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coalswriting · 1 year ago

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hair holds memories - natalie scatorccio

summary – bleaching natalie’s hair became routine for (y/n), but things became a bit more complicated the day natalie disappeared. (approx. 1.7k words)

a/n – trigger warning for mentions of weight loss + puking!! i wrote this cos i was feeling a lil down and wanted to vent a little. hope y’all enjoy <3

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your (e/c) orbs glossed over the pages of the novel you were reading while you sipped a cup of tea. you were hunched over your crowded desk, notes scattered around as you picked out comparisons between the novel and wuthering heights. you were given as comparative essay as an assignment for english class, and you had chosen to compare the theme of the role of women within society.

your eyelids began to feel heavy, and you swore that you would fall asleep before you could finish the chapter. peering over towards your alarm, your eyes widened when you noticed that it was nearing 1am. sighing, you knew you’d have trouble waking up for school tomorrow if you stayed up much later, so you flicked your bookmark between the worn pages of the book and shut it, sliding it into your backpack.

you stood up with a stretch, grabbing your hairbrush to tidy yourself up before bed. suddenly, you heard a rhythmic clinking against your window. confused, you processed the sound for a moment before peeking an eye out between your curtains. you deflated from your slight shock when you noticed it was only natalie. pulling the curtains open and pushing the window, you called out to her in a whisper-yell.

“it’s 1am nat, what are you doing? and what’s with that hat??”

natalie, in response, grimaced, pulling her beanie tighter over her head. she looked at you with discomfort before whispering back, “i had an accident and i need your help, can i come in?”

you exhaled heavily but smiled, “one sec.”

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natalie sat on your toilet as you paced back and forth.

“how the hell did you do that?!”

she looked ashamed of herself, her hair practically ginger. “i don’t know, (y/n)! i was trying to go blonde! stop laughing!”

a towel was thrown at you and you damn-near fell over, gripping the sink to steady yourself from your laughter. “okay, okay, hold on,” you chuckled, crouching down to rummage through the drawer under your sink, “I think my mom still has some spare bleach and purple shampoo from the last time she did her hair.”

“i swear to fuck, (y/n), if my hair falls out, i’ll cut all of yours off in your sleep,” your once-brunette-now-ginger friend threatened to ignorant ears.

“yeah, yeah,” you dismissed.

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natalie’s hair had come out perfectly when you did it that time, and since then, you were primarily responsible for bleaching her hair. it became routine, every month, she would come by and sit on your toilet while you would touch up her roots. you both enjoyed it and talked about life whenever it came to that. the last time you did it was the weekend before nationals.

“thanks again,” natalie smiled at you coyly, checking herself out in the mirror. you hugged her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. she looked beautiful, the white lighting of your bathroom mirror illuminating each and every strand.

you were engrossed in her as you admired, murmuring, “you look beautiful.”

you swore you could see natalie’s cheeks gain a rosy hue. she cleared her throat, hiding her face with her fist, and you felt butterflies in your chest, tearing your eyes away from her angelic face.

“uh, anyways,” you changed the topic quickly, flustered at what you had said, “good luck at nationals. i’ll be waiting for your return with the trophy.”

natalie elbowed you gently, smirking, “i’ll see you at the after-party, yeah?”

you nodded, “for sure.”

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processing grief was difficult, you came to learn. upon hearing of the plane crash, you didn’t cry. you didn’t scream, you didn’t react in any way. you just lied in bed for days, shackled down by a huge wave of apathy. you lost a lot of weight, nearly puking every time you touched food.

after a few months, you grew hopeful. you knew natalie – you knew she was alive. she was a fighting spirit, and something told you that things would be okay.

when the first winter passed, you finally accepted that natalie was probably dead. the grief hit you in a delayed wave, and your friends held you as you wept in the bathroom that you had routinely done her hair in the past. you tore the polaroids of you and her off your walls, stuffing them into a box under your bed. you didn’t want to see her. you hated her for leaving you alone in this world, and you hated that you had loved her so much.

you despised natalie scatorccio. you despised the way she would laugh with you, joke with you, the way the corners of her mouth gently rose when she was trying to hide her giggles in history class, the way she drew on your arm when she was bored, and the way she always hugged you after practice when she was sweaty and covered in mud, much to your disdain.

you began to move on after a year; well, that was a lie – you knew that you would never move on from the impact she had left on your life, but college was around the corner, and you knew that you would have to step into this new chapter without her. you still had the leather jacket that she had left in your house one time, and you couldn’t bare to lose it, so you took it with you, and boy, did you wear it everywhere. it became a part of you; it protected you.

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it was the spring of your second year of university, studying (whatever lol). you had come back to new jersey to visit your family and earn some money at your part time job at the cinema. you had tuned out most of the world, listening to music in your walkman, dancing around your family-home bedroom.

the girls had been found and returned home safe and sound – well, most of them. but, when you tried to reach out to natalie, you never received a response. it was difficult to contact any of the girls, really, and you decided that it was probably for the best. she had probably forgotten you; she was probably a different person anyways. you were initially extremely upset, but you pushed it down, focusing on your college assignments.

“you’re out of touch, i’m out of time!”, you sang to yourself as you bopped your head to the music. for once, you felt a little happy in life, things were going smoothly, and your friends were lovely. you imagined what they were doing in this moment – probably studying or out partying. you were excited to return to university.

suddenly, you heard a familiar rhythmic clinking against your window. you stiffened up, tears perking in your eyes. it was probably all in your head, and you stared for a moment, slowly taking your headphones off your ears. the tapping sound didn’t stop. you hesitantly shuffled to your window and, like clockwork, peeked your eye out between the curtains, but this time, you ripped them open almost immediately. your eyes began to pour with a wave of what seemed to be grief and joy as none other than natalie scatorccio stood outside, rain dampening her hair.

you nearly tripped as you sprinted down the stairs in your work uniform, and without a care in the world, you ran outside into the downpour. she caught you as you fell into her arms, holding her tight and hiccuping. she felt so, so warm against the coldness of the stormy air, and you knew in that moment that she was real. she was here with you.

… .. .

natalie wiped her hair with a towel as she sat in your bathroom, your tears still pouring. bringing a hand to your face, she wiped your tears with a thumb, smiling gently. “i’m back, for good,” is all she said.

your hands were shaky as you touched her hair. her roots had grown out, but she still looked like the same girl you had seen every day for years; she still looked like the girl you loved with your whole heart – the girl that had changed your life. she leaned into your touch.

“i thought i’d never see you again, nat,” you whispered, voice shaky, and she pulled you into her, arms wrapping around you. she stroked your hair, and you felt your chest constrict.

“what happened out there,” she began, “was traumatising, and i’m not ready to talk about it yet, but i want you to know that the whole time i was out there, i survived for you. i could’ve died and rid myself of this miserable world, but it was you. you kept me going.”

you dipped your head down a little as she spoke. she was enthralling, and you remembered how difficult processing the grief over her had been.

“i love you, nat,” you suddenly confessed, “and i never stopped. i don’t think i could’ve stopped, even if i tried.”

she looked at you, her mouth open in an o shape before she placed her mouth onto yours. the kiss felt bittersweet, and you could feel your worries evaporate. her lips were soft against your own ones and you tasted undertones of cigarette smoke amongst her cherry flavoured lip gloss. it was liberating. layers of grief began to dissolve, and your chest felt as though it was going to burst.

when natalie pulled away, she smiled at you gentler than you had ever seen. it was like you were porcelain and she was afraid to shatter you.

you both caught up a little longer, her hands lingering on yours with soft, endearing looks of admiration from both sides. your love for each other felt unspoken after the initial confession, and it felt as if nothing had ever split you apart from each other; like you had loved naturally the entire time she was gone.

as you both laid in bed looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, her ear against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, you finally mentioned the unspoken.

“do you want me to bleach your hair?”

natalie hummed for a moment before shaking her head, “nah, i think i want to cut it all off and grow out my brown again. what do you think?”

your thoughts lingered in the sentence. “yeah, makes sense,” you replied, “hair holds memories and all. it’d be nice to start fresh again.”

“exactly”, she said, sitting up, “wanna do it now?”

you giggled as she pulled you up by the hand, following her to the bathroom.

“alright.”

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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my-darling-boy · 6 months ago

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Have you had any ✨Ghost Experiences✨ in Scotland yet? Meet any new ghosts???

Ohhhh plenty, but far too many to list without going off on a ramble haha

We’ve done many overnights in castles and old buildings up and down the UK with a team of investigators which has led to really neat experiences, some of them absolutely poignant. I think my favourite interaction has been with a sweetheart of a young seaman called William aboard the RRS Discovery docked in Dundee, also the best K2 session I’ve ever had was there. But yeah, various castles, historic buildings, manors, prisons, etc with some really fascinating results.

I do like how it’s also putting the mediumship to the test which is something I still don’t really like bringing up in general to people but I have apparently shocked investigators/employees at these places with describing events, people, and other things with detail that is not even public or only known privately by people who frequent that location. Nearly all locations I’ve never been to and make a point not to read up on them before I go, which makes these instances more compelling? I often don’t even know the significance of what I’m (sheepishly) describing only to be told I just described a specific thing that happened in a room when there’s no way I could know about said thing. One of the best instances of this was on the RRS Discovery when trailing behind the group in the lower decks, I stopped suddenly. It felt as though something SMACKED very hard and very sudden right where I was standing, someone had lost their life in this very spot. I thought with the boilers around perhaps someone had been hit somehow and died or maybe fallen from the above platform and hit their head on the metal below but was told there were no known records of someone dying in that room and that the platforms didn’t exist at the time. I was perplexed by this as I was 100% sure something had happened there but I just ignored it, maybe I was wrong. We get up to the top deck finally and are told about a boy who, in 1901, tragically fell from the crows nest and died. The investigator and I suddenly realised I had been standing directly below the spot he would have hit on the upper deck when he fell. Another would be a nice young man I’d encountered at a private castle who seemed to be wearing some sort of chainmail and white tunic, followed me around for most of the night, and at one point I picked up on a story about a strange looking gold disc with all these markings on it on the alter in the chapel which he immediately told me not to ask about and refused to elaborate more, I had no idea why he was so adamant about this. I later learned after enquiry the castle historians have documented the place being used by the Templars and it’s a private fact at this location that the Templars have buried artefacts beneath the castle they are working to recover… most notably, beneath the chapel. I’d be talking for ages if I described the other occurrences, but that’s one I’ll always remember!

All and all, I do actually recommend doing it, even if you don’t believe in the stuff, because you get entire historic locations basically all to yourself, at night, which is cooler. I once sat for nearly an hour in a 200 year old jail on the floor, in the dark, at 2 AM, just chilling. On free roam while everyone is usually at base, I’ve been able to explore places by myself, in the dark, opening doors to rooms not even shown to us, panning my torch to old paintings and artefacts in basements to attics and bedrooms and so much more. I’ve sat alone in century old ships and played sea shanties which echoed hauntingly down the passageways. Sprawled out in the pews of medieval chapels in the pitch dark, wandered dark castle corridors alone, sometimes I’ll sing out old songs and just listen to it drift out through the halls and rooms. You feel like some character in a novel, it’s quite a liminal space! Like all these places where so many other people came before you, where people lived and died, sometimes even right where you’re sitting, and you’re able to lay out on the stones in the dark with it all and just feel connected to it yk?

Anyway that still ended up being a ramble HAHA so yeah! I recommend it for both believers and those less inclined because at the end of the day, you’ve basically got several hours of private access to historical locations, at night, no tourists, and sometimes to places the public isn’t allowed at all, and hey maybe something Strange will happen while you’re alone in the darkness.

#can I just say too there is something so hauntingly beautiful about the alone time on my free roams #like usually these places get locked up at night or you’re limited by opening hours and tight your schedules and roped off areas #but when I’m alone on these things you get near unrestricted access in some of these places #and you’re just alone in the quiet where some people used to laugh or lost their lives #like I cannot explain how—even in a non paranormal way—you feel a new connection to the past #without the distractions of the day and ropes and time and tourists and noise #it’s just you and everything that has come before you #and you’re like wow we are all humans in this together huh #asks #paranormal #long post

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sntafe · 3 months ago

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i want to know more about your davey. what makes him tick! what music do you think he’d listen to! what are his pastimes and hobbies and what makes him like them so much!! PLEASEEE rant about your davey i love him!!

