#it comes with the double edged sword of dropping projects as soon as they become a bit more involved/difficult

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

it's probably the sunnier weather that's doing stuff to my brain to make me more optimistic but it's so interesting having a brain that craves a lot of self-fulfillment to the point where I can move past some hang-ups around perfection by going "oh I really wanna do that though" and then I do it well because researching how to do it right is also a rewarding part of the process

[yaku-soba]

i’ve seen this film before (this is an old story)

༶•┈┈ oikawa tooru x gn!reader | angst

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags/warnings: angst (with an okay ending), swear words, oikawa doesn’t become a pro, kinda college au, author was listening to the folklore album and also mother mother while writing this, i think that’s warning enough

word count: 1.48k

a/n: this was originally supposed to be some sort of prose poetry for my poetry sideblog but it didn’t work out so </3 also, trying out a somewhat new writing style hehe :3

“someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.”

― richard siken, war of the foxes

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

it goes like this: you fight over something small (it's never just something small), and after a while with whom the fault lies doesn't matter anymore (a double-edged sword: the fighting and the screaming and the shouting and the mocking).

it goes like this: radio silence, no missed calls, no unopened texts. oikawa, a character study: lover becomes roommate becomes a shadow you see slipping out the door if you wake up early enough. take-out ordered for one, a bed too large and cold. blankets that swamp you. 

it ends like this: you cave first (you always cave first). oikawa is too proud to apologize and you are too tired and it is easier to brush all the broken pieces of each other under the rug (it's old, you don't remember where it came from, only that it's the colour of mold and smells like mothballs, despite your best efforts) and pretend the we are fucked up, we are fucking this up away. you hate the way this story ends, there is no other ending to this story.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

"tooru," you say, and the click of the door as he shuts it behind him rings like a gunshot. "do you know what day it is?"

oikawa is breathtaking, as always. "no," he says, casting his eyes to the moldy rug at your feet and then away, off to the side, "what day is it?" oikawa is breathtaking, and as always, he's a bad liar.

you smile, make no effort to pull it to your eyes. "it's pasta day," you answer, and it's as hollow as the ring-pop he gave you as a promise when you were younger (when you had thought you were in love; when you were in love).

he nods. "thanks for cooking dinner." he chucks off his shoes and socks in an act of practiced nonchalance.

there is no pasta day.

"welcome home," you tell him belatedly. he hums, says nothing in return.

(stilted conversation: the second stage of a terminal relationship.)

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

once, you were young and in love.

it's been proven: youth and love makes one foolish.

the story, or the prologue - it goes like this: you meet oikawa at an impressionable age (the boy next door, the golden boy, the boy the coaches eye in a game, the boy all the girls talk about, the boy). he proceeds to make quite an impression on you (a burn from sparklers on a beach at a festival, a failed ollie that left a scar on your knee, bruised wrists from volleyball, the - invisible, but you know it’s there, just as oikawa knows - stitch over the exit wound in your chest). you grow up beside him and along the way, convince yourself that sticking with him is a natural progression (cherry blossoms bloom for only two weeks). 

you and oikawa, him and you. it has always been the two of you. this story is very old, this story always ends the same way.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you’re fucked up. you and oikawa, him and you - somewhere, along the way, you’d gotten fucked up. you don’t know who fucked it up first, it doesn’t matter anymore. (nothing matters but the brush of oikawa’s lips on your lips and the delicate flutter of his lashes and the rent that you cannot afford without a roommate). 

oikawa is waiting on the couch when you come home (you came home later than usual - you’d seen him talking to a girl who had batted her lashes at him prettily the way he used to do to you). you shut the door behind you like a judge’s hammer, you slip out of your shoes and socks like water through earnest, cupped palms. 

“late night?” he asks (no welcome home). 

“yeah,” you reply (no i’m home). “i wanted to finish more of my project.” 

oikawa hums, looks at you from beneath those damned lashes. “that essay?” he shifts, lifts his feet from the moldy-looking rug to sit cross-legged. 

“yeah,” you say again. (you’d submitted the essay a month ago. you’re working on a presentation due in a week now).

“i ordered pizza,” oikawa says after a pause, “it should be arriving soon.”

you nod, step over the genkan and into the one-bedroom apartment. “thanks,” you tell him, “i’ll be right out.”

the bell rings while you’re changing into loungewear. you step out of the room just in time to see oikawa take the pizza out of the delivery girl’s hands - the same girl you’d seen touch his arm and smile (there is no home).

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa’s working part-time at a local diner that keeps long hours. you’re working on a degree. 

here’s the thing: he could probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of his own if he’s smart about his money. 

here’s the thing: you can’t. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“someone has to leave first,” wakatoshi tells you over lunch, “richard siken said so.”

“who?” there’s a tear right down the middle of your carrot-heart. 

“someone who left first, or someone who was left. does it really matter?” 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa with his long lashes and bedhead. oikawa’s sleepy smile in the mornings (you remember more than you know), the exact dip of his smile, the map you have of the lines of his palms. 

the point is: oikawa staying out and not coming home (you stopped counting after the first month, but your heart still knows), waking up to a cold bed because oikawa started leaving earlier (to go the gym, he says). hesitancy in hands where there once was security, the subtle fall of a satellite out of orbit, the gradual fall out of the childhood familiarity of being young and in love. the point is -

the point is always oikawa. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa gets a new, better, actual job. he’s a volleyball coach at a high school, now. 

you find out almost a month later, through takahiro and issei. 

“oikawa’s confident they’ll make it to nationals this year,” issei says conversationally, sawing into his steak, “says his kids are promising.” 

“what?” (you’ve seen this film before.)

“you know,” takahiro says, “the volleyball kids he’s coaching.” you did not know.

“ah,” you say anyway, fingers slipping around the fork in your hands and grasping onto the far edge of a cliff, “how could i forget.”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you finish your degree. you get a (relatively) stable job at a nearby design office.

here’s the thing: they pay you well for a fresh graduate. here’s the thing: you can probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of your own if you’re smart about your money.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“i’m moving out,” you say the moment oikawa opens the door, “thank you for everything.” (despite everything, you mean it. he’s taught you so many things.)

he smiles (it looks the same as what you imagine you’d smiled like the day of your first anniversary). “okay,” he says, and you think that that’s that.

“i’m sorry,” he says after a moment. 

“yeah,” you say, “i am too.” 

“thank you,” he continues, eyes almost the same shade as the day he’d brought you on a picnic, “i’ll always love you, you know that, right?”

you do (you feel the same, it is not the same love as when you had been fourteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, but it is still love). 

“me too,” you say because there is nothing else to say, “you’re important to me. you’ll always be important to me.” it’s true: he was your first kiss and your first love and your first best friend and the first person you’re leaving first. 

oikawa smiles, and disappears into the bathroom. 

you stare at the ugly rug at your feet. 

“is this okay?” you ask the broken pieces of you and him (curled around the jagged edges of each other, thorn to petal, bruise to open wound), “this is an okay ending, right?”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa as the boy you loved, oikawa as your youth, oikawa as a part of the past you will always hold close but not be held behind by. 

a study in relationships: someone will always leave first, it is a very old story. 

introspection and a universal truth: youth and love makes one foolish, being foolish is not always a bad thing. 

the point is: someone will always leave first, sometimes people fall out of love, sometimes familiarity is not enough to hold them together. 

an old story, another universal truth: someone will always leave first, it is not always a bad ending. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! :D do drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general taglist :”)

p.s if you liked this, it would Be Cool if you leave me an ask / scream in the reblog tags because it would satisfy my need for validation 💔💔

[twentytarot]

hi everyone! today’s topic is first dates— we’re gonna find out what your best first date was or will be, and then find out if it will last with this person. again, different piles will have different focuses. pick the image that sets your thoughts off and scroll down to your respective pile for your reading~ 💞

PILE ONE: FIREWORKS

your best first date is nothing but giving and warm to you, which is a little of a foreign feeling to you. you who came from a colder home, you who always felt anxiety over relationships, wondering if you were a little too logical and accidentally broke your own heart before anyone could get near it. it doesn’t matter, because this person has enough care and love for the both of you. the place you call home now is filled with people who didn’t know what romance is. you worry you’ll only end up walking in their path, but that’s not true. you’ll be breaking this chain and experiencing a love story much more vibrant than what you’ve been used to hearing. this person will be your little wish come true and your new beginning; they will fill you with an excitement that encourages you to be adventurous and actively search out the life you seek. they also might be a little older than you and give you the clarity and strength to make the jump you’ve been afraid for a while now. you and this water sign will become more, with the potential to be each other’s forever. and, even if you don’t, this relationship will definitely be an important and memorable one.

PILE TWO: GUMMY BEARS

it makes sense that your first date is an air sign, because they will be able to debate with you on any topic and level you choose. during this first date, you’ll find their ability to string together words, build up points and take down arguments attractive. you’ll like the fact that they’re well-read and intelligent enough to keep up with you, which i’m sensing is something rare and also what you’ve been looking for for a while now. that sharp tongue is a double-edged sword, though, and you must be aware of this, for you do not lose out in this aspect either. this neck-and-neck situation will be refreshing in the beginning and make that first date, but it will very soon become exhausting. neither of you will be very old when you start dating, so naturally neither of you will know how to back down in heated situations. you’ll end up wearing each other down, and, when it comes down to it, how much time do either of you have to deal with another person, especially when both of you are such high flyers in your respective careers? work wins over love this time, and while you might come back and revisit this connection in a few years time, it won’t work the first time around.

PILE THREE: POPCORN

this first date almost doesn’t feel like a first because you’ve already known this person for ages. you likely met this taurus or leo at work and, by the time the two fo you are out on a date, have had to toil over stressful projects and argue over presentations. in that way, this person knows you so well because they’ve seen you at your most ruthless and liked you anyway. you might not have felt like you could like someone like this— that you two would be toeing the line of enemies and friends for as long as you would have to deal with each other. surprisingly, though, you find ways to comfort each other during long nights and bond over all your common enemies... and then someone drops a bomb on the other and creates the best disastrous mess you could ever ask for. when it comes down to it, this person just makes you happy, no further questions needed, and it shows on this first date you go on. this person is your forever and while things might be a little messy in the beginning (i’m sensing the start of the relationship is just all over the place, especially with the people around you), if the both of you tend to be a little argumentative, well, imagine how bad it’ll be when both of you are on the same side, fighting whoever tries to question this relationship. this person will be your forever.

PILE FOUR: COTTON CANDY

god, you will just think this person is such a catch when you go on your first date with them. they will tick all the boxes of who you want to marry and start a family with, and while maybe it’s too fast to start thinking of that on the first date... i get the feeling you’ve been waiting a long time before this date happens. maybe you’re the older one in this situation, and you haven’t been so lucky in love, so this person is an immediate breath of fresh air, and also some relief to you, because there might have been a moment there where you felt like you would never find anyone. the beginning of this relationship is romantic and both of you feel very lucky to have found each other. your long-term plans match up and even if you two are not totally forever, you will still be ‘almost forever’s and build a life together. the only thing is, as an established couple, most of the beginning romance will fade away. neither of you will really be able to upkeep that magical happy feeling, and will instead become a very cool and collected couple. as the both of you will move in time with each other, this transition could either be very natural and easy for you, or it could cause both of you to fall out of love, feeling like the other is not the same person as they were before.

[leximpwrites]

Seeker 1

The first part of my current project! Please bear in mind that this is still a work in progress, and these may or may not be the final versions. As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged! Also an fyi, these chapters will probably average between 1,500 and 2,500 words each, so I’ll be sticking them behind page breaks. Also just so you guys know what you’re getting into. Lol

@officialleehadan​ @kitvinslakte​ @nox919​ @dierotenixe​ @stuck-in-theclouds​ @gyvorn12​ @apenvssword​ @wildforestferret​ @krceramics​ @starsdreaming​ @wordsdreaming

The musical ringing of a sword clearing its sheath is actually the first sign of trouble, though to be completely honest, I'm really not paying attention to the rest of the bar. I'm intent on the map in front of me, and the places the owner is marking on it. 

I turn to look over my shoulder and see three toughs, blades drawn, facing off against a pair of personal guards who are escorting a young noble boy, and who is currently hiding behind them. 

"Ye spilled mah drink, ye stupid cur!" snarls the largest of the three. He has the rolling burr of the mountain tribes to the north, and a face only a mother could love, nose clearly having been broken in three places, several ugly scars, and a large wart on his left cheek. 

"Back off, commoner!" the older of the two guards growls back, a short sword in one hand, a long knife in the other. He has the air of an experienced fighter, and I would bet good money on him being able to handle any two of the three in front of him without too much effort. "I'm no fool! You were trying to lift milord's purse!"

"Liar!" the northerner yells, and lunges forward. 

He doesn't even get close.

I'm always impressed with how quiet my apprentice can be when he has a mind to. Even I'm slightly surprised when Jax seems to materialize out of nowhere behind the three thugs. He catches the leader almost out of midair, and tosses him halfway across the room. The thug lands on a table, which was never made to take that kind of abuse, and crashes to the floor. Before the other two can react, he grabs each one by their collars, and slams them into each other. Stunned, they collapse in a heap on the floor.

The situation dealt with, Jax looks up and catches my eye, before smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, sir."

"No, good job, Jax," I tell him approvingly. I turn back to the barkeep and hand him several gold regents, and then several more. "These are for the mess and table, and those are for the information." 

He bobs his head gratefully and pockets the coins. "Thankee, Sir Seeker," he says with a genuine smile. "You an' yours are always welcome 'ere." 

