#folks this took me a YEAR to render

[tenthmuseondine]

The Queen Bride and Her Ladies-in-Waiting

Cersei’s bridal gown is inspired by Empress Matilda’s wedding bliaut, as illustrated in the Chronicle of Ekkhard von Aura (c. 1120), which depicts her 1114 marriage to Holy Roman Emperor Henry V. Meanwhile, her Baratheon crown is loosely based on the Sarmatian Gold Diadem (1st-century CE).

[jovial-thunder]

Pre-alpha Lancer Tactics changelog

(cross-posting the full gif changelog here because folks seemed to like it last time I did)

We're aiming for getting the first public alpha for backers by the end of this month! Carpenter and I scoped out mechanics that can wait until after the alpha (e.g. grappling, hiding) in favor of tying up the hundred loose threads that are needed for something that approaches a playable game. So this is mostly a big ol changelog of an update from doing that.

But I also gave a talent talk at a local Portland Indie Game Squad event about engine architecture! It'll sound familiar if you've been reading these updates; I laid out the basic idea for this talk almost a year ago, back in the June 2023 update.

We've also signed contracts & had a kickoff meeting with our writers to start on the campaigns. While I've enjoyed like a year of engine-work, it'll be so so nice to start getting to tell stories. Data structures don't mean anything beyond how they affect humans & other life.

New Content

Implemented flying as a status; unit counts as +3 spaces above the current ground level and ignores terrain and elevation extra movement costs. Added hover + takeoff/land animations.

Gave deployables the ability to have 3D meshes instead of 2D sprites; we'll probably use this mostly when the deployable in question is climbable.

Related, I fixed a bug where after terrain destruction, all units recheck the ground height under them so they'll move down if the ground is shot out from under them. When the Jerichos do that, they say "oh heck, the ground is taller! I better move up to stand on it!" — not realizing that the taller ground they're seeing came from themselves.

Fixed by locking some units' rendering to the ground level; this means no stacking climbable things, which is a call I'm comfortable making. We ain't making minecraft here (I whisper to myself, gazing at the bottom of my tea mug). 

Block sizes are currently 1x1x0.5 — half as tall as they are wide. Since that was a size I pulled out of nowhere for convenience, we did some art tests for different block heights and camera angles. TLDR that size works great and we're leaving it.

Added Cone AOE pattern, courtesy of an algorithm NMcCoy sent me that guarantees the correct number of tiles are picked at the correct distance from the origin.

pick your aim angle

for each distance step N of your cone, make a list ("ring") of all the cells at that distance from your origin

sort those cells by angular distance from your aim angle, and include the N closest cells in that ring in the cone's area

Here's a gif they made of it in Bitsy:

Units face where you're planning on moving/targeting them.

Got Walking Armory's Shock option working. Added subtle (too subtle, now that I look at it) electricity effect.

Other things we've added but I don't have gifs for or failed to upload. You'll have to trust me. :)

disengage action

overcharge action

Improved Armament core bonus

basic mine explosion fx

explosion fx on character dying

Increase map elevation cap to 10. It's nice but definitely is risky with increasing the voxel space, gonna have to keep an eye on performance.

Added Structured + Stress event and the associated popups. Also added meltdown status (and hidden countdown), but there's not animation for this yet so your guy just abruptly disappears and leaves huge crater.

UI Improvements

Rearranged the portrait maker. Auto-expand the color picker so you don't have to keep clicking into a submenu.

Added topdown camera mode by pressing R for handling getting mechs out of tight spaces.

The action tooltips have been bothering me for a while; they extend up and cover prime play-area real estate in the center of the screen. So I redesigned them to be shorter and have a max height by putting long descriptions in a scrollable box. This sounds simple, but the redesign, pulling in all the correct data for the tags, and wiring up the tooltips took like seven hours. Game dev is hard, yo.

Put the unit inspect popups in lockable tooltips + added a bunch of tooltips to them.

Implemented the rest of Carpenter's cool hex-y action and end turn readout. I'm a big fan of whenever we can make the game look more like a game and less like a website (though he balances out my impulse for that for the sake of legibility).

Added a JANKY talent/frame picker. I swear we have designs for a better one, but sometimes you gotta just get it working. Also seen briefly here are basic level up/down and HASE buttons.

Other no-picture things:

Negated the map-scaling effect that happens when the window resizes to prevent bad pixel scaling of mechs at different resolutions; making the window bigger now just lets you see more play area instead of making things bigger.

WIP Objectives Bullets panel to give the current sitrep info

Wired up a buncha tooltips throughout the character sheet.

Under the Hood

Serialization: can save/load games! This is the payoff for sticking with that engine architecture I've been going on about. I had to add a serialization function to everything in the center layer which took a while, but it was fairly straightforward work with few curveballs.

Finished replacement of the kit/unit/reinforcement group/sitrep pickers with a new standardized system that can pull from stock data and user-saved data.

Updated to Godot 4.2.2; the game (and editor) has been crashing on exit for a LONG time and for the life of me I couldn't track down why, but this minor update in Godot completely fixed the bug. I still have no idea what was happening, but it's so cool to be working in an engine that's this active bugfixing-wise! 

Other Bugfixes

Pulled straight from the internal changelog, no edits for public parseability:

calculate cover for fliers correctly

no overwatch when outside of vertical threat

fixed skirmisher triggering for each attack in an AOE

fixed jumpjets boost-available detection

fixed mines not triggering when you step right on top of them // at a different elevation but still adjacent

weapon mods not a valid target for destruction

made camera pan less jumpy and adjust to the terrain height

better Buff name/desc localization

Fixed compcon planner letting you both boost and attack with one quick action.

Fix displayed movement points not updating

Prevent wrecks from going prone

fix berserkers not moving if they were exactly one tile away

hex mine uses deployer's save target instead of 0

restrict weapon mod selection if you don't have the SP to pay

fix deployable previews not going away

fix impaired not showing up in the unit inspector (its status code is 0 so there was a check that was like "looks like there's no status here")

fix skirmisher letting you move to a tile that should cost two movement if it's only one space away

fix hit percent calculation

fix rangefinder grid shader corner issues (this was like a full day to rewrite the shader to be better)

Teleporting costs the max(spaces traveled, elevation change) instead of always 1

So um, yeah, that's my talk, any questions? (I had a professor once tell us to never end a talk like this, so now of course it's the phrase that first comes to mind whenever I end a talk)

[ladamedusoif]

Tempered in the Fire (Blacksmith!Din Djarin AU) - Masterlist

With his hammer in his hand/He looked right clever… (‘The Blacksmith’, British or Irish folk song from the early nineteenth century)

Series Summary:

Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798 was brutally suppressed. In this seemingly quiet part of the country, the people work the land and stay quiet about the recent past. You are an unusual woman in this little world: married, but living alone; a widow, with no certainty that her husband is dead. You have made your own life since he vanished into thin air, managing the smallholding you live on and making some extra money through your skills as a seamstress.

This is a time when the local blacksmith is at the heart of any rural community. One such smith is a man of few words, whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals, but whose skills with hammer and anvil have rendered him indispensable. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel on to this man’s forge - and are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure…

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (series); Explicit (eventual chapters)

Content: Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to domestic abuse; period-appropriate terminology and misogyny; anti-Travelling people discrimination; alcohol; strong language; explicit smut (eventually); technical infidelity; almost certainly incorrect depictions of blacksmithing; some slightly dodgy history (I literally took advanced seminars in this topic but come on, it’s fic); most likely some not quite correct Irish language content (again, I studied it for years so forgive me and move on).

Cross-posted to AO3.

Author’s Note: I spotted a sign at Disneyland for ‘Rose’s Forge’ and @julesonrecord and @lunapascal were immediately on the “which P boy would be a blacksmith?” train. And there’s only one answer, isn’t there? It’s Din.

This is intended as a short series of around four chapters - essentially a chance for me to scratch the blacksmith!Din itch, while also indulging in some historical fiction set in my homeland. In part, it’s inspired by the image of the blacksmith in eighteenth and nineteenth century popular culture and their role in supplying rebel weaponry in the 1798 uprising against British rule.

And it’s also inspired by the image of Din sweaty and beautiful at an anvil, because why the hell not?

The image I’ve used for the header image, by the way, is a wonderful engraving from about 1833 by the French artist Eugène Delacroix, who’s one of my absolute favourites. It’s called ‘Un Forgeron’ (A Blacksmith) and you can see it in all its glory here. (Yes, it’s hot as fuck.)

Chapter List:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[anamelessfool]

How do you do that? LOL I have no idea what I’m doing (maybe) An Art Tutorial

Folks have commented on my more rendered art recently and I’m flattered. I literally have no idea what I’m doing. Well, I sorta do. I am mostly using masks in Procreate. I’m technically using the Debaser Pack by True Grit Texture Supply, but you don’t really need it. All you need is some texture layers. You could even do this just by making halftones of solid color layers. I used to do a lot of digital photo collage back in the day and at one point had a huge library of scans of paper and fabrics and also random textures I saw on the street. Wood, stone, sidewalk, metal, foliage, water. Took out my digital camera (yes, it was that long ago) and snapped a photo to use. There’s also a lot of free halftone textures online.

I have a few “overlay texture” layers. I “Create Mask” and then invert the mask so I can “paint” the color on. For my more simple stuff I do just that. I add a “Deep Shadow” layer in Overlay mode of a dark brown (or teal if it’s white) to make sure the darkest shadows are truly dark. The white areas are just the mask erased. It helps that fallout ghouls are skrungly and textured to be begin with. Sometimes I select areas and add little bits of black spray paint in lots of very transparent layers.

Everything is rendered under a multiply layer of a hi-res scan of vintage newsprint.

So how about the more detailed things that came about from an embarrassing amount of shirtless photo references??? In a lust-fueled haze I realized I can have a dark layer (in my case, a “black ink texture scan” with an inverted mask underneath a color layer. The color texture layer is around 70% opacity, give or take. On that black ink layer mask I add the white highlights to the tops of forms and use the smudge tool to distribute it across the specific form. Once in a while I shut off the color layer so I can see the bare rendering layer on its own and fix things.

