#save our blorbos from bad writing

[cinnamonanddean]

At least they're giving Lex a sick AFI needle drop and badass slow-mo walk through the torture lab. That's the best thing they've done for him lately.

[farmersfieldwolf]

Since you sent me an ask, I'll send one back! <:) Particularly in reference to your fic, how do you organize things? Do you write whatever you think in the moment and refine later or do you plan things out thoroughly before approaching your chapter? You use a lot of different alignment settings and bold/italics to convey different emotions, memories, etc-- Do you write everything out like that as you type or add those details later? Your writing style has always really amazed and inspired me, it's super unique and has left a lasting impression on my own writing! I'd love to hear more about your process!!! :D Thank you in advance!!!!

PREPARE FOR LONG- first of all that's incredibly kind of you and means a lot to me; i am pretty self conscious about my work because basically everything i do starts as a very big feeling i am having and it is kind of hard to understand inside of the process what it comes across as

to keep a dash tidy- a break

I make pretty rough but silly bullet points to get an outline- this is part of chapter four's outline (when I started doing outlines, the first three chapters just kind of happened in a fugue state lololol)

part of it is that it being silly helps vomit it out, like some of it is WILD. I also don't name characters just give them all caps monikers and ctrl+f and replace them (so like fejul was just YELLOWCAT throughout and still sometimes is if i can't remember their name), because that way i don't get stalled on naming someone (it helps the game generates names)

especially since it started as just being a conversation between two very broken people it helped make it not so sad. a lot of it still makes me cry to read let alone write it out. it helped with my grief through

tbh i think part of the process that i go through is very much informed by thinking of the mechanical delivery of the game; thinking about the tension between dehumanization of the player and thus the lamb, the implications of Godhood as the weathering of humanity. i could talk about play theory forever lololol

the alignment is because i have pretty bad adhd and at the time i started writing i was FILLED with ghosts so thoughts were ind of hard to hold- ghosts are a sort of joke among friends of when you get the like i must create feeling, mine lasted about 6 weeks before i decided to post it (and made a tumble a couple of months later). my friends were very kind and put up with me rambling constantly until i did! i even rambled in board meetings and make myself a custom sweater from joking about it being in our minutes. the joke here being is as a nfp our board notes are legally required to be available upon request by like the government or members- so they'd be like wtf why are you talking about blorbos??

i think it (the ghosts) is mostly done, at least the manic portion of it. there's 30 chapters give or take that are mapped out in various states of done at least the lamb/narinder stuff is mostly done the side plots are kind of still developing hence why i think i am going to take some weeks off so i can figure them out

but it's written like that because it's kind of how i think? everything sort of happens simultaneously- so for narinder in particular in the beginning it's a lot of that where he's overwhelmed by everything. he's going from relative omniscience to a single perspective and that's hard. At this point he's a lot calmer but i think he could probably feel every follicle for a while there

it also helped that i realized narinder is essentially a character i already wrote for my thesis and a lot of it was a reflection of the feelings i had near a decade ago. nothing is canon in cotl, not really, there's just kinf of like little lore puddles; he's pretty far off interpretation for that reason. but the core idea, why does the lamb decide to save him, remains the same from the idea of the hermes i trapped in a box lololol

i didn't know how formatting in ao3 worked- so it's actually WAY more wild and i simplify it. there's also a bunch of stuff i have thought about that i think would be too much- using unicode is probably way too far but also it would be so fuuuun- LIKE if Super God didn't just speak in sub caps but like-

₦⏃☈↟⩀⨵⋶℟

i have always been frustrated having to like fully describe everything so it's a work around for that- a lot of scenes are just dialogue between characters that i add things into later so there's a bit more visual description going on. i hadn't thought of him for a long time, but Michael Ondaatje is a pretty big influence on that i think. i like his work a lot in my memory and the flipping between like very intimate description and vague interpretation i like a lot

this is the longest thing i have ever written; most of the other stuff i have done is short form or just dialogue in a scripting way- or comics. it's also way more long term planned? i have written lots of like 100-500 short stories, i did a project where i wrote 300 (only made it to about 120) short stories and my "i am going to work on a thing" right before these ghosts took me and ran with this was recording them as a binural audio and using conducive headphones to simulate hallucinations with a body horror alternative controller- i wanna finish it but am having fun working on this. i also started rewriting some of them as like little outdoor arts but i got stalled because i had no packing tape and was using scotch tape and it was taking a long time

realizing i am writing this long after adhd meds have long worn off so this is seriously ramble-y

for other things i usually just write and hope it makes enough sense. the last thing i made i wrote inside an ide while programming with yarn spinner- then decided to make my game recursive? it was a nightmare tbh, don't decide halfway through a project to entirely change the format. nor write in an ide while learning a new dialogue manager. this is advice seldom will need but YOU KNOW WHAT- IF YOU NEED IT IT'S IMPORTANT LOLOLOL

my playlist being 60+ hours at this point is also a big method of organization- the songs chosen are often either the emotional perspective or foreshadowing for the future of what will happen. it also helps editing? like what was the vibe was i going for- good old sufjan being so gay for god helps. drawing and making the little comics has helped a lot too- i think it makes it clearer in my mind who's doing what and what's happening. the lamb got a lot more personality from being drawn and a lot of scenes just came out of the fact that their tears are so juicy when i draw them

this project has now become a personal challenge on seeing it through but WOAH- it's been a long 4 months! it's kind of wild to me it is both been that long and i have done so much in 4 months and is a nice confidence boost

i just love monsters so much- have a super god doodle from a sketch series that has too many spoilers on it

THIS WAS LONG AND I DUNNO IF IT IS HELPFUL? OR MAYBE IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE HELPFUL?? i love talking about process though- i could wax on it forever because i think it's the coolest part of the art making process

i appreciate being asked; i am very chuffed with how it is turning out as i had stopped making art for... 6 years? to the point i thought i never would again and kind of had accepted that. so having something to do and have folks be excited about seeing it honestly makes me so deeply emotional in a nice way

[stevehairingtit]

"#killing one guy is easy challenging cultural precedent is hard#anyway#this is also about smallville lmao"

??!? i'd love to hear you elaborate about that if it's something you felt like doing lol

been loving your smallville posting btw!! i sort of forgor i had blorbo adjacent feelings for lex luthor in the early seasons, and don't really remember how things went later on, i never watched past season 8, but i distantly remember feeling like my boy had been done dirty so i'd love to hear your take there ^^

I am falling to my knees weeping with joy at being asked to speak more on this subject lmao.

This is a problem with the show broadly, not just as it relates to Lex, but Clark is staunchly anti-killing people. Part of that is he views himself as a piece of a larger system and not the final arbiter of justice, whatever that looks like, and part of that is he just doesn't think the death penalty is justice. He says the Phantom Zone exists to give violent criminals some kind of life like the hellish open world prison pocket dimension is one of those Scandinavian farms (hilarious but I appreciate the idea). He says saving someone isn't about throwing them in a dark room, but helping them find their way back to the light (counter to the show's 'throw them in the psych hospital' approach to crime, but is intriguingly close to cohering with their themes). He wants to be able to offer people an opportunity for redemption. They will occasionally randomly decide this is not their established ethos, but it's consistent enough that I do believe it's an idea about Clark they hope you walk away with.

So Clark will say we are not going to kill this guy, and his crime-fighting buddies will say to his face of course, Clark, whatever you say, Clark, if everybody were more like you, the world would be a better place, Clark, and to each other they will say we have to start planning for when we must sully our hands in Clark's stead because that guy needs to fucking die. They think he is hopelessly naive for believing murder is never the answer, and for the most part, the writing does back him up on that, but the writers don't actually believe in redemption themselves. Instead, we usually get the villain falling from a great height treatment, at least in spirit. Karmic deaths because obviously that is the appropriate punishment even if Clark won't mete it out. When someone does do a punitive murder (rare!), it's not given the weight or conflict one might anticipate from Clark's closest friends engaging in behavior he supposedly finds morally repugnant.

That's also one of the major issues with Lex's arc. Lex can't be redeemed because he's the source of all evil. There might be some other bad guy running around, but don't pay them too much attention because Lex has got to be involved somehow. He may or may not be dead and his mutilated corpse is architecting all our misery. Empathy would absolutely fix him, but why bother, he has just been too cruel to deserve that. But Clark offers grace and forgiveness to strangers off the street, why wouldn't he offer it to his best friend? It's stupid, and they're too married to the idea of punishment to fully engage with their own concepts.

fwiw, season 9 is my favorite, and part of it is that they don't touch Lex at all lmao. Because one guy isn't the source of all evil! It's also the only season where the writing doesn't tacitly agree Clark is naive for believing in people. He says we are not going to kill this guy and everybody shits on him for it, but then neither they nor some act of god kills that guy, and he stands trial among his peers. They do send him to the prison planet, but I know not to ask for too much.

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Boys, choose violence 10, 22, 24 if you please. :D

From the 🔥Choose Violence Ask Game🔥

Thank you, @kosmochlor, for the Ask! Ahh, and I see we’re going straight for the jugular!! 🔪(⊙v⊙✿) These are just a few personal honest opinions written at 1:40AM. What I think does not apply to everyone. ♥️

10. worst part of fanon

Keyboard warriors. The morality police clutching their pearls. You know who I’m referring to; we always have them in every fandom. The ones who police who/ what you like and are obnoxiously loud about it and about how the characters or ships you find interesting are problematic and, lookie here, my [insert character they’d fixated on] never did anything wrong compared to your rancid skrunkly blorbo and I wish more fans liked my favorite character than [insert popularly liked character]. On the converse of that, I’m on two fences when it comes to Homelander stans. Thankfully most people are rational and like him because he’s an interesting villain (and, let’s be real, it’s powered by a side of fan thirst for the actor who plays him; it’s the typical parasocial relationship that fans develop with the celebs who play our favs/ or it’s just plain interest in the fictional character itself or the fun thought of that fictional fav being railed or doing the railing)—but I do have to raise an eyebrow when he is being stanned for all the wrong reasons (coughfascistallegorycough coughMAGAallegorycough coughSigmamalecough).

It’s a very interesting outlook to have as someone who isn’t as into Homelander as other people but still goes out of my way to read and write stories of him being shipped with his enemy Billy Butcher (listen, I’m your average law-abiding 28 y/o woman who works M-Sat 9AM-5:30PM and sometimes even Sundays and even overtime; sometimes on my limited free time I just wanna indulge and imagine about what it’d take to save the metaphorical world in this fictional universe—aka by having the two toxic old men f*ck each other and they can be two co-dependent psychos in love terrorizing the world together as a shameless power couple in a perpetual Ouroboros cycle of love and hate and self-punishment; obviously I do not condone this kind of relationship irl but within the safety of my imagination, we writers be playing god. It’s fairly obvious both characters are fated to have a bad ending in the show, especially if they follow in the footsteps of comic canon for a bittersweet ending, so let me have fun on my very limited free time writing my alternative Butchlander takes about these manipulative assh0les obsessing over each other and the fate of the world depending on how successful they are at gaslighting each other into playing a permanent happy couple).

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Homelander is canonically bi in the comics. No, I’m serious.