- @we-are-inevitable ✨

OH MY GOD. YES. OKAY. you just opened pandora’s box you have no clue. (btw most of this is based on my tattoo au although a lot of this stuff is just stuff i have connected to davey no matter the au)

okay. so. my davey is a high school english teacher and i think something that makes him really upset is when he sees his good students start skipping, not paying attention, etc. while i don’t think this would make him tick per say, i do think it would def make him anxious and on edge. he would absolutely come home and rant to jack about how he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong and how he’s worried about them and how he wishes he can do more but all he is an english teacher. (and jack would assure him that he’s doing more than enough and just being there and noticing these things is all some kids need) (but davey would def pull them aside in class and just talk to them like they’re humans bc he knows some teachers treat their students as children and they hate that. so he will just talk and try to pick their brains and help them in literally whatever way he can)

MUSIC. okay so davey definitely tries a TON of different genres simply because he is curious and he wants to hear it all. (he wants to experience every bit of life that he can and that includes different genres of music.) at the end of the day tho he’s a slut for sad queer indie pop: hozier, lucy dacus, and kevin atwater are his favs. (i could go on a whole different rant about how davey coded some of kevin atwater’s songs are but i’ll refrain for now.) he grew up listening to billy joel and still listens to him when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic or homesick. the album “the stranger” is one of his favorites in the entire world. his parents had it on record, and one year in middle school for his birthday he was gifted a record player, so he was playing that shit NONSTOP. to read to, to study to, to hangout to, etc. les used to come and sit in davey's room while he was doing domestic tasks, like cleaning or homework, so les now has attached that album to davey. (they get a tattoo for vienna, their fav song on the album—davey gets “slow down, you’re doing fine” on his left forearm and les gets “you can’t be everything you wanna be before your time” on his right forearm) (done by jack of course)

jack listens to more alternative stuff, and although it’s not something davey listens to on his own, he finds himself humming along to the pierce the veil and green day songs on jack’s playlist

as far as hobbies and stuff, obviously he reads. he’s always been an avid reader because he loves to get lost in other worlds and he likes to learn about things that he otherwise wouldn’t have had the opportunity to. he gets into reading slumps around midterms and finals because he’s grading sooooo many papers but like as SOON as that’s over he falls back into finishing a novel in a couple days and he absolutely loves it. it’s just so… refreshing in a way. (sometimes, when he’s particularly missing jack, he’ll go and just sit at the tattoo shop and read. he’s content to simply be in the same space with jack and he also loves sneaking glimpses of jack working.)

he also absolutely loves to cook. he grew up often helping his mother in the kitchen, so he’s sort of always loved it. once he moved out and began living by himself he found a whole new appreciation for it. it’s his way to decompress at the end of the day and … in a way food is his language?? like he will make meals based on what he’s feeling. if he’s really happy he doesn’t mind making something that takes a while. it’ll be bright and fresh. if he’s had a particularly rough day though, he’ll throw something frozen in the oven and call it a day. (over time, jack slowly realizes this, and can gauge what davey needs based on what he says they’re having for dinner. for example; if davey’s just making something frozen, jack will give him an extra long hug and force him to take a hot shower in order to relax. jack often takes over “cooking” on these days)

don’t even play on his animal crossing island. he likes the domestic video games with goals that he can take at any speed simply because they’re relaxing and cozy. he loves making his island all organized and pretty

meanwhile jack is like begging for the switch to play mario kart

thank you for letting me rant GOD I LOVE DAVID JACOBS if there’s anything else you want me to yap about PLEASE ask!!!

@we-are-inevitable :)

#HE'S SO. YEAH.#david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #newsies #newsies musical #newsies broadway

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briar-rolfes-research-oubliette · 2 months ago

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your writing is phenomenal. i write a little bit, but i think one of the biggest struggles i have is with pacing and structuring for anything longer than a couple thousand words. gonna hit you with a ton of questions, no pressure to answer all of them: how do you structure your longer-form writing? what considerations do you keep in mind as you do? are you more of a pantser or do you start with a solid outline and story beats first? what is your 'process' - and how do you approach editing as well?

Okay, I’m ready! Took me a bit.

Thank you, first of all! This is humbling, since in industry terms I’m a debut author. (Or not even. My book isn’t even out yet. It takes ages to make a graphic novel if you have to hold down a day job at true same time. Fingers crossed 2026?) And, since structure has been the hardest thing for me to learn, it’s rewarding to know that it’s paying off!

I’m in the middle of a few planning-stage projects right now, so I’ve been asking these questions myself. Because each story is different (in length, in genre, in terms of what I want it to achieve, and also, because I’m a cartoonist as well as a writer, also in format!) I have to reinvent at least part of the wheel with each project. I’ve learned some constants, though. I’ll try to outline some of them, and rather than just tell you what I do I’ll try to explain what purpose it serves when I do it.

I do think starting small and working up is the right way of learning, because that’s what worked for me, a chronic not-finisher. I sat down and said “okay, what is the shortest thing I can make that I am guaranteed to finish?” and once I had finished that, said “okay, what’s the next longest thing?” and worked my way up. It’s easier to structure a zine than a graphic novel, it’s easier to structure a short story than something with multiple chapters, etc etc… but this isn’t because a longer story has more structure in it so much as that each structural element has to work harder.

HOWEVER, I don’t look at structure until I know what I’m building my structure on. This was the missing piece in my structure learning! So, the things I have in mind when I’m starting a new project are:

What is my genre?

What are my themes?

What is my tone?

Genre is where I get the payoff that I’m working towards. Why do people pick up this kind of story? What’s the most basic appeal of it? I try to keep this as simple as I can, eg:

In romance, the couple have to get together by the end.

In sci-fi, a new discovery poses a new question, which is then resolved

In mystery, the detective has to figure out who committed the crime so that they don’t do it again.

In erotica, the protagonist is liberated from a social norm by a new sexual encounter

In horror, an outside force threatens irrevocable change to everyone who encounters it.

This narrative payoff is (in my opinion) the bumpers on the bowling lane of fiction. If you read a romance where they never got together, an erotica where nobody fucked, a detective story where justice wasn’t done, a horror story where it was no biggie and everyone just walked it off… you’d feel ripped off, right? You’ll see that I’m not saying “in horror there is always a jumpscare” or “in a mystery there is always a red herring,” because I never actually notice if those were missing. Many stories are worse because the author has said to themself “a story like this always has this element.” RIP to all those minor characters who die in fantasy novels during the fight scene at the end of the second act just because Boromir did.

Sticking the landing on that genre promise is what makes a story “feel” complete, and the success of the buildup to that promise is what makes a story feel satisfying in that worth-a-reread way. The overall genre payoff helps me keep my eye on the prize as I’m writing. If I get writer’s block, 99% of the time it’s because I’ve written something that conflicts with it. That’s helpful to keep in mind for editing (awkward scenes/characters/sentences etc are usually also conflicting with the payoff, or at least not helping me get there) and is also helpful to know when I’m doing back of mind narrative debugging while zoning out over the dishes. If I have a character and I want them to end up at that final point in a way that feels natural, what do I have to do to them to make it happen? If they feel stagnant, what beliefs do they have to have at the start that will jar against that end point?

(I believe the Literary phrase for the narrative payoff is the climax, or the catharsis. Catharsis is usually the concept used for horror or for tragedies. But I’m a cartoonist, so it’s easier for me to think of everything as setup for the final payoff of the punchline.)

Also—and this is more my individual philosophy rather than actual advice, but: delivering the payoff matters because it develops my readers’ trust. I’m not owed anyone’s time or attention. In a big world full of competing demands, it’s important to me that my readers know that I appreciate them choosing my work over putting the recycling bin out. And the great thing about reader trust is: it stacks. Trust means a reader is willing to go a bit further out of their comfort zone with me. When someone says “I don’t usually read stories like this, but I gave this a shot because you wrote it,” that’s what I’m talking about. I’m a trans writer who tells silly jokes and tackles weird topics, so I really do appreciate the readers who invest time and attention in me. They’re my 30 sickos, you know, from the tweet?

Anyway. If genre tells me where I’m landing the plane, theme tells me what the jet fuel is. The reason a particular concept is making me insane, aka, my motivation to tell the story at all, is my theme. It’s the question I’m trying to answer. It doesn’t have to be pithy or well articulated—I just have to know the general gist of it. It might just be “it pisses me off when authors do X, so I am going to prove it’s not actually hard to write Y.” What matters is that it’s something I won’t become bored of. My graphic novel, which has been the longest and most involved project of my life, hasn’t bored me once. That’s pretty spectacular seeing as I have ADHD out my ears! I’ve been frustrated, tired, had bad wrists and general creative ennui at points, but “can you have a happy ending if your family doesn’t accept you?” Is a question that hasn’t run out of juice, even though I’ve been answering it for six years now. The theme is often the most powerful if it’s something you don’t know the answer to. When we were talking about whether or not to tackle the marriage equality debate in Australia in my book, my agent told me “you’ll know it’s a good story if writing about it feels like pressing on a bruise.” I think this is what keeps your themes honest. It stops them being preachy and stops them from becoming The Moral Of The Story.

Terry Pratchett said that the first draft is him telling the story to himself, and the subsequent drafts are him figuring out how to tell it to other people. That’s been very helpful to me. Each successive edit will make the themes clearer until I can say “oh, so this is what the story is about.” What I said before about longer stories doing more with each structural element is because of this. Longer stories tend to accrue more themes, usually one per subplot and/or per character relationship. Shorter stories usually address just one. Themes are handy to think about here because if a story looks like it might get too bloated (“no way I can explore this AND this AND this and still stay under 20k words”) you can cut em out and address them somewhere else.

The themes in your fiction are the bit that makes it uniquely yours, like fingerprints in a clay pot. They stop the structure feeling formulaic and make it feel personal. A thousand authors could (and do) write the same premise over and over again, but in their hands each story means something different. If you’ve ever read a story that rings hollow even though it hits all the same notes as other stories you like, I’d say that it’s by an author who hasn’t figured out what interests them in the story they’re telling. Like… there’s a reason Twilight was successful and its many copycats were not. It’s because Meyer had this theme of insane repressed Mormon horniness running through her work, and everyone else just said “ah, so readers like boys who are barely restraining their murder instinct.” No! The murder instinct was juicy because it was thematically complex.

Genre and theme give me an idea of what the tone is, aka what mood I am building. I guess if genre is my destination and theme is my fuel, then tone is my plane. It’s about how the journey feels. Taking a first class flight from A to B is different from taking the same trip in a crop duster. The people on each plane will observe different things throughout the journey. The same events could happen on both flights, but a reader will feel way more anxious about the crop duster encountering turbulence.

Outside my increasingly elaborate metaphor, this is questions like… Is this setting fun and friendly? Are the characters mistrustful of each other? Is the world fundamentally evil? Can anyone die? Am I using colloquial language? Are swears allowed? How hard should the protagonist’s failures hit them, and how sharp should the consequences for their actions be? Is it realistic, or a bit surreal? Is my narrator (or narrative perspective if I’m in second or third person) sincere? Cynical? Trustworthy? Biased? Can they crack jokes?

Once I have an idea of these things, structure usually slots in pretty easily. As I’m in the thinking stage, if I have an idea for a scene (or a joke, more often than not) that I want to include, I’ll put it in a dot point list. Later on, I will look at these dot points and the structure and say “what goes where?” or “what needs to happen before this thing I want to include to make it make sense?”

Short things I use a three act structure, aka Beginning Middle End, where “middle” is whatever events need to happen to shift my character from their opening position to their concluding one. For longer things, I just whack on a seven act structure for whatever genre I’m working in. I often come back to Jami Gold’s romance structure because I write romances a lot, but also because it’s the only structure I’ve ever really seen that maps internal character arcs along with external events—one of the things I found absolutely the hardest to get my head around when I was structuring my graphic novel. If it’s a genre I know less about, I’ll find a structure that specifies examples for the pinch points, because those are ones I usually have trouble brainstorming. The mystery outline I used for my Disco Elysium fanfiction gave me the suggestions that a suspect should escape, which got me out of a huge block.

So: before I write, I’ve thought very hard about genre and tone and theme, and how my characters need to get from their starting positions to one where if bondage doesn’t happen the story will feel narratively incomplete. I’ve pondered my place in the world, I have developed beef with a handful of authors who I’ve decided have Done It Wrong, and I have image searched “mystery structure seven act”. I have probably gone on four or five research sprees where I learn a bunch about medieval demonology and insect genitalia and radio antennae or whatever.

(I should say a lot of that is just what do for fun anyway. I do think writers tend to forget that we do this because it’s fun. If you’re not having fun doing this stuff, then your reader is probably not having fun either. It’s important to figure out what is fun to you and to find a way to make your process mostly the fun stuff.)

Materially, what I have is a maybe a couple of test scenes I’ve written while working out character dynamics and refining my idea of tone, and a list of dot points that reads like:

Wrap up the subplot with that other guy

Heart to heart

Protagonist gets a boner

Exposition about early printing press

Fight scene (to show they care about each other)

Phone call from side character 12

MIDPOINT: Guy goes missing (or is killed with weapon from earlier? Suspected killed, but actually just escaped?)

JOKE

Bring back printing press thing

Bondage obviously

Catch the bad guy

Resolution (come back to this).

The trap for structure for me for YEARS has been assuming that I should be able to sit down and write out the perfect plan. “I’ll be able to write well so long as I know exactly what I’m doing every step of the way.” But… most of the fun of writing for me is figuring out how to address those missing plot elements as I go. I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but I never intended for my Disco Elysium fanfic to end with an explosion. I figured it out once I wrote the interview scene with Felicity, and then I said “okay, so that’s the resolution. Now, what do I need to do to blow this building up?“

The groundwork I’ve laid is helpful because I know what I can’t compromise on. As I’m heading towards my payoff and hitting these beats along the way, I have the wriggle room for flashes of discovery where I go “wait, fuck, you know what’d be cool as?”

Editing is where I get to make sure that everything lines up without contradictions. I’m very irresponsible; I don’t have the patience to wait until the story is finished before I start editing it, so I often go back and make tweaks on a sentence level. This is often how I get myself out of writer’s block. “What did I say back here, and why does it make me feel like I can’t get to the next point on my structure?”

I also tend to write on my phone in notes app documents or in Scrivener, so I can actually make use of the dead times in my day. I pick up my phone all the time to keep my hands busy, but I rarely sit down at a computer without something more important coming up. Only once the document gets long enough to be unwieldy, or once it’s actually finished, will I sit down with the text on a bigger screen. This really helps me stop myself getting overwhelmed by the idea of The Blank Page, too. I can’t see how much I’ve written or look at much text at a time when I’m writing on my phone.