So I just sort of pet him. For hours.

Focusing on the LIGHT areas instead of the shadow really is a game-changer! Before, my digital art looked super muddy because I was invested in adding dark. If areas are very very dark I add that dark brown overlay layer. For tattoos it’s a dark blue overlay mode layer, but with a mask on it so I can softly erase areas to make it look more set in to the skin (without destroying the original art). Very bright areas and the tops of forms I add a “highlight layer” of pure white gestural lines.

Moral of the story is just play around and do whatever. The old times of having a beautifully perfect anime-style drawing with very formal layers of shadow, highlight, color has been dead for ages. It’s what kept me away from pursuing digital art for literal years.

[krsnaradhika]

In which I narrate the story of the Syamantaka jewel rather quickly.

Roughly five thousand years ago, in the auspicious land of Aryavarta, when the pseudo emperor wrecked havoc upon the Yadava tribes— there came a savior who uplifted their melancholic spirits. Fighting off Jarasandha seventeen times, during the eighteenth ambush, Krishna: the sole surviving son of Devaki and Vasudeva, took his kinsmen to the safety of the sea.

The thalassic city of Dwarka as it was named, the one with numerous gates was the capital of the Yadavas. There lived a prosperous merchant named Satrajita. He had the gem Syamantaka, and a gem among women for his daughter— Satyabhama. Several springs back, while offering his dawn worship to the solar god, he had found her in a gigantic lotus bloom floating on a pond.

Now, it was when the Syamantaka jewel went missing that the merchant lost his senses, clouded by roaring vexation.

“This! This Vrishni prince, this Krishna of notorious mien has stolen my property which was a blessing from Suryadeva!” Satrajita shrieked, fixing a furious gaze at the dark-complexioned lord who had arrived at once when he heard of the unfortunate incident. Krishna gaped at him incredulously, wordless at the pang of emotions that hit him like the celestial Vajra. With his signature grin robbed away, he shook his head ever so slightly, war-like shoulders sagged in sadness.

The father of Satyabhama continued his lament, “He had come wishing for the Syamantaka to be submitted in the treasury. Surely I turned him down, for it belongs to me. Now he took it away by force when his vanity was injured!”

Behind the slightly parted gates of her residence stood Satyabhama, aghast and devastation written on her golden visage, oddly mirroring the turmoil of the accused. An emptiness swirled in her chest and she staggered a step, never knowing when her knees would give in.

The lotus born was not a stranger to the kingmaker. She knew him like the back of her palm— like the rains know petrichor, like the constellations know the moon and how the sun is wont to the seamless ether. She’d admire him from a distance, barely in touch but so much in his mind, Krishna could never truly shake off her orphic presence.

All her dreams and all his exuberance shattered at the wrath of Satrajita.

“Father, you sent Uncle Prasena to the eastern forests with the gem, didn’t you?” Satyabhama strode into the privacy of her house, turning the heads of her extended family along with the beautiful dusky prince. Her eyes pooled with fury driven tears and she turned her head down, ashamed by the shock in her father’s eyes and found him let down by her gall. But how could she let go of her strong sense of justice?

Prasenajita, the brother of Satrajita and Satyabhama’s uncle was known to be fond of hunting. Since not many days, neither him nor the gem were heard of.

“The jungle is guarded by the king of the bears, the immortal Jambavan. I apologize for the humiliation, Your Highness. I’m terribly sorry for my transgressions against you too, father.” She hastily brushed away her tears and swallowed the guilt gnawing at her throat. Her parents were rendered mum by her demeanor, known to maintain dignified silence unless not spoken to. She was immensely self respecting and knew her strengths— but this was something not envisaged.

“Be victorious in your pursuits. I must take my leave.” And she marched into her chambers and shut the doors in a frenzy, cursing at her stars.

Taking his cue, Krishna set off to find the jewel and clear his reputation. Even the common folks were influenced by the senseless words of Satrajita and eyed him with suspicion, him who had earned a venerable position for his clan in the political dynamics of the subcontinent. But he was known to steal butter back in his boyhood days, and old habits die hard.

Krishna’s ilks who had accompanied him in his quest, returned from the frightening jungle. However, without him by their side.

For twenty-nine days and twenty-nine nights, Satyabhama neither knew rest nor sleep. Her thoughts would often drift to the ignominy of the man she had come to love and the dejection in her father’s eyes. She tossed and turned on her bed all night, haunted by all sorts of morbid possibilities. “Why did you pit me against my own father, Gauri Maa? Will you not protect the marital serendipity of Princess Rukmini who has left everything and all for him?” She wept afore the mother-goddess presiding over the local temple, never knowing how to face the first wife of her beloved. Am I the root of her sorrow? I shouldn't have led him to his doom. The wretched thing isn’t worth the dust of his feet.

On day thirty, His Highness made a grandiose reappearance. Darker and gleaming like winter eventides, brawn and glorious in the same vein as that of rain clouds— Krishna came, like an elixir upon barren earth, with the Syamantaka tied around his nape in a flower festoon and a new wife in his arms. The woman was about as tall as him, if not more, which was surely a lot. She had the complexion of blue water lilies and embodied the goddess of the forests, Aranyani. Like Seeta would follow Rama and like how Rama would be fond of his bride, Krishna and the woman casted coy glances at each other. Satyabhama added two and two to find she was Jambavati, the daughter of Jambavan.

Prasenajita had been mauled to death by a lion and the beast was vanquished by Jambavan, who had then acquired the jewel. Nearly two moons of a brawl later, Krishna had defeated the bear king and revealed to him that he was the Raghava Jambavan had aided in the previous era.

Satyabhama knew neither envy nor dismay. All that mattered was Krishna being safe and sound, and happy.

Dwarka clamored in bliss once again, echoing the chants of the god incarnate’s name. People fell at his feet and he patiently made his way through them, making them rise again and beaming their way. Eventually, he reached the palatial foyer and formally greeted his family and friends.

Satrajita mumbled endless apologies, bowing to the usually gregarious youth who was going beet red in shame at the wallowing of the merchant. Elders weren't supposed to be belittled so, Krishna believed.

“Please- this is the least I can do, son. I have falsely tarnished your image when—”

Krishna shook his head, the opal diadem with a fluttering iridescent feather the only thing adorning him. He was ethereal through and through, the ocean of compassion. “I cannot have your gem, Arya. It should be under your protection. I have never desired it for myself. Besides, this is not the best jewel that you have.” He turned to glimpse at Satyabhama who gaped blankly at the trio— Satrajita, Krishna and Jambavati.

The bear princess winked at her. I know your secret, her mischief seemed to articulate.

“In that case.” Satrajita took his daughter’s crimson painted palm in his own and led her entranced self to the kingmaker with a flute. “You may have the best one, Vaasudeva. You are the only one I deem competent to have my true fortune. She has guided my maligned mind away from the dark and brought me undying glee. My sweet child Satyabhame, do you consent to this marriage?”

Flustered, she nodded in affirmation and her bridegroom gladly looped an arm around her. Rukmini circled the veneration platter around the three of them, a broad grin splitting her gentle face.

Reverence softened his lotus eyes and he whispered to her, slightly leaning to her side, as if praying for Devi Lakshmi to grace him, “Welcome home, Bhame. I could never not have wished for your hand in mine.”

[nihilisticlinguistics]

Significant progress on @batmanisagatewaydrug's 2025 book bingo since my last update a few weeks ago.

I had a...challenging time for a while, I have to admit. The next book on my list was We Do This Til We Free Us by Mariame Kaba for the Social Justice and Activism square...which came in on Libby the day of the inauguration. It took several days for me to gather the mental energy to think about resistance, but once I got into the swing of it I found that it was not so daunting as I feared. As Kaba says, hope is a discipline, and it still took a lot of discipline to center her work in my thoughts during the initial chaos of Trump Presidency #2. It's a remarkable and thoughtfully composed book, a sort of anthology of her writings over the last 10 (or more) years. I look forward to adding this one to my collection, so I can revisit its teachings again and again.

After that, I rolled right into my Literary Fiction square with Ralph Ellison's novel Invisible Man. What a powerful, insightful story--to me, certainly on par with and reminiscent of The Grapes of Wrath in its incisive cultural critique and vivid characterization. I found it weird, hectic, and unsettling, all while rendering with great accuracy the ways that people reify, exploit, and resist America's racist society.

I definitely needed a palate cleanser after two hard-hitting books about Racism in the USA, so I was thrilled when my library hold for Nnedi Okorafor's Zahrah the Windseeker came in. This YA fantasy book was for my Published in the Aughts square, and it's super cute. Zahrah, born with a magical influence in her life, develops the power to levitate which sets off a whirlwind exploration through a forbidden jungle to save her best friend's life. It's whimsical and fun and I am in love with Okorafor's worldbuilding here. I want a computer that's also a plant that grows up with me. I want to hang out with the gorilla village. I think anyone who is into Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic series would also enjoy Zahrah the Windseeker.

And in the last two days I absolutely breezed through Traci Chee's wonderful novel A Thousand Steps Into Night, which I read for my Fantasy square. Folks, this book had my heart very early on thanks to the charms of the heroine, Otori Miuko, and her quest to remain human despite an encroaching demon curse had me locked in, start to finish. Stories of a 'long journey toward a fixed locational goal' often get repetitive, but Chee kept the story's developments feeling fresh the whole way through, with a willingness to toss in and develop new side characters and expand the story world at every turn. I'm obsessed with the choice to throw in time travel halfway through and I think more authors should do that. Highly, highly recommend!

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #371

It is day two of sinus, nasal, and tracheal discomfort. I have concluded that yes, I am very definitely sick. I feel sluggish, my nose is runny and congested and on fire at the same time. Mild headache all day. Scratchy throat. Fucken lame. Oh well.