(Spoiler alert: for those without context, in the comics, Soldier Boy was not Homelander’s father. In the comics, male Stormfront was one of the Supes whose DNA was reused by Vought to create new and stronger versions of the source material, so his DNA resulted in baby!HL’s creation no, comic HL did not f*ck male Stormfront; in a way, HL is kinda a partial clone of comic!SF. Whereas in the show, Soldier Boy was changed to be a super straight (?) alpha male granny f*cker who was later revealed in the season to be the sperm donor for Homelander. And Stormfront, as we know, was genderswapped in the show and changed to be Homelander’s girlfriend in S3. …There’s no confirmed Sweet Home Alabama vibes yet as of 2023 but there is understandably fan speculation for a reason.)

I believe the best way to put it: Homelander is generally attracted to women, but in later issues he reveals that he has a secret liking to men. Because he’s The Homelander; he can do whatever the f*ck he wants.

And let’s not forget this beautiful iconic scene the TV adaptation gifted to us:

Now some personal opinion time: I also like the idea of him being a narcissist so he only truly loves himself. And others can come close (especially if he sees aspects of himself in them) but his One True Love will always be himself. It’s the classic Narcissus looking at his mirror reflection allegory—but now you mix it in with some complicated cocktail of a God complex, inferiority complex, imposter syndrome, self-hatred, and sociopathy or psychopathy and a hidden desire of wanting to fit in with the banal societal human norms of being accepted but always feeling left out on the other side of the glass wall looking in. Now you tie it in with him never finding anyone who’s “genuinely loved him” (by his own criteria) and has not regarded him as a monster to be feared. He’s desperate for that human connection, for that elusive “perfect companion” who will understand him and cater to him and put his needs above their own—and to him, finding that proves he’s not a freak of nature. He’s not a monster. He’s not a failed product. He’s not a pathetic excuse of a man that even Soldier Boy didn’t even want as a son. Vogelbaum—and everyone else just doesn’t understand. People love him, right? Vought and Madelyn have indoctrinated him into believing he’s the people’s hero—and how they adore and worship him and want to be him or want to f*ck him. How can he, The Homelander, a superior being with his perfect genetics who’s better, stronger, smarter and more attractive than anyone else (I hope you can tell I’m being heavily sarcastic here), go out on a limb and fail at finding this one intangible thing that ordinary mudpeople or his inferiors can find but he somehow can’t?

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

It’s almost always political discourse particularly from extremely delusional right-wingers people who have terrible media literacy of what they’re watching versus what might be clear-cut to the rest of us—and discourse of whether or not The Boys (TV) is an objectively good show. All of these tend to go hand-in-hand together. I think what those people fail to realize is: the script is written by Eric Kripke, the showrunner behind the first five seasons of Supernatural—and then you have Stephen Fleet, lead VFX supervisor and show producer, who came out at the age of 43 (🏳️‍🌈). They’re adapting it from an edgy, dark, intentionally offensive-just-for-shock-value comic series written by Garth Ennis, the person behind Preacher and even a bit of the Punisher. The eight-volume comic series, which ran from 2006-2012, is full of racist, sexist, misogynistic, and homophobic elements (to be fair, GE wrote this as an intentionally darker satirical take on the superhero culture—and edgy shock factor is a writer’s strategy to make your work stand out). It was meant as a “dark, satirical commentary about the fictional superheroes—and, to an extent, the real life celebrities—we idolize, and how easily people with such power can abuse their responsibility” (source).

With what the TV showrunners had to work with, with the actual source material being a slog kinda to go through (the comics does have its share of good moments admittedly), as a whole I think it’s pretty impressive they’re able to update things to make modern social commentary which are relevant to us today (now, they can be admittedly a bit on the nose about it; one thing that stuck with me till now is how a writer friend I was watching the show with remarked how they’d thought BnHA did the superhero genre commentary much better) and somehow they were able to make a far superior TV adaptation just by paring down and changing a few things from the comics for the better so far (*knocks on wood 3x*). I will however always side-eye anyone who insist the comics is superior than the TV adaptation and loudly proclaim they won’t watch the show because “look how they massacred [insert comic character]” (now, to be fair, normally I would agree with this take but we’ve established The Boys (TV) is a special case; I would also understand if the comics had been the person’s first exposure and, hence, had become their fixation—but considering its intentionally offensive contents I am quietly side-eyeing them from the sidelines and keeping my mouth shut).

[rockinlibrarian]

Post-Umbrella Academy S4 Reaction Part Four: On How to End a Story (obviously spoilery but under a cut)

Okay! I'm back and have a moment to write again! It's Field Trip Week in my real-life job which means I've been a LITTLE exhaused, and sunnymarbles has been having me dye their hair in sections each night which is taking some time as well (artists, you know). -actually I started typing this paragraph and got called to dye hair again because they're going out in public tomorrow so can't be having half-dyed hair. And I do still have work tomorrow (one last field trip!) so I ought to go to bed but DANGIT I'M SICK OF BEING INTERRUPTED FROM WRITING.

SO, when last I left you with my TUA S4 reactions, we discussed my favorite part of the season, so now it's time to discuss my least favorite part. As I said in my FIRST reaction post, I ENJOYED Season 4, right up until the very last moment.

The literal very last. Because until that moment, there was still time to turn it around.

Discussion about exactly why the ending didn't work for me, and me making shameless comparisons to Legion again, below the cut.

But see, the comparison is important this time, because both shows ended with the same cop-out twist: "Our characters have messed up SO BADLY that the only option is to completely erase the events of the show from existence!" The biggest difference, though, was that I finished Legion feeling peaceful, and thinking that if it wasn't a completely happy ending it was at least bittersweet. It was only later that I looked at the last episode and noticed the plot holes, the deus ex machina, the deliberate ignoring of earlier canon just to fit what they were trying to make happen-- it was actually a pretty messy ending.

But here's the thing-- the characters were ready. They'd all grown and learned lessons and forgiven trespasses and so forth. So I felt happy for them.

And the events of the show had been erased from existence, but time was happening over again, with the promise that THIS time things MIGHT go better. Not guaranteed. The fix-it I wrote for the end of Legion was merely putting the pieces in place to assure that.

But although the end of the Umbrella Academy was less messy plot-wise than Legion's ending, the CHARACTERS were still a mess, and that erased any feel-good feelings I could have had.

I suspect one reason I enjoyed all the rest of the season better than a lot of people was that my blorbo, Viktor, was the only one who hadn't backslid in his growth-- the only one doing relatively well, and, to be frank, the only one that really seemed to be doing anything useful to the plot in the course of the season. Everyone else was falling back on bad habits both tangibly and emotionally, getting into subplots that never reconnected to the main plot, and honestly most of them were back at the lowest points of their lives at the moment the Cleanse erased them. As I said in his essay, it would have worked if Viktor had made the ultimate sacrifice while saving everyone else, and that's because he would have been going out a hero. For everyone else it felt much more like simply giving up-- a hopeless suicide.

But again, I held out until the very end, the post-credits, hoping that they would at least, like on Legion, get a fresh start. Or if we could see them in the Afterlife working out their issues in a space that they couldn't destroy-- and it's not like this show DOESN'T canonically have an Afterlife where characters can hang out coming to peace with what their lives had been. The characters were not in the right place emotionally to end in a way that would leave the audience feeling good about it.

I feel kind of lucky that I'd already started noodling with a crossover where those characters really COULD work out their issues in...well, another universe, if not the Afterlife. Now it became all the more obvious-- the Hargreeves desperately need to end up at Summerland. They need therapy from people who specialize in people with superpowers. They need a peaceful place to chill together and reconnect into the family they kept threatening to be but somehow failed to be when the series ended. So I've got my little fix-it to work on.

But let that be a lesson for other creators. You can do an everybody-dies ending, you can reset the entire universe, but you've got to do it in a way that really involves all the characters and leaves us with a sense of hope. Otherwise, what was the point of the story you were telling? You have to end your story, not just let it fall apart. You have to convince the audience that this is inevitable.

Speaking of terrible endings, I shall now abruptly end this essay, because it's midnight and I have work tomorrow and I'm falling asleep at my computer. I will write more soon!

[ivycryptid]

Notes On Season 2 of Good Omens

Good Omens Spoilers here!

So I ended up writing all my s2 reactions live on some sticky notes and I'm gonna post them here because a) it's tumblr, and b) why not!

Ep 1:

-JIM :D

-ahhhh

-Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy!

Ep 2:

-pfft the queen thing but Everyday (this might be ep 3, but it was on the ep 2 sticky note so)

-Jemima! <- the bue one :D

-"I lied", yeah I guessed that!

Ep 3:

Lindsey >: ?

-"ello, ello, ello"

-"I'm a Human police officer"

-Inspector! eeeee!

-It's amazing!

-eeeeeee! Muriel!

-the only ineffable thing in that is that they're husbands

-yellow :D

-hissing

-flies? Flies?

-heh, not brain surgery

-bad angel >:l

-he's got a point

-Mr Dalrymple is cool

-NO KIDDO!

-Crowley WTF?

-kaiju Crowley

-drunk crowley pfft

-that isn't how phones work...

-unless it is!

-very closed

Ep 4

Oh it's those nazis

The intercom guy's annoying

Cuppa fire?

Oh she hates crow>:[

Ehhh

Wierd tounge :/

:l zombies

The pub!

Dhftffvifx friends!

What is that voice?

Mr tennant? How?

Zira

Zira

Oh no. Kiddo!

:( i liked magic guy

Zira. Really? I'm getting second hand embarrasemnt from over here

Oh frick. The miracle blocker

Oh frick. Crowleyyyy!

No paperwork!!!

Woo!

Those were the magic words. Pfft

Shax NO!

Ep 5

Malignant and creeping sense of unease. Pfft

Tardis :D

Hey its s1 guy

Other peoples love lives always seem more straightforward than our own

And he's dead again

Oh no oh no oh no oh no

Not SMUT!

Jim :D

Drunk crowley don't do it!

Protective crowley :D

No don- oh thank goodness

Hot chocolate! :D

Muriel! Woo! I want to adopt her

She's a blorbo now :D

Eh shiny!

Fell whatre you doing?

Oh no Maggie!

no!

What in the world zira?

Ep 6

Muriel happiness

What is that outfit crowley?

Oh they're in LOVEE

eee

>:/

Maggie no!!!

And erics gone again

Some of those demons give me mechs inspo lol

Ahhhh i'm so worried

Makes sense in my head too nina

Co2 saves the day once again!

Fire trauma?Fire trauma

Muriel! Yes I'm going to continue this

Emotional support angel?

No

Well

They're eachothers emtional support

Woo, co2! Good on the corruption and demons!

Institutional problem Pfft

Eeeereeee Muriel!

Oh not the books!

Yeah ineffable bureaucracy real

He does the get wrong sticky outy thing :D

EVERDAY ITS A ROLLER COASTER-

Why am I feeling soft for ineffable bureaucracy?Also bigger on the inside

Oh no jim's gone :(

Oh He's alive

Eeeeee! Recordcoffee? (We need a ship name) Recordcoffee love!

Awwwwwwwwwww! Muriel :DDDDD

Talk you Idiots!

Eee Jolly Good!

No, don't do it zira!

We wrote unfalling but not like this neil!

Religious trauma zira!

Ndksvaksvksbsksbsjsh

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY NIEL

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Ineffable sadness :(

THEY ARE TOXIC!

NSIWVHDBRK

ARGH AZIRAPHALE!

NO! DON'T!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*that was INCREDIBLY high pitched irl*

No nightingales :(

We could've been us

Mrghhhhhh

Internalized homophobia much?

Don't try to separate them Metatron!

