow of her horn she drew out the complex symbol in the air as she sounded it out. "Vah… Lahk. Varahk? Varrac!"

Chrysalis smiled. "Perhaps…" She sleepily craned her neck to study her most recent clutch of eggs. A sticky green resin held the precious charges in place, dangling from a nearby rocky overhang. As the wind funneled through the natural arch, they gently swung, rocked as a baby in a crib.

With a puff of her cheeks she blew a gust of glittering pinkish light in their direction. The love energy swirled around the eggs like an octopus ink, clouding the air in a warm soupy fog before it was absorbed into the tiny grey orbs. The as-yet-unborn gobbling up the nourishment from their mother. Chrysalis gave a sleepy yawn and began to slowly drift to laying on her side,. She wondered if they, too would have violet eyes like their little lavender pony other-mother.

"Chryssi?" Twilight gave her wife a gentle prodding with her wingtip. "Honeybug?"

"MRZussaffm…" Chrysalis's eyes struggled open.

Twilight gave an pleading grin at the pitifully adorable sight of the little larvae nuzzled around her bughorse bride as they tucked into the translucent tresses of her cobweb-mane. "Chryssi…?"

Chrysalis chittered to one of the larvae and gave her an affectionate nip, removing a flake of molting chitin. "I'm sorry, beloved. I'm just-" she yawned again . "You know your pony naming conventions are so unnecessary to our changelings. They're hatched knowing their designations through the hive-mind."

Twilight pouted with a pleading smile as she leafed through the pages of the incredibly ancient book. "I know it's a point of cultural confusion between our races, beetlebum. That's why I'm trying to incorporate more of your culture and try some names more familiar to your people and your people's history- while at the same time educating myself on the Ancient Equish language and history." She held the book aloft in her magic with a prideful flourish, still carefully keeping her place in its pages. "THUS, we are using one of your old journals from the pre-Sucrosian Period!"

Chrysalis sighed and gave a playful roll of her eyes in surrender. She had to chuckle. When Twilight was like this, she truly couldn't deny her little wife anything. She watched with interest as Twilight opened her old journal. Two of their larvae quickly skittered from the navy waves of her wife's mane to climb on the millenia-old manuscript. Excited to help their ponymother, they chittered happily, holding the page in place with their forelimbs.

"So…. Varrac?" Twilight asked with a bright, curious smile.

"Well, she was good with snakes."

Twilight looked from the ancient book to one of the tiny changeling larvae cuddled into her crest of alicorn chest-fluff. "Are you a 'Varrac'? Are you going to be good with snakes?"

The tiny face lit up like a Hearthswarming bonfire at her ponymother's excited smile. She hissed out her tiny forked tongue and wiggled her little caterpillar-like rump of a tail segment. Twilight fawned with motherly pride and nosed at the tiny changeling babe. "I'll bet you will be. Of course you will. You look just like a Varrac."

Chrysalis adored moments like these, lazy afternoons together with her wife, watching her excitement and pride as she learned new things. Pouring over old volumes of any sort, Twilight came to life in a whole other way. Knowledge was her passion.

"Let's see here… What about… This one, V….Vaaa….Varghan?"

Chrysalis peered over the tome. "Vabam. As I recall she …was good with secrets…. good at telling them anyways."

Twilight crinkled her nose at that thought. Looking to one of the larvae she shook her head. "That doesn't sound like you, does it?" The tiny changeling babe tilted her head. returning her ponymother's smile and shake of the head. "No. You're not a Vabam. That's an honest little face if I've ever seen one. Hmmmm…."

She continued pouring over the swirling, magical symbols. With Chrysalis tutelage she was learning the art of reading them but still, the practice was FAR more complicated than any language she'd ever encountered. Deciphering the symbols was as much mental wrestling as it was arcane finesse, even compared to the darkest and most ancient of pony magics. "Okay, what about… Sssssurgat? No. I remember you said something once about that one. She liked to pick locks or…. Oo! Suluth! What about that one, Chryssi?"

After a few moments of silence Twilight looked up from the page. "Chrysalis?"

She chuckled. Chrysalis had dozed off. Their tiny charges, nestled secure in the tucked chitinous hooves of their armored queen-mother, mirrored her gentle snoring.

"Oh well." Twilight sighed. With a curling of the enchanted waves of her mane she drew the larvae gathered around her into her crest of chest floof. "I guess that can be enough for today."

The alicorn queen softly shut the tome. With a mother's love, she gently carried her little buggy babes with her as she sidled over to the slumbering bughorse. After a few moments of ooching she eventually found her way into the creche of her wife's limbs and In the enchanted air of sweet summer breeze the royal family drifted off together.

