#if i could get my brain to cooperate with the ideas i have written down that would be Wonderful

[victarin]

this has been done a million times before but i wanted to draw something cozy :( goodnight

[brailsthesmolgurl]

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION!

A smol bird requested for this to be written and so here I am, playing fairy godmother! If any of you have any sort of requests, just drop me a dm as I am revived from my death and ready to write more delulus as your solulus!

Context: What happens when your outfit decides NOT to cooperate with you? What will the boys do for you?

Disclaimer: This one-shot is created with me studying their lore on various websites and social media so that I could get a better idea on what colours they like/represent and what style they lean towards. Some of you may disagree but its okay! You can read it as it is and add in your own imagery of a suitable outfit by your hubbies! Warnings: Fluff that might rot your brains.

RAFAYEL

"I am almost done with this piece," Rafayel spoke, eyes still glued to his canvas, one hand holding up his messily stained colour palette, while the other held the brush as he drew strokes across the canvas. "Why don't you go and get changed as you wait for me to finish off this bit, yeah?"

"Yes sir." You quirkily replied and you stood up, spotting him sending you a teasing look given the way you addressed him. Earlier on, some strangers had came by Rafayel's mansion with Thomas to deliver some clothes. Apparently, these clothes are custom made by those luxurious brands specifically for Rafayel. Thomas addressed it as this was one of the ways the luxury brands show their support towards Rafayel's works. ONE OF THE WAYS... At this point, you are convinced that Rafayel is a huge deal and having luxurious brands begging on their knees to work with him sounded like a dream that would never come true to you.

The dress that sat on the bed was delivered for you as well, as per Rafayel's request. There was objection amongst the team that were handling the sponsorship and ambassador deals for the brand. But Rafayel spoke through the phone like he owns the company. "If she does not get a gown, then our business ends. Right now." He hung up abruptly, and the next thing he knew, the dress showed up at his door in less than 30 minutes.

Any brands, regardless luxurious or not, knows the right way and only way to please Rafayel. One wrong move and you are off the chart and some other brand may easily replace you. Hence, nobody dares to mess with Rafayel. Except for you. "The dress on the bed is yours!" He shouted from the living room and you picked up the dress.

The chiffon textured dress is of a forest green colour, going all the way down to your ankles. The strapless design made you gulped as you are not used to outfits of this measure, given the nature of your work, whereas your attire has to be 'appropriate for work in times of need'. Touching the inner material, you sighed in relief as you realised that there was bra padding for you hence you do not have to go all the way out to get a new bra just for this event.

Putting on the dress and zipping it up was easy, and you fit almost perfectly into the dress. The keyword being ALMOST. As you lifted your hands up, the dress started sliding down like it is a floatie on a wet water slide and woop, off it went and onto the ground. You panicked, bending down in one fell swoop and trying to gather the dress so that you can pull it up to your chest again.

But it does not let you go past the waist area unless you unzip it. Groaning, you struggled to find the zip as the dress is really puffy and you did not want to ruin the designer dress. "Is everything okay?" Rafayel stood at the doorway, leaning against the side of his door, as he watched you with amusement written all over his face. He has been standing there for quite a while hasn't he?

You gasped, pulling whatever that is on the floor to cover your chest area and he walked over, analysing the dress and scowling when he found out the reason. "I should have gotten them to measure you instead of just bringing you a standard fit." He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen a couple of times. His eyes looked back at you and you bit your lip in embarassment. "Your curves are way too beautiful to be hidden amongst this pile of leaves."

His comment made you giggled. Guess he has the same thought as you. "Toss the dress aside darling, I will get you a new one." Another few taps of the finger, he shows you the dress he has in mind. A purple dress with extravagant sleeves, puffing out like how a jellyfish would and you instantaneously knew why he opted for this dress. "I like purple better anyways."

"But wait Rafayel... this dress is not entirely scrap, maybe I can sew a temporary knot on it to tighten the top so it won't fall off. And there is really no need for you to get another custom one for me as we are running out of time." Your suggestion made him stare at you, purple-blue pupils blown wide as if he has really just witnessed a shark eating grass. iykyk.

He walked over and grabbed you by your waist and pulled you close to him, so close that you could hear the sound of his heart against yours. But at this moment, maybe he could hear yours louder than his. "Nobody can put a price on your love for me. EVER. But, I can sure as hell throw out any price on anyone, regardless the amount, as a representation of how much you worth to me." You looked away immediately, eyes stared at the arms that were holding you in place. He kissed your forehead, chuckling, before he pressed his phone against his ear. "Now, let's see who can make this dress for the price I am willing to pay in 30 minutes time." he makes me feel something

ZAYNE

You waited on a bench in front of Akso Hospital. You figured it would be a great idea to wait for Zayne as he finishes work early today and you might be able to grab dinner with him. You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking through your daily for-you-page before a shadow loomed over you. You looked up and no doubt, it is Zayne aka the great and almightly Elsa.

"How long have you been sitting here?" He asked you, before handing you a candy that he had fished out from the pocket of his trench coat. "I was planning to meet you slightly later at your condo." The thought of him initially wanting to surprise you made your heart fluttered. You see, Zayne is a more upfront guy so having him to plan surprises are one of the uncalled scenarios.

"I had only been here for a couple of minutes." You lied, taking the candy out of his palm and unwrapped it before you tossed it into your mouth. The raise of his eyebrow towards you made your breath hitched as he knew you too well that you could not lie to him in his face. "Fine, I had waited here since 5pm." This made Zayne looked down at his wrist watch.

"So it's been an hour and 15 minutes?" He side eyed you and you admitted it by nodding your head. "Next time, it would be better if you were to just wait for me at home. If it wasn't for a full deck today at the hospital, I might just be covering shifts for other people and that might be inconvenient for you." But, he himself actually noticed you exactly an hour and 15 minutes, from his office's window, before his upcoming surgery. He had another three surgeries lined up for the night, but fearing that you may end up waiting the whole night for him, he decided to cancel his schedule for the night and transfer the case to other doctors. Even workaholics take a break. iykyk

"But I just wanted to come over to check up on you. I even chose to sit outside so that you would not be distracted as you are working." You pouted, hands picking at the hem of your shirt. You felt Zayne's hand landed on the top of your head, a gesture of love and comfort. He patted and smoothed your brunette strands back and you stared up at him. "I shall wait for you at home next time okay?"

"Now that's a good girl." killmeplease Zayne smiled warmly. "Now, lets get you back alright? My car is parked right by the road side. Come on." Hands around your waist, he slowly walked you over to his car. The smell of his cologne lingered on your nose, the smell of mint and dashes of cinnamon. Just like his personality, icy as mint but warm and welcoming as cinnamon once you get to know him.

He opened the car door for you and as you walked over to get into the car, your shirt got hooked against one of the metal wires that went astray from the metal fencing and the next thing you heard was the sound of a ripping cloth. You yelped as you stumbled and Zayne slotted himself right in front of you, shocked as well and using his body to block you from falling further. "Oh my..." Your cursed under your breath as your hands were against his washboard abs, steadying yourself. doublekill

He guided you into the car slowly before getting into the driver side himself. When he had started the car and turned on the air conditioning, he turned to look at you. "How bad is the rip?" He asked and you lifted the hem of your shirt, showing the rip that is around 4cm long.

"Why does this have to happen to one of my favourite shirt?" You frowned, fingers won't stop touching and fidgeting with the ripped edge.

"Do they still sell this shirt?" Zayne asked, hands reaching over to tug against the shirt, as if to examine the material of the outfit. The shake of your head made him sigh and he gestured to the glovebox. "Open the glovebox and take out the black pouch please."

You did as you were told and you watched in confusion as he took off his trench coat and placed it onto your lap. The coat still radiating warmth that was collected off of his body heat. He opened the black pouch and laid it flat on the arm rest of his car, and inside of the pouch was an array of threads and needles. "Are these suture needles?"

"Yes." His response was prompt. "Take off your shirt and hand it to me please." He requested and you gulped. Using the trench coat to block his view, you slowly took off your shirt and then wrapped his trench coat around your whole front. You knew that he had probably seen many naked bodies given his line of work but something about this scenario, with you being with him only in a car, felt very intimate and it made you very anxious. "You know how to sew?"

"I am a doctor, I know how to suture. And it is the same concept as sewing, but only with different kinds of needles and threads." He then started sewing, his concentration a trait you find admirable. It did not took him long when he finished sewing your shirt and he handed it back to you, the thread sewed on has gaps of equal length and was tied off neatly. As expected of one of the top doctors from Akso Hospital. As he started driving, he added. "Although I had managed to sew the shirt for you, I believe with my connections, I would be just as capable to find you the same shirt. Then, you would never have to complain about this being your only favourite shirt."

XAVIER

You were going about your day in your own house before you heard your doorbell ringing. You placed your bowl of cereal down and took a glance on the clock on your phone. Who dares to threaten your peaceful weekend? You went over to the door and you opened it to reveal your blond hair lover. "Xavier?" You asked, eyebrows furrowed when he smiled at you.

"Good morning, I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He teased and stepped in, holding out a parcel for your. "I believe this belongs to you?" The small rip at the top side of your parcel indicated that he probably took a peek on what's inside. Acknowledging the parcel, you took it off of his hands and you blushed, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

"Good morning to you too. I guess I might have accidentally wrote your level instead of mine." You bit your bottom lip and you heard him chuckle in return. "But thanks for coming down to deliver this to me when you could have just asked me to get it from you." "But I wanted to see you personally. And seeing the clothes that are in the parcel, I thought I could get to watch you try them on too." His blunt answer made you stare at him like a mad man. His blue eyes however, glinted with nothing but honesty. This guy may be mysterious but he sure is straightforward in stating what he has on his mind. He probably noticed the way you reacted and he took a step back, retracing his words and slightly coughing to ease the awkwardness. "I mean, I would like to see you trying out these new outfits that you had gotten for yourself. It would be a good past time for me."

You chuckled at how goofy this guy is and gestured towards him to go and sit at the couch. You went into the room to get yourself changed and it was as if today is your fashion show day. You strutted out in different outfits, layered against one another and watched the way Xavier would react to you, either fascinated, or straight down confused. There was even this one time, he would just have a blank expression where you wore an oversized shirt under your tshirt. Clothing trends on the streets nowadays baffles him and he wondered if he was the one that was left out from the fashion ring.

Your last outfit featured you in a semi see through tank top and a pair of cargo pants. Not to mention, the tank top seemed to be too small for you as the way the blond boy sees it, it was holding onto your figure for dear life and barely leaving anything more to one's imagination. And the thought itself ticked him off. When you looked over towards Xavier, he does not look surprised nor confused, but rather bland. "What do you think?" Your tone came off to be amused and you did a twirl in front of him before you took a seat right next to him.

Xavier anxiously gulped and looked away from you, his voice low as he muttered. "I don't think this outfit looks nice on you, girlfriend." The way he shifted in his seat made you cornered him against the couch even more, wanting a better explanation. "The top you are wearing. I don't like it."

"And why so?" You asked, looking down at your top and adjusting it. "This is the trend nowadays, they call it the Y2K trend I think. And this tank top was on sale, so I just got it."

"I can buy you some other clothes. Even the ones that are not going to be on sale." He retorted, eyeing the tank top you were wearing with an underlying anger. "I just don't think I would like to see you wearing this in public. It is too revealing, and I guess tight on your body."