Anyways s2 broke me :l

[tippenfunkaport]

Bow's Bad End (aka he has to take over the library)

For Sometimes One Must Torture The Blorbos For Enrichment

Short version: Reunion never happens and one day Bow just ghosts the rebellion to fulfill his duties to his dads so all his friends think he's dead

Long version

This AU assumes that the episode Reunion never happens and Bow never comes clean about his archery or being in the rebellion. He's still leading his double life when he accidentally shoots Lance with an arrow, causing his dads to need to retire early. Riddled with guilt about his secrets, his duty to both rebellion and library and hurting his dad, he tries to run the library without leaving the rebellion but it's too much, especially playing middle man to Adora and Glimmer while everyone is at their worst after the portal. After the events of Boys Night Out, he decides no one will even care if he leaves entirely and ghosts everyone to see his dads off and take of things at home. When the war with Prime breaks out he regrets leaving the rebellion and goes to find his friends… but they are too scattered. He assumes they don't need him just as they assume he's dead and he goes back to the library.

Fast forward. The war has been over for a few years, the rebellion won, Catra and Adora's love saved the universe and Glimmer's dealing with an intergalactic crisis. She has researchers working around the clock to try to get her a loophole to find a way to save Etheria without her having to agree to a union with their smooth talking but dangerous invaders when she finds a handwritten journal among a stack of old books and instantly recognizes the handwriting as that of her late friend Bow. Except these entries are recent!

Glimmer tracks him down, appearing in the library where Bow's been alone all this time with nothing but his guilt about his dads, ghosting his friends and not fighting alongside his friends at the end of the world to keep him company. Glimmer is furious at him for letting her think he was dead. She gives him hell and leaves… but can't help but keep coming back.

These visits start with her yelling at him and then, as she realizes how much he's falling apart, with her trying to get him to be himself again instead of the mess he's become. They start to fall into their old patterns, but it's only because they are ignoring the elephant in the room that is the fact that Bow is miserable here but won't leave for no discernible reason (as far as Glimmer is concerned).

In the meantime, Glimmer's spending so much time with Bow she's botching the peace treaty, and Etheria is running out of time. Catra figures out what's going on, recognizing Bow's scent on Glimmer and her and Adora seek him out. Adora's betrayed and hurt that Bow didn't just come and seek them out after the war and has been hiding from them all these years, but Catra gets it. Catra and Bow end up talking a lot about forgiving yourself while Adora helps him to understand that it's OK to want something for yourself.

He finally realizes he needs to forgive himself for not wanting this future and go after what he wants… but too late because the invaders are closing in. And I DO have an ending in mind for this but I'm not going to tell you on the remote chance that I actually write this someday but suffice it to say that there is a lot of tortured angst before our heroes triumph and it all ends happily.

[thats-a-weird-warning-sign]

hey sig!! :) for the writers ask meme:

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

Hi Penguin, thanks for the asks!!

7 - I've probably been writing for nearly 20 years at this point, but the thing that gets me everytime is that one moment where you get to unleash the emotional payoff - sometimes its the classic italicised 'oh' (which i think i've never actually used, somehow), sometimes its a dramatic move to save someone in a fight or something really weird like whats going on in judging distances. Writing for me is all about how the blorbos are dealing with the situations i put them in, and i love the moment you get to show the blorbo growth i guess.

17 - ough peng you know not what you've done... ok so the halo, definitely not an actual halo, more like a shard, a fragement of some endless, unknowable machine that our minds just cannot fathom. Adriel was punching well above his weight when he took it - its creators are ancient and endless, their existance echoes back to the very beginning, it's their heartbeat we hear in the cosmic microwave background, their lifeblood that crystalises in the gossamer thin walls of all the myriad universes tesseracted together at their behest. It is their fury that adriel seaks to hide from. He would take reya's judgement over the certainty of obliteration by their hand.

24 - It varies! Judging distances is my albatross and that bad boy has eaten so much of my time. If I'm writing something long and internally consistent then things take a lot of prep, but i've managed to pull off some shorter bits and pieces without needing to research maps of the italian countryside or quantum physics.

Sorry for the v self-indulgent essay answers!!

[ffn-archivists-corner]

Good news for ffn (and a goodbye?)

Hi, everyone! ^-^

There have finally been OFFICIAL updates on the fictionpress twitter! 🎉

(It seems they had various network/software/hardware problems and they had to deal with COVID too, so it’s understandable; they have listed also their intentions for the future months... included a graphic revamp of the site?)

This said, I want to thank every person who came forward to help. Yes, ffn is probably not going anywhere anytime soon (and in the future it may even do better than just trudge forward with just enough care to not sink according to the news, which it’s a bonus), but if one thing emerged from this it’s that the spirit of fandom, our love for it after all the bad things that happened in the past (the oldest among us survived more than one heart-breaking purge), is strong. And, IMO, it’s a heart-warming fact! ^-^

In addition, I have been recently contacted by a person (whose identity I won’t reveal to protect them and their activities) who wanted to reassure us from the anxiety of losing the fics we hold dear, that we have nothing to fear: even if the worst were to happen… it’s all saved. Not all heroes wear capes indeed.

(And they were quite amused by our well-meant attempts ^-^)

Obviously, for safety (*cough*legal*cough*) reasons, most of these preserving efforts (different from the archive.org ones) aren’t public and, even if we could access them, probably for most of us they would seem impossible to use because they’re designed for programmers. But the information is there. (And there is much information… TB range information XD that’s another reason why they can’t go around advertising it).

This concerns ffn & AO3, though. As far as the person was aware, there are no current projects for fictionpress though they mentioned that retrieving it won’t be difficult (time consuming, sure, but not difficult since it runs on ffn same software). Likewise, the forums are not something they have focused on… so, if you want to help maybe it’s in this direction that you should look into.

But some of you may ask, how could you know they’re really telling the truth?!? Well, since they offered me to have a copy of one of the projects (not for publicity distribution, even if I were to accept, sorry) to reassure the community, this means only two things: or they are the best actor and worst scammer of the year… or they are being honest (and considering how clear they answers to my questions were, I highly trust in the latter).

In addition,

So, in short:

we can rest easy, and put aside our hard disk, usb, gdrive and various and go back to read, draw, gif and write for our blorbos;

if you still want to do something, concentrate your efforts on the Forums;

having a copy of a fic for PERSONAL use is always a good idea (after all, you may never know when an author would remove their fics… so, hold dear to your favorites <3) and in the sidebar there’s a list of really good solutions to do it (FicHub, FicLab, FanFicFare…);

and lastly NO, you CANNOT post other people fics on AO3, not even if they haven’t update in a decade, so stop pestering other authors about it and don’t break AO3 TOS please ^-^

We can still keep the tradition of the annual ffn panic, though ;) I think it would be a nice idea to celebrate each year the anniversary of the death-not-death on ffn XD

Till next time ♡

P.S. this said, I won’t delete this blog… it has been a few crazy days, but they were nice ones (you are all lovely people) <3 Plus, it could still be useful for tips to download fics and I want to leave this post where people may find it and read it. Not to mention that I may unearth it if there will be different news in the future (or next year to celebrate the anniversary of another year of not-death of ffn) ;)

I may act as intermediary with that person, in case anyone has any questions, but I can’t guarantee you that I would be able to give the answer you were seeking. (And, in the next days, I still may add the last people who contacted me about the fandom they downloaded in the sidebar, just for completion’s sake and fairness, but that would be all.)

[trashland-llamas]

Sidemen + Troops stuck in an elevator

simon; stuck in an elevator because harry decided to jump.

everyone; fucking mint

simon; freezy and lux have had three panic attacks in 10 minutes.

everyone; fucking mint

simon; george hasn’t said a thing since we got stuck.

everyone; fucking mint

simon; ethan’s being immature and yelling the whole time.

everyone; fucking mint

simon; willne’s just been listening to music and calling his mom

everyone; fucking mint

simon; randolph has to pee so bad he might get a bladder infection

everyone; fucking mint

simon; ksi, tobi and vik are the ones that we’re gonna blame because they're the minority

everyone; fucking mint

. . .

some passerby; men don’t like loud women

ethan; oh like hell we don’t, someone gotta tell the waitress that I ordered mashed taters and sure shit it ain’t gonna be me

. . .

freezy; no. don’t corner it. it’ll bite you, harry. this is why you don’t take boys from guernsey nowhere. you know what? it will seriously bite you. look at (inaudible). harry, get off of it. man, this is—

harry; —its foot’s hurt

freezy; okay. okay, we’ll just let it go. if it’s, if it’s hurt? i told you. listen, if it’s hurt, harry, what do you plan to do with it once you catch it? let’s go to our room. oh we’re right here. thank goodness. yay little elephant looking animal…HARRY

harry; oh my gosh

freezy; get away from that. quit.

. . .

josh; it's springtime at college which means admissions tours

josh; that's the corner I got robbed on

josh to jj; all I'm saying is the sti clinic is free, like go

vikk; she was really getting on my nerves so i sabotaged her admissions file

josh; yea no. 1 school in the country, we're also no. 1 in depression per capita

vikk; you think we're gonna get another lewdness email today? we haven't gotten one in like a month when the guy was streaking in the library.

. . .

teacher; they have full control to write referrals 

jj to vikk; no cheating, give him a referral 

ethan; smoke weed everyday

tobi; he needs a referral

. . .

tobi after missing the trash can 3x: Imma bout to square down with this trash can

*pretends to aggressively kick at it*

. . .

jj; does simon look like a 70s pornstar? 

jj; don't answer that

. . .

freya to talia; 3 more life rules

1; if he came and you didn’t, you fucked him. that’s your bitch now.

2; money’s like a boomerang, it comes and goes. why are you saving it? you can’t spend it when you’re dead

and 3; saturday’s a state of mind, okay? everyday’s a weekend.

. . .

harry; you really came all this way for me? how did you guys even get here so fast?

vikk; several traffic violations

jj; three counts of resisting arrest

simon; roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks

josh; also that’s not our car

. . .

tobi; take me to art museums and make out with me

jj; but they said to not touch the masterpieces

tobi; well somebody’s gotta pin the artwork to the wall

ethan; this is payne, those idiots are fucking in the east wing again

. . .

manny to tobi; told mom what blorbo means and she said 'ernie from sesame street is my blorbo.'

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, hmm. Which of these unfinished posts to tackle first:

1) Fanon depictions or hot takes in isolated cases have never been the problem, there’s room in any fandom for just about any take no matter how flattering or unflattering it is to a certain character (with the exception of takes rooted in racism, rife with microaggressions, etc - those things are always going to be indefensible and not what I’m discussing here). I just mean in terms of: no character will ever have universal appeal. There will always be people who look at your favorite blorbo and have the most wtf take on them where you see only charming blorbo-ness.....blah blah skipping stuff on account of not trying to write the actual whole post here....stuff about how the problem only lies when enough of those instances of a singular take add up until it reaches a tipping point where this take is the first and most consistent thing anyone new to the fandom or source material sees.

Compounded by the fact that people have a PROBLEM w/changing their minds on fandom stuff, even when its relatively innocuous in and of itself - because as a society, so many of us have internalized this weird belief that admitting that your first impression or opinion on something might have been the wrong thing to go all-in on is somehow a weakness or deficit to your image, even if your first impression or opinion was literally just formed by skewed information that meant you were NEVER going to have an opinion to the contrary until you got a chance to see counterpoints or attain more information that clarifies...oh this is not a ‘the Earth is the third planet from the sun’ type of factoid, this is just like...somebody’s opinion, man.....