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autism-purgatory · 4 months ago

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“Your vampires suck bc they arent accurate to vampires/doesn’t fit my extremely strict (usually Eurocentric) ideas of vampires” wrong. Skill issue. Vampires or changelings or whatever aren’t real and people can do whatever the fuck they want with them, hope this helps.

#writing #writeblr #rant #This is about that fuck ass changeling post #It’s the mermaid knees discourse all over again #Be weird and make shit up or stick to typical vampires or something in between #Saying there’s only one way to do vampires is like saying there’s only one true portrayal of Greek mythology

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charyou-tree · 2 months ago

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I'm thinking about changeling myths

What if the fae were brood-parasites of humans?

What if, like cuckoo birds, they left their own young to be unwittingly cared for by another species? Perhaps fae children have become excellent human-mimics out of sheer necessity, with humans trying to recognize the intruder and evict them in an evolutionary arms-race. Maybe they must leave their forcibly-adopted homes before adulthood, lest their fully grown fae forms arouse suspicion, and that most dangerous human threat-response: an angry mob. Perhaps that's why humans have the "uncanny-valley" response of instinctive distrust and aversion to nearly-humans.

What if most fae didn't steal human children outright, but placed their young into the homes of human families that had recently lost a child? Perhaps they took advantage of the tragically high ~50% child mortality rate of preindustrial societies, filling the gaps in families with their own children. Maybe they knew on some instinctive level that they would be cared for by the grieving parents who were thankful for the seeming miracle. Maybe they also knew not to leave a fae child in a healthy human home, for humans would certainly notice if there was suddenly an extra child after all.

What if, sometimes though, they were maybe a little too quick? Perhaps switching out the still-warm body of the human infant who had died in the night with their fae young before the human mother even realized that her child had perished. Maybe from her perspective, it would seem like her child was stolen and replaced, even if it wasn't the fae's fault that they had died.

What if desperate fae mothers would occasionally resort to killing a human child, lacking any other suitable home to place them into? Perhaps It was risky, trying something so overt, but biological imperatives being what they are she would find herself compelled to go through with it before her own child starved. Maybe she made it look like an accident, or a sudden illness. Maybe sometimes they really did switch out the human's offspring for their own, not to steal the human child, but tragically to leave them alone to die of neglect, a sad but necessary price to ensure that their own child might prosper. Maybe it wasn't such an emotional thing for the fae. Maybe they saw it as no different to how the humans culled bulls and rams to ensure that their herds and flocks were amenable to domesticity.

What if particularly nasty fae outright threatened human families that were starting to become suspicious of their strange wild child? Perhaps openly demanding that they continue to raise them, or face the horror of having their remaining human children killed if they were to kill the fae's child, the way that brown headed cowbirds do to the species that they burden with their eggs. Maybe the rest of the local humans lived in fear of looking too long at the wide-eyed children, or even just whispering the word "changeling", knowing that another child might "mysteriously" fall ill, and then suddenly appear to "recover", but would never be quite the same.

What if it was hardly the fae's fault, but simply their nature? Perhaps a mother fae felt stark terror even after placing her young into the seemingly perfect home, knowing that even if the humans were merely to evict her offspring they were still as good as dead, for they knew no other way of caring for them. Maybe there were elaborate methods and rituals that were meant to give their young the best disguise and protection from human wrath that they could, in lieu of a more direct parental role that their species had long since shed like a vestigial limb.

What if more sympathetic fae sought a consensual childcare arrangement? Perhaps they would approach a grieving family openly, but cautiously, with an offer of a child they could raise in the place of the one that they had lost. Maybe they had learned that some humans would willingly raise nonhumans, after all they kept animals of all kinds, why not a child specifically evolved to be appealing to them?

What if there were whole villages that were relative safe-havens, mutualistic societies with mixed human-fae families an open-secret? Perhaps they disguised it from outside humans that wouldn't understand the arrangement, to protect all of their children, even the adopted ones. Maybe it was worth having a few extra mouths to to feed to also have an inexplicably good harvest every year, and a few pairs of unnaturally keen eyes that can see the things that go bump in the night more clearly than any diurnal ape ever could?

What if humans from such special places might even undergo the opposite exchange? Perhaps they sought out the fae's help during times of dire need in their adulthood, and received it, because they had helped raise their children after all. Maybe the fae they were pleading to for aid was even raised alongside them in their youth, and knew the human coming for their help as a beloved sibling, so of course they would do what they could; it would be repaid manifold by generations of safe fae children, free from the fear of death by discovery by angry vengeful humans.

What if changelings weren't a myth, or a monster, but an adaptation?