His answer painted your cheeks red and you gasped. What were you thinking? Of course you had forgotten about his possesive nature. He does not show it much and having such a pretty boy face like him further disconnects the word 'possessive' from his character. He reached into his hoodie's front pocket and pulled out his phone, opening up an app and handed the phone to you. When you refused to take it, he lifted his torso off of the couch to 'force' you to take his phone. Just like how you had previously pressed your body against him, this is his turn to take his small and sweet revenge. You panicked as he closed the gap between you two and within the next minute, he was pressed against you, one of his hand at the side of your head and another still holding his phone up to you, his gaze intense. "Just choose whatever you want from my phone, my card information is all in there. And perhaps before you check out, you can let me double check on the outfits you are getting." He low-key demanded before he explained himself for such a decision. "I just don't like nor want people staring wrongfully at what I treasure the most."

Another fluff for another day. I already did my best in having to think of different wardrobe malfunctions as I did not want one theme of wardrobe malfunction to be stagnant across the whole story for all three of the boys. SO I hope you would understand my lovelies. :,) I am very very free so I will be posting more regularly for these few weeks. SO please do show me more love and support as that would aid me in my motivation in writing!

Do check out my other works as well!

HOW WOULD THE BOYS REACT TO YOU FORGETTING ABOUT YOUR DATE?

DAMNATION

Hope your Delulu is satisfied my lovelies <3

[querenciasturniolo]

your fics are absolutely just the best. could you potentially right about how y/n and the triplets go to a fair together and while doing one of the game stands y/n wants to win a stuff bunny or just stuff animal in general and her and matt have this competition to see who’s better at winning the game and matt ends up winning but surprises y/n by getting her the stuff bunny/animal??

water gun ⮕ m.s.

word count: 909

warnings: swearing

summary: you challenge matt to a game, and it doesn’t go as expected

a/n: this idea was so cute, ignore the fact that the ending is awful, my brain wouldn’t cooperate lmao

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

When Chris caught wind of a pop up carnival being just a few blocks down from their house, he convinced all of you to go.

There were no rides, just rigged games and food stands. The four of you were walking around aimlessly, stopping at each food stand and getting something to share. You were all standing on the edge of the path, Chris pounding the fried dough and pointing at one of the booths.

“We have to win a goldfish.” He said, his mouth completely full. You looked at him and pulled a face.

“Chris, the goldfish game is rigged. Besides, the goldfish will die in like three days just because of it being jostled around for the rest of the night.” You said, Chris whining dramatically as you put a piece of dough in your mouth.

Your eyes scanned over the carnival, immediately stopping on the water gun game. You watched a few of the kids fondly, seeing how excited they got when the water hit the target and the little rocket moved up a centimeter. The prizes varied, but a single stuffed animal caught your eye.

“You guys, the water guns, we have to!” You said, looking between all three of them. Chris rolls his eyes.

“So the goldfish game is rigged, but the rocket one isn’t? I see how it is.” He grumbled, tossing the empty plate into the trash can and following you as you made your way to the game.

“What’s the time limit to get the big, purple bunny?” You asked, the carny looking up from his phone to shrug.

“Whoever’s rocket hits the bell first in under thirty seconds, gets to choose anything, regardless of size. Sixty seconds, the medium and small prizes. Ninety seconds or more, the small prizes only.” He said, his voice tired,

You nodded your head and handed him the money, looking back at the triplets with your eyebrows raised.

“You guys gonna play, or are you scared of eating my dust?” You challenged, Matt scoffing and handing the carny his money.

“Bring it on.” He said, Nick and Chris standing off to the side with surprise etched into their features. You rolled your eyes and sat in the rickety stool, Matt dropping down next to you as he shook out his arms.

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, Matt looking at you with a raised brow. “Do you have a problem with how I prepare to win?” He asked, provoking another laugh to leave your lips.

“Not at all, it just isn’t convincing.” You said, turning your attention back to your water gun and grinning at the shocked look on Matt’s face.

The carny put his phone in his pocket and looked up unamused. “Alright, the water will start shooting automatically when I start it. Aim towards the target, and try to keep it steady. Go.”

The water guns started, and you immediately aimed for the target. Your rocket barely moved, your eyes flickering over to see Matt’s rocket moving just a little bit more than yours.

“Fuck.” You said, reaching over with one hand to shove Matt’s shoulder, his stream of water jostling.

“That’s cheating, you dick!” He said, laughter spilling from him as he grabbed the top of your water gun and jerked it to the side, the stream hitting the target next to yours. The both of you carried on like this, trying to sabotage the other while trying to hit the bell first.

Matt’s rocket hits the bell, yours reaching the bell seconds after. You groaned, stepping off the stool and lightly shoving Matt by the shoulder.

“Lucky shot.” You said, Matt looking at you and raising his eyebrows.

“Lucky shot, my ass. You’re just mad you suck.” He teased. You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile off your face as you stepped past Matt and went to Chris and Nick.

“Not a word.” You said, Chris closing his mouth and nodding.

“Isn’t that the one you wanted?” Nick asked. You turned around, seeing the carny hand Matt the purple bunny you wanted.

You scoffed and laughed, crossing your arms over your chest as Matt walked over. “So not only do you cheat the system, but you rub my loss in my face with the only thing I wanted?” You said, Matt scoffing and shaking his head.

“Actually, I got it for you, but if you don’t want it.” He said, holding it close to him. Your face lit up, your hands immediately reaching out and ripping it out of his hand.

“Are you serious? Oh my God, I take back everything I said, you’re my favorite person.” You rambled, wrapping Matt in a hug. He laughed and wrapped his arms around you, lightly squeezing before pulling away.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t want you to feel too badly about your loss.” He said, you scoffing and holding the bunny under your arm.

You turned and started walking, Matt falling into step with you.

“Please, you just love me, and you don’t want to admit it.” You said, Matt shaking his head.

“Yeah, don’t gas yourself too much.” He teased. You glanced over at him, seeing the pink tint to his cheeks and smiling to yourself.

You would definitely bring it up at some point, but not tonight. Tonight was for teasing your friends and challenging them to different games. You’d lost each one, but it was a perfect night nonetheless.

[cartoonistcoop]

ShortBox Comics Member Interview: Val Wise

Throughout the month of October, the Cartoonist Cooperative will be sharing interviews with members of the Co-op who have a new comic available at the ShortBox Comics Fair 2024! 

NOTE: The Cartoonist Cooperative is not affiliated, associated, authorized, endorsed by, or in any way formally connected with ShortBox.  

Today’s spotlight is Val Wise and their new comic for ShortBox, In Fair Verona.

We’d love it if you could introduce yourself and tell us about your background in comics.

Val Wise: I’m Val, I graduated from SCAD in 2018. I’ve illustrated a couple of YA graphic novels, and in the past few years I’ve started to become more confident with my own writing. This is my third year participating in the ShortBox Comics Fair.

Tell us more about your new comic?

VW: Here’s the blurb: Two girls enter the service of the Princess of All Blood. One is there to be loved, the other tormented, but strange circumstances have blurred the lines between the two.

In Fair Verona started with a script I wrote in August of 2023, but decided it might be too much to pitch anywhere. I came back to it a couple of months later and decided the fair would probably be the best place for it.

I didn’t have much intentional thought about themes or anything else while I was writing it, but I realized later on that it kind of perfectly encapsulates my struggles communicating with other people. But that’s all I’ll say there, lol.

Tell us about your creative process; how did you develop this comic and what are the steps you took to bring it to the final stage?

VW: The idea of wanting to do a possession story came first. I wanted to make a story about an “ugly” girl who possesses a “pretty” girl and then makes sure they can never switch back. But when I actually sat down to write it out, that idea very quickly changed.

After that, this comic appeared in my brain more fully formed than…anything I’ve ever made. I’ve never written anything that progressed so naturally with so few changes needed from my outline to the final product. A finger has curled on the monkey’s paw, because nothing I’ve tried to write since has come so easily!

Does a sense of audience, even if it’s just an audience of one, enter into your creative process? If yes, how so?

VW: I don’t really think about the audience while I’m writing. But, every step after, I think about it a lot! I have to spend so much time with all of the wild choices I made so quickly in a word document!

I get so in my head about my own decisions, and I have to force myself to not get bogged down in the worst ways my ideas can be interpreted. So, I do try my best not to think about the audience very much, though I do appreciate that people are often more generous than I give them credit for.

Read the rest of the interview HERE! And dont forget to check out the Shortbox Comics Fair to support these lovely creators!!

[neon-kazoo]

A Misunderstanding

[Context: A vigilante and a villain have an arranged, cooperative deal between them. That is, until something goes wrong, much to the vigilante’s confusion. This story takes place from the POV of the vigilante, beginning in the middle of an unrelated mission/project that the villain is unaffiliated with.]

(Warnings: threats, kidnapping, gun mention, knife violence, blood, fairly descriptive cut/stab wounds, interrogation/torture, helplessness, self-harm kinda, more language than usual, sexual harassment mentioned with implied past experiences)

Note: Technically these are ocs of mine, so if you catch any unexplained details that’s where they’re from. This whole snippet was intended to develop their dynamic, but at this point it’s really just whump lol. I just realized I had over 4000 words written that would otherwise never see the light of day so I made some tweaks to post it. If I missed any name replacements you saw nothing; there was a lot of words ok?

This is extremely long and heavier than most of my snippets, so be careful!

———

“Vigilante, grab some tubes from that room down the hall. I think it’s the third door on the right.”

I left the room to grab the materials for the project. Walking down the hall I lazily counted: one…two..

I reached the third room, and I could see the PVC from the doorway. Eyes locked on the stack at the back of the room, trying to figure out how I was going to carry so many large pieces, I missed the uninvited guest lurking beside the open door, allowing him an opportunity to catch me off guard and shove me into a wall. I opened my mouth to yell for the team but my eyes processed faster than my mouth and stopped me in my tracks.

What was Villain doing here?

I must’ve looked shocked- because I was. A personal appearance from this man could mean nothing good.

I racked my brain for any reason he might have to come find me. I came up empty. I certainly didn’t remember doing anything to him worth wall-slamming me over.

The slight ease I had at identifying the familiar face disappeared when I looked closer at his expression. There was a subtle anger painted on his usually-carefully-blank features.

“I’d suggest coming quietly,” he stated in his signature effortlessly-menacing tone. He spoke easily, like he executed an impromptu abduction every Tuesday morning.

“Come where?” I questioned, immediately suspicious. What was this?

“Somewhere to answer some questions,” he replied. His words were vague. Empty. His tone suggested I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, but I felt the urge to press.

(Why not here, why now, what was so important?)

I knew better than to argue, but I hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of my situation yet. I shifted, ready to plead that I was in the middle of something rather important, when a knife appeared at my throat, pulling me right back down to Earth.

“Or we can skip the questions.”

Questions it was.

I walked obediently when prompted and he held solidly to my arm. We exited the building via fire escape (how did he know I was here?) We reached the doors of a black SUV parked conveniently in an alley a block over from my operation. As slowly as I could manage, I worked my fingers up into my sleeve. PSAs about the odds of surviving being taken to a second location flashed in my head but were interrupted by the introduction of a gun at my side.

“Press it, and you’re dead.”

Well, fuck.

On second thought, I actually adored second locations. I dutifully climbed into the back and used my remaining energy trying to stay calm as my hands were secured to the seat and a bag placed over my head. My bracelet was, of course, removed.

I love car rides. I tried to imagine this was just another trip, it was just….dark out. At 9 in the morning. Yeah, and I had no idea where we were going. I would be trying to think of how I was gonna play this—whatever this was—but I genuinely didn’t think I had ever risked pissing Villain off. As a result, I was painfully unprepared for whatever was about to happen. I wanted to say how unnecessary this all was, that I would come willingly if asked, but something stopped me.

Fear. Something was wrong.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

Probably.

I lost track of time and turns, instead just counting my breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four, repeat. I successfully held my panic at bay and was able to stand on my own two feet when I was finally pulled out of the car and led to who-knows-where. I blindly shuffled all the way through somewhere to a chair in front of a table to which my ankles were secured. My hands were left free and the blinding sack was removed.