And so we get this totally unnecessary phenomenon of people doubling down on stuff - even stuff they themselves don’t think is a big deal or worth getting worked up over in any other context - more because ‘can’t have ppl thinking I endorsed a Bad Take’ is the issue motivating them than ‘I believe so strongly that Jason Todd was bullied by Nightwing that I will go to WAR, I just know it IN MY SOUL OKAY.’

Blah blah blah more stuff and then the point that the more we open ourselves up to pulling back on the throttle when it comes to relatively innocuous fandom takes....the more the racist and harmful takes become a lot more in focus, harder to distract from or defend, etc. Because ppl are always gonna dig their heels more in when told ‘hey this take you endorse is racist and here’s why’ versus ‘hey this take you endorse has a counterpoint you literally just might not have been aware of to even consider before now.’ And thus the more we as individuals train ourselves to be open to changing our minds on the ‘does it really even matter tho’ stuff, the less ppl have to throw up as a smokescreen to distract from the truly harmful takes they’re less inclined to admit they were wrong about. Aaaaand also....the more we train ourselves to be like ‘okay this doesn’t have to be a big deal that I was wrong about this take’....the more of a red flag it raises to OURSELVES when we find ourselves surprised by how intensely we push back against ‘maybe I was wrong tho’ on a point that SEEMS like it should be innocuous. Because those are almost always the points where....yeah there’s probably something we should unpack there.

I swear that’s not the whole post. Maybe it was. I don’t even know. Wow I literally can not condense an opinion to save my damn life, can I? Even to summarize. Sheesh.

2) Why the Uncanny Avengers fundamentally does not work as a concept and thus I really hope they’re not bringing it back....not because of any opinion I have on the Avengers, which is booooo, but also not the point.....but because....the very nature of it undermines the premise it claims to have. The concept has always supposedly been about combining X-Men and Avengers on the same team as a solidarity thing and thus Avengers doing more to support mutants and how they’re viewed by the public....but the problem is....the book, the concept, is rooted more in the Avengers brand than the X-Men brand when it SHOULD be the exact opposite.

Because as it stands, so long as the book feels and is marketed more as an Avengers title but with X-Men, rather than an X-Men title with Avengers....it will always carry the implicit undercurrent that the win for mutants here is being associated with the Avengers name and reputation will lend X-Men legitimacy and elevate them in the public’s esteem. Except the public’s esteem and regard for the Avengers is absolutely rooted in a long history of scapegoating mutants as problems while ‘human heroes’ are the solution....thus its systemically exploitative in nature, with the Avengers tangibly benefitting from being the non-scapegoated while the X-Men are scape-goated....and you fundamentally can’t dismantle a social inequity by trying to bootstrap another group to the level you only have due to an existing system of exploitation, regardless of whether or not you had anything to do with putting that system in place. Not even the point. Its just....you can’t forge true equality by raising other groups up to your level, when it requires stepping on the backs of others to reach that level in the first place. You have to get on the same level by stepping DOWN from the elevation you only had due to advantages over other groups that are wholly artificial and you should have never had in the first place.

And thus it just flat out doesn’t fucking work to ‘help mutants’ by having a few X-Men get to benefit from the Avengers’ limelight and public appeal.....so long as on a large, systemic scale....Avengers are still seen as the ‘good kind of superhuman’ whereas mutants are the untrustworthy flip side of that coin. All you’ve actually done is said ‘see? Mutants can be heroes too!’ which.....no. What are you even doing. How do you think that is possibly doing anything. What was the point. Omg stop. “Watch us achieve equality in real time by patronizingly allowing a marginalized group to share our stage so long as we still retain all the social power, call the shots, set the agenda, etc.” LOL nah.

If you ACTUALLY want this premise to have any legs at all, you have to invert that. You have to do something like Avenging X-Men, where its X-Men who have the numbers, call the shots, set the agenda, are surrounded by THEIR community....and the Avengers that are there as allies in a fight against Orchis or some other attempted mutant genocide, there to lend support where the X-Men say they need it, etc.

3) Post that’s basically just an analysis of a list I arbitrarily came up with of some of the ways problems in a source material intertwine with and exacerbate various fandom trends and vice versa. Like for instance:

a) Conflicts between characters in the source material, where there’s a disproportionate scale to the conflict because its been inflated solely for the added drama. Basically...how often do major conflicts central to two characters’ dynamics (and those of those characters’ fans)....like how often do they originate in fights that only ever rose to the level they were treated as being at in a show or book....because the writers amped up each character’s reaction to the nth degree just for the added drama as a shortcut to raising stakes when ratings are down...rather than because these reactions and the scale they happen at genuinely fit and arise from established characterization? 

And thus by extension, how often are fans trying to make certain scenes ‘work’ in accordance with a character’s established character arc, when the pieces don’t fit because it was the writers who deviated from their own narrative, taking a detour for a short dramatic spike that they don’t INTEND to have lasting or altering effects on longterm character arcs....and yet, that happened anyway?

b) How always reframing how we view a source material through the lens of non-canon ships can skew fandom reception of various character actions in an eagerness to view them as motivated by things the writers did not actually write in subtextually. With the acknowledgment that interpretation is always subjective, how often do not-so-great-takes or interpretations of shipped characters interactions end up romanticized SOLELY because shippers are so eager to frame the relationship as exceptionally deep and romantic....thus necessitating that even some very bad interactions be reframed as still proof of romantic feelings.

And this is a problem not because ‘ships don’t have to be perfect or between two people who are good for each other, sometimes the dysfunction is the appeal’.....like, I get that. And its true. And not the issue. The issue’s more when we get ‘shippers have reframed a moment that might have been MEANT to be badly received by fans but now has been given a pass because if it WAS viewed as critically as it was meant to be, shippers would have a harder time coming up with ‘evidence’ that their ship is obviously right there and the writers just aren’t getting it or giving it to fans.’

Like I just mean.....sometimes a fight between two men is evidence of sexual tension and repressed romantic interest, yes. But sometimes a fight between two men is because one of them is being a fucking dick cuz he’s on a power trip and yet fandom has rewritten this to be evidence of their endgame ship’s deep and profound bond and are henceforth interpreting every interaction these characters have based on a premise the writers literally just did not lay out for those characters at all, and thus from that point on fandom and the source material are not even actually aimed in the same direction even while referencing the exact same sequences of events.

Did I basically just mash up the missing pieces of three entirely different posts into one new post instead of just.....writing them into the actual proper posts? Why yes, yes I did. Apparently it was just easier to get out that way. The proper posts will be forthcoming once I edit the right parts into the right places and wrap those up.

But I mean. But in the meanwhile.....here’s whatever this is, I guess. LOL.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The Four Long Rests Of Ramiel

This is a cleaned up and expanded version of a piece I wrote quite a while ago, because if I don’t write and edit something that isn’t a work email or academic text I am going to quite literally die.

Anyway, this is some more Blorbos From My DnD Homegame and I’m not expecting anyone but me to be really invested in this, but they’ve been on here before and I’ve done my best to hopefully make this all not too obscure and unintelligible to an outside observer. Any thoughts and comments will, as always, be appreciated to bits and put in that collection I keep to gaze upon on bad days (yes, it’s an actual thing I have).

Commemorating how a little over a year ago in our Curse of Strahd campaign my character got caught by the land’s vampire lord while trying to heist an ancient dragon skull from his spooky castle in order to bring back a fallen order of noble knights (long story), stubbornly refused to give up the whereabouts of a legendary vampire hunter upon capture, and was subsequently brutally murdered despite her friends’ and dashing love interest’s very impressive efforts to save her. It was very peak DnD dramatic and great and the aftermath was wild, and then I wrote some of it up while processing it all and shared it with my fellow players and DM, the absolute champs.

The original comically long title of this was “The Four (But Actually Three So Far) Long Rests Of Ramiel The As-Of-Yet-Untitled, Recently Deceased”, alluding to the fact that the Raise Dead spell states: Coming back from the dead is an ordeal. The target takes a −4 penalty to all attack rolls, saving throws, and ability checks. Every time the target finishes a long rest, the penalty is reduced by 1 until it disappears. Yes, it was a fun stretch of sessions.

Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd adventure abound, as well as bits and pieces from the Eberron setting. A warning for (temporary) character death and related recovery, and some vampire-typical bloody violence, but nothing beyond an AO3 T rating.

In brief, Ramiel, the POV character, is an Aasimar Paladin, Lava is a Vedalken Artificer, Elgath is a Goliath Fighter. Rudolph van Richten and Ezmerelda d’Avenir are NPCs from the module and Ravenloft setting who ended up playing pretty big roles in our story, and also… I just think they’re neat.

Length: ~7700 words.

—

The Four Long Rests Of Ramiel

Fingers curled around her throat, the grip utterly merciless and unflinching, claws catching on already torn skin and flesh. The heavy rain, richly mixed with dark red, trailed freely down to her collarbone, painting the fabric of her shirt.

“One last chance,” ground out of a fanged snarl stained with her own stolen blood, an undercurrent of impatient rage tainting the cool, cultured voice from before. “Where is Rudolph van Richten?”

She couldn’t turn her throbbing, spinning, definitely concussed head to look towards her companions, try to see how they were doing. Her legs kicked out feebly and her feet could find no purchase. Her fingers tingled with the last remnants of (useless, useless) magic and slipped harmlessly off the clawed hands that were closed like a vice around her. When she forced out words, her voice was barely above a rasp, but the (futile, futile) determination in it was clear: “You’re never getting that from me.”

A burst of incredible, overwhelming pain, and then, for a little while, nothing.

-

Her eyes flutter open, barely.

Every part of her hurts, every breath a hard-won, costly victory. She can barely stand to tilt her head, the slightest of movements stretching and pulling at her ravaged neck and resounding like a drum within her skull. Her eyes burn and her eyesight blurs, and her shoulders, back, and ribs feel as if someone smashed them to bits then pieced them back together without much thought or care.

But she is alive.

She is also cold. So, so cold. But it is not a sharp wintry chill, nor the insidious misty seeping of Barovia’s dreary atmosphere. It is something deep and hollow, settled somewhere in the core of her bones.

Her vision clears up just enough to allow her to recognise the face hovering over her, but it is entirely beyond her lips to form the name, and beyond her strength to lift a hand and see if she is real or some cruel, cruel trick of the mists. Ezmerelda, worry battling with relief etched in every line of her expression. And then, next to her, the old doctor himself, alive and well, putting away the remnants of a finely made scroll. Ramiel feels a vague suggestion of relief wash over her, drowning out some of the confused jumble - doubly so when her other two travelling companions burst into the room, bringing with them an odd sense of lightness from some wellspring far beyond her understanding.

She keeps losing moments here and there, little stretches of time fluttering by and missing her entirely. There are vestiges of dragons and knights all around the cobwebbed halls of their hideout, and though tattered and ravaged by time and intruders both they seem to be exuding something new, something that she feels come over her like a balm.

Then there is a flurry of No time to explain what happened and We’ve lit the beacon but we have to go quickly and He’s coming around her, and she goes along with it because she cannot do anything else.

Well, she can’t really do this, either. So she waits, and clings to the one constant presence beside her. When she can finally manage to lift her arms even a bit, she fumbles under her shirt and feels her own heartbeat with one hand, clutching at Ezmerelda’s wrist with the other. Something warm and solid and real, to keep her from drifting off, from dissipating into the mists again.

The others are doing their best to hurry, mounting up, packing away what little is left to pack. The flight cannot wait. Soon enough Ezmerelda all but picks her up, getting her to her feet, and helps her stumble out of the crumbling old mansion they were hiding in and to the waiting wagon. She sets her down on the driver’s seat with some effort.