Additionally, I managed to render my cellphone unusable. This morning, when my half-stupefied self woke to use the morning facilities, I managed to drop my phone. It fell from my clumsy, dyspraxic, half-asleep hands and crashed on the bathroom tile.

...Yeah. I was pretty bummed about it. And, given the number of folks who count on me, I can't really go without having a phone. But fortunately, I was already overdue for an upgrade, anyhow. So I put on a mask (to protect other people), and then M and I went and replaced it. It didn't take long.

I have a phone with a better camera now. So there's that, at least.

I spent the rest of the morning in and out of sleep, on and off the internet, and just generally feeling not great. Though I did remember that I made my famous (it's not really famous!) bone broth a while ago and stuck it in the freezer. I took a jar of it out and put it in the refrigerator to thaw:

The way I make it produces a bone broth that is both flavorful and nutritious. I'll probably drink it tomorrow. It'll give my body some strength to fight off whatever bullshit invaded it, no doubt.

Actually, come to think of it...

…!!!

Holy shit. Yes. I got sick with a mild case of the sniffles starting on the same exact day last year!

Yooooo, what the fuuuuuuuck. Hahahaha....

...Well, whatever. The procedure for any viral sickness is the same: eat good food, sleep a lot, hydrate frequently, take ibuprofen as needed, and wait for it to pass. There's really nothing else for it.

I thought I was gonna get soup today, but I did not, in fact, get soup today. That's because J went out, and when he came home, he brought some epic pizza with him:

We have, from left to right, a philly steak pizza, a chicken and mushroom marsala pizza, and a shrimp scampi pizza, from our favorite pizza place within reasonable driving distance!! I'm not really sure what that reddish-looking slice at the bottom is; maybe it's pepperoni? But that one was J's, anyhow.

...I wish I could get you some slices of pizza from this place. You won't find better within reasonable driving distance from my house. A few places come close, but... this one is definitely the best.

After eating the pizza, I changed over to the 8th set of braces for real. Here are some comparison pictures between the first set and the newest set; the newest set is on the right in all cases. Here's the top set:

...I really can't believe how far my very confused snaggletooth has moved! It's gonna be really weird to look in the mirror when it's finally in its proper place!

The other top teeth bow inward a little less than before, too:

...The set on the left is definitely a little bit more hourglass-shaped compared to the right. Wild.

Here's the bottom set:

The front teeth are WAAAY less crowded than before. And that other very confused tooth there is starting to fall in line.

That one on the left side of my mouth that used to point towards my tongue is now slowly starting to point straight upwards like it's supposed to, too!

...It's been kinda crazy, tracking the progress as the inside of my face rearranges itself. I wonder what you think. Isn't it cool???

I'm pleased to report, too, that set number 8 is a LOT less difficult now that I've switched to it when I was supposed to, instead of prematurely!! Hahaha!!

...I spent most of today resting, so I don't have a whole lot else to tell you about. I'm probably gonna start playing video games soon, though. So if you wanna come hang out with me, you'll find me here:

...Though, admittedly, I'd really much rather watch you learn how to play video games. I think that'd be a lot of fun. I have a number of them that I think you'd really like.

Well, I guess that's it. Don't forget that you're loved, okay? Because I love you. And lots of other people do, too; you just haven't met them yet. My world is chock full of people who would treat you like an actual human being (because that is what you are, no matter what any nasty-ass shit-goblin tries to tell you) instead of like a commodity to be exploited.

...Sephiroth. Come to my house and try it. Come to my house, and let the present moment be louder to you than your past. Come to my house, and let the voices of those who love you be louder to you than the voices of those who tried to control you. You've already tasted hell. Come see what heaven is like before you write yourself off, okay? I know you've witnessed more than a few mockeries of what loving, healthy relationships are supposed to look like, but...

...You'll have to replace “little girl” with “little one”, but... you get the idea, I'm sure. You're not done yet. Nothing is hopeless.

And... I'm here. I'm real. My house is here, and it is real. And its doors are open to you, ready to welcome you with joy and compassion, whenever you're ready. We'll keep calling out your name and waiting.

...This formerly beaten, broken, and silenced human is learning to shout your name into the void, just on the small chance that you might hear it and return to yourself, because you are worth overcoming terrifying conditioning for. You are worth it for me to try rising up from being enslaved by past memories for. You are worth doing all sorts of difficult, impossible things for.

Sephiroth. For once, there is a person right here, who, instead of asking you to do impossible things to prove your worth, is willing to do impossible things herself, just to prove to you that you are and always have been lovable and worthy, from the very moment you came into being.

I am no fanciful dream. I will always be here, ready, waiting, and overjoyed to shatter the illusions about the world that you were brutally conditioned into believing. I will continue to stand here in stark defiance of so-called "conventional wisdom", with my head held high, my gaze fixed upon you, and my hand outstretched in welcome.

...And I'm not going anywhere. Even if by some misfortune I am prematurely ripped from this body, you know what's gonna happen? I'm gonna choose another "fucked up" and "upsetting" life to be born to so that by the time I'm strong enough to weave it into something beautiful and kaleidoscopic, I'll understand you well enough to reach my hand to you in hope and compassion once more. And maybe next time I reach for you, I'll live in a less genetically fucked up body, and therefore be able to do a better job of it.

I will continue to exist joyfully, gratefully, and lovingly, in stark defiance of those people who think that lives like yours and lives like mine are so "fucked up" and "upsetting" that we "shouldn't have been born in the first place". I will continue to weave rainbows from the darkness I was given, no matter which bitter-hearted, nihilistic people insist that it can't be done.

Come stand next to me and do the same. Because I know for a fact that you'd be able to do it even more spectacularly than I can, no matter who the fuck thinks otherwise.

Please stay safe. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[bestiarium]

The Weewillmekq [Algonquin mythology; Native American mythology]

This creature, which originates from myths of the Native American Algonquin people in Canada, is a bit of an enigma. It is usually described as a small worm – about 2 – 3 inches or 5 – 8 cm long – inhabiting forested areas and found on dry wood. Though sometimes a Weewillmekq resides in rivers, in which case the creature is about as large as an adult horse and has forked horns on its head (sometimes it also has burning eyes like flames). Often, however, they are said to be snails rather than worms and the Passamaquoddy people even associate them with alligators. Regardless of what form the creature takes, it is always a powerful and mysterious supernatural being wielding potent magic.

In one particular anecdote, the Weewillmekq have the ability to attract lightning. More importantly, they can take on the form of a human being and – presumably – walk among us.

An Algonquin legend called ‘the dance of old age’ tells of an attractive young Wabanaki man whose beauty was matched by his bravery and hunting skills. He caught the eye of a girl in the village, who asked him to marry her. Though she was a beautiful woman, the man was busy preparing for a great hunt and couldn’t resort to such emotional theatrics. And so he turned her down. Unbeknownst to him, the girl was experienced in magic and cursed him for wounding her pride. She spoke: “you may go now, but you shall never return like you went”. Nothing happened and the young man left, neither fearing nor caring about her curse. Time passed, and one day in mid-winter, when the boy was out in the forest with his brother, the girl’s magic struck him, breaking his mind and rendering him insane.

The young man’s older brother understood what had happened. Now desperate to save his brother, he went to find a river and started chanting a song to summon a Weewillmekq. “What do you want from me?” asked the monster. The man replied “I wish to restore my brother’s sanity”. “That which you ask of me, I shall grant you, provided you are not afraid.” But the man was incredibly brave and said “I am not scared of anything”. “Not even of me?” asked the horned creature. “No, not of you, not even of Mitche-hant.” (small note: Mitche-hant is a dangerous creature associated with evil. He is compared with the Christian devil). And so the creature agreed to grant the man his wish, but on one condition: he had to prove his bravery by grabbing the Weewillmekq by his horns and scrape residue off them with his knife. Though the monster was terrifying, the man complied and did as he was told. The Weewillmekq then gave him instructions to mix half of the horn scrapings in a cup of water and make his brother drink it. This would heal his mind. The other half should be mixed with the drink of the girl who cast the curse: this would be her punishment.

Again, the man did as instructed, and the mixture healed his brother. The two went back to their village, where they found that a large party was going on. People were dancing and having fun, and the spellcaster was among them. The younger brother sought her out and offered her the drink with the horn scrapings in it. She was merry and tired from dancing, and so did not notice who he was. Without thinking she took the cup and drank it.

The spell took effect immediately: with every turn the girl took while dancing, the aged one year. Starting out as a young girl, she soon became 50 when reaching the other end of the room. When she reached her starting point, she was 100 years old and dropped dead on the floor.

Source: Leland, C. G., 1884, The Algonquin Legends of New England: Myths and Folk Lore of the Micmac, Passamaquoddy and Penobscot Tribes, S. Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, 379 pp, pages 324-333. (image source : ‘Oral Stories, Dreams and Experiences’ by Jeremy Dennis. You can support the artist or look at his other works on Native American mythology at jeremynative.com)

[dasphinxone]

Attuma has this kinda energy for Okoye and we love to see it. Especially Nakia 😂

For @pilesofpillows

“Everyone is well aware of how my niece betrayed her country when she married you people.”

Okoye’s nostrils flared as she took a step forward to confront her uncle. Except she was swiftly stopped by Attuma whipping out his beefy arm in front her. Behind them, Nakia immediately took note of how he clenched his other fist at his side. She took a step backwards and slightly to the side. All the better to witness the coming spectacle unfolding in the marketplace.

Attuma’s Xhosa had significantly improved in the near year of his marriage. While heavily accented, it rang out extremely clear, his grammar flawless as he loudly declared, “Pardon me?”

Nakia also took in how he took a step forward towards the old man.

M’Kathu’s smile was as vicious as ever as he straightened his shoulders. “It appears you fish folks are deaf as well as blind to the sins of those you mate with.”

Nakia backed away well over a foot.