Other favourite structural things, which I add on in successive edits:

Bookending! For when you have a scene displaying the relationship between your protagonist and a secondary character at the start, then bring ‘em back together at the end to show how things have changed. My graphic novel has something like two… wait no now I’m counting it’s more like four bookend scenes, whoops. I guess I really like these! They’re good for when someone reads your draft and says “I don’t know why this character showed up, they didn’t seem that important.” If the character really IS important, they need to come back. This is handy for me specifically because I love big world with lots of secondary characters.

Callbacks: jokes strike again! But you can use this to achieve other moods. In my Silent Hill fic the words “Empty, bleeding, and different in every way” get used first to describe the town, and then again at the end to describe the protagonist. It’s unsettling both times, but the second time I feel as though it is a little bit reassuring, too. Maybe sometimes it’s good to be reinvented.

Foreshadowing: Lay the breadcrumbs! Make that one character stare at the table in the scene where everyone is speculating on the identity of the traitor, draw our attention to the ceramic statue on the mantelpiece. I love to use the rule of three for this, often describing the significant thing last—or to describe two significant things and diffuse any audience suspicion with a joke as the third thing 😈🙏

Well, this has been a very long post! I wonder what my rules for writing are. UM. I know I have them. I’m nothing if not wildly opinionated!

1. Don’t hang out with writers who think that they’re better than their readers. Storytelling is about sharing humanity, not transcending it. Writing is not a divine gift. There is no muse! Not only hang out with people who do not write, but hang out with people who do not read. It keeps you humble.

2. Don’t break format just for the helluvit, but—if you have an idea about how to pull something off and say, scandalised, “oh my god, but is that allowed?” you have to do it.

3. If you’re having fun, your reader is having fun. If you’re bored, your reader is EXTRA bored. So… don’t write the boring bits. If you don’t know what to say in the scene where the character gets the bus between two locations, just cut it and start the next scene with “When she got off the bus.” Christopher Paolini is an example of someone who has never learned this. On one hand he has a lot more money than I do, but on the other hand, I’ve had a lot more gay sex.

4. Hot take: bad books are just as educational as good ones. I love a formulaic or poorly told story because they give me a chance to engage my structure brain. I like to figure out what went wrong and how. It’s never cinema sins bullshit like “WOW! GAPING PLOT HOLE!!!” but more like “weird, the tone of the climax is jarring compared to the rest of the story” or “well that’s the obligatory breakup at the end of the second act, but why did it happen?” I’ve also learned a whole lot about how to write sex scenes by reading ones that made me say “well, certainly not like that.”

5. Learn to recognise ways you make your own writing noncommittal. “He felt,” “she realised,” “they discovered,” “she thought.” Almost, very, really, nearly. These are all things I do way too much. Don’t say he felt it was, say it was.

☀️🌱☀️

Lastly: If you’re hitting a brick wall, if you’re blocked, if writing isn’t fun… stop.

Read something outside your genre. Dig up weeds in the garden. Watch a friend play a game that is too scary for you. Put a weird doll in the corner of your bathroom, go look through second hand shops for cheap treasures, get an outlandish food on your grocery run. Have a nice chat with a guy who is eighty something, make faces at a baby when mum isn’t looking. Learn to tie a useful knot. Badly paint some furniture. Sit out under the stars with a cuppa, listen to the night sounds, enjoy the feeling of being small. What I’m saying is, you should actively distract yourself with the interesting parts of Being Alive. Whatever feels like a waste of time is worth your time. Internet does NOT count! Do not watch a video, do not read a post! Do things that engage your senses. Do things where you use your hands. Make yourself laugh! Be clumsy, be silly, be messy on purpose. Writing is never more important than being alive, and your brain is never more important than your body. You need to fall in love with being alive. You need to be in the world. One day the gears will click into place and you’ll need to start writing again, furiously, like there’s a fire lit inside of you—but you can’t rush it. You need to take the time to be an animal, and animals play.

Here is a photo of Flea, who is a sixteen year old cat. She has no teeth. Here she is having a great time rolling around in the sun.

Sometimes my zine friends and I joke about things that are zines. Can my tomato plants be a zine? Poets joke about what is a poem. Is my cat rolling on the lawn a poem? Well, in that line of thinking… being an animal isn’t not a kind of writing. You’re making a mark on the world either way.

#writing advice #offhours #ask!

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mac-cheez · 7 months ago

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My Guide to Surviving the Waynes

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I finally finished the ending!! Don't expect an update soon I have no idea when the fancy will strike again and the TMA brain rot is real rn.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

---------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I was wrong. SO WRONG. You’d think rich people, especially adopted rich people, would be at least a little sane, but no, they’re not and I have no idea how to deal. It’s only been a couple days since my last entry and so much has happened. So here’s what I’ve learned:

Let’s start with the first incident that happened roughly 10 min after my last entry. I had just finished when Tim offered to meet me in the coffee shop outside of the library (he was picking me up from campus)(Alfred was busy). When I walked in I saw him about to order and walked to the side to wait. He looked at the menu for roughly 0.2 sec before looking the barista dead in the eye saying “I’ll have a Vanilla Cold Brew with seven shots of espresso.”

The barista laughed and joked “Damn you want some cocaine with that?” Then he just said, “Sure that too.” and fucking walked away? He didn’t even give his name he just paid and went straight to the pickup area. The most concerning part of that story is that they fucking did it! And he drank the whole goddamn thing without batting an eye! I was highly concerned for his well-being the entire drive home. (I really need to talk to Mr. Wayne about a rental)

What’s even weirder is when we walked into the manor Dick was just hanging from the chandelier. It was sans rope and more acrobatic, but still concerning considering how tall the ceiling was. I’m still not entirely sure how he got up there, but I just walked away hoping to find my sanity once again.

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly with the normal amount of yelling and death threats (still can’t believe this is reality). The next day something actually nice happened while I was off from college and heading to the kitchen for lunch. It was a Friday so most of the house was either at work or school, and it was pretty quiet (thank god). When I walked in one of the others was in there cooking already (Jason I think?). I decided on a sandwich since he was currently using the stove and it was going smoothly till I got to the pickle jar. For whatever reason that thing was tight as hell and was going nowhere. He looked at me and after my fifth try (and many curse words) he held out his hand. I handed the jar to him, and he opened it without trouble.

“I loosened it,” I said trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Uh-huh,” he said distractedly. We sat in awkward silence till I noticed one of the books from the library on the counter. It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Sign Of The Four. I asked if he was reading it and he said yes. I asked him if he’s gotten to the twist yet and he looked at me puzzled.

“You’ve read The Sign Of The Four?”

“Yeah, not my favorite Sherlock Holmes Novel, but still good nonetheless,” I said not paying attention, “Are you reading unabridged or abridged?”

“Unabridged,” he said, “you into the classics?”

“Totally, I love a good Victorian mystery or gothic horror novel,” I replied.

“You?” I asked.

“More of a Jane Austen fan myself, but I can respect those choices,” he said thoughtfully.

“I’ve never read her works, but if I have a chance I wouldn’t mind trying,” I said. He looked up at me somewhere between excitement and bewilderment.

“Would you like some recommendations?” He said cautiously. I said sure, and he immediately went into a long speech about Jane Austen and her novels. By the time he was done my sandwich and his ramen were long gone. By the end, I had a list of books to read and a new reading buddy to rant about books to. We’ve hung out intermittently since then, and honestly, it was the sanest thing I did all week. However the sanity didn’t last long.

Many other incidents (too many to write) all culminated in this afternoon, when I finally caved and decided if this was my life, it might as well be documented for (at the very least) the enjoyment of others. It was fairly quiet (first clue) and my morning class had been canceled so I was just sitting in the living room doing some work. Everyone else was out and I was about to leave for my 2:30 class when suddenly someone smashed through the window and a smoke bomb was thrown. I honestly thought it was Tim or Jason being weird again, but then the smoke cleared and there was just a bunch of dudes in Green suits with question marks. They looked around and saw me pretty quickly and immediately pointed whatever weapons they had at me. Eventually, some other ones came in the room and said the house was empty and “Wayne is nowhere to be found.” They started arguing till they finally concluded that if none of the Wayne’s were here, I must be the next best thing. Honestly, I can’t even blame them, and at this point I just let it happen.

They put a bag over my head and put me over the strongest one’s shoulder. I was in a car for about an hour before I was potato sack’d again. Once I was placed down, the bag was taken off my head, and I saw that I was in an abandoned-looking warehouse. I saw some more of the brightly clothed men off to the side arguing, one looking even more ridiculous than the others. The extra ridiculous one finally gave up talking to the others(henchmen maybe?) and walked (more like strutted) over to address me.

“Hello guest of Wayne, may I ask your name?” He asked rhyming for some weird ass reason.

“Vic?”

“Ah yes but what is it’s whole, for a half shall not know?” He said lilting his voice… ‘whimsically’?

“What?”

“Your designation that all might know.”

I just continued looking at him with apparent confusion not knowing what the hell is going on. After a minute he hung his head and spoke normally.

“What is your full name?” He sighed.

“Oh! Victoria Blanc,” I said.

“Ah! And what is your relation to the name of Wayne?” He said trying again with the talking in circles bull.

“Look dude usually I could appreciate….. Whatever it is that's happening, but I’ve had one hell of a week so…….”

“Oh come now it couldn’t have been that bad.” He said dismissively.

“Alright bet! You might wanna sit down this is gonna take a minute.”

Once he sat I started explaining everything that had happened since I’d moved to Gotham. As I was explaining more and more of the “henchmen” started joining the crowd.

“He chased him through the manor with a sword?” Riddler asked (at least that's what one of the others called him).

“Yeah, and apparently this is a normal phenomenon,” I said exasperated.

“And here I thought I was crazy.”

“Oh, no this is probably the most sane thing that's happened to me all week,” I said hand waving (They untied me after a while)(I asked nicely).

I was about to continue when suddenly three figures jumped down and got into fighting positions.

“Let her go Riddler!” Said the one in Black and blue(and maybe a bird?)

“Oh, she was free to leave a while ago.” He said casually to the masked people.

“What?” said the one in red.

“Yeah, we even offered to get her away from that mad house,” said Bob.

“Mad House?”

“Yes, it's almost criminal how they act in that house, you bats should really get on that,” ‘Riddler’ said chidingly.

I didn't really understand why he called them bats since they all looked bird-themed but I didn't bring it up because honestly, weirder things have happened at this point. They agreed to look into it, albeit very confused(and almost offended), and said they still needed to take me back.

“Fine,” ‘Riddler’ sighed heavily, “ but Vic, sweetie, if you need somewhere safe to stay in Gotham I have plenty of friends who will keep you safe while you finish your degree.”

“Yeah, kinda tempting, but I don't think my parents would like that very much, and they are paying for it so…….”

“Very well, offer stands in perpetuity, to Arkham yes?”

“You're not gonna ask a riddle or…..” said the one in red and black.

“Usually I would but honestly I’m far too concerned right now to care.”

After that, they handcuffed him and the other goons (kinda unfair but i guess they did kidnap me) and walked me out to one of the police cars so I could go back to the manor. They offered to drive me but I've seen enough motorcycle crash scene pictures to put the fear of God (thy name is friction) in me. When I got back Mr. Wayne was in the foyer with Alfred and immediately came over to make sure I was ok.

“Yeah, I'm fine Mr. Wayne, honestly I’m more worried about the class I missed than the kidnapping,” I explained.

He seemed concerned by that but had a phone call right after that he needed to take. Alfred walked me to my room (I think to make sure I wasn't concussed) and I just kinda went back to writing and here we are. Can't wait to see what fresh hell awaits me in the coming week……….. Maybe I should've taken Riddler up on that offer.

#My Guide to Surviving the Waynes #batman #ao3 fanfic #my posts #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin #dc comics #fanfic #alfred pennyworth #dc riddler #edward nygma

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hellzeldagirlsfanfic · 1 year ago

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My Dearest Friend Part 1

[Next]

The day when the previous head of Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commissioner died was the last time (F/N) saw her best friend and the boy she loved. She didn’t really understand at the time why he couldn’t make time for them to hang out. It was only when she took over running the shop from her sister did she somewhat understood how busy the Commissioner could be.

But, sometimes when finds a quiet moment to herself she lets her mind wonder what her life would be like if her friend’s father hadn’t died when he did and was still life now. Would they still be friends? Would they be more than friends? Or she would be in a situation where someone you barely know is asking you to marry them? Like what was currently happening to her.

Yusuke Kaneko, a sailor, seemed to be a nice boy but his presence began to creep (F/N) out.

“I’m sorry Yusuke-Kun, I can’t accept your proposal,” (F/N) told him as she cursed herself for cornering herself at the end of the docks.

The Ritou’s docks were a lovely place for to have lunch whilst reading her new light novel.

Yusuke’s face dropped when he heard (F/N)’s reply. His face remain calm but she could see the fury burning in his hazel eyes.

“Why?” He angrily asked. “I have a job, a house and even have some mora save up,” He ferociously ranted to her.

His sudden anger scared (F/N). She cursed herself again for isolating herself at the end of the docks. (F/N) began to eye the salty water beside her.

“Those things are nice but I promise my father I would marry for love and not anything else,” She told him.

It seemed like that comment had made Yusuke enraged.

“You rather marry for love than stability!” He raised his voice at her. “I’m sure you could learn to love me if you gave me a chance!” He shouted at her.

As Yusuke shouted he moved closer to (F/N), making her take a step back seeking to distance between them.