“It will pass in a few days,” van Richten says, adjusting his spectacles after briefly looking her over once again, bedside manner kept to the purely professional and matter-of-fact. “No cure for it but riding it out, I’m afraid.”

There’s something she needs to tell the man who just saved her life, but she cannot for the selfsame life of her hold on to a thought for more than a split second. She makes the mistake of focusing on the stabs of alternating pain and cold as he goes on to explain something about circulation and, oh, probably her heart?

Ezmerelda sees her wince and shiver and, in the midst of departure preparations, rushes over to the other side of her wagon, purposefully marching back with an armful of what seems to be the thickest blanket she had stashed away in there. She wraps it around Ramiel almost as if making a statement, then hops up on the driver’s seat next to her.

Van Richten shakes his head at the sight and at the pampering, and climbs up onto his horse. But it is not unkind, and the twist of his lip seems, while fairly inscrutable in Ramiel’s present state, far from disapproving.

The entire wagon jolts briefly, then she sees Ezmerelda take the reins and call out her Drovash! to get her magical horses to appear in a display that still never fails to make Ramiel slightly jealous. She in turn rests her head on a warm, solid shoulder as they begin their travel, wagon pitching slightly as it turns back onto the road. The rest of the world is still mostly a blur, so she closes her eyes.

She is jolted awake rather rudely some unidentifiable amount of time later, as the wagon suddenly and dramatically picks up speed.

“Wha–?” Ramiel mumbles, head heavy and mouth full of cotton.

“We’re under attack,” Ezmerelda explains brusquely with another sharp tug on the reins. “Hold on.”

Ramiel does her best to do just that. She catches flashes of her companions on their horses, weaving in and out, moving to protect the wagon from mounted attackers, and takes stock of herself as best as she can. She is in no shape to contribute to any encounter, perhaps - but she does have one last thing to give.

Ramiel remembers, more clearly than she would perhaps have liked to, one of the final, brutal attacks atop the castle tower, and the way her usually silent, stoic companion forced his way in between her and the vampire and willingly took it entirely upon himself.

“Elgath!” She can see his mountainous form, almost comically large atop his horse, galloping in parallel with the wagon. Ramiel tries to call out to him, but despite her efforts the weak rasp is barely audible over the sounds of battle and fleeing horses. “Hey! Elgath!”

He notices, at last, after throwing a javelin at some foe Ramiel can’t see, and pulls his horse over, not missing a beat. Exhaustion from all his recent sleepless, cursed nights makes his broad shoulders visibly tense under the furs of his cloak.

“I saw what you did, when… the bite. Thank you.” It’s not a time for soulful confessions of gratitude perhaps, but something in her will not allow it to go unsaid. She reaches over, puts a hand on his arm. “Here. It’s not much, but…”

It’s surprisingly easy to draw upon the very last of her healing power and allow it to flow out.

Why him? The doubt pipes up, and she doesn’t want to think who it sounds like. You could have healed yourself and perhaps been somewhat useful. Just look at the state of you. Pathetic.

Relief is visible on his often closed-off, stony features, and Ramiel knows it was the right decision. He gives a small nod. “Thank you.”

Then he’s gone, riding off again, spear at the ready.

Ramiel sinks back in her seat, the last of the warm, tingling energy leaving her hand. She feels she’s missing half the battle and the chase and the general chaos around her; whinnying horses and growling, snapping wolves and rough battlecries and whooshing crossbow bolts mixing into a cacophony beyond her understanding. Her head pounds in time with the hoofbeats of the magical horses pulling the wagon.

She fumbles for the hilt of her rapier at one point, trying to ground herself in the familiar and ever-reassuring feeling of holding a sword. To little effect. The attackers aren’t getting any closer. The confrontation - chase - ambush is dragging on, and what she needs is rest.

Ezmerelda half-stands on the seat, cursing under her breath in some language Ramiel doesn’t know, catches the reins in one hand to free the other, then turns and snaps up a handful of fire, slinging it out behind herself. The little mote of flame goes wide, and the cursing briefly intensifies before she sits back down.

Ramiel shakily lets go of the sword, careful to not let it tumble off onto the road, and goes for the Krezkian hunting longbow she frequently finds herself very thankful for. Nocking an arrow is already a struggle. The first shot hits one of the attacking berserkers surprisingly accurately, but it bounces and clatters weakly to the ground, piercing nothing.

Another. Shaky hands and weak fingers do not make for good archery, but something inside her, that one well of determination that fuels her every action and that is currently working near what she fears might be its very limit, allows her to get off a good enough shot to fell the last of their pursuers.

She manages to sit back down and place the bow behind her, and remembers very little after that.

She will manage, later, to gather up and piece together the vague flashes of making camp; sombre discussions of both the immediate and pending threat of wolves; of getting some warm and oddly comforting soup tasting of home in her that Lava provided a surprisingly poetic lecture about; of falling asleep curled up into Ezmerelda’s side, clinging to her rather desperately and caring very little about who noticed that fact.

-

To call the awakening rude would be an understatement of historic proportions.

It’s unclear, at first. It’s dark and cold, and she doesn’t understand why she’s awoken (they said she didn’t have to take any of the watches, and she agreed after only a bit of protest, so why now?), or where Ezmerelda is, or–

Wolves, so, so many wolves, encircling. Elgath, exhaustion coming off of him in waves, raising the alarm, Ezmerelda standing a little ways behind him, slightly dazed, rapier in hand but not at the ready–

And then, the Devil himself.

“I am here for Rudolph van Richten, as you have doubtlessly been informed.” His voice is perfectly level, tone perfectly courteous, but it carries through the night and into Ramiel’s still vaguely ringing ears like a clarion. “No? My, how unfortunate.”

Lava steps up, robes crumpled and askew but his bearing entirely proper, and does his best to channel all those fancy diplomats he loves talking about observing during his many travels. He tries to stall, to avert looming, imminent disaster, but even his razor-sharp and lightning-quick mind, his greatest and most trusted weapon, fails to find a way.

Strahd knows. There is no doubt he sees right through the unlikely Dusk Elf persona the doctor is currently travelling under. The act of asking is merely another test - or an opportunity. Lava’s shoulders slump in visible defeat at this understanding, buckle under the burden of an impossible, inescapable situation, and he chooses to bargain for their lives.

He raises a hand mutely, gesturing to the other side of their small camp. Strahd’s gaze follows, and then he strolls over to where van Richten is now sitting up, so very calm, as his magical hat of disguise is plucked from his head and his countenance shimmers and once again becomes his own. So remarkably at peace with his impending doom.

Ramiel is anything but. I died to stop this! she wants to scream, but instead chokes out some inarticulate sound of futile anger. She fumbles out her holy symbol, channels the only power she has left. No impressive words of rebuke come out, just a desperate cry of “No!” as she clumsily tries to throw herself between them.

Strahd bats her arm away, unaffected, not even sparing her a look as he delivers more ultimatums, more thinly veiled threats, entirely secure in his triumph.

You can’t have him, she wants to shout back, but that would be a lie, just as much as I promised is achingly true. She wants to jump to her feet, dash forward to some end, just so she can feel she’s doing something. But Lava waves a hand, features uncharacteristically pained and apologetic, and an invisible force shoves her back down, for her own sake.

She watches them go, powerless, with a thousand flavours of We’ll come for you, we won’t abandon you to this fate– stuck in her throat. They all do, quietly standing by in various stages of dismay, as Strahd struts down the hill and beside him the feigned slow steps of a feeble old man snap back into the more brisk, business-like pace they have come to expect from the doctor.

And then they are gone.

Ramiel tears her gaze away from the dark trees and looks to each of her companions. Lava, mumbling pleas for forgiveness at what he has been forced to do; Elgath right next to him, with an expression of numb shock; a distraught Ezmerelda, hands clenched into trembling fists.

Well. There is one thing Ramiel can do, at least.

She gets back up, every part of her protesting her efforts to remain on her feet. The two-three dragging steps she takes feel like a gargantuan achievement. She takes one of Ezmerelda’s hands in her own, and soon feels the grip returned almost uncomfortably firmly.

“Ezmerelda,” Ramiel calls out weakly, weaker than she might have liked, and to little response. She presses on anyway. “Stay close to me, alright?” As if she hasn’t been doing so all along. “You know it will take a day to clear up. The charm,” she almost spits out the word. “But you don’t have to actually feel it.” Then, more quietly, “I don’t want you to feel it. I can help.”

I couldn’t stop you losing him, but I can give you this small mercy, at least.

Ezmerelda seems to jolt out of whatever thoughts she was stewing in and back to awareness at that, and gives a weak nod. “That moment before you woke up was enough. I– he– he has no right…”

She shakes her head as if trying to shake off the hateful, violating influence, and then looks a bit lost. Ramiel wants nothing more than to never have to see her like this again - to never see any of them cruelly torn into by one of his visits, each in their own way.

Soon. Soon. Soon.

It’s Elgath who breaks the silence next, voice more gravelly than usual. “Not much point in keeping watch anymore, but, well…” He gestures vaguely. “You should all try to go back to sleep.”

He’s right, of course. But Ramiel feels like she never wants to sleep again, never be caught unawares, never not be providing every little scrap of protection she possibly can.

The most she manages is to see Ezmerelda fall into a fitful sleep first. The sheer exhaustion and the mounting toll of their ordeals wins not long after.

-

The fangs sunk in and in and in, as if they were endless, first burning upon puncture, then chilling. Muscles seizing against the intrusion, but only making it worse. Then, the horrible, slow drain.

“I hope it burns on your tongue,” she managed to spit, struggling fruitlessly in his grip.

The glimmering red eyes of the Devil met hers as he pulled back, having had his fill for the moment. His deceptively young face twisted into a wicked, self-satisfied smirk as he lightly dabbed at the bloody corner of his lip. “Oh, be assured it’s actually quite sweet.”

Disgust coupled with frustration mounting, she let out what could only be termed a growl, and succeeded in freeing her right arm. She received only a mocking, glinting, fanged smile in return for her efforts.

-

She darts awake, gasping violently, her hand flying up to her neck. Her fingers just about brush against the tears and bruises, but then another hand takes hers, firmly but not unkindly, and pulls it away.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop. Calm down. You’re fine, you’re fine. Listen to me. Hey.”

A voice, stern but concerned. Ramiel knows that voice well. She… is fond of that voice. The presence of its owner has been the one unfailing source of something resembling joy here in Barovia, for such a brief, but such an important time.

She breathes in slowly, and feels her drumming heartbeat slowly return to a normal pace, and Ezmerelda helps her sit up properly.

Ezmerelda, who has been painfully obviously insistent on staying by her side from the moment her eyes opened on that musty floor, to the first weak, stumbling step as she helped her up, and on throughout the entire dismal aftermath of their ill-fated expedition to Castle Ravenloft. What feels like the continuation of the steady, stubborn buildup from a palpable but unacknowledged tension intertwining with the rising trust of repeatedly facing peril and fighting side by side. A supposedly indulgent night during celebrations at the camp outside of Vallaki becoming two, and then three, and then turning into a yearning for as much time together as could be eked out.

“I’m so sorry I woke you up,” Ramiel whispers, only mostly coherent. “You should go back to sleep. You first, and then…”

“Never mind all that,” she is interrupted impatiently as Ezmerelda waves her concerns off. “It’s almost light anyway. What happened?”