“How dare you!” Okoye hissed.

She instinctively reached for the obsidian blade she’d taken to carrying in her sheath since Attuma gifted it to her during her courtship. However, he quickly slid his hand to her waist, stopping her. Deliberately turning to face her, he cupped her cheek before gently touching his forehead to hers. Whatever he said in his language sent her relaxing before she tilted her chin upwards to press a quick kiss to the side of his rebreather. Withdrawing, Attuma then placed himself directly in front of her. Her shield to all the ills of the world.

“I recommend,” Attuma leaned down nearly nose to nose with M'Kathu, “That you move along before suffering the consequences of your reckless words.”

Clearly, M’Kathu failed at taking hints. All he did was let out a loud snort before chuckling, “Okoye clearly prefers laying down with sea dogs rather than Wakandans who remember their loyalty to their country."

Nakia’s brows raised, her eyes went wide as she stilled. By now, a small crowd gathered to see what was going on in the usually peaceful marketplace.

“I suggest you keep my wife’s name out of your mouth,” Attuma hissed.

“And what will you do about it, sea scum?”

Attuma bristled, fingers flexing as his voice rose. “Clearly, I am not the one lacking in hearing.”

“So you say-”

“For I very clearly relayed that you need to keep my wife’s name out of your FUCKING MOUTH.”

The crowd around them fell utterly silent. Not even the children made a sound, enraptured by the heretofore unseen wrath of their favorite shark man. Well, save one little girl of roughly five or so.

“Umama, what does Mr. Tuna mean by fuck-ing?“

“Umama, why is that wrinkled old man so mean?”

"Hush child!” M’Kathu glared at the girl with scorn. “You see here?” he waved around with his cane, “He’s corrupted our very own children!”

M’Kathu scowled at the girl, causing her to scurry and hide behind her mother’s legs. Attuma growled, “Leave the youngling out of this. Adissa has done nothing to you.”

“And here you are, Okoye,” M’Kathu spat in disgust, “Opening your legs for this murderous orca, begetting your half breed whelps unto this land? Pitiful-”

Nakia recalled how on that day, no one could explain how M’Kathu ended up nearly drowning in the river with a concussion that rendered him unconscious and in the hospital for damn near a fortnight. No one also seemed to assist him. Nor could anyone recall how he ended up in the river in the first place. After all, how could an old man fly backwards into it a dozen feet behind him? It wasn’t as though Attuma yanked him up by the throat and sent him hurtling through the air hard enough to break a few bones as he hit its surface. Not even the guards patrolling the marketplace recalled seeing anything as they finally pulled him out.  

Funny how no charges of assault or battery were ever pressed. After all, one needed witnesses for such. And not a single one could be found.

[badkarma1998]

tell me more about your ocs! i only really know them from your art but i wanna know more!! who are they? what are their hobbies?

Gladly! Idk if you had any specific ones in mind or just all of them, so I'll do a quick rundown of my main/most developed ocs :3

(Gonna do a read more to spare everyone's dashs lol)

Stella:

probably my oldest and most developed oc

She's my take on a modern vampire, she's roughly 23-25 but she died at age 17. She had leukemia and her older brother took her to a coven of vampires to try and save her life. She woke up in an alleyway with no memory covered in blood and had to go from there. Now she works as a barista in Seattle to cover for the fact that she's undead and commiting identity fraud to get by

She's brash and broody, and likes to pretend to be a loner asshole, but really she's lonely and has a soft heart under her hard facade

Elliot:

my second most developed, deeply intertwined with Stella, can't have nice things.

He was a runnaway at 16 that Stella literally found in an alley, brought home, and gave him a couch to sleep on. I keep going back and forth on what I want to do with his story and his character, but the staple points are that he can see/talk to ghosts, and he blames himself for his Dad and sister's death, which is why he ran away from home. (Very big Nico Diangelo/Danny Phantom influences here lol)

He's a bit shy and goofy, but gets along with others easily and is well liked. He's an obsessive movie buff and self destructive people pleaser. After Stella took him in he managed to break through her tough outter shell and they became very close with a found sibling type bond

Which brings me to

Zack:

Elliot's childhood best friend and love intrest

He and Elliot have been super close since they were like 5. Classic boy next door best friend totally in love with the protagonist trope. When Elliot ran away, he didn't tell Zack, and Zack's reaction was to naturally hunt him down halfway across the country (something something hacked phone records and internet stalking). The scary new roommate (Stella) was a shock and he's pretty sure she's not human after she threatened him in a back alley the first time he met her, but that all works out eventually.

He's a tech nerd, loves puzzles/mysteries, and is a fan of obsurdist fan theories for different media. (And i do not evidently have any good reference pics for him...)

Forest and Sky:

They are twins, and they do magic. Their moms are both practiced in different magic arts and own a corner store than doubles as an underground shop for all sorts of creature clientele.

Sky is outgoing and energetic, always looking for trouble. She made a deal with a demon when she was a child to win a game, and now she has a cursed eye that can see into the future. She's very good at healing magic and various types of fortune telling, but she's very cryptic about any info she gets about the future, as it's not always set in stone and people's reactions tend to lead to unwelcome outcomes.

Forest is quite literally the quieter more reserved half. He's selectively mute, having neen born with a condition that rendered him deaf at a young age. Where Sky is jumping head first into mischief, he is usually being dragged along behind her. He is naturally gifted with blessings/curses and playing the drums. He develops a large unrequited crush on Elliot shortly after meeting him.

I have more ocs in the same universe/story, but those 5 are by far the most developed and thought out

Then I have some ocs from games

Liz:

my Lone Wanderer from various playthroughs and years of thoughts about Fallout 3. I've been on a kick lately developing her canon and character, I love drawing/writing her with beloved fallout 3 NPC and companion Butch Deloria

She's surprisingly well mannered for a person living in the apocalypse, she has major daddy issues, she's a literal folk hero, and while she's a great shot and can hold herself in a fight, she prefers to avoid violence whenever possible.

And finally

Bean:

my Final Fantasy XIV Warrior of Light

I named her Bean as a joke when my wife convinced me to play, and then I went and got deeply attached to her, and now I unironically have so many thoughts and feelings about a cat girl named Bean. She was raised on a pirate ship after being found by the crew in a bag of beans. She wasn't allowed to leave by her overprotective captain/adoptive father, and wanting to see the world she ran away to go be the protagonist of a final fantasy game.

She's deeply loyal and cares about her loved ones to a fault. She loves food, travel, and is a jack of mamy trades (my justification for being an omnicrafter lol)

And the last one I'll info dump about for now, cuz this got very long very fast. So uh... if you made it to the end I love you for indulging me 😅

[whump-in-progress]

a splendid whumptober to you all! 🖤🦇🔪🩸⛓️ here's a little treat i've been brewing up in my cauldron for a while, just for you...

The Enneagram Types in Whump

cw: pet whump, mentions of; noncon drugging, noncon body modification, tooth whump

the enneagram is a personality test that focuses on a person's internal motivations, rather than their external behavior. there are nine types in total, each defined by a core desire, fear, challenge, and longing. i thought it'd be fun to look at whump through these 27 lenses - each type in each archetypical role. if you know your type, let me know if your prompts resonated with you! if you don't know your type, i'll leave some resources below :)

__________________________________________________________

Whumpee - completely and totally brainwashed. they love their whumper to the ends of the earth; without them, how would they know to be good? they were bad before, wicked and cold and selfish, but whumper so kindly took them in and awoke them from their backwards ways. could they ever repay their savior enough?

Type 1

Whumper - some kind of authority; a mentor, commander, or head of a household, who mercilessly trains whumpee to behave in the "proper" manner befitting their position. they do not tolerate any flaws, backtalk, or weaknesses, no excuses, no exceptions. any disobedience earns whumpee a swift and lasting consequence.

Caretaker - fastidious in every single detail, their poor whumpee can rest assured knowing that they will only recieve the highest quality care possible, at the most efficient pace possible. hell, it's already perfectly laid out in this comprehensive five-year recovery plan spreadsheet, take a look!

Whumpee - they were rescued, and come hell or high water, they're gonna make themselves worth the effort spent. caretaker has to all but beg them to stay in bed. they're still healing, for god's sakes! they need to stop trying to sweep when they have a raging fever and seven cracked ribs!

Type 2

Whumper - everyone calls them a saint, and they'd have to agree. after all, it takes a special kind of person to look after poor whumpee day and night, with their mysterious "illness" that renders them incapable of caring for themselves. they do wish the "cure" wasn't so painful, but it's the only way they can ever make whumpee better. whumpee does want to get better, don't they?

Caretaker - the platonic ideal of a caretaker, they devote every waking minute into doing right by their charge. seemingly always at the ready with whatever whumpee needs; warm soup, pain meds, cold water, a hand to hold. no, they're not running themselves ragged at all, why do you ask? *barely able to keep their eyes open*

Type 3

Whumpee - the jester, the dancer, the show cat; whatever the position, whumpee is the star jewel of whumper's living collection. and they have earned their place, oh yes; approval is never given lightly. they work and sacrifice all that they are to keep it. only the worthy may stay.

Whumper - as the superhero of Big City, they perform an invaluable service to society. each low-life criminal who meets their end at whumper's hands makes the world a safer place for the good folks, and they bask in the adoration they recieve. sure, it gets stressful being the only dividing line between a peaceful city and a dirty shithole - but that's why it's so important for them to take their nightly rage out on sidekick! the city depends on it!

Caretaker - it is abhorrent that society is condoning slavery in 20XX, so caretaker has devoted their career to ending the human pet trade! they're the founder of the Pet Industry Victim Liberation League (PIVLL), and they work tirelessly, day and night, providing escape and support to survivors all across the globe.

Type 4

Whumpee - they used to be someone, they know they used to be someone. it's been so long since someone said their name, it's on the tip of their tongue, what is it? they're out, they're safe, they're home. the ordeal is over. but they can't remember the person they were before all this. is it even worth recovering if they can never truly find their way back to themselves?