The ceiling was covered in fluorescent lights that my eyes struggled to adjust to. I dropped my gaze to the floor, which was clean white tile with a silver disk in the center. Villain stood by the door, and apparently the ride had given him enough time to re-craft his careful features back into a perfectly smooth slate. The air in the room was uncomfortably cold, enough to raise goosebumps on my arms if it weren’t for my jacket.

A proper interrogation, but for what.

“Empty your pockets onto the table.”

He was all nonchalance now, and it was extremely off-putting. He studied me closely, and I barely refrained from squirming under his gaze. In the spirit of cooperation(survival), I obeyed the order, laying out a substantial array of multi tools, first aid, gadgets, and more onto the table top. When I finished, Villain strolled over to the table, studying the items before swiping them into a bag which he settled by the door. All but a switchblade, which he left sitting closest to his side, out of my reach.

He rounded the table to my seat, gesturing for me to slide off my jacket—which he threw by the door, much to my chagrin—and kneeling to pat the rest of me down. He found nothing.

He was silent as he returned to sit in the chair opposite me across the table.

Logic told me to copy his stare and his silence, but my anger and confusion made me reckless. The urge to speak overrode my rational mind.

“Dude, what the fuck.”

Hopefully, that statement would confirm my innocence, as it was definitely designed to do. I was not at all pissed about the deliberate jacket move, or being dragged out of an important mission against my will. Humanizing myself. That’s good, right?

“What? Are you surprised your actions have consequences? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice dripped with condescension.

He placed his hand over the switchblade and I came to the sickening realization that there was a drain in the floor.

“I thought you were smarter than this, I really did.”

“What the fuck,” I repeated slowly, “are you talking about?”

He stood, and the knife was open. I ignored the blade and kept my eyes locked on his.

“I cannot defend myself if I don’t even know what you think I did.”

“You do not play dumb with me. I do not give second chances.” His voice entered a register that I had never had the misfortune of hearing before.

This was not the man I knew. This man was somehow more dangerous, and he wasn’t making sense. He wasn’t listening.

“I wonder if you keep your knives sharp,” he spoke aloud with mock curiosity, twisting and turning the tip of the blade against his fingertip. He advanced around the table and I could do nothing to stop him. This stubborn, arrogant man was about to hurt me over nothing.

I had my hands, but they could not reason with him. They could only hold tightly over his wrist as he held the knife close to my skin. Rapid acceptance flushed through my brain as reality finally registered like a heavy weight descending upon my shoulders.

If he could be stubborn, so could I.

“Fuck you, Villain.”

The tip of the blade pierced the skin of my arm and I held my mouth firmly taut. He was cutting right above where the foundation and concealer covered the tattoo on my upper arm. The leaking blood was going to ruin my careful color correcting.

Blessedly, he skipped over the rest of the upper arm and focused his efforts on my lower arm instead, which he now held in an iron grip. I hated the feeling of being grabbed but I wouldn’t show it. He did not need any more power over me.

“You’ll take a lot for that man,” he noted incorrectly as he traced down my skin with the metal.

I was at a loss.

“For who?” The pain made my words fierce. I was angry and there wasn’t anything I could do about it except let it leech into my mouth.

“I am not an idiot, [real name].” He leaned in, and fuck him.

I seethed, “Apparently, you are, since you’re spending your time cutting up someone who doesn’t know shit about what you’re on about.”

The knife plunged deep into my forearm, and I gritted my teeth hard.

“Is he worth it?” Villain taunted.

“WHO?” I demanded, still trying to guess, to figure it out before I got diced like a vegetable but the pain made my brain foggy and I just couldn’t concentrate. The knife twisted slightly, and with it brought heat and a sickening pulling sensation.

This was not what I signed up for.

The blade came up to my face, mixing blood with sweat and the salt of involuntary tears as it slid across my cheekbone.

“To think, all this time, you were just [Politician]’s bitch,” he whispered.

Affronted was an understatement, but my offense was overridden by confusion.

“Who the fuck is-“ I stopped as the gears in my brain finally started to turn, greased by the crimson dripping across my skin.

“Are you talking about that asshole counselman?”

The gears were rusty but- what was his name? CM [Olitic]? [Politi]? [Politici- Politician]! CM [Politician]. The man I blackmailed into tipping me off about low-profile cases because he couldn’t keep his hands off interns? I was getting scored like sourdough dough with my own knife for HIM?!

Villain didn’t react, just continued to drag the knife down my neck and lined it up at my collarbones. He had to cut and pull my tank top down slightly for better access.

“You’re his spy. What have you told him?” He hummed, and I took a second to gather myself despite the biting pain.

“His WHAT. Where the fuck did you get that from because let me tell you I would not kill an ant for that man let alone spy for him-”

The knife slashed over my other collarbone, and I raged.

“ARE YOU INCAPABLE OF A CIVIL CONVERSATION? LISTEN, YOU ARE WRONG. Wrong. Use your fucking words.” I wanted to spell it out. One more cut and I would be sent over the edge. “You absolute. Mother. Fucker.”

“Just a loyal. Little. Dog.”

He punctuated his dig at my supposed obedience with a hand wrapped around my throat. Possessive.

Oh, so he was trying to make me angry. I really should have seen the angle earlier because damn him it was working.

I couldn’t keep giving him the satisfaction. I took one deep breath and then another, ignoring the sting it brought up across my chest, and the restriction around my neck.

“Ask me a question, and I’ll answer it.” I looked him dead in the eyes when I continued, “or kill me and go fuck yourself.”

“What is your deal with him?”

A silent sigh of relief. Finally, something productive.

“He tips me off for counsel cases,” I explained-rather graciously might I add, given the circumstances. “He didn’t ask me to do shit for him, nor would I. I am not his personal spy. I keep the association off his back, and that is it.”

I reserved a few more choice words about his questioning techniques and waited while he absorbed my response. I sounded far more civil than I felt.

“And why would he do that for you?”

I thanked every god I knew that he seemed to finally be playing ball. Words I could work with, knives I could not.

“Blackmail,” I answered simply.

“Explain.” He raised an eyebrow, and also my knife.

“The association opened a case on him for sexual harassment. I have evidence that would prove rather unsavory for him, I hold on to it in exchange for his information. Basically, he tells me shit and I don’t bury him.” I looked to Villain expectantly. I had nothing else to say on the matter.

He tilted his head. He wanted more, or worse, he knew I had more.

My lips stayed shut.

He had a dangerous glint in his eyes when he spoke, “You don’t withhold from me.”

“Since when. That was not part of our deal.” Anger, deeper and older, burned cold inside me.

“It is now.” It was not that simple.

“I gave you enough,” I told him. I intended my words to be final. He had no right to ask anything of me anymore.

“You don’t get to decide.” Like Hell I didn’t.

“It is none of your business,” I spit back.

“I’m making it my business.” He just kept going. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that self-assuredness right out of every cell in his body.

“Cut me again and I swear you’ll never hear another word out of my mouth,” I blustered. With every fresh drop of blood, he was taking a middle finger to our entire arrangement, everything I had built.

“I highly doubt that.” He flipped the knife around in his hands. He ran his eyes along each of my new, bloody, decorative lines. Fine, maybe I was all talk. But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Put the knife away.” I smiled sweetly, but I was getting angry again, and I was losing the will to stop it. My self control spilled out of me in the streams of crimson blood that ran down my face and chest and arms to where it would ultimately flush down the drain and leave me defenseless. Still, that was exactly what he wanted. I couldn’t let him win.

“Or are you too scared of an equal conversation?” I challenged. Two could play at the angering game.

Unfortunately for me, Villain was focused elsewhere and didn’t take the bait. He had found a thread and he intended to pull it.

“Tell me the proof.” Impressively, he just didn’t know when to stop.

“No.” Welcome, Villain, to the hill I was willing to die on. “You cut me up for being a spy, which I’m not. I didn’t break our deal, but you just did. I owe you nothing. I will give you nothing.”

I wanted to tell him that he would never see another cooperative action out of me for as long as I lived, that he should watch his back, that he should expect to see me again soon, but I still needed to live through this and threats were definitely not in my best interests. I wouldn’t betray myself like that.

My skin burned and my arm throbbed. My heart beat aggressively against my rib cage but my adrenaline was crashing. I hurt and I was tired and I just wanted this to be over.

All that trust, and all for nothing.

Villain did not get the hint that I was done. For real this time.

When he brought the knife back, I grabbed it. I pulled it towards me to catch him off guard, sinking it inches into the flesh of my hip before ripping it from his hand and flipping the blade back towards him. He must not have thought I would do it, because he stayed close enough for me to be able to sink the blade into his stomach before he wrestled my arms under control.

A second later, I couldn’t move and I knew it was over.

“I hope it fucking hurts,” I spit coldly, blinking away my burning tears.

A flash of something–maybe surprise?– passed briefly over his face. I hoped it was fear. I needed the win. Before this all got worse.

My wrists got strapped to the chair and Villain was out the door quickly, knife still sheathed in his abdomen. I rolled my head towards the ceiling, eyes unfocused and blinking out tears. I felt satisfaction, then something darker tried to push its way to the surface.

I paid it no mind, just breathed and let it pass. That wound would not be fatal.

Exhaustion soon sent me into a state that was a pitiful excuse for rest. My head rolled forward and the burning faded into the background. I floated for an indeterminate amount of time.

The door opened, closed. A prick. I didn’t care.

I dreamt in flashes of hands and grabbing and helplessness. Fingers, digging into my arm, pressure, where there shouldn’t be-

When I awoke, I was on a cot covered in a thin layer of sweat. I was confused by the freedom of movement and the light smell of laundry detergent. I must’ve slept like a rock, because my cuts were cleaned and my forearm bandaged. I was also bundled in my freshly-clean jacket.

What on Earth-

Was this a motel?

No sooner than thirty seconds after I sat up did the door open and none other than the devil himself appear.

“I figured we’d try again,” the ghost of a grimace passed over his face as his eyes landed on me. “…differently.”

I blinked.

Unconsciousness had returned a bit of my clarity, and if I looked closely, Villain appeared…sheepish. A slight hunch, face pained like he was trying hard not to avert his eyes. Was he…remorseful?

I almost laughed at the thought, but managed to maintain a plain face.

“Uh huh,” I sounded cautiously, shaking off the last of my sleep-induced disorientation. What exactly did that mean: differently?

I gathered something had changed, but I did not voice this, knowing the man in the doorway would never bother to explain himself to me.

Instead, I added humorously, “be a shame if I didn’t believe you.”

I rubbed my eyes and smiled ruefully and he actually looked away. Villain, the original Big Scary Man, was unable to make eye contact with me. Instead, he pointed out a bathroom and said he’d be back in five minutes. The win was too good to be true.

It wasn’t until I made to slide down my waistband that I remembered the self-inflicted wound on my hip. It had also been tended to, a medium size gauze pad taped over the opening.

Now that I was once again aware of its existence, I noticed certain movements did send a shooting pain along the skin and into the fat that had been cut. I wondered how I didn’t notice it earlier. I suspected I would find stitches if I removed the patch.

Carefully pulling the elastic back over the medical tape, I stood in front of the sink, cupping my hands under the faucet and drinking until it no longer burned to swallow. Water drenched the front of my tank, but I didn’t care.

I checked my bandages and studied the open cuts in the mirror. A few had the skin held together with butterfly closures, the rest slathered in Vaseline or Neosporin. I ran my fingers gingerly along the cut on my cheek and wondered if it would scar. Keeping still had worked in my favor though, it didn’t seem too deep.

My left arm took the brunt of the damage. The rose on my upper arm was uncovered and wiped clean, and I thanked several deities it was untouched. I opened and closed my fist to make sure the hole in my forearm didn’t take out anything too important. I was no doctor, but I determined it was probably fine. Villain knew what he was doing, after all.

