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tamorapierce · 5 years ago

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Tammy's Spring 2020 Reading Recommendations For the Bored

Sooner or later the bookhounds among us are going to start joining my relentless song, from age five on up, of “I don’t have anything to read!!!!”

I am here to help. In this space, as I get to it (knowing, as my readers do, that I have no sense of deadline), I will be posting a constant set of collections of book titles by authors my team and I have read and will recommend in a wild variety of genres and for a wild variety of ages. (And I’ll give a short hint as to the subject of the first book/series—if I did them all I’d never finish this.) This last is for the many of you who are reading teen and adult books in grade and middle school, and those adult readers who are reading teen and kidlit. These people are for those who love books and don’t care who is supposed to be reading them.

Also, you may have to look far and wee, since we will be drawing upon not only recently published books but older ones that we have either read recently or that we read long ago and have re-read or have never forgotten. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when the writing is archaic. If you’re a true nutsy reader like the rest of us, you won’t care.

-Tammy Pierce

* * *

Assume the book came out within the last 2 years unless I put LO next to the title, which means you have to check libraries and bookstores online and paper for copies.

* * *

Diana Wynne Jones LO

A generation or two of fantasy writers, particularly those who love humor, bow to this woman as our goddess. Not only was she out of her mind in a very British and manic way, but with her TOUGH GUIDE TO FANTASYLAND she taught a number of us to ditch some ill-considered tropes of our genre. If you write historic fantasy in particular, move heaven and earth to track this book down. There’s a bonus: some of the entries will make you laugh till you cry.

She is best known for her books for middle grade and teens, but they are enjoyable for all readers. I cannot list them all here because my fingers will break (curse you, arthritis!), but these titles will give you a jumping-off point. And remember, authors change with each book, so you won’t encounter the same author with each title as the author you read in the previous one!

The Chrestomanci books, all in the same universe, in order of story,

not publication

Charmed Life (1977) An innocent lad follows his plotting egotistical sister to live with England’s chief wizard

The Lives of Christopher Chant (1988)

Conrad’s Fate (2005)

Witch Week (1982)

The Magicians of Caprona (1980)

Short stories

The Dalemark Quartet begins with

The Spellcoats (1979)

3 sequels

The Derkholm books are

Dark Lord of (1998)

Year of the Griffin (2000)

The Tough Guide to Fantasyland is standalone, but is a kind of offshoot of the Derkholm books. You don’t have to have read the Derkholm books to get Tough Guide!

There are other books and stories by Jones—I’ll let you find them on your own.

Philip Pullman

To this day I am unable to call him anything but Mr. Pullman—that’s how much in awe of the man I am. We’ve had dinner together, talked on the phone, talked at an event or two, done a conversation on audio with Christopher Paolini—it’s still Mr. Pullman to me. (I was an assistant in a literary agency when I discovered his work, and I never recovered.) He is, in a word, brilliant, and his interests range through all kinds of areas, particularly history and religion. I could have talked with him forever that night we had dinner, but the poor man had jet lag and I let him go to collapse. It was one of the best exchanges of ideals, values, and books I’ve ever had.

Read his work carefully, because what he discusses is never just the story on top. No matter what he writes, he is making strong points about social justice, human nature, religion, and history without preaching. He is one of the few male writers out there who can write female characters as people, not Something Different. And you never know, with his work, where he will go next.

The Ruby in the Smoke,

book 1, the Sally Lockheart mysteries

Victorian mysteries with a female hero and male assistants,

The Book of Dust and sequel,

first 2 books of The Secret Commonwealth

His Dark Materials trilogy

The Golden Compass

2 other titles

THE COLLECTORS

LYRA’S OXFORD

THE WHITE MERCEDES

FAIRY TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

I WAS A RAT!

TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS

COUNT KARLSTEIN

(I will stop here and let you find the rest. Most are available as Nook books.)

Sharon Shinn

I discovered Sharon Shinn with JOVAH’S ANGEL, but a shortage of funds left me unable to pursue my interest (I am an economic disaster with libraries, so I buy rather than borrow) until, with a job and money to spend, I spotted THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET. It is the story of a medieval-ish world and a small village where a baby was left with a childless couple. She is raised as their daughter and discovers, as she grows, that her mother is an important, a Safekeeper, the person to whom a secret can be told, relieving the person who told it of the weight of guilt from it, to be carried by the Safekeeper until the owner either decides to tell or dies. (And if they die without giving permission, the Safekeeper never reveal the secret.) The baby who is adopted by this town’s safekeeper becomes the safekeeper in her turn.

The next book is THE TRUTHTELLER’S TALE, about a girl who acquires the gift (??) of telling the truth, whether the person she tells it to wants to hear it or not. The third book is The Dream-maker’s Magic. The three main characters now learn why they have been brought together over the course of the two earlier books, in what I thought was a satisfying, if unusual, conclusion.

And there’s more! I just did the two I love best!

THE SAFEKEEPER’S SECRET (book 1, two sequels)

ARCHANGEL (4 books)

TWELVE HOUSES (5 books)

ELEMENTAL BLESSINGS (4 books)

SHIFTING CIRCLE (2 books)

UNCOMMON ECHOES

GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

GATEWAY

Daniel Jose Older

I was a Daniel Jose Older fan before I was sent DACTYL HILL SQUAD for a blurb (preodactyls in flight! Of all sizes! Confederate spies! Thuggish bigot northerners! The backlash of Gettysburg and the forced recruitment of blacks for the war effort! And strong, smart, fierce kids of various ages, sizes, colors, national heritage, and skills doing their best to help the war against the slaves, keep escaped slaves safe, duck the cruel managers of the homes and jails where they are being kept, find a half-decent meal, free other kids in trouble, learn who’s killing their friends, and help the dactyls! That’s part of it, anyway!

Yeah, I loved it. And there’s at least one new book, and once I’ve mowed though that, there are his older teen books, and his grownup mysteries, with their half-dead taxi driver who doubles as a part-time troubleshooter for the undead powers in his Bone Street Rhumba series. {happy sigh}

Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, some of these are reminders of why we ended up to be the readers we are and to nudge us to corrupt—I mean, “introduce”—new readers to the glories that are our legacies.

THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

Here are the greats:

poems like “The Raven,” and “Annabelle Lee”

stories like “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Telltale Heart,” and ::shudder:: “The Pit and the Pendulum” (yes, a deep pit and a swinging pendulum topped with a razor-edged blade will be featured in this story).

My dad would read these to us on dark and stormy nights when we lived near the Pacific ocean, when the fog came rolling in, softening every sound, when there were no cars driving by and no other sounds in our house but his deep voice and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. We would listen, soundless, as he wove the stories and poems around us and the foghorn sounded offshore.

That’s the power of Poe.

N. K. Jemisin

I think I began with Jemisin’s THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, soon followed by its sequel THE BROKEN KINGDOMS. The series ended with a third book, THE KINGDOM OF THE GODS. She presented a rich and varied world from the aspects of people of different classes, showing the growth of societies and their formation. I have a secret passion for society-building and social interaction, and whether or not a book is difficult to read (as Jemisin’s books are in spots because she refuses to insult a reader by talking down to them) is immaterial. I want the world and I want the characters, and with her far-reaching mind and her respect for her characters she delivers each and every time. I have read almost everything she’s written since that first trilogy: if I’ve missed something, it’s because I was in the middle of a deadline and on the road and somehow didn’t see it. I’ll catch up! This is just a sample:

For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

The City They Became (pub’d April 2020)

The Inheritance Trilogy:

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

2 book sequels

Novella: The Awakened Kingdom, 2014

Triptych: Shades in Shadow, 2015 (3 short stories)

The Dreamblood Duology:

For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

Two sequels

The Broken Earth series:

The Fifth Season (August 2015)

Two book sequels

And there are plenty of short stories out there. I may even have missed a book or twelve!

For those who prefer to hear my ramble in person, a video!

youtube

#tamora pierce #tortall #book reccs #book recommendations #YA #fantasy #science fiction #diana wynne jones #edgar allen poe #philip pullman #sharon shinn #daniel jose older #nk jemisin

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magnoliasinbloom · 4 years ago

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Lie To Me - 11

AO3 :: Previously

Jamie thinks his uncles might have kept closer tabs on him if he hadn’t acted so compliant in the last few years. Agreeing to marry Laoghaire, staying on at Leoch, keeping his head down. All the while, they’d let the cuckoo in the nest and he hopes he is preparing the massive downfall of the MacKenzie empire—with Claire’s help.

This is how he is able to create a fictitious acquisition meeting in London, regarding an up and coming author. The author is real, but the meeting is not. He has Louise, his executive assistant, register his schedule into the system, and book his lodgings for two days.

Claire books a room at the same hotel.

Laoghaire bids him farewell at their shared flat, glad to see him go; he knows she’ll spend these days with Joseph. He is happy for her. Now, Jamie boards the train taking him and Claire to London, sitting side by side, surreptitiously holding hands. He had tucked copies of the most basic documents pertaining to the investigation into Leoch’s business into his duffel bag.

“What do you mean, you’ve never toured London properly?” Claire leans back from her position tucked into Jamie’s shoulder to look at him in surprise.

“Aye, well, Mam and Da took Jenny and me when we were weans. We went to the Tower, the British Museum, the V&A and such, but I dinna really remember it.”

“Very culturally inclined, your parents.”

“My mam studied art history at uni. She was very much into art and history and culture and wanted her children to appreciate it too.” Jamie smiles. “Now, what made ye decide to be a doctor?”

Her answer is immediate. “Helping out at dig sites with my Uncle Lamb. I was always one of the few women there and I suppose caring for the people came naturally to me.”

“I admire ye, Sassenach. ‘Tis a noble calling.” Jamie lifts Claire’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fingers.

“It’s a hard one too. I’m afraid it takes up a lot of my time, days and nights, conferences, emergencies…” She wants Jamie to be aware that, no matter how much she cares for him, her calling to heal often consumes her. It’s something that Frank never understood.

“I dinna mind. I’ll take ye any way I can, Claire.”

X-x-X

They check into the Park Grand separately; their rooms are on different floors. Jamie lingers for a few minutes in the lobby while Claire goes up with her small suitcase. He wishes things were different—Jamie, unattached, a regular lad with a normal job, visiting London with his girlfriend, spending their nights in the same room.

Claire, for her part, closes the door to her own room, resting her palm against the wood, and wishes Jamie had followed her there. Their acquaintance and budding relationship are fraught with so many obstacles and complications, but she is determined to make something of it, to emerge victorious, to help the man she has come to love.

Frank has agreed to meet Claire at the bar in the Royal Lancaster Hotel. Jamie meets her in the lobby and together ride the metro as unobtrusively as possible to the designated location. Claire is nervous; it’s the first time in nearly a year that she’s seeing Frank, but the fluttering is tempered by Jamie at her side.

Claire recognizes Frank by the sharp cut of his hair; he’s sitting at a table in the middle of the bar, his back to them. With a deep, shaky breath, and a squeeze of Jamie’s hand in hers, she approaches and briefly startles her ex-husband with a quiet, “Hello, Frank.”

Jamie notes the way Randall’s neck stiffens and turns slowly to greet Claire. He does a double take when he sees Jamie beside her, holding her hand. He keeps an impassive face while Frank gives Claire a brief peck on the cheek and then gestures to Jamie.

“And who is this? I had the notion we would be meeting alone.” He has a good poker face, but Jamie’s is better.

“James Fraser.” He extends his hand and Randall grasps it out of courtesy, evidently trying to intimidate with the strength of his grip. Jamie matches it and is gratified to see him wince.

“Actually, Frank, he is the reason I’m here.” Claire sits at the table and plasters a smile when the server comes to take their drink order. “Two whiskies, please. Neat.” Left alone once more, Claire lowers her voice and says, “I hadn’t mentioned him before because I thought you might not want to see me.”

“I just didn’t think you would be that… quick,” Frank says, raising both eyebrows.

Claire’s cheeks color slightly, and Jamie suppresses the urge to punch Frank in the face. But his Sassenach is more than equal to the task. “You were quicker, I think, since we were still married.”

Frank offers a tight-lipped smile. “Touché.”

“Mr. Randall, the reason we’re here is that we need yer help with a delicate matter. It’s something that will benefit us both.”

“What is it you think you can do for me?”

“I work for Leoch Holdings.” Jamie senses Frank’s curiosity peak at the name. “My uncles own the business, and I have been made aware of many dealings that are less than… legal.”

“If it’s your uncles’ own company, why are you working against them?” Frank sips casually from a glass of white wine, but it is evident he’s interested.

“They are blackmailing me with false murder charges.” Jamie doesn’t blink even as Frank flinches and he sees Claire clutch her whisky glass tighter at the words. “There is corruption, crime, extorsion, ye name it. My godfather is working within the Glasgow police force to help me, and is in touch with Chief John Grey at the SCD.”

“If you have their assistance, why come to me?” Frank glances between Claire and Jamie, prompting her to reach for Jamie’s hand again and lay them on the table; their connection is evident, as is their support of each other.

“There are a great many people implicated, and there are precious few we can trust wi’ this information. Ye have access to certain resources we do not.”

“Do you have any documentation to go on? Something solid?”

Jamie pulls out papers from his coat inside pocket. “I brought these to get you started. I shouldna have to mention that it’s sensitive information, and the less eyes that see it, the better.”

Randall peruses the documents, rifling through the pages; his eyes widen as he reads the names Jamie has seen time and time again, almost unable to believe the scope of Leoch’s shady operations.

“This is quite an undertaking. Some of these people… the scandal would rock the nation.” Frank’s tone is noncommittal, and Jamie feels his stomach sinking.

“So ye dinna think it’s possible then,” he says dejectedly.

“I didn’t say that.” Frank is quiet for a few minutes, going over the papers once more. “From what I can gather, a key element is finding out where the money is going, all these names and payments… If we can find the accounts, we’d be in business.”

Claire tosses back her whisky. “It’s massive, Frank,” she says quietly, leaning in and he imitates her unconsciously. “There’s politicians, judges, police officers, money, extorsion… if you were to help Jamie—help us—and put an end to this, it will no doubt aid in your efforts to solidify yourself as a model MP. Maybe even PM someday.” She knows the prospect is like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. She recognizes the old gleam of a challenge in Frank’s eyes, and a small swell of relief takes hold inside her. If anyone can help them, it’s this man; despite the crumbled marriage between them, she can trust him with this. Frank seems to read her mind, and asks:

“Why trust me with this, Claire? After what I did to you?”

“Not only is your name not in the documents—and I didn’t think it would be—but I know exactly how important your political career is to you. Much more important than I ever was.” Claire’s voice is steadfast and Frank does not dispute her statement. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I will.” Frank tucks the papers into his own coat pocket, drinking the dregs of wine. “I believe I owe it to you.”

“You bloody well do, Francis Randall.” Claire and Jamie both feel that spark of hope ignite within, a way out of the dark tunnel Jamie has been in for years and that Claire has also chosen to walk.

As they prepare to leave, Frank remains sitting; Claire can feel his scrutiny, appraising them, judging, drawing his own conclusions about what Jamie means to her.

“Is it worth it?” Frank asks suddenly, his parting shot. Claire feels Jamie stiffen next to her and she is tempted to let him thump Frank, but doesn’t want to undermine their efforts quite yet. Claire holds Frank’s gaze and responds simply.

“He is.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #ltm11 #well this was looong #how 'bout that Fronk

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lady-plantagenet · 4 years ago

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What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 3: GOOD Grief! (we finally have a good episode on our hands)

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

Drawing of Thomas More’s Son AKA who Margaret Pole at this point wants to be the step baby momma of ;).

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes:

LMAO the way Wolsey suggests they break their alliance with Spain is freaking hilarious because the actor delivers the lines as if he were a high school girl making a personal attack by suggesting the prom change its theme to 70s disco to the chagrin of the peppy up-and-coming rival.

Also @ Henry VIII looking like the peppy up-and-comer’s bff and shy stan with that pencil bite and small smirk when Catherine loses her cool against Wolsey.

I’m sorry... who is Henry married to again?

Also what is Margaret Pole doing at the council meeting?? I’m not saying I don’t like it.

Margaret Pole warning against certain repetitive thinking creating madness :(((

Attempted Naked Twister:

Oh Catherine, what is with you and all the other STARZ protagonists and that weird politcky bedroom talk? Who actually finds this sexy?

‘Catherine you are unnatural’ ooof that line delivery was somehow haunting.

Was the whole ‘I can’t be rushed you are off-putting with your overpowering’ a callback to Arthur and Catherine? Apparently there’s another writer for this episode so I won’t put all subtly past them.

Scotland:

‘Shitey men’ asdkjashd

Look I’m tired of all this ‘my children won’t be safe’ line getting repeated. Look mate, murder of royal infants and children was not exactly a common occurence, even in cases of deposition. The Princes in the Tower are an exception to this but a very infamous case for that reason. Child murder was extremely taboo. In situations like this with an infant kid, no one is going to bother murdering the babies and taking their thrones, the lords will just vie for power and make themselves de facto rulers and oust the queen. It’s not a question of safety but a question of holding power. Stop giving all women characters perma mummy brains.

Maggie being all caring:

‘Barnaby’ *scoffs* ‘Such an English name’ - OH MAN 0_0 is Catherine mocking them for trying to adapt ? Like I know it’s meant to show her envy for Lina, but it’s coming out all messed up.

Our girl Maggie’s smile screams I’m beating your ass in chess.

Anyhow this is the least histrionic we’ve seen Catherine so far.

Chaplain vs Catherine:

I’m interested how Catherine will feel at Stafford’s execution given that I have noticed this show build up to a friendship between them.

Why is everyone laughing at the whole ‘will you delight us with new schemes’ line was not that funny?

LMAO at Thomas Boleyn’s attempted brown-nosing.

You know what? Ruairi is a decent actor. When he says ‘so you admit it? you lost the child because you tried to be a man?” the actor conveys Henry’s troubled mind, lowkey scare towards Catherine and bewilderment all in one. The way his eyes do not move but just widen emotionlessly also gives this sense that he is being manipulated (which I guess they are going for with Wolsey). Then the whole choir music in the background.. I don’t know.. I’m liking this, it’s creating a vibe of a king of haunted and increasingly paranoid Henry. I’m sure they are going for that, so good.

Ursula Pole and Mama:

Maggie Pole say ‘riches don’t keep you safe’ with tears in her eyes :’(. Please tell me how this is not her thinking on her parents and granddad Warwick and what befell them ;’(.

I find Ursula refreshing actually, don’t get those types of heroines often. But they are making her similar to a gold-digger, an exhalted marriage was first and foremost considered a thing of honour. Noblepeople wouldn’t speak in such mercenary terms regarding their marriages.

Post Mary Defiance:

I love the ‘horse’ nickname from Brandon n’awwww

Also just realised what made TWQ so atmospheric - that wierd ‘oooo’ sound effect in the background when a character was being paranoid or worrying. They are using it during Henry’s ‘How is it that I have no sons?’ and it is just... so effective.