I nod my thanks and signal to Jax to pick up the two at his feet while I retrieve the northerner from the wreckage of the table. The young noble and his two guards take that as their cue and quietly slip out the door. I make a mental note of the house sigil on one of the guards sleeves. I’ll pay them a visit tomorrow and make sure the boy is alright. It never hurts to cultivate goodwill amongst the upper class.

"We'll drop this trash off at the Guard house on our way back to the barracks," I say, both to the barkeep and to Jax, before we turn and head outside. It's raining lightly, typical for this time of year, and it rouses the three miscreants from their semi-conscious daze. They struggle briefly, dismayed to find themselves in the custody of two Seekers. I keep a close eye on them, wary of any tricks they might have. A hidden blade, or some other unpleasantness.

"So, what did the barkeep give us, sir?" Jax asks, shoving the two men ahead of him roughly as we head down the stone street. Imperial Engineers are truly masters of their craft, the road paved with broad, triangular stones.

"Some good, solid information, and a worrying pattern," I tell him, retrieving the city map from the belt pouch I had stuffed it into. The bartender had marked a number of spots, and I point them out. "Look at the number of sightings there have been in just this district alone."

"What do you think, a nest?" he asks after looking it over, sounding a little nervous. Sometimes I forget that despite his size, Jax is still a lad. 

"Most likely," I reply as we round a corner and spot the Guard house up ahead. The soldier on duty salutes us smartly, and hands our prisoners off to one of his subordinates after we explain what happened.

I resume our conversation once we head back out into the rain. "Probably a new queen in the catacombs under the city trying to stake out its territory."

I suppose I should introduce myself before we get any further into my tale, huh?

My name is Zepara Alchanic, and I, along with my apprentice Jaxus Luteno, are Royal Seekers currently stationed in Throne City, the capital of the Human Empire. 

And what are Seekers, you ask? We're monster hunters. Damn good ones, too. Tailor made for our job through a series of alchemical and magical transformations called The Proofing. It gives us the physical traits we need to fight monsters, and years of training gives us the skills.

Sometimes, in my darker moments, I wonder just how much we give up to become what we are. 

But usually, I feel the trade is worth it. I am very good at what I do. Technically my oath is to serve the Eternal King, but I see it as less loyalty to the crown, and more loyalty to the nation and its people. My job is to hunt down and destroy monsters that threaten the lives of everyday citizens. 

But back to my tale. 

I give Jax's shoulder an encouraging pat, despite the fact that I have to reach well above my own head to do it.

 "Don't worry, lad," I say, careful to keep my tone light. No need to worry the boy. "Even a full nest isn't much of a threat to a pair of Seekers who know what they're headed into. Just stick by me, remember your training, and you'll be fine." 

That seems to lift his spirits, and he nods, then begins studiously checking over his gear. I watch him for a moment, making sure he’s doing it properly. Satisfied he’s going about it just as I taught him, I follow suit. A Seeker relies on their gear. If your gear fails you in a fight, you’re dead, pure and simple.

Taking on a shade nest would actually be a good challenge for Jax, now that I think about it. He’s been progressing well since I became his mentor four years ago, but he tends to underestimate himself, and it holds him back a little. This will be a good way to show him what he can really do, and give his ego a healthy boost in the process. 

We finish our gear-check just as we reach the entrance to the underground portion of the city. There are thousands of miles of tunnels, galleries, and cellars under Throne City.

Originally it was just the mines under the dwarf fortress-city that is now the Imperial Palace, but over the centuries each generation dug their own underground portions and linked it into the already existing network, The end result of that, of course, being a complex labyrinth of truly staggering size. 

It can be very, very easy to get lost down there. 

I dig out a key that every Seeker is given when they complete their training. It gives us access to places like this. I unlock the steel gate that bars the stairwell down, and lock it behind us once we're through. We have to bend almost double to fit, as these ceilings were not designed with a seven foot Seeker in mind. Twice I hear Jax mutter a curse behind me as he bumps his head on something, and I have to bite back a laugh. I might be having a hard time, but the poor boy must find it almost unbearable. 

It isn’t long before we reach the bottom of the steps, and I straighten gratefully, in what appears to be a storeroom for one of the restaurants or inns above us. The walls are lined with sacks, crates, and barrels filled with various foodstuffs, all neatly organized and clearly labeled. 

I sniff the air, catching the rotten-meat stink of our prey almost at once. I hear Jax doing the same a moment later, and I nod my approval when he points down a nearby passage.

"Over that way, I think," he says, and grins when he sees me nod. We draw our paired ton-filar, heavy long-bladed fighting daggers with brass knuckles built into the grip, and a short four inch spike at the other end. They’re vicious weapons, specifically made for close in fighting, and designed to give us as many ways to hurt an enemy as possible with a single implement.

Most Seeker gear and weaponry is designed this way. It gives us an edge. And believe you me, when you're fighting the kinds of beasties we do, it always comes in handy. 

We move off in the direction of the scent, careful to keep our blades up before us. The passageway is narrow, so Jax leads the way, and I follow closely, walking backwards to make sure nothing tries to sneak up on us.

We continue down the tunnel, following our noses, until it opens up again into another wide room. The smell is horrendous, and I hear Jax gag a little. 

"Breathe through your mouth," I advise him. "It helps."

I scan the room, taking everything in all at once. Trash, rotting food, and less identifiable detritus litter the floor, and the far corner of the room is buried under a mass of reeking filth that rises to the ceiling. I curse myself for not thinking. As soon as they hear my voice, shades come pouring out of the nest, chittering angrily, eager for a meal.

Shades aren't big, about the size of a cat, and aren’t especially threatening. They look like a hairless rat with an odd, bird-like head. They're not even hard to kill. A good solid kick from a normal human is enough to put an end to one. 

The problem is, there's never just one. 

They breed fast, in clutches of seven or eight, every three weeks. They carry disease, and spread rot wherever they go. Nobody knows how they came to be, but we know that dark magic spawned them, because all our monster hunting tricks work just fine. 

"Grenades!” I snap, following my own advice, withdrawing one from the belt pouch I keep them in. 

Grenades are expensive kit, but absolutely priceless when dealing with swarms of creatures like shades. A small sphere packed with gunpowder, enclosed within an outer sphere of cold iron plated with silver, and the space between the two filled with a mixture of rock salt and holy water. 

We light them with a flick of the thumb against the special alchemical fuse, and then toss them into the middle of the pack. They detonate with a surprising level of force for such small weapons, shaking some dirt loose from the ceiling. Between the explosion, holy water, and rock salt, dozens of the little beasts vanish into puffs of dirty smoke. Dozens more are killed as shrapnel scythes into the massed bodies.

The remainder of the pack, their numbers thinned by the grenades, rush us. Jax and I spin around each other, years of training giving us the skill to fight in such a tight space against a swarm of enemies. I skewer a pair on my ton-filar, turn, and catch another mid-air in the chest with one of the pommel spikes. Jax ducks around me and punches down the two that are trying to leap on me from behind, and boots another in the face when it tries to bite at him. It careens back into its fellows and takes them down in a tangle.

With a chattering shriek that makes us both wince, the queen and her nest guard emerge. 

Easily three times the size of their smaller fellows, the nest guard are huge, slavering beasts with glittering red eyes, long, sharp beak-like mouths, and wicked claws. The queen is even bigger and nastier, her belly swollen with her current clutch. 

"Blast her!" Jax calls, and I nod, quietly impressed. We whirl with skill and speed that no human could hope to match, as we trade blades for the coach guns, safely secured across our backs. Jax's is the typical, blunt-nosed, over-under variant favored by most Seekers. 

But mine…

Mine is a work of art. It was a gift, made for me by the master weapon-alchemist Argius Cratona of Wavedancer, after I rescued his daughter from a lich during my apprenticeship. It has six barrels, twice the length of a standard coach gun, arranged in a circle around a single larger barrel at the center. The steel barrels are polished to a mirror shine, and ornate, curling scrollwork is etched into each one. The solid cherrywood grip and stock is chased with brass and burnished to a deep, warm glow. The gun's name, Sophia, is inscribed on a small brass plate embedded in the stock.

It has three triggers. The first two are tied to three of the six outer barrels each, so that a single trigger pull fires three bursts of cold iron and silver shot at once. 

The third trigger goes to the center barrel, which fires a specially made bullet created by Cratona. Called a Decimator Round, it’s a solid slug of cold iron coated in silver, and infused with powerful alchemical compounds that detonate once inside a target. Every month he sends me a box with thirty of the hefty, hand-sized shells, along with notes from him and his daughter. I’ve kept a steady correspondence with them both over the years, and never once in all my time as a Seeker has Sophia failed to kill the monster it was aimed at.  

But I digress. 

We fire together, then fire again, the booming report of our guns thunderously loud in the enclosed cellar, filling the far side of the room with a blizzard of shot that tears the queen and her guards to bloody shreds. Jax and I deftly snap open the breeches of our guns, ejecting the spent casings and replacing them with fresh, though I take a moment longer due to the extra barrels.

Silence descends for several long minutes as we wait to see if any more shades come out of the darkness, but either we had killed them all, or the remaining few were smart enough to scatter.

"I think we're done here," I decide at last, holstering Sophia, and Jax follows my example. I wave for him to follow, and head back the way we had come. "You did good work back there, Jax, very well done. I'm impressed."

Jax ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Thank you, sir, but I only did what I thought was best."

"Which is exactly what you should do," I tell him firmly, with a smile. "You acted as a Seeker should, and I'm proud of you. You have solid battle instincts, and you don't have any lack in terms of skill. You've learned everything I've taught you so far, and learned it well. You do me credit as your mentor, and yourself as a Seeker."

Jax is left speechless. I stifle a small twinge of guilt. Perhaps I’ve been a bit sparse with praise up until now. Well, that can be fixed easily enough. 

"Come on, lad," I say, ducking low to head back up the stairs. "Let's go get something to eat. I would say we've earned our supper tonight."

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which all Greg wants is some damn sleep.

First | Last chapter

While I’m cross posting all of these to tumblr, I’d love to have your support over on AO3 too! Plus, it’s easier to subscribe there. A win-win, I’d say. Enjoy a breather chapter.

Chapter 3: Restless

Perhaps it’s mostly due to the fact that his son is mixed species and frequently galavants on magical and oft dangerous adventures with the three alien guardians who have over time become just as much of a family to the boy as he is, but whether he blames it on the fourteen plus years of anxiety progressively gnawing away at him or his chronically poor sleep habits, it’s as clear as the ache in his spine that Greg Universe is far from being the poster child of a good night’s rest.

He’s spent the last hour or so drifting in and out of awareness. Sometimes what rouses him is the subtle ticks of a rickety car driving past on the road outside, a sound his wandering mind has long associated with the dollar signs of potential business. (Not that he’s actually dependent on the car wash to support himself and Steven anymore, but hey, old habits die hard.) In other cases it’s simply... the ocean. He’s never been much of a fan of white noise, and even though he’s lived by the shore for a solid two decades now, the rushing ebb and flow has a nasty knack of keeping him awake. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and splurge for earplugs again. Overwhelmingly though, the main reason sleep tends to be such a stranger to him is because his brain simply refuses to shut up. Snippets of awkward social interactions from the day, worries about the faint stress hidden within his son’s smiles, song lyric rejects, the grocery list he forgot to write before retiring to the cozy, well-worn mattress set up on the van’s floor— just when he thinks he’s reached the end of things to obsess over and can finally slip into the blissful embrace of REM, something else claws out of the very mud of the Earth to bully him awake once more. It’s a vicious cycle.

Greg rolls on his side, and kicks the edge of his downy comforter until it fully covers his cold toes. The nightly temperature is beginning to drop, steadily paving the way for the height of the fall season. It’s not too bad so far, but soon enough the coastal winds will pick up. Delmarva nights get cold this time of year. Steven is warm enough in his bed, isn’t he? He’s got plenty of extra blankets if he needs them? And does he still need to pay the heating bill for this month or did he already—

He chuckles to himself, realizing all the proof he needs of that lays in his meticulously kept checkbook ledger safely tucked away in the glovebox. As always, he’s fussing over nothing. Oh, the woes of parenthood. But his fatherly worries aside, there’s no denying Steven’s genuinely happy living with the Gems. Despite the occasional adrenaline pumping encounter, with Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst’s constant protection there’s really no safer place he could be.

A faint smile lifts his cheeks as his turbulent mind settles and he begins to doze off again.

Just as he’s about to cross that final canyon into unconsciousness, something raps against the door from outside. He promptly rolls over and groans into his pillow.

“I swear if this is another one of those gulls,” he mutters, out loud but more to himself than anything.

“Greg! Yo G-man, get your butt out here!”

He purses his lips. Nope. No such luck. Looks like it’s gonna be Gem business tonight. He shifts to sit up, rolling his shoulders back with an audible pop and brushing his long hair out of his face before finally shuffling across the van’s floor to crack open the back door.

He peers blankly at the short purple Gem standing ready to knock rapid-fire outside, his body filled with such exhaustion that his eye bags probably have luggage of their own.

“Amethyst,” he begins slowly. “It’s long past midnight, and right now the only thing I give a single damn about is how cozy my mattress is, so unless the world’s literally ending again I’m—“

“Steven’s hurt,” she says rapidly, and it’s only then he’s awake enough to notice the panic jittering through her stout frame.

His heart stutters.

“Wait, what?”

At first he swears he’s going senile prematurely. Surely none of this is happening, surely this is no more but a worryingly realistic nightmare, but no. No. Everything is too real. The way the cold salt air tousles through his beard, the faint scent of fish wafting from the docks... In the end it’s the glossiness of her eyes that convinces him. He’d never make dream Amethyst cry, because she rarely does.