Whumper - it's not "torture"! oh, no, darling, it's much grander than simple, pedestrian torture! do you see how i'm laying these burns in spirals? how i pull my needle through their skin in the most intricate, winding patterns? the pain they're feeling is simply the cherry on top of my coup de grâce. no, my sweet child, this isn't torture. this is art.

Caretaker - as soon as whumpee is ready to talk about it, caretaker is there. they stay and hold them through recounting every single horrifying thing, really, truly listening. it's hard not to flinch at some of it, but they hold back their two cents for later. now, facilitating that essential catharsis for their friend is all that matters.

Type 5

Whumpee - they keep their head down and their mind stashed away, leaning on stoicism to see them through the torture. silently collecting every detail around them; this vent leads to there, whumper always goes here, etc. someday, they'll put the puzzle pieces together, and find their own way out of this hell.

Whumper - the scientist, viewing their whumpee with cold, detatched eyes. cherishing and maintaining their perfect lab rat as a valuable resource and a font of future scientific discovery, but not even close to respecting them as a fellow human being. at least, not enough to warrant the use of anaesthesia.

Caretaker - someone with actual medical expertise, thank god. the doctor or nurse who first looks whumpee over after their rescue, bloodied and broken. are they comforting to their traumatized new patient, or gruff and stone-faced because they're annoyed they got paged to come into work at 2am?

Type 6

Whumpee - the stray dog, thrown out onto the street as soon as their owner got bored. entirely unprepared and left to their own devices in a hostile world; either beating themselves up for squandering whumper's favor, or thinking good riddance, but nevertheless fretting over who (or what) will find them next.

Whumper - a hired grunt for the boss of a larger organization. their conscience stays clear because they're not the one at the helm. all they're doing is going to work, following instructions, getting paid, and going home. so what if their job entirely consists of breaking bones and disposing of bodies? it's not their place to question direct orders!

Caretaker - calling their friends in every other hour for advice, fretting over every tiny little thing whumpee does. they didn't finish their dinner, does that mean they have stomach ulcers? oh god, now they're crying, what do i do, what do i do!? how can i possibly make them feel better???

Type 7

Whumpee - whumper keeps them in complete sensory deprivation; no sight, no sound, no smells, barely any tastes, and only one touch sensation - agony. they'll want nothing more than to reconnect with the world when they're rescued, but it'll be a long, long time before they're able to readjust.

Whumper - the spoiled young royal who is granted access to a constant rotation of servants, who supervise and care for them while they're exploring abroad. whumper treats all of them like dirt, spouting unfiltered mockery between demands and canings. why, to them, chaperones exist to be used and disposed of! it's the most normal thing in the world!

Caretaker - a caretaker-of-caretakers, if you will. they can't have someone in their house to look after 24/7, but they're here to help the people who do! they keep in contact with multiple caretakers, and make sure none of them want for anything. need some ace bandages? how about groceries? don't worry, they'll be on your doorstep in half an hour!

Type 8

Whumpee - this feral thing is not going down without a fight. every chance they get to snarl in defiance at their captors is one they take, delivering bloody bitten fingers and black eyes whenever the opportunity surfaces. so brave, so resilient... that is, until whumper shows them their brand new muzzle!

Whumper - a self-proclaimed "master interrogator", with the long and grisly record to prove it. sure, people might say their methods are "barbaric" and "violate international law", but do they give a rat's ass? no! using boltcutters on some poor sap's teeth may not be a nice thing to do, but it sure as hell gets them the intel they need. that's why they get called in to crack the tough cases, and not any of their stupid coworkers.

Caretaker - finally, they've made it home. it pains them to see whumpee like this, all wounded and fragile and terrified. once their dear heart is cleaned up and sleeping soundly, they grab their scariest weapon and hop right back in the car. may hell have mercy on you, whumper, after the bloodshed you have wrought from me.

Type 9

Whumpee - they slip outside under the cover of night, hands raised in surrender. whumper demanded their return, and whumpee decides that this is the only way to keep the team safe. don't go, they'd all say, we need you! but don't be silly, whumpee thinks, wrists now bound behind their back. nobody could possibly need me. let me be worth at least this.

Whumper - it stresses them out beyond belief to deal with the hassle of a squirming, complaining toy. it's much easier to keep their playthings inebriated on a constant cocktail of drugs and other environmental tricks! when their minds are sludge, you don't have to tell them what you want them to do, because you can just move their bodies for them.

Caretaker - they forever hover just nearby, leaving warm food and water, but never touching. they're demonstrating to whumpee that they're a safe person, the same way you would a stray cat. we can do this at your pace, they try to convey. i'm here for you no matter how long it takes.

__________________________________________________________

resources:

the test is a good starting point to ask yourself the right kinds of questions, but since a website can never truly know a person, and the enneagram is all about internal motivations, research is the best way to determine your number for sure (check out abbey howe's channel, she rules!). the name of the game here is to look inwards and be honest with yourself. if you have questions or want to go through the process with some help, let me know!

__________________________________________________________

[midwestbramble]

Under the Witching Tree Book Review

I've long awaited getting this book and finally bit the bullet! I read these out of order, as it's a trilogy, and started with "Under the Bramble Arch." I loved that one so much I was so excited to read the others. Here's my thoughts on the first.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Contents:

Synopsis

What I Liked

What I Didn't Like

Overall Thoughts

Conclusion

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Published 2017

"Under the Witching Tree; is the first in a trilogy of books by Corinne Boyer; a folk-herbalist known for her work exploring the traditional medicinal, and magical applications of plants and trees as well as their folklore.

This is a trilogy that guides us into the realms of plant lore, folk magic and folk medicine. The first book, Under the Witching Tree, focuses on the rustic magical traditions surrounding trees from western and northern Europe and north America.

Corinne's work, backed up by nearly twenty years of experience in the field, is full of information that is today little known, particularly within modern herbalism. This is a book which presents the reader with a wealth of homespun and very hands-on practices exploring tales, charms, spells, recipes and rites focusing on twenty different trees."

-from the back of the book

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

What I Liked

The book is separated by season, each one starting out with an original poem by the author. I'm honestly not much for poetry so much of it goes over my head, however there is something soothing to them, especially as they make mention of some of the trees talked about. The overall layout of the book is also enjoyable. Each chapter is dedicated to a tree: starting out with overall folklore of the tree, then into folk medicinal practices, the author's personal practices with the plants, sometimes an invocation or poem to the tree, then one or two crafts or spells.

The information itself within the book is wholly helpful if you build your practice off of folklore, and I've already refined some of my own grimoire entries of these plants with the information from the book. Photos of different the different workings and trees are also included.

The back of the book also includes appendices which instruct on how to create salves, render lard, drying and storing, making mead and wine, visiting tree spirits, making fumigations, and making elixirs and cordials.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

What I Didn't Like

Unfortunately, there was some appropriation of smudging and smudge sticks in this book. This is the first book in a series of three, and I read the second one before this so I'm disappointed as there was no such appropriation in the second book "Under the Bramble Arch" (review coming sometime next year). In the chapter on spruce, she also talks about shamans of North America, but there are no shamans in North America. Shamans are from a very specific culture in northern Asia and Siberia, and is a term that has been appropriated by the anthropological community making things shaky on it (however, I know that this is changing in that academic field). She probably meant Medicine Man but I'm not the best person to be guessing at Native American terms.

The author also claims that St. Joan of Arc was tried and executed as a witch, but she was exonerated of the charge of witchcraft and instead was executed for heresy by the English. Because why would God tell a French woman to defeat the English in battle so France could keep Burgundy and crown their King. Wild assumption. How dare she even think God wasn't on the side of the English. Anyway...

Personally, I'm not big on the whole idea of deities being aspects of other deities. There was a point where she talked just a bit about goddess aspects, and it was a little too Wiccan for my tastes. Especially since most of the book is folkloric witchcraft in flavor that it took me by surprise. Got a little bit of whiplash.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Overall Thoughts

The vast majority of the book is really wonderful. It gives some great places to look into further. I never take a book completely at it's word, so I do further research on what it talks about. As I said above, I have already added a few things to my own entries on the trees in this book to my personal grimoire and the information is pretty on point from what I can find. If you want to learn more about how to work with certain trees, this would be a good place to start.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Conclusion

Trees are so important to the environments they are a part of, it's prudent to create a good relationship with them. Knowing their stories can be a great start to this. Under the Witching Tree can be found at the publisher, Troy books, Amazon, Portland Buttonworks & The Spiral House Shop, Abe books, Rosarium Blends, RitualCravt, among others.

Images:

Header image made on Canva with book cover

All other images from the book

[skylarstark4826]

“Everyone is well aware of how my niece betrayed her country when she married you people.”

Okoye’s nostrils flared as she took a step forward to confront her uncle. Except she was swiftly stopped by Attuma whipping out his beefy arm in front her. Behind them, Nakia immediately took note of how he clenched his other fist at his side. She took a step backwards and slightly to the side. All the better to witness the coming spectacle unfolding in the marketplace.

Attuma’s Xhosa had significantly improved in the near year of his marriage. While heavily accented, it rang out extremely clear, his grammar flawless as he loudly declared, “Pardon me?”

Nakia also took in how he took a step forward towards the old man.

M’Kathu’s smile was as vicious as ever as he straightened his shoulders. “It appears you fish folks are deaf as well as blind to the sins of those you mate with.”

Nakia backed away well over a foot.

“How dare you!” Okoye hissed.

She instinctively reached for the obsidian blade she’d taken to carrying in her sheath since Attuma gifted it to her during her courtship. However, he quickly slid his hand to her waist, stopping her. Deliberately turning to face her, he cupped her cheek before gently touching his forehead to hers. Whatever he said in his language sent her relaxing before she tilted her chin upwards to press a quick kiss to the side of his rebreather. Withdrawing, Attuma then placed himself directly in front of her. Her shield to all the ills of the world.