Catherine calling them ordinary children... she just keeps striking me as more and more classist. Like ok, I know every royal was... but still, I thought she was meant to see Lina as a friend and equal despite her race and status. To add the race element, this kind of rubs me the wrong way.

Also it is so clear by the end when Catherine states how the king is upset with her, she expects Maggie to ask her about it.. but she doesn’t lmao.

Back to Scotland until Sexy boy fencing:

I love me this soft boi. Angus <3 <3

I like how they address that some men don’t really like killing and that violence isn’t inherent in a man’s nature.

Oh man, are we supposed to look at Lina’s house and deplore the impoverished conditions? It would go for at least 3,000,000 pounds in today’s property market?

Is Catherine being particularly classist again with ‘Why u not becoming a butcher Wolsey, ey?’.

Though I will admit the ‘but giving meat to the poor is also good’ was one of her only smart comebacks.

Just realised, Catherine’s pink dress pretty as it is, looks straight out of the 1570s... why?

Montage and After:

You guys are right, there is this weird longing between Henry and Wolsey lmao. It is actually insane.

So basically Catherine is officially depressed

OOOFF we have Stafford as regent instead of Catherine. (edit: I suppose it’s cause they go to France which they didn’t historically? Also if Stafford is at home then what is his son later doing in France, why would he be there without his father. This show didn’t think this through)

Meg Singing:

An impassionate speech is not too anachronistic. But despite the title of this post (what hasn’t been said) I will reiterate that 16th century and Medieval people’s problem wasn’t that they were ashamed of their grief and didn’t cry. In fact, crying was somewhat more socially acceptable then than it even is now! Even manly men like Arthur were written as crying in literature such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Obviously you couldn’t go overboard, but in truth crying was indeed often too performative rather than hidden too much behind doors.

Pole and More UWUWU in France and after:

I LIKE THIS INTELLECTUAL FLIRTING

It’s nice to see a depiction of romantic feelings between mature and level-headed subjects.

God Mary Tudor is so beautiful in this scene jesus. and the music when she was being presented was also very beautiful.

Maggie Pole getting given ‘a modest income’ yeah... she was one of the wealthiest peers of her day.

Also Maggie’s lady cousin not lady aunt Frost!

‘shaking of the sheets’ lmaoooo

William Compton cracks the hell out of me. I love this guy. He is just so creepy and twisted yet super keen and friendly. ahaha He looks like a riot, I hope we see him more. lmao tiles.

Also this palace feels very anachronistic almost 18th century-ish.

I like the Louis and Mary sequence, it’s nice seeing him trying to make her feel less scared, but OMFG when he lay on that chair.. for one second I thought they were trying to kill him off already.

Scotland: ‘Love is an open doooooorrrrr’ + Last Scene:

I ship Meg and Douglas ahhhh this soft boi x strong woman match is everything Henry and Catherine could have been.

I wonder... why is Lina speaking in Spanish more than Catherine. hmmm Are they trying to foreshadow Lina’s eventual return home and how Catherine become a true englishwoman?

Conclusion:

7.5/10

I cannot in all fairness believe it. This was actually decent. I’ve given up on historical accuracy long ago so by this point I’m focusing more on how it stands as as drama. I mean, TWQ was also a flop when it came to grasping the complex issues of that era but why do I feel compelled to rewatch it every year? Because it had atmosphere when it came to acting, music, certain aesthetics (though the costumes let me down often). It felt adequately gothic and dark, yet bright and jewel-lish when it had to be, sometimes both at the same time. Some one-liners were also memorable etc...

So far TSP 2 did not have any of this. Everything felt way too off and anachronistic. But not even consistently anachronistic. The music was also often very meh (though I just noted the absence of the spanish stringy theme that kept playing in season 1 - I guess I understand why), the dialogue very clichéd (‘alright lads let’s throw in the words: king, crown, power, fight, battle + other buzzwords and we have ourselves Shakespeare’) and so on... but I saw a change in this episode and I couldn’t initially point out what it was.

Upon rewatch, I identified some of the improvements (noted above) but above all: The producer was different! Boy does it show. Unfortunately, I think she is only for this one episode which really sucks. Come back! There is more chemistry between the couples, less predictable interactions, pervy Compton, cinnamonroll Douglas, better music, more scenic shots (e.g Douglas and Margaret in church) e.t.c. I hope it will match the rest of the STARZ productions in getting better towards the end.

Look it’s no masterpiece. But I’ll give credit where it’s due because at least this time it didn’t leave me feeling wanting and unsatisfied (if that makes sense).

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #lady plantagenet's series reviews #catherine of aragon #henry viii #mary tudor queen of france #margaret tudor #charles brandon #margaret pole

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peoplelikegames · 4 years ago

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Steam Games Festival: I played so many demos. My thoughts...

I spent a few days playing as many of these demos as I could and wrote down some rough impressions.

Black Book (Morteshka): Heavily atmospheric and steeped in Slavic mythology. You play as a Slavic woman named Vasilisa, attempting to bring back her husband, who has committed suicide, back from hell in an effort to save him from the eternal damnation that their religion believes befell those who commit suicide. She becomes a witch after venturing through the gates of hell and back. The gameplay takes several different forms, depending on what you’re doing. It’s got some point-and-click adventure game elements during the more exploration focused scenes. Sometimes you’ll find herbs that can be used as items later during combat. The combat plays out like Slay the Spire and other deck builder games of the ilk, with the key exception of the spell slots. Instead of the standard 3 energy system restricting card usage each turn, here you have 3 slots that can be filled with spells that correspond with the slot type. You have 2 Order slots (big spells) and 1 Key slot (little spells) you can fill each turn. It’s a small twist to the formula that opens up a lot of interesting possibilities and combinations. In between fights and the point-and-click scenes you’ll get to interact with people you meet along the path to your destination and make choices that effect the story and your character. Vasalisa’s journey looks bleak and full of death, and I’m interested to see where it goes.

AK-Xolotl (Daniel Piqueras Constantin): Fast paced, adorable and aggressive top down shooter. Very simple gameplay of shooting down waves of enemies picking up weapons and items that drop when they die. Feels great to play. Good movement, good dash, not much else to ask for. Really quick and snappy shooting and simple gameplay loop me keeps playing again and again just to get a higher score and see what new stuff it has to throw at me. It’s got really cute pixelated graphics and lots of forest critters with guns. The game also features an absolutely filthy death metal track that’s a perfect representation of how aggressive the game really is. Just a really quick and dirty time that definitely makes me want to see the finished product. Also, I love the lil axolotl guy.

Despot’s Game (Konfa Games): Rogue-like dungeon crawler where you control a mob of humans. It’s a pretty cool and complicated battle system my only problem is I can’t help but feel like I don’t have enough control on the outcome of the fights. It’s almost a little like Totally Accurate Battle Simulator in that way. Basically, your run begins with you purchasing a bunch of little humans and different weapons to give to those little humans which will give them a class. Give a little guy a medkit and now he’s a healer, give someone a gun and they’re a shooter now. Humans with classes have special abilities they can activate when there are enough classes of that type on the field. Like an Auto Chess (Auto Battler?) game, if you have, say, 2 or 3 Fencers on the board, your fencers will now have access to their special ability, a dodge roll. Position your people in what you hope is a tactical formation and start heading for the dungeon exit. Most rooms consist of a fight, which plays out automatically. When you press go on a fight, your troops and the enemies will all start fighting until only one side remains. This is where the game loses me a little bit as it’s unclear how much of a difference positioning makes or what more I should be doing to change the outcome. Did I win this time because that unit was farther up than last time, or did the AI just play it out slightly differently that skewed in my favor? I can’t tell if the changes I’m making are actually making a tactical difference, or if the AI routines are just clashing with slightly varying results each time. You’re gonna lose units a lot but they are pretty disposable, with frequent shops for buying reinforcements or new gear. And every unit contributes to your mob’s total hunger meter, which deplete with every new room you enter. You have to buy food to feed your troops to keep them from losing effectiveness. Bigger team=greater food consumption. Gotta find a balance with your money and spending it on new units, new weapons, and food. I really wanted to like this game more because I really dig the hook of building up a mob of little guys with cools powers and I like the unit synergy system as well, but the perceived lack of control over how the fights play out and the game’s edgy humor ultimately pushed me away.

Dead Estate (Milkbar Lads): Fairly generic zombie shooter rogue-like (there’s gonna be a lot of rogue-likes). Your standard twin-stick kind of shooting you’d find in the Binding of Isaac or Enter the Gungeon, except here you can jump, adding some verticality. Explore each room, kill the zombies, find the key and then find the elevator to the next floor. Sometimes you find a new gun or shop along the way. The movement feels pretty slow and the rooms feel small. Too many times would I walk into a room, fight three of the same zombie then walk int next room just to see two more of that same zombie. Too many times did I have to walk back across a whole level at a snail’s pace. Needs more enemy variety and to move a little quicker. The shooting is a little better, I like how the game makes its weapons feel distinct by how much it kick it has. More powerful weapons will push you back with each shot. Unloading the mini gun felt chaotic and rumbly that make you slide back and wiggle in a fun way. You can usually kill most enemies before they’re even able to do anything makes them unique, rendering most enemies the same “zombie that walk towards you for second before you finish them off.” Didn’t really draw me in or entice me to see what I might encounter on higher floors.

Foregone (big blue studio): This one feels a little like a watered down Dead Cells at first, AT FIRST. It’s a little slower and less snappy but it’s still very fun. Plus it’s more of a linear 2d action platformer with lots of loot. I like the loot aspect here quite a bit; watching a bunch of currency fly out of enemies is satisfying in a “headshot kill in Destiny kinda way.” Just a bunch of fun particles and a frequent gear drop that has you constantly popping open your inventory to equip your new gear and make those numbers go up. If that’s your kind of fun, you can definitely find it here. Lots of weapon variety on show here and most, if not all, of them feel unique. Just wish the combat was little tighter, which since this is a demo, I assume will come in due time. The game could also do a better job of informing the player that they’re taking damage, which made it difficult to hone the timing on the dash to avoid taking damage. And I’m hoping the environments of the full game become a little more diverse and sprawling, right now it feels like it’s mostly individual rooms/levels of engagement at a time. Excited to see how the full release pans out.

Tunche (LEAP Game Studios): Immediately drawn in here by the beautiful hand drawn art style. It’s a brawler roguelike and if you know what those two words mean in the context of video games, that’s all you really need to know. The brawler combat is what it is, very combo and juggle heavy, enemies that take dozens of hits to kill, fairly bland and just flat land environments. Walk forward until you’re stopped, fight a bunch of waves of enemies, rinse and repeat. Except this time you occasionally get upgrades after finishing rooms like “chance for attacks to cause burn” and “chance to regain health on hit,” your standard rougelike fare. With the territory comes the roguelike difficulty, and this game is plenty tough with the amount of enemies it throws at you and how limited your health pool can be. All of the art and the animations are what really shine here, and if you’re into that brawler style combat, this seems like a pretty good one of those.

Power of Ten (Pew Times Three): Next up we have a top-down space shooter roguelike. I like the minimalistic pixel art style in this one. It helps with atmosphere and you making you feel like a small ship in a large system. Your goal is to power planetary shields on inhabited planets throughout the system by gathering resources from asteroids. While you’re hunting asteroids, pirate ships will randomly attack a planet, pulling you away from resource gathering into a space dogfight against the pirates. That push and pull of gathering resources to fuel a planets shields while simultaneously protecting the planets whose shields are not yet charged is the core loop here that I really like. Conveying solid, core gameplay loop that’s engaging is exactly what you want to get across in a demo, and they definitely deliver that here.

Jelly is Sticky (Lunarch Studios): A lovely, casual sokoban puzzle game. Sliding around and rearranging cubes of jelly into oblong structures to match highlighted areas within a given space. You’ll encounter jellies of different qualities along the way, all with their own quirks around how they like to stick. I really like the non-linear structure in the over world, letting you navigate around between levels from all of the jelly-archetypes at any time. Solving sets of levels will unlock jelly in the over world you can stick to and rearrange to give you access to further levels gated behind walls and other triggers. It’s an appreciated extra layer of depth you don’t expect from a puzzle game that could have very well presented it’s levels in an ordered, level-select screen.

Potion Craft (niceplay games): In this game you play as a budding alchemist trying to make your mark on the world in your newly acquired (stolen possibly?) alchemy shop. Its an alchemist simulator. It’s presented in an “alchemy text book diagram-style” that’s immediately endearing. Every day, you collect ingredients like herbs and fungi from your garden and then it’s time to open shop. Customers come and share their plight, asking for potions of different types. They’ll offer different prices for potions of different potency which you haggle up further (or lower, if you mess up) through a simple timing mini game. The actually potion making is puzzling and unique, if not occasionally limiting. Ingredients you add to the cauldron determine a path that the potion icon in the center will follow across a fog covered map. Add more ingredients to add length and direction to the path, trying to build the path in a specific way that will lead to a “?” destination marked on the map. Name the potion, choose a bottle and label, and brew it. You’ll learn what it does, and can save the recipe for easy use again later. The only downside is how limited the ingredients are makes it very punishing when experimentation results in failure, all those ingredients are just lost. It seems like the game really wants you to just fill the orders at hand instead of blindly exploring into the fog to see what weird stuff comes up, which is my favorite thing to do so far. This is still easily one of my favorite demos of the bunch and has to be seen for oneself.

Aeon Drive Prologue (2awesome studio): This is definitely one of the ones I wanted to like more than I did. A self proclaimed “speedrun action platformer” and it demands that go fast. Very short 2d platformer levels with an ever ticking clock. If the timer reaches zero before you reach the exit, you fail the level. Consumables lined throughout the level can be used to add more time to your clock. This game is very punishing, one hit from anything, from enemy to stage hazard, will cause you to fail and restart. Very quick movement and a focus on chaining together different moves to find different paths through the level. There seemed to be benefits like special collectibles for taking more inventive, alternative paths, but the ticking clock really kept me tunnel-visioned on the most clear cut route through the level, meaning I only ever small a very tiny portion of each one. I’m not the type of person to butt my head against how to pull some crazy route as opposed to the clearly laid out one in front of me. Unfortunately, that clearly laid path just isn’t very fun to take. There’s also a dagger you can throw and teleport to, which I found difficult to aim and not as fun to use as it sounds. There is definitely something here, it’s just ultimately not for me.

Medievalien (dOOb games srl): Action RPG roguelike in a medieval world that has been invaded by aliens. You play an amnesiac protagonist trying to undo the calamity through repeated attempts from within a magical (or scientific?) time loop. Commence genre mashup. Nothing particularly stands out here. Two weapon slots and two throwables slots, lots of different items to fill them. Your weapons consist of bows, crossbows, and staves, and the throwables are bombs of varying elemental effect. It’s fun to play but fairly middling. The low poly art style doesn’t do anything for me and the soundtrack was forgettable. Still, if you’re like me and enjoy ARPGs and roguelike, it does the thing well enough to scratch the itch.

Minute of Islands (Studio Fizbin): Right out of the gate this 2d narrative platformer hits you with gorgeous hand-drawn art. A poisoned, decaying world that is beautifully drawn and animated. I’m gonna day this is not the best demo. The pace is very slow and the objectives are linear and don’t even register as puzzles. This game calls itself a puzzle platformer yet there were no puzzles to be found in this demo. I’m assuming the demo is trying to preserve story details so it starts at the beginning and only gives you a small slice from there. So maybe the game introduces more puzzle elements later in the game. But what’s left in the demo is not very compelling to play. The impressively detailed environments and atmosphere are only driving forces so far. But extremely strong forces at that.

Alekon (The Alekon Company): This feels like spiritual follow up to Pokemon Snap in all of the best ways. In its most basic form, the game plays exactly like Pokémon Snap, but builds on the nearly 30 year old classic in several key ways. Creatures in this game are called “Fictions” and whenever you take a picture of a new fiction, the creature also appears back in the game’s hub world. Once back in the hub world, you can talk to the fictions who have moved in and they’ll give you small quests to do that’ll usually reward you with key game features, like a zoom function for the camera. There’s a great feature that involves capturing photos of a fiction in all of its potential poses, which will unlock the ability to “see through the eyes of the fiction.” So when you’re looking through the album of your saved pictures, you can apply a fiction filter to see the image as a particular fiction would see if through their own eyes. Also, once you’ve unlocked all of the different routes in a specific biome, you gain the ability to “wander.” Wandering is free from the rails of the standard routes and allows to explore every inch of the biome and find other fictions that were previously hidden. It’s also a great space to snag that perfect picture of a fiction you couldn’t get while riding the rails. The creatures themselves are kind of hit or miss so far in their design. Sometimes it’s literally just a seal, sometimes it’s a ridiculous alien thing, but it seems like the personalities of the fictions are what makes them unique. Even though I didn’t care for the designs, I found myself endeared toward the creatures once I found them back in the hub and helped them with their troubles. There’s some good writing in these bits that really helps sell me on these creatures. Lots to love here if you’re into games about snapping pics of critters and throwing donuts.

Eat’n Eaten (Gaëtan Benoit): A cartoony tower defense game with bug plants. Bugs that grow from plants. It has a really fun and easy to understand “food chain management” system for building up units. It almost feels like it was designed to translate easily to touchscreens for mobile devices. Your soil has 100% nutrients, plants grow and feed off nutrients, plants grow apples which you can pick who will then become your units. When an apple dies it’s corpse returns nutrients to the soil and it’ll drop a seed that will grow into a new plant. If you don’t pick the apples off the plant long enough for them to consume extra nutrients, the apples will become a caterpillar. Pick the caterpillar off the plant and now you have a more offensive unit, who needs to eat apples to survive. The game only builds on the loop from there; the way bugs will level up into new or stronger forms after eating enough fruit, or how the game will add spiders to your team who will then need to eat caterpillars to survive. Manage this whole food chain to keep a steady supply and distribution of units against waves of enemies. I don’t know if that seems confusing when put into word like that but it’s really quick and simple to pick up they way it is presented. It can definitely get a little frantic at times but that’s when the game is at it’s most fun.

Dorfromantik (Toukana Interactive): Chill, colorful, tile placement puzzle game about building a village landscape. You start with a deck of 85 hexagonal tiles, and it doesn’t end until all the tiles have been placed. You’re placing tiles with the intent to line up as many like edges between adjacent tiles, making longer and longer networks of landscapes of matching type. The way the scoring works and how the game conforms matching sides together does a good job of making the best place to put your tile one that not only scores well but also looks good in the context of the interconnected village landscape you are ultimately trying to craft. I would kill for this game on Switch.

Unsouled (Megusta Game): An isometric pixelates dark souls-style action game. Described as an “ultra-brutal” game with “fast-paced and savagely rewarding combat,” Unsouled comes exactly as advertised. The combat in this game is very difficult and I am simply not the person to conquer it. It’s really fast paced yet proper movement and combat requires consistent timing and punished button mashing. Every thing you do has to be deliberate and calculated as it’s easy to lose control of the battlefield very quickly. Even just a few enemies can be dangerous as they all can dodge and block and roll just like you. The game is unafraid to put the pressure on and throw ten enemies at you all at once engaging from different ranges. The game demands that intimately learn the combat systems if you want to keep your stamina and health high in the heat of combat. I’d bet that if you’re a fan of Dark Souls or souls-like games, this game has all that difficulty but a different pace of combat that doesn’t feel derivative.