Ramiel shudders, and makes a weak, vague gesture towards herself. “A nightmare? I could still feel… in my neck…”

Ezmerelda looks at her, frown deepened by the play of pre-dawn shadows and the remnants of their campfire embers. She is, for once, inscrutable. Then she appears to come to a decision.

“Here.”

She reaches up and unties the striking red bandanna from around her head, decorative medallions glinting as she untangles them and puts them away somewhere in her coat. She leans over to instead wrap the cloth around Ramiel’s neck, slowly and gently, like trying not to startle a wild animal.

It’s warm. She ties it lightly enough not to cause pain, but tightly enough to be felt as a reassuring presence, to provide a sense of comfort and protection while hiding the jagged reminders from immediate sight. It brings back to mind the sound of thunder and the smell of lightning splitting the musty castle air - the sudden appearance of Ezmerelda at her side, staring the Devil right in the eye. Seemingly fearless, electricity surging and arcing and crackling around her, whisking them both away to some desperate hope of safety.

Ramiel catches one of her hands as she pulls back from her work, and presses a kiss to it in lieu of thanks.

Neither of them say anything more. Ezmerelda pulls them both down to lie on the bedrolls, as what passes for dawn in Barovia slowly breaks.

-

This, this was unpleasantly familiar.

The mists pressed in and in mercilessly, but also seemed to be tearing her apart. Her will alone, sheer determination, was keeping her together in some incomprehensible way, but the strain was almost unbearable. She could see them all; her companions, herself, even - or, well, what was left of her there - not a very pretty sight. Trying to get the horses to cooperate, bickering, exhausted, half out of their minds with shock and grief and worry, doing their best.

Her nonexistent hand went to her nonexistent heart, as if to grasp at the spike of feeling that seemed to go through it briefly.

Then… the mists swirling and roiling all around, and so many strange creatures, strange things she had no way of making heads or tails of. Lava striking some odd, convoluted, ill-advised bargain. An old woman leading them all to some kind of circle, and then…

A tearing.

She tried to scream, but there was nothing left to scream with. 

-

As they climb higher and higher on the twisting mountain paths, the newly lit silvery beacon rising from Argynvostholt comes to dominate the ever-misty vista. It lights up the night as they travel, and remains steadily shining over them during the morning as they settle in for their brief daylit rest. Looking at it feels simply and pleasantly good, resolutely buoying in a way that’s impossible to explain. Ramiel doesn’t understand how it works - it is tragic they never had the time to get the full story from Argynvost’s most devoted knights, fallen or otherwise - but what it represents is more than clear. Hope. And hope is something the dreary lands of Barovia - and they themselves - have been sorely lacking.

It brings to mind Irian, the eternal Dawn. The plane of beginnings, of newness, of ever starting afresh. Of brimming as-of-yet untapped potential. Young and untouched, fresh springs bubbling over with clean, healing waters, feeding meadows that have never been trod upon. An early dewy morning that stretches on forever, somehow. Light, bright and searing. Growth and flourishing and all that starts and doesn’t end.

It never, ever ends.

Ramiel’s never been there, of course, but she’s dreamt of it, seen it. Witnessed its effects in their world, and, over the years, recognised the ways it forms and informs her own being, though the exact nature of her ties to it remain a mystery.

The Silver Flame, on the other hand, burns, but it doesn’t burn hot. It envelops and protects. Incandescent, glorious, impenetrable. Surging when it is time to drive off threats, leaping and searing bright down her blade when she lifts it in battle, if the cause is just. She’s been instructed in the texts, of course, in the many interpretations of the words of the Keepers, trained and prepared for the weight of duties that come with the ability to so readily become a conduit for the flame. When she dies, she can only hope to join the efforts to bolster and feed the blaze with her very being.

There is no end to duty, either, or to true devotion.

Neither Dawn nor Flame were to be found in the gloomy, isolated lands of Barovia, more a prison than a county or a kingdom. There was little save for what Ramiel happened to bring in herself - two sources of divinity, gleaming gold and bright silver intertwining, flowing through her and burning in her, shaping the meanders of the river of her life. It feels bitterly right, then, that a silver beacon of hope burns brightly across the horizon, and that she paid for it in blood, and more besides.

When they discussed their immediate plans, settling on a desperate last-ditch attempt to find a powerful mage hiding in the mountains, she told them all about what she saw, during her time… in between. The disgusting, creeping creature haunting them unseen, the parade of eldritch knights - all doubtlessly important, but nothing she could make sense of herself. There is more there, however, that she has to tell someone. That she feels will try to claw out of her chest otherwise.

The mood is dour enough - no sounds of Lava muttering to himself during his incessant tinkering as long, blue fingers move over metal and wood and spring faster than anyone can follow, or of Elgath scribbling in one his notebooks, jotting down the events of the day in quick shorthand, then moving on to slow and deliberate, almost ritual-like, tracing and retracing of runes new and old. No conversation is struck up beyond what is utterly necessary for continued travel.

While certainly not in the sorry state she was in the day before, the toll the steep, far from well-trodden mountain road is taking on Ramiel is considerable. She dearly misses the comforts of the travelling wagon they were sadly forced to abandon. And yet, when they stop for the day and set up camp, she finds herself wide awake long after everyone else seems to have fallen more or less peacefully asleep. While she’s in no state to toss and turn so much as rearrange herself achingly slowly and very, very carefully, she does manage to send a rather sharp elbow into a soft side.

Ezmerelda’s beginnings of a snore turn into a startled grunt, and then a quiet, “What–?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sorry. Go back to sleep,” she whispers, and tries once again to make herself comfortable in the bedroll.

“I might if you stopped squirming about for five minutes.” The irritation has very little real bite, however. Ezmerelda seems to consider something for a moment, then gives a long-suffering sigh and sits up slightly, her long coat folded behind her in an improvised cushion. “Something on your mind?”

Ramiel smiles wryly. “Am I so transparent?”

The only response from Ezmerelda is a shrug, and an attentive look with only the slightest, barest trace of annoyance, once she blinks her light doze away fully. Go on, her eyes seem to say, as they catch the silvery reflection of the beacon.

“You know, when I was… gone,” Ramiel starts, awkwardly, hesitantly. “I tried to hold on… to myself? But even so, every last drop of my determination wasn’t enough. You brought me back in Argynvostholt of all places, and I can’t help but think of those knights, restless and undying. I can’t help but think, it could have been me. Relentless, rage-driven, determined beyond death, just like them. Could still be me, honestly. I felt it.”

Ezmerelda hums thoughtfully. “Would you… want to? If it came to that?”

“I… I don’t know,” Ramiel admits slowly. “I’ve thought about it, and I thought that yes, I would. If it meant taking him down for good. But…”

She pauses, swallows. Rubs at her neck - carefully.

“But there is something the Lady I squired under once said, about our oaths, about why she fights, and I will carry those words with me for as long as I live, because she was right. She said: I don’t fight because I hate what’s in front of me. I fight because I love what’s behind me.” [1]

She lets the words breathe a little before continuing. Tries not to spiral into thinking of the possible fates of the ever-fearsome Lady Herleve the Hawk, and the weight of not knowing that’s always at their heels, like a shadow, waiting for a moment of distraction.

“I do want to stamp out the evil plaguing this place, more than anything– but I’ve sworn no oath of vengeance and destruction. My oath speaks of protection and devotion and… I mean… I haven’t…”

It’s something that’s been troubling her for a long time, and doubly, almost burningly so since her brief death and sudden return, and the words don’t come easily at all. “I haven’t really sworn any oath. I was supposed to, soon. But there was the attack, and the retreat, and then we ended up here and I…”

She thinks of the crumpled bit of parchment she keeps stowed away in an inner pocket, with the carefully written-out lines of the knighting ceremony and official vows she’s pored over embarrassingly often for such a brief bit of text. She thinks of how instead of a formal errand, earning a knightly title and partaking in the final ritual - not grand, perhaps, but always deeply meaningful - she laid two long-dead children to rest in the haunted house that was their first real taste of the cursed land that entrapped them.

“What I mean is… all this, and I’m not even a real knight. Hah,” it’s a very bitter chuckle that escapes her, almost involuntarily.

Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow, tilts her head. “I don’t see anything unreal about you. What are you talking about?”

Ramiel frowns and fumbles for words. “I know it shouldn’t necessarily ‘count’ and all that, and… while I understand what’s important, that this is really no time for such petty concerns, I still–”

“I mean, it clearly counts in all the ways that matter, Miss Endless Well of Healing and Protection,” Ezmerelda cuts her off. “Where else would that be coming from?” She shrugs, feigning casualness, even as some of her words traitorously slip into a determined, even passionate cadence. “Realest knight I’ve ever met, anyway.”

Ramiel gets just a bit choked up. Instead of a reply, she opts for a hug. It is returned.

“Now please go to sleep,” she hears Ezmerelda mumble exhaustedly somewhere near her temple.

This time, snuggled into a warm shoulder, she does so without much trouble.

-

For the briefest moment, they both stopped in their tracks, trying to orient themselves, listening. Hearing nothing but the patter of the heavy rain outside and the occasional drip upon the elaborate interior stonework from their own soaked clothes, and the drumming of their own hearts in their ears.

Then, a terrifying hollow thud from just above them, followed by heavy footsteps, and their respite was cut painfully short.

“We need to run, now,” Ezmerelda gasped out, eyes wide, curls plastered over her forehead with both rainwater and sweat, chest already heaving with exertion but making to pull them both down the corridor.

“He’s too fast,” Ramiel managed through gritted teeth, almost tripping over some royal carpet or other, turning to look over her shoulder - only to confirm her fears.

Strahd’s expression was mild, neutral, almost peacefully nonchalant as he effortlessly pursued them with inhuman speed. Then, a corner of his lips quirked upwards.

I am inevitable, he seemed to say, without saying a single word.

Not a breath later, his claws came down upon her again.

-

There is, somehow, a perfectly tailored room for each of them in the conjured mansion. The four of them slowly make their way down the impossibly long hallway, freshly bathed and pampered and enveloped in decadently fluffy robes, bellies full of food, heads abuzz with plans and new knowledge and the wild, wild events of the day. The odd mostly-invisible servants have left them alone, for now.

They briefly stop in front of the first door to wish Lava a good night as he goes into his chambers. From the glimpse Ramiel manages to catch, it looks more like a library than a bedroom, with a delightful ceiling of bright blue sky matching the tone of the Vedalken’s skin perfectly, and only the odd fluffy white cloud floating about. Elgath’s, next, seems slightly colder than the rest of the house, a cool but not uncomfortable breeze of high mountain air wafting over them as he opens the door. With a murmur of farewell and silent questions on being able to actually get a good night’s sleep in a properly sized bed written plainly on his broad face, he is gone too.

Then it’s just the two of them and the muffled sound of their slow footsteps shuffling along in the outrageously thick carpet.

Ramiel can tell the next room is hers. She doesn’t even pause to think twice, but instead takes Ezmerelda’s hand tightly, and gives her a light tug towards the door.

“Listen, if you want your privacy, I understand, of course, but…” She starts but trails off, words sticking in her throat strangely and uncomfortably. Though the past few days have done much for her overall state, she can feel that insidious chill clawing its way through her chest again at each parting. As everything quiets down, all the odd magical pampering has yet to fully mask the deep-seated aches.

She manages, finally, in a very small voice. “I don’t… I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Ezmerelda pulls her into an embrace and holds her tightly. “I’m glad to hear that,” she murmurs in her ear, “because I’m not letting you go again.”