“I recommend,” Attuma leaned down nearly nose to nose with M'Kathu, “That you move along before suffering the consequences of your reckless words.”

Clearly, M’Kathu failed at taking hints. All he did was let out a loud snort before chuckling, “Okoye clearly prefers laying down with sea dogs rather than Wakandans who remember their loyalty to their country."

Nakia’s brows raised, her eyes went wide as she stilled. By now, a small crowd gathered to see what was going on in the usually peaceful marketplace.

“I suggest you keep my wife’s name out of your mouth,” Attuma hissed.

“And what will you do about it, sea scum?”

Attuma bristled, fingers flexing as his voice rose. “Clearly, I am not the one lacking in hearing.”

“So you say-”

“For I very clearly relayed that you need to keep my wife’s name out of your FUCKING MOUTH.”

The crowd around them fell utterly silent. Not even the children made a sound, enraptured by the heretofore unseen wrath of their favorite shark man. Well, save one little girl of roughly five or so.

“Umama, what does Mr. Tuna mean by fuck-ing?“

"Hush child!” M’Kathu scornfully glared down at the child. “You see here?” he waved around with his cane, “He’s corrupted our very own children!”

“Umama, why is that wrinkled old man so mean?”

M’Kathu once again scowled at the girl, causing her to scurry and hide behind her mother’s legs. Attuma growled, “Leave the youngling out of this. Adissa has done nothing to you.”

“And here you are, Okoye,” M’Kathu spat in disgust, “Opening your legs for this murderous orca, begetting your half breed whelps unto this land? Pitiful-”

Nakia recalled how on that day, no one could explain how M’Kathu ended up nearly drowning in the river with a concussion that rendered him unconscious and in the hospital for damn near a fortnight. No one also seemed to assist him. Nor could anyone recall how he ended up in the river in the first place. After all, how could an old man fly backwards into it a dozen feet behind him? It wasn’t as though Attuma yanked him up by the throat and sent him hurtling through the air hard enough to break a few bones as he hit its surface. Not even the guards patrolling the marketplace recalled seeing anything as they finally pulled him out.  

Funny how no charges of assault or battery were ever pressed. After all, one needed witnesses for such. And not a single one could be found.

[rionas-path]

Chapter 5

The Imperfect Retelling

XXXVIII. The goddess let the air stay still, with only the faint, warm wind Of early spring brush along the undergrowth. Her story; she knew, Could give away details abundant. Her goals, thus: to skew This tale yet believable remain. Dilute – chiefly, skimmed Shall this story be. Choosing wisely her beginning’s spring, The events known to every man, be it poor or mighty king. All this to either bore or irritate and most, to rescind The questioning doubt which took root in Ríona’s mind whirlwind.

XXXIX. “Of spring rains and summer storms, one could dream eternally… A tale of time and of passage, bereft of peace, of mind. Two silhouettes did merge as their shadows had intertwined-” Annoyed and defeated, Ríona let out a breath cheerlessly: “Perfect, thou art of no help as usual…” and began to take Her leave, standing up from the cobbled bench. No wish to partake In Aurianne’s game of mockery. In response, she quickly Hit back with a remark both grating and nonetheless motherly:

XL. “Patience, my dear! Though thou seem’st to think thee know’st all, Thou know’st not where this tale of mine leads.” Her aura seemed to pass Across onto the other shoulder, continuing to amass Her narrative: “Two silhouettes came from that blessed hall Of the Innerworld’s Void on that faithful day. Now ancient, long Forgotten history – save for this old, astute mind’s song! We had always been meant for greatness, but they did us stall In those times of Amber’s Domain, when we were but a thrall!”

XLI. Content with the spirit’s meanderings Ríona was not And swiftly jumped in again: “Get on with it, please! For the love Of all that is holy!” The continuous interjections of The youth were partially the goal which the goddess sought. To safely skip and omit what she pleased, but withal annoyed She’d act: “Ah! Again, with thy interruptions! Thou destroyed A poor and frail spirit’s tale! Have it thy way!” Thus, the plot She did not want to proceed, abjured and inwards she did trot.

XLII. “Wait, no! Please linger still for I’m sorry! I shan’t be a child No longer and shall listen to thy tale but please don’t go!” Cried Ríona and thus, the goddess relished the moment so And promptly gave her rules of engagement to leave her tale undefiled: “Thou shalt not interrupt henceforth! I shall tell my tale to thee, And upon any hitch or halt my tale shall stop. Agree?” The youth merely shook her head in accord without a wild And errant spoken word. With swiftness she perched on the bench beguiled.

XLIII. “Let’s not remain unhurried and carry on. My fabled rise Assured was not!” the goddess rendered her words in succour. “In early years of my existence, my life painted in demure Light of a wondering wisp, gliding on meadows below clear skies Of the Inner and Outer worlds. A fledgling spirit, full of ardour; Much like thyself; but lo! For one shall find their world grow harder Once all the rules are revealed, far removed from the fables’ cries That erstwhile were pledged! At times life’s change is slow, then ere thy eyes!”

XLIV. “I revelled in those hidden, closed off corners of the land, Those nooks and crannies which laid unfound for vast stretches of time. Thus, I quickly became the patron of hidden groves. Not prime But a lesser sylph, which gave boons and gifts to a daring brand Of folk – Those bold enough to seek my blessings’ benefit! Oh! The meanderings of life are fickle; no elegist Am I; alas, to sing a psalm for my sanctuaries grand! Vast were atrocities; both by flow or by someone’s hand”

XLV. “A cave in here, an earth’s shake there; floods which ravaged my spaces, So carelessly hid them and then dismantled. No more did they bring My flock the comfort they deserved! No more did they to me sing, And no more did they decorate them with their murals and graces!” The goddess’ passion grew as she reminisced of those times Which were now but a mere echo in a pond of long forgotten rhymes. Taking a few moments of peace, attempting to find the traces Of where her chain of thoughts was traversing and turn them into phrases.

XLVI. “Thus, with but a few remnants of my essence; at dawn of people-folk, I learned of deeply hidden secrets without an origin In natural virtues. They hid deep beneath and deep within The hearts of men, women, child or elder. ‘Twas there I could stoke The growing fire, spread my wings, and weave my web of lies. But think not my path was clear! The fire’s touch was under a guise Of false accord and tyranny gave chase; and to invoke His prideful rule, Krouth challenged all… and all he did provoke!”

XLVII. “‘Twas he who made lives of us patron goddesses misery. He made us concubines of his celestial court and clan And under his command, we toiled and travailed for the mortal man, Never permitted to do as we pleased with our powers of witchery. This drudgery; thereupon, tainted our hearts and souls with hate And mind mist! His reign interminable, his lust one could not sate! So ravenous for power was he, he strode t’wards me blindly As a fool, when I laid there waiting to indulge in my trickery!”

XLVIII. “That night a tyrant fell to his knees and begged for mercy, Alas, such goodwill was never on the cards! His burned bridges Finally caught up to his fiery fate! Oh, his cries were like riches Taken from the highborn and given to the peasants!” Her spree Of sharpened words as a deluge, atypical of Aurianne. In a split second, she quickly found control and recalled her plan. But I digress, his fall became my rise and the rest? History. Curious, dost this lore sate any of thy mind’s inquiry?”

XLIX. This tale left Ríona of words bereft, awestruck and bemused. Lost in her thoughts, bedazzled at such lost lore none would find Even in deepest of dreams. Not a single question was left on her mind Leaving the pair in a meditative silence. Unmoved, They stayed on that garden bench where many an afternoon had been spent And whilst the young lass couldn’t hide her glee, the goddess sent Herself into a mood of complacency, as she refused To believe her slight slip up could ever be against her used.

[cornelius-of-lykia]

Research Statement / Introductory Post

Hey folks! As part of my work for school, I must write a research statement that encompasses who I am, what my work entails, what influences me, and ultimately what I want to accomplish while I am at the University of Connecticut. This is honestly a pretty good opportunity to take stock of who I am as an artist, and why I am doing the work I am undertaking, and so I’d like to share my research statement here.

Personal Background

My name is Christian Romero, I am a 3D artist and game designer of Ecuadorian and Irish heritage, born and raised in the Hudson Valley (NY). I first studied game design at Drexel University, and while there’s a thousand things I would’ve liked to have done differently in undergrad, my work and experiences there are ultimately what led me to becoming an MFA graduate student here at UConn. Overall, I’m pretty happy with where I am right now.

I’ve been very interested in game narratives since I was a teenager, but I didn’t know what I actually wanted to do for a career – all I knew was that I wanted to make games. I didn’t consider myself an ‘artist’ when I was starting out in undergrad – I couldn’t paint, I had no confidence in my drawing skills, and I had no idea what 3D modeling entailed. While I have my criticisms of Drexel University as an institution, their game design track got me to engage with all the major components of game design, which gave me a much better sense of what each discipline entailed. While I did a lot of work with 3D modeling at Drexel, it was only a couple years after graduating that I ultimately decided to go all-in on my 3D art. It took me a while to realize that I really had a knack for modeling and rendering, and even though I struggled for a while to find meaningful work after graduating, I look back fondly on all the art I made in the intervening years. I honestly think a lot of it is pretty dope.

I came to the University of Connecticut to learn as much as I could about 3D art and game design, but these haven’t been the only things I sought to learn about while studying here. UConn’s Deparment of Digital Media & Design has a big emphasis on projects pertaining to the Humanities, and I wanted to explore what sort of work was being undertaken in this regard. To that end, I have learned a good deal in the past year-and-a-half I have been here.

Thesis Project

For my stay at UConn, my MFA thesis project is a narrative point-and-click game called The Festival: Eastoria. In it, you play Nishma Mauranyan, a girl who is trying to put on a food festival in a country that just got out of a civil war.

Its themes and quests are about how people come together to rebuild their lives and their societies after the massive upheavals and trauma that come with war. The game’s setting and story are based on a project I have been working on since 2019, with the protagonist being based on a character sprite I made all the way back in 2015.