Rogue Invader (Squishy Games): Immediately I love the look of this game. It’s got this old school 1-bit black and white look to it. It also opens up with a fully animated and voice acted cutscene. The game is actually pretty difficult. It’s a side scrolling shooter where you’re part of an army in invading an alien planet one soldier at a time. You’re also managing weapon heat and breakage, and carry weight effecting run speed. Each soldier gets body armor and a pistol but you can equip them with a rifle and helmet from your armory. Which you’ll definitely want to do considering you die in one shot if hit in the head. When you’re soldier dies, they lose the gear you equipped them with and the new soldier needs to be equipped with whatever you can craft in the forge. This is where I ran into issues with hardy ever having enough materials to craft a helmet, go into a mission and die early to a single stray bullet to the head, and subsequently not earn enough materials to make a helmet. The evasive controls like jumping, running, rolling and taking cover all felt clunky in my hands, add that to fact that bullets often just miss even if you’re aiming right on an enemy, and it made for a pretty unsatisfying game to play.

Devastator (Radiangames): How is this not just Geometry Wars? Because this shit is just geometry wars. Fortunately, Geometry Wars slaps so this game is still pretty fun. But just go play Geometry Wars. There, I mentioned a different game like five times more than the game this was supposed to be about.

ANVIL (Action Square): Co-op top down shooter roguelike with space marines. It’s like a run-based Starship Troopers game. It’s pretty great. The three characters unlocked in the demo all have different weapons and abilities resulting in very distinct play styles between classes. There’s a fairly simple loop to each floor: search the floor for the boss, along the way areas will be filled with enemies, who’ll drop money, which can be used to buy passive upgrades from chests found throughout the floor. The upgrade system allows you stack multiple of the same upgrade for increased effect. Lots of variety in the enemy type really keeps you on your toes. Unsurprisingly, it just feels good to mow down mobs of space bugs.

Orbital Bullet (SmokeStab): A 360 degree shooter platformer. It’s a really cool gimmick actually, you move in 2d but in ring around a 3D space. It’s makes for some cool looking environments and depth from having inner and outer rings you can switch between. Really fast and arcade-y feeling. Snappy movement and gunplay. There’s seems to be a lot offered here among different weapons, in-run upgrades and meta upgrades that persist between runs. Which makes this a roguelite, as opposed to roguelike, which I tend to prefer. I like having something upgrade outside of my runs to make me feel stronger or different going into the next run. The games has a sort of ancient alien aesthetic, it feels industrial and monolithic. The bursts of neon in the walls, enemies, and weapons really pop among the ruins of the stone temple. Watching your weapons’ shot glide along the curve of the world is an effective visual as well. Just because I clearly like to compare to games so much, this game feels a lot like Resogun meets Downwell, and that’s just fantastic.

Chicory: A Colorful Tale (Greg Lobanov): A colorful and cartoony adventure game about painting that takes a small but welcomed bullet hell turn. You play as a cute little pup that claims the power of The Brush after it’s wielder (and your master) disappears along with all of the color in the world. Searching for cause and hopefully the solution, you embark on a journey to repaint the world and make your mark as the new wielder. Once you pick up that brush you can start coloring in literally everything in the world. It’s fun and charming the whole way through. You can help the townsfolk bring color back into the lives and color in their houses to their satisfaction. Use the paint to navigate the world by growing and shrinking plants by erasing/coloring them. The demo is a little thin but definitely makes me interested to see what fun stuff the game has in store for these paint mechanics.

Genesis Noir (Feral Cat Den): Okay this game was a trip. I barely have any idea what I just played but I know I really liked what was happening. It’s a heavily stylized point and click adventure game where it feels like you exist within an improvisational Jazz album. Train tracks becoming notes on a cello. Getting into a cosmic jazz-off that plays like a game of Simon and ends with your opponent on the wrong end of a mob hit. I think? Honestly this game is so trippy it was difficult to keep track of what was going on. And occasionally it was a little ambiguous as to how you’re supposed to proceed, which lead some random click and dragging around the screen until something clicks. It actually seems like it could turn out to be a really good example of a story and experience that can really only be through video games. Not quite an animated film, not quite a comic book or visual novel, but instead a fantastical, interactive amalgamation of many things. Whatever this thing may be defined as, it’s something unique and special.

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ofravensandgenesis · 5 years ago

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IT IS FINISHED no seriously, this took ages. First couple of days were fine and motoring along with progress, then I was laid out for a week-ish with health problems. Then once I was well enough again I was back to being fixated on finishing this piece of my lad Joshua here for another handful of days, so I’m super glad this is done now. More talk about the painting, details and process under the cut:

Art Entry 01, Joshua Rook, Junior Deputy of Hope County. Regarding the painting’s execution, stylistic choices, practiced methods, and speculation on further experimentation for skill and stylization. _____________________________ Honestly I thought that the uniform’s large swatches of green fabric would be more difficult than it actually was. Turns out that was the easier part compared to the shoulder patch and metal badge. x’D The metal badge design is based off of and inspired by a custom-ordered cosplay badge design I found while looking for references, in this post here (link,) from v-i-d-e-n-o-i-r’s blog and Far Cry 5 cosplay. There are some differences in the painting’s rendition above, namely I flattened the middle section and made it all concentric polished metal instead of painted and the great seal rendition in the middle doesn’t have silver lineart either. Those choices are as much for aesthetic reasons of eliminating the blue ring so it was all a fairly simple mono-material-looking surface as it was for simplifying having to forego painting the foreshortening that a spherical dome might entail. Also just because the rest of the metal turned out looking good enough that an additional bit of shiny metal seemed like it’d fit right in for this. That being said, the badge design that inspired this one is rad and awesome looking—and I totally didn’t realize it wasn’t quite like the badges from in-game assets until after I’d painted it. x’D So, I decided to stick with this one since it’s simpler and has cleaner lines, and less engraving to pick out highlights on. Metal is very hit or miss for me to get right, so I’m very pleased with how this one came out! :D I think I did well on that one. The shoulder patch originally I was looking at real world references and ended up changing the shape once I actually looked at in-game references on Staci and Joey—who I discovered have slightly different details on their uniforms, like the font for their name tags—Staci’s has an old-timey-looking-font with serifs, Joey’s is a non-serif more modern-style font. Some pictures have them having different buttons on their uniforms either in color or shape (the former being exported assets, the latter being in-game gifs/screenies/etc.) This is also how I learned that the little landscape with the shovel, pickaxe and plough/plow are part of the great seal of Montana. I had no flipping idea that was what it was, looking at the patches in-game. The cosplay community does some great work for that, for which I’m grateful. I ended up looking up references of what the state seal’s design was so as to see the smaller details, and to find out what the motto meant ”Oro y Plata,” meant, leading to etymology googling adventures from there, as usual. All important details to paint though I think here, since Joshua’s deputy uniform is symbolically significant to him and will remain so throughout his story as part of his internal conflict for a couple of reasons. One thing I knew I should’ve done from the start, and reminded myself to do, was the fact that I should paint all skin sections at the same time, so as to ensure they all came out the same shades. I did not do this. x’D I’ll have to actually try to do that next time honestly. Same with the hair sections, while I like how they came out, I do feel the differences between the three major segments in terms of brushwork is not as coherent as I’d like, even if beard hair is not necessarily similar in how it lays to scalp hair, particularly with length and such taken into consideration. Still, not bad. Could’ve used more refs for the backlighting and figuring out how the highlights would fit best on the ponytail, but I think the hair curves turned out nice there in particular. Overall, Joshua’s hair ended up messier than I’d thought with how the locks all end up looping this way and that across his head, but it does actually fit him well as a character for his hairstyle to be messy and loosely held together, but functional. It did end up longer than I’d intended, so we have him likely ending up with a nerdy Jesus hairstyle when it’s down. x’D (Thanks to @undead-gearhead for that mental imagery, I shall take great amusement in that should I get around to drawing Joshua with his hair down.) Aside from that, I think I’m slowly improving on figuring out how to paint glasses, though I’m thinking in the future I should test more layered reflective light on them or something where the frames are in contact or close to skin, particularly around the glasses’ bridge across the nose and such. Then there are the other deviation details added—like using dark green instead of the black for the uniform accents. The faded black looks great in-game, but I do think the buttons pop more against dark green instead for this painting. I’m a little bit surprised how well the button-placket section came out, Clip Studio Paint crashed when I painted the first rendition of it, sadly losing all that work. I thought it’d be okay but turns out it didn’t quite get to auto-save that recently enough, but the second go around turned out quite well I think, possibly better. I was originally planning to try to put more textured brushwork across the flat sections of the uniform material, but decided to skip it for speed—I’ll test that elsewhere perhaps, though I think it came out well with the watercolor brushes layered on top of one another like that as is. Among the other smaller details, there’s some tweaks and such for how Joshua’s eye shape, eyebrows, nose shape, hairline etc came out compared to references of Greg Bryk in his role as Joseph Seed. I think Joshua did come out looking like he’s obviously related to the Seeds as I was hoping for, but I’m kind of on the fence that people would look at him and automatically assume it’s Joseph specifically that he’s descended from. I hope so, but either way, that’s how he’s written in-fic. x’D Overall, I would consider this painting a success, though as usual I do wish it’d been faster to finish. I do think this was good practice for detail work, and metal shading, also: buttons. Still haven’t figured out how to paint lips with more pink or red tones, I don’t like the way they look when painted sadly, unless it’s lipstick. That may end up being a stylistic element perhaps, along with how I paint the lines for fingernails and other such details. Fun fact: I have to leave the shading on the eyes for last, or else my brain goes “The eyes are done! We’re done! Call it a day.” I’m not sure why, but so far, leaving them as flats until the end seems to work a treat for keeping me focused on finishing the rest of the work with less mental dissonance. Now if only I could figure out why despite knowing I should do all the exposed skin portions at the same time, I don’t follow through on that naturally as far as inclinations go. Maybe it’s a layer organization thing and perception of wanting, say, the cloth to be done first before working “down” to the hands and such in the sense of working from the head down? I’ll have to think on that some more and test things in the next painting. Perhaps color coding the order of layers to paint will help? CSP does have a nice layer-icon-color function that I’ve dabbled with here and there. There are so many brushes, I really do need to test out more of them, I use, what, four or five total, but primarily somewhere around two or three. Hm, but what to do with texture, and how to utilize it so? Hmmm, as far as personal appeal for methodology goes, I might prefer to use textures in select pieces for more emotional emphasis? If I can figure out how to do that in a messier speed-paint style of things. Rougher textures for conflict, for example. That sounds like an interesting idea to explore, I’ll have to remember that for a later piece. Maybe more heavily textured brushes will also help with the mental itch to refine things to a cleaner-level of refining instead of leaving it in a more organically rough state. Hm, maybe it’s a “mental texture” aversion or something, as far as an interplay between the brush’s texture and the flow of the linework/brushstroke. Perhaps more uneven brushes echo that in a complimentary fashion to better allow less mental discomfort for me personally when trying to paint in a faster, looser fashion? Honestly, very tempting to go try that out sooner rather than later on some art ideas I have, but I’ve been missing my writing very much of late with two time-demanding paintings back to back. So, ideas for a later time to experiment with.

#Far Cry 5 #FC 5 #Far Cry 5 AU #FC 5 AU #deputy joshua rook #my art #ofravensandgenesis's art #art talk #chatter #writing about art #writing about fanart #queue

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

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xxii. men who know their secret safe

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta.

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience.

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe.

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof."

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door.

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon.

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch.

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth.

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition.

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day...

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice.

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip.

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands.

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel.

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead.

The morning wore on.

~*~

Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud.

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud.

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything.

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old.

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks.

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself.

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due.

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him.

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too.

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule.

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.”

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate.

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

#chrysalispen writes #reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris

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readsky · 4 years ago

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June 2020 Reads - Minireviews

5 books this month, including a BIG one. June was a bit slower; I am still not back in work and the weather was pretty terrible, so I didn’t get out much. Lockdown rules have been relaxed a bit, so we’ve had a few friends round that we haven’t seen since Feb. Was nice to just have a few drinks and play some card games (Exciting!). Now, to the mini-reviews!

The Eye of the World (Robert Jordan) I wasn’t planning on reading this, but one of my friends has been telling me to read it for years now. I’ve heard all the “it’s just LOTR fan fic/rip-off”, so I put it off since there’s always so much more original content on my reading list. Then I randomly found it in a charity shop for £2. I took it as a sign that I should read it, and I’m really glad I did! A group of young lads discover that they are being targeted by some very scary and dangerous folk, and set off on a quest with a warrior and a powerful female warrior-mage to find out why the forces of darkness are rising and why they are so interested in them. Are there a ton of LOTR parallels? Yes. Does it feel like Robert Jordan just wanted to be a modern-day Tolkien? Yup. But did I care? No. I recently started reading The Lord of the Rings (I reviewed The Fellowship of the Ring a few months ago), and god damn is that shit a slog. It took me MONTHS to read The Fellowship. I think the only way I could sum up The Fellowship is “dense, whilst simultaneously lacking in detail”. I finished TEOTW in exactly 2 weeks, and while it is dense, the story flowed well, most of the characters are interesting, there’s some badass ladies and there’s enough genuinely well-developed mystery surrounding the characters that I’m very keen to keep reading (although 14 x 800 page books is a lot of reading time to devote to one series, but we’ll see how it goes!). So, was TEOTW special or unique? Nope, but I found it an easy and entertaining read despite its size, and it was different enough from LOTR to keep me interested. Very good. 4/5

Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation (Translated by Ken Liu) I’ve already used a bit of my blog to wax lyrical about how great Ken Liu is. And I’m going to do it again! He’s great! What a guy! In this follow up to Invisible Planets, Ken has picked 16 more short sci-fi stories (and some with fantasy elements) written by some wonderful Chinese authors and again translated them for English speakers. This is just as strong a collection of stories as the ones picked for Invisible Planets and just as varied in their ideas and themes. Particular highlights include Baoshu’s What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear which is a kind of historical fiction where time for the characters progresses linearly, but major world events such as the Second World War and the Chinese Cultural Revolution are happening in reverse. This instalment also includes some more fun stories, such as Fei Dao’s The Robot Who Liked To Tell Tall Tales which is a really cute story about a King known as the biggest bullshitter in the kingdom, but doesn’t want to die with that reputation, so sends a robot out into the world with the mission to become a bigger bullshitter than the King. And finally, Ma Boyong’s The First Emperor’s Games is a short and fun read that will delight anyone with an interest in video games. I enjoyed every minute of this book and hope Ken will continue to bring Chinese sci-fi to western readers. 5/5

Daughter of Smoke and Bone (Laini Taylor) This was another charity shop find (50p!). Looked like fantasy (judging book by its cover, I know!) and then saw that Patrick Rothfuss had given it a glowing review. Turns out it was well deserved. Karou is an art student studying in Prague and seems relatively normal to her friends. However, she moonlights as an assistant to demonic beings who brought her up after she was orphaned, collecting teeth for a purpose she does not yet know. After a chance encounter with an angel, she finally finds out the truth. This is a beautifully written book. The writing is so visual, and it was extremely easy to picture the characters and their surroundings. The way the author describes Prague made me want to jump on the next plane and go. If I were any good at drawing, I would probably have had a go at creating some fan art. My only gripe would be that I’m not a fan of over-the-top, unobtainable, supernatural type romance, and the last half of this book is exactly that. However, once you start to realise what an important element this is to story, you do start to forgive it. Fast-paced and beautifully written. 4/5

The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, so this was different for me. Since I mainly read fantasy, there’s always a certain “epic-ness” to everything I read. The Book Thief is not epic, but that doesn’t detract from this beautiful story based on some of the most tragic events of the last 100 years. The story follows Liesel, a young girl who is forced to live with foster parents after her own are taken to a Nazi concentration camp during WW2 for being identified as communists. This is a story of her growing up in a poor town just outside Munich and the stories of the people she meets along the way (and her growing obsession with stealing books). But to give it a bit of quirkiness, the story is narrated by Death himself. This was probably my favourite aspect of this story, as it gave an “alternative” view of Death. Death is extremely thoughtful and talks in a manner of helping people “cross-over”. I imagine that the author didn’t have the stereotypical black cloak and scythe combo that we usually picture Death to look like. The vast array of characters makes this book an endearing one and it is one I will not soon forget. 4/5

Senlin Ascends (Josiah Bancroft) I would have to put this into my most unexpected reads category. I’m finding it hard to compare to anything. Thomas Senlin is a school headmaster and all-round fuddy-duddy. He keeps to himself and never gets into any trouble. When he eventually marries Marya, a beautiful, fun, and upstanding young woman, eyebrows are raised. They decide to spend their honeymoon visiting The Tower of Babel, a marvel of modern-day engineering with unique societies on every floor. A tower so tall, no one can see the top and no one can actually confirm how high it is. Senlin has learned everything he knows about The Tower of Babel from a visitor’s guide that describes it as a utopia; the pinnacle of modern and civilised society. However, when they arrive Senlin immediately loses Marya in the dense crowds just outside the tower and he quickly learns that this place is as far from utopia as it gets. This is extremely unique science fiction with steampunk elements throughout, and follows the change in Senlin’s personality and outlook as he ascends through the tower, desperately trying to find his wife. I will admit to feeling a bit deflated about this book about halfway through. The lack of strong and/or independent female characters had me worrying and it seemed to be turning into a “save the damsel in distress story”. However, I was breathing a sigh of relief as I approached the conclusion of the book. Not every female character was a victim! Phew! Overall, a great start to this series and I’m looking forward to reading the second book. 4/5

#book review #june books #reading goals #book blog #read more #booklr #bookblr #bookblogger #fantasy fiction #science fiction #Chinese science fiction

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wewillwriteyou · 6 years ago

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Friends Will Be Friends || Chapter 10

A few elements from the main plot: A very special group of friends: early days, drama, laughter, booze, success, rock stars life, girl power, friendship, love, sex, music, misunderstandings, some more drama, family. Pairings in the tags

Summary Chapter 10: Some time has passed, the couples are happy as ever, when something goes wrong.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Loads of fluff, some kissing I guess, some angst, language. This chapter is mainly soft

A/N: Hi everybody! You have to keep your eyes open in this one, cause things are getting intricate. Also, a few months have passed since we last heard of our beloved characters and the group has a new dynamic now. You’ll see what we’re talking about… Stay tuned for the next ones lovesies 💖😏 As usual, if you like what you read, comment, like, reblog and share this with others! For everyone who follows and supports this story, thank you guys (you know who you are)! You are real stars! ⭐💗

“So, are you sure it’s my turn today?” asked Chelsea, intertwining her finger with the phone cord.