(F/N)’s (H/C) eyes darted to the sea debating whether or not she should jump into it to escape this situation. She was a decent swimmer.

“Hey! Are you listening to me!?” Yusuke yelled.

“Yusuke listen-” (F/N) tried to say Yusuke cut her off.

“No. You need to listen!” He yelled again.

“Hey! Everything alright here?” A cheerful voice called to (F/N) and Yusuke.

Behind Yusuke stood Thoma with his signature smile but he wasn’t giving off his usual warm aura, the air around him was tense.

“The Kamisato’s housekeeper,” Yusuke said but it came out like as a snarl. “What do you want?” He asked said the housekeeper.

Thoma continued to smile even if Yusuke’s attitude towards him was unpleasant.

“I was hoping I could pick up the new kimonos that were ordered for the state’s staff but Ogura-chan hadn’t returned from her lunch break and I didn’t want to disturb her father and brother from their work,” He explained.

“Oh! I’m sorry Thoma. I’ll be right there,” (F/N) apologised to Thoma.

(F/N) quickly gathered the remained of her lunch and light novel. She darted pass Yusuke, who tried to grab her arm but was stopped by Thoma’s spear.

“Thoma!” Yusuke snarled. “Don’t get in my way! We were still talking!”

The blond raised an eyebrow at the other man’s behaviour.

“In your way?” Thoma echoed. “From what I heard your’s and Ogura’s discussion was over,” He told Yusuke.

Yusuke growled at Thoma but allowed him and (F/N) to leave.

Thoma dismissed his spear not before giving Yusuke a stern look and then leaving the docks with (F/N).

(F/N)’s pace back to the shop was fast. Her heart was still racing from her encounter with Yusuke causing her to walk faster back to the shop with Thoma trailing behind her.

When they go to the shop (F/N) fished Obi and let her and Thoma into the shop.

Thoma shut the door behind them as (F/N) dumped her lunch and novel on the front counter.

“Are you alright?” Thoma asked her as he watched the young woman take a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down.

“I’m fine,” (F/N) told him once she clammed down. “And thank you for saving me from Yusuke,” She thanked him.

“No problem,” Thoma smiled. “What kind of retainer would I be if I allowed my Lord’s dearest friend to be trapped in that kind of situation,” He told her.

Thoms’s words caused (F/N) to blush a bit.

“ ‘Dearest friend’ ” She mumbled. “He still considered me as a friend even though we haven’t talked since he became Commissioner,” She added.

“Of course (F/N)-chan,” Thoma reassured her. “No matter how much time passes m’Lord will always see you as his closest friend,”

(F/N)’s flustered state became worst as the pink hue on her cheeks became red. Seeing the state that (F/N) ad become by his words, Thoma decide now was the best time for him to leave.

“Wait!” (F/N) called Thoma when she noticed him leaving.

The blond Mondstater stopped at the door of the shop. He looked over his shoulder to see (F/N) darting the shop’s front counter and out of site. Thoma stood there awkwardly for a moment before (F/N) came back with a couple of kimonos in her arms. The blond looked at the clothing with a bewildered look on his face.

“It would look weird if you came to get some kimonos and didn’t leave without any,” She grinned.

Thoma laughed.

“I guess it would,” He replied.

He took the kimonos from the arms.

“Just bring them back in a couple of days saying that they were the wrong size,” She told him.

(F/N) opened the door for Thoma.

“Thank you for choosing Ogura’s Kimonos,” She said to Thoma like he was any other customer, (F/N) even bowed to him like she did with all customers after they finished their business with the shop.

“The pleasure was all mine Ogura-san,” Thoma smiled. “Thank you again for providing kimonos for the Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commission,” He thanked her with a bow of his own.

With the Kamisato’s housekeeper gone (F/N) was able to shut the door of the shop and let all of the attention that she was holding in. She pressed her forehead against the wooden frame of the door and let out a sigh.

‘I hope there are no more surprises,’ She thought to herself.

***

The sound of the door sliding open alerted Ayato to someone entering his office.

“I’m back m’Lord,” Thoma announced himself.

The blond kneeled in front of Ayato as the Commissioner finished his paperwork.

“Welcome back Thoma,” Ayato greeted him. “How was your trip to Ritou today?” He inquired as he continued with his paperwork.

Thoma placed his hand on his chin as he thought of a way to explain what happened today.

“Well, it was quite an eventful trip this time,” He said.

“Oh, really?” Ayato commented, not looking up from his work.

“Yes,” Thoma confirmed. “I met (F/N)-chan today,” He told his Lord.

Said Lord briefly stopped his brush when he heard the name of his beloved.

“You did?” Ayato asked.

A tiny smirk appeared on Thoma’s face when he saw Ayato faltered for a moment before he became serious.

“Yes,” He confirmed. “It seems like she likes to read light novels at Rituo’s docks whilst she having lunch,” Thoma told Ayato. “The docks don’t seem like a romantic place to proposal,” He added.

“What…?” Ayato looked up from his work.

“Oh, Yusuke Kaneko proposal to (F/N)-chan. He was adamant about getting her to say yes,” Thoma finished.

“Yusuke Kaneko,” Ayato repeated the name that Thoma said. “Isn’t he the one we suspect of being a Fatui informant?” He asked.

“From what I and Shuumatsuban could gather, yes,” Thoma answered.

The air inside Ayato’s office became suffocating.

What would the Fatui want with a shopkeeper? Whilst Ogura’s Kimonos were successful, they mainly catered towards the everyday people of Inazuma. It would make more sense for the Fatui to associate with Ogura’s Kimonos’ sister company Ogura Textiles & Kimonos which catered to more wealthy and influential clients.

Unless their targets weren’t the shop or their clients but (F/N), then the Fatui’s end game was him. Using one of the people he care for the most but the only person he didn’t have under his protection. He thought she would be safe outside the Yashiro Commission where many have tried to take his life.

‘I guess it’s time for me to bring her into my protection’ Ayato thought.

“Thoma,” Ayato called to his housekeeper.

“Yes my Lord,” Thoma answered.

“Clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon,” He ordered.

“Of course my Lord,” Thoma confusedly said. “May I ask why?”

“So I can pick up my fiancee,”

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato kamisato #ayato kamisato x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #genshin ayato

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carriagelamp · 6 months ago

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All I can say is why did it take me so long to finally try reading Wodehouse? I knew I would like the Jeeves books and yet it took me until now to finally crack one. Definitely my highlight for this month, though I was also very into the two nonfiction books I read.

I'm finding more and more that I enjoy a nice, narrative nonfiction... any one have any similar recs? Nonfiction has never been on my radar but now I really want to find more that follow this narrative vein...

Candy Color Paradox Assorted Pack

A collection of short bonus stories collected from various points in the series. Kaburagi and Onoe both work for the same weekly magazine and are initially forced to work together on stakeouts. Their relationship gradually grows from antagonistic coworkers to lovers to genuine boyfriends who are learning how to make their relationship work. One of the things I appreciate about this series is that once they decide to date, their relationship stays fairly stable — there’s hiccups as they work on their own insecurities or relationship complications, but there’s no breaking up or will-they-won’t-they once they’re actually dating and the drama shifts to their shared work and making a relationship work in a fairly homophobic society. This particular volume was fun though nothing outstanding, but it will help tide me over until the next book in the series.

Console Wars

A non-fiction book I read on my brother’s recommendation. I only have a vague sort of interest in the video game industry, I mostly enjoy hearing my brother talk about it because he has a lot of knowledge about it, but I really enjoyed this book! It describes the ins-and-outs of the Nintendo relaunched the video game industry in North America with the Entertainment System, and then the competition that gradually developed between them and the underdog that was Sega. It was an exciting, amusing, and engagingly narrative look at that period in history! I would definitely recommend it to anyone that has an even passing interest in that point in time, this book really makes you root for everyone involved!

Five Nights At Freddy’s

You know what, this one was on me. I should have known exactly how bad it would be and I still chose to try it. The problem is, back when the first… three-ish FNAF games came out in 2014 and 2015 the lore was actually kind of neat. I had a lot of fun playing through them with my cousins trying to find out more about the story. Obviously it devolved into something completely different and a lot more get-that-money-from-those-kids over the years, but I, naively, thought hey… if they’re making a movie… maybe they’re returning to some of those original plot ideas? Maybe it will even be… kind of interesting? The Silver Eyes was a fairly neat novel, even if the lore felt very different so… maybe this one would be too?

Nope. Read a chapter, loathed everything from the writing, to the attitude, to the characters, and then slung it back at my local library unfinished. Don’t even bother picking this up, good lord.

My Happy Marriage 2

This was… fine. I rather enjoyed the first book of My Happy Marriage since it was a Cinderella-esque story set in the Taishō era with some fun magical elements. Lots of class division, the main character suffered very clear abuse and it wasn’t just brushed away, and her arranged fiancé was clearly overwhelmed and sympathetic when faced with this very different fiancée on his doorstep. The writing wasn’t great but the plot was fun. In book two the writing continued to not be great, but the plot also just… didn’t catch my interest. I’d still recommend the first book for some pleasant, light reading, but I don’t think I’ll continue with this series. Might try watching the anime instead…

The Inimitable Jeeves

I’ve been meaning to read the Jeeves books for years, and I finally got the push I needed from a mutual who was recommending it to me. It was everything I could have hoped for! Really made me think fondly of The Importance of Being Ernest by Oscar Wilde, or even Terry Pratchett’s writing to a certain extent — you can tell Pratchett read this author and picked up bits of his tone. Anyway, it’s exactly the sort of humour I enjoy and the whole thing is aided by having incredibly loveable characters. There’s the clever, unflappable valet Jeeves who seems capable of omniscience and of solving every problem to ever arise, as well as Bertie Wooster who I love with my entire heart. If Bertie was a different sort of character or narrator, this might have been a much less enjoyable series but he is a genuinely very kind, generous, likeable sort of person who is cheerfully aware that he’s a bit of an airhead and is happy to have Jeeves around to do this thinking. What a blessing. Highly recommend if you like short story collections and want something silly and fun.

The Last Firehawk v.11-12

This is a young children’s series that keeps compelling me to return to it for some reason. The first part of the series I actually quite liked and thought was very well done for the 5-8ish age group, depending on reading level. It’s easy reading but it’s a nice introduction to a linear quest plot and has reasonably nice art. There was a sharp decline in quality for most of the second series but I decided I should read the last two books just to say I’d done it. I’m happy to say that books eleven and twelve improved the story a little bit, with characters Tag, Skyla and Blaze discovering that their enemy from the first series (The Shadow) had returned and had taken a new host: a rat king that lived in the Underland.

The League of Lady Poisoners

An excellent nonfiction volume that contains short overviews of some famous female poisoners throughout history. It includes some nice, stylized art that was a treat, and I enjoyed the way the writer explored some of the motivations or reasons that a woman in these various time periods might resort to poisoning without painting every figure with a ubiquitous brush of Evil Monster. It was pretty light and I would read a story or two in the evenings.

The Long Patrol

I love Redwall books and felt like picking up one I hadn’t read before would be a nice treat for the spring. You pretty much know exactly what you’re going to get when you read a Redwall book and this one didn’t disappoint. It focused on various hares of the Long Patrol, the current Badger Lady, and a fun cast in Redwall Abbey. The dilemma arises because one of the Abbey walls is caving in and needs to be repaired, while a band of Rapscallion vermin are marching to try to take the Abbey for themselves. Standard fare. Lots of good food descriptions, a coming of age story for a young hare who had run away to join the Long Patrol, and a Goonies-style adventure with the Abbess and some of her friends as they explore the caverns beneath the Abbey. I can’t say I loved the book, but I enjoyed it. If you want a Redwall adventure, it delivers.

Owls in the Family

A cute chapter book that’s set in Saskatchewan during the middle of the century. It focuses on Billy who has a tendency to adopt strange pets that he collects from the plains. His newest acquisition is a pair of owlets — one he finds in a bush under a storm with a very spunky personality, the other a very meek, nervous one that he rescues from a group of older boys who were throwing stones at it. The book is filled with a variety of fun adventures that come from having a pair of loyal owls as pets that lightly terrorise the neighbourhood. It’s considered a school classic, though be prepared for some light racism considering it was published in the sixties…

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat

A sapphic food manga! It follows a protagonist who enjoys being able to cook and post about the meals she creates. She is somewhat resentful of the men who then expect that this means she will be a very “domestic” sort of girlfriend, someone who will consistently cook them meals and keep house. That’s not the point! She likes the artistry of cooking! One thing she’s never gotten much of a chance to try though is to create larger, more robust or complex meals, because as a single person there’s no way to eat it all. When she meets a neighbour from down the hall though, she’s delighted to have found someone who is very appreciative of her cooking and will enthusiastically join her in cooking and eating the meals. Such begins their relationship.

The Very Very Far North

This book feels like a modern day Winnie-the-Pooh. There’s a charming timelessness to it; it made an excellent bedtime book. The story follows Duane the polar bear as he gradually makes friends with some of the other animals who live in the Very Very Far North and the lighthearted adventures they have around the Arctic. The main theme of this story is how one can be friends with people who have very personalities and interests from yourself, and it does a great job of setting up each character as very different and then makes them learn how to coexist and get along.