There is a lot I still have to unpack and explain about this game, but I will do my best to summarize several key components about it here.

Artistic Vision

While a good chunk of my artistic vision and philosophy can be summarized as “I like making art of stuff I like”, what I ultimately want to do is make art that has something to say. I want to explore complicated themes and say complicated things in the games I make. We live in a very messy world, and live very messy lives, and the stories that have stuck with me the most have been the ones that helped me make sense of it all. I know I may come up short when trying to write something meaningful, especially with The Festival, but it’s very important that I try to do what I do with as much earnestness and sincerity as possible.

Having gone through much turmoil and hardship in my own life, I want to help others make sense of their own struggles by exploring these things in the stories I write. If I help even one person understand themselves better through my works, then I know I will have done my job.

Artistic Influences

In preparing to come to UConn in December 2021, which was also the time I started formulating the concept of The Festival as a game, I fondly listed Anthony Bourdain and Guy Fieri (yes, seriously) as two of my biggest influences for conceiving the game’s premise. What inspires me about those two (Anthony Bourdain moreso) is how they chose to explore different communities, regions, and cultures through their food. While Mr. Fieri is more focused on the food itself, Anthony Bourdain (God rest his soul) used food as a springboard for talking about a region’s history, politics, and culture(s). I was always intrigued by his approach to these subjects, and it’s ultimately what inspires me to make The Festival as it is: a game where food and festivities are used as the starting point to engage with serious topics.

In a broader sense, I have always had a deep interest in history, politics, culture, and religion. I love learning about other peoples’ cultures, and the different ethnic groups found in The Festival are all based on a variety of different real-world groups that I have a deep respect for, who you don’t see often portrayed within media (e.g. you don’t see a lot of fictional portrayals of Armenian culture in pop culture). Ultimately, the titular festival that you spend the whole game working towards is itself a springboard for exploring the larger world of Eastoria and its people, along with exploring the very complicated and heavy subject matter that comes with life in post-conflict societies. To this end, I hope that the worldbuilding I incorporate into The Festival reflects my own innate curiosity and passions.

For video games that inspire me, I have three key games I would like to cite – each of which I have been liberally cribbing design elements from. Those games would be Fallout: New Vegas (2010), Disco Elysium (2019), and Pentiment (2022).

To give a very rough overview of what I am taking from each game for use in the Festival, I am inspired by how they handle their rich worldbuilding, their complex and nuanced narratives, and their incredibly well-written and relatable characters. I’m taking many notes on how New Vegas and Disco Elysium each handle their politics, how Disco Elysium and Pentiment handle their point-and-click gameplay systems, and how Pentiment handles the passage of time in its quests and stories. Lastly, I am also taking note of how each game handles moral ambiguity and uncertainty in choices – both of which I intend on being major components within the different quests of The Festival.

Themes and Subjects

The Festival: Eastoria is a game about putting on a food festival in a country that just got out of a civil war. As such, it will be exploring the complexities of post-conflict societies, and about how people rebuild their lives after suffering through major traumas. Even so, like with the three games I mentioned before, I want to tie in the large-scale political conflicts with the small-scale personal stories, and show how one influences the other. I want to show how people reclaim their lives, and how they process such heavy trauma and grief, having survived a thousand different horrors.

Expanding a little further on my last point, I want to incorporate ambiguity into both the moral choices the player must make, as well as the choices on what the player focuses on to bring the festival to fruition. While this will be incredibly difficult to pull off, and will require a lot of time and careful writing, I strongly believe it’s a critical component of the game. What may be morally upstanding may not benefit you or your festival, and you may have to do a few underhanded or questionable things to make sure you can pull off your festival.

Evolution of The Festival

The world of The Festival is based on a project I first started working on in September 2019. It first started life as a shooter based off the mechanics of Mount & Blade: Warband (2010), made in conjunction with a couple other aspiring indies like me. While I made a lot of art assets for this game, ultimately we all had to move on from it, especially once the pandemic took its toll on our lives post-2020. While I’m not against revisiting a war game in this vein in the future, I think for now The Festival is the most appropriate and achievable version of the sort of story I wish to tell. The war game I initially envisioned was also centered on the themes of people rebuilding their lives after conflict and trauma, while trying to convey the human cost of war. The premise of the game was that you would be the one to reunite the war-torn country of Eastoria by building an army large enough to topple the squabbling dictatorships that dominated the country.

However, once the war game was mothballed, I searched for other ways to explore the world I spent the past two years working on, and by late 2021 I decided it was best to focus on a story where, rather than working to reunify the country yourself, you skip right to the end where the country has already been unified, and now you must work to bring people back together in this new era of peace. While I can’t recall exactly how I decided to base the game’s story on putting on a food festival, I know that by the time I sent in my application to UConn in January 2022, it was an idea I was beginning to mentally flesh out.

And here we are today!

Creative Process / Materials and Techniques

For this portion of the statement, I will focus exclusively on the art side of things, and how I make the character models and assets I have produced. There is more I can say about my interest and research into the political and humanitarian issues of life in a post-conflict society, but I would prefer to expand upon that at a later time.

As a 3D artist by trade, my preferred art application is Blender, an open-source 3D application. For modeling characters, I have two character bases I have been using since 2020 for a variety of different characters, including here for The Festival. The male version is nicknamed “Cor Boy”, after me, and the female version is nicknamed the “Erik Girl”, after my friend NitroGlyde, who helped me produce her. I try to keep all my models in a low-poly art style using mostly flat shading, as it is an art-style I have grown very fond of since first starting on this project in 2019.

I originally used exclusively Photoshop for texturing, which I still rely on for certain textures. Ever since coming to UConn, however, I have been working extensively with Substance Painter, which I consider to be an absolute godsend for texturing 3D models. As for the game engine itself, I am making this game in Unreal Engine 5.3. These past two weeks (as of February 25, 2024 as I write this), I have been reviewing and learning as much as I can about the basics of Unreal’s blueprint system to implement the code I want, and I have gotten surprisingly far. I will be sharing a video showcasing my work on that front soon.

Course Goals

My ultimate goal for the Spring 2024 semester is to have a rough prototype of the game’s pilot quest, which I have dubbed “Hemmingward”. It is about Nishma’s attempts to solve a decade-old war crime for a village in an attempt to secure their famed recipe for her festival. If I can have a playable quest for this story by my thesis defense in mid-May, then I know I will be in a good position for my final year.

Currently, I have locked in the very basics of my point-and-click mechanics – locomotion, interactivity, and dialogue system. I will be showing those off in a future post soon; the locomotion and interactivity I was able to piece together from various tutorials, while the dialogue system is a plugin called Dialogue Tree by Unraed on the Unreal Marketplace. I’ll need to polish and experiment with the system a little more – and eventually resume work on art assets for this game – but I’m making headway, slowly but surely.

Production Timeline:

Here is a rough timeline of what I expect to have done within the coming weeks for the rest of the semester.

Feb 26th to March 8th – Polish and lock in point-and-click functionality, get very simple dialogue camera working the way I want.

March 9th to March 16th – Spring break; review Hemmingward script for further revisions. Set up levels to be explored, and begin greyboxing scenes.

March 17th to March 23rd – Finish greyboxing environments. Implement note/diary system (which will be used to review documents relevant to the quest).

March 24th to March 30th – Implement basic cutscene functionality, including transition from cutscenes to gameplay, and vice versa. Have first wave of Hemmingward script revisions completed.

March 31st to April 6th – Begin implementing the actual script into the game; set up cinematics, dialogue, and events appropriately.

April 7th to April 13th – Continue implementing the script content into the game.

April 14th to Apri; 26th – Complete implementation of script into the game; finalize alpha build of quest for presentation to committee during Thesis defense.

Closing

This is as much as I have to say for my research statement right now. Thank you dearly if you have read this far.

There’s plenty I wish to talk about more, with both The Festival and my own journey as an artist. For now though, I’m just excited to say that I’m getting a lot of good work done, and I have many exciting updates to share in the coming weeks.

I hope you have a lovely day, dear reader, and as always - Solidarity Forever!

[lorenfinch]

Find the Word Tag: Massive Catch-Up Edition

Tagged by @serenanymph, @writernopal, @sam-glade, and @worldofthraeia! Thank you so much for tagging me and sorry this took so long to get to!

Tagging: @kaiusvnoir, @mjjune, @liv-is, @writinglittlebeasts, and leaving an open tag for the words arm, happy, late, and switch!

My words: fault, reflect, snarl, rage, savor, energy, camp, fortune, soft, knock, promise, gold, wing, want, win, wait, cold, crystal, cut, cross, bear, burn, bread, burrow, fight, flight, fling, and flick. That's right folks, saddle up 'cause it's gonna be a long one! All of these are from my Everdark WIP.

REFLECT (ch. 9):

Understandably, the room contained no mirrors, so I unsheathed one of the daggers I looted from the hunters. A silver blade, it seemed—my reflection was already fading from its sharpened surface. Yet I could still see enough of myself to haphazardly comb through my black hair with my fingers. It hit me then, that it had been weeks since I’d seen my own face—I hadn’t tried looking in a mirror since before my transformation. Indeed, my eyes had turned from blue to violet, and for the first time, I saw how I looked with pointed ears. There were still things I would change. I would wear a more tailored suit, and a sharper jawline. But I still vastly preferred this to the reflection I’d been forced to stare at in the attic of my family home. At least this reflection could smile.

SNARL (ch. 5):

Styx’s lip curled into a snarl, and I flinched at the harshness of their voice. “The Everdark is not my home. Perhaps it was, once. But that was long ago.” “…What changed?” I whispered. “It doesn’t matter now.” Styx clenched her fists as a pained look flickered across her face for but a second. “My curse forces me to hunt, and I choose to hunt monsters. Sometimes with the Guild. A cockatrice here, a manticore there. Other times…” Their voice trailed off, but I knew what laid in those unsaid words. I knew all too well.