The room they enter is very simple, and very comfortable and comforting in its simplicity. The only thing that stands out is one far corner of it, looking like a segment of a warm, slightly bubbling pool plucked right out of a bathhouse.

Ramiel walks over to it briefly, running her fingers over the surface of the water, watching the ripples form. “You know, before today I’ve never taken a bath and not relished it. Never just hopped in and gotten clean just to get it done with.” She wrinkles her nose, knowing she must look rather childish and petulant, and tries to spin it into a joke. “It’s horrible.”

The bathrobe is so soft. The bed is absolutely decadent. Ramiel has never seen or felt anything like it in her life. She can’t find it in herself to enjoy even a moment of it.

“Do you know of this man? He seemed to think we should have heard of him. A ‘Magnificent Mansion’ - what in all the worlds…”

Ezmerelda shakes her head. She’s been noticeably subdued since the odd, frantic energy of a feast-like dinner combined with an impromptu magic circle workshop wore off. There is a bit of collarbone peeking out of her robe, leading to a slip of bare shoulder and a thin, dark line of an old scar, one that Ramiel has yet to hear the story behind. The small silver pendant carefully shaped by Ramiel’s own hands to resemble a lightning bolt glints in the muted ambience of the room.

“He was so calm,” Ezmerelda manages after a long silence, sitting listlessly on the edge of the large bed, rather unlike herself. “That’s what I keep thinking about. He just… stood there.”

Ramiel sits down next to her, and the sight of the Doctor and the Devil facing off in the dark forest flashes in her mind’s eye.

She then remembers her conversation with Ezmerelda in the inn from a mere week ago, the almost desperately simple and honest I don’t want Rudolph to die and the quiet He is family to me and more besides, in a moment of such clear openness and vulnerability Ramiel would have been ready to swear she’d pluck the moon out of the sky, if this could somehow help.

“We’ll get him back.”

Ezmerelda’s brow furrows, in anger, frustration, or sorrow, or some mix that seems too painful to parse, as she bursts out, “He’s in that fucking castle, if he’s even still alive, going through gods know what while we’re sitting here after attending a damned conjured banquet, and the last time we went there you died! He killed you! That bastard killed you with his bare hands and I couldn’t do anything about it!”

Her hands are clenched in the rich bedspread, and her chest is heaving with rage she can’t quite direct. Ramiel places a gentle hand under her chin, lifting her face up to meet her eyes. “I promised, remember? I don’t make those lightly.” She tries to give a wry smile, to twist something into some sort of light, joking air. “I guess I owe the good doctor my life now, quite literally. So don’t you worry about that promise going unfulfilled.”

“I’m… I’m not.” The reply is simple but carries so much weight and faith in it Ramiel feels an odd pressure form behind her eyes, like she might want to cry, just a bit.

Ezmerelda sighs. “I trust you. Even with - quite honestly - a lot of evidence to the contrary sometimes… But I hear you say these wild things with such ridiculous certainty and conviction: oh, we’ll find the powerful mystery mage and get him on our side, and we’ll get the mighty sword of sunlight and we’ll march right up to the castle and free van Richten, and, and– I can’t help but believe them.” She sounds almost exasperated at herself.

“Then you know I mean it when I say I’d rather die than let you down.” Ramiel has never felt more serious in her life. It takes even her herself by surprise, a bit.

“I’d rather you didn’t die. Again. Please,” Ezmerelda’s voice is quiet and soft and rather uncharacteristically vulnerable. “But I suppose you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t say these things while utterly, utterly meaning them. You wouldn’t be the person I…”

She trails away, swallows with some effort, and looks away.

Ramiel feels words almost burning in her chest, fighting to come out. “Well, let me say a few more things, then,” she starts, and Ezmerelda jolts a bit at the fierceness of the tone.

“You came all this way for him, and you are about to stroll right back into the den of the beast for him. Even after you’ve been apart for, what, years, and even after his latest plan almost got you killed. I won’t pretend I know why, but I do understand why. Because if there’s one thing I understand in this life, it’s loyalty and devotion. And you just… you have that in spades. I know… what you said back at the inn,” she allows herself the briefest bit of hesitation. “I don’t necessarily want to pry and interrogate you about your history and whatever you feel you need to be making up for, and… that’s all fine, that’s all yours to know. But I think - and I’ve told you this before, and I still mean it now - you keep selling yourself short.”

“You don’t even know–” Ezmerelda begins.

“I don’t need to,” Ramiel insists, gazing into her eyes with a steely determination she’d, for a few brief days, feared might have slipped beyond her grasp. “I don’t need to.”

She sees Ezmerelda is about to scoff and try to dismiss it all and put on a tough front, so she presses on. “There is a lot to be admired about you. A lot I admire. Now, if he can’t see it? His loss. But I hope he will. You’ll see. He will. In fact, I think he already does. And when we get him back he can tell you so himself.”

She puts an arm around Ezmerelda’s shoulders as if pulling her in to share something in confidence, and continues in a more quiet, but no less determined tone. “And then, when we stake that monster together, van Richten can tell you just how proud he is of you, and how very lucky he is to have someone as amazing as you to carry on the fight against the darkness.”

Ezmerelda shakes her head, not entirely convinced. But there is something like the ghost of a smile hovering around her lips. Ramiel takes that as a victory, at least for tonight.

-

This time, Strahd stops to take her in, just like he did on the castle wall, in the pouring rain. But then he turns oh-so-slightly and instead sets his gaze on Ezmerelda. A cruel, vicious understanding dawns on his face.

“Oh,” his voice and lips curl around the syllable as if it is a delectable morsel served up for his taking and slow consumption. “I see how it is.”

Ezmerelda, suddenly very painfully aware of his full attention being on her, reaches for her rapier.

She is too slow.

-

This time, when she finally, mercifully jolts awake from the nightmare, she finds she is crying.

Ramiel turns over and shoves her face between neck and shoulder, allowing herself the selfishness of waking their owner up, and lets the hot, stinging tears fall as silently as possible. There is a hand stroking soothingly down her back, she notices blurrily after some time. There is one gently resting on the back of her head, right where…

It stops, at some point; the burning flow dries up all on its own. Enveloped in the (warm, non-threatening, comfortable) darkness, she allows herself a soft confession into a battle-hardened shoulder that is by far the best pillow she has ever felt under her cheek.

“I don’t want to die here.”

It’s not a noble or inspirational sentiment, it is not some platitude about honour, it is not an observation upon the value of oaths and the trials of keeping them. It is barely above a whisper, but it is the truth, as she has been sworn to tell it.

“I thought, you know, I kept saying it’s fine if it’s me, I just can’t allow it to be anyone else. Not like… like Vallaki. Not Lava, who has so much to go back to, or Elgath, who has so much to see, so far to go. Not you. But it can be me.”

She takes a shuddering breath, and the arms around her tighten. She feels glad about the hold, thankful for how her face is hidden, how she doesn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.

“But now I… I don’t–” Another heavy breath, and she manages to press on. “I don’t want to die here. I can’t let so much be left unfinished. No single one of us is expected to complete the work, but neither may any one desist from it,” she completes the recitation from memory, holding up the words in front of her like a shield. [2]

But that’s not it, either, is it?

“There’s so much I need– I want to do! I want to actually take my oaths. I want to see what happened with our home. I want to find out what happened with… with my family. It’s been so, so long. I should have… no,” Ramiel cuts herself off sternly, well-practised, “that’s a pointless path to take.”

Then, she manages a brief smile, as her thoughts turn to the more whimsical. “I want to fly on an airship - I’ve never, you know? I’ve seen them, but never up close. And I want… I’ve always wanted to see Irian - the plane? The sanctuary, the baths. All of it. I mean, I don’t know how to get there, but I’m sure I could find a way.”

“But this place…” She shudders. “This is the wrong place for anyone to die.”

Ramiel turns to lie on her back, gazing at the ceiling which she only now notices is lined with small, sparkling, clearly magical constellations. She finds, to her surprise, she recognises them - Aasterinian, Io, and there, the long tail of Bahamut… an odd but not unwelcome bittersweet little taste of home. The familiar skies with ships soaring by on wheels of fire.

“I want to fly,” she says finally, almost reverently, reaching up with one hand, seeing the stars glimmer between her fingers. Thinks of the many, many dreams she’s had of gliding through the air on powerful golden wings, and of the pale reflection of them she is capable of manifesting for but a painfully brief time.

“I’d love to see you fly,” Ezmerelda, quietly listening for so long, adds in a murmur.

Ramiel smiles, and allows warmth to fill her. “I’ll have to make it spectacular, then, just for you.” Then she lets out a small chuckle at her own expense. “Maybe one day I’ll even figure out how to take you with me.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Ezmerelda replies, forcing a casual air. “I’ve been to a great many places, and I’ve done quite a few things, but I can’t say I’ve ever flown before.” Her expression darkens a bit, then, her eyes narrowing, an intense, steely purposefulness creeping into them. “A victory lap, right from the top of Ravenloft’s tallest tower.”

Ramiel nods, the determined mood catching, in odd contrast to their lush, comfortable surroundings, and her most recent dream spikes chillingly into her thoughts. “I’m not letting that monster lay a hand on you.”

She can tell her eyes are burning alight by the way the shadows dance across Ezmerelda’s face when their gazes lock. She can tell that there is light seeping out of the thin scar on her jaw and out of the visible remnants of her more recent wounds. She can feel the roiling in her gut, the burning in her chest that’s always been hers, but that she has only recently come to truly know and harness.

Ezmerelda places her hands on Ramiel’s cheeks, cups her jaw with a gentleness not many would give her credit for, and rests their foreheads together. Then, she moves only slightly and comes in for a soft kiss.

“I was so relieved,” Ramiel whispers when they part, “when he looked at you, looked between us, and utterly failed to see anything.”

Ezmerelda looks at her curiously, a small frown furrowing her brow, but says nothing.

“No, but, see. He doesn’t understand. He never will. He can’t. For all his raging at his cursed fate, for all his efforts, all the poor people who have suffered because of him… Or maybe even because of all this, his cursed, tarnished, cold and rotted heart is incapable. He doesn’t understand it.”

“What doesn’t he understand?”

“Love.”

Ezmerelda stops and looks at her quietly, mouth very slightly agape. Her gaze is heavy with the implications she is gathering and sifting through, ever so carefully and tentatively.

“I mean,” Ramiel swallows and tries for a lighter note. “He failed where even our famously dispassionate Vedalken friend didn’t.”

“Oh?” It is possibly the shiest and most hesitant Ramiel has ever seen her.

She raises her hand to cup Ezmerelda’s cheek and pull her closer, one thumb stroking gently. For once, the words seem to come as easily as they are always supposed to for some kind of radiant and inspiring divine champion.

“He looked at me and he looked at you and he couldn’t see the most obvious thing in all the worlds.”

Ezmerelda makes a few unsuccessful attempts at a question before she manages to breathe one out. “And what… what would that be?”

“That I love you.”

Ezmerelda flinches away briefly, almost as if she’s been burned. But then she all but throws her arms around Ramiel and holds her tightly - and the kisses she presses everywhere she can reach do everything to dull any pain and discomfort this incurs.

She reaches the lips last, the kiss long and deep and loaded with meaning and intent and promise and fierce, fierce determination, and the I love you too she remembers to speak out loud only later.

—

1. G.K. Chesterton paraphrase. ↩

2. Paraphrase of a quote from Pirkei Avot that @docholligay has embedded in my brain and quite honestly life forever, much love ↩

[digimonandpokemon]

I posted 4,688 times in 2022

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#5

Clearing out my drafts a bit. Enjoy.