“Yes, don’t worry. I went yesterday with Mary and I’m probably going tomorrow. But surely not today” the muffled voice of Mel crackled from the receiver. Chelsea nodded as if Mel could see her in that moment.

“Perfect. Maybe I’ll call you later if I have some news about the boys” she then added while observing her nails distractedly. Just a couple of minutes after, Chelsea closed the call with Mel and, after picking up her bag and fixing her skirt, she put on her shades and left the apartment.

It was a pretty hot day and Chelsea could feel the sweat running down her back, while it was literally glued to the seat of the car. Her fingers were burning, because of the hot wheel and, even if the windows were down, the wind that was blowing in Chelsea’s hair was warm.

She looked for a second on the seat next to her and noticed a half-finished pack of cigarettes; she smiled, knowing that it was Roger’s. Chelsea could still feel a shiver of excitement every time she thought about him, it didn’t matter if they had been together for some months, Roger still made her feel like it was the first time.

Melissa and Chelsea had done everything to hide their relationships with the boys, alternating each other during the rehearsals of the band, but the things were starting to get more awkward and, definitely, more difficult. Especially during that period, when the boys were preparing themselves for a very big event. Freddie basically knew everything and Chelsea was quite sure it was Mary’s fault, who couldn’t help but tell him the whole story. And Brian, who had been Roger’s friend for ages, was starting to suspect something, especially when Roger looked at her, biting his lips from behind the drums, during rehearsal.

Chelsea shook her head, trying not to seem worried, as she parked the car behind the pub where the boys were practising. When she entered she found herself surrounded by a soft yellow light, mixed with dust. On the little stage, she recognized the skinny silhouette of Brian, who was busy doing some sound-checks with his guitar.

“Hi, darling!” Freddie appeared behind him and waved at Chelsea. She smiled as she approached the two boys.

“Hello lads,” she said, taking Freddie’s hand to join them on stage. Brian greeted her with a movement of his head but didn’t say a word, as he was captured by the ideas of a new song. Freddie, on the other hand, hugged her and they both sat down, with their legs dangling over the stage.

“So, my dear, are you here to see your beautiful boyfriend?” Freddie whispered, in a theatrical way, while a small smirk was forming on his lips. Chelsea punched him on the shoulder and turned around to see if Brian had heard something.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s a secret” she couldn’t help herself, but smile, when she looked back at Freddie, because of the silly face he was making. He scrolled his shoulder and put an arm behind Chelsea’s back.

“You know I love drama, darling. But I love you more, so I’ll try to stay quiet” he said, moving his fingers on his lips to simulate a closing zip. Chelsea chuckled and leaned her head on Freddie’s shoulder.

“I love you too, Fred,” Chelsea said, looking up at him, but he turned his nose in disappointment, trying to make her laugh; Chelsea rolled her eyes and put her head back on his shoulder “if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be here. It’s Sunday and outside it’s bloody hot so I would like to be everywhere but here” Freddie laughed and hugged her tighter.

Chelsea and Freddie had become really good friends since she started to attend the boys’ rehearsal and she knew that, even if he was an extravagant boy, he was a good one and she felt free to be herself whenever she was with him.

The door opened and John made his entrance with Roger, both of them followed by a strong odour of smoke. Chelsea tried not to smile, but as she saw Roger, a wide grin formed on her face. The two boys got closer to the stage, as they greeted everyone.

“And, since when do you smoke, John?” Chelsea asked him, turning around, while he got on stage to take his beloved bass in his hands. Roger in the meanwhile sat down near Chelsea and started to look at her, with a big smile.

“It’s all Roger’s fault. Am I wrong Taylor?” he joked, looking at him. Roger woke up from his trance.

“If you want to be a bad boy in a fucking amazing band you have to smoke, my little brother” he proudly said, turning his face to keep looking at Chelsea, who had an amused expression on her face, while she was observing John. Roger studied her body and noticed that she was wearing that little skirt he loved. He smirked, as his mind started to run wild. Freddie saw his hungry expression and smirked.

“Your little brother?” Brian’s voice made everyone turn their faces in his direction. Roger nodded.

“Yeah, since John is the younger I feel that we need to teach him how to be a man” Chelsea laughed, looking at him for the first time since he had sat down next to her. She soon found herself lost in his big blue eyes when he turned around.

“You know you’re only two years older than me, right?” John protested, lifting his arms in the air to let them fall seconds after on his hips. Roger nodded along, without breaking eye contact with Chelsea.

“Rog, please, not now” Chelsea whispered between her teeth when Roger moved closer and placed his hand on her thigh.

“You had to think about it twice, before putting on this bloody skirt” he uttered under his breath, as his fingers started to draw circles on her skin. She heavily breathed as she tried to keep calm.

“Roger, what are you doing?” John’s voice called Chelsea’s attention out and she immediately blushed. Roger grinned and looked over his shoulder.

“I was just telling her how stupid you look when you smoke, mate” he replied, with so much confidence, that Chelsea was left speechless. She couldn’t believe John accepted that sentence as true.

“Wow, you’re always so funny, Roger, thank you. Can you please just come over here and help me tune the instruments?” John simply said, concentrating on his instrument.

“I’m coming” Roger replied and, before getting up, he pinched Chelsea’s waist, making her squeal. He winked at her and reached the bassist. Chelsea was still looking at him when she heard Freddie coughing and she found herself flushing again; she had completely forgotten that he was still there, sitting next to her.

“What?!” she snapped when saw Freddie smile.

“What? You have the courage to say what? Oh my God darling, you two are so obvious and the sexual tension is so thick that we could cut it with a butter knife!” he replied, gesticulating and almost screaming. All the boys looked at him and Chelsea wanted to disappear, as she covered her face with her hands. Freddie laughed again and kissed her on the cheek with a loud pop, before getting up and clapping his hands.

“C’mon bitches, we have a concert to set up!”

The rehearsal finished in the late afternoon and Chelsea felt like a proud mother. Freddie jumped down the stage and hugged her, as usual. He lifted her from the ground, spinning around.

“You were amazing! I tell you, I want to be here at all costs the day before the big day!” she told Freddie when they parted from each other.

“Oh don’t worry darling, you’ll be there. Next Saturday, here’s the address” Freddie replied, putting his hand in the pocket of his trousers and handing Chelsea a wrinkled piece of paper. Chelsea looked over Freddie’s shoulder and saw that the boys were still busy on stage, so she got closer to him.

“Are you sure it’s not Mel’s day?” she whispered, a few inches from Freddie’s face. He smiled.

“Usually yes, but don’t worry darling, she already told me she has something else to do” he replied, making Chelsea smile.

Now that she was reassured, she decided to go, so she waved at all the boys and walked out of the pub. When she reached her car in the parking lot, a hand took her arm and a pair of soft lips crashed on hers.

“Rog” she chuckled, pulling away from him “we can’t do this here” Chelsea said, caressing his chest. Roger smirked.

“John told me he won’t be home later, so don’t you dare take off this fucking skirt. In less than an hour I’ll be at your place” he said and kissed her again. This time he pulled away and in a minute was already running to enter the pub, leaving Chelsea with flushed cheeks and a cocky smile on her face.

***

The heat of the July sun was nearly unbearable as Mel walked fast on the street. She checked the address Freddie had written on a smudgy piece of paper and thought that it should be nearby; she turned the corner to find herself in a small alley behind what it seemed to be the small arena where the guys were supposed to play the next day.

Leaning on the wall, beside the back door she spotted the unmistakable figure of her boyfriend, John. She was surprised to see him lift up a hand to his face and draw in a big breath of smoke.

“I didn’t know you smoked…” she introduced herself. She could tell he was a bit startled, his mind elsewhere probably.

“I didn’t,” he said, breathing out the last drag and extinguishing the cigarette against the wall.

“But I do now… and we have to thank – or blame, as you please - your brother for this” he added smirking and taking her hand in his to bring her closer.

“Honey, I think the Taylors have a bad influence on you” she smiled cockily and drew closer to him, lifting her chin up to look him in the eyes.

“You have no idea…” he grinned and leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Mel regretfully pulled back “You know we can’t do this. Not here.”

John softly grunted, “I know, I know… should I go in first?”

Melissa nodded and waited a few minutes before entering the back door herself. She walked through some small corridors, till she inexplicably found herself in the main atrium. She didn’t even know how she got there from the back of the building, but as she stepped through the main entrance her mouth fell open and forgot those thoughts. The hall was enormous compared to the conference room she was used to: everything was built in neoclassical style and the only modern feature was the stage set up at the centre of the front wall. The wooden seats were shaped in a sort of small court hall and she counted at least twenty rows: that place could have hosted nearly a thousand people. In front of the stage, there had been arranged almost a hundred temporary seats, probably reserved to professors and ‘important people’. John had told her someone had organized that concert to raise some funds for the Kensington College Library: Queen was not gonna be the only band to play, they shared the stage with four other student-bands from all over the campuses in the City. Being a fund-raiser, the bands only earned a few pounds for their performances, certainly not enough to even think about investing them in an album. But the guys were obviously happy to take part in such a good deed, and what was more, they had the opportunity to make themselves noticeable in front of a bigger - and soberer - audience than their usual.

She walked down the pit, towards the stage and sat in a seat in the first row, still admiring the brilliant features of the room.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Brian appeared behind her and she literally jumped up her chair.

“Jesus Brian, why do you always pop up behind me?” she brought a hand to her chest “You looking to give me a heart attack? ‘Cause you might just have”

Brian laughed and apologized, rubbing his hand on her shoulder; he sat beside her.

“So, you here to see Roger or John?” he inquired mockingly. Mel slapped his shoulder.

“Keep quiet! Someone could hear you!” she hushed, hiding back a smile.

“Ouch” he theatrically rubbed his hand on the point she had hit him.

“Did someone mention my name?” Roger appeared from the side entrance and went straight up to the two of them. Mel gave Brian a cold stare before standing up and hugging her brother

“Brian was just telling me how beautiful you look in those jeans” she said, winking at Brian. He shook his head laughing a little.

“You know, Brian, you can tell me those things. I like compliments” he too winked at him and Brian scoffed, mumbling something they couldn’t quite hear.

“He’s just shy” Mel patted a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“So how do you guys feel about tomorrow? Nervous?” she changed the subject.

“Quite nervous yeah…” Brian intervened “Not that we didn’t rehearse, ‘cause we did. A lot. It’s just that this is not the usual pub, where half of the people is drunk or stoned. We’ll actually have an audience here.”

“They said nearly a thousand people can fit in here” Roger added.

“Guys, that’s incredible!”

“Yeah, it is” Brian looked around “I can’t imagine what it feels like to perform in front of so many people who are there to actually hear you play, not to get high or drunk or… laid”

The three of them laughed.

“You’re gonna be great guys” Mel placed her hands on the guys’ shoulders and smiled fondly. She was so proud of her boys: they had actually walked through thick and thin together, fighting for something they knew was special. Now that the band was complete, things had actually started to take off and Mel and the girls knew something big was going to happen to them, not far too long down the road. They had made such huge improvements; the girls could not be prouder of them.

“Thanks, sis” Roger came closer to her and placed a kiss on her forehead; Brian placed his hand on hers and smiled, still looking around the auditorium as if he wanted to capture everything about that moment.

Suddenly they heard giggles and chats coming from behind the curtains of the stage and Freddie, John and Chelsea stumble on stage, with a load of stage costumes and props in their arms.

Mel’s eyes widened when she caught Chelsea’s; she was just as much shocked.

“Shit” they muttered in unison.

John, Roger and Brian were confused, to say the least. Freddie was grinning widely. All the pieces were falling into place.

Chapters: ⤎ previous | next ⤏

A/N: Hi again! Bit of a cliffhanger, uh? stay tuned guys, we’re posting next part in a few days. 💗 we’re gonna tag the lovely people who read, liked and commented the previous chapters. If you want to be tagged in the next one, comment under this one or leave us a message. Our inboxes are always open for you beautiful people

Tag list: @littledarlingwellaway @its-a-metephor-brian@bohemiandelilah @onevisionliz@misshystericalqueen @loki-lover095@deakysgurl @inthelapofthe39 @starsoflovingness-wq@minetticatinwonderland @cairdes20 @friendswillbefriendsblog@o-holynight @trash-record-collection @please-stop-me-now@theappleofmybri @marvelsbunch

Cheers, folks! ✌

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girlbookwrm · 6 years ago

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i DO recommend these fics, but this ISN’T actually a rec list

a while ago i did a meta about Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier and Hydra and the headcanons I put in The Terror of Knowing, and I mentioned that I wanted to compile a long-ass list of fics that inspired The Hundred Year Playlist and ppl (hi @conlatio and @marveluc) asked about it SO HERE, AT LONG FUCKING LAST, IT IS.

Fanfiction, like every other art form that has ever existed in the history of ever, is all about synthesis: combining pre-existing elements to make something new. It’s the making something new thing that’s exciting. (If you’re not making something new with your found material, that’s called plaigiarism and it’s distinctly uncool.)

When I was in college and grad school, if we used material from other scholars to make a new idea, we made sure to include a bibliography.

Now this is fic, so like. Everyone knows that we’re using found material. We put the fandom in the tags and everything. But there’s a lot of unseen inspiration, because it’s harder to tag all the fics and metas you read that gave you ideas and inspiration along the way.

I’m... making an attempt.

These are some, SOME of the fics that inspired the headcanons and characterizations and whatnot that then got incorporated into THYP. I’ve been reading MCU fic since 2014 (possibly earlier) and I didn’t even start thinking about THYP until 2017, so there’s probably a lot of stuff that went into my subconscious that I’ve forgotten about. I’m @ing the authors and sources when I know them, but if any of yall want me to like, un-@you (is that a thing??) or if any of you know of authors who have tumblrs that I DIDN’T @ but should have, pls let me knoooowwww

A (Probably Incomplete, but at least Attempted) Fanfic Bibliography for The Hundred Year Playlist

by Seriously I Don’t Have More Important Things To Do? Astonishing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS IN THE FICS THEMSELVES. THYP may be rated T for Teen (and even that I debate about tbh, given all the swears and violence) but most of these fics are very emphatically not. some of them will probably squick you out, some of them might be triggering, so take care of yourselves.

I’ve divided the list into sections by the story they inspired, but all of these stories inspired all the parts of THYP, this is a very very very rough categorization. Think of it as my fanfic n headcanon spice rack. some stories are going to have more or less of one spice or another.

Dreamers With Empty Hands

All the Angels and the Saints by @cesperanza

"You're a brutal person, you know that? You're always rummaging through my guts with your bare hands!" and then Bucky turned away, his long, muscled back curving as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched and struggling for breath. Steve wanted to draw him, and he also wanted to blot the image from his memory: this picture of Bucky in despair.

Speranza’s Socialist Steve is deeply flawed in a way that people don’t usually write him and i love it so much??? He’s angry, and egotistical, and righteous in a way that’s hard on the people around him and I was like YESGOOD MORE PLS. It’s also a masterful example of how to write a story that’s ostensibly Steve-POV but still manages to make Bucky not only a main player, but a driving force. It’s about Steve, on the surface, sure. But it’s also about Bucky, because Steve is about Bucky and I just *clenches fist* love it.

cascades.

This fic. THIS FIC. Hngh. Okay so this fic is good on so many levels, but for THYP, the takeaway was me very gently lifting the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family dynamic and then adding more swears to get to my take on the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family Dynamic. Namely:

“Steve was a bit of a Barnes, too, wasn’t he,” she says.

“He was ours,” says Rebecca, shrugging. “We were his.”

i crie???

More Man Than You

“You’re very pretty,” she said, and Steve tensed up.

“I’m not a fairy.”

“No, you’re not, are you?”

this fic has a study guide. and that’s literally all I feel I need to say about it. It’s an exploration of queer culture and masculinity in the 30s and 40s, thinly veiled as stucky fanfiction. (It’s also pretty brutal so I’ll reiterate that you need to heed the goddamn warnings)

Also, lest yall think I came up with Billy Thompson in a vacuum, I didn’t. In this fic, there’s a violent mob runner called Duke, and Steve comes up with a plan to take him down, and Bucky makes sure that there’s a Different plan that Steve doesn’t know about. It’s all executed a little differently in this fic, but the idea lodged in my brain and got reused in THYP, and kind of became a central theme.

Good Morning Heartache, What’s New?

The Night War by @praximeter

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. This is... honestly, just one of the finest pieces of fiction i just

HNNNNGH

I don’t know that I can point to any specific part of this fic and say “this gave me that idea” it was more the... the feel of it. The way the Normandy invasion is written and the way the trauma is handled and the way Steve is just slightly to the left of being a real soldier and especially this:

He asked me with a smile on his face what goes through my mind when I line up my shot—God and country? Pearl Harbor? Uncle Sam? —and I stared at him struck dumb from the question so long that I think he thought I was just plain stupid. The fact is that it is none of those things—not even close. It is sick, numb fear and careful, barely breathing so that I don’t miss. I must never miss. And then when I shoot, an awful thought curls up from my trigger finger to my heart “how many mothers must be praying I will miss?”

The Thirteen Letters

oh you didn’t really think that Not Easily Conquered wasn’t going to be on this list, didja? OF COURSE IT’S ON THE LIST. But possibly not for the reason you might think. That fic is legen-fucking-dary of course, and the scene where Steve gets stabbed was obviously very inspirational for that bit in GMHWN where Steve gets shot in the thigh, but the scene that really got teeth into my brain and Would Not Let Go was the one where the Howlies meet the Winged Victory of Samothrace and

Bucky knows the truth now. It is a deep and insurmountable truth. She has no face. Like the operative whose head he beat in, like the boy who he killed one month into active duty, even like Bucky himself, Nike is faceless. Bucky feels unprepared, or like he should have brought an offering.

Beside him Steve quakes before the oldest and the only god.

look my fixation with statues didn’t come from nowhere is what i’m saying ok

Sincerely, Your Pal

This fic haunts me because i hate the ending. not because it’s not good (It IS good) or because it’s not the right ending for the story (it IS the right ending for the story) but just because i h a t e i t. I just like happy endings is all, and resolutions, and this fic is why THYP will have a happy ending.

But also, I really liked the way this fic dealt with Bucky in Basic and lines like this really caught in my brain:

And of course I want to kill some Nazis I guess but not because they’re people. Not because I actually want people to die because I don’t.

And that sentiment definitely fed into how I write Bucky especially.

The Terror of Knowing

there must have been a moment by @redstarwhitestar (magdaliny’s marvel sideblog)

Listen, I’ve been trying to make sure that there’s a good spread of writers on this list but magdaliny is the exception. Magdaliny is the exception for a lot of things and there must have been a moment when we could have said no is always the first fic I think of when I think of a fic about Bucky’s time as the Soldier. Which is ironic, because it’s very much about his time after that, but that first chapter made uhhhhhhhhhhh an impression.

The fractured nature of the narrative, the way that the reader can piece together a coherent timeline but the main character can’t... that was very influential on TTOK. example:

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject says: “Why?”