#changeling #fae #myths #brood parasites #speculative biology #cuckoo bird #brown headed cowbird #the fae #fair folk #speculative evolution #my thoughts #original story #creative writing

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comfymoth · 2 months ago

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have you already planned/shared what the mall horrors are?

everyone, say hello to the mall horrors! :D

#okay the real answer to that is: yes and no ToT #bugsy and i have the broad strokes decided— backrooms under the mall. freaky changeling business. eventually things turn out okay #but we change our minds on the details so damn often #it’s always hard. writing spooky things because once you Explain the things they cease to be spooky #but also if you don’t explain them well your story makes no damn sense #so. we waffle. A Lot #on *why* the things happen #but like i said. we’ve got the broad strokes. so hopefully the rest of the details come soon ToT

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hitlikehammers · 6 months ago

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Steve Harrington: The Boy Who Never Belonged Anywhere

🖤steddie🖤 — and yeah okay it does kinda start out w a little emotional whump (also please let me emphasize the TEMPORARY character death that MIGHT NOT EVEN BE REAL IN THE FIRST PLACE 👀)

To say Steve’s never felt like he belonged, like he ever really fit anywhere, would be inaccurate.

Because he’d have to know what it meant to fit somewhere at all, in order to know that he was failing at it, like, specifically.

Failure in general, though: that Steve is more than accustomed to. That is all his in fucking spades—and not for lack of trying for better. He watches the other kids at the piano recitals; he cannot perform sufficiently to escape his mother’s exasperation. He listens to his classmates, the ones from families his parents approve of, tries to learn their phrasings, their flippance, their disdain for things Steve doesn’t understand as deserving of the hate his parents show: still his father rages, still Steve weathers his disappointment as a rule. So he does try: less to fit, maybe, and more to blend. To be inoffensive. To maybe just…be forgotten. To fade into the backdrop.

Everything in his life, really, he does to this end: match them. Be like them. Be good but not too good. Don’t draw attention. Fit in, finally, if you’re lucky—someday.

Don’t aim to belong, lest you set yourself up for disappointment.

He knows enough of disappointment; he’s not interested in making any more.

So Steve swims where he stays in a lane, and he dribbles a ball in the confines of a court. Shoots it even, though he’s not always sure why it matters, but he chalks it up to the truth of ‘most things’: he doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t quite fit, and that’s probably explanation enough.

He sits at the table at lunch with the people from the families with names his parents don’t frown at. He makes his hair look like the actors in the magazines, the ones that enough people seem to like to merit a place on the cover, to earn the right to make money for a company because money is important—another thing Steve doesn’t wholly comprehend, but his father screams less when there is more money and screams a lot more when even a little bit of it is lost so Steve adds it to the list of things he’ll never understand because he doesn’t fit.

He dates, because that’s what everyone else does. It isn’t unpleasant. It’s more just a thing. He dates Nancy Wheeler because his father mentioned once that a prize hard won was a prize tripled in worth and Steve wants to do things that are worth something. Steve thinks maybe enough worth will mould him into the right shape. To fit.

He’s wrong, in the end.

But it ends up with him being confused instead, in gradual steps in the middle: he ends up being confused by wanting to protect.

He’s never really felt that urge before but it feels natural, and it feels stronger than other feelings do; than other ones have. Stronger than winning. Stronger than dating. Stronger than pleasure. Stronger than wanting.

He wonders—only briefly, but he does wonder—if this is what they mean when they talk about ‘fit’. If this is just another word for ‘belonging’. Like a…a cinnamonym. Or whatever it’s called.

It isn’t, he does ultimately realize, but it fills something in him anyway. It doesn’t make him fit everywhere, but it moulds him like Play-Doh, or silly putty, to fit…here. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not as he’d dreamed or hoped. Maybe not like he imagined from all the stories and movies and shit. But.

It’s a kind of fit. Protecting is a type of belonging, he thinks. Yeah

It’s good. It’s a good thing.

But it really does cement the simple fact that everything in Steve’s life—whether it landed him closer or farther away from the idea of belonging in any of it, of being able maybe to live itself at all: but everything he chooses, everything he tries, everything he does and makes of himself, brings into being as proof that he’s here?

Is only ever for anything and anyone but himself.

He considers the kids as anomalies, as proof against the rule: they provide no social clout—in reality they damage his standing with the people his parents deem worth courting for opinion. They fill up Steve’s chest, though, but: it’s protection, first and foremost. The belonging of keeping safe.

Then there’s Robin, and she’s the closest he’s even known to something that could be other, something that could be new. Sometimes it feels like her cells are made of the same ill-fitting star-stuff that Steve’s cursed with but no part of Robin is a curse, Robin Buckley is only a gift and that makes it confusing, so confusing—

He still needs to protect her, above nearly all things, but the way she doesn’t merely fill his chest but comes to live inside it? That is new. And maybe Steve still doesn’t fit, or belong, but: Robin fits under his ribs, and he belongs inside hers just the same and…that might not be what anyone wanted from him. But it’s something.