Her explanation spills forth in a breathless rush.

“Steven, his gem got cracked, and none of us get how but he’s like, somehow split apart, and- and everyone’s at Rose’s fountain and you gotta come with me right now!”

She’s tugging at his arm by the end, and he has no time to slip on sandals or even lock the door before she yanks him out of the van and under the mask of night. He’s already breathing heavy by the time they near the boardwalk.

“Hurry!” she urges, the moonlight shimmering off the quartz gem embedded in her chest.

“But what even happened?” he asks, voice high with hysteria, huffing to keep up with her pace. “How did he—“

“I already said, I don’t know! None of us do.”

“What do you mean you don’t—“

“Hey, it’s not our fault! She wouldn’t tell us everything,” Amethyst snaps.

“She?”

They race past Fish Stew Pizza. Greg’s stomach gurgles on automatic, (did he really forget to eat dinner again?), but he pays it no attention. Not now, not when his son is hurt, not when he needs him, not when he—

“This new Gem who popped up out of nowhere today! Bismuth. She’s apparently like one of Garnet and Pearl’s old Crystal Gem buddies, and I thought she was pretty okay for a bit, but then Steven just up and disappears, and when he comes back he’s with her and he’s split apart, and one of them is cracked, a—“

“Wait, wait, wait- hold on, you keeping saying that, that he’s split apart?”

She nods in confirmation. Greg can practically feel the age weighing on his body as his bare feet leave the boardwalk and scurry through the sand. His pace doubles, the mere thought of his son injured and (dying??) in pain thrumming in his mind like a rocker’s drumbeat.

“W-what does that even- is there blood, is he still breathing??” he cries, yanking at his hair.

Realization dawns on her face in a wide mouthed ‘o’ when met with his near-meltdown. “Oh. OH, no I didn’t mean like, ‘cut in half’ split apart, I mean that he’s literally fallen apart! There’s squishy organic Steven, and then there’s this creepy pink Steven that’s entirely projected by his gem!”

“His gem fell out of his body!?”

“Dude,” she says, motioning sharply towards the cliffside, “we ain’t got no time to discuss the nitty gritty of this, we gotta hurry!”

With that, she pushes steadily ahead of him, leaving him in the dust- er, sand.

“No time to- Amethyst,” he shouts after her, “for all I‘m aware my son could be dying ‘cause of that, I need to know!!”

Amethyst doesn’t listen, though. Her gemstone glows bright purple, and then she disappears completely into a sphere of white light that rips across the shore at the speed of a stock-car racer. Or faster, maybe— he genuinely doesn’t know. He swears he could hear a mini sonic boom.

“Wait! WAIT!” he yells, throwing his hand in the air as he pushes himself even faster. A sharp pull in his calves causes him to slow to a stop. He doubles over, heaving for breath as he rests his hands on his knees. “I’m not a young man anymore!“

A distant, disembodied voice shoots his way from somewhere on the other side of the cliff. “Just run faster, you’re only like, 40 or somethin’.”

“I can’t!” he says, his voice practically cracking. “That’s the problem!”

Notes:

A bit of a short breather chapter, here- for both you and me.

I imagine Amethyst was holding back her panic last chapter, because she didn't want to further upset Steven. It's only now- apart from him- that she allows herself to finally break down a little.

Greg is so, so fun to write. I think it should worry me that I relate so much to this poor anxiety man.

[xeno-odyssey]

Top 10 (Slightly Revised) Smash Ultimate - Fighters Pass Predictions

Keep in mind, these are fighters I personally want in Smash Ultimate. With the surprise reveal of Joker, and that he’ll be joining the roster soon with only a month away, anything is possible at this point. Also, Mii Costumes and Spirits usually does not mean a fighter is de-confirmed. For example, Mario is a fighter and he has multiple Spirits of himself from other Mario games. This will be a slightly lengthy list, so I’ll put a cut underneath.

Rex & Pyra/Mythra - Xenoblade Chronicles 2 Unfortunately they did not make it into the final roster as Smash Ultimate’s development period was around the time Xenoblade 2 released in December 2017, and Smash Ultimate released the next year. As compensation, we got a Mii Fighter costume of Rex if we pre-purchased the Fighters Pass DLC for free. I still have hope for Rex being in Smash. Some people say they want Pyra & Mythra as solo fighters, I have to disagree on that. They share their life-force with Rex, and without him as the Driver, they’re not at full strength, even if they are the Aegises. I COULD see Mythra as a solo fighter, should Sakurai and his team choose to use her Torna iteration. For their special attacks and Final Smash, here’s what I got: Sword Bash in Neutral-B, Rolling Smash is Side-B, Double Spinning Edge is Up-B akin to Link’s Spin Attack, and Down-B can be Blade Switch by changing between Pyra or Mythra respectively. For Rex’s Grab, it can be Anchor Shot akin to Young/Toon Link’s Hookshot, and it can also work as a tether-grab on ledges. For their Final Smash, it can be something like how Ryu and Ken have a 2-in-one Final Smash; Chain Attack - Burning Sword (Pyra), and Chain Attack - Sacred Arrow (Mythra). Rex call upon either Nia & Dromarch, Tora & Poppi, Mòrag & Brighid, and/or Zeke & Pandoria. They let their Blades go all out with the Special Attacks, and Rex deals the finishing blow with Pyra or Mythra using either of their respective Level 4 Special Attack.

Elma - Xenoblade Chronicles X Elma is one of many highly requested fighters to be in Smash, especially during the Fighter Ballot back in 2016 for Smash 4. Even if Elma doesn’t make, I can see the avatar, Cross, be in it. Elma’s moveset can be directly pulled from her origin game, and from Xenoblade 2: Neutral-B is Stream Edge, Side-B is Sliding Slinger, Up-B is Shadow Strike, and Down-B is Ghost Factory as counter akin to Lucario’s Double Team. For her Final Smash, it can be call Full Metal Jaguar Overdrive: This can be similar to Shulk’s Chain Attack in a way. Elma activates Overdrive, then splits clones of herself with Ghost Factory like in her boss fight from Xenoblade 2. Elma and her clones then go all out using moves like Violent Streak, Executioner, Electric Surge, Hundred Shells, and the original Elma finishes the attack with her signature Art being Shadow Strike. For a special aesthetic, one of Elma’s alternate costumes can be her True Form, where she’s actually one of the mysterious peaceful aliens trying to protect humanity from the Ganglion Alliance.

Kazuma Kiryu - Yakuza series I know what some of you might be thinking; “But Kiryu has never been on a Nintendo console before!” This is where I say, not true! The first two Yakuza games had HD ports on the Wii U. Sales didn’t do so well though.... But that’s okay! If we can get characters like Bayonetta and Joker, why not Kiryu? For Kiryu’s fighting style taken straight from 0 and Kiwami 1 & 2, he has Brawler, Rush, Beast, and Dragon of Dojima. For most of his standard and aerial attacks, Kiryu can use both Brawler and DoD styles. When dodging, that’s where Rush Style comes in. For his grab attacks and throws, Beast Style is in play. So all in all, Kiryu will mainly be using Dragon of Dojima with hints of his other 3 fighting styles mixed into one, just like in Kiwami 2 and onward. I’m not entirely sure what his B-specials can be like, but they’ll be something straight out of his DoD style. For example, his Down-B can be the Tiger Drop as a counterattack, where Kiryu gut-punches foes causing them to be stunned, similar to Ryu & Ken’s Focus Attack. For his Final Smash, Kiryu goes into Extreme Heat, unleashing powerful Heat Action attacks on anyone that gets in his way. The finisher is using his signature high kick, causing foes to be sent flying. A Kiwami symbol (極) will appear as an aesthetic when the Final Smash is finished.

Byleth - Fire Emblem: Three Houses With FE: 3 Houses recently announced and coming to Nintendo Switch soon, it won’t be a surprise if yet another FE avatar makes it into the roster alongside Robin and Corrin. Corrin especially since both them and Roy were originally put into Smash to promote both of their respective origin games. Roy being The Binding Blade, and Corrin being Fates of course. Robin, Corrin, and Byleth. Wouldn’t that be amazing? As of making this list, we don’t know much of Byleth other than they can use swords and have mysterious powers in Three Houses and how that’ll be incorporated into Smash Ultimate, but I have a feeling they’ll be an original FE fighter much like Robin & Corrin. Robin using their tomes & Levin Sword, Corrin wielding the Omega Yato & using their Dragon Fang ability, so I’m curious and I’d like to see what Byleth could bring to the table.

Shantae - Shantae series Reminder once again, Spirits don’t usually de-confirm fighters. In Smash Ultimate, Shantae & Risky’s Spirits are represented in their Half-Genie Hero appearances & design. So what I’m thinking is that we can bring in the “recent” Shantae iteration from one of her more popular games being The Pirate’s Curse. Shantae’s Smash design can be a mix of all of her past and present iterations, like her vest from PC. All of Shantae’s attacks can derive from all of her games. She can use her magic, and use other means of weapons & attacks from Pirate’s Curse. Shantae can be slightly similar to Robin, and how they use swords & magic. Like she can use her signature Hair Whip attack on the ground, shoot magic fireballs or use a flintlock pistol for projectile attacks, and use a pirate cutlass for her aerial attacks. She can even use moves like Power, Drill & Uppercut Kicks. Her dodge can even come from her notable Backdash. Her most iconic magical bellydances can be her special attacks, and her taunts. Shantae’s Final Smash can be something like unleashing powerful Genie Magic via her magic bellydancing.

Phoenix Wright - Ace Attorney series & VS. Capcom series I mean, c’mon now. We gotta have another joke-fighter in Smash. Nick works as a joke fighter in the VS. Capcom games because most of his moves are taken from his games and from Project X Zone 2. Shouting an “Objection!” can be a forward-Smash attack, his Up-B can be a powerful sneeze, and other attacks can involve his partners such as Maya & Pearl Fey (with the Steel Samurai), Apollo Justice, and Athena Cykes. For his Final Smash, the name can be something like “Final Evidence Presentation” A.K.A., “TAKE THAT!” Phoenix presents the final key evidence on the “suspect”, belittling them even further that they were at the crime scene with no alibi and hope left, with the finisher being a powerful “TAKE THAT!” shout sending the suspects flying. For this, both Apollo and Athena join Nick like they both did in Dual Destinies.

Neku Sakuraba - The World Ends With You I was one of the people that voted for Neku to be in Smash during the Fighter Ballot. If you’ve played TWEWY, you probably already know how Neku can fight. Most of Neku’s powers come from pins, allowing him to use pyrokinesis, electrokinesis, shockwaves, energy projectiles, quakes, soundwaves, and more. If he were to be a fighter, Neku can be similar to Robin. In his game, the pins’ powers have a limit use and time limit. After a certain amount of use, Neku must wait to use the pin again until it reboots. This goes for all of his special attacks. Neutral-B can be Energy/Force Rounds, Side-B can be Shockwave akin to Marth/Lucina/Roy’s Dancing Blade, Up-B is Vulcan Uppercut or Teleport, and his Down-B is Pyrokinesis which is controllable. Neku’s Final Smash will be Final Fusion. He summons Shiki, Joshua and Beat where they put all of their power in the Harmonizer Pin with Neku dealing the finishing blow. If Final Fusion manages to KO opponents, this fully reboots all of Neku’s pins.

Monster Hunter - Monster Hunter series Smash Ultimate feels nearly complete as it already has the armor as Mii Costumes and Rathalos as a boss & Assist Trophy. I know very little of the Monster Hunter games, but they can work as a fighter with their various weapons.

Ruby Rose - RWBY series Ruby seems very unlikely for a fighting game like Smash Ultimate, but she already has her own game which is RWBY: Grimm Eclipse, and stars in another crossover fighting game being BLAZBLUE: Cross Tag Battle. But what she can bring to the table is that she’s the most unique fighter out of everyone in Smash. Ruby wields her favorite weapon, Crescent Rose, a high-impact sniper-rifle scythe hybrid weapon. Most of her attacks from the show involve using her Speed Semblance, and attacking from a distance thanks to the rifle part. In a way, she can be similar to Bayonetta as both characters uses guns and attack from far away. Her speed can even match Sonic’s and Shulk’s Monado Speed. For Ruby’s Final Smash, it can be similar to Shulk’s Chain Attack, where she summons the rest of Team RWBY; Weiss, Blake, and Yang. All four girls use their unique team attacks, and the finishing blow is all four of them attacking together with their respective weapons.

Sora - Kingdom Hearts series Sora is on the very bottom for this list because I feel he’s highly unlikely to be the next DLC fighter. He’s technically a Disney character, and Square-Enix is usually careful with their IPs, though some producers seem to be okay with his inclusion in Smash Ultimate. Anyway, should Sora become a fighter, of course he would bring his Keyblade, the Kingdom Key to the battle. All of his attacks can derive from his origin games, like moves from Limit & Second Form. Sliding Dash is his Dash-Attack, Ripple Drive can be his Up-Smash, Stun Impact can be his Down-Smash akin to Zero Suit Samus’s, and Magnet Burst can be a Neutral-Air as an example. I’m not sure what his Neutral-B will be like though for the rest of the Special Attacks; Side-B will be Strike Raid akin to Link’s boomerang, Up-B is Aeroga, and Down-B is a Counterattack being Zantetzuken (or even his latest reprisals from KH3). Sora’s Final Smash is a bit tricky as he has a lot of powerful finishers and attacks. They can be either Ragnarok, Sonic Blade, Ars Arcanum, Union χ, Ancient Light, or Trinity where he teams up with Donald & Goofy to unleash a powerful attack.