Minecraft: The Village

The last of Max Brook’s Minecraft trilogy. I also can’t believe I’ve read three entire Minecraft novels considering I couldn’t give two hoots about the game in general, but Max Brooks treats the topic surprisingly seriously and creates a compelling story. The series began with the protagonist, Guy, waking up in this strange world with very few memories of his life before, and now forced to learn how to understand the bizarre rules of this world and learn how to survive. Each book in the series (The Island, The Mountain, The Village) expands the scope of Guy’s world and the challenges he has to overcome. The first book focuses on how to survive as an individual, how to learn and respect the natural world, and how to find a moral compass even on one’s own. The second book introduces a new character, Summer, and focuses on learning how to compromise and work alongside another person, and is all about friendship rules. The second was, imo, the weakest of the series but since I am not the intended audience the friendship lessons also felt the most dull to me. This third book was another uptick and may be my favourite of the series. Guy and Summer leave the Mountain in an effort to find a way to return to their true homes and along the way discover a Village that’s filled with villagers. In this book their world expands to include other people and cultures as they have to learn how to respect other people’s autonomy, and question what it means to exist as a society. It really poses some neat questions, I enjoyed the discussion a lot. A nice strong ending to the series.

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yakultii · 8 months ago

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@alwayschasingrainbows hi hi thank you sm for all the questions <33 I appreciate u sm ik u accidentally asked on my main but I’m gonna answer them here :))) also thank you for sending ur own answers too I loved reading them and learning more about you and found them super interesting!!!!! <3

1. What is your favourite childhood movie and why?

Strangely I’d never been big on movies or tv as a kid or even now (I want to get more into it now but my adhd still says no) my mum even told me that when I was young she could sit my brothers in front of the tv to be entertained but not me, I’d lose interest hella quickly… probs the first time I got into anything tv related was when I was 10-12 and was invested in the drama of the tv series “dance academy” on abc3 Ive actually met the producer! other than that I didn’t mind a reality show as a kid but then most of that wore off after I studied media in school and we went as live audience to “reality” shows and I realised how set up everything was and couldn’t care less afterward -

If I had to pick any movie that I loved and that still strangely brings me some sort of comfort.. it would have to be the 2010 Jaden Smith Version of Karate Kid ahahaha idk why (well I kinda do there’s lots of reasons but then I’d go on another whole tangent so I won’t) I was like 11 when it came out so I think that can count :) I can weirdly watch it over and over whereas most other movies I watch once and never again.

2. Do you have a favourite book or book series and why?

I talked about this in some previous posts on here but my fav book of all time is “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” by Gail Honeyman !!!!! I also am very passionate about “The uncaged sky: my 804 days in an Iranian Prison” by Kylie Moore-Gilbert (the audiobook version narrated by Kylie herself) and fav wholesome series has gotta be the Heartstopper graphic novels!!!! AHAHA again I could go on and on and on about why I love them all individually as they are all VERY DIFFERENT from each other, but I’ll literally be writing like 3 giant essays so I’ll stop myself now!! I will say, while it’s important we consume and love media that we don’t relate to to broaden our perspectives of life, it’s obviously easy to consume and love media that we see a small part of ourselves in and think this has a lot to do with why I love these so much!

3. The colour that makes you happy

Probably a dark green which reminds me of the rainforest:))))

4. Your favourite cereal?

I honestly don’t eat cereal and never really have :,) cereals were kinda demonised in my house as a child (almond mum tings?) but then eventually they weren’t anymore but I never rlly enjoyed their taste - this is such a sad answer but probably Kelloggs sultans bran LMAO. I haven’t had it for years but I rlly don’t mind it … I think it’s probably very different to American cereals cause it’s not sweet … one time I went to an American food store here in Aus and everything I tried taste like pure sugar and hurt my stomach so bad LOL never again I’m hoping and praying that Americans have other food options not featured in this store 😭 cos I understand some of it as a one off dessert but like everyday breakfast omg noooo I hope ur stomachs are ok

5. Your favourite gemstone?

I’m ngl I don’t have a super passionate answer about this one off the top of my head (sorry I’m such a boring person!!) I think they’re all so pretty!!! I gave them a google to try decide which I like most but it’s impossible .. I think I love any of the blue ones!! I’ll tell you one thing I rlly don’t love the yellow topaz cos I’m born in Nov and I see it on everything and I swear it’s the worst one imo like liteeally any other one I love! But I can still appreciate it ig :,)

6. Any activity you liked as a child and do you still like it now?

My biggest pain as a child was athletics!!!! I used to be competitive in 100m, 200m, long jump and triple jump :) sadly I no longer do athletics or compete but my passion for running/competitiveness lived on and by 15 I ran my first half marathon.. but from 17 onwards I got quite sick and was unable to run (minus a few little months of getting back into it over the yrs only to have to stop again) and now I’m 24 and finally getting back into it again.. kinda.. cos my health is still kinda shit but I’ll go for a lot shorter runs a couple times a week and hoping and praying my health gets better so I can proper get back into it.. not to compete anymore just for myself cos it’s one of the only things in this life that brings me joy :) I’ve also always loved taking photos although I’m not professional or anything it’s just been a fun little hobby I guess.. I have a few diff cameras but in currently trying (failing) to save for this new different one.. just waiting for my uni scholarship money this tri bc I’m too unwell to use it to go on a holiday atm I’m gonna use it to buy this camera I’ve been wanting oop :,) I’m a much bigger a fan of film photography over digital but the camera I’m planning on buying is kinda a combo of both eg. It produces images of a similar vibe to film photography but is actually digital so u don’t have to worry about wasting film :) it’s also a point and shoot, super small and can be taken anywhere which is much better than my current digital camera which is bulky and has a million settings idk how to use lol.

7. Have you ever read Lucy Maud Montgomery books?

I was about to say no I’ve never heard of her but then I googled it and saw Anne of Green Gables which I read when I was like literally 8… and as I’ve said in a previous post I never remember what I’ve read even if I read it two minutes ago bc adhd tings but I always remember how it made me feel - and I remember really enjoying it! Maybe I should give it a reread cause I barely remember what it was about :,) as for the rest of her books I don’t think I’ve read any! I love so much that you have a fandom page omgggg I wish I was that passionate about something !!!! PLS PLS give me recommendations if someone were only to read 1 of her books .. okay maybe 2 for now!!!!! I might actually give them a read :)))

Thank you thank you again for all ur kinds words I hope u have the most amazing day/night <33333 I appreciate u a lot!

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wyked-ao3 · 4 months ago

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Writing Questionnaire 3

i was tagged a few weeks ago but I can't find it now. I had it mostly done in drafts 0_o (I forgot about it sorry) @thatuselesshuman tagged me as well

Short stories, novels, or poems?

Novel length fanfiction although I'm working on my first novel. Short stories are way harder for me as I have to many ideas to keep them short usually.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Basically, I’ll read anything interesting. Usually: mystery, fantasy, grimdark fantasy, dark fantasy, romance, horror, murder mysteries, historical, educational, western (I'm blaming @tragedycoded for that one as my parents couldn't get me hooked on the genre 0_o And @tragedycoded succeeded with DMLS )

(I don't have many genre's I won't give a chance)

What genre do you prefer writing?

I'm game for whatever ideas running amuck right now I'm working on a fantasy series that will probably end up labeled dark fantasy. My next project after the series will be historical fantasy just not sure which of these ideas I'm going for (3 different time periods but they will still have some form of magic in them)

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

Combine the two but usually I have a general idea and let the characters have fun driving me insane.

What music do you listen to while writing?

Depends on the day some days that would be highly distracting others it's either old classic rock or folk music

Fave books/movies?

That's listed in my pinned intro and it's a long list and you can not make me pick.

Any current WIPs?

I'm currently writing the pirate king of deaths redemption book one if the pirate's cursed god series. For fanfiction I have several at different points and I'm posting three wip's that I'm working on as I post 0_o (bad idea but I'm adjusting to it)

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Comfortable sweaters, jeans, combat boots and a pocket knife holding several books

Create a character description for yourself: ash blonde shoulder length hair, hazel eyes (blue, green,grey) pale skinned and freckled.

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

Not particularly.

Are you kill-happy with characters?

not particularly, especially if you know them.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Water or sweet tea

Slow or fast writer?

Most people say fast but to me, I'm slow but that has to do with the fact that my brain moves quicker than I can type.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Anything and everything

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

Healer or cryptid in the library spotted by others once in a blue moon as I learn about the new world.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

Most fav: long list but enemies to lovers or psychopaths and golden retriever personality.

Least fav: cheating (I will usually stop reading right there) amnesia (not really my cup of tea) abortion or miscarriage (sensitive subject given some of my relatives histories) major character death (definitely need to be in a certain mindset for that) bullying (personal trauma there sometime I have to back away from a book for a while before trying again.)

Fave scenes to write?

Fluffy dialogue or arguing although bone chilling or traumatic memory flash backs are a blast to write

Most productive time of day for writing?

It depends – day for editing night for writing or that's how it usually works for me.

Reason for writing?

Creativity, I like the fact that other people can connect with the story. Also I have made a few friends via writing and I love that fact considering I have issues making friends usually. My friends might be online friend but they are still friends.

Np tags @the-golden-comet @gioiaalbanoart @aintgonnatakethis @lillybaaaka @adhdprincess @drchenquill +open tag

#Writer Questionnaire #Intro part 4 #my intro post #tag game

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whump-me · 12 days ago

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Ashes: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of Ashes, a dark and extremely whumpy Cinderella retelling where the handsome prince is a sadistic villain and his former bride is out to get her revenge… before he can choose a new victim at the ball.

Masterpost | Read the complete novel on Patreon

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The prince—easier to think of him that way, easier not to let herself remember that she had once not only called him by his name but whispered it in the dark—looked down at her with blue eyes that twinkled in amusement. His face had a chiseled jaw that belonged on a marble statue. Many a lovelorn maiden had written poetry about the golden waves of his hair. The moonlight fell across him in a caress, as if it loved him. Perhaps it did not dare not to love him.

“I’m tired of finding you cowering away in your attic room,” he said to her. “It’s so… easy. Sometimes I want a challenge, you understand?”

She had never cowered. Not once.

She lifted her chin to him, and did not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“Tonight,” he said, “you will give me a challenge. You will give me a chase. To make it more interesting, I’ll give you an incentive. If you get away, I’ll let you go—for good. And to make it a little more fair, I’ll even give you a head start. You have until the count of one hundred.”

He nodded over his shoulder to Torin. “Let her go.”

The thick branches retracted, the thorns scraping down her skin as they slid back into the hedge. A moment later, it was nothing more than an ordinary hedge again. Torin, as always, was expressionless.

“Well?” Impatience twisted the prince’s perfect features. “You should be happy about this. You wanted to run, didn’t you? That’s what you’re doing out here tonight, isn’t it?” His lips twisted in a sneer. “So run.”

But to run would be to give him what he wanted. And she had given him what he wanted too many times in her life already. She stayed where she was, her bare feet planted in the dewy grass.

The prince shook his head slowly. “Oh, Elle. Haven’t you learned by now? I’ll get my entertainment from you one way or another. If you won’t entertain me by running, you’ll simply have to do it a different way.” He leaned in, his voice taking on a softly intimate cast. “Do you remember what you used to do for me in my dungeons, Elle? How would you like to be on the receiving end this time around?”

It was the glint in his eyes that did it. The glint she remembered from all those days in the dungeon. It was the memory of what that look led to, the memory of dark laughter, of darker blood.

Or maybe what did it was the small spark of hope. If she was only fast enough… if the prince kept his word…

Freedom. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for a taste of it, for the merest chance at it. Including humiliate herself in front of the prince yet again.

She ran.

Behind her, the prince let out a low, delighted chuckle.

The gravel road bit into her bare feet. She ignored the pain. She had endured far worse. This time, she didn’t need to look down at her scars to remind herself of that. The sound of the prince’s laughter behind her was enough.

Had he started counting yet?

She ran from darkness into darkness. The road was only a faint glow ahead of her, moonlight on gravel, growing dimmer as the moon passed behind a cloud. Her lungs heaved. She was no longer the child who had run joyfully through the mansion grounds. She was not the girl who had left her home with her heart buoyed by dreams. She spent her days on her knees scrubbing, or hunched over the mending, or cooped up in her freezing attic room. She was weak. Broken.

Her ankle, which had never healed quite right, ached with every hard footfall. Soon, she knew, the ache would become the sharp bite of pain. She forced herself onward anyway.

Behind her, footsteps. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know the prince had begun his chase. He couldn’t possibly have finished counting to one hundred yet.

She leaned down and picked up a handful of gravel without breaking her stride. She tossed it into the bushes, then veered off the road in the other direction, into a stand of trees. A moment ago, she had cursed the cloud that stole the moonlight away. Now she thanked it. Without the moonlight, it would be as hard for the prince to see her as it was for her to find her way.

Behind her, the footsteps turned in the opposite direction, chasing the thrown stones. A second later, she heard him yell, then curse. She imagined thorns biting into royal flesh, and bit back a grin.

“Torin!” the prince snapped in a voice of royal command. “Light!”

Elle ducked behind a thick tree trunk and froze. But no light came. “It goes against the spirit of the thing, doesn’t it?” came Torin’s impassive voice.

“This is my game,” the prince said. “We play by my rules, not yours. Light.”

But Torin’s magic couldn’t create something out of nothing. How could he create light from darkness?

She found out a second later.

The night was not utterly dark. All around her, fireflies blazed to life before fading out again. When she was a child, she used to catch them by the dozens. Now she peered out from behind the tree in time to see four fireflies swell monstrously, bulging in places their small bodies were never meant to bulge. Arms burst out to either side; legs hurtled towards the ground.

And then the fireflies were gone, and in their place stood four liveried men holding orange torches, their faces as empty as Torin’s.