And yeah, maybe circumstance chooses it for him first, but: he holds on of his own volition. It’s his own whole-ass choice to never ever let her go.

So it’s something.

Though: after—not long, but still after, long enough after that Steve knows a little what he’s looking for, the full-feeling that makes his ribs like a breastplate, that…that he protects with all that he is but maybe for the first time, also protects him. Make an armor of his chest and holds him close, makes him laugh and feel light, and see colors he didn’t know existed; makes him feel weightless like the ground’s no longer beneath his feet.

It’s this…undeniable taste of what it means to belong, and he knows that for reasons he cannot point toward or give a name to. But he knows. This is belonging.

Belonging, inside the one and only thing in Steve’s whole life that he has ever chosen for himself: the beautiful man with eyes beyond nighttime, elusive and enchanting, selling him something that might take the edge off, the sting of still failing to fit.

When he finds, over days, and then weeks, is that fit is exactly the word for how he falls into Eddie Muson’s arms, how his dick disappears between Eddie Munson’s lips, how Eddie’s slicked-up cock slides between the cleft of Steve’s ass—close, close but not yet, baby, not yet, let’s savor the journey there; this.

This is what it means to belong, with absolutely no reasons pushing him toward it, toward them; in fact maybe more reasons pull him back, even, because Eddie Munson is the opposite of the family names his parents approve of, Eddie Munson is the opposite of maybe anything that anyoneapproves of, at least among the people who care about approving at all and that’s…that’s maybe the most amazing thing Steve’s ever learned and found, this freedom, this beauty, this man and the soul of him like champagne if it were soda pop, common maybe but only on the surface, hidden from view and so so sweet, so so rich in ways that really matter but bubbling always, a constant carbonated effervescence in Steve’s heart and his lungs and his bones and his veins, it is something—

It’s one of the best and most incredible somethings Steve could possibly imagine.

And Steve chose it all for himself. Steve clings to it, savors it just like he’s asked—loves inside it, all for himself.

He thinks he wants to offer his heart to Eddie. He’s already lost it, he’s pretty sure of that, but…he thinks there’s something in giving it, in finding a tiny break in the fullness of his ribs to reach inside and cradle it like an offering.

And then the universe, or whatever makes certain that his world, his life, is shaped not-to-fit as a rule: it reminds him.

Because Eddie sees a cheerleader snapped in half. And Eddie’s on the run, but not into Steve’s arms. And Eddie’s separated from him, for no good fucking reason when his soul’s hurting, aching for in; when his heart’s ready to be offered, Steve found the crack, he’s reached in and he’s reaching out with it cupped in his hands, just, just please—

And then Eddie’s gone. Eddie’s dead. And nothing belongs. Nothing fits. Moving’s not made for here. Breathing’s anathema.

Steve’s heart falls to the ground, untended. Insignificant.

And when it’s all said and done, Steve looks at the sky, knows that’s not where the cause of any of this lies if there’s a cause to it at all, but he blinks, and he cannot cry because he’s drowning in the tears on the inside but they don’t fit here either, so all he can do at all is blink and he lets go: of the wanting. Of the trying. Of the pushing to be anything but what he is, and was always meant to be. Will never be anything other than.

I get it. I see it. This world is not for me. I will never find my place. I tried, I asked for more and I lost. I understand.

I won’t make the same mistake again.

Secretly, though, where he drowns in his tears inside the breastplate of ribs still so full even if the protection’s turned rusted, leant into decay: secretly—

He cannot let go of Eddie Munson. He may be lost, and he may be as much the provenance of soil and dust, of the creatures there begging to consume without any care or concept of all that he meant; all that he means: Eddie may be no more than bound to the same fate as the heart Steve dropped to that same dirt, let it get ground into the earth to decay with his beloved, to be there with him always the only way that’s left, but—

Steve does not fit, will never belong, yet despite everything: he cannot let go of Eddie Munson.

He can’t yet comprehend that might be for a reason, let alone a reason that might just fit.