[thunderheadfred]

Red Streak [3.3]

Chapter 03: One of Those Faces [Part 3 of 3. Revised August 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane Human Embassy, Citadel 2183 CE

Shepard leaned into the walking stick Chakwas had forced on her and tried keep her head from swimming. Ambassador Udina was throwing his third hissy in as many minutes, and Shepard was already disoriented for any number of reasons, most of them related - directly or indirectly - to the psychotic turian who had stabbed her on Eden Prime. The constant burning ache in her abdomen had sapped her patience, but Udina's constant bickering threatened to break her completely.

She loosened the top button of her formal blues, desperate for any kind of relief from the sour atmosphere in the Ambassador's office. The meeting, now in its third hour, had finally escalated far enough to demand the Council's direct attention.

Full-size holographic projections of the three Council members flickered in the center of Udina’s immaculate, palatial office. Sparatus, the ghostly turian third of the holographic trio, glanced at Shepard and raised an ethereal, disdainful brow. Straightening reflexively, she realized the Councilor had been watching her fidget, had noticed her disheveled uniform. A humiliated flop of acid lined her gut, and she dropped the impatient hand from her neck. Goddammit.

Just as she was settling into a good grovel, Udina's sharp, high voice ruined the effect.

“This is an outrage!” the Ambassador cried, practically stomping his foot.

Shepard clamped her eyes shut as a new wave of nauseating overstimulation tore her last nerve to shreds. Yes, it was an outrage. Why did humanity's foremost representative have to be so loud? So whiny? Politicians were supposed to be all about tact, weren’t they? She wondered if Udina had misplaced his somewhere.

“The Council would step in if the geth attacked a turian colony!”

Sparatus rolled his eyes and countered automatically, dry as a bone. “The turians don’t found colonies on the borders of the Terminus Systems, Ambassador. You knew the risks when humanity went into the Traverse.”

Kryik had been looming moodily at Shepard’s six, but the Spectre couldn’t keep his silence any longer. He knocked Udina out of the way before the Ambassador could embarrass himself any further.

“Forget humanity’s poor choice of colony worlds,” Kryik said. “What are you going to do about Saren? You can’t just ignore him, not anymore. With so many dead, you won’t be able to stay quiet regarding Eden Prime. He was there. Somehow, word will spread. You have to condemn him, revoke his Spectre status, declare him traitor to the cause. Anything, to keep the Alliance and the Hierarchy from bombing one another to ash. And you have to do it now.”

Sparatus flared his mandibles and looked ready to cut the Spectre in half, but Councilor Tevos insinuated her voice between the two turians with all of her customary asari diplomacy.

“Nihlus, please restrain yourself. Aside from the testimony of the people in this room, there is no evidence to suggest that Saren was involved. In any way. As far as the public is aware, Eden Prime was destroyed in a random geth incursion. Tragic, of course, but one of the many perils of maintaining a resource-rich settlement in such close proximity to the Terminus.”

Valern, the salarian Councilor, interrupted with a bland, lecturing tone. “Citadel Security is investigating your charges against Saren. We will discuss the official findings at the hearing tomorrow, not bef-”

Abruptly, Kryik brought his fist down on Udina’s console, ending the call.

Shepard wondered if becoming a Spectre meant she too would get the opportunity to be so dismissive to the most powerful dignitaries in the galaxy. The idea of cutting off the Council mid-sentence; it made her tingly all over.

A voice muttered from the balcony, “And that’s why I hate politicians…”

Williams. Briefly, Shepard met her eye. Williams quirked a thick eyebrow, then looked back out on the Presidium, her shoulders tight. Beside the Chief, Lieutenant Alenko shook his head, too polite to agree out loud. Nonetheless, Williams had read the room with great accuracy. It hadn’t gone well.

That was no surprise. Anyone with half a brain would be skeptical of the story that the Normandy had brought back from Eden Prime. Galactic stability would be left dangling by a thread if those three Council assholes overreacted, and so far, everything Shepard’s team had reported smacked of madness. Corpses on spikes… the dead come to life… hoards of mutated geth… a rogue Spectre torturing a beloved Matriarch… a world-swallowing alien dreadnought...

It sounded insane, even to Shepard, and she’d been the one almost stabbed to death in the middle of it. At best, her crew’s combined credibility was dubious. At worst, it was complete crap. She knew better than to think this story was believable to anyone who hadn't been there.

The bitterest pill of all: every surviving eyewitnesses was useless. Alenko and Williams had only seen half of the action. Kryik had a public, pre-existing grudge-match against Saren. Shepard had just come out the wrong side of a brain-blitzing from the Beacon, in addition to having more personal reasons to besmirch the Arterius family name than anyone. And, of course, every useful scrap of data from Eden Prime had been obliterated along with millions of colonists, every corroborating soul dead to the last.

Even Shepard had to admit that the Council - conniving spiders though they were - had been wedged between a rock and a hard place. Their self-serving obfuscations had led to Eden Prime's destruction, of that she had no doubt. But as much as Shepard despised their backroom methods, the slimy, spineless tactics that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place, she had to allow that the politicians had a grueling clean up ahead. She didn't envy them the task, even if they'd brought it on themselves.

Anderson gave Shepard a brief, exhausted look, then went to collect his star witness marines.

Kryik approached, nodding his head toward the door of the Ambassador's office.

"Walk with me, Shepard.”

Udina, meanwhile, had installed himself at his desk to sulk. He failed to acknowledge either Shepard or Kyrik as they passed him on the way out.

As soon as the office door was closed and Udina was safely out of earshot, Shepard muttered, “What an asshole.”

Kryik kept walking, already several paces ahead. Shepard, enfeebled by her medically-mandated walking stick, was moving much slower than she cared to admit.

“Thank you, Shepard," Kryik said, speaking over his shoulder without slowing up. "Do you have any other witticisms that might help us single-handedly incriminate a rogue Spectre and take down his army of the alien undead?”

Shepard tugged at the uncomfortable lump of her stomach bandage. She rankled beneath her uniform, an itch so deep that she longed to scratch the regenerating skin of her internal organs. It was the most perverse craving she had ever felt, disturbing enough to stop her dead in her tracks. She smoothed the front of her blues, swallowing the itch. Kryik got to the sliding glass partition on the far end of the corridor before he realized he was alone. With an irritated grunt, he doubled back to fetch her.

As he rounded, Shepard continued to pick at her uniform, just to be a brat.

She said, “Here's an idea. Let’s tackle one insurmountable task at a time. We aren’t going to disavow our mutual friend without solid evidence. So - where do start dusting for fingerprints?”

Kryik smacked Shepard's hand away from her uniform, too classy to say smart ass out loud. All the same, she smirked.

“I’ve got some Shadow Broker contacts," he said. "Old eyes and ears. I’ll start there. Until the Council officially makes you a Spectre, you should stick to the lawful channels, keep your hands clean. Unlikely that C-Sec has much, they’ve always failed me in the past, but who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Shepard knew she was being handed the grout-cleaning detail, and had no choice but to smile and take the toothbrush.

"Hired transport," He said. "This way."

Keeping pace with her now, Kryik led Shepard to a cab and helped her fall gracelessly into a seat. He grunted instructions to the driver, a smallish, bronze-colored salarian who seemed thoroughly bored with his job.

“Kithoi. C-Sec Academy."

The salarian nodded, and Kryik engaged the privacy screen.

Now unobserved, he leaned toward Shepard and said, “I’ll get you through the door, introduce you to Executor Pallin. He'll be useless, as far as hard evidence is concerned, refuses to believe that a Spectre could have anything but the Council’s best interests at heart. You’ll have to coordinate with whoever he’s got working the official investigation. Hopefully someone halfway competent this time, but my hopes aren't high. I’ll make sure Internal Affairs gives you full Spectre clearance, and I trust you to push that advantage as far as you can. Upend every data system in their office if you have to. Pallin can whine about it all he likes.”

“Spectre clearance? Isn't that premature? I haven't officially agreed to this candidacy--”

Kryik cut her off.

“Like it or not, you're going to be a Spectre, and soon. The public response to Eden Prime is already turning ugly. Saren's name hasn't been dropped, but it will. The Council doesn't want to admit they failed, but they need a flashy diversion right about now. That's you.”

No matter how incensed she was by Kryik's maneuvering, Shepard couldn't pretend to be surprised. As a Spectre, Shepard could be a double-edged sword disguised as an olive branch. A desperate grab to placate the human interest groups who were still demanding reparations for Shanxi, all while bending the knee to Palaven. Exactly as she'd suspected: a show animal.

“Before all this shit hit the fan, why did you really nominate me?" She stared out the window and clutched the walking stick for dear life. "All this grand gesturing on your part… but really? You just wanted to strike a petty blow at Saren, didn't you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, which in her estimation was as good as an explicit confirmation.

“I don’t appreciate being made into your pawn,” she added.

“Get used to it,” He said, cold and firm as a packed snowdrift.

The rest of the cab ride droned on in awkward silence. Shepard passed her walking stick between her hands and stared at the sprawling cityscape as the cab descended into one of the darkened ward arms, wishing that her stomach would stop hurting as if she’d had part of her guts ripped out. It was a petulant, childish kind of thing to want, but Shepard didn’t care - she hated the inconvenience, the sheer bodily embarrassment of being injured this badly. It made everything more difficult than it should have been, even avoiding Kryik's eyes.

Nearly fifteen minutes later in the center of Kithoi Ward, the cab finally slowed in front of the entrance to C-Sec Academy.

Shepard blinked hard. Once. Twice.

Nope, not a hallucination: that was definitely Eddie "Ripper" Lang, in full Citadel Security deputy blues.

What the hell had the galaxy come to, if Lang had given up his ludicrous teenage ambitions of single handedly ruling the Blue Suns… and taken up life as a beat cop? Shepard allowed Kryik to help her out of the car, then she walked herself through Lang’s path, wondering if he’d recognize her.

“Ginger Jane?”

Bingo.

“Lang,” she said, carefully. “Never thought I’d see you wearing that uniform. Isn’t that the wrong shade of blue?”

There was no nostalgia in her voice. Mindoir had few happy memories outside of the safe haven of her pari’s spaceport, and Lang had never been a particularly good egg.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “Yeah, Ripper went C-Sec. Crazy, right? After what those batarian bastards did to us, I couldn’t… the mercs didn’t seem like such a great option anymore, you know? I got the chance to get my ass out of the Terminus and I figured I’d start over, try to do something useful for a change.”

He seemed completely reformed, an honest to God change of heart. But stranger things had happened - quite recently.

“Well done, Lang. Going totally clean slate: that’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Damn, it really is you. Jane the Ginger Cuttlebone.”

Kryik squinted at Lang from Shepard’s side. The Spectre was too lofty to be offended by the anti-turian slur, but he did seem annoyed by the common, vulgar nonsense of it nonetheless.

“Sorry,” Lang amended. “Old habits die hard. Anyway, you’re Commander Shepard now, aren’t you? Jesus. I saw what you did in the Blitz, your acceptance speech for the Star of Terra. And after that… man. You were all over the news. The press couldn’t get enough of your extra-special dad; can’t imagine the Alliance was crazy about it though. How’d you manage to raise in ranks after everyone found out?”

Shepard pursed her lips.

Shortly after doing her part to root out the last batarian slavers in the Skyllian Verge, a snoopy reporter had unearthed the truth about Shepard’s unconventional childhood. Overnight, her promising military accolades had been instantly eclipsed by the sleazy draw of tabloid celebrity. Alliance channels had aired an endless barrage of scathing interviews, ruthless op-eds, and unlicensed documentaries on Shepard’s origins. The more cosmopolitan Citadel reporters had mostly kept their noses out of it until the frenzy passed, considering the whole affair a backwards, low-brow human urban myth, not to be bothered with. For most asari, mixed-species families had been commonplace for centuries, were practically expected - nothing newsworthy in and of itself. As for the Hierarchy, Palaven’s more prestigious networks had kept suspiciously mum on the subject of Regidonis, but the gossip had spread through the military like a bad rash anyway.

Through the harsh limelight, Shepard had never wavered in her loyalties, but few people - regardless of species - had cottoned to Shepard’s special brand of propaganda. The rare, candid recordings when Shepard spoke of her parents proudly and firmly, her head high and her shoulders back, her notas clenched into a bleeding fist, those were the glimpses of truth that sold poorly, or never aired at all.

Shepard realized she’d been quiet too long.

“I can hold my own,” she said.

“No shit.” Lang laughed, impressed. “Still. All those stories made me crazy mad, you know? After everything he did for us… He saved my worthless life, for one. And people still call him the Jailor of Shanxi, it doesn’t seem right…”

As he babbled, Shepard flinched. The Jailor of Shanxi: her pari’s dishonorable nickname. After everything else that had been dredged out of the past and thrown in her face over the last few days, that was a most unwelcome final straw.

Lang realized his mistake.

“Ahhh shit Commander. Fuck those people. He was alright by me. I bet your old man is up in the sky right now, laughing his ass off about that old mercenary wannabe farmer kid from Mindoir: schlepping paperwork for turian cops on the Citadel.”

It took some effort, but she held out her hand to give him a firm, reassuring shake.

“He wouldn’t laugh at you, Eddie. He would be proud.” After a beat, she added, “And then he’d tell you to stop swearing so damn much.”

Lang nodded, surprising her with the sheen of emotion in his eyes.

“Let me know if you need anything, Commander.”

“Keep up the good work.”

He released her hand.

Kryik had already started for the Academy entrance. She hobbled after him, grumbling at his persistent, backbreaking aloofness.