Two of the firefly-men marched forward down the road. One turned in the prince's direction. The fourth turned toward the trees. Toward Elle.

If she ran, the light would fall on her. If she stayed, she would be spotted once the firefly-man reached her.

She bent and dug a fist-sized rock from where it was nestled against the root of the tree. She lobbed it at Torin’s head.

It caught him in the temple. He yelled. But the fireflies’ light did not falter; their illusory bodies did not waver. She cursed to herself.

And of course, her attack had given away her position. Something struck the ground next to her with a soft piff. She squinted down and saw the slim shaft of an arrow illuminated at the edge of the orange light. Was he shooting arrows at her? Was that his game, to hunt her like a deer?

If only an arrow would strike her through the heart.

If she had thought there was a chance of that, she might have stepped out and let him put an end to it. But she knew him better than that.

As the firefly-man marched implacably forward, she turned and darted away.

The firefly-man ran after her, casting his glow over her. Her shadow stretched ahead, impossibly long and spindly, monstrous.

A sharp, sudden burning in her calf. A faltering step. She didn’t look, didn’t want to see the arrow protruding from her leg. She forced herself forward, her muscles convulsing around the shaft. She wouldn’t make it far like this.

But her fear wouldn’t let her stop, and neither would her pride. She ran.

Cold crept out from the wound, where burning pain had been a moment ago. Numbness followed in its wake. It crept up to her knee, down to her foot, leaving her with an empty and distant tingling where true sensation should have been. She couldn’t feel the grass underfoot anymore.

Poisoned arrows?

Of course, poisoned arrows. When had the prince ever played fair?

She missed her next stride, and sprawled forward on at the feet of a tree. She stared up at the branches, as if she could will herself up its trunk. As if the branches would reach down and cradle her, shield her, save her.

The footsteps behind her were unhurried now. First the firefly-man, casting his glow down on her. The prince followed a second behind. She heaved herself onto her back in time to see him stop at her feet to loom over her with a delighted gleam in his eye. Torin looked on from a few paces back, his face revealing nothing.

“Well, well, well,” crooned the prince. “Look what I caught in these woods. You are far more beautiful than any deer, but not half as graceful, I’m afraid.” Silver gleamed in the darkness—a knife, twirled between his fingers. “You’re no deer, but I could still gut you like one.”

“Poisoned arrows,” she spat. “I always knew you were a spineless coward.”

Or at least, that was what she tried to say. But Torin was prepared. He knew insults did not please his royal master. His magic caught her words in midair and transmuted them. Her spineless coward became masterful hunter.

She turned her glare on Torin. He looked past her as if she didn’t exist.

“Why, thank you,” said the prince. “I’ve always thought so, myself.” His knife ceased its twirling; he gazed thoughtfully down at the blade. “No, gutting you would end the fun. I’ll mark you as mine and let you go—assuming I can find any space left on you to work.” He knelt and ran his silken fingers down the scars along one forearm.

She yanked her arm away from him. Before she could complete the movement, a root pushed free of the dirt to wrap itself around her wrist. Torin’s doing.

The prince’s fingers crept upward with intimate slowness before pausing just above the crook of her elbow. “Ah,” he breathed. “How have I not made use of this place before?” His fingers caressed her skin in slow circles. “Your skin is so soft. Fit for a princess.”

He hovered the knife above the small patch of skin, but he didn’t cut, not yet. The prince always did like to savor the anticipation.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he said over his shoulder to Torin. “So quiet, so peaceful. I would hate for her to spoil it with her screams.”

Torin answered with a single curt nod. A thick root sprang up to wrap itself around her mouth. She bit down savagely, and got a mouthful of bark and an aching jaw for her trouble.

“That’s better,” the prince said as he made the first cut.

Elle screamed into the root gag as the blade came down in the familiar pattern. Two diagonal slashes, a horizontal line between. The letter A. Then the biting curve of a C. A.C. for Alexandre Casteril.

Prince Alexandre, youngest of the Casteril line, the king’s only child, heir to the throne.

Once, he had been her royal husband.

Once, for a short time, she had been a princess.

When Alexandre was done, he blotted her blood away with an embroidered white handkerchief, then sat back to admire his work. “Torin,” he said, “I’d like to hear her sweet voice now.”

The root vanished back into the earth. Elle knew better than to scream.

Alexandre leaned down over her, close enough for his breath to warm her face, close enough to bite. Close enough to kiss. “Tell me what you think of me,” he purred.

Elle, who knew how this game was played, set her jaw and said nothing.

Alexandre narrowed his eyes at her until they were mere slits glowing firefly-orange in the night. “Tell me,” he ordered, “or I’ll find something else to cut.” The knife came up between their faces, the tip of the blade tracing a delicate line up her jaw. “You don’t really need both eyes, do you? Not to work as a maid.”

Elle swallowed. He saw it and smiled. “Tell me,” he repeated, “what you think of me.”

“I hate you,” she spat.

But Torin, once again, was prepared. His magic turned her words to a breathy I love you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, wiping the blade clean with his handkerchief. He stood as the root unwound itself from her wrist. “The memory of your sweet screams will need to last me a long time, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to come around much for a while. Thank you for giving me a memory that will make the waiting easier.”

She didn’t ask what would keep him away. Nor did she dare to hope his words were true.

“The poison will wear off by morning,” he said. “You’ll need to take care of the arrow yourself, but you’ve dealt with worse. Once your leg is working again, though, you’ll want to hurry. You wouldn’t want to start your chores late, or your stepmother will be most displeased.”

With that, he turned and walked away without a second glance. Torin followed.

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Ask to be added or remove from taglist.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #my writing: Ashes #fairy tale whump #lady whump #royal whump

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therenlover · 10 months ago

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Put Me Back In It (I Would Do It Again) Chapter Five: Doubt Comes In

Pairings: Raphael/Tav, Haarlep/Tav, past Astarion/Tav, blink and you'll miss it Karlach/Wyll

Word Count: 7,300~

Synopsis: An unexpected encounter with old friends sends Tav's reality into a spiral, making her question everything she believes to be true. Meanwhile, Astarion learns the truth.

Rating: M (+18)

Warnings: Semi-Realistic Depictions of Trauma Responses, Panic Attacks, and PTSD

Tags: Memory Loss, Emotional Manipulation, Panic Attacks, Epiphanys, Reunions,

You can find this fic on AO3 Here or find the other finished chapters on Tumblr Here

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Things changed slowly and all at once.

After their night in the snow, Raphael was around more. He invited Tav to his chair at the fireplace to read her poetry and found himself sitting at the dinner table when she took her meals. Not every meal, but at first some and then many and then most. After a while, the gifts came; a golden fiddle for her to learn to play, a wardrobe filled to the brim with lavish dresses, crates and crates of romance novels for her to peruse. Quills and brushes and crates of canvas, paint, and ink appeared in his office bearing small tags with her name on them in Raphael’s signature red script. She had choice. She had the sweet illusion of freedom and endless ways to pass the time.

Things were not always happy. Raphael was a man who raged. He required a gentle hand and a cautious approach. The more time Tav spent with him the more aware she became of just what would swing his moods one way or another. Still, she adapted. She overcame. She built a new life where bending gently towards his whims was as easy as breathing. After a while, he didn’t need to rage anymore. One well-placed glare or tut would put Tav back on the right track.

Sex was sex as it always was and always would be. Perhaps a bit monotonous and a little more infrequent than it had been in the past, but Tav didn’t mind. She liked that it wasn’t her purpose anymore. There was a world outside of Raphael’s bed and that was enough to keep her happy to please him when she was in it.

Time passed quicker now. There were still no days, no nights, no months to track, but Tav’s life was filled with options; hobbies to pick up, books to read, someone to talk to. She was living. Sometimes that required sacrifices or compromises, yes, but it was better than what she’d known. She relished in every moment she had a choice to make, no matter how small.

The small choice in front of her now, though, was beginning to grate at even her saintly patience.

“Can I please set my arms down now, Raphael,” Tav groaned.

The devil shook his head, stroking his chin slightly as he admired the velvet pinned together on her form. He let his fingers pull the ocean-blue fabric taut against her arm before placing another pin to hold it. “Patience, little mouse.”

“I’ve had patience! I’ve been standing here like… forever,”

“Trust me, if I desired to have you model for me forever it would be much longer and far more agonizing,” Raphael warned. “Now turn, just a few more adjustments and I’ll set you free,” Tav knew enough about the tone of his voice to stop pressing. She turned on the small crate she was using as a platform, letting Raphael access the back of the dress. He let out a pleased hum as his pinching and pinning and marking continued.

Tav’s eyes danced along the wooden mannequins that crowded the room around them, taking in the veritable mess of dresses she’d already been fitted for. Silks and cottons and velvets and satins and furs sat in hefty bolts resting on every open surface, even leaning up against the precious bookcase making the lower-placed books completely inaccessible until the fabrics were moved. “Remind me again why I need a whole new wardrobe?”

A stray pin suck her as she shifted and Raphael set a large palm on her waist, holding her in place. “Because you don’t currently have anything appropriate for the outing I have planned,”

She sucked in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. “Will you tell me where we’re going yet?”

“That depends, will it stop your ceaseless questioning and get you to keep still?” Raphael asked, placing one last pin before turning Tav to face him. Finally, her posture slipped and her arms came down to her sides as she took in his irritated form. She chewed her lip and stared at the floor.

It wasn’t the first time she’d accompanied Raphael outside the House of Hope. Since their evening in the snow they had taken a few scattered trips, mostly to his suite in Sharess’ Caress or fields throughout Faerun, but nothing that required any specific outfits, especially not a whole new closet filled with them. Best of all, even Haarlep had been included in the fittings, though they had only been fitted for one new dress and tunic compared to her dozens of ensembles. Excitement drowned out the uncertainty. This was big: a family outing. A chance to be gone from the House of Hope for more than just one night.

Tav itched with the anticipation of it. That only made holding still so much more difficult.

Without waiting for a response, Raphael sighed. “If you truly must know, my brother Zephor has invited me to celebrate the birth of his first son. These things are rather… significant to us devils. It is incredibly important that we give the right impression.”

“And the dresses you’ve already had made for me wouldn’t do that?” Tav couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the ridiculousness of it.

“They’d assume you’re a concubine,” Raphael replied matter-of-factly, “I can’t have that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t that technically what I am? Well, if Haarlep and I could be considered a harem, that is. Are archdevils supposed to have more than two concubines? Wait- no, I don’t want to know. Forget I asked.” Despite the glibness of it all, it gave Tav a lot to consider. It seemed incredibly important to Raphael to not only bring her to such a significant event but also for her to be perceived as something other than a concubine by what she assumed were very important players in the great game of chess set in Avernus. But why? She didn’t dare ask. She was worried about what the answer might mean.

“What matters is that you will be presented alongside Haarlep as a protected member of my home. The great Hero of Faerun will be known throughout the Hells as someone loyal to me and me alone. You can handle that, can’t you little mouse?” Raphael’s eyes burned deep orange as he placed his hands on his hips. Tav nodded without needing to think. “Good. Now, let me finish this damned thing… and stop moving, or else,” The threat was more playful than anything, especially when he paired it with a slight pinch to Tav’s ass, but she was quick to retake her position as he made his final touches to her gown.

It had to be perfect, after all, if she was finally going to meet his family.

———

“Not what you thought it would be?” Haarlep seemed to hold back laughter as they asked.

Tav didn’t even dignify their question with a response as she watched the roomful of quietly mingling infernals shift around her.

No, she hadn’t quite expected this.

Waiting for Zephor’s celebration had been a new type of torture in and of itself.

There hadn’t been a clear timeline about exactly when they would be leaving, so Tav sat in a state of constant anticipation, waiting for Raphael to finally announce their departure. It was nice to have something to look forward to but so damn difficult to wait for it to actually happen. In the time leading up to the party, her usual nightmares barely plagued her. Instead, she was visited by dreams of strange, fantastical masquerades where a shadowy Raphael brought her body close to his in an endless, spinning dance.

The pale elf was there too. He was always there, somewhere.

At least he wasn’t taking a leading role in these new dreams, unlike the usual nightmares. He just tended to lurk in dark corners until she caught his crimson gaze, disappearing into the crowd the moment she looked away. It was more disconcerting than frightening. She was just glad he was leaving her alone, even just for the moment. As long as she could forget those eyes when she woke up she had something to be grateful for.

In the end, Tav didn’t have many sleeps between her final dress fittings and their sudden departure. One day Zephor’s emissaries simply walked up to the dining table with a brand new mirror for the portal room and suddenly they were walking through to the other side within the hour, impeccably dressed and groomed and prepared for just about anything except for what awaited her.

If the House of Hope was a castle in Avernus, Zephor’s home was a palace.

Chandeliers of gold studded with shimmering arrays of precious stones hung from great, vaulted ceilings of basalt in halls that stretched farther than Tav could even see, lighting the way for thousands of infernal party guests as they wandered about. It was more people than she could ever remember seeing in one place. Even in the thin silk of her dress, with nearly her whole back exposed by the plunging fabric, Tav felt smothered by the sheer proximity to so many bodies. She clung to Raphael’s arm like a lifeline as he greeted two lithe succubi clad in red, draping fabric and golden chains.

Haarlep’s jaw tightened slightly at the sight of them, but Tav didn’t mention it. She was trying too hard not to pass out.

After a few pleasantries that she entirely missed in her nausea, Raphael gingerly removed himself from her grasp and walked off into the crowd without so much as a goodbye, leaving her stunned at Haarlep’s side. A short, very fuzzy time later she was standing off at the wall with the incubus sipping on a glass of something that might have passed for juice without its effervescence, trying to press herself as close to the bricks as physically possible.