I studied my reflection one last time, shrugging my jacket back over my arm carefully. I took in my face, discarding the uncertainty and anger and leaving my features assured and closed. The Villain special. I walked out the door.

Villain was waiting.

He didn’t touch me, instead we walked side by side back into the room I had woken up in, which now had an apple sitting on a table to the right when we walked in. Ignoring all of it, I went straight to sit on the bed. I didn’t know what to make of his complete 180, so I drew one knee up to my chest and waited. I let a little hope trickle into my thoughts.

Maybe it just took a good stabbing to force some common sense into Villain.

He paid my refusal to sit at the table no mind and just casually tossed the apple to me after taking his own seat. The hunger I felt must have been built over many, many hours because I did not hesitate to take a bite. And another. And another. The juice dripped down my chin and I didn’t bother to catch it.

Villain respectfully waited until my more ravenous bites had passed before he spoke.

“I propose a trade.”

I just about spit out my apple. Pushing past my knee-jerk response of dignifiedly telling him to “eat shit,” I studied the man to try and determine if he was being serious. His gaze was unwavering. He seemed to be waiting for me to respond, but I wasn’t exactly in a talking mood. I felt clearer but also…off.

“Information for information,” he continued.

Wow this was a really good apple. I turned it over and studied it in my hand. A gala, maybe?

He clarified, “I want your evidence on the counselman.”

Yeah, no shit. So he does know how to use his words after all.

My apple was reduced to just a core. I supposed I had to speak sometime, lest the knife make a reappearance.

“Do you slice, dice, and drug every person you want to make a deal with, or am I just special?” I cocked my head but cast my gaze past the table towards the door.

In my peripheral, I caught his face still impassive.

“I acted on bad intel.”

Villain? Explaining himself? And I thought anger-inducing Villain was scary. Remorseful Villain was straight up terrifying. I was probably reading too far into it, just telling myself what I needed to hear, but—if I squinted—I could imagine it was an apology.

But on further evaluation, I accepted that it was all an act. Every moment I’ve spent with him carefully crafted. This was just another angle.

But what could I do about it?

Knowing didn’t make it better. The cuts were real, my fear was real, my pain was real.

In the end, I still put myself into this world, and I wasn’t going to stop.

“And what do I get out of this?” I questioned. My life? To leave? Some negotiation that would be.

“What do you want?”

Putting the ball in my court is new. Concerning. Is this a trick? How badly does he want to bury this guy?

A terrible, horrible idea hit me. I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t resist.

“Apologize.”

I stood up, walking over to the table and taking a seat, looking him dead in the eyes, and waited.

It was his turn to blink.

For what I presumed to be the first time in his life, the man in front of me had been stunned to silence.

Because of me.

Joy flooded me with the thought.

“I-“ he coughed, and I smiled with a sweetness that would send anyone without a functioning pancreas scrambling for insulin.

“My apologies,” he started, and to his credit, it didn’t sound too forced.

“For?” I pushed, and the look in his eyes suggested I was seriously pushing my luck.

I didn’t care.

“For,” he forced out, “the ‘slicing’ and ‘dicing’. The drugging, I believe, was justified.”

“You stabbed me first,” I shrugged nonchalantly, adding, “You got a pen?”

He held my gaze for a moment, before slowly getting up to retrieve a branded notepad and pen from the nightstand across the room.

He slid them towards me, and I clicked open the pen with a motion that jolted my forearm. I hid my grimace and somehow refrained from dropping the writing utensil onto the carpeting. I wrote down the number with a degree of difficulty. I pushed it towards him, but kept my fingers on it for a second.

“Wait 24, then call it.”

I could tell he wanted to ask for more details, but he wisely considered this ordeal to be over and my civility worn out.

I walked right out the door, and he didn’t stop me.

I thought about trying to get word to the team, but decided against it. I wasn’t integral to the plan. They could go on without me, and most definitely had considering the importance of the mission and the estimated time I had been gone. If they even knew I had been taken—I seemed to remember the building we were using having cameras—the chances that they would interfere in my business were limited.

So I probably had about 12 hours, give or take. Long enough for a natural nap and a rushed processing session with fuzzy pajamas and ice cream. I would have also indulged in a nice warm bath, but unfortunately I was correct about the stitches, making the whole watery adventure ill-advised.

After I had totally-effectively self-cared the whole experience away, I went out on the town.

I was making a round up City avenue when I spotted a shadow trailing behind me.

Round two, baby. Let’s go.

I stopped, and the shadow closed in.

“What kind of game are you trying to pull?” The shadow confronted angrily.

“You didn’t call the number,” I stated plainly.

“I traced it. It comes back to one [full legal name]. Do you think this is funny? We had an arrangement.” I couldn’t say why, but his words just didn’t seem as scary.

“You’re one to talk about the sanctity of arrangements. We did have one. One that you spit on. Or have you already forgotten?” I could tell he wanted to advance on me, but he was hanging back. “Speaking of which, I don’t really know when to take these stitches out.”

“So you think you can just walk away from this?”

It didn’t seem like he really believed that. It didn’t really seem like he knew what to believe.

“‘I am not an idiot’, Villain.” I threw his words back at him. It was the least he deserved. “I don’t work with people who break my trust. I made an exception. Do I need to take it back?”

He’s smarter than this, isn’t he?

He took a single step forward.

“Wow, you are thick lately. I gave you exactly what you asked for but you just can’t open your eyes and see it.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he held the scrap of paper up in a tight fist. “I asked for evidence, and if you’re not gonna give me what I clearly asked for-”

“Put your threats away and use your brain for once. Dust off the cobwebs and whatever the fuck has you so messed up and just think.”

I wasn’t angry, just exasperated. I knew my words were entering dangerous territory, but I felt they had to be said. This was not what I was used to dealing with. A brick wall would be more reasonable.

“If I was trying to trick you, I’d give you the number of the local pizza place. If you can’t get this I can’t help you.”

A pregnant pause.

“You,” he breathed.

Finally. A connect-the-dots champion.

“Me,” I confirmed.

“Witness?”

So close.

“Victim.”

I could almost hear the click. His whole demeanor shifted, his walls building back up, self-assuredness back in place.

“I see.”

He looked me up and down one more time with newly-appraising eyes before abruptly turning around and walking away. He melted back into the darkness, disappearing without so much as another word.

Asshole.

[takeariskao3]

ALREADY HERE

so @brightlybound asked what already gone would be like with the roles reversed, to which i replied "don't give me more fic ideas!" but i couldn't stop the brain rot and this happened anyway. thanks for all the love brightly!!! you yelling about already gone h/g has been an endless source of joy and cackling <333 i've written this little crack au just for you and it is appropriately titled already here

---

Harry sat up a little straighter in his hospital bed as the door to his room opened and a slight figure, with waist length red hair, slipped into the room. Ron and Hermione were arguing about something over the top of his legs, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what. He thought it had something to do with Ernie MacMillan, but now they were going on about Magical Games and Sports and he couldn't be bothered to play catch up.

Ginny didn't acknowledge any of them, and went straight over to the Healer station to read through the latest additions to Harry's chart. For the shortest of moments, a little pang of annoyance reverberated through his chest, then he remembered that Ginny was now his wife, and was free to peruse his medical history as she pleased.

Wife.

She was his wife.

No one had told him how it happened. His days-long bout of unconsciousness, after he'd found out about Sirius, had everyone pretty tight lipped with further details. It was maddening to know little snippets of how his life at twenty-one looked, and yet have absolutely no context for how he'd gotten there.

"I'm telling you," Ron declared loudly. "He started in chess before getting promoted. He never worked in International Cooperation."

"Yes, he did!" Hermione shot back, her tone bordering on furious. "Because I had to work with him on that export of illegal chimera cubs!"

Ron shook his head and looked ready to let loose another retort but Harry cut him off.

"Can-" He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on Ginny, who in turn, still had her gaze firmly fixed on the parchment in her hands. "Can I talk to Ginny for a moment?"

She glanced around to meet his stare, her brown eyes sharp and a little furrow appearing above her nose. On either side of him, Ron and Hermione exchanged a silent conversation made up of raised eyebrows and shrugs. They must've come to some sort of consensus however, because they both stood at the same time and Ron murmured a quick, "We'll go get tea."

Ginny maintained her wary expression as Hermione gave her shoulder a little squeeze then ducked past her. Ron followed soon after, shutting the door behind him and then they were alone. Alone for the first time since Harry had awoken to find his limbs too long, his friends almost unrecognizable, and the only family he'd ever known to be dead.

Sliding Harry's paperwork back into its slot, Ginny made a show of crossing her arms and frowning at where he sat on the bed. He hardly wanted to have this conversation tucked into the bedsheets like an invalid, so he tugged the blankets aside and moved to stand.

"Don't-" she murmured with a pleading edge to her voice. She'd taken two steps closer in the time it'd taken him to swing his feet around to the side.

Harry huffed impatiently and scowled back at her. "Last I checked, my head was causing all the problems. Not my legs."

Her hard gaze didn't waver, and she apparently didn't consider this statement worthy of a response.

He stayed sitting anyway.

"I have questions," he began.

"I expect you do." Ginny leaned into another step, with her arms still crossed and her eyes flicking down to her feet. "That doesn't mean I have to answer them."

The annoyance he'd felt earlier shifted and heated into full blown irritation. "If you think I'm going to be alright laying here and eating casseroles-"

Ginny spoke over his outburst before he'd even picked up steam. "You're going to have to be."

Harry narrowed his eyes and decided if she could ignore his assertions then he was well within his rights to disregard hers.

"We were... friends," he struggled uselessly, trying, and failing, to ask his first question somewhat delicately. "What changed?"

Her throat bobbed, like it was difficult to swallow even though the look on her face remained impassive.

Harry couldn't stand it. "What changed!?"

Blinking a few times, her reserved mask slipped and her eyes turned blazing.

"Nothing!?" Ginny threw her hands into the air impatiently. "Everything!? But I'm sure as hell not going to sit here and try to prove myself to you!"

Turning on her heel, she stormed toward the door, and cool regret leaked into his bloodstream. He shouldn't have let his own composure slip.

Harry stood and lunged after her.

"Wait-" His hand closed around her elbow just as she reached for the doorknob. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just..."

He trailed off, unsure exactly of what he was trying to say. Ginny kept her back to him and he heard her pull in a shaky breath.

Errantly, like a stray thought, Harry observed just how petite she was. Ginny had always been quite short, but Harry also had a lingering malnourishment to him, so he'd never thought much of their difference in size.

Until now, when he stood next to her nearly a full head taller.

His fingers tightened around her arm in question. She turned enough that he could see the look on her face, and the unshed tears clinging to her lashes.

He let go in an instant, guilt and discomfort spearing through him like a lance.

"I'm sorry," he said again, taking a step back toward his hospital bed.

She swiped at her eyes in clear fury and Harry couldn't tell if it was directed at him or that fact that he'd seen her cry.

Maybe both?

"It's not an easy story to tell," she said eventually. "And I'm not getting into it when you've only been conscious again for a day and half."

Harry nodded, not really registering her words as much as the clear worry that shadowed her face.

A beat too late, he realized she was waiting for a response and he rushed, "Yeah, okay."

Ginny nodded once, her hard exterior replacing the momentary show of vulnerability. Harry stood watching her, scratching a loose thread in the sleeve of his patient robes and waiting for her to leave.

She didn't.

Instead, after a few moments of glaring at him, her shoulders slumped in time with her exhale and her face twisted into agony. He only had a split second warning before she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his ribs.

Harry stood quite stunned for a second, at a complete loss for what to do next.

Thankfully, Ginny didn't allow him to remain clueless. With her face buried in his chest, she choked out a muffled, "Hug me you idiot."