“Touching reunion,” he said when she finally caught up. “Can we get back to work now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Glad to know your complete disinterest in the struggles of the common man remains intact. Show me this Executor so I can start trying to work the stick out of his ass for you.”

“By all means.” Kryik gestured broadly toward the entrance, as if presenting her with a game show boobie prize. “We’re just in time to interrupt him mid-reprimand.”

Kryik’ judgmental stare pointed her into the main lobby of the C-Sec offices, where the Executor was energetically arguing with a turian officer half his age.

Shepard had to admit that Kryik’s personal vendetta against the head of C-Sec made him seem ever so slightly more relatable. Only people with feelings could hold grudges, and while Kryik certainly had a bullet saved for Saren, that was too obvious, too easy. Hating Pallin seemed like such a low bar in comparison, and with no real explanation. There were a million scenarios Shepard could come up with for why Kryik might have had it out for the Executor. Her favorite and most ridiculous was: nasty top versus bottom breakup.

She snickered stupidly, then followed Kryik toward his prey.

“Saren’s hiding something. Give me more time. Stall them.”

This from the young officer that Pallin was attempting to berate. Shepard's ears perked, glad that at least one officer in Pallin's department was willing to push back.

“Stall the Council? Don’t be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus.”

As Kryik approached, drawing Pallin’s attention, the Executor’s face earthquaked into an expression tantamount to murder-by-eyeball.

“Pallin," Kryik said, sub-vocals dull and unflattering. "Is this who you’ve got heading up C-Sec’s investigation into Saren?”

“He was, but it’s over now. As usual, there was nothing to find.” Pallin growled, his patience long gone. “I’m about to finalize the report for tomorrow’s hearing. After this latest failure, will you finally be done wasting my time and budget on this fruitless grudge between Spectres?”

“Unlikely.” Kryik snubbed the Executor and turned to the younger torin. “Did you find something I should know about?”

“Maybe. I got a surprise lead this morning but I haven’t had the chance to follow up on it.”

“I can pull some strings upstairs - get you as much time as you need.” Kryik turned his acidic glare back to the Executor. “Now, Pallin, if you don’t mind getting back to all that beloved paperwork you left in your office, I need to borrow your detective.”

The sulfur in the Spectre’s tone brooked no argument, and Pallin relented, stomping off with a surprising amount of bluster for a torin of his age and rank. Shepard was delighted by the theatrics; it was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. Kryik: confirmed top.

He addressed the young investigator again, terse and to the point.

“C-Sec, you really think this lead of yours is enough to prove Saren’s gone rogue?”

“It’s as close as I’ve ever gotten to that slippery bastard; I’ll make it good enough.”

“Do whatever it takes. I’ll keep Pallin off your back. We need to nail Saren to the wall this time; he’s become too big of a risk. I’ve got my own angles to work, so I won’t be tailing your investigation personally. This is Commander Shepard. She’s a protégé of sorts, reports directly to me; full disclosure. Whatever intel you dig up on Saren, share it with her, no questions asked.”

Having acknowledged the C-Sec officer to the best of his ability, Kryik rounded on Shepard as if the other torin had suddenly dropped into dark space.

“We’ll reconvene tonight for dinner at Anderson's. Your Captain wants a heart-to-heart. In the meantime, pick the Citadel clean.” She thought he was done, but then he cut back in with a strangely accommodating sub-vocal. “And make sure you rack some hours. You may think you’re still training at Cipritine Academy, but you’re operating on far too little sleep for a human. Not to mention this new hole. That can’t be good for you.”

Kryik poked her crudely in the side, a few inches above the raw soreness of her oozing abdominal wound, surprising her with the literal stab at humor. She nodded, not trusting herself to respond, and watched him walk away.

As he retreated, Kryik called back over his shoulder: "C-Sec. Rack time. Make sure she gets it. I authorize deadly force if necessary."

Jokes, from Nihlus Kryik. Maybe this protégé thing went both ways. Shepard shook her head and turned to get a look at the young detective she’d been handed off to so suddenly. Pleasingly, he appeared perfectly accommodating; that was a welcome change. There was something familiar about him - inviting, even - and that threw her for a loop. She extended her grip to receive his arm in proper turian form, startled to find she was suddenly nervous.

“Well officer…" She laughed, a quick cover up. "Looks like the grownups decided that we should be playmates on this one. Jane Shepard, good to meet you.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he gaped at Shepard's hands, at the red lacquer on her fingernails. Turians rarely showed their bare hands in public. Displaying naked talons to a stranger was considered pretty rude, so she supposed it might have been jarring for him to encounter so much superfluous decoration on a bare hand. Especially a scrawny monkey paw laden with extra fingers.

After a few seconds of baffling silence he got over the interspecies awkwardness and enthusiastically took her arm.

“Garrus Vakarian," he said.

He squeezed her elbow, looked directly into her eyes, and smiled.

In the center of her chest, something creaked.

Alarmed, she read the familia notas of his face and wondered if they'd met before, but nothing stuck. Hopefully she hadn't knocked out any of his teeth at the Academy - if she had, he certainly didn't seem bent out of shape about it. His simple, geometric marks were C-Sec blue, covering a face that was well-matched to that color. A relaxed, good-humored expression worn handsomely over young, clean features.

He wore blue all over: his eyes, his tactical visor, his armor. Blue. Top to bottom. Everywhere her eyes traveled, that color seemed to follow, and it looked especially good on him.

Blinking slowly, she eased her arm from his grip. She coughed, trying to recover.

“It’s obvious that my boss doesn’t take no for an answer, what about yours? Everything alright with the Executor?”

He laughed, his eyes changing. That gaze, now bright and disarming; so very, very blue.

“Oh, he’s always breathing down my neck about something. It’s one of his favorite pastimes: wrapping his fists in red tape and using Vakarian as his own personal punching bag.”

“Sounds like you really want to bring Saren down.”

“Everything about Saren rubs me the wrong way, but he’s a Spectre. Whatever he touches is instantly classified. Still, I know he’s up to something. Like you humans say, I feel it in my gut.”

She chuckled guardedly. He was charming. That could be dangerous.

“Go figure," she said, deciding to test the waters. "I have that gut feeling too. Because Saren stabbed me real bad. Right here.”

She pointed. Right there.

The twinkling back-light returned to his eyes, more intensely than before. One of his mandibles flared in an involuntary half-grin, then he dissolved into a rich, full laugh, like he couldn't believe his luck. Like he'd just struck gold.

Days of stress lifted breezily from Shepard’s shoulders as he jostled her arm.

“Well, what would you say to some medi-gel for that stomachache? My treat." He walked beside her to the exit and took his sweet time about it, employing the occasional, unnecessary guiding touch to her elbow. Professional contact, but only just. "Our lead is at a clinic in Zakera Ward. A quarian limped into Doctor Michel’s this morning with a gunshot wound - insisted she was hounded by Saren’s hired thugs because she has intel about the geth.”

She gave Vakarian an appraising once-over as he continued to patiently lead the way, taking her right back past Lang - who waved - then up a sharp staircase into a bustling lower level of Kithoi. He took the stairs two at a time, bounding upward with a sheer, goofy burst of excitement that came from nowhere and left Shepard in the dust, dizzy.

Remembering his companion was walking with a limp, Vakarian checked himself and waited at the top landing, looking sincerely embarrassed and terribly young.

“Vakarian." She called to him as she climbed, slightly out of breath. "If this is how excited you get when you can’t find any hard evidence, I’d love to see what leaves you truly stumped.”

"Well, there's this Quasar game Doran just installed in Flux.” He laughed again; easy. "And I've always been troubled by this particular shade of red..."

As he held out his hand to help her up the last step, she reeled with a raw, uncanny sense of déjà vu. His beaming grin, lit by a dozen different shades of lower-ward neon, was too familiar to be a mistake.

Her stomach filled with butterflies. Good or bad, she knew them for parasites. Tamping down her nerves, she tried for casual.

“Quasar?" Instead of taking his offered hand, she made two stubborn fists. Hiding her nails, for all the good it would do. "You a gambling man?”

He shrugged, moving toward a lift station.

“Sort of. On my nights off, I’ve been trying to trace a credit-funneling hack I found on one of Doran’s new Quasar machines. It keeps pinging me around half the lower wards. Stumped.”

“Really.” She frowned, smothering a weird, nervous smile. “Let’s make a deal. If we manage to make significant headway on this case by happy hour, we’ll swing over to the bar and take another look at your misbehaving slot machine.” She cracked her neck, suddenly thirsty. “After the shakedown cruise going FUBAR, I could use a break. Wouldn’t say no to a long tall Tom Collins, either.”

She closed her mouth; that had come out of nowhere. FUBAR indeed.

“Who’s Tom Collins?” he asked, a completely unfamiliar sub-vocal lacing his voice. Not unfriendly, but unfamiliar, almost like he was in on some great joke without her.

There was a temporary lull as Vakarian summoned an elevator; they stood shoulder to shoulder and she suddenly realized just how tall he was. Tall, warm, and standing much closer than he needed to.

She tensed. This was stupid. She had to disengage.

“Oh, he’s a drink: an old-timey Earth favorite I picked up from my C.O.”

“Really.”

“Truth is, I’m zero fun in bars. That 'wild redhead' human myth is a complete fabrication. One drink limit, and no dancing. Ever.”

“No dancing.”

“Ever.”

The elevator arrived with a polite ding, and Shepard tried to avoid Vakarian's raking gaze as they stepped inside. She was surprised he was pushing this far, and this fast. Moreover, she was surprised to find herself pushing back.

The squeeze of impatient citizens forced them to stand closer together, and she noticed that twinkle in his eyes again. It was twinkling far too brightly for comfort now, strobing blue-blue-blue like a flashing police light. He pulled her over, leaned even closer, stepped more intentionally into her space.

Shepard tried not to notice, tried to feign genuine interest in the tinny muzak and the bored mutterings of the crowd. She attempted an advanced study of the gaudy, gold-plated enviro-suit of the volus standing directly in front of her, but it was all for nothing, Vakarian was standing too close.

“Jane Shepard." He whispered her name deliberately, moving closer still. "You know, there's something awfully suspicious about you…”

Her stomach plummeted.

Oh no. Not this. Anything but this.

“I have one of those faces,” she said, forcing her voice to go white and starch-stiff, waving the flag of surrender.

“No. Believe me, Red. You really, really don’t.”

She bristled at the cutesy nickname - some low jab at Regidonis, surely. Vakarian had seemed so nice. It would be pure cosmic schadenfreude if the charming C-Sec investigator with the dreamy Presidium-blue eyes turned out to be just as much a pest as every other trumped-up torin with a bone to pick.

Her muscles tensed, fists tightening. Would she be forced to recite the same tired script until the day that the universe finally dissolved into entropy? How many times would she need to repeat: He was the only father I ever knew. Now take your hands off me, you insolent coward, and prepare to duel et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. She was tired of throwing punches.

First, she tried peacekeeping: “Let’s not do this, okay? Leave the past where it belongs.”

Recognition scribbled across his features with even bolder lines.

“Spirits, I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

So much for the kindness of strangers. All she could do was mourn her good mood as it plunged straight to the bottom of the elevator shaft with a wounded and stifled kerplop.

Insulting, but she’d been forced to fend off worse.

Vakarian was practically on top of her now, asserting himself just like the countless presumptuous, aggressive torini that had come before. The sharp jut of his hip probed suggestively into her lower back, his hot breath tickled the side of her neck, and he leaned so close that she could smell him: aquatic and refreshing. Goddammit, what a waste.

He leaned down to whisper directly in her ear.

“I know exactly what you are.”

She braced for impact, preparing. He was the only father I ever knew, now take your hands off me -

“You’re the wild redhead I arrested on my very first night at C-Sec.”

[agent-7-at-your-service]

Future Plot: Project Titanomachy - Chapter 27

(( Camille belongs to @inklingleesquidly

Nebula belongs to @myzzy and @agenttwo

Agent 0 belongs to @son-of-joy

Sylver (mentioned) belongs to @twelvetailedkitsune

Emerald and Sapphire belong to @son-of-joy and @twelvetailedkitsune

Celeste belongs to @alpinesquid

Telemachus, Justinian, and Hera belong to me.

Those not mentioned or in this chapter belong to @a-demo-of-a-hero , @askvincent / @asktheseastars , @evora-flux , @splat-tendency , @eiden-calamar , @petit-blu-inkling , and others.

The Titan Fortress - Skies of the Gunma Prefecture - 5:00 AM

While the battles were raging outside, Camille's party was going to start a third on in the Titan Fortress.

The halls of the Fortress were distorted into geometric impossibilities of bismuth and marble. The columns were twisted, their stairs are in mid-air, walls and ceilings are falling apart like puzzle pieces instead of rubble. The chambers and rooms were also distorted with the furniture and ornaments becoming unusual structures of jewels and alloys.

Chamber, The Titan Fortress -Skies of the Gunma Prefectures and Saitama Prefecture - 8:00 AM

Camille's party can barely tell which way is to Cronus and Rhea, but Hera's ESP managed to guide them through the complexing maze of the fortress. They reached a mosaic dome chamber without a floor, yet they were able to walk on nothingness as if the floor was just one huge clear glass window. Camille's party can see that the fortress moving as they can see the two that were going on below; they can also see that the Titans Coeus and Theia were now eliminated.

The two battle were soon merging into one. The forces defending Inkopolis were some reason retreating.

"What the -- impossible!" Justinian shouted.

"Look!" Celeste pointed to unusual black rain drops that are coming from the Fortress they're on.