So no, she hadn’t expected the day to go as it had.

Thankfully Haarlep was merciful, sheltering her from most of the room with their carefully angled wingspan as they chuckled. “To your credit, you’re doing much better than I expected you to,” Their flowing emerald robes smelled faintly of the herbal soap of the baths, and it served to ground Tav slightly in the moment, but her head still spun with every breath. “When I went to my first gala before I even held a place in Mephistopheles’ court I ended up so raging drunk that, once I was done deeply embarrassing myself and my family name, I sat in a corner of a guest dormitory for 3 days straight until I sobered up,”

Tav let out an airy laugh. “Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Haarlep promised

Somehow, knowing she wasn’t alone eased the anxiety just enough for her to stand up away from the wall without feeling like she was about to fall right back into it. “So, is Raphael going to come back? Or is this a thing,” She wiggled her fingers through the air for emphasis.

“The bastard will be back eventually, hopefully soon, but yes, it’s a… thing,” Haarlep groaned, straightening the ornate silver tassels that covered their long, drooping sleeves. “He’s spending time with the inner circle of his family before all the guests arrive and the party truly begins. No one who doesn’t share a blood connection with the noble family is allowed within the sacred chambers, not even the closest of concubines or allies. There’s too much room for spying and deception. I would know,” Haarlep grinned, leaning their arm up against the wall and running their clawed fingers through their hair as their fleshy wings flexed and tightened. Despite the fact that they wore Raphael's face like their own, the incubus seemed to emulate the devil a little extra at the moment. “Sometimes it shocks me that you don’t understand infernal culture. You’ve fit so well into the house that I often forget you haven’t been there forever,”

The compliment was blatant and Tav was happy to take it.

Raphael was never one to give compliments, especially when they weren’t doubly due. Haarlep didn’t tend to be much better. So to hear her place was so cemented in their lives? To know the honor it must be to be chosen to accompany them to such a large, important event? She was hungry to know more, desperate to master her etiquette and show them just how grateful she was to be out of the house in a place like this.

Her fear of the crowd was tamped down a bit by her determination. The last thing she needed was for Raphael to come back and see her acting like a mess. She needed to make him proud. She didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t, but she’d definitely never be allowed to leave the house like this again.

That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“So how does all of this work?” Tav asked, crossing her arms and letting a bit of her drink slosh over the edge of her strange, stemless goblet. “Does everybody just stand around and talk for a few days? Or are there things we have to do while we’re here?” Around her, the crowd ebbed and flowed through the hall as even more guests seemed to arrive through the mirror.

“I haven’t been to many birth celebrations, but if I recall correctly they follow a similar calendar to other major infernal celebrations. There will be one day of rest as the invited parties gather,” Haarlep paused momentarily, “that’s today if you hadn’t picked that up. Then, once everyone has settled in there will be nine days of festivities. Usually, each day has some sort of main event, like ritual combat or musical performances dedicated to the guest of honor, in this case the baby, and every day begins and ends with a great feast. Then on the eleventh day, everyone returns home, the most distant acquaintances first and the closest family last. Easy, right?”

Tav let herself loosen up, rolling her shoulders slightly as she unclenched her jaw. “Yeah, easy,” Her mind was a million miles away.

No wonder Raphael had insisted on so many outfits.

Eleven whole days away from the House of Hope. Eleven days filled with music and drinking and mingling and entertainment. It was everything she had been dreaming of and more, and yet… why was she still so worried? It must have been a lack of practice. Yes! It must be. She had never been exceedingly personable, most of her friendships were made accidentally or forged in horrific circumstances that she’d rather not repeat, and now that she’d spent so much time with nobody besides Raphael and Haarlep to talk to her social skills were much more than rusty. Of course being faced with what felt like the entire population of Avernus without any guidebook or guidance would set her on edge.

Yeah. That had to be it.

Haarlep’s eyes raked over her and she could tell they saw right through her brave facade. “Are you alright? Did you have another nightmare?” They asked, “You don’t have to lie to me, Raphael isn’t here.” It was rare to see true concern from the incubus, but the way their wing curled closer around her told her all she needed to know.

“No, no, I’m fine. No nightmares, at least not the usual kind. I just… I don’t know,” Tav took another sip of her drink. Her chest heaved against the loose silk nestled between her breasts, heartbeat drowning out the crowd in her ears. She felt smothered in the ambient heat. “I don’t know! I don’t know any of this. I don’t know how to talk to these people. I can barely remember who I’m supposed to be, Haarlep. What if I do something wrong? What if I embarrass you? What if Raphael sends me back home and never lets me come with him again to anything? What if he sends me down with the other souls again? I can’t go back there Haarlep. Please don’t make me go back,” Words fell from her manic lips like a mad woman.

Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t manage to keep them still.

“Tav?”

The incubus’ voice sounded like they were underwater, a million worlds away.

“Tav.”

Where was she again? It was so loud and bright and-

“Tav!” Haarlep gripped her shoulders nearly hard enough to bruise. “Come back to me,”

The room stopped spinning. When had it started spinning?

“What?”

Haarlep let out a heavy breath. “Nothing, Tav,”

They gave her a reassuring squeeze before letting go of her shoulder.

Neither of them spoke for a while, not wanting to acknowledge whatever had just happened. Tav’s face burned with embarrassment. When she finally did speak, it was incredibly quiet in the general roar of the room. “I’m sorry. I embarrassed us.”

“Don’t be,” Haarlep replied before she had a chance to say more. Tav reached a hand out to them, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tightly before letting them go, and the incubus smiled. “Do you want to know a secret? You couldn’t have embarrassed us even if you tried. We outrank almost every infernal being in this room right now.”

The relief was palpable as Tav’s eyes scanned the room. “Really?”

“Would I lie to you about something this serious?” They asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Tav replied dryly.

“Touché,” Haarlep chuckled, “I am being honest though, cross my heart,”

She finished the rest of her goblet in one gulp, relishing in the way the fizz burned down her throat. It dulled the worst of the shaking that threatened to take her to the wall again and all the way down to the floor this time. “How can you tell we're above them?”

Haarlep shifted to stand beside her, wrapping their wing around her conspiratorially as they leaned their face close. “Watch the crowd pass by. Pay close attention to their clothes, the way they act, the way they speak,”

Around them, the great masses paid no mind to their little huddle, instead shifting towards great tables of punches and mead barrels and luscious fruits that Tav had never seen before. It was a dark and monotonous crowd. Infernal creatures sidestepped tieflings in their doublets of charcoal, slate, and onyx. Then, as the crowd shifted, a flash of bright color appeared. Opposite Tav and huddled around a small card table was a group of humanoid women— some elvish and drow, but mostly human from the look of them— dressed in similar chains and red dresses to those the succubi had been wearing. All at once she could see outliers everywhere: Another drow in crimson leaning in a doorway, a tall tiefling woman in a dress as green as Haarlep’s robes, a gnome plucking at a lute in a doublet the hue of summer dandelions…

“Colors,” Tav muttered.

The incubus beamed. “Bravo. We use colors at events like this to quickly determine what sort of company we’re in,”

She gazed at the party with new eyes, scanning the masses for flashes of brilliant hue under the candlelight. “Most of them are in black or grey,”

“Those are the infernal working class, for lack of a better term,” Haarlep replied, gesturing with a clawed hand. “They are invited here for the sake of having as many attendees as possible to serve as a show of the host’s popularity and social outreach. If you don’t belong to a great profession or family in the hells, that’s as far as you’ll ever go unless you learn an important trade, in which case you’ll be permitted to wear yellow at events like this, or you become a concubine in a devil’s home,”

Tav pointed covertly towards the group of women. “I assume concubines wear red?”

“Yes. Major archdevils, hosts, and their families will wear purple, like Raphael is wearing today, and servants will wear white or cream to be easily identified for assistance by party guests.”

She hummed softly as she took it in, smoothing down the fabric at her hips. She was suddenly aware of how the sapphire fabric glistened in the lights like billions of tiny gemstones sat hidden in the threads. “Haarlep?”

“Hm?”

“If we’re basically concubines, why aren’t we wearing red?” Tav asked.

“Well,” they straightened up, “That’s because we aren’t concubines the same way these others are. Raphael respects me far too much for that. Concubines can be openly enjoyed at events like this, and traded between masters without a second thought,” There was a shade of discomfort in their prideful tone. Not as much as she had felt earlier but enough to know the subject had been a slightly sore one at one time, even if it didn’t bother them as much anymore. “No, I wear green to signify that I am a defender of Raphael’s home. If someone wears green they are willing to kill or die for their master, and they accompany them as a bodyguard or diplomat. I am not his equal or his family, but I am much more than a hired servant or whore.”

Tav could almost hear their teeth grind as they clenched their jaw. It was rare for Haarlep to get shaken like this. She didn’t think it suited him. Desperate to change the subject and help them the same way they’d calmed her, she asked, “So what does blue mean? Is it like a soul bargain thing, announcing to everyone that Raphael tamed the big bad Hero of Faerun?” Her voice was a teasing, lilting thing as she looked over the crowd for another speck of blue, but it was notably absent from the crowd. The incubus stayed quiet. “Haarlep?”

“It’s hard to explain,” they sighed.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“No. How do I explain this in a way you’ll understand?” Haarlep steepled their fingers against their mouth. “Blue is a color of distinguished honor for someone who may not be family by infernal blood or pact but is considered protected and dearly cherished. Devils do not cherish by nature. They covet. To be cherished is something that has to be earned, and it is a position respected above most other things. Even Zariel and her lot wouldn’t dare touch their greatest enemy at a party like this if they were dressed in blue.” Their dark eyes caught Tav’s, and for a second she could almost swear that they were jealous. “Raphael wore blue for a while when he was just coming into his power, thanks to being one of Mephistopheles’ favorite sons at the time. It took the target off his back while he was just gaining power, letting him reach maturity without having to worry about assassins and repercussions. His… his mother was given the distinction of wearing blue as well, for bearing a chosen son,”

Her chest felt tight again as Haarlep retracted their wings back to their usual resting position, fiddling again with the drape of their great sleeves as they looked anywhere but at her.

Raphael's words from her fittings rang in her ears. “They’d assume you’re a concubine. I can’t have that.”

She had needed a whole new wardrobe. Almost every dress he’d had brought in for her before was some shade of black or white or red, and he refused to let her be seen as something other than what she was. But what was that? A trophy? A soul? A partner?

A wife?

Tav went to take another strong drink from her cup only to realize it was already empty. The floor swam as a sea of shadows danced around her.

She should be appreciative that he hadn’t let her walk out of that portal like a lamb wrapped for market. She should be proud to be seen at Raphael’s side in a place of honor. She should be happy. It seemed there were a lot of things Tav should have been that night that she wasn’t.

That list included drunk.

“Was this alcoholic?” She asked Haarlep, raising her glass.

They shrugged. “Probably,”

“Do you mind grabbing me another one if it is? Or- fuck it. Grab me something that’s definitely alcoholic and bring one for yourself too,” she said. They took the cup without needing much more encouragement. “I think we could both do with embarrassing ourselves tonight, just a little,”

The strange tenseness sitting in Haarlep’s shoulders loosened a bit. “What the boss doesn’t know…”

“The boss can’t kill us for; I know. Now go, before he gets back,” She gave the incubus her best smile as they sauntered away.

As soon as their back was turned and they'd disappeared into the crowd she was pressed to the wall again, breaths coming in great heaves as she wrapped her arms around her own body.

She felt mummified. Every inch of her skin seemed to stretch taut over her too-big skeleton, wrapping her up into a crumbling, shaky coffin of her own flesh. What the fuck was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt like this for so long, since the first horrid days of her stay in the House of Hope where she tried so desperately to escape with her life. Everything was just… wrong, like some sort of wobbling carnival mirror was reflecting the truth of her life back at her for the first time in a while. Had she really lost her dignity so easily? Sold out to the devil after a few quick fucks and a slap on the wrist? Once she would have rather died at his hand than let him own her soul. Now she was standing at a party celebrating the birth of his nephew wearing the equivalent of a giant sign dedicating her life to him.

The worst part was that she was almost certain that she loved him.

Tav didn’t know when apathy and attraction had turned into fondness, or when that fondness had turned into something more, but she knew it was there, driving her desperately to please the devil that owned her.

Was this how Haarlep felt for all of these years; this itching guilty madness? Desperately serving the man they loved knowing there was a near zero chance that he would ever reciprocate?

Because Raphael couldn’t reciprocate. He wouldn’t.

She felt horrifically exposed as she sucked in lungfuls of thick, sulphuric air. Eyes watched her from all directions. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to compose herself, and she desperately needed to compose herself or something very bad was going to happen. What? She didn’t know, but she did know that outcome needed to be avoided at all costs.

Red flashed in Tav’s periphery somewhere out in the crowd and her heart thumped a rapid drumbeat again. She couldn't find it as soon as she blinked.

It must be the pale elf. He had followed her here. Found her here.

She pushed herself away from the wall as her chest heaved and she joined the fray, bodies pressing against her on every side. She needed to find him. She needed to ask him who he was and why he was haunting her. It felt like if she just got a good look at him again in the clear candlelight it would somehow give her the answers she needed about who she was and why she'd given in to Raphael so easily. Shoving towards the red in the distance, she pushed and pushed and pushed, eyes wild, until-

“Soldier?”