☙

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject makes a mess.

☙

“Kill him cleanly,” the officer says. “Good! Good lad.”

I’ll build a house inside of you

Another magdaliny G I F T, an AU where Nat is much younger and Bucky is her dad, and if you think that didn’t affect the way I write Bucky and Nat’s relationship in THYP, then you are dreaming.

Past the praises of the handlers, above the hot wet smell of cordite and blood, Natalia can hear crashing and shouting down the hall.

“—goddamn animals, they're little girls, they're just kids, you fucking—”

Her father screams in English, in Mandarin, in Russian, and then he just screams.

I know that’s a super sad excerpt but listen and hear me when I say this fic is actually really good and wholesome and it’s got A+++ OCs and All The Widows and it’s just really good ok

Memory

Bucky is hard AF to write and very few people write him half so well as magdaliny but one of those people is emilyenrose and this fic is M A S T E R F U L. Bittersweet and achingly perfect. It contains this beautiful moment that really stuck with me, where Steve is comparing the post WS “James” to the Pre War “Bucky” and realizes...

He truly hadn't known James all that well. James hadn't let him. Hadn't wanted him to. Hadn't wanted anyone near him, ever—

—the way Bucky went, when he was miserable, when he was angry...

and that, to me, was kind of key when I went on to write the Soldier, because the Soldier IS Bucky, even when he isn’t.

Fool For Sacrifice

Dona Nobis Pacem

THIS GODDAMN FIC came to me outta FUCKING NOWHERE, I’d already written the first draft for FFS, I’d already started posting it, for crying out loud. And then all of a sudden I stumble upon THIS and i just

It’s already fading, just hours after the skirmish. And the wounds Sam stitched will heal without a mark. And the welts on Steve’s chest will disappear. Like all of it never happened.

Fuck the serum. He keeps thinking it, saying it. Maybe if there were some goddamn scars, it’d be easier to process the damage.

This fic is heavy af, it’s like the 65k word version of That Chapter in FFS Where Steve Hits Rock Bottom. This was the fic I read when I was ramping myself up to tackle That Moment

three white horses

This is the other fic I read to ramp up for That Scene, and I think that probably shows in the way I wrote it. It is also is a Strong Contender for the title of Heavyweight Fic That Convinced Me Buck Is Jewish. Honestly I cannot praise this fic enough.

I think the thing that stuck hardest about the Steve in three white horses is the way he feels ghostly himself, like he’s only drifting through the present, and somehow most of his living happens in the past. It’s very beautifully done, and very subtly done, and it’s my go to fic if I am in Dire Need of a Good Clean Crie.

It’s getting an extra long excerpt because This Is My List And Neither God Nor Man Can Stop Me.

Steve's fingers touch metal when he reaches into the second-to-last box, and he feels the blood drain out of his face even before he's looked down. He knows the feel of it too well. He'd know it blind, a hundred years from now. It's Bucky's not-a-medal.

It'd been Bucky's grandfather's, or maybe his great-grandfather's, made of the kind of sterling silver that tarnishes if you look at it funny, so Bucky had always been polishing it; he'd traded cigarettes to the mess staff for baking soda and vinegar, during the war, but the thing was still soot-black half the time, like it is now. It'd been a fool's errand, wearing a thing like that in Axis territory, but Bucky'd worn it on his chain like the rest of the guys wore their Christophers and Michaels, and HYDRA'd ignored it. It was a subtle thing, though: nothing like wearing a Magen David, or the implacable H on Bucky's tags, just a thin slice of metal with a stylized branch and an oblique squiggle Steve only knows is the Hebrew word for life because Bucky told him so.

Bucky'd had a curious mix of reverence and irreverence about it, the same mixture that seemed to colour the whole of his religious life. He'd teased Steve sometimes, saying, “No, wait, you gotta kiss it before you enter the building, you schmuck, what are you, some kinda heathen?” with his legs around Steve's waist. Bucky hadn't complained when Steve had carried on with an inch of silver between his teeth, but Steve had offhandedly called it Bucky's good luck charm once, and Bucky'd blown up; it's not a superstition, he said, it's not a fucking amulet. He'd apologized later, and he'd explained, and said it was a touchy subject, just ingrained. Jews weren't supposed to believe in luck. Bucky'd thought maybe it was the opposite: maybe luck didn't believe in Jews.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches

AH YES, THE FIC THAT TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIL AUDREY JOKES. SIPPY CUPS OF SUPERBOOZE! A ROBOT CALLED SHITCAN!! WHAT MORE COULD YOU NEED IN A FIC??? I really like the way it addresses Steve being in the future is all

This one could probably also fall into the list of fics that inspired DWEH, in part because of This, which stuck with me Hard and heavily influenced the opening:

“...You ever have scarlet fever?"

Sam shakes his head.

"It starts in your throat, like an itch, and as your fever starts to climb, your tongue swells up and turns white and that's when they know, really, even before the rash, that it's scarlet fever. You can't swallow, it hurts so much. You're freezing and your joints ache and your fever keeps spiking and you start to hallucinate. I, uh, I thought things were crawling on me and there were voices that I didn't recognize whispering things that didn't make any sense. My mom had to fight me just to get me to drink broth, but I threw it up most of the time, anyway. Then I got pneumonia from being so worn down from the scarlet fever and I was so lucky, Sam. Nobody seems to understand how I lucky I was to make it through. Talking to people today, to make them understand I'd have to tell them I survived bird flu only to fall sick with Ebola."

listen. For reasons I can’t fully explain, I really wanted to read that happening so i wrote it, and this is what being a writer is All About.

Actually, on a second thought, I might be able to explain it: it’s because an experience like that is Capital F Formative, and I really wanted to explore how there’s a tiny sick kid rattling around inside Captain Beefcake’s souped up bod.

(And an additional shoutout to Steve Rogers’ American Captain, a webcomic that now exists only in the Wayback Machine, but which was L O V E L Y and I sincerely hope that the artist knows that)

No Hope for the Weary

Strays

This fic? is so fluffy?? Like literally so fluffy. But this fic (and, obviously, Infinite Coffee) were very much behind the inclusion of the God Damn Starbucks, and also the source of a lot of my headcanons about Barnes & Rogers: Secret Millennials. For Example: Bucky’s Notes on How To Be A Millennial:

- Lots of coffee. Travel mugs or paper cups from Starbucks place. Often looks guilty for drinking, obv derive pleasure from doing so. Unknown as to why. Investigate further? Why is there one every two blocks if no one wants it there?

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

This is another fandom classic that needs very little introduction. A+ characterization, A+ OCs, Utterly Charming from start to finish, and the originator of a very distinct way of talking that got very strongly coded in my brain as Winter Soldier Bucky.

He passes within 4 m of Barnes on his way back to his building. The mission imperative achieves a Doppler effect.

contactContactCONTACTContactcontact

Aw.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by @silentwalrus1

If I had to point to one (1) fic and say “Blame This Fic for THYP” it would be this one: the Fic that my roommate and The Gal Pal know as “The One With the USS Motherfucker.” This might seem like an odd statement, because if you’ve read them both, I don’t think you’d necessarily put them in the same class. silentwalrus is a genius of hilarity and THYP is a big pile of The Sads. ITHLYN is delightfully unassuming and I’m sometimes embarrassed by how pretentious THYP ended up being.

I would technically put this under the list of fics that heavily influenced NHFTW on account of the way it portrays Bucky going by gradual degrees from murderbot to mostly human person, but listen I could never write Cryptid!Bucky the way Silentwalrus has. It’s magnificent. And TBH the level of Intensity in ITHLYN’s Steve has is something I aspire to, and the Sam Characterization is On Point, and both those things influenced FFS, 112%. Nat’s Chaotic Slav Energy in this fic is OFF THE GODDAMN CHARTS and I LOVE IT. Every single side character, down to the spaceship is given the kind of care, attention, and characterization that just... it cannot be beat, my dudes.

16/10 highest recommendation. I could not possibly pick a single paragraph from this behemoth but uhhhhh

Two minutes in there’s a grunt and a slippery, gritty noise somewhere to her left, and then the Soldier barrels past at breakneck speed, vanishing down another tunnel. A second later Steve careens around the corner, bounces off the opposite wall and crashes away after him, so fast he’s nearly a blur. Natasha’s brain, entirely of its own accord, provides her with the utterly unhelpful accompaniment of a Yakety Sax soundtrack.

that’s it. that’s the fic.

Also, this fic is Stoutly To Blame for the playlist aspect of the hundred year playlist? Silentwalrus really got me good with Grounds for Divorce by Elbow, one of my all time favorite songs, which was then paired with one of my all time favorite chapters. By the time Caravan Palace’s Lone Digger made an appearance, I was sunk. This fic introduced me to Lyube, and gave me a new appreciation(?) for dubstep. So many of the songs ITHLYN used ended up in my Very Long Stucky Playlist, though I think the only one that then went on to become part of the Hundred Year Playlist: Upside Down and Inside Out by OK GO.

And Finally, the Coup De What The Fuck Ever:

Ain’t No Grave by @spitandvinegar

yet another fandom classic... I wasn’t sure where to put this fic, but I couldn’t NOT include it in the list. Spitandvinegar’s Steve is charming and so? Sweet? and the ANG Bucky is a delightful foulmouthed mess of a person, and the Sam/Claire pairing is something I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED, BUT I VERY MUCH NEEDED IT and I don’t know that I can point to a single thing and be like: Ah Yes, This Bit, but this is definitely one of my faves:

Imagine you live in this country, right? And there's a brutal war, and you witness and maybe participate in a horrific amount of violence, and you lose absolutely everyone you care about. Then you end up in this other country, where the culture and ways of doing things are completely foreign to you, and random assholes make fun of you for how you dress and act and talk while you're still coming to grips with the fact that everyone you love is gone and you can never go home again. Meanwhile, everyone around you is like "smile, motherfucker, you're in the Land of Plenty now, where there's a Starbucks on every corner and 500 channels on TV. You should be grateful! Why aren't you acting more grateful?" So you have to pretend to be grateful while you're dying inside. Sound like an traumatized, orphaned refugee? Also sounds like Steve fucking Rogers, Captain Goddamn America. Except that most refugees were part of a community of other people who were going through the same thing. Steve is all alone, the last damn unicorn, if the last unicorn had horrible screaming nightmares about the time when it helped to liberate Buchenwald.

Usually this explanation yields a "huh." People don't want Sad Refugee Steve: they want Captain America, Indestructible Defender of Freedom. But that doesn't mean that Sam isn't right, because he is right, goddamnit. So yeah, Sam's a little protective of Steve. And if the last unicorn finds out that its best damn unicorn friend in the whole world is actually alive, then damn straight, Sam's heading out with a tranq gun and bringing that damn unicorn in and starting a goddamn unicorn wildlife refuge in his backyard. Or something like that: at a certain point the metaphor kind of gets away from him.

Til The End of the Timeline

I’ve recced this so many times you’ve probably all gotten sick of hearing about it, but it’s an invaluable goddamn resource and you should all check it out.

A Shit Ton of Metas and Blogs, some of which are tagged with THYP Research but especially @steve-rogers-new-york and @hansbekhart‘s How To Brooklyn and @historicallyaccuratesteve

and last but certainly not least

LITERALLY EVERYTHING @quietnighty READS HOLY SHIT

If you’re looking for a common thread through all the above recs, it’s that almost all of them have podfics, and the vast majority of those podfics are by Quietnight. I am, and always have been, an audio learner. I read my writing aloud when I’m editing, I listen to audiobooks when I’m commuting, and when I’m cleaning, and when I’m playing computer games, because I like stories, and I especially like listening to stories. Quietnight’s podfics are Of The Highest Quality, and her taste in fic is Impeccable.

hooooly shit this post is long wow okay. I can’t promise I won’t add more to this later, but I’m leaving it for now because goddamn. it’s as complete as I can make it at this time. I’ve added a “THYP Fanfic Bibliography” tag in my bookmarks, and incidentally I really need to make sure I’ve gone through and kudosed all of these because goddamn.

#i don't know how to tag this #thyp research #?#fic rec #??#stucky fic rec #???

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distant-rose · 6 years ago

Text

The Wolf in the Door

Notes: I have three prompts for Little Pirates, a chapter of Once and Future Thing to work on and not to mention cleaning up my Law School AU but what the fuck do I do? I make this little one-shot because I’m a cranky bitch and having a terrible day. This was actually inspired by @katie-dub when we met up and had a chat last week about how everyone seems to forget that Killian was once a villain and a very violent man and while he might be sweet and act all lovely with Emma, if his family was threatened, he would literally burn an entire city to the ground and kill everyone without so much as blinking an eye. I think it’s very easy forget that so we, as Captain Swan shippers, tend to focus more on the more heroic elements of his character and completely ignore that he’s done some pretty shitty and horrible things. I love Killian as much as the next person. He’s my favorite character but I also think it’s important to address he’s got quite the dark side and I don’t think that just went away post-Dark One saga. Summary: Killian always knew it to be true. He knew it the moment they placed his newborn son in his arms, a suspicion that he had since he found out Emma was pregnant but had solidified when Harrison was alive, red, screaming and still covered in vernix. He knew that he would snap a man’s neck with his bare hand if anyone so much looked at his son the wrong way. And he would do it without a second thought or a hint of remorse. Word Count: 2,500+ Rating: T+

It is only upon feeling the gentle weight of his son’s body in his arms that Killian feels a sense of calm. He cradles the infant close, a steady relaxed breath leaving his chest as Harrison nuzzles his face into his father’s neck. The riot in his brain that had been buzzing since his son was taken quiets now that he’s back in his father’s arms, safe and unharmed.

He’s mindful to keep his hand directly on the blanket Harrison is swaddled in, knowing that his mother-in-law will be less than keen if the cute duck onesie she bought gets smeared with blood. It’s something that’s special to Snow in a way that Killian can’t fathom, he doesn’t quite get some of the niceties that his mother-in-law follows. However, Emma humors her and always put their son in that particular onesie whenever they see her parents and Killian isn’t going to let the shenanigans of the day get in the way of that tradition if he can help it. The fuzzy blanket that was a gift from Ruby, however, is a lost cause at this point, dirtied beyond recognition and ruddy smears stretched across the pale blue material.

(Not his son though. His boy is clean.

Frightened perhaps. But clean and untouched.

And that’s all that matters.)

Harrison’s small whimpers threaten to turn into full out cries as he starts squirming in his arms. Killian makes soft shushing noises, bracing him tighter against his chest as he attempts to make his way through the obstacle course of slick blood, corpses and uneven floorboards.

He only pauses for a moment by the door, squatting down slowly and attempting to hold Harrison while pulling his favorite dagger out of some poor bastard’s chest. The slain pirate is young, more boy than man like most of this crew, and Killian wagers he’s not much older than Henry but none of this garners the dead much sympathy.

His death warrant was signed the second he agreed to help kidnap his son on Blackbeard’s behalf.

As Killian pulls the dagger out of the man’s sternum, there’s a cough behind him. He turns in surprise. He didn’t think he had left any survivors.

One of the men by the makeshift cradle is still alive, pulling himself up and clutching his still bleeding side. A sense of dissatisfaction fills Killian as he turns to face him. Holding his son tighter against his body, he walks towards the wounded man with his hook raised. It’s only when he gets closer that he realizes it’s yet another young boy, but this time no older than thirteen or fourteen. A cabin boy by the looks of it.

“You will pay for this...” he coughs.

“Highly unlikely,” Killian replies lightly, surveying the remnants of his bloodbath. “As you can see, boy, there isn’t a soul left but you and me and judging by that wound, probably not you for much longer…”

“Captain Blackbeard will make sure you pay for this.”

“Old Eddie isn’t going be living much longer than you. You see, the second you took my son, each and every single one of you were marked for death.”

“We weren’t going to hurt him. We would have given him back to you if you had given us the ship. That’s all we wanted. It’s not like you’re even using her. You’re supposed to have gone soft.” His words are petulant, almost whiney. It’s a childish argument and Killian finds himself even more annoyed.

“Do I look like I’ve gone soft to you?”

“You’re supposed to be a family man. Captain Blackbeard said so. Said you had a woman who made you weak. And that you gave up your ship for her twice. He thought you would do the same for the baby.”

“That was never going to happen,” Killian replies, tone growing hard. “You didn’t threaten to take my ship. If you had gone just for the Jolly, maybe, just maybe, your crew would still be breathing but you didn’t do that. You didn’t threaten my ship. You didn’t even threat me. That would be almost forgivable. No. Oh no. You didn’t do that. You threatened my son. That’s not forgivable. That’s death…”

The boy looks up at him, pale faced from blood loss or terror Killian doesn’t know nor does he care. Harrison starts whimpering again and he runs his hook gently down the boy’s back in hopes of soothing him. He quiets after a moment and Killian licks his lips before he speaks again.

“Being a family man doesn’t make you soft. If anything, it makes you even more dangerous…you see, if anyone so much as touched him, I would slaughter them and their entire family. I would burn this realm and any other realm, entire civilizations, men, women and children alike for just looking in his general direction…”

The boy swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“You should have. I am not a man to be trifled with. Just because I’m retired, doesn’t mean I’m less dangerous…less of a terror…less Captain Hook. I should gut you like a fish, take your innards and use them to string you up by your balls and leave your corpse as an example of why you should never cross me. But I’m not going to do that.”

“What are you going to do to me?” He whimpers, and the familiar pungent smell of piss fills the air. Killian doesn’t even need to look down to know it’s the cabin boy and not his five-month old son who has made a mess of himself.

A dark smile crosses Killian’s lips and he draws his hook against the boy’s cheek, scraping just hard enough to split the skin, blood blooming and beading almost immediately from the fresh cut. Another pathetic whimper leaves him.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Israel, sir. Israel Hands.”

“Captain,” he corrects, holding the hook just under his jaw. “You will address me as Captain, Israel.”

“Yes…Captain…”

“Good. You’re a good listener. This is good…Now listen to me carefully, Israel. I’m going to let you live, that is if you survive the blood loss…you should probably put some pressure on that... Not because I feel sorry for you or because you’re a pathetic dumb slip of a boy, the second you joined this crew you forfeited your right to my generosity…No, I’m going to let you live because I need a messenger…You see, sooner or later, Old Eddie Teach is going to find you after this debacle and he’s going to see the lovely mess of bodies I left behind for him…and when he does, I need him to know that he’s dead. I have no black spot to give, but he can consider himself marked…I was entirely happy to stay out of the game and leave you lot be so I could live a happy and fruitful life with my wife and our children, but really you left me no choice…you see, I will not stand for threats against my family, you so much as even think about my wife and our offspring, including my wife’s oldest boy who I consider to be like my own blood, I will not just take your life…I will do more than that…I will do every depraved thing that can be done to humiliate your corpse before bleaching your skull and drinking from it like the days of old….do I make myself clear?”

Israel nods his head fervently, looking like he might piss himself again.

“I’m going to need you to speak, lad.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…Captain.”