When those drops landed, the Typhonian Horde began doubling in numbers to the point that overwhelmed the Agents and Allies. However, Hephaestus had tricks up his sleeves by summoning Hekatonkheires mechs; three colossal bronze automatons with a thousand arms can be seen slowly walking toward the horde and throwing rocks at them.

"The war doesn't look good so far...... Mom, Dad,... please be okay..." Nebula worried.

"Hey, I bet they'll be fine." Camille puts one hand on Nebula's shoulder.

".....Someone's coming," Hera warned.

The party wasn't the only one in this distorted chamber. Stairs descended from the ceiling along with a massive doorway appearing on the other side of the chamber. The doors open to reveal the Titan Queen, Rhea, and she comes down the stairs. The titan then stood before Camille and her party, in her usual robes, headdress, and mask.

"Queen of the Titans," Agent 0 addressed.

"So you must the father of the Champions of Apollo and Artemis?" Rhea began. "The Champion of Ares." She stepped closer and has the tips of her fingers touching. "You know I have killed the Champion of Artemis, and I am responsible for the attack on Kepler. Thus... I take responsibility for the death of the Champion of Apollo."

Agent 0 clenched his hand into fists with built up anger inside.

".....You killed my daughters," Agent 0 berated, "And I've loved them since they day they were born." Agent 0 then took out his electric blade and Ares's blade. "And now I'm here to kill you."

Rhea looked to everyone else in the chamber and then to Camille and Nebula. "Do you all feel the same way?"

Justinian may have been concerned with Emerald hanging out with Nebula, but he sure didn't want her to die. Telemachus felt a bit of grief over Emeralds, but great guilt for not getting to know Sapphire well. Celeste was actually furious that at what Rhea did to Sapphire. Nebula felt some connection with Emerald, but not as just a friend.... but like a soul mate. But she felt like Emerald would tell her that she's better off with Justinian.

Now for Camille, her grief struck her when Rhea crushed Sapphire in her titan hands. And she can blame Rhea further for the death of Emerald. She stood beside Agent 0 and prepared Athena's Spear. Her shouted with uncontrolled emotion.

"We all share some grief over Sapphire and Emerald," Camille stated before pointing her spear at Rhea, "When I was hanging out with her one winter... I felt something!! I think..... that ..... I think I liked her more as a friend!" Camille teared up. "And I too want revenge for what you did to her!!!"

Agent 0 looked at Camille when she said that. All he can do is put away his electric sword and use his free hand to pat her shoulder. He pointed Ares's sword at Rhea.

"This is for Sapphire!" Camille shouted.

Nebula and Celeste stood by Camille's side with Poseidon's trident and Hestia's Heart; Justinian, Hera, and Telemachus stood beside Agent 0's side with Persephone's Staff, Hera's (the Olympian Queen's) scepter, and Hades's Helmet.

Rhea didn't reply to the threat and she remained silent. She places her hands on the edges of her mask and carefully removed them. It was the same mosaic face made of sapphires and lapis; her eyes were a black void with blue emeralds for irises; the cracks on her face was being consumed by veins of pitch black violet ink.

"So be it, Olympians, but as queen of the Titans.... Typhon's influence on me is strong. Prepare yourselves....." Rhea steps back curled up a bit, arms wrapped around her, knees and waist bent, and head looking down.

She wheezes and coughs, and soon she screamed until pitch-black violet ink from her mouth. A cut wound opens on her back and a head of a goat and a head of a skeletal asp popped out and placed themselves on her shoulders. Then violet tentacles later came out of the cut wound. Rhea's arms split apart, torn into 10 thin appendages. Her legs thicken and her feet has clawed toes. He robes became scales and tattered skin grafts. Her headdress became long silver hair, and her neck extends slightly. Rhea's face cringes, her jaws open, and the whole head deformed into a dragon's head. She was a mix between a wyvern and a chimera.

((Background Music - Wyvern-Chimera Horror, Titan Queen Rhea: https://youtu.be/5ZJbu9B9le8 ))

Rhea took the stance of a wyvern and looked at her opposition. Her mouth was drooling with pitch-black violet ink.

"Let's do this!" Camille has her owl wings sprout again and she started flying around tossing drops of ink at Rhea like an ink brush.

Nebula resummons Poseidon's chariot and stallions so that she can protect Camille. Celeste created a few walls of clay for her party to hide behind. Hera was following Celeste, offering protection by tossing glass orbs filled with glowing white ink at Rhea. Justinian tossed some seed and made them grow rapidly into vines to tie down Rhea. Telemachus and Agent 0 were leaving gashes green ink on Rhea while she is tied down.

Rhea struggling and broke the vines one-by-one. She raised her head and spews out pitch-black violet ink at Camille. Camille was now flying around, avoiding the ink. Nebula twirls the trident and quickly freezes the ink, suturing Rhea's mouth.

Rhea continued struggling until the last vine breaks. Once she's free, she uses her arms to whip everyone away from her. She then hits her jaws and snout against a wall to break the frozen patches of ice that was keeping her mouth closed.

Camille looks at Nebula and nods to her. Nebula nods back and waves her trident, stir up the air into indoor thunder clouds. Celeste quickly created a solid clay shack for Justinian, Telemachus, Hera, and Agent 0 to hide under for protection. Nebula created a few ink bubbles and pushed them toward Rhea.

Camille pointed her Spear straight up and then pointed it at Rhea, making lightning climb down to strike the Titan Horror.

This wasn't enough to overwhelm Rhea. She used her divided arms to strike the glass floor, creating cracks. Justinian and Telemachus tried to charge in and stop her from doing that, but the goat head and skeletal asp head breathed fire and sand at them. Hera started healing Justinian and Telemachus with Hebe's wine cup which filled up with water.

Camille and Nebula stopped attacking Rhea with lightning and bubbles. And Rhea continued striking the floor, attempting to take them with her when she plunges to her death. That's when Agent 0 decided to charge in and electrocute Rhea with his electric sword.

"Uncle Jac--" Camille was shocked.

"You go on and face Cronus!" Jacar ordered. "It's best this becomes my battle now!"

"But Uncle..." Camille knew there was bigger fish fry, so she nods instead of arguing. "Alright..... Just stay alive! For Sapphire and Emerald!"

Camille began running towards the stairs. Nebula, Telemachus, Hera,  Justinian, and Celeste followed and advanced into what should be the final room.

Agent 0 was now alone, but what Camille said about staying alive for his daughter he cannot promise.

((Transition to this background music: https://youtu.be/KELbXO6kpw4 ))

Rhea was paralyzed at the moment but was regaining control of her horrid body minutes later. Agent 0 needed to kill her quickly; he then noticed the cracks on the clear floor and he only had one idea. It would risk his life, but he had to do it if it meant avenging his daughters.

"This is for you girls..." Agent 0 thought to himself. And he was also breaking another inklings promise. "We'll meet again, Sylver..."

Agent 0 puts Ares's sword together with the electric sword. He jumps into the air and dives down. This one strike made the floor break apart and now he and Rhea were plunging into what would be both their deaths.

Agent 0 sheds his last tears.

It's up to the Fates to decide his fate.

((Background music fades ))

Hall of the Titans, The Titan Fortress - Skies of Tokyo Metropolis - 11:00 AM

Camille and her Party arrives in a massive hallway; they hoped that Agent 0 will be alright.

This hallway they were in wasn't distorted and strange, but it is empty except for a long carpet rug and some banners. They took this time to look through one of the windows in the hall and they can see it's getting closer to Inkopolis. There is one more stair to take which lead outside where Cronus is waiting for them.

"We need to hurry." Telemachus had one idea of what Cronus would be doing to the Titan Fortress.

"Yeah..." Camille follows Telemachus. She wondering how her parents are doing during this war. She shakes her head and moves long.

But the moment Camille's party is heading towards the final stairs, they were stopped as a puddle of black ink seeps from the first steps of the stairs. And the ink puddle then started shaping itself into an inkling, materializing into Chaodis.

Chaodis still had that ominous calm smile, his usual cock-eyed look (one eye is slightly closed), and Eris's Golden Apple of Chaos in one hand. He was wearing his mother's ashy black tunic and tarnished silver. His hands were still dark-violet dragon claws that were cold to the touch, and the wings on his back were the wings of a crow that were black as the night. He still kept his long tentacles in a ponytail over his left shoulder. It was still him in his Olympian form.

"So Titanomachy repeats again, just as mother planned it." Chaodis shook his head and takes a bite of the golden apple. "Still need this?" He puts the apple away and takes out the silver stone, the Omphalos Stone.

"The Omphalos Stone..." Camille can still remember how he took it away from her.

Nebula, Celeste, Telemachus, Justinian, and Hera stood where they are and prepared for a fight against the traitor. Camille followed her party and pointed Athena's spear at Chaodis.

Chaodis stepped back and kept the Omphalos Stone close.

"Easy, guys, I'm not looking for a fight," Chaodis stated.

"How can we trust you?" Telemachus questioned.

“Cronus disposed me..... I failed to kill her.” Chaodis pointed at Camille. “And it seems he took over what was suppose to be my mother’s.”

“Well, I hope she got what she deserved,” Celeste commented, “We’re ready to kick your ass now.”

Chaodis keeps stepping back until he was a quarter up the stairs. "Heh... You’ll be wasting your time. Don't you have a King to overthrow?"

Celeste was going kick Hestia’s Heart at Chaodis like a soccer ball.

Camille sighs, she stops Celeste, and she walks toward Chaodis. She then stepped closer and kept Athena's spear at his throat. This was to make sure that if he does kill her, he'll be dead too. She was close enough to whisper into his ear.

"I hate you, Chaodis..." Camille was blushing when she said that, it was half-true, but she wasn't embarrassed, she was angry. "But..... I can't help but say you pulled this end-of-the-world off for your mother too well..... goodbye." She looked like she was about kiss his cheek, but instead, she moves the spear away and walked around him, continuing up the stairs.

Chaodis just stood there and didn't turn to watch Camille leave. Soon Nebula, Justinian, Telemachus, Celeste, and Hera followed Camille, walking around Chaodis and walking up the stairs. Celeste did look at Chaodis and sticks her tongue at him.

Point of No Return, The Titan Fortress - Skies of Tokyo Metropolis 11:30 AM

Camille's party reaches an observatory with a massive opening the leads outside. They then noticed the skies turning from blue to black. The Titan Fortress was ascending?

“What is Cronus doing?” Camille noticed this.

Hera closed her eyes and carefully used her ESP. “.....He going to crash this fortress into the city..... our friends, our family, our allies.... they’re winning the fight against the Typhonian Horde.”

“So Cronus is not going to accept defeat?!” Justinian is shocked about this. “I think being bound to Typhon has driven him mad!”

“Well no one going to win this war anyway,” Telemachus stated, “Typhon will just plunge everything to chaos.”

“We’ll just have to defeat Cronus then Typhon!” Camille leaves the observatory to face Cronus outside. Her party followed.

The six inklings now found themselves at the top of the fortress, with the King of the Titans looking down at them. The Mighty Titan, Cronus, stood more than 36 foot, wearing dark tarnished armor, a black cloak and headdress, and a white mask covering his mouth. The only weapon her had is a massive scythe in his hands.

“Camille...Telemachus...Nebula...Celeste...Justinian...Hera...,” Cronus addressed them in a cold tone, “The Champions of my children and my grandchildren..... defenders of the world that was once mine..... I’ve been waiting for this day to come..... to fight you six...”

[blschaos3000-blog]

Its 5:02 am cold/chilly/clowns!!

Welcome to “8 Questions with……”

In doing this interview series,it is often that I find the folks I chat with here. But once in a blue moon,I will get a email from someone asking me to interview someone they know and whose story they think should be heard. This is how I met our next guest,the lovely Courtney Akbar who is starring in the new horror film “Clown Fear”. I was pinged by a very cool dude named Phil who asked me if I would be interested in talking with Courtney and I instantly jumped at the chance. I could tell by the way Phil was talking about the film and its cast,he was pretty stoked to help promote it and I could sense the excitement in his voice when he was talking about it. It told me that Courtney is a very talented and hard working actress with a very bright future. I know that excitement myself when I find someone who I think is the next big thing. I quickly put this interview in motion and I really hope you all like meeting Courtney as she answers her 8 Questions……so quit clowning around already and start reading!!!

    Please introduce yourself and tell us about your current project.

Hi! I’m Courtney Akbar, thank you for taking the time to interview me today. My latest film, Clown Fear, just released last month in the US by Lionsgate on February 18th! This is a fun horror comedy about a murderous and insane clown family preying on all of the outsiderswho impede into their town. My character, Kat, is the only daughter of the cult family’s leaders, Tiny Clown and Myrtle. Kat doesn’t seem to fit into the family she was born into and has finally reached the crossroads to her future. She is stuck between two worlds wanting to have friends outside of her small town or succumbing to her family’s traditional and murderous festivities.

What was it like growing up in your home? What are your three  fondest memories growing up?

I’m very fortunate to have spent my childhood in the same house with my family in a small town in Massachusetts. My fondest memories growing up are all times spent with my family. Rather than a particular day, I have so many great memories spending summers at the ocean in Rhode Island! My dad isn’t a big fan of the sun so my mom took us on most trips. We basically had a routine of having some friends spend the night, waking up at 5 or 6 am, heading to the grocery store to pack a giant cooler with what we wanted that day for lunches and snacks. We were always some of the first people to set up ‘camp’ in our usual spot in the sand; we would just spend the entire day on the beach walking, swimming, boogey boarding, eating, and napping! Another summer tradition we had as a family was spending a week every summer on a lake in the mountains of New Hampshire. We spent lots of time swimming, going out to restaurants, playing games, walking our dogs, gazing at the stars, and just spending time with each other.