...part 2? 🧚‍♂️

For @vthx, who requested a fusion of 'Character-Has-Powers / Changelings' and A Dustland Fairytale—The Killers at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

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changeling-ash · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ángel Missael Castañeda Vega | MissaSinfonia/Phil Watson | Philza Characters: Ángel Missael Castañeda Vega | MissaSinfonia, Phil Watson | Philza, Tallulah (QSMP), Chayanne (QSMP) Additional Tags: Literal Sleeping Together, Yearning, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Reaper Ángel Missael Castañeda Vega | MissaSinfonia, Mutual Pining, Crushes, Clipped Wings Philza, This is the one I dumped some wing knowledge into lol, They're married but still so stupid that they don't do anything about it, Missa has a low body temp and Phil has a high body temp, Yearning again lol, Phil is very emotionally constipated, He hides so many emotions lol, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), ignoring the current canon for this lol, pissa nation, pissa, Coming back after todays stream to say I'm REALLY avoiding canon now omg, Not Actually Unrequited Love Series: Part 2 of It's the middle of the night and I can't look away Summary:

But he was so doomed from the start, and Phil knew it. Phil knew as soon as he found he couldn't look away, couldn't move from his place in the doorway. His walls were dropped, it was late and he was tired, and Missa was so fucking beautiful in the torchlight. ...Shit. Phil has put away many of his thoughts for his husband Missa, locking them away in favor of focusing on protecting his family without risking everything he has done to keep them safe. But it is late, he has to wake up again in just a few hours, and his deeply repressed thoughts don't want to stay in tonight. ~~~ Based on the beautiful companion artwork that was made by @thunderbottle on Tumblr.

Love you pissa nation. Well rested for this one, mostly.

#pissa #qsmp #qsmp pissa #qsmp shipping #qsmp fic #pissa nation #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #missasinfonia #philza #changeling posts #changeling writing #fic #fanfic #qsmpshipping #for you all lmao

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corkinavoid · 6 months ago

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DPxDC Shit Fae!Danny Has Said While Living With Waynes

Danny, making a 'got your nose' gesture: Hey Jason, look, I've got your name!

Red Hood, who suddenly can't remember his own name: What the fuck

Bruce, in a tired dad voice: Danny, please, we talked about this, return your brother's name back

Danny: Oh, come on, it's not like he even uses it

Jason, thankfully remembering his name: And I repeat, what the f u c k

Steph, at dinner: I was wondering, what do faeries even eat normally? Like, flowers and stuff?

Danny, his eyes two black voids inside his eyesockets: The souls of the innocent

Steph: So that's a 'no' on the flowers?

Danny, back to normal and shoving a bagel in his mouth: I mean, I can, but would you want to stay on the crumbs-only diet when you are in a 5-star Michelin restaurant?

Tim: It's actually 3-star. Michelin rating system only has three stars, not five.

Dick: Are you saying that people are basically food joints for Fae?

Damian, at Constantine: It would do you well to choose your wording better when speaking to fair folk-

Danny, very much a fair folk, appearing out of thin air in the Cave: Yolo, s'up bitches, guess who's back in town!

Damian: -even when they do not necessarily do so themselves.

Constantine, looking between them: Are you sure you're the human and he is the changeling?

Tim, 46 hours of no sleep: Hey, if you can take a name from someone, does it mean you can take, like, other things that have no real shape or form?

Danny: Names do have shape and form, they even have taste. Yours is like a ping-pong ball made out of really dense cotton candy with banana-caramel flavor.

Tim, losing his touch with reality: Dense banana cotton candy...

Danny: By the way, I know you wanted to ask me if I could take your need to sleep from you, and theoretically, the answer is yes.

Tim, his whisper full of hope: ...will you?..

Danny: No. Either go to sleep or keep suffering. I'm not here to make your life easier.

Danny, after a half-an-hour rant on the Fae customs and traditions: -and Fae never tell the truth, but also never lie. It's a work of art, you know, say what you want but never in a way that makes sense.

Jason: So Fae just like to fuck with people.

Danny, looking him in the eyes, smiling and winking: Sure, humans are very fuckable.

Bruce, trying very hard not to pay attention to this: Can you make an example?

Danny: Sure. I lied.

Bruce: Where?

Danny: :)

Bruce, feeling like he is about to lose his mind: W h e r e ?

Alfred, right after he heard Dick's muffled screaming in the hallway: Young Master Danny, would you mind returning Master Dick his ability to talk in coherent sentences?

Danny, obediently standing up and walking out of the library: ...okay.

Bruce: How come he always listens to you?

Alfred: He knows what I will do if he doesn't.

Danny, returning to the library: He will change all the silverware to iron-ware. As well as the doorknobs and hairbrushes and lightswitches and everything else.

Alfred: Did you fix Master Dick's shoes?

Danny: I did. But I still think that making all of his shoes left ones was funny.

Alfred: Indeed, it was.

| <-prev | next-> |

There's also a fic now.

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paragonrobits · 1 year ago

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Talk to the people that fight the monsters in the dark, skulking in the alleys no one remembers and hiding behind suits and smiling faces in the expensive buildings, they'll tell you stories. They say there's a city block that doesn't belong to the city anymore.