The red was right there in front of her, but no pale elf waited on the other side. Instead, a ghost clad in green leather was leaning up against a tall candlestand. Every screaming swirling thought in Tav’s mind went quiet all at once as she took in the sight of the tiefling.

“Karlach?”

“Soldier!”

Before Tav could react she was being brought into the tightest hug she could remember.

Karlach was warm, but not in the same way Raphael and Haarlep were. She burned with a sharp, stinging heat that made Tav’s skin tingle at the contact, but it was so familiar; like coming home. Her tears were evaporating before they could even drip down her cheeks.

A voice called out from the crowd as another body emerged, holding two mugs of something frothy. “Karlach, where did you- Tav?”

The mugs crashed to the floor, shattering against the stone.

Tav’s voice was a creak as the tiefling eased up. “Wyll,” The former warlock’s face was an open book as she tripped over her feet to reach him, pulling him into his own hug. He looked different now, more golden baubles adorned his hair and his beard was fuller with a few small flecks of white, but he still smiled with the radiance of a thousand suns. “Gods, Wyll,” A hysterical laugh escaped her, “Karlach, you’re really here!”

“We’re really here,” Wyll repeated, clasping her forearms in his broad hands. "A Baldurian noble needed a trusted escort to be here, and we just so happened to be the only ones available in the area,"

“Where else would we be?” Karlach slung an arm over Tav’s shoulder, “All the coolest people are in Avernus these days, haven’t you heard?”

They’d both been in Avernus all this time?

Something in Tav’s quivering heart broke ever so slightly. They’d been so close to her for all this time. Why had they never come for her? Almost all of the resentment that had been festering during her time in the House of Hope dissolved now that she was actually seeing her companions in the flesh, replaced with desperate relief. It didn’t matter that they’d failed her before. She couldn't care less. What mattered was that they were there now. She was Tav again.

Slowly, a crack in the door appeared; the slightest chance that she could leave the hells alive with the help of her friends. The hard question now was whether she really wanted to…

Wyll had always been perceptive, and that hadn’t changed in the time since she’d seen him last. “Are you alright, Tav? I’m going to be entirely honest, you look like shit,” His stone eye whirred softly as he looked over her trembling body.

“I’m just so glad to see you guys again. I don’t even know what to say,”

“And we’re glad to see you! Gods, it’s been ages!” Karlach squeezed Tav to her side, long dark braids running down her back. Had the tiefling’s braids always been that long or was that a new development? “I can’t say I’m shocked that Astarion got an invitation, or that he dressed you up in blue today, traditions be damned. He always did have a flare for the dramatic and a plan for everything. Is his lordliship around?” She scanned the room, raising on to her toes to gain a bit better vantage for a moment.

Tav paused. “Astarion?” The name sounded so oddly familiar. It was right on the tip of her tongue…

Karlach let out a groan, untangling herself from the former hero. Wyll, though, just crossed his arms over his chest as Tav laughed nervously. “Don’t tell me that useless bloodsucker sent you all the way to Avernus alone to work out his business for him… did he?” Concern laced her every word. “Has he been taking care of you, Soldier?”

“Karlach, I don’t think-” Wyll cut in, but Tav was quick to set both of them straight.

“You’re not making any sense. Who’s Astarion?” She asked.

“Only the bastard who’s been sequestering you away from us for the last six odd years!” Karlach laughed. It was a tight, nervous thing. “Wyll? Can you back me up here?”

But Wyll didn’t speak. He was too fixated on Tav’s rapidly failing knees. If he had been less perceptive she would have collapsed clean to the floor, but he was able to catch her on the way down, fanning her with a hand as he shouted something she couldn’t quite discern up to his partner.

Bloodsucker. The question of who this mystery vampire was hung over Tav like a plague. Her head felt like it could split in two every time she tried to think of what that damned name reminded her of. Those piercing crimson eyes were the only things that flashed into her mind, and the agony of the nightmares that came with them. Why? She couldn’t say.

That was just the cherry on top of the true horror, though.

She started to babble wildly. The crowd was forgotten entirely as she clung to Wyll like a lifeline. “Six years?” She gasped low. “Six years? I’ve been stuck down here for six whole years?”

“Talk to me, Tav,” his voice was an anchor. “Where did he take you? Where have you been?” Wyll was rarely a ruthless man to those who did not deserve his special brand of justice, but when he murmured under his breath “I’m going to kill that bastard,” Tav believed him. The thin strangeness in his face all made so much more sense now knowing he had grown so much further into his adulthood than when she’d seen him last.

Six years…

It was like waking from a nightmare, only to realize that was a dream and the real nightmare had been her life all along.

“Wyll,” Karlach called. She sounded almost nervous as she backed up to the swordsman.

Tav didn’t even have time to answer before the great shadow of wings obscured the lights above.

“I suggest you let my master’s property go before we begin to have problems, Blade of Avernus,” Haarlep hissed, crushing a full glass of fizzing liquid in their clawed fist. Their voice was ice cold. In all of the time she’d known Haarlep, Tav had never seen them so mad. For the first time in years, she feared the incubus she would have trusted with her life not ten minutes before.

Their words sent a jolt up her spine. Property? Was that all they saw her as? Something to be possessed? It was almost unbelievable, but only almost. A sliver of her, deep down, had feared that was the case since she’d first met the infernal pair. That didn’t make the confirmation any easier, though. It speared right through to the core of her.

Karlach was up in arms in an instant. She pulled her sword from the back of her leathers and stood in front of the pair on the floor. There was no fear in her eyes even as the crowd began to murmur and part around them. “Motherfucker! Raphael is involved in all of this?”

Haarlep’s wings flared. “I don’t have time for your questions.” Their eyes shifted to the floor, face an unreadable mask. “Tav, come here,”

She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She just froze in the moment as everyone around her tugged at the little loose string at the edge of her reality. Tug, tug, tug, and off it went! Unraveling itself in real-time before her eyes. A crowd was gathering now. Flashes of emerald and forest and chartreuse crept closer in the sea of dark, undulating bodies. If they all pounced at once they would drown her there on the floor of that party and maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. Karlach took another step back towards her and Wyll.

Karlach and Wyll; Her friends, her deserters, her empty home.

They would surely die here, defending their little sapphire in the mine, their precious hero of Faerun. Raphael would come and he’d eat them alive.

“Tav,” Haarlep tried again. “Now.”

Tav was not brave. She had not been brave for a very, very long time. But selfless? Selfless was something she could be. She could take a shaky stand on legs that so desperately wanted to fail her and walk right back into hell so long as it meant they didn’t go with her. Suffering had become her close companion somewhere in her life. She could bear the weight of that old friend a little while longer.

For them, she could.

“Let me go, Wyll,”

His arms slackened around her. “What? No, Tav, we’re getting you out of here,”

“Wyll,” She smiled. “It’s ok. Let me go,”

And he did. He understood there wasn't any way to convince her otherwise. She’d made her choice, the only one that mattered in the end anyway, and who was he to stop her?

Karlach was protesting as Wyll helped Tav stand but she didn't hear it. Pure instinct had already taken over, adrenaline and spite driving every movement she made. Haarlep was happy to receive her. At least they looked happy.

“We’re going home?” She asked, voice flat.

The incubus nodded. “Raphael is already waiting for us. He’s incredibly displeased,” Something about their tone told her she wasn’t the only one he was displeased with.

Wyll had to hold Karlach back to keep her from lunging. She was shouting curses at the winged beast as they ushered Tav away. She couldn’t handle the sight, and so she turned away from them without a goodbye.

They deserved better than that, she knew, but she had nothing worth offering that they’d want to accept. It was better this way, for all of them. A horrible part of her wished they’d never crossed paths at all but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? At least now it could be over. Tav would surely never be allowed out of the House of Hope again, or probably not for the next six years at least, or maybe six thousand more than that. She only hoped that they never again laid eyes on the shameful shell of a hero she’d become.

Haarlep guided the pair of them through the crowd, shielding her from the world on their silent march towards the gallows. With every heavy footfall, she felt weaker.

She just wanted to go home.

“Only a little further now,” Their voice was sickeningly soft. “I’ve got you.”

Tav scoffed. “You shouldn’t talk to Raphael’s property that way.”

The incubus winced as they approached the mirror, followed by thousands of hungry, peering eyes. “Tav, you know-”

“Just take me home,”

The last thing Tav thought of before stepping through the mirror was the misplaced shock on Karlach’s face when Haarlep had mentioned Raphael. It was funny to see her so surprised. She’d sold her soul right in front of everyone, after all, to keep the crown. What a silly, impossible thing thing to forget. So impossible, and yet she couldn’t even recall the moment herself.

Then the portal pulled her in and the world went black.

———

Ancunin Manor tended to be mostly quiet in the daylight hours.

The spawn knew better than to leave their chambers without proper protective attire and most didn’t even bother with that. The master liked to bask, after all, and there was no guarantee that every window and door in the castle wouldn’t be wide open to let as much light in as possible. To avoid accidentally burning to a crisp most of them just napped or spent their time sequestered away with a book until the sunset came.

That meant Astarion almost didn’t get up from his chair when he heard the knock on the great wooden doors to the library at close to noon.

He was deeply engrossed in his book and assumed it was nothing more than a bird slamming into the bricks outside until the knocks started up again more frantic this time. He set his book facedown with a sigh. “Yes?”

“Lord Ancunin?” A voice squeaked on the other side.

Astarion rolled his eyes for the benefit of absolutely no one but himself. “Get on with it, Johan. I’m reading.”

“You have a visitor and she isn’t taking no for an answer,”

Now that was curious.

The vampire stood from his chair, finding one of the mirrors hung on the wall between bookshelves to primp in slightly. He hadn’t scheduled any appointments. It was supposed to be a day of rest and relaxation in the busy winter season once he’d finally caught up on planning for the solstice rituals and parties. Who in their right mind would just waltz up to a noble's door without an invitation and demand an audience at a time like this? Something tugged uncomfortably in his chest.

Astarion knew exactly who would do something like that.

“Alright,” he huffed, adjusting the ruffled collar of his shirt. “Send her in,”

When Johan opened the door Astarion knew he wouldn’t find what he was waiting for. He hadn’t let himself hope. Still, he was pleasantly surprised to see Shadowheart waiting beside his cowering spawn, her traveling cloak still on and soaked from the snow.

“Shadowheart!” He called. Crossing the room, he opened his arms to her. “It’s been ages. What has it been, 5 years since we slaughtered Orin together? Have you finally come to get the grand tour?”

The cleric lowered her hood revealing furious fire in her green eyes. “No time for a tour today, Astarion. This is about Tav,”

Johan winced slightly at the sound of her name.

Astarion’s welcoming smile fell. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to say about that. I haven’t seen Tav since the Netherbrain fell.” He stopped a few feet before her, maintaining enough distance to make sure he wouldn’t do anything rash if he lost his temper. He wasn’t that man anymore. He would remove the temptation before it gave him a chance to react.

Despite everything he told himself, his throat still itched when Shadowheart closed the space between them. “Still a liar, I see,” She laughed.

The room chilled suddenly, the fire in the hearth getting suspiciously dim as Astarion’s eyes flickered in the low light.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to deal with you,” Shadowheart threw her hands up, backing up from the vampire and tossing a small red envelope at his slippered feet. “I came here as a courtesy, Astarion, because I made the mistake of believing you were better than this. Wyll and Karlach are coming for you. They found Tav.”

And just like that the building rage disappeared. The fireplace extinguished itself, plunging the room into relative darkness beside the rays of midday sunlight that filtered in from the skylight above. “Where?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Her platinum braid swung wildly as she pointed an accusatory finger at the vampire. “I knew you’d changed after you completed the ritual, but Raphael? Really? That’s low even for you.”

Astarion looked through her like she wasn’t even there. “Is she alive?” His voice was trembling. The lord was not accustomed to feeling fear, he swore when the netherbrain fell that he would never be afraid again, and yet here he was, gripping the back of his reading chair to stay upright as he doubled over with nausea. “Shadowheart.” He looked up at her and found fear in her eyes too, wet and all too mortal. “I need you to tell me if she’s alive,”

“You didn’t do it?”

“Shadowheart!”

She nodded and that was all he needed.

“Johan!” Astarion snapped, pushing past Shadowheart, “I need you to contact the Devil’s Fee. Tell Helsik I’m calling in my favor,” He was halfway down the hall before he turned back to find Shadowheart still standing in the doorway. “Are you coming or not?” The cleric was quick to follow then as he made a beeline for the armory.

He had failed Tav once. If he had even the slightest chance of righting that wrong, he couldn’t hesitate, even if that meant killing the devil himself.

It was the least he could do to repay her.

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(A/N: Thank you so much for making it so far into this insanity!!! This chapter was insanely difficult for me to write, but it was more important for me to get words on the page than to get them perfect. I hope it reads at least semi-well and the insanity seemed purposeful, because it was lol, Tav is having maybe a lil bit of a breakdown.

Thank you also to every single beautiful human who has left a comment, bookmark, kudos, or even took the time to just read my fic. I suffered a traumatic brain injury in late 2022 and I genuinely thought I'd never be able to write fics I people enjoyed again. I was terrified to start writing only to realize I wasn't any good anymore. I couldn't be more grateful to you all for proving me wrong. You've given me back my voice, my art, and my passion in a way I never expected to have them again.

Again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3 I can't wait to keep sharing this story with you.)

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#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 haarlep #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 #fanfiction #bg3 karlach #bg3 wyll #bg3 shadowheart #raphael/tav #raphael/haarlep #astarion/tav #haarlep/tav

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