“Good lad,” Killian replies with a razor-sharp grin and a brush of his hook against the boy’s cheek again before pulling himself up and turning on his heel. He doesn’t bother to look back at Israel. As far as he’s concerned, the boy doesn’t exist now that he’s out of Killian’s line of sight. He’s more focused on getting off this blasted ship and getting his son back home to Storybrooke and back to Emma where he belongs.

Harrison starts a round of crying, and Killian immediately lifts the boy higher, unafraid to give the boy’s bottom a good sniff. He breathes a sigh of relief when he smells none of the foul signs of a soiled diaper. He’s not sure what he would have been able to clean himself well enough to handle a diaper changing situation. His blood on his hands is dried, but it’s thick layer that’s also made its way until his fingernails. It will be a bitch to get rid of.

(His wife is going to murder him.

He can’t bring himself to care.

Harrison is safe.)

Killian always knew this would happen. He knew this simple truth to be true the moment they placed his newborn son in his arms. It had been a suspicion that he had since he found out Emma was pregnant but it had solidified as soon as Harrison was alive, red, screaming and still covered in vernix.

The simple truth was, is and would always be that he would snap a man’s neck with his bare hand if anyone so much looked at his son the wrong way. And he would do it without a second thought or a hint of remorse.

He places a kiss across Harrison’s forehead, closing his eyes and breathing in the boy’s scent in attempt to drown out the smell of death that surrounds them. An itch of violence crawls underneath his skin, still riled and unsatisfied.

(It’s been awhile since Killian has let loose and ran his sword through another human being. He’s forgotten that all human beings are is walking bags of meat and liquid; easily broken, easily killed. He’s forgotten the rush that comes with ending another human being’s life; the ultimate permanent act of destruction.

He’s been on the side of angels long enough to have forgotten just how dark he truly is.)

David and Snow’s faces go pale as they make their way onto the ship, horrified by the carnage they find on deck. They relax only slightly when they catch sight of him with his son. David reaches forward to touch Killian’s shoulder but almost immediately he recoils, his fingers pulling away red. He stares hard at Killian, taking in the blood soaked hands, the rips and stains in the leather as well as the dark purple bruise forming high on his cheek. He knows he looks what like - a man who just cut down thirty men on his own.

“Harrison okay?” He asks quietly.

“Cranky but relatively unharmed. He’s okay. They can’t hurt him or anyone else anymore.”

“I can see that...” David’s eyes scan across the ship, drinking in the massacre. “You certainly went out of your way to ensure it.”

“They took my boy. The punishment fits the crime.”

“No, no, no, I understand,” David responds quickly. “I get it. In your position, I would have done the same.”

Killian presses his lips to his son’s dark-haired crown in order to fight the sneering question of “Would you?” that threatens to leave his lips. It’s not his fault. David is a hero, a good person, someone who feels remorse when taking a life, someone who has completely forgiven a litany of people who have wronged him and his family including Killian himself.

But Killian isn’t David. He isn’t...domesticated. David’s a sheepdog, a herder of people, a source of guidance and civility. Killian is a wild thing. He was raised in darkness. It took root in him young, when his father sold him and Liam into slavery and grew inside him with each lash of a whip, each time he was denied food, each time someone was taken from him. It’s a part of him, always has been and always will be. He’s a wolf that’s joined a pack of dogs, pretending he’s one of them.

But Killian isn’t docile.

Not by a long shot.

He’s merely been humoring his in-laws, playing the part of a good man while the savage violence inside of him still lingers just underneath the surface. And it’s this very moment that makes this even more apparent.

Because the truth is while the kidnapping of his son was catalyst of the slaughtering of Blackbeard’s crew, it’s merely an excuse. And if he’s honest with himself, an excuse he really doesn’t need but he’s no longer a pirate captain who pillages and plunders as he so chooses. He no longer, by his own violation mind you, plays by his own rules.

He’s a husband, a father, a deputy on the side of the law. Some might even think he’s a hero, but he will never be a saint.

(He wonders about the boy in his arms, still developing, still a pup. Will Harrison be more wolf or more dog? He hopes beyond hope that its dog; Emma’s goodness and light trumping his wild darkness.)

“Killian?”

Emma’s voice pulls him from his reverie and suddenly his wife is in front of him, looking as frazzled and out of her mind as Killian had been when he discovered Harrison had been taken. There are tears in her eyes as she approaches him, trying very hard not to run over the bodies littering the deck. She throws her arms around him and Killian can feel her entire body shake against his, from relief or hysteria he’s not quite sure.

Harrison lets out a loud squeal of protest at being squished between his parents, plumb fists swinging wildly in the air. Emma pulls him out of Killian’s arms and into her own, raining down a shower of kisses upon his crown. Killian’s not quite prepared to let them both go however. He wraps his arms loosely around her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs and leaning forward so his forehead is pressed against hers. He moves his hand gently up and down her back in hopes of soothing her. She hums in response.

“Is he alright?” He doesn’t miss the slight fear in her voice.

“I think he’s going to be okay. I got to them before they do anything.”

“Fuck them,” she spits, holding Harrison so tightly to her chest that Killian’s almost afraid she’ll squeeze him in half. “Fuck Blackbeard and every single one of his crew.”

“Well, I’m ahead of you darling,” he replies quietly, taking a lock of her hair and twirling it absently around his fingers.

“You killed them all, didn’t you?” It’s not really question.

Killian squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see the look of horror on her face, the same look that David and Snow had given him when they had seen the carnage that he left in his wake. He doesn’t want to see the same judgment and fear in her eyes.

“Aye, love. I did.”

Just as everyone seems to forget that he’s Captain Hook, the villainous terror of the high seas, Killian sometimes forgets that Emma isn’t nearly as domesticated as everyone else. Like him, she’s lived in the darkness, held it inside of her. She’s got some wolf in her too. She’s just better at hiding it than he is.

Which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when it isn’t fear in her voice but steel when she responds with just one single word that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Good.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic #little pirates #little pirates fic #the wolf in the door #dark killian #harrison jones #my fic #my shit

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son-of-the-omega-blog · 5 years ago

Text

#SL #PlayTime

#TriggerWarning #Abuse #Violence #Torture

Written by @Son_OfThe_Omega and @ToTheGrahve

Mentions @OffKeyDeviant @Qhuinn_BDBFM @Dehstruction

*~*~*~*~*

Grahve: Every breath hurt. Granted, that probably had something to do with the knife that’d punctured my lung like a fucking balloon. My blood was a flavor I was tired of tasting, but every rattled breath only pushed more of it up my throat. I wanted to hurl, but the gag in place made me fight the reflex. The bag over my head wasn’t much better.

I could still see the look in his eyes. The sheer, unparalleled delight as he’d buried that blade to the hilt, savoring my shock and horror. My fists clenched in the chains holding them above my head, the soft rattle the only sound other than my labored breathing. Fury licked through me, and only half of it was toward the male who’d trapped me. The other half was all for me.

How could I have been so stupid… I wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact I’d become so emotionally compromised and entangled, or the fact it had led me to make one poor decision after another. Until I was here, in what had to be a Lesser hideout, if the smell was anything to go by, bag or no bag. Yet the male who’d lured me, flirted with me, had definitely ‘not’ been one of the Omega’s minions. No matter how emotionally blind I was, there was no masking that rot.

Which meant…

I closed my eyes beneath the bag and tried not to sag in the chains, my mind turning over the only possible conclusion and feeling my dread curdle into nausea.

Lash.

The son of the Omega. The one who hounded the Brotherhood and sought to destroy them. The one who’d helped corrupt Blaylock. The one who’d kidnapped and tortured an angel.

No wonder he’d looked so pleased with himself as I’d choked and struggled. I’d never seen his face before. Never known his scent. A trainee so oblivious to who he was had wandered into his web. And now here I was. Helpless. And furious.

Lash: [Watching the male hang as each breath cost him valuable energy, I gave myself a pat on the back. Ever since my little encounter with Queen Beth, the Brotherhood has been totally ghost on the streets of Caldwell. And it left me quite bored. When I'd walked into the club tonight, I hardly expected to come out with such a prize. Granted the male wasn't a Brother, but still, a trainee was better than offing civilians all night as a draw.

The look of shock on Grahve’s face was worth the effort as the knife incapacitated him, but it didn’t stop the male from trying to get his own pound of flesh. Even unarmed, the male had made a formidable opponent based on pure spirit alone. The few hits he managed to connect with would have been enough to loosen the teeth of any civilian, but I didn't have time to waste playing the games of posturing young.

The struggle in the alley lasted less than a minute before I had tucked the half-conscious male into a stolen car, courtesy of some halfwit human who’d left the vehicle not only unlocked but with the keys tucked into the visor.

The longer than necessary ride looped around the south of Caldwell, dumping us at a dead end road turned narrow deer path that led deep into the woods. Steel chain link fencing surrounded the new compound wasn't just to keep the wildlife from setting off the motion sensors and cameras; any errant nosy human who happened to get too curious for their own health would have found themselves on the business end of a shovel, six down. Not that it would be hard to disappear a body out here, but time was a commodity I didn't want to extend if I didn't have to.

The few Lessers I had around the place served as my watchdogs, the beyond-pale fuckers that had been inducted many decades ago were the last of my Prime squads, well seasoned and hungry for Brotherhood blood. New recruits were being added weekly, courtesy of the Omega, the last of the more experienced Lessers in charge of their training.

Leaving the knife in the male's side during transport was a game; he wouldn't have been able to dematerialize regardless, but it was fun to watch him squirm and pant for breath each time I reached over and gave the blade a twist. I upped the ante and added the element of darkness via a black hood over his head. One more sense of his compromised. Even more so as I strung him up in chains and lifted him until he was barely balanced on the balls of his feet. I was letting gravity do the rest of the heavy work on Grahve's muscles. The pull would only serve to weaken him further, and unlike the angel, sunlight wasn't going to miraculously bring him back to near full health. No, the male would need a female's blood for that.]

Tell me. How's mine cousin, Qhuinn. Still besotted with the fair Chosen Layla? Or has he turned to finding new bed partners?

[Circling the deadweight with a grim smirk, I reached out and jabbed the male's wounded side with a hard fist.]

Grahve: Holy. Fucking. Hell.

The pain that erupted up my side threatened to send me night night, right before it caused a spasm to tear apart my lungs. I coughed, spluttered, the gag and the hood catching a mouthful of blood. My body struggled to cope as I pulled back against the chains keeping me up, away from where the hit had come from. But with the hood, I was helpless to predict Lash’s next hit. Not that I thought I’d be conscious after a second hit to my ruined lung...

By the time the agony had faded to a dull roaring throb, his question finally registered. I’d never felt my fangs grate against a gag before, the sensation uncomfortable even as a weak growl rumbled in my chest. Which I also regret. Immediately.

I tasted more blood and forced myself to calm down. But the idea that Lash was still gunning for Qhuinn made my blood boil. Regardless of how I felt, of what had happened between him, me, Crhis… all of it, I’d die before I let this miserable prick hurt them. And hey, whaddaya know, if he kept sticking me like a pin cushion and hitting the flesh around it, that death was all but guaranteed in a very short timeline.

I could feel his amusement, his utter delight at my helplessness, and if anything it fueled my rage, my defiance, until I was straightening and clenching my fists in their manacles. My chest hurt like a mofo, but it was all I could do until the gag came out and I could tell him a hearty ‘fuck you’.

Lash: [So, /that/ little query got a reaction from the trainee. Qhuinn must have been tapping more than one ass if this male was so reactive to mere questions. Did this hanging piece of meat know my oversexed cousin had impregnated a Chosen, I wondered; he had to have known. Layla paraded that swollen belly around like the trophy she was. She must have certainly had the young by now. Or dropped into the Fade on her birthing bed. Pacing around the dangling and gagged bit, I had to give him a small props for ‘hanging’ in there.]

Oh, wait. [Leaning in close to the male's ear, my voice was a harsh just-above-whisper.] Let me see if I'm reading this sitch right. Qhuinn gave the fair Chosen more bed time than you, so you turned to bedding another… [Inhaling deep only confirmed the stronger scent of another, a male.] … male.

[Just a guess, even with the scent of the trainee Qhuinn had been making eyes at all over Grahve, it wasn't too much of a stretch because I knew Qhuinn to be a possessive male that liked to take things too far.]

And mine cousin didn't appreciate the turn of your.. [Grabbing the back of the hood and jerking it off the male's head, the cold anger blowing off him in waves, hurt evident in his eyes as he twisted, bloodied and bruised before me.] .. attention to another. So you decided to drink away your broken heart. [Reaching out and cupping the male's face in a firm grip then patting his cheek hard, I slid fingers back to loosen the gag.]

Grahve: Layla. Hearing a Chosen’s name on Lash’s filthy lips made my skin crawl, but I wasn’t about to correct him on the little scenario he’d invented in his head. Especially if it kept my partner off his radar. Instead I narrowed my eyes at him as the hood was torn away.

It didn’t seem fair that someone so evil had a face like that. I’d never wanted to break something beautiful so badly in all my life. The memory of his lips on mine, of the way he pressed down my body and made me ‘feel’...

I spat out a wad of blood and spit the second the gag was gone, and whatever self preservation instincts I had left kept me from spitting it ‘on’ him. Though the temptation was definitely fucking there.

“Congratu-fucking-lations. You have it all figured out. Go you,” I sneered, wishing I’d had a lot more to drink. Maybe then it would numb the pain that was sure to follow. “I’d pin a gold star on your collar but I’m a little tied up right now. So how bout you fuck right off and do it yourself? There’s a good lad.”

In my head I ran down my list of options. Insulting Lash for as long as possible definitely made the list, and pretty close to the top I might add. Holding out for a rescue, though, was pretty far /down/. The nausea in my gut curdled into a dread realisation as I recalled the Lockdown, the fact that no one was supposed to be out on rotation at the moment to even notice me not showing up, and that after everything with Crhis and Qhuinn? No one was going to be looking for me…

A spark lit up my nerves. The realisation was so bright I struggled to keep it off my face, out of my eyes, so Lash didn’t see the kindling of hope.

Adrian.

The angel would surely notice I was gone… right? I’d made a promise to stay put and broken it. Sure, he might look for me back at the manse, but if I didn’t turn up he’d raise the alarm. The Brothers… they’d at least know the scent of Lash. Realise, maybe, what had happened. And even if they didn’t find me before I died… it soothed something jagged in me to know they’d at least be looking. That someone, somewhere, cared enough to notice I was gone.

“Considering how fancy you like your clothes,” I tried again, looking around, “I thought maybe you’d have a nicer place. Dad not covering your costs?”

Lash: [Pacing behind the male, my hand snapped out to grip the male's throat and tip his head back, his breath staining from the tension as I spoke.]

Oh I got more than a gold star. [My tongue slid up the side of his neck tasting anger, anguish, and a fainter hint of fear. Now that he'd figured out who /I/ was, most of the arrogance had been knocked out of his sails. Hence the hint of fear.]

You were more than willing to give it to me, weren't you… you cannot deny that scent of fucking you were giving off. The male you'd been fucking must have been quite the tasy little treat. [A slow, hard bite to his ear, fangs drawing that much more blood, coupled with a rut of my hips against his ass for emphasis and I stepped back around to face the trainee, brushing my hands off.] And yet you went to the club looking for more ways to drown yourself.

[I hadn't missed his initial outburst made, I barely contained the giddy feeling inside, and grinned fiendishly at the way his body tensed and grew cold at the mention of the Chosen and his sappy broken heart. I knew I'd hit a low sore spot that I could use to against him.

Ignoring his baiting comments about my attire -mental note to swap out to leathers once I'd returned to the compound, no sense in ruining an Armani- I delivered a hard fist to his fine nose, the burst of fresh coppery iron wafting across the breeze as it dripped in rivulets down his chin.]

See? We're going to have lots of fun.

Grahve: The feel of his tongue against my neck earned a disgusted shudder, my stomach revolting even as I swallowed down a fresh wave of bile. I barely felt it as his fangs pierced my ear, blood scenting the air. His hips bucking against mine brought to mind all the ways we might’ve tangled in the sheets, when I’d been willing, and the reality was so much worse. What would the Brothers say? I’d been about to fuck the enemy… Sweet Scribe… and all because I’d let myself fall for and give a shit about the males in that manse.

What had I become?

Trying to shake off the darkness that flooded every molecule of my miserable being, I adopted a sneer, forcing myself to remember the times I’d been completely alone in the world and survived. I could be that guy again.

“Next time I’ll just look for ways to actually drown. Probably a better outcome than ‘this’ one,” I point out coolly.

My last smart ass comment. Right before he broke my nose.

My head snapped back. I tasted blood. As I blinked through the haze and the pain, I sagged forward and spat a fresh mouthful onto the floor. Well, mostly the floor. Pretty sure a nice bit of it landed on his pants. And shoes. N’awwww…

“No wonder you weren’t in the training program long…” I panted and heaved in a breath with a broken, bloody smile, “what with a weak ass punch like that…”

Lash: Think you're funny? [The mangy fuck had the audacity to chuck a mouthful of blood at me. Growling low, I spun the male around and drove my fingers into the knife wound, pushing deep until his body swung off the ground and something popped and the male cried out.

Movement at the doorway barely registered enough to draw my attention away and only served to piss me off even more. The growl that tore from my throat spoke only one word to the brainless fuck that had the balls, -figuratively-, to interrupt me. Death.

Liquid energy rolled down my arm, pooling in my bloodied hand as I turned to decimate the motherfucker that dared interrupt my playtime. The lesser stood his ground but the fear dripped off him like a sliced carotid. In his hands shook a female body, a black canvas hood bunched around her head and shoulders, doing nothing to staunch her whimpers.]

You're fucking lucky, you know that. [The immediate impact of the sudden additional present hit me, a smirk kicking up the corner of my mouth as I glanced at the strung up trainee. Oh yes, this was going to work so much faster this way. She wasn't a Chosen, but female blood was female blood.]

String her up. [Pointing with just a look, the Lesser nodded without a word and did as told. The female's struggled, nearly freeing herself when her body suddenly slumped, loose-limbed, the lesser having knocked her cold with a fist to the temple. A hoarse growl and muffled rattle of chains fueled my smirk.]

Oh wait. [I glanced at the male dangling by his wrists and then at the female and back to the hanging meat.] My bad. Where are my manners. Are you thirsty?

Grahve: I didn’t know pain like this existed without unconsciousness following. As Lash buried his fingers in my flesh my whole body jerked and twisted to escape it. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, every animal instinct in me screaming to get away when something gave out. Probably a lung.

The room swam as blessed darkness crept into the edge of my vision. But it didn’t linger. As Lash withdrew, my mind returned. It was just in time to catch the whimpers of a woman - a female. My spine stiffened, my fingers curling into fists in their chains.

Of course. The lock down. With no Brothers on the street, Lash had free reign on the species. Nausea coiled in my gut as I watched him tie her up, and when she resisted, the demon struck. She crumpled as a snarl bubbled up my throat, wound be damned.