He muttered another quick apology and did as instructed.

Not seeming to mind that his hold around her shoulders was stiff, she clung to him without reservation as her breath hitched with more unshed tears.

Harry had not been the source of much comfort in his life, at least in the parts of his life he could still remember, but Ginny seemed to be receiving some kind of ease anyway. Little by little, he relaxed into it, into the feel of her tucked into his embrace, into her hands fisted in the robes at his back, and the scent of her wildflower hair.

Time stretched, and it could've been several minutes or several hours for all the attention he was paying the clock on the wall.

Ultimately, however, Ginny's hold did loosen and she sucked in a shuddering sigh as both their arms dropped back to their sides.

She stared up at him, her expression a bit sheepish, but also with a hint of something so unapologetic, he wondered if it wasn't so much her feelings in that moment as much as it was her constant state of being.

"I guess I'm not coping as well as I thought." She sniffed, wiping her eyes and shooting him a self deprecating grin.

Then Harry realized she was pretty.

No, that wasn't right. She'd always been rather pretty, but in a girlish, innocent type of way.

The Ginny that stood before him now was stunning. Shining copper hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves. Freckles dusted her cheeks and nose, etching constellations down to her neck and collarbones. While her bright amber eyes were lit from within by a fire that looked like it could burn the world down three times over if she had the inclination.

"Do-" Harry began in some lame attempt at making amends. "Do you want to stay? We don't have to talk!" he added quickly. "Or we could talk about something else? But I understand if you don't want to talk at all. Really, either works for me. Talking, or not talking, I mean-"

This startled a laugh out of her and Harry felt a deep rooted elation take hold at being the cause of such a thing.

"If you say 'talk' one more time," she said in reply, "I'm going to throw myself in the river."

Harry blinked. "What river?"

She breathed out a chuckle, but she couldn't hide the trace of sadness that pinched the corners of her eyes.

"Do you think we could..." she hesitated, and Harry noticed her twist a thin gold band around her finger. "Just for a little while longer?"

Harry's eyes blurred a bit at the edges, a new emotion gripping his lungs as he took in her hopeless expression.

He nodded, and with a relieved sigh, she folded herself into him once more. Prepared for it this time, he tucked his chin on the top of her head and let the swirling flowery scent of her engulf his senses.

He'd committed it to memory long before she let go.

[lacklusterhero747]

A Journey to the (Weird) West

Well, it would seem that my intrusive thoughts are becoming a hyperfixation, so I might as well dust off this blog and see if I can make sense of the stuff rattling around in my brain.

Adapting the Feel of an Existing Setting

If you’ve looked at any of the other things I’ve written here, it should be fairly obvious that I enjoy the challenge of creating settings from whole cloth when I can. Especially if it can be done cooperatively with my players. Games like Armor Astir, Dungeon World, or Fabula Ultima expressly encourage this sort of play, and tools like the The Perilous Wilds exist to take that on the fly world building a step further. Start small, work outward. All that standard advice.

But sometimes it can be just as fun to take an existing setting and play around its sandbox.

Just because a setting was laid down on paper in a particular way doesn’t mean that it cannot be bent and changed to present a different sort of experience. Factions can be moved or replaced, maps can be altered. The entire focus of a setting can be shifted away from the default in the service of the stories you want to tell. I’m not breaking new ground in saying this, obviously, but I do find it interesting that within the last six or so months, a campaign idea I have had bubbling away in my brain has been given new energy by finally getting around to reading the latest work from Keith Baker and Co, that seeks to expand upon Eberron as a campaign setting.

Eberron as it is

Ever since the original publication of the Eberron Campaign Setting for Dungeons and Dragons back in 2004 (my god, has it really been that long ago?) I've been a huge fan. For anyone who isn’t fully aware of what makes the setting special–especially when compared to the laundry list of other official settings produced for TSR and WotC–Eberron is a world that was crafted to blend the action and excitement of pulp adventure novels and film noir with the trappings of traditional fantasy settings and a liberal dash of steampunk. Drawing inspiration from films like Brotherhood of the Wolf,  Casablanca,  The Maltese Falcon,  The Mummy,  Pirates of the Caribbean,  Raiders of the Lost Ark,  and Sleepy Hollow, Eberron presents a world draped in a fragile peace, one where instability lurks just beneath the surface. You see, the so called Last War–a 100 year long war of succession that nearly tore the continent apart–has only just ended a few years ago, and a treaty signed by all participants in the war seeks to hold the ambitions of the powerful in check, but many feel that the current peace will only give way to more warfare. Until one nation defeats the others and claims the throne of the ancient Kingdom of Galifar, many believe there will never be a true and lasting peace.

Now take this political tinderbox and layer on top what I find to be a satisfactory answer to the question, “What if magic, but also we do an industrial revolution?”

Magic is wrapped tightly around the setting and woven throughout as a fundamental building block in a way that I think most other official Dungeons and Dragons settings fail to accomplish, to the extent that everyday magic could almost seem banal. Streets are lit by magical lanterns and utilitarian magic items are available in corner shops. It’s not beyond imagining that a citizen of one of the Five Nations might own a pair of cuff-links that can be activated to provide the cleaning and scent altering functions of Prestidigitation in order to always remain at their most presentable, or that magically infused stamps might exist to perform the function of package tracking ID numbers in our modern world, and that these objects and services would cost them almost nothing. Societies are built on the backs of labor, and in this world the idea of the workaday wage mage is on full display. The setting even offers the idea expedient travel across the continent by way of Airships and Lightning trains, powered by bound elementals, and near instant communication between distant points through magical means, all of which are provided and administered by The Dragonmarked Houses, which are essentially like proto-corporations, with specific monopolies on goods and services, though their membership is largely dictated by bloodline, as the magical Dragon Marks that afford them their abilities are passed from parent to child. In truth, the only way in which magic seems limited in the setting is that high level magic, especially things like Resurrection Magic, are far less common in the setting.

A Journey to the Frontier

Now, with that somewhat basic framework out of the way, the actual idea that’s been clawing at my brain for some time has been, more or less, the idea of a wizard with a gun. Rogues on the open range. Cowboys and Cantrips. It’s not a new or novel concept, the weird west has existed for quite some time–the Deadlands RPG and DCC’s Weird Frontiers RPG spring immediately to mind–but I was recently presented with thought that, given proper massaging and a separation from the inherent assumptions of The Forgotten Realms, The Lost Mines of Phandelver, and to a lesser extent The Dragon of Icespire Peak which is set in the same location, essentially hold all the necessary building blocks to be a Western. The question then became what elements and tropes of traditional Western stories would I want to have in play, were I to ever do such a thing, and what setting would I want to run it in?

Enter Frontiers of Eberron: Quickstone.

In the latest work from Keith Baker (though yes, I know it came out in September of 2024, the end of the year is a busy time in retail), the focus of the Eberron setting is drawn away from the cosmopolitan cities of the setting’s primary continent, and all the spy games and skullduggery such a setting might imply. Instead the camera focuses on the western fringes of one of the five great successor nations. A dusty backwater frontier at the railhead of House Orien’s lightning rail network. Here we find a brewing conflict in the contested lands at the borders of the ancient Kingdom of Breland and the rising nation of Droaam. Breland, you see, has always considered the lands that comprise Droaam as theirs, even though they’d done little to settle the area or exploit its natural resources. As The Last War raged elsewhere on the continent, however, the inhabitants of this distant and forgotten place decided to stake a claim of their own. These inhabitants, considered by many in the far off seats of political power to be “monsters”, see the land they call Droaam as their home and birthright. So it is that in this rocky, desert land which stands upon the ruins of an ancient goblin empire, tainted by the foul magics of aberrant invaders from the Realm of Madness thousands of years ago, Harpies, Gargoyles, Gnolls, Medusa, Minotaurs, and Hags have banded together into a sort of loose alliance in the pursuit of self determination and self governance, free of the meddling of politicians in far off, gilded towers.

Honestly, what more could I ask for?

Here we find ourselves with a setting preloaded with the appropriate sort of terrain or a classical western story, one that offers the sorts of modern conveniences like trains and telegraphs that existed in the tropey, minds eye imaginings of what the cowboy life was like, but held at a somewhat distant arms length from the center of the action. I can already picture in my mind city slicker player characters, at home in arcanopunk settings like Final Fantasy 6 or 9, squaring off in the street with wands at high noon. Politics of ownership and Imperialism easily brush up against the typical D&D fair of delving into the depths of ancient ruins and fighting off strange and bizarre creatures left to fester in the earth thousands of years ago. And somewhere down a dark and dusty trail, an ancient demon lord might well stir, only to be confronted by daring adventurers astride loyal axebeak mounts, ten gallon hats atop their heads and six guns at their sides.

The only question then becomes what game system?

I have some thoughts, of course. Dungeons and Dragons is an obvious choice–be it 2014, 2024, or Tales of the Valiant–given that there’s a wealth of available material to draw from, though I am aware of some amount of fatigue around the game, in terms of both its age and the behavior of the company that owns the game. 

Shadowdark offers a similar feel of gameplay, though one that might be a touch more lethal than intended. 

Games like Draggerheart and Vagabond are just around the corner and seem promising, but I would need to read them in greater detail before I could make any judgments for my table… 

And of course, as always, there’s Fabula Ultima, which by its very nature as an homage to JRPGs fits the sort of arcanopunk vibe of Eberron quite well… I just wonder if coming to the table with a fully prepared setting isn’t working against the spirit of a game that so proudly puts the idea of cooperative world building front and center.

It’s something that bears thinking about. And certainly asking my players about, should the opportunity to head out west ever arise.

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: Cross My Heart, Hope Not to Die

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, restraints (shackles), mention of infection/infected wound, mention of death, lady whump (w/ male whumper), physical violence, betrayal

This chapter is kind of a fun milestone (for me)! When I realized how in love I was in with Will, Bree, & Jamie's story back in October (Whumptober 2022), I became so obsessed that I ended up writing all the way to the end despite (a) knowing there was no way I could post it all for Whumptober and (b) still having more Whumptober prompts to fill for Fen & Freddie and The Curiosity Collector. This is the first part that got written to actually expand the story, not just to fill a prompt! Look how far we've come!

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Word count: 2213 || Approx reading time: 9 mins

Cross My Heart, Hope Not to Die

Teaser: His eyes narrow. “I understand what a deal is, you irritating wench. Now tell me what the fuck you want.” I open my  mouth, about to do so, when he adds, “Just remember this, Miss Cooper: I owe you nothing. Do you really think I care what happens to you? If you rot in here or if you hang?”

Bree

I fiddle with the new shackles Hatchett slapped onto my wrists after he unlocked the one chaining me to the wall. I can’t help but wonder what, exactly, he thinks I will do if my hands are free. Despite their batons and metal-studded shoes, the constables seem to be the ones who are fearful all the time.

Not me. I’m not afraid. I’m confident. Positively brimming with confidence—and with secrets. That is the air I try to exude as he pulls me into his office and closes the door.

“Sit.”

He points to the chair in front of me, and I shuffle my way over, doing my best to make the movement look dignified.

Hatchett looks me up and down, the beginnings of a sneer clawing through his mask of solemnity. “Well? What do you want?”

Off to a good start, then. “A deal.”

“I mean,” he says tartly, “what are the conditions of this deal you so desire?” He leans back in his chair. “Because I’m rather doubtful you have anything of value to give me.”

That’s what you think. If I could cross my arms, I would. I settle for a hard stare. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows everything about me. He doesn’t.

He pulls a face, unintimidated. “Cut the bullshit. Start talking, or I’m throwing you back. I don’t have the time or patience for this.”

“I’m not giving up my information for free.” I have no idea, none whatsoever, if this will work. But I have to try. I have to, because if I don’t… “I’m trading it.”