Putting the rest under the cut for length.

A couple of these contain cws for: Victorian era-type misogyny and ableism, misgendering, suggestive content (consensual), blood drinking (consensual), minor gore

FAULT (ch. 9):

“Apologies, Doctor,” came the voice of my mother. “She should have outgrown these emotional outbursts by now. What a disgrace.” “Nothing to apologize for, my Lady,” replied the doctor. “If anything, the fault lies with me. I thought dispelling the unfeminine spirit would be enough to cure her hysteria, but clearly this girl is deeply disturbed.”

RAGE (ch. 10):

Her voice shook with rage, and I laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “All the while, rumors swept the village, tales of a plague that rendered women infertile and turned them into monsters. Of course I took the transformation when it came. And I killed my shitstain husband and found the people I cared about and turned them, too. Tansy. My two surviving brothers. I turned countless strangers as well. And we won.” She laughed mirthlessly.

SAVOR (ch. 11):

“I assure you, darling,” the black-haired woman draped her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze. My dead heartbeat quickened in response. “I give you my utmost consent.” And before I could take her wrist, she reached up to undo the clasps of her necklace. Oh. I flushed once more as, invitingly, she pat the bare skin on her neck. Softly, hungrily, I granted her wish. Warm and savory, her blood rushed to my mouth, and she made no secret how much she enjoyed it. With one hand, she threaded her fingers through my hair, and pulled my body closer to hers with the other. Having warmed a few beds in the past couple of years, I was no virgin, and yet this was easily the most intimate, sensual moment I’ve ever experienced.

ENERGY (ch. 1):

With little else to focus on, I concentrated on the throbbing ache continuing to pulse through my wrists. The leather padding on the shackles and the additional barrier provided by my jacket sleeves only prevented the burn that would result from pure silver touching vampiric skin. The shackles still hurt, and they still drained—my energy, my strength, even any powers I’d developed. They weren’t many, but I still felt the difference.

CAMP (ch. 3):

After what had to be many hours of riding, the trees thinned into a clearing, and Sir Wendell decided this would be the camp for the time being. He and a few of the hunters were in charge of warding it. Garlic for undead, salt and sigils for spirits, and a carefully placed iron horseshoe for the fair folk.

FORTUNE (ch. 1):

No one knew how it was created, only that the enchantment bloomed in the southeast of the Avardinian continent and rapidly spread outward until it was the size of a small kingdom. I’ve heard many a religious person claim fervently and with great fear that it was the work of Luthar, god of misfortune. Mages and diviners alike have tried to undo the enchantment, but none succeeded. Thus the Everdark remained, a border between human and elven lands and a home for those who fell between the cracks, monster or outsider or otherwise.

SOFT (ch. 10):

“You’re soft,” she said. I reflexively flinched, but her voice lacked the venom that so many others had woven into those exact words. “You remind me of my brothers. I miss them.” I wished I could miss mine. I was soft for him once, too, but he had carved that away long ago.

KNOCK (ch. 11):

I did not respond, for at that point I had become transfixed on what laid ahead of me. A massive building loomed before us, nestled neatly between the trees as if it had actually been built there. Half-timber framed its walls of stucco and stone in a style reminiscent of the older buildings in Cedra, topped with a steep-pitched roof and lined with stained-glass windows depicting scenes of various creatures I assumed were fair folk in nature. Vines of ivy climbed the walls, interspersed with the sort of fungi I’d seen growing on tree trunks. The door was tall with a rusted brass knocker depicting a set of insect wings, and nailed to it was a wooden sign that plainly stated: FRIENDLY VISITORS WELCOME. A clear invitation.

PROMISE (ch. 2):

“You mean you won’t be coming with us?” I asked forlornly. Ainsley smiled, crossing the room to give me a pat on the shoulder. “Afraid not, lad. I’m needed here, not just to defend these folk from the vampires but also our regular nightly threats. Don’t give me those eyes, now, this is a fine lot here! You’ll be gettin’ along with them. But…” He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “If ya truly need me…I’ll be sure to find ya.” “Promise?” I whispered. Ainsley ruffled my hair. “Aye. I promise.”

GOLD (ch. 7):

He was the most opulent man I’d ever seen, dressed in a lush frock coat of blue and champagne velvet, with intricate golden filigree delicately embroidered throughout. His white boots, dragon leather based on the subtle texture, ended in a sole and heel of solid gold, and my jaw dropped as I realized the golden feathers on his impressive mantle were real phoenix feathers, an incredibly rare sight. His hair was a gold as his plumage, skin as pale as porcelain, eyes a dreamlike periwinkle. “May I come in?” the newcomer asked with raised eyebrows, and yet he crossed through the threshold anyway, much to the ire of the Night Terrors. “The fuck are you doing here?” “Get lost!”

WING (ch. 5):

When I was eight years old, my uncle Emmerick returned from one of his Everdark expeditions with a strigoi in tow. He kept the creature, a winged undead bloodsucker, caged in his lab. Most people are scared of creatures like this, he had said, but in actuality they’re quite fascinating. Is it a baby vampire? I had asked, to which my uncle responded no, that vampires were much more like people, except not quite. I’d pondered the strigoi then, thinking that despite its little batlike body flapping about, its face was vaguely reminiscent of that of a human. I gave the creature a name: Flappy.

WANT (ch. 10):

Styx carefully laid her scythe against a tree, then stepped into the clearing, arms held at her sides. The rising moon cast a pale halo onto their tall, dark silhouette. “Stab me.” “What?” I breathed. “I think these are silver. I don’t want to hurt you.” “Any blade can harm a mortal, and yet they still train with them,” Styx retorted evenly. “Stab me.”

WIN (ch. 6):

“Has to be centuries at this point,” Eirik replied, whistling in amazement. Admittedly, he didn’t look at all like how I pictured a vampire. He was broad, tough-looking, clearly a warrior who didn’t need fangs to win a fight. “Man, time flies.”

WAIT (ch. 3):

“Wait! Please don’t go! Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry!” But he said nothing in response, the silence carving a hole in my chest.

COLD (ch. 3):

When I woke up all I could think about was the blood I’d lost, and the blood I’d gained. Whatever wound I’d received had healed, and yet my flesh was cold as death. All around me were the bodies of the men who’d tried to kidnap me, all cut open with fangs and claws except for one. Bleeding, yes, but alive, and smelling utterly decadent.

CUT (ch. 9):

“You know, as enjoyable as this rather compromising position is,” said the elf, bringing a blush to my face as I realized just how I was holding him—wrists pinned above his head, our faces mere hand’s breadths from each other. He was only a few inches taller than me, with moonlight in his hair and the tiniest of stardust freckles dotting his cheeks. He bled from a small cut to the face, and oh, how utterly sweet he smelled. “I’m afraid I must ruin the moment.”

CROSS (ch. 3):

For the first time since our traveling party crossed the twilit threshold, one of the hunters spoke up. “How d’you know it’s them?” “Here in the southern Ferrywood all the way to Undertaker’s Bay is where they stalk,” replied Sir Wendell. “They’re a clever bunch. They’ve been known to work with sirens to take down entire battleships. Be very cautious.” “Battleships? An’ we’re supposed to trust these two to talk ‘em down?” another hunter, a tall, broad-shouldered man with jagged teeth, demanded. He gestured wildly at Styx and me as he continued. “A posh little prince and a bloody heathen?”

BEAR (ch. 9):

“Sorry,” he whispered, looking tremendously small. Feeling guilty for startling him, I shook my head and apologized in return. Mirko gave me a tiny smile and held out his arms, and it was then I saw that in his hands he held a stuffed animal of some sort—bear? Wolf? Otter? I couldn’t tell, but it looked lovingly stitched together. “Tansy made her for me,” Mirko explained. “She helps with the nightmares.”

BURN (ch. 8):

“All of us were transformed at some point during the uprising,” said Amaryllis, a faraway look on her face. “Dahlia and I were born in the same village. Edenlin, in the deepest wilds. We didn’t think the raiders would come that far, but they did, and we were forced to flee and watch as our home burned to the ground.” Reading the saga was one thing, but hearing a firsthand account was something entirely different. “I’m sorry,” was all I could say. “I took the transformation first,” said Dahlia. “Amaryllis turned to magic instead, but…” “It wasn’t enough,” Amaryllis’ voice turned to a low growl. “I summoned fair folk, I animated skeletons, I cursed the blood of the raiders. Things anyone would consider witchcraft. But there was something incredibly satisfying about clawing the smug face of the man who torched my home.”

BREAD (ch. 2):

When he or any of the other hunters spoke, they cheered, some running up and handing them gifts—bundles of flowers, coin, loaves of bread.

FIGHT (ch. 10):

Fighting Styx was different from fighting Belladonna. Belladonna had been a brawler, a panther, a blade made flesh. Styx, on the other hand, was a barrier, an impenetrable wall of stone that only moved when she pleased. Finding an opening should have been easy, especially since Styx seemingly wore no armor, but I was blocked and parried at every chance.

FLIGHT (ch. 3):

Of course, we still crossed paths with various creatures wandering the woods. A sudden movement from the branches above us startled several of the hunters, but it only turned out to be an owl taking flight. Our next sight was less familiar, and sent chills down even my spine—a trio of odd creatures feasting on a dead elk right on the edge of the path. They looked humanlike but all wrong, a pale, twisted caricature of a corpse. I knew these creatures by name, though I had only seen drawings and anatomical diagrams in books and in my uncle’s laboratory. Ghouls, devourers of the dead, harmless to the living. They scattered into the darkness as we approached, but we kept a wide berth nonetheless.

FLICK (ch. 3):

“Explains the bandages,” Styx mused, spaded tail flicking side to side like a cat’s. “Remain watchful of your hunger. The less blood a vampire takes, the more they must feed. Have you killed yet?”

CRYSTAL, BURROW, FLING: n/a