“You don’t seriously think I’d take blood from some helpless female?” I growled, glaring, furious at my helplessness. How was I supposed to help her when I couldn’t even help myself right now? It didn’t matter if her blood would heal… me…

I closed my eyes and dropped my head.

It doesn’t matter if I don’t want to… He’ll force feed me if it means he gets to keep playing. The idea is revolting.

“…it doesn’t matter if I say no, does it?” I mutter blackly, disgust laced through every word.

Lash: [Ignoring the trainee’s disgust, though I don’t know why, the female wasn’t bad on the eyes except for the fat lip and swollen eye and she smelled fucking delicious, I indicated to the Lesser he needed to make sure she was easily within reach without having to loosen her bonds. There was little chance of her finding escape, but it was better to overly cautious. Past experiences were still biting my ass in the form of the Omega each time we had those sire-son talks.]

Absolutely, I think that you’ll do it willingly even.

[Stalking over to the female and gripping her chin, tugging it up enough to confirm she was still indeed alive, I let the supple slumping of her unconsciousness hang from her place near the trainee and stepped back to admire my haul without giving anything away. This was going to change my plans only slightly, in the manner that I’d be able to keep the trainee longer than I first anticipated. If my Lessers could obtain another female within a few days, unharmed enough to be of use, I’d be able to send the Brotherhood quite the set of messages. Piece by fucking piece.]

And if you want the female to live beyond the next rising sun, I suggest you feed when you’re told to.

Grahve: I wanted to curse, to snarl my disbelief; as if he wasn’t going to kill her - fuck - kill us both, but what other option did I have? If I refused… he killed her now. If I took her vein, maybe I got enough strength to get us out of this. Maybe I buy us both time.

Biting back the slew of responses, all of which would probably go down about as well as a lead balloon, I went with the smart option. Even as my insides shrivelled in repulsion and shame.

“Fine.”

The word tasted nasty as I dropped my gaze to the blood spattered floor. My blood. It dribbled down my side as I heaved in a breath through the agony of a burst lung. And my broken nose.

“But let’s not kid ourselves…” The words slipped out even as a small part of my brain screamed to STFU. I met his gaze again. “How long are you gonna do this before you get tired of me? I’m just a toy for you to play with till I break, right? Then let’s get it over with. Just do it.”

Lash: [Strolling back to face the male, I gave a minute nod to the Lesser that had positioned himself behind the trainee. The pale fucker began cutting away the male’s clothes, starting with his shirt.]

Looks like it hurts.

[Grinning, I eyed the jagged edges of the bright red and purple wound as he was stripped down. And thought of the angel Lassiter. How his scars were MY mark on his body. Scars I created, a signature of sorts. What kind of signature could I put on the trainee? Mentally waving it off, I knew it would come to me when the time was right.

The male’s body was definitely impressive, well muscled and lean, as a fighter’s body should be. Once he’d been stripped of all his clothing, the bloodied pile on the floor.. wait, was that.. Tipping my head a bit, my grin pulled the smirk routine. He was blushing! Face flushed, aside from the fact of how pale he was starting to look from blood loss, there was no mistaking the traineed was embarrassed at being so exposed.]

Oh come now. [Chuckling darkly, I hardly ficked a finger toward the hanging female and the Lesser that had bared the male’s body of annoying restrictions now worked the same effortless theme on the female.]

I’m sure she’s seen a naked male before, though maybe not one of your particularly appealing form. She’ll be honored to offer you her vein. If she wakes in time.

Grahve: Being left bare before the Brotherhood’s greatest enemy brought whatever blood I had left to my face. I tried not to shift in the restraints and give the game away, but as his eyes raked over me like I was a meal, he smirked and knew. Fuck. Like this could get worse…

My lip lifted in a snarl that bared my fangs (probably the last thing of me that had actually been covered) as the Lesser set about stripping the female.

“Leave her alone. Whatever you wanna do to her, do to me! She’s a /civilian/, right? Not a fighter. Not a warrior. It’s beneath you to hurt her,” I bit out, somehow averting my eyes as the female body was bared, every curve and slender muscle. “Or are you so low I should be shocked you don’t slither and crawl?”

Hey, provoking him probably wasn’t my best idea, but if it drew even a lick of attention away from the female, I’d do it again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go; me helpless and watching some poor female be strung up and humiliated.

Lash: Who do you think I practice on? [I spoke without taking my eyes off the male, the illborne wickedness boiling under the gossamer surface of my form. Even without being consciously aware of what fueled the process, John Mathew had been my first directive. I had paid, and was still paying, for fucking that one up; the Omega never forgave for incompetance no matter the reason.

So I put into practice what I gleaned from each call ‘home’ to my sire. While it was never a fun visit, I did take away new skills to cultivate for my own use. It took too much energy to reanimate my own Lessers in the beginning, so I used whoever they, or I, managed to capture. Like the Chosen Layla. Now /she/ was one that never should have escaped. The Lesser that gave her the opportunity still decorated the wooded copse I’d blasted his carcass across. Or the more frequent random males and females of the species. Human rats were overlooked for the obvious reasons that they would never survive the capture. Let alone a single day/night under my hand.

Realigning my thoughts with the here and now, I waved a dismissal to the pale fuck who was eyeing the naked female with too much drool dripping down his chin at the malicious hunger brewing in his mind. With a sneering smirk, the Lesser skulked back to the corner of the room to await further orders. Just because they were impotent, didn’t mean that the desire to cut and kill died off as well.

The trainee’s compassion for the female negated his own need for survival. But this wouldn’t do. He needed to make the choice to fight to live. Even at the expense of another should the choice come to it, which I’d make sure it would. Many, many times.

Stalking back to the work bench along the far wall I picked up a long flat blade and returned to stand before the female, keeping the male at the edge of my vision. The sharp steel glinting under the lights as I held it up, admiring the razor honed edge before pressing it to the female’s throat deep enough to draw a nice, slow but steady rivulet of blood to run down her neck between her ample breasts.]

Do you think you can stop it before she bleeds out? [I mused to myself, turning to the feral-eyed fury that was the male strung up in chains and licked the blade clean.]

Grahve: As the blade cut into her flesh I felt two things. One, that I hated myself for wanting her blood, and two, that I now knew such hatred that I would gladly lose almost every limb if it meant the last one could plunge a knife into that bastard’s heart.

Her blood perfumed the air the longer it ran, from her throat, all the way down to her naval and down her leg to her toes. My body hungered for it in my injured state, and with sheer force of will alone I made myself focus on Lash. He watched me, watched every emotion that played out on my face, and I found myself wishing I was more like Vishous, or Zsadist, two Brothers who knew how to hide every thought, feeling or desire. Why couldn’t they have taught a fucking class on /that/?

“What, with my tongue?” I glanced at the red river with a flash of panic and wanted to punch something. Pulling at my own restraints - and boy, didn’t that remind me of the whole gauntlet my body had already run - I leant in closer to the female, breathing in her scent. “She won’t die. It’s not enough…”

I somehow managed to regret the words the instant they were out of my mouth. Because even a statement of fact, or a general denial, would undoubtedly seem like a challenge to the demon spawn. The fresh burst of anxiety, the fear that he would suddenly pull that knife back up and whip it across her throat until I was sprayed in blood, opened my mouth.

“Forget it, you’re right. Let me stop the bleeding!” I pulled at my restraints until I could put my lips to the wound, and even as a mouthful, or two, slid down my throat, I lapped my tongue over the wound, trying to seal it.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore Lash, ignore my body and the need that was burning inside it, even as the blood started to slow. My fangs scraped against her skin and my stomach snarled, a growl bubbling up my throat. Then I was trying to pullback, my tongue running over the wound.

Lash: Come on, you can reach her. Come on. [The encouragement was sincere enough, I /did/ want to see if he could make it on his own; the pulley system which they’d both been rigged to was movable to any place in the building with the right adjustments. The trainee didn’t disappoint. But I had doubts, I really did. For all of five seconds. And I’d been ready to follow through and gut the female from chin to belly if the male hadn’t stepped up when he did.

I shuffled around the two in a macabre dance, watching the male’s throat work the blood down as quickly as he could, his efforts trying to stop the flow in spite of the need, his body’s need, to keep drinking. I could have played this out far longer than was formally necessary, but I did so enjoy a little drama after a long dry spell. This was merely play time, a warm up session for when the Royal family came to visit. I absolutely could /not/ disappoint King Wrath upon his arrival.

As Grahve’s throat slowed, the working of his jaw indicating he was finished, though I knew he would need more than a few little sips to heal properly, I reached over and patted him on the shoulder for effort.]

Such a valiant effort. Bravo my friend. Bra-vo. See? It wasn’t as difficult as you made it seem. [I paced around the pair once, twice, the female slowly beginning to come to with mumbled whimpers and moans.] Are you sure you’ve had enough?

Grahve: Feeling Lash’s hand on my skin in a fashion that wasn’t torturous was, in itself, a kind of torture. My skin crawled as I shifted away from him, not wanting the contact, the camaraderie sensation. Crhis was my partner. The Brothers my allies. I didn’t want Lash’s praise.

I ignored his question to stare at the female, leaning in slightly.

“Hey, are you okay? My name’s Grahve. Can you hear me?”

I shot Lash a filthy look as the female mumbled and groaned, barely coherent as she struggled in her restraints and shifted in the puddle of her blood on the floor. She seemed to notice that - notice that she was naked straight after. A shudder went through her, then a kind of sob. My chest ached for her; that she’d been dragged into this shithole.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, I’m here with you,” I murmured, wishing her blood wasn’t still on my lips, helping seal the hole in my lung. “Can you tell me your name?”

Lash: Looks like she’s not that into you, Grahve. [Doing a back n’ forth between the two, I wrapped an arm around both waists, ignoring the fact that the female was starting to really wake up now. The weak tugging on the chains was indicative of the minor blood loss and likely the blow to her head and the trainee’s encouraging tone.]

But don’t worry, I’ll send my boys out to find you something a little more fresh and easier on the eyes. [With that promise, silent shock painted the male’s face, his half-strangled cry caught in his throat as the hot red scent of iron dripped down his face, his chest and thighs. The female’s struggles were more erratic now, twitching really.]

Grahve: Red. It had a smell. I was covered in it. The taste of her was all over me. Her body writhed in front of me. Her throat was a gaping hole. Blood spurted, oozed, trickled and spilled.

“Shit…”

It was the only word that came out. She looked at me, the light in her eyes dying. Betrayal flickered there. Why was she dying. Why was I alive. Why was Lash still holding me…

Bile rose in my throat as I tried to wrench away. From him. From her. I’d failed her. As she gasped her last breath I knew I’d remember the sound until I died.

Hopefully it’d be soon…

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caffeineivore · 6 years ago

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Spirits (are y’all sick of me yet?)

More of the last.

M/N, a bit of J (hints at R/J), cameos of people

He awakens with a groan and the ageless ache of bones reforming every night under stone turned skin. It’s an ache that he’s become accustomed to, and barely registers any more. Nathalán’s body is relatively impervious to the elements and the changes in the weather, but it’s a windy night, and he draws his cloak-- miraculously intact and not threadbare, closer around his shoulders. The habit to look over to the roof hatch is harder to break, even though he knows well enough that Linden will never again come up to join him through that path.��

A twang and woosh of air-- familiar, long-unheard sounds-- has him swiveling, hand going towards a sword he’d not unsheathed in centuries. The soft but unmistakeable noise of an arrow being released from a longbow has not changed an iota in all these years, but before he can react, he sees Linden, winged and cruel-clawed, alighting next to where an arrow is embedded into the tile. She gives it an experimental tug, then moves to the edge of the roof. “I think it should hold well enough, considering you are an agile, light-footed lot. I wouldn’t recommend coming up a building this way to a mortal, though.”

The rope pulls taut, and Linden steps back, wings and claws receding. Her eyes find his face, blood red fading back to the soft, verdant green of a forest in spring, and much to his gratification, she smiles. “I have brought along visitors to meet you. They have promised to help.”

A blond head pops up, eyeing the surface of the roof inquisitively for a moment before the lean, lanky figure of a man vaults over the scaffolding. He’s wearing a dark cloak of some sort which unfurls in the wind, revealing a tunic clearly designed for ease of movement. A few moments later, he’s joined by two others, similarly clad, a man and woman with raven hair.

“Remarkable,” the blond stranger intones softly as he meets Nathalán’s gaze with a smile. “You’ve weathered the elements quite well then, haven’t you? They tell me your name is Sir Nathalán of Stormbrook Keep. I’m Jareth Sylvane, of the Ælf-kine, and these are my friends, Aeson and Aelene.”

The graceful couple-- for they do, indeed, seem to be matched-- nod in greeting. “I have heard of the likes of you, but never met one before.” Nathalán sketches a courtly bow, though he’s fairly sure the movement is out-of-date with this here and now. He affords a smile at the lady, friendly but not flirtatious. “I do recall the bards singing of the beauty of the fair folk, and see that it is indeed no exaggeration.”

“The bards are an imaginative but flattering lot,” the lady returns merrily. She aims an arch look at her dark-haired husband. “Perhaps they have learned that sweet words can get them farther than blunt directives.”

“I’d give you all the sweet words in the world, my lady, if I thought for a moment that you’d accept them without suspecting my motives,” her husband rejoins wryly.

“Be that as it may, perhaps Jareth should employ sweet words of his own towards his own lady to thank her for her help.” The lady, Aelene, gives Nathalán a long, critical appraisal from all angles. “With a bit of polish and clean-up, perhaps a horse and a sword, you’d make a handsome addition to Central Park, Sir Knight.”

These words mean little to Nathalán, but it’s Linden who hastens to explain. “They will move you from the roof for when this building is taken down, and polish you up a bit before putting you up as statuary in the park. Jareth knows a lady whose family has some influence-- she will contact the necessary people to make the arrangements.” Her hand slips into his, strong and warm, and a faint smile crosses her beautiful face. “I suppose I’d have to get accustomed to seeing you as some valiant knight atop a galloping steed, after all. I suppose you were very dashing, back then.” Back when he was human and mortal and had not yet crossed paths so irrevocably with her, she means, and a part of him knows that she almost wishes it weren’t so-- that perhaps things would have been better had she left him to live out his old, perhaps very ordinary life. He barely remembers it, though, aside from vague flashes.

“I am quite certain I was more brash than gallant,” he tells her, gazing into her eyes. Hundreds of years ago, when she’d materialized in front of him in the midst of her woods in a swirl of green leaves and gossamer, she’d been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Now, all this time later, in her peculiar blue canvas trousers, with snowflakes melting on her eyelashes, she still is. “I certainly have more memories of getting into mischief with the other lads in the Keep than impressing any of the maidens. Probably not the best use of my time, I daresay.”

“Alas, it is a common enough affliction for the male sex. I daresay we’ve all had our share of adventure and misadventure.” The blond Ælf-kine, Jareth, gives the dark-haired one a mischievous sort of smile. “Thankfully, one comes to one’s senses, eventually, when one meets and woos an Aelene, then promises, upon one’s troth, to keep out of trouble.”

“I’m sure that Aeson would beg to differ, and claim that he keeps me out of trouble as opposed to the alternative.” The Ælf-kine lady shares a long look with her husband, then a fleeting, secretive smile. “I shall not argue that I am his better half, though.”

“No one would dare say otherwise.” Aeson lets out a quiet laugh, before turning towards Linden with a kindly air. “We will have to come for him in the morn, and take him hence. It may be a week or two before you can see him again, in the park, but you have our word that he will not be harmed, Linden of the Iele.”

Next to him, Linden nods, her fingers curling tighter around his. “You have my thanks, Ælf-kine, and for what it’s worth, my blessings.” The air stirs around them for a moment, with something thicker and charged, something more substantial than the wind. “You will tell me when I can see him again, and where to find him.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, and Nathalán can all but hear the pulse of underlying power in the imperious tones of her voice.

“Of course.” The blond, Jareth, pulls out one of those cunning little boxes with the flashy screens much alike Linden’s own. “I have your number. I’ll text you.”

She nods, and then raises an eyebrow as Jareth picks up the end of the rope that he’d climbed up on, and disappears over the edge of the roof a moment later. “You guys are seriously about to climb down the side of the building again?”

“‘Tis not so different from a sequoia, from the wilds of California where we’d stayed for a decade on our way here,” Aelene says blithely. “If anything, stone is sturdier than that wood.” She smiles at Linden, then at himself. “Be good to your lady, Sir Knight. She cares for you greatly.” And with a swirl of cloak and a nimble step, she, too, disappears over the scaffolding, quickly followed by her husband. And then, it’s just the two of them again, on that roof. Usually, Linden brings some victuals with her, but today, she simply pulls a flask out of a pocket of those tight, sturdy-looking blue trousers of hers, takes a swig and hands it to him.

It’s smokey and sweeter than ale, with a good solid kick of liquor. “It’s cognac,” she tells him as he takes a sip. “The good stuff. I figure if I’m not to see you for a few days, and you’re moving onto a new home, you could use some liquid courage.”

He knows it’s her way of attempting to be brave and comforting for the both of them, and he almost wants to pull her into his embrace, hold her so tightly that nothing can pass between them-- not air, and not magic. Watch the sunrise over her shoulder and let his limbs freeze into stone solidity around her so that she can’t leave. But that is the selfish sort of thought of the sort of man unworthy of her, who’d care more about imposing his own will than her comfort or freedom. So instead, he sips the fiery drink, and kisses the top of her head. Her hair smells like sunlight on mossy wood and fresh cut grass and everything lovely and vital and alive. “Liquid courage, hmm? I don’t think I ever lacked in courage, perhaps more’s the pity. But it is warm, and sweet, and I will carry that within me until I can see you again.”

Her breath escapes in a soft sigh against his neck, and together, they keep vigil on this, their final night on this particular bit of crumbling sanctuary, hearts beating in tandem until the sun rises in the distance. It’s a burst of orange light and then a chill fog which creeps in upon him, covering his eyes and all of his senses, freezing his limbs in their position. But this time, when the morning comes, the last thing he feels is the warmth of her fingers in his.

#M/N #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon #fanfiction #fanfic

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demifiendrsa · 6 years ago

Photo

Preview of the Shonen Jump Exhibition Vol. 3 interview with Yoshihiro Togashi. Full interview will be out in July.

Yoshihiro Togashi is an author who has always set his sights on 'how a writer should be', and has continued creating his works strategically. Yu Yu Hakusho, his big hit that took the Jump world by storm in the 90s, was written from the very start to evolve from a 'heartwarming story' to a 'battle manga'. His next project, Level E, was where he displayed a different side of himself to his readers -- he subverted the image he had created with Yu Yu Hakusho, and developed a work of science fiction with an incredible story potential.

And then in 1998, he created Hunter X Hunter, which is still going strong even today.