His eyes narrow. “I understand what a deal is, you irritating wench. Now tell me what the fuck you want.” I open my  mouth, about to do so, when he adds, “Just remember this, Miss Cooper: I owe you nothing. Do you really think I care what happens to you? If you rot in here or if you hang?”

Of course I’m under no illusions that he gives a damn about my fate. Why should he care?

“That man back there,” I say, hating that my words come out in a near-whisper, “he’s dying.”

He chuckles. “Ah. You’re a medical expert now, are you?”

“No,” I snap. “Anyone with any brains can see it. He’s half-delirious. Your fu… Your medic let his wounds—he—he let them get infected.”

Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “Are you suggesting our expertly trained medic is having trouble performing the duties of his job?”

Regret will surely follow my next words. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“You dare to make accusations against Mr. Gysborne?” I fucking hate the way he’s looking at me as I talk. Still smirking. Like this is funny. Like he knows something I don’t.

“You can’t even control your own staff,” I say. It’s the first remark that comes into my head, no doubt another stupid thing to say that will piss him off. But as he’s sneering at me like that, suddenly pissing him off is the only thing I want to do. “You need to make him do what you’re paying him to do.”

His face darkens, the muscles in his face and neck tugging into rigidity. Ha. I have, indeed, struck a nerve. “Watch your step, Miss Cooper. Perhaps you ought to choose your words a little more carefully.”

Before I speak again, I take a breath. Savour the victory for a few measly moments. “You can’t let him die.”

Cruel laughter curls across his face. “That is precisely what my role is, Miss Cooper. Or were you somehow unaware of the boy’s sentence?”

My skin prickles. “So you’re all right with just…giving up? Letting him die of fever in there? I thought your role was, precisely, to get him to talk.” I swallow the sickly feeling that’s crawling up my throat. “I really thought you’d care more about the glory of being the one to get him to crack.”

Still he is unmoved. Still he seems amused. “So you’re in here today to plead…what? That I should let him live so you can watch him…hang? You want to make sure you’re in the front row? Or perhaps you’d like to be up there next to him?

The very thought makes me ill.

“That is not what I fucking mean.” I ball my hands into fists, bunching the torn and filthy material of the prison uniform. “He’s suffering.”

Hatchett smiles. “Good.”

“It isn’t,” I say through gritted teeth. “Have a heart, Baden, pl—”

The slap is so fast, so unexpected, it doesn’t even hurt—at first. I gasp and clap one hand to my cheek as it begins to sting, the other hand floating awkwardly before me in its manacle. “What the fu—”

“You,” he snarls, every trace of amusement gone, “do not get to call me by my name. We’re not friends. I’m not on your side. You gave up your right to my given name the night you—”

His words die.

Of course. That’s what this is about.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, not because I mean it—because I’m not fucking sorry I crept away in the middle of the night without even leaving a note—but because I don’t know what else to say that will make him do what I want.

“Don’t lie to me.” Baden Hatchett takes a breath, straightenes his back, narrows his glare. “You said you had information. I will have it.”

All right. This isn’t going how I planned, but…at least I’m getting somewhere. “I told you. A trade. Make Mr. Gysborne do his job properly. And I will tell you all I know.”

“It can’t be worth much,” he says, rolling his eyes. His violent rage has dissipated as quickly as it erupted. There and gone again in the blink of an eye. “You wish him not to suffer, but you’ll betray him and his friends? Either you’re about to feed me lies or the information is so worthless, you’re willing to share. Either way, this is a bluff. Get out.”

He stands up, he reaches for me, he’s about to drag me back, he’s not going to listen.

His fingers curl around my arm. “You don’t know anything. You were just one of their little runners, a lowly thief and nothing more. You weren’t—you aren’t—worth anything to them, either.”

The final word stings more than any strike across the face ever could.

Hatchett’s eyes are cold. He stands tall, back ramrod-straight, not a fold of his blue uniform out of place. His buttons gleam, his hair cropped so neatly. The perfect picture of a constable.

No. He’s a fucking bastard, and we both know it. Respectable, a shining gold example to us all—on the outside. Inside, a rotting corpse, teeming with worms and maggots.

His throat bobs in the moment of silence as he waits for my next argument.

“After running for them for years,” I say, “I know more than you think.”

He scoffs,“I don’t have time for this,” and jerks me toward the door.

“Wait!” The cry spills out of me, panicked now, desperate. “Please. Just…just listen. Hear me out.”

Pathetic. He doesn’t have to say it. I know exactly what I am.

“I know something no other runner knows.” Does it matter if this is true? There are no other runners around to challenge my word. “About the inner circle.”

An eyebrow drifts upwards, skeptical. “Really.”

Nodding, I try to extricate myself from his iron grip, and to my surprise, his fingers uncurl from my arm.

“I know a secret about the leader. The real one.” I’m whispering now. “And I can tell you about how they work. Recruit runners. Pass messages.”

If we are doomed anyway, what is the point of holding my tongue? Fox’s brother is clever enough to have evaded capture and kept IA going for all these years. Surely he has the wits and foresight to be long gone by now. My brother’s going to kill me, he said that night. Who knows what their relationship was like? Perhaps he skipped town the moment he realized Fox had been arrested.

Hatchett says nothing, but he is listening.

“I will tell you,” I say, tears on my cheeks now. How insincere, even fraudulent, they must seem. Why should I cry? What does any of this matter—should it matter, to me? “If you just give him the help he needs. I’ll—I’ll even do it. If Gysborne is too—too—I don’t know, fucking busy, or whatever the reason is he’s been so neglectful, I’ll do it. If you’ll just let me. Give me medicine, clean water, anything.”

This is coming dangerously close to begging.

His face is impassive save for a faint glitter in his grey eyes. “And why are you going to such lengths for this boy who must die anyway, Miss Cooper?”

“He’s in pain,” I say. “It’s not fair.” It’s not right.

A childish sentiment. Pointless words. Hatchett smiles.

“How do you know him? I confess, I am curious.”

“IA. Obviously.” I can’t pull back the second word in time. Hatchett bristles but keeps his temper in check.

“Seems like more than just two thieves passing in the night.” He drums his fingers against the wall, and the sound burrows into my skull. “You’re practically throwing yourself at my feet to save his life, are you not?” There’s disgust in his words, and he’s right to feel it. “That is surely warranted by more than just the incidental acquaintance of two criminals.”

Baden Hatchett has no right to the story I wrote after I ran away, and certainly no claim to the story of that night.

But he is waiting, and watching, and waiting, and he holds Fox’s fate in his hands—and mine.

“He saved my life,” I say, shuddering slightly as the words come out. I do not want him to know anything about the night Fox saved me.

Hatchett’s head tips to one side. “Did he, now.”

Another shiver runs through me. Why do I feel like I have made a terrible mistake?

He moves on as if what I just said means nothing. “Spill your secrets, then.” Dragging me back to the chair, he shoves me hard enough that I practically fall into the seat. “Now.”

“I want your word,” I whisper. “Let me help him.”

“My prison, my rules, Miss Cooper. Speak first.”

More tears slide down my face now, hot and humiliating. What am I supposed to do?

“Fox isn’t the true leader of Iustitia aecum,” I say. Immediately, Hatchett rolls his eyes.

“That,” he says icily, “is abundantly clear. Try harder.”

Just fucking shut up and listen, then. I don’t say the thought aloud. “He answers to someone else. His family. His brother.”

He blinks.

“If you get the name of one,” I say, “you can get the name of the other.”

You’re even more of a faithless minx than I thought. How I hate that Baden turned out to be right.

“You didn’t know that, did you?”

He doesn’t rise to my jibe. “And what, pray tell, is the boy’s name?”

“I don’t know.” Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you—a true invasion, a low to which I will not stoop. Avoiding his glare, I stare down at the scratched, weathered wood of his desk. It has been here for a long time, from the look of it. No doubt it will outlive me.

Hatchett is smiling grimly when I look up again. “You can find out, though.”

It sinks in over the course of several seconds what he’s suggesting. “No.”

“I still haven’t decided what to do with you,” he says. His voice has changed. He is coaxing me. Drizzling honey over every word. “Perhaps I could still be swayed not to send you to the gallows. If you proved still…useful.”

“No,” I repeat. That was not part of the plan. Or the deal.

His head tilts to the side. “Think on it, Miss Cooper. Perhaps you will change your mind.”

I want to run, to get away from him, to get away from the damage I’ve already done.

Becoming Hatchett’s obedient little spy is not going to make that happen.

“You owe me more,” he reminds me. “You want to play nursemaid? IA’s methods, then. Now.”

That is what I promised. But I still hesitate.

“Hurry up, Miss Cooper.” Hatchett sits again and folds his arms. “Or else I might lose patience and throw you back in your cell, alone, so you can watch the boy languish in his fever some more. I’ll have Gysborne keep him alive, but only just. And perhaps in his delirium, he’ll give us the information we need anyway.”

A gamble, and a big one at that. Now he’s the one who’s bluffing. “You won’t risk losing your informant.”

“Try me.” His fingers draw circles in the wooden desktop, impatient and lazy at once. “So you’d best speak up. If he dies of infection anyway while you’re waffling in here, we both lose, don’t we? And if that happens…” He smiles, grim as death and slick as hot oil. “Then your grand betrayal will have been worth absolutely nothing.”

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Salut, S!

I was trying to write a medium amount of evanstan but uh, I think I might have blacked out and written this instead? Either way, I thought you would like it.

Chris and Sebastian met two weeks before the start of filming on the first Captain America movie, and here they are, three years later, working on yet another movie together.

But it’s different this time. There’s a thicker brand of tension in the air, settling between the two when Chris looks him in the eye with a downright hungry look when the others aren’t aware. Sebastian doesn’t know what it means, but what he does know is that if Chris ever looks at him any differently, he might actually die.

It makes Sebastian feel alive. It’s better than any drink or drug, and it terrifies him. He wasn’t aware anyone (much less someone of the same gender, but he’ll unpack that later) could have such an effect on him. Chris does this downright mean slow up and down look at Seb, making a primal urge to fall to his knees in front of an entire press team burst from his chest. He has no idea what this man is doing to him, but he craves more.

Sebastian is snapped back into reality when Chris looks at him with a wolfish grin and asks him the question he’s been begging to hear the entire night.

“Seb, darling, do you want to get dinner with me? We can get a pizza or whatever you want.” He asks, and Chris’s choice of pet names makes him weak. It’s not really unusual, he’s called everyone on set darling at least once. But the way he says it now is frightening.

They end up in the car together, Chris’s hands steady on the wheel, Sebastian’s places nervously in his own lap. Chris glances over at him, a smirk etched onto his face.

“Seb, is anything on your mind? Anything you wanna talk about?” He asks, and Sebastian squeaks out a no far too quickly.

“Really? Because if I’m honest, the way you’ve been looking at me might suggest otherwise.” Chris says, and the confidence radiating off of him is so heavy Sebastian might be crushed by it.

“No, Sir.”

Sebastian goes red. Fuck, he never meant to call Chris that, oh no-

Chris groans softly, almost imperceptibly. Sebastian looks over at him, eyes wide. They’re turning into the driveway of Chris’s home and his knuckles are white on the wheel. He parks without a word, and Sebastian’s fear and confusion are growing. He turns to Sebastian and looks him in the eye with eyes that make Seb’s brain short-circuit.

“Baby, I need to know if we’re on the same page. Can you tell me what you want to happen once we get out of this car? Tell me honest, I’m not gonna judge you.” He says, and his voice is low and rough, and it takes a minute for Sebastian’s mouth to cooperate with his brain.

“Fuck, Chris, please. I want you to do whatever you want to me. Honestly, I don’t care, I just- oh my god, Chris, I need you to touch me. Please.” He rambles, and Chris waits until he’s done and kisses him with a fire that Sebastian never wants to be put out.