Don't make trouble for the people there. The unspoken statement is that the people there aren't... exactly human anymore. They used to be. But there's worse things in the dark then men with the hearts of wolves or undying monsters that drink the blood of the living; worse than patchwork men that spread disaster in their wake and don't understand why. Sometimes, a terrible mystery ensnares someone, trapping them in promises and story and lies, and drags them away.

What comes back isn't human anymore. It's still a person, though. They reason and understand things, same as the humans they were, once. You leave them alone, the local Union rep says. They're no harm to no one, as long as you don't bring trouble to them.

Don't rat to them, you get warned. If someone who looks too good to be true comes around sniffing for their addresses, you just smile and nod and say you never heard a damn thing. Don't rat them out. Because the people in that place will know, and they'll find you, and your family. You try to throw them back into hell, they'll return the favor three times over.

But it goes both ways; if you watch out for them, mind your business and keep their secrets, they'll help you out.

The Union rep tells you a short little story; he says that most of the time, the people in that city block look the same as you or me. There might be a few signs; a girl with teeth unnaturally sharp and pointy, or a man who knocks on wood and it makes a noise like HE'S made of wood. But if things are going normal, you won't see what they really look like, just a kind of magical mask that hides them. But they got their fancy tricks, and they know all about escaping bad situations.

So if you do your part in the deal, they'll help you out. Pretty much anything; a single mother went down to them after some bad business with her ex came up and her kids went missing. Well, she talked to Pop Hammerfist, the big ol' dude that looks like someone carved a tree into a man. Her ex was on the news in the hospital a few days after, yelling about the trees following him, and her kids were back home safe and sound, and with the ex having already signed a few agreements to pay his damn alimony already.

Or a little boy with a missing cat came up to them and asked for help. If any of the real hunters or Union folk had heard about it, they would have stopped him, but the people in the city block didn't turn him away. They nodded, and listened, a few hours later came back with the little boy's cat, safe and purring up a storm. You help them out, they help you out; I hear that kid tells 'em stuff he heard. 'Spose there's a lesson in that. We're all in this together, long as we don't tear the boat down with us in it.

Reminds me of a story about the lady who brought the cat in, in fact. A big lady; has to go to special shops to get clothes that fit. Weird shiny teeth, too, with the weirdest damn braces I ever saw, if those are braces. You hear some funny stories about her, that when she comes knocking the whole floor shakes, but she couldn't be a sweeter lady. Nice to kids, loves cats, always help out. If she's got the weird habit of speaking in rhyme before she says anything else, well, we all got our promises, I guess.

Well, a while back, we had a Slasher. Yeah; the thing that happens when a Hunter goes bad, or someone just gets too much of a taste for murder. Killing opens up a soul, and some part of us leaks out, or something else gets in. This particular fellow liked to call himself a real genius; a real nasty piece of work that liked making elaborate death traps and leaving people to die. Well, we worked out he was there when they started finding the bodies, and by that point he'd already gotten the Big Lady.

...Yeah, that's the name of that lady I mentioned. Long story.

Well, we found what was left of him, and his death traps. The whole place was smashed to pieces by something big. Big and helliciously strong, I'd say. It was like the set of those torture horror movies got hit by a storm. And they found the guy, or. What was left of him. Looked like a wild animal had bit him up, or a jaguar.

Well, from what we heard, he got her all right. But she might have been a bit more than he bargained for. I'm not sure exactly what she did to him, but they were cleaning his blood and bone off the wall for weeks. They said his skull looked like something real strong had just slugged him, so hard he sorta splashed. Don't make me draw you a picture, pal.

But, yeah. Funny thing is, they said the fist mark was so big you'd need a person the size of an elephant to throw that kind of punch. And we kept seeing cats around the area. Really, really big cats.

..You remember about promises. You keep 'em with the city block folk, because they got all kinds of things keeping promises to them.

What happened to the Big Lady, you ask? Oh, she's still around. Helps out the local Union cell now and then. Good hand if you need brute force.

She don't much like having to handle anything that's got too much iron in it; steel is fine, but not real iron. She saws its an allergy.

...Yeah, I know how it sounds. But we got our funny ways, and she keeps her promises, so keep your nose out of it, yeah?

#hunter the vigil #changeling the lost #nwod #chronicles of darkness #my writing #fics #queued

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teecupangel · 7 months ago

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So I had the thought of Desmond becoming a MLP: fim changeling queen. Why a changeling? You may ask, because they are very cool.

If you don't know changelings are these horse-like bugs that can shape shift into pretty much anything even inanimate objects (or many that one is an illusion). They use this ability to collect love from other creatures since that's their main source of energy, seems like they need to eat normal stuff but in smaller quantities.