"This might be an unpleasant way to put it, but back then I thought that my next work should aim to 'hit' since I was writing for Jump and all. I had been watching readers' polls closely since the latter half of Yu Yu Hakusho's serialization. I was looking at not only my own standings, but also at things like who's number one right now with what kind of story, etc. Analyzing everything, I concluded that the popular works were about sports or battles -- stuff where there were clear winners and losers. Then I thought that if I was going to write something next, it had to be a battle manga after all."

And thus Hunter X Hunter was conceived, and while a straightforward battle manga, it is also a work that fully exhibits Togashi's trademark ability to inspire his readers to hyperanalyze. The protagonist Gon, for example, looks deceptively cute but has absolutely no hesitation to battle. He is a unique character that can convey even a feeling of infinite 'fearsomeness'. "At first, I wanted to make Gon a good boy that would dominate the polls for 'characters you want to have as a son'. But as soon as the serialization began... or rather, as soon as I started writing my draft, I felt like that wasn't quite it. A boy who proclaimed that he would abandon his foster mother to become a Hunter isn't quite a good son, is he? I started thinking, 'This is one really crazy kid' (lol). But I thought it couldn't be helped that he would behave that way, as he was in turn the son of a father who did indeed abandon his child to become a Hunter. To me, he was a natural character."

He said that having a 'crazy kid' as protagonist was in line with the story's direction.

"If I had made my protagonist a 'right proper lad' and drawn a battle manga with it, it would have raised complications when he had to duke it out. That per se would have made for a fun story to write, but I thought that wasn't where I wanted to go with this story. I did not want to alienate my readers who would read for the fights. Thanks to making a 'crazy kid' like Gon the protagonist, I was able to write battles without having to depict moral conflicts within the character."

There are still things left that I would enjoy writing

"Basically, I am doing it my way."

Togashi's stance on his current serialization is that it is both a strict challenge and somewhat fun.

"From an outsider's perspective, the series I'm writing right now might look like it's a serious chore, but personally I am enjoying it very much. When I was younger, I used to be barred from doing things I'd really have liked to. Now I finally get to do stuff that I enjoy."

So there is also an element of 'revenge' for the stories he couldn't draw in his youth.

"I am talking about romantic comedies (lol). But well, I am too old to write for that genre, and besides, I also think it would be best if I left the drawing to another person. Just as the manga last year for which I only wrote the script (Akuten Wars, illustrated by Hachi Mizuno), if having another person draw the pictures makes for a better work of art, I have absolutely no objections to it. I also thought that I would have liked a more realistic artstyle to go with Level E anyway. Depending on the genre, I really think that I can legit just be the scriptwriter."

Imagine the characteristic worldbuilding that only Togashi can do, brought to life by an artist who can best realize its potential. The day where we can see one such work after another might not be too far away.

"Still, that aside, I need to finish writing Hunter X Hunter. It has come to a point where either the story concludes first, or I die before that happens (lol). But I do intend to finish it. Although you can say that at one point in the story -- where Gon meets Ging -- I have completed the story once. I believe that some readers must have thought 'Wasn't that supposed to be the endgame?' and I did write it to seem that way. Still, I did not intend to cut off the flow of the story there, and I hope my readers could see that there was still room for continuation. As a reader of Jump myself, I also remember having thought 'Shouldn't this manga have just ended here?' and feeling pissed when it went on and on. I want to always be in touch with that feeling as a reader. But Hunter X Hunter as it is now has a lot in it that makes me want to keep on reading, even from my own perspective as a reader. And from my perspective as a writer, there are still many things in it left that I want to write, that I would enjoy writing. And so if anyone would be willing to enjoy this ride with me, that is all I can hope for."

Translated by VeraciousCake on Reddit.

#Yoshihiro Togashi #Hunter x Hunter #Level E #Yu Yu Hakusho #Weekly Shonen Jump #HxH #YYH #manga #long post #Don't joke about dying before finishing HxH Togashi D:

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chrysalispen · 5 years ago

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xii. a little grief, grappling your chest,

this was broken into multiple parts for length, the next will be posted probably sunday

==================================================

After the final prisoner had taken her leave, a strained silence had descended upon the assembly. Each set of questing eyes offered tentative glances at their fellows, unsure what to say, or if anything needed to be said at all.

Then Raubahn's shoulders dropped, the tension flowing out of his body as a wry smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," he said mildly. "That was... certainly a show of spirit, wasn't it? Wouldn't have thought a slip of a girl like that would have the fire for that sort of temper. Not after a near moon spent in that hole."

"Don't you? I've met enough of her kind to think otherwise," Merlwyb groused, her tone sour. "Too proud by half for their own good, the whole miserable bloody race. We could send her to the gallows or a firing squad on the morrow and she knew it, and still had the nerve to speak out of turn."

"I doubt it was gall so much as anger. We did falsely accuse her, after all."

She scowled at him.

"Navigator's teeth, Raubahn, don't tell me you're actually defending an imperial prisoner."

"...That's stretching things a touch," he said, tapping the surface of the table with his index finger. And it was, though in truth he was full glad to see his first impression of the Garlean girl had been inaccurate. He could respect an enemy with some spirit. "Right, well, at the moment we've only one other who seems willing to work with us and that's the engineer lad, Albinus jen Marsyas. Witness statement was fairly unremarkable."

"We didn't expect much from any of this lot in the first place," Merlwyb snorted, though with no real rancor. None of them had particularly been in the mood to pore over the character accounts of people whom they were well aware would likely not be amenable to the Alliance's terms.

The Seedseer lifted a slender hand.

"Floor's yours, Kan-E-Senna."

"Thank you, General. First I should like to point out that each of the statements we received did confirm the prisoner's account of events. In addition, Commodore Sleittidin's testimony also confirmed that she is a chirurgeon as she claims. That had been somewhat in question originally if you'll recall-"

"Speaking of which," Merlwyb interjected with a fierce scowl, "what in all the hells were you thinking, Loezwyrn?"

The man winced at the displeasure writ large on his Admiral's face.

"I'd thought to keep my peace unless it became necessary otherwise, ma'am, but reading those accounts-"

"If you needed to recuse yourself then the time to say so was before the hearing began, not in the bleeding middle. To make no mention of the theatrics before a prisoner? You are an officer of the Maelstrom, not a mummer."

"Let it go," Raubahn said. "We'll mark the Commodore's abstention from the decision on the court record. Seedseer, if you have aught to add, please continue."

"I think it unjust to place a heavy sentence upon a noncombatant. Her only real crime appears to have been enlistment in the legions rather than conscription. She could well have held her tongue and kept her healing skills to herself, yet she did not. She has to the best of my knowledge made but a single personal request since her arrival at the Spire, and it was to see the other prisoners well cared for."

"You make her sound almost saintly," he said with a short laugh.

"I hardly think her to be anything so lofty as that, but it would be foolish of us not to make use of skills that she has freely offered to the Alliance - be they in exchange for her life or no. Whatever is ultimately decided about the others," she finished quietly, "I want this one. I will treat with the elementals to make room for her if needs must."

"Yes, but for what?"

"There are any number of folk that would benefit from her presence." Kan-E-Senna's patient smile carried the air of someone who thought she had just been asked an inane question indeed, but had graciously decided not to make mock of it. "The Conjurers' Guild, for example."

"Conjury?" Merlwyb sputtered incredulously. "You want to make a conjurer of a Garlean?"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not. Time will tell."

"Garleans don't have a scrap of ability to use magic, Seedseer. Not a one of them can lay a finger to their own aether, that's why they've all the machina in the first place. She'd be of absolutely no use to anyone expecting her to be, well, a conjurer."

"Though this is neither the time nor the place to explain to you why, that is not quite true nor is it accurate," she said. "Frankly, even were it the unvarnished truth this is the decision I have made and I mean to stand by it. I want the Garlean girl. I will not withdraw the request."

They all stared at her. Kan-E-Senna stared back, calm and impassive, and no one could hold her gaze for more than a few moments before looking away. Lifting her chin so her voice would carry farther across the room, she continued as if the argument had never taken place.

"In any case, circumstances being what they are, I move that we extend clemency in this case and consider commutation."

"Motion acknowledged." Raubahn idly tapped the toe of his leather sandal against the edge of the table. "Do we have a move to second?"

"Well do you know my opinion of the whole damned affair, General Aldynn," Merlwyb said. After a moment she added, somewhat grudgingly: "...That said, I take the Seedseer's point. We are all going to be in dire need of those with healing knowledge in very short order. As low a bar as that is, it's still more than we've got out of most of her fellows. I mislike the notion of trusting to the integrity of any imperial, but-"

"As a friendly reminder, Master Garlond also hails from the Empire," Kan-E-Senna pointed out gently, "and he has ever served as a faithful ally to our cause."

Merlwyb did not smile. Her already stony expression took on an even darker cast, the corners of her mouth tight with suppressed anger.

"Cid Garlond? Aye, he was a good man," she acknowledged. "For all the precious little bloody good his loyalty to us did him in the end, the poor bastard. They've not yet recovered his body, either, so I hear."

They all sat in solemn silence for a moment, reminded of yet another casualty of the Empire's seemingly endless ambition and greed.

"...Anyroad, if you want to give this girl a chance I suppose there are worse candidates." She shook her head and laid her quill alongside her stack of papers. "We'll see how long it takes her to balk at the terms of the sentence, but that'll be her problem, not ours. Aye, I'll second Kan-E-Senna's motion to commute the sentence."

"That's a move and a second. Show of hands?"

At first Raubahn Aldynn thought they might refuse after all, now that the choice was before them. The reminder of their friend and ally Cid Garlond, missing for weeks, the last sighting of the master engineer that of him and his beloved Enterprise set afire by Bahamut's flames and off-course to crash somewhere into the depths of the forest, seemed to have sobered the mood of the room considerably.

But one by one, with varying states of reluctance, each of their hands raised aloft - save the Commodore, who had abstained as promised.

Slowly, he nodded, raised the gavel, and brought it down upon the wooden surface. May the Twelve forgive us.

"Motion passes unanimously."

Seeing the matter settled for all intents and purposes, Merlwyb glanced down the table. "Your plan is far from foolproof, you know. It's still possible she could betray you to her Empire at the first opportunity."

The warmth of Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was like spring sunlight filtered through leaves.

"I'm well aware she could, Admiral," the Padjal said. "But from all I've heard of her thus far, I think she won't."

~*~

Heedless of the murmurings of the others in their cells, Aurelia coughed and let her head fall back against damp stone with a dull thud. There was the sound of something scurrying in the rushes mere fulms away and she decided she would have more peace of mind did she not attempt to investigate it. She had enough on her mind as it was.

The waiting, she decided, was worse than anything. Worse than the moments surrounding her capture, worse than the last moon of imprisonment, worse even than the tension of that hearing. She could deal with the Eorzeans' spite towards her, bureaucratic or otherwise, feeling it was little more than what she and the rest of her fellows deserved if one came down to it.

But she had no idea if she'd even be drawing breath by this time tomorrow and the anxiety was beginning to wear on her.

She had a pounding headache in addition to everything else, and when she touched a hand to her brow she found it as warm as she'd expected. There was a twinge of unease as Aurelia's fingers brushed her third eye, but she ignored it. There was precious little in the range of its perception that was relevant. Depending on what was to happen, upon whether or not she'd even be alive this time on the morrow, a bit of momentary discomfort was nothing.

She didn't even jump at the rattle of the bars or the rasp of the key in its lock. She'd known it was coming. The Eorzeans had made their decision, it seemed, and rather quickly.

"It's time," the guard began, then with a frown illuminated by the torch on the wall: "You taken ill? You look about to drop stone dead."

Aurelia only shrugged. The guard was correct, of course. But she had been running on low-level terror for so long that she had all but forgotten how to slow down or rest and she could not well afford to stop now. It meant she'd paid little enough attention to her physical state; even her leg, which now ached as much as she'd thought it would after that display, remained little more than background noise.

The guard grabbed her crutches and held them out when she didn't move.

"Out with you," he said. "They're askin' to speak with you and you don't keep folk like them waiting. Come on."

The journey up the staircase and towards that room was, of course, the same length it had ever been. But it seemed somehow to stretch for days while also bringing her to her likely doom with a terrifying swiftness. Step by step, inexorable, almost against her will.

You are a daughter of Garlemald, she reminded herself. Garleans do not cower from a foul end or an uncertain future; we face whatever is to come with a cool head and a brave heart.

'You can choose to accept your fate, or defy it, but you cannot deny it.' That had been L'haiya's last piece of advice to her, right before Aurelia had left for the capitol, before her life had so drastically changed at the tender age of sixteen summers - and as ever, the memory brought with it a sharp twinge of regret. There was no time to dwell on it, however.

She squared her shoulders and straightened her back as best she could when the door opened.

Even so, her resolve was sorely tested when she stepped once more across the threshold. The man who had testified, the closest to a familiar face she had, was no longer present, and the neutral faces of the remaining five behind that table gave no indication as to what she might expect. Her heart began to beat faster.

The scarred Highlander gave her a mirthless smile, his lips thin and tilting in a lopsided way as she lowered her weight onto the rickety bench once again.

"Welcome back, Mistress Laskaris," he said, not without a small measure of kindness. "You're looking a bit pale. Are you ill or merely worried for yourself?"

"Only a fool or a saint would lack any sense of self-preservation whatsoever," Aurelia said quietly. "Perhaps I am a fool, but I am of a certainty no saint. I am full aware that my life is in your hands and I shall continue to draw breath at your pleasure. Thus, if you please, let us proceed."

At his side, the silver-haired Admiral raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

"Well-spoken," was the Ala Mhigan's mild response. "I agree. Admiral Bloefhiswyn, if you would, the floor is yours."

The silver-haired Roegadyn woman at his side drew herself to her full height, and as if on cue all eyes fell upon her. Aurelia could well understand why. Even when she had dictated from her seat Admiral Bloefhiswyn had seemed to fair radiate a commanding presence, and it was even more evident now that she had been granted full authority over the upcoming proceedings.

"We have come to a decision regarding the matter of your sentence, as I am certain you have surmised. Should you be amenable to our terms as they are presented with no alteration, we vow to abide by any bargain we make with you. You understand, of course, that your unconditional surrender to Maelstrom forces upon the battlefield precludes any further negotiation of terms on your own part."

She glanced at each face. The Highlander looked upon her with open pity, although the pretty green-eyed girl's smile had not wavered.

"I do," she said, in a voice that by some miracle did not waver. "Let's have your terms, then."

The air in the room seemed to chill a few degrees with a single arch of the woman's right eyebrow.

"You don't mince words, do you, girl? Very well."

That flat silver gaze was hostile, unswerving, and enough to nearly unnerve the source of its ire for all that the Admiral's tone remained utterly neutral as she spoke. Aurelia's hands knotted together painfully, knuckles white and shining and her nails digging into the meat of her palms.

"Aurelia jen Laskaris, it is the decision of the court," the Admiral continued, "that your conflicting loyalties notwithstanding, it would be unwise to waste a potential asset insofar as your healing skills are concerned. You were not among those who masterminded Project Meteor nor have you attempted at any time to escape or to cause harm to any of our personnel since your capture."

Get on with it, she wanted to scream, but instead forced herself to sit stone still and ramrod straight, her expression a placid mask.

"Under Eorzean common law you would customarily be sentenced to a minimum of five years in prison or an equivalent amount of time in hard labor. However, the recommendation given to this court, upon advisement from multiple of our own number - including one of our own adjudicators who has since recused himself from further involvement - is that your sentence be commuted to five years of public service."

She released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, though it caused her a series of painful coughs, and felt the tension flow out of her body as her posture sagged forward with a combination of exhaustion and relief. The latter seemed to course through her like a remedy for a blissful few seconds of awareness before it was replaced by a fresh wave of apprehension.

Boons like these did not come without strings attached, after all.

"With immediate effect, upon your departure from the Emerald Spire you will be transported to the city-state of Gridania, where you shall be remanded to the wardship of the Hearers' Council on behalf of the Grand Company of the Twin Adder, and set to a labor of their choosing. After five years served the particulars of your case shall come under review."

Gridania. She vaguely knew the place, for all that knowledge was limited to outdated maps from her father's old study.

"In order to accept this offer of clemency in full, you are to formally renounce your imperial citizenship. You will be barred from making any attempt to return to Garlemald on your own power, so long as you live. Should you be discovered to have made contact with any agent of the Empire for this reason, your life will be forfeit."

Aurelia squeezed her eyes shut.

So, that was the catch, it would seem. She'd live, but it would be a life spent in exile, on the condition that she never see her homeland again.

She could throw the Eorzeans' offer back in their faces and refuse, and the thought was initially a tempting one. But she was quite certain she would die if she did that- and she knew in her heart of hearts that the strange vision she had seen in the camp, the conversation between Bryn and Sazha, was something that had actually transpired. If it was real, that meant Sazha had spent his last days attempting to buy her a second chance, risking his own reputation in the process.

Alea iacta est, Aurelia, she told herself. For better or worse. You are left to your own devices now. No home, and no country.

And with that thought her next words fell heavy from her tongue:

"I accept your terms."

All of them, even the girl, looked surprised, clearly not having expected her to acquiesce without some sort of token resistance.

She didn't listen to anything else that was said after that, instead staring down at her hands as the enormity of the Eorzeans' unilateral terms and what they meant in a more personal sense began to sink in. She'd never realize any of her girlhood dreams, she'd never see any of her professors or old schoolmates in the capitol again, she'd have to give up her ambition of a fledgling medical practice brought to the far-flung corners of the Empire.

And her family -- Gens Laskaris would disavow any knowledge that she had ever darkened its halls. To be taken prisoner in battle was one thing - and shameful enough as far as they would be concerned - but to deliberately defect? That was akin to spitting upon the floors of the Imperial Palace before the Emperor's throne, turning one's back upon the unity of empire and country, and openly declaring oneself a traitor.

I'll never see Ala Mhigo again, either, she thought. I meant to visit at least once after my service was done, and now- never.

Aurelia felt herself flinch from the sting that realization brought with it.

None of this would have happened had she not so fervently wished for her independence. She knew that in part it was her own inner restlessness and sense of wanderlust that had led her to this, and a part of her hated herself for it, for knowing she could never have been happy with the life that her uncle - and her mother and father, to some lesser extent - had laid out for her since her childhood.

Would that she had been born in some other part of the star, she thought sadly. Would that she could be a woman of some other heritage and of humbler means with naught to her name that any man would covet, nor any family who would see her as a glorified brood mare with a bloodline to be bargained as collateral for their personal ambitions.

But wishing would not make it so. The past could not be altered and she must needs accept the consequences of her choices. If the end result of that choice was defection and exile, then her course was set.

And Sazha - Sazha had wanted her to survive. He had told his second-in-command to see to it that she would not end her sojourn to the south with a noose about her neck. To throw her life away after she knew he had gone to such lengths to try and save it would not only be foolish, it would be an insult to his memory, and she wouldn't see any efforts on her behalf wasted.

But the hard lump that had seemed to form in the back of her throat lingered, no matter how much she tried to reason with herself.

#chrysalispen writes #reborn by fire #chapter 12 #this ended up being way longer than i expected screams

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