When did you get the acting bug and what was the reaction from your family and friends? Did they support your goals once they saw you were serious about acting?

What was the defining moment you knew you wanted to entertain?I’ve wanted to be an actress for as long as I can remember, I was always drawn to the arts. I remember all throughout junior high and high school I would talk about moving out to LA to become an actress and I don’t think anyone really knew how serious I was until I actually made the move. I have so much support from my family and friends with my career that it’s really humbling to see how many people get pleasure out of seeing me succeed and being happy living my life the way I’ve always wanted to.

What was the first film you did as an actress and what left an lasting impression on you from the experience?

The first film I worked on as an actress left a lasting impression on me by teaching me that sometimes you really just need to be at the right place at the right time. I was hired on the film “Assassin X” to be the assistant production manager and ended up being asked to take a small role in the film! That’s also when I learned my skin is sensitive and I broke out with a horrible bumpy rash all over my face as soon as the scene was over! So embarrassing *lol*.

What draws you to horror? What do you look for in a horror script before taking the part?

I’m a big fan of watching horror movies myself which makes filming a horror movie even more fun! I love the adrenaline that comes with watching a good, scary movie. Horror is usually my go to when browsing to pick a movie. Before taking a part in a horror film I do look for a good storyline in the script and that my characters have substance to them.

Is there a creative limit in what you’ll do in a part? How do you handle any “last secend script changes”?

Fortunately I haven’t come across a scenario where I have discovered a creative limit for myself. With my experience in filming there are always last minute script changes, large and small. As an actress I am flexible and have experience adapting to changing scripts due to last minute reasons. I do my best with this wild career that I love!

Why do you think people are scared of clowns and are you yourself scared of them?

I think some people are afraid of clowns because they’re people in disguise and the face of a clown can carry many different emotions. Having your face heavily painted is almost like wearing a mask, making you unidentifiable and mysterious. I’ve only had a few interactions with real clowns in my life and none of them were bad so no, I am not afraid of the standard clown. But, if I were to see a dark, purposefully scary looking clown I definitely wouldn’t run up and say hi! I think the Clowns in Clown Fear will definitely give people with coulrophobia nightmares.

What is the state of the indie film community in your opinion? Is there more work because of streaming or less because of the competition in getting roles?

I feel as though streaming has become a double edge sword for the indie film community. It’s absolutely a lot easier to get your content out and available to mass audiences globally, but with so much competition it’s never a guarantee that your project will get picked up or become hugely popular by one of the major platforms. I think the benefits of streaming outweigh any negatives as we do have the demand for more content now, more than ever.

How do you prepare yourself before a day/night of shooting? Do you have any routines you do?

How I prepare myself is different on a day to day basis depending on the scenes being shot. If I have a heavy scene with crying then I like to spend my day rehearsing somberly, in contrast to shooting a party-like scene I would spend my day blasting music lightheartedly. I like to rehearse a ton and know all my lines and which scenes I have for the day/night ahead of me, along with any questions or ideas I have for the director and my co-actors. I don’t have a set routine but I like to include facials, manicures/pedicures, plenty of sleep, and lots of studying and research on my role!

What do you like to do for fun when you are not working?

Some of my favorite things to do for fun are going to the beach, going on hikes, watching a movie or tv series with my husband, playing with my Pomeranians, baking, and photo shoots! I’m happiest when I’m with my family so even a simple trip to Target with my husband can be fun for me!

The cheetah and I are flying over to watch your latest film but we are a day early and now you are playing tour guide,what are we doing?

Definitely brunch in Santa Monica followed by a walk on the beach! Then maybe hit the Grand Central Market for a coffee and some more food! We could end the night in Hollywood at a comedy show or concert, or anything else you & Cheetah would like to do! Oh, we can’t forget a quick stop at the infamous Hollywood sign for a picture!

  I like to thank Courtney (and Phil) for taking the time to chat with me. But we ain’t done with “Clown Fear” just yet,we have a couple more surprises up our sleeves for you so stayed tuned.  You can currently buy “Clown Fear” at WalMart and Best Buy.  I’m sure that you’ll agree with us after you watch it that Courtney’s star is on the rise.

You can see what Courtney is doing next by visiting her IMDb page. You can follow Courtney on her InstaGram.

If you’re new here to the “8 Questions with…..” interview series,you can quickly catch up by going here. Thank you for your support and please feel free to drop a comment below.

8 Questions with……..actress Courtney Akbar Its 5:02 am cold/chilly/clowns!! Welcome to "8 Questions with......" In doing this interview series,it is often that I find the folks I chat with here.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON INDIGO’S MAIN RAP, VOCAL BAN JISUNG…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 COMPANY: MSG ETC: This member has become involved in acting since the group’s shift in popularity

IDOL IMAGE

outer

actor face, model proportions, nobody rapper. the weight of the last moniker is the card that knocks it all off balance, locks him (them) into this seemingly never-ending cycle of shoddy luck, until that survival show miraculously turned the tides for the better. before that, he’s the dissonance that msg likes to play off of–softer visuals of his sort don’t scream “rapper,” but that’s precisely the point.

with this wave of newfound fame now, he’s this: actor face, model proportions, indigo’s lead rapper; now with a more extensive list of footnotes tacked to each label following his name. there’s still a lot of focus on how he looks, surface-level perfection that plays off a criss-cross of intimidating and downright ethereal, a physical symmetry that at times (even on the account of the most grainy, pixelated fantaken shots) is difficult to fathom whole.

it’s enough to gain him some traction in advertising, something the company has pushed along with acting, both which he’s complied with wholeheartedly.

the rule of thumb? stay aware of your image, but never fail to be humble–being projected to the same spew of lovely compliments on loop of course makes this awfully easy. they want him to be relatable, down to earth. another trick with contrast that’s enough to entertain the masses and gain empathy. jisung’s own personal touch being to never cross the threshold into straight up delusional territory (exhibit a: attitude controversies? what the fuck are you smoking? exhibit b: saying they don’t need girlfriends when they’ve got their fans? no thank you).

the same philosophy is applied when it comes to his place among the boys–give credit where its due and be thankful for what’s given and got. anything that goes above and beyond and enters peak uncharacteristic excessive tomfoolery? then on god, he’s gotta be the one that’s smoking mad.

inner

his single crime is having a backbone. a human spine can only take so much pressure before it snaps under the weight of the unimaginable. humiliation stings (they’re next to nothing, close to it), sure, but there’s a reason why language exists. the pen’s mightier than the sword, and a mouth that knows how to strike someone numb than the slap of a palm works the same way. it’s not loyalty here, but merely an honest defense of everything that has his name associated with it. in the past, he’d been notorious for it–particularly in the wake of senior groups who don’t know when to can it, like they’re not only on top because fortune favors the fucked up and vice versa. the truth hurts, and the only thing that’s changed in the name of it is that he now has ground that is more solid than it’s ever been before if he’s to take the fall. evolutionary tactics for the sake of survival. it’s that simple.

IDOL HISTORY

baggage? pass. any brand of mommy-daddy issues or familial dysfunction both nuclear or extended? forget about it. there’s absence, but in a world this big, who doesn’t want some negative space in their lives? brooklyn is being pushed and pushed til it spills over, and he’s caught in the flood. childlike wonder keeps him distracted most days–that, and a schedule of extracurriculars that has him up and running. life moves by the rhythmic click-clack of the L, the school bell ringing for every hour, and earbuds glued in on his way to baseball practice. the blueprint, epmd’s strictly business, odds and ends of music mixes and archives he clicks through, building up a little world of rat-tat and snares.

there’s a meaningfulness to it, a to-the-point truth, the same sort that his parents jot down or announce through television screens. he takes to it like breathing, and from then on it’s kind of all-consuming. experimenting with different sounds, moods, flows–ranging from embarrassingly bad efforts to perfectly decent with some polish.

opportunity knocks after high school graduation. the rare trip to seoul to visit his grandparents turns to an msg talent scout handing him a card for consideration. if there’s anything to be thankful for, it’s that he’d sprouted like a beanstalk the summer before–paired with him growing quite nicely into his features, there’s a chance here. and with passing auditions, it expands. jisung weighs the percentages in his head, a diploma in journalism versus the paper-thin degrees of (possible) fame and affluence. his parents look at him as if to say with their eyes, god, eighteen years, and only to raise atall dumbass?

the prideful creature that he is, jisung doesn’t know how that could be possible. it’s only when the trainee days hit that he realizes with silent horror that oh. they might’ve had a point.

being familiar with singing and rapping gives him a leg-up in evaluations, all for that to be for naught the second they have to learn how to dance. it’s probably the first time having legs this long and inflexible nearly screws him over, but that’s where fake it ‘til you make it is exceptionally handy.

it all ends sooner than anticipated, anyway (like all fever dreams do, you could suppose). a year and then some, and he’s slotted for msg’s upcoming boy group. they’re multifaceted and (for the most part) interesting. neither of these qualities, jisung also comes to understand, mean shit. but he clings anyway, because there’s that so-called “meaningfulness” to it that might as well be the proverbial titanic in the face of the iceberg called public opinion. and if there’s nothing else going for him, face and body aside, he’s got a nose for smelling out bullshit, and jisung knows, this is anything but. jumping ship isn’t happening anytime soon.

they keep releasing songs, performing, and releasing more songs, rinse, repeat ad nauseam. hope is a thing with feathers, except those feathers are molting real fast for some of them. the years drag on, the calls from his parents offering to terminate that damned contract once and for all more tempting by the minute. but he’s a twenty-something by now, and with it the buddings of adult responsibility. emphasis on buddings, because as far as the msg execs are concerned, he’s not doing anything along the lines of responsible.

case in point: what he says, or rather, does. his transparency is a double-edged sword, simultaneously refreshing and well, sharp. not in the way that they like, and especially when he uses it against (senior) industry mates taking the liberties to drag their lack of reputation through filth. pity is the last thing desired, but there’s something about soon to be has-beens themselves picking on small fry that doesn’t sit well with him. so (allegedly) ignoring such folks on broadcast to forgoing the honorifics with a drop of the hat, no doubt it’ll get the rumor mill running. it’s not until the public eye starts zeroing in on an apparent pattern of him not bowing to other acts on stage does msg bring the hammer down–reflecting the obvious resort, but the reminder-slash-warning of the bigger consequences if he isn’t careful.

but by then, he’s a different kind of desperate as is. re:group is taken to like a second chance, fever dream-like training sessions that feel like deja vu and all. three years in, and dignity be damned. he’s grateful for the chance. exposure feels both like a second skin and a novelty, fits him glove-sleek in spite of not lasting there all that long, let alone making it to the final cut. it’s enough of a catalyst, enough of tiny, tiny nudge to skyrocket them into an overnight success.

compromise, along with this “nothing to something” narrative, makes for a winning combination. it no longer becomes a matter of being talented but being marketable. the love calls begin soon after, and so starts the growing repertoire in endorsement deals and acting projects, and he’s looking to expand his horizons a little further. he’d been here solely for the music from the start, and always will be, but in the face of a changing sound, there’s something oddly relieving in filling a different path to success that is hard to deny.

[writingguide003-blog]

How Reddit's NoSleep community is helping launch the careers of horror writers

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/how-reddits-nosleep-community-is-helping-launch-the-careers-of-horror-writers/

How Reddit's NoSleep community is helping launch the careers of horror writers

NoSleep is all about those realistic horror stories.

Image: bob al-greene

Jasper DeWitt wasn’t always a horror writer.

Long before his work captured the interest of Ryan Reynolds, DeWitt’s storytelling abilities were reserved for his friends. They’d play Dungeons and Dragons together, and their quests were based in the dark domains of the Ravenloft universe.

SEE ALSO: 8 things I learned when I published my debut novel

“To get ideas for these, I would obsessively read horror,” DeWitt told Mashable, “particularly from the heyday of Gothic/supernatural fiction in the late 19th to early 20th century. My friends, noticing this, told me I should try my hand at writing horror myself, since I loved it so much.”

Soon Dewitt was writing stories for his friends, referencing in-jokes and including horror beats. Eventually, after these were well received, he decided to see what kind of reception he’d get online.

Reddit — specifically the hugely-popular first-person horror sub r/nosleep — was one of his first stops. It was there that DeWitt shared the story that would eventually help launch his career, The Patient That Nearly Drove Me out of Medicine.

“I decided to see what sort of reception the first chapter would get,” he said. “I expected 200 or 300 upvotes at most, with possibly some good constructive criticism. When it got 2000 in the first day, I knew two things: 1) that I probably wasn’t going to get criticized, and 2) that I should finish Patient and keep writing horror.”

It was clearly the right decision. Thousands of upvotes later, a manager got in touch with DeWitt through Reddit DMs to offer him representation.

Now, three years after his original story was posted, Ryan Reynolds is working on a movie adaptation.

Ryan Reynolds is definitely not a bad person to have in your corner.

Image: VCG/VCG via Getty Images

The birth of NoSleep

It’s not hard to imagine why someone like DeWitt would be a good fit for NoSleep.

With its focus on “realistic horror stories” told in the first person, someone with a background in D&D horror storytellingis surely the perfect match for a community that thrives on campfire tales.

Community feels like the right word, too. While researching NoSleep I spoke to three moderators and two writers (DeWitt included), and they all had positive things to say about the sub’s collaborative nature — whether that’s the writing tips and advice offered on sister subreddit r/nosleepOOC, or simply the sense of camaraderie that comes from a shared love of horror.