But for the sake of this Au let's say they can feed on the other emotions as well but the closer to love the emotion (example: happiness) the more energy they get. With love giving out the most energy.

So Desmond wakes up at Solomon's temple and sees he is some kind horse-bug and cause he is a queen changeling he is really big. Like draft horse big, even bigger than the Clydesdale. But still thin and spindly cause you know, bug. He wouldn't be like Chrysalis starved hive but also he wouldn't be rainbow colored like Thorax's. I see Desmond being desert colored for camouflage (dark red, brown, pale, black, sand) while having some white and red mixed in for the colours of the brotherhood.

Desmond curses his luck and wanders around trying to get used to his new body until Altaïr and company come for the apple. He discovers that he is completely armored and his carapace is really resistant and though, he is really strong capable of shatter stone with a kick, he is very flexible and can climb on surfaces like Spiderman, he can lift things with telekinesis through his horn (solves the issue of no hands), has this big bug mandibles that can come from his snout, his fleshy tail is very flexible and has a pair of stingers with a paralyzing venom, he has wings under his carapace like a beetle open it and fly, and he is pretty much an omnivore but absolutely loves flower nectar, honey, bee wax, and other insects.

One night while sneaking in a city he complains about not being at least a normal horse to not catch so much attention and then fiuussh he transforms into one of the smaller horses he saw in the stables he passed, smaller size and everything. He practices his new shape shifting ability and even figures out how to change color and become invisible. For now he can only shape shift into other quadrupeds, horses, dogs and even something as small as a cat. And that's how he discovers his new emotion based diet. Now that he can spend more time in the cities he doesn't feel as hungry and when some kids tried to pet him and play with him while disguised as a dog he felt an energy boost from feeding off the affection they were giving him.

So to kick off plot once the general date of the expedition to the temple comes Desmond comes back to the temple and waits. He turns invisible and when the fight for the apple comes he drops the invisibility and everyone sees his him in his big insect glory, they think Desmond is some Demon/guardian of the apple.

He manages to run off the templars, save Malik and Kadar and with his telekinesis gives Altaïr the apple.

From here I must clarify that Desmond can speak human languages perfectly he just chooses not to at the moment. And mainly uses this bug language of clicking, chittering, buzzing, crooning and hissing.

From here Desmond either goes back to being invisible and sneaks to Masyaf or just follows outright along with them outside the cave and transforms into a normal horse in front of them to travel back to Masyaf. With the second it allows for more interactions, Al Muslim gets to see Desmond at the beginning and they think the guardian of the apple is following them around and chose their faction as worthy of the treasure.

Al Muslim tries to order him around but Desmond just gives him the stink eye and follows Altaïr around. Using his shape shifting ability to help sneak around and get information, eventually learning how to transform into non-quadrupeds, humans and even inanimate objects. Every once in a while Desmond speaks like a human in public but everyone thinks he is just a very clever parrot except Altaïr who spends the more time with Desmond whose Desmond speaks more and more to everyday.

After Al Mualim is defeated Desmond makes Masyaf the place to put his hive without knowing, at this point everyone knows Desmond can speak and it's fully sapient.

When things calm down Desmond gets the surprise of his life when he lays his first clutch of eggs, he is not a Changeling Queen for nothing. And when the eggs hatch among the grubs is Clay (once Altaïr dies he will be reborn like this too).

The other changelings (changeling workers/soldiers) are also sapient and can do everything Desmond can but Clay becomes a sub-queen of sorts. Clay is a changeling whose function is to be the main Queen (Desmond) right hand, therefore Sub-Queen (princess). While the workers are regular horse sized Clay as Sub-Queen is somewhere in the middle is bigger than the workers but smaller than Desmond. Also Clay doesn't lay eggs (to Desmond's complains).

So now the brotherhood is composed of humans and changelings, who can infiltrate pretty much everywhere, their venom is widely used by the assassins and they make the templars incredibly paranoid of everything even their own pot plants.

If anyone in the brotherhood dares to even look at any of Desmond's hundred children wrong both Altaïr and Desmond will make their lives miserable.

(Now I see Altaïr with a handful of grubs who crawl all over him)

Masyaf becomes the main changeling hive and Clay goes on to make a second one in the nearest assassin headquarters (then he begins to lay eggs).

When Altaïr dies he is reborn as a grub that becomes another Sub-Queen. A lot of brotherhoods around now have a changeling hive with a Sub-Queen and all respond to Desmond (the main Queen).

Changelings feed on surrounding emotions and when they go infiltrate but they mostly feed on the affection of each other's and their fellow brotherhood members.

So when it's Ezio's turn he is just surrounded

By this three giant bug-horses and their million children/niblings.