“Good boy.” Chris murmurs, and Sebastian whimpers, causing a predatory grin to spread onto the older man’s face.

Somehow, they make it into the house, where as soon as the door is shut Sebastian is slammed against a wall and kissed so ravenously that Sebastian might combust. They stay there for an uncertain amount of time. Seb is very bad at keeping track of time when all the blood in his body is flowing south.

“Chris-“ He whines, and the response is immediate. The blonde starts to bite and mark up his neck and collarbones, making Sebastian whimper and bite his lip so hard it draws a little bead of blood. Chris looks up and sees his lip, the blood trickling down it, and slowly moves up Sebastian’s neck, pressing soothing kisses on each mark he’s left.

There’s an outright moan from Seb when Chris leans down and licks the blood off of Sebastian’s bottom lip. His bones turn to jelly and Chris just laughs. He goes back to running his hands up and down the younger’s chest while bruising up his neck, and they both know that they’re going to get a talking to from the makeup team, but neither of them care.

“Oh fuck, Chris, please, I need you!” Sebastian groans, head thrown back against the wall, eyes screwed shut.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you, baby. You’ve been real good, you deserve a reward.” Chris says, voice impossibly low, and Sebastian’s heart might seriously stop working. He whines, high pitched and needy, desperately trying to keep his grasp on reality. Chris takes both his and Sebastian’s shirts off, throwing them randomly on the floor, and it’s the final straw.

“Sir! Please, need you to touch me, ‘ve been good, please!” Sebastian gets out, letting go of everything tying him to this plane of existence.

Chris groans into his shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart, you have. Said so myself, didn’t I? You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

Sebastian moans, nodding his head feverishly. Chris picks him up by his thighs, kneading the flesh as Sebastian lets his head fall into Chris’s neck, pressing sloppy kisses into the skin.

He’s thrown onto a bed before he even realizes he’s moving, and immediately feels Chris take off his sweatpants and strip him of his boxers. He whimpers again, and Chris kisses him fiercely, making the younger man melt.

Slowly, he feels Chris’s hands drift lower and lower on his body, and he can’t hold back the noises that fall from his swollen lips.

He wouldn’t trade this for the world.

putain de merde, je vais à l’enfer.

I hope you liked…whatever that was, S 😅

Yours, 🍒Anon

I LOVE whatever that was! 😮‍💨🥴

I love this domineering, confident version of Chris you've written. There are many times that Chris just fucking screams Daddy, these looks he gives (especially when he was looking down and then glances back up, eyelids heavy), and you're so on the money with this drabble.

Fuck, yeah.

This particular part really, really got me, though, "Chris does this downright mean slow up and down look at Seb, making a primal urge to fall to his knees in front of an entire press team burst from his chest. He has no idea what this man is doing to him, but he craves more."

This 👏🏻 is 👏🏻 so 👏🏻 good 👏🏻

Thank you for these drool-worthy words!

[isa-ghost]

About how much time a day, or a week do you spend on writing your fic?

Cause I've been reading fics for years, but haven't started writing until relatively recently. I always knew in the back of my head that it took time to write and come up with the stories, but until recently I hadn't even begun to actually understand the time and energy it actually takes to write a fic. both short and long ones.

Now that I've started to think more about it, it would probably benefit fandom spaces a lot to more widely aknowledge the time it takes. It could probably help with the consumeconsumeconsume mindset of fancreations that I know that I've had, and that are present in a lot of fandoms, especially bigger ones

100% that last part, yeah.

See, for me it's even more complicated because not only am I squeezing writing between irl obligations like class, homework, work, family dinner, sleep, etc.

But I also have ADHD, so I'm battling my attention span and the temptations of my hyperfixations, as well as keeping up with my friends, fandom spaces, etc. I don't want to neglect any of those.

But focus is very difficult when I don't have absolutely nothing going on, which means I often need to shut everything completely out (which can take a lot of self control). I'll vanish on my friends and social media for hours, but still pause here and there to catch up on what I've missed for a short while before returning to writing because I HATE falling deep out of the loop and having a lot to catch up on is overwhelming. On top of that, how easily words are flowing and such also impacts how much or how long I write.

So I don't know if I have a simple or precise answer as to how long. But nonetheless, it's HOURS.

So far, for the 4 chapters that are published, I've sat down multiple days in a row OR every other day if I have time-consuming irl obligations, and written as much as I could before something depleted my motivation or I reached a good stopping point. Lately that's amounted to 1-5 paragraphs depending on the scene I'm at.

If it's something my plot plan has left more open-ended, it can take hours for me to work out how exactly I want to get to the next plot point. The Ch 3 Pissa date and stretching out the Ch 4 Eggza day was MISERABLE /lh because it was super open-ended since I wanted to give myself room to improvise, I don't like rigidly over-planning things bc a lot of the fun in writing is filling blanks between points. I get some AWESOME ideas in the moment thar aren't initially planned in my plot. For example, the foreshadowing I included in the Ch 2 nightmare where he hears Missa scream? If you check my post of my plan after I published the chapter, I pulled that out of my ass. It was originally just supposed to be a nightmare where he could hear Fit, Etoiles & Missa yelling to each other. I never planned for him to hear what's implied to be Missa injured.

But even though improvising is important (and required at some points of AMFMN), it's kinda hard to sit down and think of what to do with those parts when your hyperfixation streamer streams 3 days a week and on the days he doesn't, you have class + other things to do + other streams you refuse to miss + friends + etc etc etc and therefore you don't have a perfect distraction-free time to just go ham.

It takes a lot of self-discipline and control to not engage with stuff so I can focus on writing. And even still, depending on how cooperative my brain is that day, that can still be hours of writing.

Generally I try to chip away at least 3 paragraphs or get from one plot point to the next per day until the chapter is finished.

So TLDR; I spend hours a day, which totals to even more hours a week, working on a chapter.

It's equal parts because I get in the zone with writing and smash out a huge amount of the plot points planned for the chapter, OR I'm struggling with flow/attention span/a bunch of other things.

Due to my schedule, Tuesdays, Saturdays and Sundays are usually the best days for me to write. But even still, I have class Tuesday until close to noon, possibly other streams (curse you Sneeg and Fit /lh), work every other Saturday, family daily routine things like dinner, and the occasional plans with irl friends.

So uh. I do be battling the horrors sometimes to get chapters out. But now that Phil is finally possessed, I have a feeling I'll be breezing through things easier. I know a lot of what's happening next and I'm a whore for the drama. :3c

You have NO IDEA how much watching people scream and lose their minds over crumbs and currently published chapters motivates me. I'm so fucking excited for late game fic. Like Chapter 9 onwards. Ohohohough

[fe-noumenal]

Why Apostles of Mercy will (likely) have a good ending

(heavy Axiom's End and Truth of the Divine spoilers ahead!!!)

I watched Lindsay Ellis' latest Nebula video about Guy Fieri. It got me thinking about a common theme I've been noticing in her recent videos - sincere storytelling is good and irony destroys our enjoyment of stories.

And my poisoned by Noumena brain rot mind, gave me some ideas of the direction of the story after Truth of the Divine.

Let's explore this!

First one, a 'positive and healthy', boring one - Cora tries to help Nikola and Ampersand, but they are too far gone. They do what their culture dictates and pass on peacefully. Cora is left to enter full adulthood as a formed person, a speaker for the (dead) aliens. Blah, I hate it! It does tie everything in a neat bow and even gives an opening for future instalments (because I don't think we will get planned 5 parts now), but I find it unlikely. It isn't sincire. Lindsay was always vocal against killing off 'damaged' characters as a redemption. She even said so in TotD content waring.

I read TotD a few times now and the ending can be interpreted as Cora and Ampersand finally meeting in the middle but... But sometimes I feel like it's a relapse. It's written from Cora's POV and we can't fully trust her positive emotions. It could see it as a parallel to Kaveh's alcoholism - a toxic relationship is like a drug. Kaveh tried to help Cora overcome her addiction, but he's gone now, and she is back at square one. She used Kaveh for sex at the beginning - one well of affection dried up and she tried to secure another. But he, in his perfection stepped up and showed Cora how a healthy and mature relationship looks like. And I really think this is Kaveh's function in this book - to teach Cora about love. And that why he has to exit the stage, just like a mentor in hero's journey. He is a moral compass in the book. But when he encouraged Cora to explore her relationship with Ampersand, I'm still not sure if he really meant it, or he was aware that he couldn't help an alcoholic by just telling them to stop drinking. It all comes down how Ampersand and Cora's reunion should be interpreted. I think the bad ending would still be very interesting, if very emotionally taxing turn of events. I like to watch a good train crash, but I like those characters. I want them happy. If Cora and Ampersand continue to make each other miserable, it would go against the theme of the series. Nikola would die and Ampersand would die with him, leaving Cora alone with a string of deceased partners. It would mean that communication between species is futile and Superorganism was right all along. Humanity would burn. It would be cynical and Lindsay has been clear that she despises cynical storytelling.

And here is a possible !!gigant spoiler!! for the whole series: in her mastodon post, Lindsay said that humanity is spared by the Superorganism (because they don't have Twitter in this universe lol, check it yourself https://mastodon.social/@lindsayellis/109853608377077218 ). So a first half of the (potentially) good ending is (possibly) guaranteed. It won't happen if Cora, Ampersand and Nik don't cooperate. And they can't effectively cooperate if they are on a brink of unaliving themselves. I'm still not sure what will exactly happen, if I knew I would write it myself but I have high hopes. And watching Lindsay's last videos only cemented that hope. Again and again she hammers down her point about the sincerity, even if the story is clishe or sappy. Those videos were written in tandem with Apostles of Mercy and it would be so jarring if it said something opposite.

Based on all information available, my speculative outline of the Apostles of Mercy would look like that:

1. Cora tries to help Ampersand and Nikola to heal their minds. It's hard.

2. Cora and Nik bond over their feelings for Kaveh and Amps.

3. They encounter a pod of benevolent transients, who give us a different perspective on Superorganism and Amygdaline nature. They have resources to provide Amps and Nik a true therapy. (Lindsay said that we will meet transients.)

4. Amps, Nik and Cora form a phyle.

5. They are able to communicate by high language, fully confirming that humans are persons by Amygdaline standards. (High language has to happen. It's much more interesting that way. Also this would give us an unfiltered Amygdaline perspective)

6. There is a mental show down with Autocrat, something like Ender's Game.

Add some shenanigans with Sol, Luciana, propagandists and some evil Nils' shit.

Are those all possible options? No. Maybe I'm completely wrong and it will be something completely different? I hope so. I hope Lindsay will deliver an incredible, SINCERE book, that will move as all, just like Axiom's End and Truth of the Divine did.

I desperately want to be this series' Bigolas Dickolas, so we will get all 5 😭

[fightingmonsterswithwords]

Do you have any idea of when you'll have the next chapter of Cursed and Divine up to post?? I'm not trying to make you feel pressure or anything, just curious if there's a specific day I can anticipate for or if I shall not so patiently, but patiently wait for that lovely little subscription email to show up in my inbox randomly.

I hope you had/are having a good time with your friend in Germany and that life is treating you well! 💕

Hi!!

Don't worry, you can ask anything you want, even about updates, I don't feel pressured by it. I'm kinda thrilled you're asking about the fic, haha. 💖

Soooo, the funny thing is I wrote the entire outline for next chapter as soon as I finished the last one. THERE'S A TINY SURPRISE IN THIS ONE 👀 ... But - I can only write on weekends mostly, and the trip alone consummed one entire weekend. As of now, I've only got like two Word pages written down.