Dp × SCP

Another thing Dr. Bright is not allowed to do is let SCP-4304 write his reports for him. Dr. Bright, we understand that writing reports is a very long and daunting task, but letting SCP-4304 write your reports is very unprofessional. Keep in mind SCP-4304 is a fifteen year old boy and does not have the language suitable enough to be writing reports for the SCP foundation. Not only that, but it is Dr. Bright's responsibility to be doing these reports in the first place. We were lenient with the "Safety Dance" references in your reports but there is a line that can't be crossed.

Allowing SCP-4304 to write "ussy" at the end of certain words describing an entrance, has simply gone too far. If foundation researchers have to read another "doussy" when describing a keyhole, there will be many negative consequences.

Also, allowing SCP-4304 to "Rick Roll" fellow researchers in reports has gone too far. Especially after leaving coded messages that made some personal researchers think they were on a cusp of a breakthrough. Dr. Heisman has not fully recovered once he realized the words he decoded were meant to be a prank. Especially after it took three sleepless nights to break them.

If you are to allow SCP-4304 write your reports for you, Dr. Bright, at least attempt to proofread them. Letting SCP-4304 write "it was scary as fuck man D:" in documented reports is entirely unprofessional and puts a bad name on our foundation.

This will be your first and final warning Dr. Bright.

-Sincerely

The o5 council

183 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

#4

Since this idea got really popular, I've decided to write some stuff. Yall can have these while you wait

See the full post

580 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

#3

The first part got more popular than I thought it would so here's more! I just think that Danny and Dr. Bright would get along really well. Despite the headache of everyone on site.

See the full post

656 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#2

Me seeing my school has a Tumblr: I bet they don’t even know about Plinko with blorbo from shows being sent to Eeby deeby to meet with glup shitto and scrunglo 

755 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I'm in love with Danny Phantom and scp crossovers. I'm too tired to write so have this instead

See the full post

1,218 notes - Posted April 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[greenapplebling]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Thanks....

Hi! I love your question bc I love talking about my blorbos 💖

I won't rank it from 10 to 1 bc it will take forever lol, but I'm going from "least favorite" to "neutral favorite" to "absolute unchangeable favorite"

I tried to make it as spoiled-free as possible but I couldn't contain myself 😅

Least favorites

Sesshomaru (Inuyasha)

I didn't actually finish Inuyasha but I know the gist of it. I love his design and I find his journey as a character interesting. Sesshomaru is a villain that eventually becomes a reluctant ally, I watched Inuyasha as a teen and at that time media kept bombarding us with villains that kept getting redeemed at the end so watching Sesshomaru never actually getting redeemed was a breath of fresh air. Boy, it's so funny to see the struggle of the main characters in trusting him bc he never showed that he could be trusted and most of the times he helped it was bc it was convenient for him to do so.

Starfire (Teen Titans cartoon)

Listen. The soft girl archetype is not my thing but I?? love her sm??? For the soft girl of the group, she never becomes the go-to-damsel in distress (everyone gets to be saved one way or the other by their teammates at some point) and the show never makes her kindness into a weakness but rather into a strength which is highly appreciated. I guess my only issue is the design they went for her, I wished her hair was wavy or curly like in the comics for ex.

Alucard Tepes (Castlevania Netflix)

Pretty boy? Check. Long hair? Check. Vampire (dhampir actually)? Check. Queer? Check. Daddy issues? Check. Traumatized? Check. Craves for love but is stoic himself? Check. Alucard basically checks all the boxes to be my favorite and yet his writing and development makes him be in this section. I hope the spin off does him justice.

Neutral favorites

Peter Parker / Spiderman

Not much of a fan of the movies, but I grew up with him as my favorite superhero with cartoons like The Spectacular Spiderman (kinda sad it got cancelled), I also enjoyed him on Ultimate Spiderman (bc he acts like a total lunatic and I love it) and I love Peter B. Parker from Into the Spider verse, he becomes a reluctant father figure to Miles and it's amazing. Overall I think he's biggest charm is how relatable he is to us kids who grew up marginalized by our peers.

Mikaela Hyakuya (Seraph of the End)

I'm too biased towards him, okay? He's my little baby, literally the only reason I haven't dropped the manga yet. Is he well written? No. Do I still love him? Absolutely. Same reasons as Alucard but with a few more layers to it.

Wanda Maximoff (MCU)

Look, this is the only version I've been exposed to of the character, saying this bc I'm aware of people saying that mcu Wanda pales in comparison to comics Wanda. But I love her, ok? I would die for her. "But what if you were in-universe and she killed you?" Bro, I'll die in happiness if she was the one who killed me. I love her, I'm too much of a simp for her. The only issue I have is that she's not well written, I look at her and all I see is wasted potential, but oh well, Marvel Studios never cared about quality.

Absolute unchangeable favorites

Lapis lazuli (Steven Universe)

Steven Universe will always have a special place in my heart and Lapis lazuli has been my favorite character through the whole show. I related to her and her journey a lot. The writing uses her character to show PTSD; trauma and how the same traumatic event doesn't have the same effect on people; how the abuser/victim dynamic is not always the case on toxic relationships, sometimes the roles interchange constantly and they're both the abuser and the victim at the same time; how overcoming trauma isn't (always) lineal, most of the time is taking a step forward and two steps backwards. She had it bad but she persevered until she finally came on good terms with her situation and started to heal and I love her for it.

Kurama (Yu Yu Hakusho)

It's been like 15 years and I still love this guy, even more so as an adult. Yu Yu Hakusho is basically THE comfort show for me, seriously I have since watched the anime in spanish, english and japanese. I'm love with his background and journey, all main guys have great development but Kurama's development is the most subtle but still powerful. The thing about him is that he struggles between trying to be what his loved ones expect him to be and accept that he can't erase who he used to be and what he has done on his previous life. He has an identity crisis (not in the way most fans make it out to be though, it's not a personality issue) about who he used to be, who he is now and who he really wants to be.

Jason Todd (DC/Batman comics)

I love him, your honor. He's a walking tragedy and I love him for that. He's representations for those who grew up on poverty and resorted to stealing to survive, for those who are suffering in the shadow and people, who have the means to help, look away from and act like if they don't look at them they don't exist. He's character is cathartic for those victims that wished they could've stand up and fight back, for those who wished for justice to protect them but failed. I have my issues with his character and how is used, but since most DC characters are ruined from time to time bc of the writing I kinda look past it lol.

Soooo, this is it!! I'm sorry it took me so long to answer, I wanted to give a mostly thoughtful answer

[tasmpeter]

Thanks for answering my ask. I am personally not here for "realistic endings" lol, I want some love, some bad decisions, our two psychos against the whole world... I am not gonna say "she doesn't deserve him moving on" (because, eh, yeah ngl) but I already can't bear reading her discarded and put aside for a mary sue.

And our blorbo isn't right in the head neither. normalcy shouldn't be an end-goal for Adrian. So few fanworks seem to grap that, and write him in domestic situations were he put aside his murdery endeavors to grab a latte for his s/o . Dude canonically admits he enjoys killing people with his bare hands and save money for weapons by eating catfood. He's not gonna do a Starbucks run for you, honey.

Psycho gonna psycho, you know? Who wants a healthy, boring relationship? At best, he's mirroring what P would signal him what a "good" relationship should look like. But that's not what Ad needs.

Of course you do your thing, I can't wait to read your take on this. I am just here to express myself. As I said, this first chapter hit different from what I had read around here, and it hurt my feels real bad for some reason. Girl gonna share. - 👁️👄👁️

omg i’m so glad you liked it <33 it means so much to me 🥺🥰

yes do you have a point. adrian, at the bottom line, is a cold blooded killer and enjoys doing it. i think he’s a very unique character in that he acts very aloof and goofy but when you peel back that exterior (which, i personally believe is him trying to be “normal” or him masking his true personality) he’s basically a sociopath.

as far as the ending goes: i’m definitely sticking with my original “happy” ending — because honestly, these people should not be together because it is extremely toxic but 😭. i don’t want to spoil anything so i won’t go into any detail on it but it will be a “happy” ending of that makes sense.

thank you for the ask <333 i really appreciate it!

[insipid-drivel]

Hi there, this is awkward but what does each alter take care of for Insipid?

It's not awkward at all! We all have certain "jobs" that we specialize in that are based on both natural proclivities and on our personalities.

Alex (me) handles most health-related day to day stuff. I make sure the meds get taken on time, refills are called in, and organizers are arranged every week. I also help out with stuff like treating illnesses and injuries. I usually get called a doctor, but I'm really just kind of a permanent med student. Medicine's my thing.

Odd (yes that's his real name) isn't a big talker and usually doesn't say much without at least one insult included. He prefers to write and paint to express himself, but is essentially the epitome of "the one guy that never talks until nobody knows what to do". He's honest, doesn't give many fucks, and contributes to things like writing projects and other crafts. He's the guy we call on when someone needs to be told to go fuck themselves while walking backwards out of a crappy situation. His best friend is Marchosias, and Marchosias talks more than enough for the both of them.

Marchosias is demonic in nature and used to be aggressive and vicious toward Insipid when we were very young. His whole deal was a misapplication of pent-up anger and loathing directed toward Insipid's abusers. He's probably the most stereotypical of the "bad alter" stereotype, but the reason for it is because he didn't understand how to apply his anger and motivation productively. After he learned some manners (read: Cassandra beat the everloving shit out of him), he's become a great guardian and protector. He can break through flashbacks and lucid dreams. He's very chatty, but if I were to sum up his DND alignment, I'd say he's "Chaotic Bastard" all the way.

Sal is the in-brain blorbo. cinnamon bun. precious bab. He's a natural therapist or counselor-type, loves all things cosmetics, and is generally the best boi for if you need cheering up. He and Insipid heckle bad horror movies together. He also handles our self-care, wardrobe, and even gift choices. We will all collectively kick your ass in a Wendy's parking lot if you make him cry.

Cassandra is basically my "twin". She's the eldest of us all and the most protective. She kept Insipid from being diagnosed until relatively recently so we wouldn't end up being institutionalized or not given an opportunity for Insipid to choose what to do with us for themselves. She's a pretty standard "Enforcer", you could say. She's able to induce temporary states of pain asymbolia (can't suffer from pain but can register if you're hurt) and has saved Insipid's life a few times from various circumstances.

Aever is basically my boyfriend. It's kind of hard to explain how it works for us, but his interests and capabilities are especially tuned into Insipid's central nervous system (brain and spinal cord + some other large nerves). He's able to construct mental safe spaces kind of like the Holodeck on Star Trek to provide us with settings to write in as well as safe spaces for if Insipid needs a rest. In cases where Insipid's in a lot of nerve pain, Aev's been able to get in there in ways Cass sometimes can't and shut it down.

That's just what we can do on our own. We're able to work in tandem or in groups. The main six of us are always on-shift and rotate duties based upon the situation and who needs rest. We're able to do things like redirect hypervigilance from C-PTSD, to halting emotional breakdowns, to writing stories featuring us all. Writing is how we got to where we are now, as well as how we stayed hidden for most of Insipid's life. We talked to them as their "characters" would in their imagination, which was also how we were able to develop our own unique identities and even appearances! The dude in our profile pic is a commissioned portrait of Odd. He smokes like a broken stove and doesn't remember how to smile.

Thanks for asking us! If you have a question for any specific one of us, just say so. We can switch pretty fast when we're just typing.