There was a man who visits their home often. He would always be accompanied by a strange bunch. People in hoods and animals of various sizes…

All of them would call him ‘mother’.

Ezio swears the people with hoods and the animals would change at times, even when they had already entered their home.

It was strange.

Sometimes they would visit with one brown dog but leave with no dogs at all but the number of people would rise.

Other times, he would visit with butterflies on his hair and leave with no butterflies at all but cats walking behind him.

He never stays long, talking to Ezio’s father the longest then taking the time to talk to everyone else for a bit.

Ezio liked it when he visited.

He always gave them new toys they had never seen before. Sometimes, he would bring books that sounded interesting and would be read and borrowed between the siblings.

As Ezio grew older, the more he understood who the man he only knew as ‘Desmond’ was.

He was royalty.

The mother queen.

Ezio still didn’t know what that was supposed to mean and why he was called 'mother queen' instead of 'father king'. All he knew was that Desmond was the ruling matriarch of a kingdom they do not know about.

And House Auditore was part of that kingdom.

Ezio always thought they were nobles of Firenze.

But no.

They were spies.

He still remembered the conversation he had unintentionally eavesdropped on while Desmond was visiting them.

“I’ve warned you about being too close to Lorenzo de’ Medici, Giovanni.”

“I am loyal to the Brotherhood.”

“I do not doubt your loyalty. Just as I know that Clay is loyal to me, I also know Clay will do what he believes is right. The same can be said to you.”

“I am honored to be compared to the princess-”

“Clay would tell you that it’s meant to be an insult. But it’s not. I’m just telling you this to make you understand that just because you are loyal to the Brotherhood, it does not mean you are not compromised.”

“I can assure you-”

“If I order you to return to Monteriggioni with your family and to not return to Monteriggioni even if Lorenzo de’ Medici begged you to, would you do it?”

“Ezio Auditore.”

Ezio stepped back from the door and turned to face the unfamiliar voice who called out to him.

He looked a lot like Desmond but with golden eyes.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.” The golden-eyed man said, “You will hear what Desmond has ordered your father to do later anyway. Walk with me.”

“Uuuhh…” Ezio didn’t really have any reason to say no so he began to follow the strange man.

As they exited the hallway and made their way to the main room, a cat meowed and nuzzled the man’s legs before following after him, glancing at Ezio curiously only once.

By the time they reached the inner courtyard, five cats were following the man.

“Uuhhh…”

“Altaïr.”

It took a moment before Ezio realized that the man had introduced himself. He was unsure if he could just call ‘Altaïr’ or if he was a noble of higher standing than them so he just asked, “These cats…”

“My children.” Altaïr answered.

Oh.

He was one of those people.

“Sef.” Altaïr called out and a white cat with black fur on his legs and paws meowed as he sat in front of Altaïr, “Stay with Desmond and tell him that I’ll be training Ezio Auditore until he’s done with Giovanni Auditore.”

Ezio opened his mouth to speak but the cat’s meow was loud enough to stop him. Ezio watched the cat quietly make his way back inside before he turned to face Altaïr as he asked, “Training?”

A hooded man that Ezio swore was not there before handed Altaïr two blunt swords used for training and Altaïr threw the other sword to Ezio who caught it easily.

“Uh- merda!” Ezio shouted as Altaïr suddenly charged him, easily disarming him with enough force to stagger him off his feet.

“Get up faster. You’d be dead if I had followed up on my first attack. Again.” Altaïr ordered as he took a few steps back.

Ezio growled and stood. As soon as he grabbed the sword, Altaïr charged once more. Ezio managed to keep hold of his sword but fell on his ass when Altaïr smacked his cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’re too focused on my sword. If I had a hidden weapon on my left hand, you’d be dead. Again.”

Ezio growled once more.

This bastardo was asking for it.

Training only ended when a hooded man who looked too much like Desmond and Altaïr that Ezio had to take a doubletake, giving Altaïr an opening to hit him on the side with the pommel of his sword, announced that lunch was ready and Desmond would like Altaïr to eat with him and the rest of the Auditore.

As Ezio wheezed as he held his poor bruised side, Altaïr handed the sword to the hooded man who could have been mistaken as Altaïr and Desmond’s son as he said, “Very well. Check the perimeter before scheduling everyone’s meal time, Sef.”

“Darim is already on it, father.”

Wait.

Sef?

Did Altaïr named a cat after his son???

#desmond as a mlp changeling queen #i like the idea that desmond does not exactly have his own 'hive'#he just flits from hive to hive #he usually spends his time in the hive that has altaïr as the sub-queen #and that's where he usually stays #so altaïr sometimes comes with him whenever he visits other places #monteriggioni's hive has clay #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #altaïr ibn la'ahad #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot #ask and answer

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