“We’re a bunch of super dark, twistedly morbid introverts who are writing realistic horror fiction, so we understand each other pretty well,” 37-year-old software developer and NoSleep mod Kyle Burton, who goes by u/KBPrinceO, told Mashable. “We, all people, share the commonality of being able to be scared. We all know darkness, it’s just that some of us are more in touch with it than others. So we hang out and tell each other tall tales to try and spook away the real darkness.”

Burton knows the quirks of NoSleep better than most. He joined the team back in 2010, not long after the subreddit was first created, and he’s witnessed it grow from around 4,000 subscribers to its current count of close to 13 million.

In that time, he’s lost track of the number of contributors who have gone on to build careers for themselves as writers.

“I own at least a half dozen books by authors who were either very active on NoSleep or started there,” he said.

Dathan Auerbach is one writer who launched his career from NoSleep.

Image: 1000Vultures/Doubleday

The Penpal legacy

That’s the thing: DeWitt isn’t the only one. A number of writers in the NoSleep community have gone on to find representation, publish collections, or have their work narrated on podcasts.

Some have even signed with major publishers.

Perhaps the most famous example of this is Dathan Auerbach, whose second novel Bad Man was published by Doubleday last year. Auerbach’s first novel, Penpal, began as a series of posts on NoSleep which he eventually turned into a full-length book — a book he self-published after running a crowdfunding campaign that raised almost $16,000.

After Penpal was published, Auerbach returned to NoSleep to thank the community.

“Thanks so much for everything,” he wrote. “I quite literally could not have done this without you.”

A competitive space

So if NoSleep writers keep landing book and film deals, why isn’t everyone cashing in? Why aren’t budding writers flocking to the sub to try and see their own work achieve commercial success?

Well, a lot of them are. And that makes it a very competitive space.

Michael Kelley (u/Blindfate) is a 30-year-old leather scientist who has also been involved in NoSleep since the early days. As well as acting as a moderator on the sub, he also writes horror under the name M. M. Kelley.

Although Kelley said he has seen some NoSleep authors succeed in making a living from their writing, he said there aren’t many.

“I see a lot who are trying,” said Kelley. “Writing is extremely competitive and NoSleep success isn’t necessarily commercial success.”

Kelley described the process of going from NoSleep to a career in writing as “incredibly difficult”.

“I’m watching a handful of friends who are insanely gifted struggle trying to make it,” he said. “Building a following, marketing, all on top of writing are extremely difficult to do.”

I know, from my own experiences, what Kelley means. Alongside working for Mashable, I also write horror: my debut novel, The Moor, was published in 2018, and over the past few months I’ve also tried to jump on the NoSleep ghost train.

It’s competitive, alright. That much is clear right from the start. Multiple new stories are posted every hour, and only a very small handful make it past the 1,000 upvote mark. So far I’ve posted three stories to NoSleep; they all seem to have been fairly well received, but my best-performing story only has around 300 upvotes.

That was good enough to make it to the top five — and reach an audience of close to 20,000 readers — but not good enough to reach to the elusive top spot.

My best-performing NoSleep story… so far.

Image: reddit

A double-edged sword

The sub’s competitive nature isn’t the only barrier, either. Even for NoSleep’s top writers — people who have already built a large following in the community — a writing career is still a tricky thing to attain.

Rachele Bean (u/dopabeane) is no stranger to NoSleep fame. A huge number of her stories have passed the 1,000 upvote mark, and she’s even had some standalones — for instance her best-performing story, They told me I was nothing but a dog — which have cruised past the 10,000 upvote mark.

“To date, I have six stories in the all-time top 100,” she told Mashable. “The last time I was able to check [before Reddit disabled view counts on posts], I’d accumulated over three million views across all my stories.”

“Plagiarism is an enormous problem”

Although Bean isn’t making a living from writing yet, she told me she’s hoping to change that.

“I recently signed with a manager who has a great track record in my genre, so I’m hoping that goes well, both for my sake and for his,” she said. “Back in November, I published an anthology that’s doing much better than I ever expected. I’m working on a few novels right now. Through it all, I’m maintaining my presence on NoSleep. Really, at this point, I’m just working hard and waiting for something to stick.”

Despite the level of exposure and the representation she’s achieved, Bean acknowledged that NoSleep is a double-edged sword.

“Plagiarism is an enormous problem,” she said. “My stories are reposted all over the internet, both with and without proper attribution.”

Bean cited one of her top-performing series — I Found My Old Copy of My Favorite Childhood Movie. Something’s Seriously Wrong With It — as an example of this.

“A little while ago, I submitted an edited version of the Childhood Movie story for consideration,” she explained. “A few days later, I received a curt response accusing me of plagiarism. It took several days to sort out, but it turned out that someone had already submitted my story to that same firm — and was apparently in negotiations. I was eventually able to prove ownership of the story, but the whole thing was such a nightmare that the company elected to drop the project entirely.

“That brings up the second problem: a lot of publishers don’t want to take a chance on a story that’s already available, especially if it is (or was) available for free.”

Bean has published a collection (left) and written some of the top-performing stories on NoSleep.

Image: amazon/reddit

A gateway for budding writers

It’s clear that NoSleep isn’t a magic ticket to publishing success. Like any platform it has its drawbacks, and its barriers. There are many writers trying to build a name for themselves through the community, and the hugely competitive nature of publishing means that most of them probably won’t make it.

“There’s more of a likelihood to get published now”

But some of them will. Some of them already have. DeWitt and Auerbach have already made money from their writing. With her new manager and her short story collection, Bean also seems to be on the cusp of turning a passion into a career.

“There’s more of a likelihood to get published now, with collaborative anthologies coming out every few months and self-publishing becoming more common,” 32-year-old Christine Druga (u/cmd102), the head moderator for NoSleep, explained. “And r/nosleep authors having producers approach them to option their stories for TV shows and movies has become a relatively common occurrence — but actually breaking through and making a career of writing is still insanely hard.”

Ultimately, Druga described NoSleep as a gateway — a place for budding writers to gain their following and hone their craft. A place to try out different styles and ideas, and gain experience from successes and failures.

The odds of having your first story instantly become a manager-enticing career-changer aren’t high — but just the fact that it is a possibility only adds to the exciting and addictive nature of this fast-growing horror community.

WATCH: Ever wonder how the universe might end?

Read more: http://mashable.com/

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON INDIGO’S LEAD RAP BAN  JISUNG...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: Modeling

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): jiji, cat dad, face genius INSPIRATION: the hip hop legend himself, tiger jk. SPECIAL TALENTS:

beatboxing.

solve a rubiks cube in under 30 seconds.

remain unflinching during “don’t laugh” challenges.

NOTABLE FACTS:

mom and dad are reputable journalists living abroad.

is an only child.

can play the piano and drums.

owner of a one year old maine coon kitten named piper.

turned down an admission to nyu in order to become an idol. 

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

keep working, pushing forward, pulling his weight. idol contracts are temporary, but the grind is forever. they’ve made it despite the odds, and he’s wholly focused on having that ball stay rolling. a nifty name brand deal (or three) would be nice to end the year, but he’s not picky.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

do everything, leave nothing–establish himself as the go-to brand face, dabble in acting, put out a solo (though given msg’s track record, he’ll give himself another couple of years before giving it a chance), establish some sort of music collective a decade down the line, roll around in CF money for the rest of his days to come.

IDOL IMAGE

outer

actor face, model proportions, nobody rapper. the weight of the last moniker is the card that knocks it all off balance, locks him (them) into this seemingly never-ending cycle of shoddy luck, until that survival show miraculously turned the tides for the better. before that, he’s the dissonance that msg likes to play off of–softer visuals of his sort don’t scream “rapper,” but that’s precisely the point.

with this wave of newfound fame now, he’s this: actor face, model proportions, indigo’s lead rapper; now with a more extensive list of footnotes tacked to each label following his name. there’s still a lot of focus on how he looks, surface-level perfection that plays off a criss-cross of intimidating and downright ethereal, a physical symmetry that at times (even on the account of the most grainy, pixelated fantaken shots) is difficult to fathom whole. it’s enough to gain him some traction in advertising, something the company has pushed and he’s complied with wholeheartedly.

the rule of thumb? stay aware of your image, but never fail to be humble–being projected to the same spew of lovely compliments on loop of course makes this awfully easy. they want him to be relatable, down to earth. another trick with contrast that’s enough to entertain the masses and gain empathy. jisung’s own personal touch being to never cross the threshold into straight up delusional territory (exhibit a: attitude controversies? what the fuck are you smoking? exhibit b: saying they don’t need girlfriends when they’ve got their fans? no thank you.).

the same philosophy is applied when it comes to his place among the boys–give credit where its due and be thankful for what’s given and got. anything that goes above and beyond and enters peak uncharacteristic excessive tomfoolery? then on god, he’s gotta be the one that’s smoking mad.

inner

his single crime is having a backbone. a human spine can only take so much pressure before it snaps under the weight of the unimaginable. humiliation stings (they’re nothing, were nothing), sure, but there’s a reason why language exists. the pen’s mightier than the sword for a reason, and a mouth that knows how to strike someone numb than the slap of a palm works the same way. it’s not loyalty here, but merely an honest defense of everything that has his name associated with it. in the past, he’d been notorious for it–particularly in the wake of senior groups who don’t know when to can it, like they’re not only on top because fortune favors the fucked up and vice versa. the truth hurts, and the only thing that’s changed in the name of it is that he now has ground that is more solid than it’s ever been before if he’s to take the fall. evolutionary tactics for the sake of survival. it’s that simple.

IDOL HISTORY

baggage? pass. any brand of mommy-daddy issues or familial dysfunction both nuclear or extended? forget about it. there’s absence, but in a world this big, who doesn’t want some negative space in their lives? brooklyn is being pushed and pushed til it spills over, and he’s caught in the flood. childlike wonder keeps him distracted most days–that, and a schedule of extracurriculars that has him up and running. life moves by the rhythmic click-clack of the L, the school bell ringing for every hour, and earbuds glued in on his way to baseball practice. the blueprint, epmd’s strictly business, odds and ends of music mixes and archives he clicks through, building up a little world of rat-tat and snares.

there’s a meaningfulness to it, a to-the-point truth, the same sort that his parents jot down or announce through television screens. he takes to it like breathing, and from then on it’s kind of all-consuming. experimenting with different sounds, moods, flows–ranging from embarrassingly bad efforts to perfectly decent with some polish.

opportunity knocks after junior year. the rare trip to seoul to visit his grandparents turns to an msg talent scout handing him a card for consideration. if there’s anything to be thankful for, it’s that he’d sprouted like a beanstalk the summer before–paired with him growing quite nicely into his features, there’s a chance here. and with passing auditions, it expands. jisung weighs the percentages in his head, a high school diploma versus the paper-thin degrees of (possible) fame and affluence. his parents look at him as if to say with their eyes, god, seventeen years, and only to raise atall dumbass?

the prideful creature that he is, jisung doesn’t know how that could be possible. it’s only when the trainee days hit that he realizes with silent horror that oh. they might’ve had a point.

being familiar with singing and rapping gives him a leg-up in evaluations, all for that to be for naught the second they have to learn how to dance. it’s probably the first time having legs this long and inflexible nearly screws him over, but that’s where fake it ‘til you make it is exceptionally handy.

it all ends sooner than anticipated, anyway (like all fever dreams do, you could suppose). a year and then some, and he’s slotted for msg’s upcoming boy group. they’re multifaceted and (for the most part) interesting. neither of these qualities, jisung also comes to understand, mean shit. but he clings anyway, because there’s that so-called “meaningfulness” to it that might as well be the proverbial titanic in the face of the iceberg called public opinion. and if there’s nothing else going for him, face and body aside, he’s got a nose for smelling out bullshit, and jisung knows, this is anything but. jumping ship isn’t happening anytime soon.

they keep releasing songs, performing, and releasing more songs, rinse, repeat ad nauseam. hope is a thing with feathers, except those feathers are molting real fast for some of them. the years drag on, the calls from his parents offering to terminate that damned contract once and for all more tempting by the minute. but he’s a twenty-something by now, and with it the buddings of adult responsibility. emphasis on buddings, because as far as the msg execs are concerned, he’s not doing anything along the lines of responsible.

case in point: what he says, or rather, does. his transparency is a double-edged sword, simultaneously refreshing and well, sharp. not in the way that they like, and especially when he uses it against (senior) industry mates taking the liberties to drag their lack of reputation through filth. pity is the last thing desired, but there’s something about soon to be has-beens themselves picking on small fry that doesn’t sit well with him. so (allegedly) ignoring such folks on broadcast to forgoing the honorifics with a drop of the hat, no doubt it’ll get the rumor mill running. it’s not until the public eye starts zeroing in on an apparent pattern of him not bowing to other acts on stage does msg bring the hammer down–reflecting the obvious resort, but the reminder-slash-warning of the heavier consequences if he’s not careful.

but by then, he’s a different kind of desperate as is. re:group is taken to like a second chance, fever dream-like training sessions that feel like deja vu and all. three years in, and dignity be damned. he’s grateful for the chance. exposure feels both like a second skin and a novelty, fits him glove-sleek in spite of not lasting there all that long, let alone making it to the final cut. it’s enough of a catalyst, enough of tiny, tiny nudge to skyrocket them into an overnight success.

compromise, along with this “nothing to something” narrative, makes for a winning combination. it no longer becomes a matter of being talented but being marketable. the love calls begin soon after, and so starts the growing repertoire in endorsement deals and magazine spreads, and he’s looking to expand his horizons a little further. he’d been here solely for the music from the start, and always will be, but in the face of a changing sound (which he privately wishes wasn’t so piano-driven now, but hey, money talks), there’s something oddly relieving in filling a different path to success that is hard to deny.