The not-so-funny thing is that my friend got sick while we were there and soon after we returned I started feeling a bit under the weather, and today I'm definitely sick. (I get sick a lot, my defenses are terrible. 🙃) So, yeah, I'm not confident I will be able to update this week, but I will try my best to have the chapter next week at the latest. Like I've said many times I'm a terribly slow writer, partly because I mull over almost every single line (specially because English is my second language and boy, it doesn't matter how many times I re-read things, there's always some mistake or false friend that skipped my notice 😭). But who knows, I might feel better and binge-write the whole thing and have it ready sooner than I expected. Fingers crossed!

As soon as I finished working today I opened up the file, anyway, haha. I'm going to read over last chapter (I usually do that before writing the next one, so that I can also correct spelling errors, etc) and jump right into it. 💪 Let's hope my brain cooperates.

Thank you so much for reading and the support, really. I easily get discouraged, and I shouldn't, because I can see there's a lot of people who are liking the story 🥰

PS. The trip to Germany was great in any case; if anything, I came back with renewed intent to keep studying that damn language 🤣 I want to come back and actually walk around and see stuff, because we were cooped up in a hotel for the convention next to the airport most of the time, and the one day we could visit places (we had like 10 hours to kill before our return flight) a lot of museums and such were closed because it was Monday. It was in Düsseldorf. I'd also like to visit Munich and Berlin in the future.

[the-cat-chat]

November 18, 2023

Clue (1985)

Six guests are anonymously invited to a strange mansion for dinner, but after their host is killed, they must cooperate with the staff to identify the murderer as the bodies pile up.

JayBell: This is one of those movies that is always on my list but for whatever reason I never get around to watching. Until now.

I have fond memories of playing the board game, so I was interested to see how they could make a movie around a board game in a way that doesn't feel forced.

What I like most in this movie is the witty dialogue. There's a lot of back and forth between the characters and it's very well written. Despite the antics on screen and the ridiculous behavior of the characters, the dialogue doesn't feel juvenile.

The mystery also isn't as easy to predict as I thought it would be, and I only really picked up on one of the endings. I think my favorite part of the movie is the multiple endings because it's the perfect homage to the board game where every time you play there is a different murderer with a different outcome.

The only thing that bring down my rating is some of the physical comedy, which is honestly just a personal preference. It's just not my thing cause it feels so slapstick and over the top at times. But it's such a small thing that it doesn't overtake all the other things I enjoy about the movie.

Rating: 6.5/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: Needing a quick impromptu movie when the universe decided we shan’t be watching Adam Sandler voice a classroom lizard?? - the at random choice was Clue. I had heard it was funny and so good and obvi the game of clue is iconic- I felt the dire need to see what the fuss was about and how Tim Curry was going to blow this out of the water. Plus murder mystery - it’s a no brainer. Yessss I know my standards for picking are sooo strenuous and thorough.

Anyway- this movie was pretty enjoyable and funny-so mission accomplished- even if there were a few “hey why are all the men soooo creepy?” moments. (But not enough to really overshadow what was going on.) No my brain did that all on it’s own. I lost the track of my attention for like maybe a second?? And it was over for me in even really attempting to play along with what was going on until the big reveal at the end.

Butttttt speaking of the end. The big reveal (or reveals) are sooooo good and it’s so much fun. And honestly Tim Curry’s commitment to the bit (and everyone else- esp. Peacock at the end) is outstanding. He’s literally dripping sweat from running around explaining what happened or what really happened, and then finally what realllly really happened. And it was no small feat to explain it all out. All the acting was really great and it was a fun escape even if I had no idea what was happening for at least 45 minutes of it.

Rating: 5.75/10 Cats 🐈

[pipermca]

Writing Update - February 2023

I was hoping to get some writing done tonight but the brain didn't want to cooperate, so I guess I'll wrap up my February. XD

Frank talk: my output was absolutely horrendous this month. Last month was about 6200 words; in February I only wrote 3,723 words.

My muse started to wander all around again, which is probably why I didn't write much. The rotation seems to be: 1) Pick away at a chapter on a fic until it's finished! 2) Bask in the glory while I play video games for a week instead of write. 3) Start picking away at a chapter on a different fic. 😐

Anyway, I also did some serious thinking about the TF Big Bang. While I do really enjoy participating in them, I think I'm going to have to bow out this year. There's a couple of reasons for this. First, I don't have many story ideas that I think would fit comfortably in 15k. I have lots that will probably come in around 8-9k words, and a few that I'm sure will probably land around 20k or more. The ONE story that might be suitable is sort of half written right now, but it's also got a load of smut that's going to happen in the middle and I always write smut with glacial slowness. Don't know why. XD

Secondly (and probably more importantly), this summer is going to be absolute hell for me at work, and I am reasonably sure it's going to affect my "fun" writing. I am a writer at work, and while the type of writing I do for work is very different than my fan fiction, it does use the same parts of my brain. And I've noticed that after a really hectic day at work, the writing part of my brain is just worn out and needs to rest. (This is also why I'm reluctant to tackle the 20k+ story idea.)

I might see if I can volunteer my time to be a beta reader, since editing/reviewing is different enough from my work writing that I think I could swing it.

In the meantime, I have been spending a lot of time this month worrying over whether I should attempt the BB even with my work schedule. I'm hoping that having come to a decision will give my muse time to breathe (since it's been frantically trying to figure out how to manhandle some of my ideas into something suitable), and let me get back to working on the stories I already have in progress.

That said, here's how the rest of the month went for me.

Posted

Pet Names. 950 words. A reposted story; it was backdated to its original posting date so it didn't appear on the "front page."

WIPs

These are the stories I actually put words down for this month.

Sun and Moon (working title). 43,000 words. I am really hoping I can get the confidence soon to start posting this soon. I need to stop going back and rewriting the first few chapters over and over. >.<

The King and the Bounty Hunter. 10,100 words. This was my muse's obsession this month. I got through the chapter in progress and then dropped it like a hot potato.

Again and Again and Again. 1300 words. I briefly flirted with the idea of making this my BB fic but I don't think I can stretch it to 15k. Also it's a thing I'm not writing. Really.

[mephicchi]

((I can personally recommend watching Kruggsmash's Dwarf Fortress videos on YouTube, he makes illustrations of characters, artifacts, and events that happen in his fortresses as he's telling the story which helps with some amount of understanding. He also really gets into the rp side of it all and just has a nice storytelling voice in general. MonsterKiller, and HoneyStoker are my personal favourite fortresses he's done. HoneyStoker especially, but it has a rougher beginning and Krugg swaps between a few fortresses in that storyline. I'll cut myself off here, or I could talk about DF all day. My humble apologies to your followers.

I'll admit I'm a little concerned about how quickly and how thin exactly the veil may be getting, but I'll keep this rolling for now. I have ideas for how this can play out ic if you feel so inclined to indulge me. You'll see in the letter.

I have. SO MANY mini campaign ideas I want to DM. I love planning for sessions. Making borderline unnecessary props. And cooperative worldbuilding and character building is a favourite passtime of mine. Almost like I enjoy rp or something cough cough. Although when it comes to actually DMing a live session I feel like I choke, I can't read my own notes any more, and descriptive words suddenly all fall out of my brain like it's made of swiss cheese. It's probably all in my head as so far I haven't received any complaints from my players. In total I've probably only DM'd 4 or 5 sessions, all 5e (although once I tried to mix in my own dismal attempt at a homebrew mechanic.) Unfortunately the friendships fell apart and went separate ways due to outside and unrelated circumstances. But it's been 3 years or so and I haven't DM'd live since discovering CR and picking up a lot of techniques from Matt Mercer. I'd like to try it again with what I've learned. In the meantime however I've been DMing a murder mystery over text with my one remaining player still with me. Mostly just written rp, not unlike we have been doing here, although in a much shorter format, and involving skill checks and challenges whenever something necessary comes up. I'm much more in my element when writing tbh.

I am toying with the idea to retry the aforementioned homebrewed mechanic I attempted, but move it over to Call of Cthulhu one day, as the plot I had come up with mainly involved horror themed mindfuckery. But I'll need to do a lot more research and I'm currently, if you'll excuse the phrase, balls deep in 5e with my current headworld obsession.

Ahh I'm going on too long though, once again I apologise to your followers, and I'll leave you with that and move on to the actual letter now.))

// Thanks for the recommendation, I'll definitely check out some videos of his, who knows, perhaps I will fall into a DF hole, I wouldn't count on it though.

In my mind the veil might have already been lifted, but I am having way too much fun to stop this, communicating like this both ic and ooc might just have ignited a small spark of mine to seek out some text based RP groups, while it has also been a wonderful opportunity to learn more about both you and your character, which I would never say no to.

Your enthusiasm towards DMing is all too familiar, I too get ideas all the time, I never write them down anywhere though so they always get lost to time, but perhaps that is not the worst thing for I feel like I am incredibly bad at describing things, and even worse at changing my voice for different NPCs, making it hard for my players to discern who is speaking with them in a conversation with multiple NPCs.

As mentioned before, this whole "thing" might make me seek out some text based RP groups, for as I've just now discovered with this, I seem to have an incredibly amount of fun with it, even if I sometimes have to google translate a word, or look for a word that better encapsulates what I want to say, since English unfortunately isn't my first language.

Despite my refusal to DM, since I feel I am awful at it, I've picked up the rulebooks of a good few systems I'd like to try someday, seems I simply have to find someone that will indulge in my torture and run them for me, hah!

Aside from DnD 5e, I have the core rulebooks of Pathinder 1st Edition, Cyberpunk 2020, Vampire: The Masquerade, Werewolf: The Apocalypse and Mage: The Ascension taunting me with their presence in the corner of my eye whenever I am using my PC.

I hope you know how much I truly appreciate this exchange, but alas, I shall too get to writing the letter. //

[freshairforrabbits]

Fanfiction ask meme! 9 (for pretty boy, because I'm obsessed with it, so sue me), 13, and 24 (which feels like it's meant to have a generic "love it/hate it" answer, but I'm really curious about whether writing smut feels different to non-smutty scenes and any and all of your thoughts on that!)

Thank you for asking all these and 24 is especially interesting!

9) The entire nightmare sequence in the church hands down. Every time I write a trippy dream or nightmare sequence (or acid trip sequence) just know that is when I am having a fucking blast. But everything to do with that church scene is my favorite and still is, I kind of went hard as fuck on that and I am unashamedly proud of it

13) Fuck now this is a question, I haven't written for that many characters, but as far as having to write background characters my least favorite is Tuk not because I hate her by any means 😭 I just struggle with how it feels to get in that headspace of a child that young, it causes dissociation which I don't want to deal with while writing. That could just be me though other parts/alters enjoy writing for her the few times she does pop up while they absolutely loathe writing Quaritch which is very amusing all things considered! He can just be such a finicky bastard to pin down and make cooperate

24) Writing smut doesn't necessarily feel any different to writing non-smutty scenes! But I have to be in a particular mindset to write it, the stars have to align, certain factors in my headspace have to come together or else the smut comes off with less punch than the scenes without it. I remember being embarrassed for absolutely no reason when I started to write smut and couldn't even type the word cock let alone cunt, thankfully that changed real fast and I don't even break a sweat moving between a scene with sick nasty fucking and complete absence of sensuality. I do really enjoy writing sex as this looming presence in the background even during scenes where no smut is occuring at all; there's just something about it, especially when writing characters that are hypersexual like pretty boy Jake or just like rJake in sick guy who is hungry as fuck to fill a gaping artifical void. I absolutely love writing smut and non-smut scenes equally and find no real difference moving between them– but some days, my brain is truly nefarious and will fire off ideas rapid fire for the most interesting, gut wrenching smut scenes and those are the days when I love writing smut a bit more with a little devil perched on my shoulder whispering in my ear haha

I hope that answered that question sufficiently 😈